A Chelsie Christmas

N – Night time

December 14th, 1926

The trees were silhouettes, nothing but black skeletons against the midnight of the sky. A scattering of stars, and the still snow edged path, showed her the way. Still, it was dry and relatively warmer (if you could term it that) than previous evenings.

This close to Christmas it was a miracle if Elsie made it home before eleven, but she'd made a special effort and escaped as soon as she could without feeling she was shirking anything. She'd actually pretty much settled any qualms within herself; she'd given them enough years, it was time to at least have a little time with her husband. A night time together wasn't asking much.

They still hadn't put the tree up and Charles was superstitious about things like that, a relic of his childhood she presumed. And so that was the plan for their evening, decorating their cottage, and she'd been looking forward to it all day.

There was a steak and kidney pudding in her basket, that could warm in the oven whilst they placed the tree. Charles had arranged for it to be delivered and it had been waiting for three days now to find a spot in the house.

"It doesn't look quite right there. We aren't getting it right." Elsie said, standing by the kitchen table and watching as Charles once again stood back and huffed.

"Elsie, if we move it again it will be four times."

"But it needs to be right. We didn't have a tree last year."

"Because we were both at work all the time; is this tree to keep me company?"

She chuckled, "No, it's to bring some festive proceedings to our humble abode." She clicked her tongue, "Alright, last move, by the fire behind the sofa."

"I'm not sure real trees are meant to be moved around so often."

He took hold of the top of the tree and Elsie bent to grasp the bottom and slowly, together, they shifted it yet again.

"Now, that is as close to perfect as we might get," she said, standing back again. "I'm happy with that."

"Thank the Lord."

"You can sit down again now darling, thank you." She patted his arm and Charles returned to the sofa, lifting his legs up and watching Elsie carry across a box of decorations. Most were second-hand, some she'd made herself over the past month, others – only a few – were a treat he'd purchased on their recent trip to Ripon.

"Always start with the angel," she said, standing on her tiptoes to get it to the top.

Charles sighed happily at the sight of her dress stretching as she moved. "Can you reach?"

"Not quite, it's higher than I thought. Step stool I think."

"Hang on," he got up from the sofa and she turned, holding the angel out for him to take. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he said, placing his hands on her hips and gently steering her back around to the tree. He held her a little tighter and with very little effort lifted her high enough to reach the top. "There," he said, putting her back down. "Joint effort."

"That was very sweet of you," she said, bending to pick up the new box of electric lights they had purchased. They were expensive, for them, but hopefully worth it. "Do you think we shall be able to get these to work?"

"I am sweet," he said, waiting for her to stand again so he could kiss the back of her neck.

She was surprised by the touch, as sensitive as she was there, and she turned slowly, an enigmatic smile upon her face.

"That was very sweet too."

He took the box of lights from her, "I do believe we are quite intelligent enough to manage electricity, don't you?"

"How modern you sound," she said, sitting back to watch him unfold the lights, his chest puffed out as he attempted to prove his worth. She covered her mouth and giggled as he frowned at the wires. "Should I read the instructions aloud," she suggested, taking them from the box and Charles made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat but listened patiently as she started on 'step one'.

"I can't see my food," Charles complained, digging his fork into a piece of kidney.

"Oh hush," Elsie said, "it's rather romantic, don't you think, having the lights off and just the tree and the candles?"

"If one goes in for all that type of thing."

"Now don't fuss with me, Mr. Carson. I know you well enough by now to know there's a soft centre in there."

He smiled, putting his fork down and lifting his glass of red wine, "To a wonderful job, Mrs. Carson." He said, tapping his wine glass against hers.

"Thank you, and here's to you feeling well enough to sit and eat dinner with me. And us having the time."

"First proper meal in days," he said, sprinkling pepper over his gravy. "God bless, Mrs. Patmore."

"Excuse me."

He covered it quickly, "Just, a very good pudding. Her suet pudding is always outstanding."

"Mm, it is. Some days, I think you'd have rather married her." She teased, putting a potato into her mouth.

"Poppycock. She may be a wonderful cook, but you're Elsie."

"Oh…? And that makes a difference?"

"Yes. Love always does."

They shared a smile at that, over the top of their wine glasses.

In the middle of the table was a basket of pine cones which Charles had carefully arranged, a task he could be trusted with. On the hearth candles flickered, and above the fire a length of foliage Charles had managed to fix in place. She had yet to find the stockings she'd made the year before, but soon she would stuff them with oranges, nuts and the dried fruit he enjoyed so much. If she had time, there would be candy canes from the sweet shop in the village, and perhaps a chocolate animal that they always iced so beautifully with tiny facial details. On Christmas morning, it would be hanging from his favourite chair and they would open them early before they left for work, for he would still work Christmas morning with her, if he was well enough.

"I do love our little home," she said softly, gazing across at the tree.

"As do I, it's shaped up to be quite the refuge."

"You don't mind it then," she asked between chewing, "now that you've gotten used to it?" He frowned, and so she went on. "I mean, I sensed some reticence, in the early days, after we moved out of the Abbey."

"Nothing to do with you," he said quickly. "Nothing at all. Heaven forbid."

"You aren't always the easiest person to read, but I sensed you would work your way through it."

"It was… disconcerting, leaving the Abbey, I had lived there for most of my life."

She nodded, putting down her cutlery and pushing her plate away. "I understand that."

"It took some getting used to. But being here with you is far more than I ever imagined it could be."

There was a sense of pride at that, a tiny bud of it.

"I know I am not always easy… to live with, I mean. I accept that."

She shook her head, "Oh tush, we bumble along together just fine."

"What I mean is, what I'm trying to say, is that I… well, thank you, I suppose, at how you've taken care of me. I know it can't have been easy this past week, I know how hard you work."

She rested her chin in her hands, "In all our years together I believe that is the first time you have made such an absolute statement about the quality of my work."

"Come, Mrs. Hughes, you never needed it."

She chuckled, "Perhaps not."

"You surely knew?"

"Knew what?"

"That I think you the finest housekeeper in the country."

She felt her cheeks blush red, "I believe I was as in the dark about that as your proposal." She reached for her wine glass, "I'm meant to be the mysterious one."

"What do they say? Still waters run deep."

She lifted her chin, watching the play of the candlelight across his face, "Well then, I have always thought your ability to stand statue still for hours on end was quite remarkable.

He bowed his head, grateful of the compliment and the double meaning.

"Can I tell you something?" She said gently, her fingers laced together. "I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Of course."

"I am thinking of stepping back."

She stated it so calmly she surprised herself and Charles did nothing but stare at her for longer than necessary and then almost silently form the single syllable, "Oh."

"Not retirement," she insisted. "I am not quite ready for that. But perhaps fewer days, and I realise this will undoubtedly mean I am no longer housekeeper. I haven't thought it through entirely, I was hoping for your input I suppose. Perhaps a slightly different role," she shrugged. "I'm not sure."

He cleared his throat, "Why?"

"Honestly? Seeing you by that river and for one terrifying second thinking you were gone, and it would be too soon."

He swallowed, breathing deeply. He was reminded of a similar feeling, when he feared she had cancer.

"If you'll permit me to be just a tad sentimental for a moment, I feel this is getting better all the time. What we have here. What we've found. And we did so, so very late in life, and I don't want to dwell on what could have been but what is, what can be. I want to enjoy every moment, as short as it might be."

"I plan on living to a ripe old age."

She laughed, "Oh, I do hope so."

Later, she sat at one end of the sofa, her legs propped up on the footrest, and Charles' long body lay across the sofa with his head on a pillow in her lap. He was flagging, it being the first day he'd really gone without sleeping it away.

His eyes were closed but he did not sleep, he listened as his wife's beautiful lilting voice danced over the words as she read to him. Her hand rested on his chest beneath the blanket, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

Their small lounge was warm from the fire, aglow with the lights from the tree, and filled with the scents of Christmas; decorated with the freshness of holly, and the flowers on the coffee table. It was simple, some might call it quaint, but it was surprising the joy a festive decoration can bring. The embrace of the season, and its qualities.

"I will honour Christmas in my heart," she read, "and try to keep it all the year." She paused, marking the page with her hand as she let the book close. "What a wonderful idea."

"Mm," Charles mumbled.

"Are you asleep, Charlie dear?"

"Not yet. I was enjoying listening to you."

"I was enjoying reading to you, and I like that idea. The sentiment of that. Your efforts for the poor, for example, I wish we could continue that for more than the month of December."

"Perhaps we can," he yawned.

"Could be your legacy," she tousled his thick hair, unable to resist bending to kiss his forehead. "Amongst many others."

He mumbled again and she realised he was almost asleep. The restful expression he wore made her smile, her heart light, "I love you," she said, quietly, soothingly.

The night drew on.