Chapter 2

"For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself."

- A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

It was all the more special when it snowed at Christmas, but the weather was something that could very rarely be relied upon. She remembered to this day of her childhood years – at least up until when her dear father died, as that was when her childhood had come to a premature end – and the one thing she asked for each Christmas, without fail or respite. The couple of presents she received from her parents were always greatly appreciated and much loved; she was instilled with a strong sense of gratitude from a tender age, as was her sister. Their family was not a rich one, except in the amount of love that was apparent in their household.

William Smith could barely hide the grin on his face as he read the note – for it could hardly be called a list – passed to him ever so earnestly by his eldest daughter, stood with wide eyes and feet set apart in front of him.

"Well, Anna, my darling," he said, managing to disguise the amusement in his voice so as not to trivialise his child's innocent wish, "I'm not sure if Father Christmas can bring you snow for Christmas morning."

"But Daddy," her blue eyes held more determination than was even usual, her face clear and hopefully expectant, "you said that Father Christmas is magic, and that he can grant good children anything that they would like."

She turned from his exuberant, happy little Anna to being very solemn and serious on the turn of a coin, her bottom lip beginning to tremble – a sight that he could never bear to see.

"Unless I haven't been good?"

He did not delay in scooping her up from her spot on the floor, giving her a loving squeeze before settling her in his lap as he sat in the battered old armchair.

"Oh, Anna, my girl. Of course you've been good. You're the best helper that I could have."

She gave a beaming smile, out of sheer love and dedication rather than pride; he could tell that quite easily.

"And you still give me a big hug at the end of every day when I'm all dusty, and smell terrible from mucking out the animals."

She proceeded to do just that, throwing her small arms about his shoulders and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, causing him to chortle in delight.

"Now, you mustn't tell anyone else," he imparted in a hushed tone, "but out of all of the children there are in the world I am almost certain that you are near the top of the list for being the most good there can be."

The grin filled her rosy cheeks, made ruddier than normal by the cold air from outside where she had been playing before the sun had set for another day.

"So does that mean that Father Christmas will bring the snow?"

He pondered for a moment or two, not keen to bend the truth in front of his daughter but also aware that he would feel much worse if he disappointed her so sorely with the notion of what was more likely to become true.

"I don't see why not." He wrapped his arms tighter about his darling Anna, drawing her closer. "Not when he knows that Anna May Smith asked, and did so very politely."

He was incredibly proud of the way she was turning out so far, putting it down to her own self-forged nature and innate character just as much as any influence he or his wife had. And her hugs and smiles were the things that he cherished most of all in life.

"Now, I'm not sure what the cows will make of it. And the sheep probably won't find it much fun, either."

A pair of blue eyes stared up at him, bemused by what he had said.

"Don't be a silly beggar, Daddy," she uttered, picking up already on her mother's turn of phrase. "The cows have plenty of hay, and the sheep have their woolly jumpers!"

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling heartily, realising that his five year old daughter's reasoning made perfect sense.

"Well then, there's nothing more to do but to wait for the first fall to come."

So far there had been no flakes falling from the sky in even the smallest of flurries, never mind a drift that would keep them in the cottage until the week was out. It had been cold enough for it, alright. She couldn't help but feeling rather disappointed. Snow this Christmas would have most certainly made it the most magical of them all. It had snowed a bit last year but too soon for the season, with it all melting away by the day before Christmas Eve.

The next they had seen was on the morning of New Year's Day. Or rather, John had told her about it, fussing over her and telling her to stay put, his gaze completely and utterly lovestruck as he looked down upon their perfect newborn son, only hours old.

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise; her greatest wish from years gone by greeting the one she had kept in her heart since before she had even become Mrs John Bates in name.

The white blanket that covered the grounds of the Abbey was gone by the time they had departed back to their own cottage a day later and no further snowfall had come down all of last winter, somewhat to her dismay. John had preferred it, not much liking the snow for practical reasons but fretting about the chance of its arrival more so now that they had their little one out in the world.

"I have a present for you. Well, it's a present for Will, technically."

She grinned towards her husband, still in his bowler and overcoat as he stood in the doorway, smelling of evening air and winter. In contrast the bulk of their baby son's little body was so warm in her arms; he was like her own little portable heater.

Will was reaching his arms out, flexing his tiny fingers towards John and making excited squealing sounds. He was far more interested in seeing his Da again after too many hours than whatever was in the box he had brought home with him.

"But of course," she exclaimed, twirling the ends of the silky ribbon that made a decorative bow around the box in her fingers, "I don't suppose that I can expect anything for several Christmases now, can I?"

He tipped his chin to his chest, a twinkle glimmering in his eyes.

She smoothed a hand over the top, turning her head towards their boy and bouncing him upwards slightly.

"Shall we see what's inside, sweet pea? What has Da been spoiling you with now?"

Undoing the bow, she dipped Will down slightly to let him have a peek inside the box before unveiling what was inside.

She laughed as she plucked the ornament out. It wasn't too much of a weight to hold in one hand as she kept Will clutched to her side, and gave it a shake by way of demonstration but more so out of pure instinct.

"Look, Will," she cooed, her mouth close to the shell of their precious boy's ear, "that's the snow falling down."

Will was held in fascination, his blue eyes shining bright as he watched the miniature flakes swirl around and around, creating a swift blizzard within the little globe. In its centre, in the middle of the storm, was a cosy-looking cottage, almost a replica of their own beloved home.

"Much less colder than the real thing," John observed in a half-serious tone, "and nothing of a nuisance."

She tutted, giving it a final shake before placing it down onto the table for the time being.

"You do know that you can't keep it away if it's going to come?" she teased, a look of sheer excitement covering her face. "We want the snow here, don't we, Will?"

He babbled happily, which she took to be affirmation of his agreement.

"Two against one, I'm afraid, Mr Bates. And I happen to know that Father Christmas is a fan, too."

She couldn't stop herself from smiling as her husband shook his head in disagreement. Having walked over towards the both of them he held the hand that had carried his cane out and smiled broadly as their boy grasped hold of one of his fingers with a chubby fist.

"He comes here to get a break from it," he argued with great conviction, staring with wide eyes towards their son who stared back just as intently. "He brings his reindeer all the way over to Downton, where it is nice and calm and dry."

His free hand reached out to tickle at one of Will's rosy cheeks, and she watched the interaction of father and son with a heart that was fit to bursting.

"And where he can bring lots of presents made by his elves especially for a boy by the name of William Bates."

He never gave their son his full title, middle name and all, and she knew it was out of humility of the highest order. For her own part she couldn't be prouder that her darling boy bore the name of his wonderful father and remained glad that she had got her own way about it, even if it had took a little persuasion.

She hugged Will close to her, bobbing him up and down as if he were a tumbling snowflake himself while John shook the globe gently in his own hands in front of their eyes.

"He said that you could have this one early, for being so good."

William gurgled and smiled, his little hands reaching out again – this time with the intention of catching the falling snow.

"And you are the best boy there is," she whispered to him, placing several kisses on his cheek as she held him securely around his middle.

She picked up the ornament briefly from the fireplace where it had been planted ever since that evening had passed, and beamed a smile on tipping it completely upside down. Though he had not needed to John had gone to the trouble of getting an inscription engraved onto the base. A Christmas that would always be remembered. Happy tears pricked at her eyes as she ran a fingertip over the beautiful cursive writing.

~William's First Christmas – 1926~

The Christmas they had been waiting for for ever so long, and the happiest one that could be known.

She gave it a small shake, watching the contents inside twirl and dance within the small half-circle of glass before they came to a settle that was faster than in reality. Looped around the thumb of her other hand was the satin hanger of the small stocking that she had knitted twelve months previously, when she felt like she was the size of a house and was utterly restless with nervous and excited anticipation, needing a million things to fill the moments that she was kept waiting for his arrival. In the last couple of weeks she had sewn a 'W' in red cotton onto the folded top so there was absolutely no doubt to whom it belonged. She pinned it up in its place right in the middle of the fireplace, with the 'A' and 'J' stockings hanging to either side, and placed the snow-globe directly above it.

She'd had to stuff the stocking with a ball of wool and some other materials she had found in one of her sewing bags. All the presents they had bought for him were much too big to fit inside it. It occurred to her that given the age he was at that Will would be much more enchanted with the wool anyway. They had not gone too much over the top, considering not only his tender age but also that there was another momentous occasion to celebrate just a few days later, and now all of them were sitting wrapped under the tree, waiting for a pair of tiny hands to tear eagerly into them come the morning.

Aside from Will's gifts there were a few others; once John had retired upstairs for the night she had brought out his presents from where she had kept them hidden in the pantry. Over the last couple of days she had baked some biscuits dusted with sugar and cinnamon as well as put the finishing touches to a Christmas pudding, following Mrs Patmore's recipe almost to the letter. While John popped in and out of the kitchen, remarking on how good everything smelt, she teased him the edible treats were all he would be getting. The look on his face had been so earnest and appreciative that she expected he wouldn't have minded at all if that had really been the case.

Instead, a trip to visit Mrs Hughes at her own cottage was the pretence for the pair of them along with Will going into Ripon one afternoon earlier in the month, seeking presents for their respective husbands. She counted herself very lucky that John was far easier to buy for than Mr Carson; the afternoon turned out to be a little longer than either of them expected due to Mrs Hughes' need to go on an extensive search for something that would both suit and meet with his approval. Luckily there had already been something in her own mind and she was pleased to find what she was after in the second shop they browsed. A new leather valise which would accommodate him on his future travels with His Lordship; the old one was long past its best, but he didn't seem to want to get rid of it. Along with some new gloves, socks she had knitted and a couple of books, he was set.

Of course what thrilled her the most about the gifts she had arranged for her husband were the tags she had written to accompany them. Each was addressed to 'Dearest Da' and signed with 'lots of love and kisses, from William and Mummy'.

Everything looked perfect; there was not the smallest of details she could add. There were crumbs left on the plate from the mince pie that had been polished off by John, and she herself had taken a bite out of the carrot that had lay beside it.

She stifled a yawn climbing the stairs, the preparation of the last few weeks finally catching up with her.

As was her usual routine for almost a whole year she forewent the comforting lure of her own bed in favour of standing for a long while by the cot where her son slept, watching for the slightest movement and listening for the quietest murmur that might tell of any discomfort. As was usual he was serene in slumber and she delighted in the little pouting of his lips and the way in which his tiny fists curled into balls either side of him. His breathing was soft and even, providing her with a lullaby of her own.

"My little love," she murmured, placing a hand down into the crib and resting it gently upon his stomach.

His legs flailed a little; evidence of some lovely dream, she hoped. Aside from that movement and the odd small noise here and there, he didn't stir.

As good as gold.

Feeling just as much at peace but with a giddy sense of joy still possessing her, she couldn't stop the melody from leaving her lips just as swiftly as it had entered her head, not taking her eyes away from the sight of her precious boy for a second.

Away in a manger

No crib for a bed

The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head

The stars in the bright sky

Looked down where he lay

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay

She smiled while she paused in the hymn, absorbing the presence of their baby asleep in his comfy bed and the particular night that was passing – in so many respects so much like any other that had come and gone in the last few months, but also holding something quite special within it.

She had always hoped and prayed. Wished upon the brightest star and at times thought it a silly superstition, especially on the nights that seemed like endless dark.

When all seems lost, you must never give up hope. Not for as long as there are stars in the sky. Her very dear dad. She liked to think he was up there amongst them, looking down upon her with the same proud smile he so often wore.

Her most darling boy, named for the grandfather he would know only through her retellings and the father he already loved with all of his little heart.

The cattle are lowing

The baby awakes

But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes

I love thee, Lord Jesus

Look down from the sky

And stay by my side until morning is nigh

She stroked a gentle hand to one of his cheeks, raising it to the downy hair upon his head, marvelling all over again at the sheer fact of him.

She was aware of the lamplight going out in the bathroom and of John's footsteps landing back against the floorboards of the bedroom. He smelt of soap and shaving foam, often choosing to undertake the task last thing at night now so that he needn't miss out on a moment of Will's company when their boy was awake.

"You're singing again," he made the observation, fitting his arms snugly about her waist.

She snuffed and smiled, leaning her body against his. "Do I do it too much this time of year?"

"There can never be enough, in my opinion."

The slight chill she felt evaporated when he pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips wonderfully warm and soft.

"It's silly really," she remarked, "I'm more excited than he is."

She felt the rumble of his chest against her back.

"For now, yes. But give it a couple of years. He'll be waking us up at dawn, bouncing up and down on the bed."

The image made her even more excitable as she conjured it in her head, not sure whether she could envisage their bedroom as it was now or somewhere else entirely.

"You'll be longing for the days where you could wake up natural," he joked, his mouth brushing lightly against her earlobe.

She pulled herself up from exclaiming too loud so that she wouldn't wake Will.

"I think I got to do that, oh, once?" She moved herself around in his arms, her eyes alight as she smiled up towards him, seeing the happiness she felt reflected in his own gaze. "And I don't care if I never get to do it again, for as long as I live."

With her hands steepled upon his chest, she gazed back towards the cot in the corner of the room.

"I'm going to happily get up before dawn every Christmas Day from now on, just so I can be up before he is."

John wore a smile of understanding upon his face, rubbing his hands against her back.

"Well, there's not too long before then, so we'd better try and get some sleep."

She rose onto her tiptoes, her eyes closing as she brushed her lips to his, beaming towards him as she pulled back slowly.

"That's if I can at all."

He shook his head, affection written all over his being. Soon enough they bundled themselves into bed, talking for a little while before they drifted into dreams of the near and the slightly more distant future.

Perhaps by the time morning arrived there would even be snow, the first real kind that Will would see.

What a present that would be.

A/N: I might have thrown in a little callback to one of my previous canon Christmas ficlets here... ;)