AN: Is anyone there? Is it just me?
It's OK if you've peaced out. I really don't blame you at all! However, I did sit down and reread this whole thing, so I'm going to do my best to get this one going again, along with the others that I'm trying to revive. If you're here, I'm happy to see you!
I hope that you enjoy this chapter. If you do, please do let me know!
111
"Christmas was nice enough that I hate that it has to be over," Carol lamented as they were all finishing up the coffee and sweet bread that followed their supper. Everyone was looking kind of sleepy, and like they'd all be ready to find their way to whatever bed they called their own very soon.
"Who says it's gotta be over?" Daryl asked, smoking a cigarette and leaning on the table, on his elbow, with his coffee surely cold in the cup that sat in front of him.
"Night for one," Carol said with a laugh. "We can't stop the day from ending, no matter how much we might wish it was Christmas for a while longer."
"So?" Daryl said. "That tree won't hold out no longer. That's for sure. So, we oughta take it out tomorrow. And we gave each other all our presents today, so we won't be able to do that again, but…I'm figurin' that neither of them things is really what's got you feelin' the way you feelin'."
Carol hummed.
"It's not the tree," she agreed. "I mean it's pretty and all. And you got me real nice presents, and I do like them, but it's just that…it feels real warm."
Merle laughed.
"Got you all the wood you want, Mouse," he teased. "And there's plenty more where it come from, if you're needin' it to keep that fire burning. Not one of us is at risk of freezing to death. I can tell you that much. Gonna have a lot more wood, too, once we haul that tree outside and get it cut up."
Merle was sincere. If Carol needed wood and warmth to make her feel better, there was plenty of that to be had. There was no doubt that, if such a thing were called for, that he'd go right now and down a tree to get them through the night without feeling any great chill.
Merle was a good man, and Carol knew he wasn't the kind to let his family go cold or hungry—not if there was a single thing that he could do about it.
"It's not just the fire," Carol said. "It's not the meal…or even all of us being here."
"We do all that every day," Daryl offered.
"And we gonna keep doin' it, too," Merle added quickly.
"No," Andrea interjected a little more loudly and abruptly, perhaps, than she meant to. She jumped, slightly, as though the quality of her own voice surprised her. Of course, she had been somewhat dozing with Sophia in her arms, both of them clearly quite relaxed. Luckily, she didn't upset the baby girl and, deciding that her volume had been higher than she'd wanted it to be, she softened her voice when she spoke again, this time with the attention of everyone at the table. "I know what she means. It's nothing real. Nothing we're really doing or…nothing we can touch. It's a feeling. All we've thought about, while we've gone about our chores and everything else, for days is that we have to get ready for Christmas. It's what we've talked about and dreamed about. It's been all nice things for days on end. There hasn't been room for anything that wasn't just happy, and now it all has to end."
"Who says anything's gotta end?" Daryl asked. "Way I see it, we can have Christmas as long as it pleases us. Who's gonna ride all the way out here to tell us any different? We can read our poem every night by the fire, and we can sing the songs we like any time we want. We could say that every supper for a week is a Christmas meal."
"That's not how people do it, though," Carol said.
"We do things our own way," Merle said. "Always have. Likely always will. Besides—between us, I'd say we've missed enough Christmas that we're owed a little extra. Won't hurt a soul if we just do things however we see fit."
Carol smiled at that.
"Tomorrow we'll do Christmas again?" She asked. "We don't have presents, but…we can call it Christmas."
"Tomorrow, we'll make a whole thing of cleanin' up that tree together," Merle said. "Addin' it to the wood pile. That's a Christmas celebration."
"Andrea can read the poem again, tomorrow night," Daryl said. "She's got a real nice voice for that."
Andrea beamed at Daryl's compliment.
"She reads it best," Carol agreed. Andrea beamed a bit more, her cheeks blushing visibly pink in the dim light of the room.
"Settled then," Merle said. "It's Christmas until the time comes that we say it ain't. There'll be no more discussing it, since any disagreement makes your food sit heavy, and that don't give a very Christmas-like feeling to the evening. Now—Angel—you an' me oughta see about makin' our way back over to bed, because I got a mind to see about some sugar plums and whatever else was in that poem."
At that, he rose from his seat and waved Carol and Daryl back down when they started to rise to see them out. Andrea stood up without argument, passed Sophia to Carol, and the two of them went about bundling back up into the clothing they'd shed at the door.
"What do you think we should do?" Carol asked, when they'd left.
"Tomorrow's gonna be Christmas again," Daryl said. "Figure—we oughta play with Sophia a bit until she's good an' worn out, and then we ought to go on to bed ourselves."
"How long are we going to play at Christmas, Daryl?" Carol asked with a giggle.
He laughed, quietly, and shrugged.
"If we're just talkin' about the feeling happy like Andrea said," Daryl said, "then I figure we ought to just do it forever. For everything else, we oughta just do it until we all get tired of it, and then we just won't do it again, not until we start thinking it's time for next Christmas."
Carol smiled at him. She liked his way of thinking about the whole thing. It might not be right—at least not according to the way that people usually did things—but it felt right for them, and she was pretty sure that was all that mattered.
She stood up when he did, and followed him to the little spot in front of the fire where he liked to play with Sophia in the evenings, while she did a bit of her sewing by the fire. He took the baby girl and sat down with her, arranging her new toys around them, along with many of her favorites from the little box where they collected them up each evening.
Carol took up her sewing, but she spent most of the first little bit of their time simply watching Daryl and Sophia. It was hard to tell, really, which of them was having the better time—and it was hard to tell, too, which one was fighting sleep the hardest to prolong their playtime together.
The warm feeling she'd mentioned to Merle—the one that she always felt, every now and again, but had felt so strongly for the past little bit—seemed to surge up more strongly inside of her. She could practically feel it running through her veins like hot coffee poured directly into her blood. She shivered at the pleasant feeling of it and smiled to herself.
Daryl glanced at her like he could sense something, and he smiled.
"What'cha lookin' at?" He asked.
"Christmas," Carol offered.
"You like what'cha see?" He asked.
"There's hardly a thing I see these days, Daryl, that I don't like," Carol said, honestly. He smiled and, she thought, maybe his face grew a bit pink in the firelight. "You know what else I was thinking?"
"No," Daryl said, "but…I will if you tell me."
Carol laughed at his teasing.
"Next Christmas," she said, "it won't just be us and Sophia, here in our home. There'll be one more here."
Daryl smiled. This smile was sincere, and not just the teasing sort of grin that turned up one corner of his mouth.
"Yeah," he said. "There will. Hell—might even have another on the way by then."
Carol nodded.
"We might," she said.
"It'll be a good day," Daryl offered. "Or—however many days we decide it ought to be."
Carol drew in a breath and let it out. Her whole body felt relaxed and contented. She could hardly imagine that there was a nicer place in the whole world to be than where she was right now, in her home, with her husband.
She knew enough to appreciate that feeling.
"Every day's a good day with you, Daryl," Carol offered.
"But this one's the best," Daryl offered. "And yesterday was, too."
Carol giggled. He was teasing, again, but she knew that he was being honest, too.
"And tomorrow?" She asked.
"Best," Daryl said.
"They can't all be the best, Daryl," Carol protested.
"They all been the best since you showed up on that train platform," Daryl said. "No—since I first got that telegram sayin' you was on your way. That's when they started bein' the best. And not one of 'em has disappointed me since then, so I guess that's just how they're set to continue."
"Everybody's got bad days, Daryl," Carol said. "Even you and me. Bad things happen."
"Bad things happen," Daryl agreed. "They do. And they're gonna happen. But—those are just bad things. They don't mean that there are bad days."
"Bad things don't make bad days?" Carol asked.
"Not when you're here," Daryl said.
"That's just silly," Carol said, pretending to pay some attention to a couple of stitches on a shirt she was mending.
"It ain't neither," he protested, though not very sharply at all. "We lose a heifer; that's a bad thing. Or—I hit my thumb somethin' awful with the hammer weren't a week back. That was pretty bad. Still waitin' on the thing to heal proper and all."
"So—bad days," Carol said, half-shrugging.
"No," Daryl said. "Bad things. The things was bad, but…the day weren't bad. It was just the things that were bad. But—we handle what it is that's bad, and then I come in and you tend to my thumb like you do…all sweet and gentle. Or you remind me that one heifer ain't nothin' but a head, and not enough to go about worryin' so that the other head pick up on somethin' and worry themselves into gettin' in a bad way. I tell you that—somethin' bad happens, and you just set yourself to lovin' it away. Then, I eat a good supper. Have a good smoke or two. Play with Sophia on the floor until she's floppin' this way an' that; can't stay awake. Get me a good hot bath, and I get to go to bed and bed my wife. Sleep all night just like that, holdin' her. It don't get better than that, Carol. The things get bad sometimes, but…I do like the days."
"I like the days, too," Carol said. "I don't mind the nights too much, either, as long as we're saying what we like."
Daryl snorted.
"Nights are some of my favorite times," he offered.
"I'm thinking she'll go down pretty easy," Carol said. "If you want to start filling up the tub, Daryl, I'll start nursing her and getting her settled for the night. Then…maybe we can go on to bed and…see if we can't think of a couple other ways to celebrate this Christmas night?"
"You ain't gotta tell me but once," he said. "I'll get the tub down and the water warming. You can have the first bath."
"You take good care of me, Daryl," Carol said, putting her sewing away. He was already getting to his feet, pulling Sophia up with him. The little girl wouldn't fight much about going to sleep. She'd been dozing since halfway through the evening meal. It had been an exciting day for her, after all, and she had a tendency to really do her best to run out all of her energy these days.
"Always my intention," Daryl said, passing Sophia to Carol, when she was ready to take the little girl into her arms. He leaned to give her a kiss, too, that she gladly accepted and returned with enthusiasm.
"I know," she said. She winked at him. "And that's why I'm always going to take good care of you, too. Be careful bringing in the water."