Christmas Surprises Read online

“I doubt it,” Elena Chadwick replied, smiling, as she carefully lodged the tins among the other packages bursting from the carriage boot. “And I doubt that the earl could do anything if he was. It is Christmas. No one could be hard-hearted enough to deny little children a pageant and a tree.”

  That was the conclusion she had drawn, and Marian breathed a sigh of relief. If her mother thought it was all right, then there could be no harm in it. She had just been too afraid to fall victim to the excitement of finally having the opportunity to see the Hall, only to have her hopes dashed. This would be as much of a treat for her as for the children. Just the idea of having the Hall opened was excitement enough, but decorated with a tree and filled with the people she loved—that was a memory she could keep forever.

  Finally accepting that the miserable year would end on a happy note, Marian allowed herself to indulge fully in the laughter and joy of the children around her. It was almost a dizzying sensation to breathe deeply of the cold air and laugh out loud as she slid on an icy patch and went skating down the drive with her arms full of packages. Even Laura, bundled carefully against the cold, followed her example, until the ground was alive with kicking, laughing young bodies as they fell into one another and onto the ground.

  Eventually everyone was crowded into the old carriage, and Bernard clicked the horses into joining the caravan of other wagons and carriages rumbling steadily up the hill toward the Hall. The pageant wasn’t scheduled for another hour, but it seemed everyone had one excuse or another for arriving early. The Hall that had once been the life blood of the village had been closed for the better part of two decades; everyone wanted the opportunity to take a glimpse of the past, when everything seemed much simpler.

  The gatekeeper waved them through, and Bess and George were there to greet them at the front steps and to help with the packages as they unloaded the carriage. The air inside was little better than that outside as they entered the massive foyer towering three stories upward, but Marian’s excitement carried her through the cold as she followed Bess up the grand staircase, past the gold-framed oils of Ellington ancestors, and down the long hallway dotted with marbled tables laden with ancient statues and guarded by gilded mirrors, into the long gallery sweeping the entire width of the building.

  Marian heard Mr. Ellington before she saw him. Her gaze was too busy taking in the fairy-tale illusion of the gallery to concentrate on people yet. The fact that there was very little furniture beyond the fragile chairs lined along the wall did not detract from the gleaming stretch of waxed floor beckoning for dancers, nor from the wall of mirrors reflecting the wintry light from the windows on the opposite side. Between the mirrors and windows there were looped garlands of holly and evergreen, and candles glittered bountifully in the polished chandeliers over their heads. But the crowning glory was the tree at the far end of the room, and Marian could not resist floating toward it just as surely as the excited, chattering children.

  “Is it what you wanted? I have never seen a Christmas tree before. I just did everything Bess and Mrs. Jessie and the others told me to do.” Alan caught her elbow as he guided her toward the package-laden tree.

  “It is glorious,” Marian whispered with awe. “I have never seen anything like it. How did you get the candles to stay on? And Mrs. Jessie’s star, it is perfect! You have made it perfection. I shall never get the children to stand still for the pageant now. Just look at them!”

  Garbed in bits and pieces of their costumes, all from the youngest to the oldest were poking and exclaiming over the bits of gaudy tinsel and lace and fruits and carved and painted toys hanging on every branch. Little John was crawling among the packages at the back of the tree, searching for more hidden depths, apparently, while others were doing impromptu jigs of excitement.

  But Alan was more interested in watching the woman on his arm. She vibrated with life and love; he could almost feel the intensity through the places where her fingers touched his arm. The vague sorrow and often sharp bitterness that had haunted her face these past days dissolved with the laughter filling her as she watched the children. And it suddenly came to him that she was a woman meant to have children of her own. He didn’t know where that thought had come from or what it meant, but he allowed her happiness to spill over and fill him.

  With the authority he wielded well, Alan shepherded the troops onto the makeshift stage he’d hired village carpenters to build for the occasion. The young Mary instantly began cooing over the porcelain doll lying in the crude manger borrowed from a local barn, while Joseph and the shepherds leapt into a hasty duel with the shepherd’s crooks made of tree limbs, until Alan called a halt to their antics.

  By the time costumes were arranged and the choir in place, the elegant Hall had filled with hundreds of warm bodies shuffling and stretching to get a better glimpse of the Christmas scene. Bernard and Mrs. Chadwick hastily pulled out chairs for the elderly and the disabled, placing them toward the front, while the children not part of the pageant dodged in and out between their elders’ legs, looking for the best spot to observe the proceedings.

  Marian gave Alan’s hand a squeeze of gratitude as he boosted the last angel into place on the newly built tiered planks for the choir. With all the children settled and the crowd waiting expectantly., she suffered a moment’s agony as she realized she was bereft of the church organ, but Alan caught her elbow and steered her toward a discreet niche beside the choir.

  The piano was obviously an old one, but when she sat down and tried a few chords, the quality belled out in elegant tones to fill the gallery. She shivered with the pleasure of playing such a beautiful instrument, then after one last glance to Mr. Ellington’s anxious expression, she smiled and began the first piece.

  The children had learned their parts well. Watching Marian carefully for the nod signaling the start of the first song, they swept into the notes with all the vigor and pleasure of their youth. If solemn hymns held a touch more jollity than was required, nobody objected, and the old carols became a sound of joy that brought tears to the eyes of everyone listening.

  Standing to one side, not a part of the crowd so much as an observer, Alan felt the tug of sentiment and resisted valiantly. This wasn’t his home, and the majority of these people were strangers. He was merely indulging himself by providing them with the Christmas he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

  But when he watched little John curl up in his mother’s lap and nod contentedly in time to the music, then noted Mrs. Jessie’s beaming smile as she caught a glimpse of her star on top of the tree, he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. He wanted to stay here. He wanted these people to want him to stay. As he glanced to the lovely woman singing along with the choir as her fingers danced along keys she knew by heart, he wanted her to be the one to tell him to stay.

  Which was an entirely ridiculous notion. He knew better than anyone that he was entitled to stay here if he wished. He could make this his home. But in doing so, he was in all probability going to earn the contempt of Marian Chadwick.

  This was Christmas Eve. He didn’t have to contemplate such thoughts tonight. Tonight was for enjoying, and he fully meant to do so. Mourning was over when one was ready for it, and he felt ready. Smiling, Alan led the applause when the choir finished the first half of their selections, then took a place near the Chadwick children while Bernard and Marian coached the little tableau into the words of the Christmas story.

  Alan tried not to think how well the vicar and his choir leader worked together. Helping eight-year-old Matthew to a better position on the window sill, Alan tried not to imagine Marian finally agreeing to be the vicar’s wife simply because she wanted children, and she could help the parish by doing so. She was perfectly capable of reaching that decision, he knew too well, despite the obvious differences between her and Bernard. And he was a fool to think there could be any other outcome whether he stayed or not.

  But did it matter so much? He could be happy here, he knew. He could make a difference in this plac
e. The challenge would keep it exciting. Maybe one day, when he was ready for it, he might venture into the life of London society and meet someone there with whom he might share his life. The possibilities were endless. And meanwhile, he would have good friends like the Chadwicks to keep him in check. Alan heard Matthew’s scorn at the flubbed lines of Joseph, and grinned inwardly. There would be no doubt that he would be subject to very definite opinions should he elect to remain.

  As the babe was laid in the manger, the crowd broke into a spontaneous applause that would never have occurred had they been in the church. The children grinned with this attention, and Marian hastily struck the piano keys for the final songs before the young thespians could improve upon the story.

  The hall rocked with a lively carol as childish voices were joined in the chorus by their audience. By the time refreshments were served, the room rang with laughter. The sorrows that had haunted the village throughout the year disappeared for at least this one day. Neighbors chatted with neighbors as pounds of puddings and cakes disappeared. Electrified with excitement, children chased each other up and down the gallery, and were only prevented from playing hide-and-seek throughout the Hall by the presence of Bess and George in the doorway. When it came time to distribute the small handmade gifts for the children, the eldest practically tumbled over each other to reach the front of the room first.

  Usually Bernard did the honors, but this year he and Marian had decided to confer that award upon Alan.

  When informed of this decision, he stared at them incredulously and almost refused, until Marian told him he could not.

  “It’s an honor you can’t give back,” she told him, laughter lighting her eyes. “It is terribly de trop to try to give back honors, you know. All you need do is remember the red ribbons go to the girls and the green ones to the boys. They’ll take care of the rest,”

  Her laughter swayed him. She really did have the most incredibly blue eyes, Alan decided as he gallantly fetched the first gift from beneath the tree and handed it to the first tot standing nearby with mouth open in astonishment. It was quite unfair of Marian to have blue eyes. He had always thought blue the loveliest of colors. And he was glad that she had worn the blue gown today. Perhaps she, too, was ready to release the bans of mourning.

  Children jumped excitedly all around him as Alan tried to hand out packages fast enough. Scrubbed faces, shining eyes, polished braids, and tight collars abounded. One impudent miss kissed his cheek, and a toddler crawled up in his lap when he sat down to reach the packages buried behind the tree. Bernard and Marian were there to steer off the more daring children who tried to get back in line for more, but most were so busy exclaiming with joy and laughter over their unwrapped presents that they didn’t have time for mischief.

  When the last of the packages was handed out and even the toddler in his lap had crawled off, Alan felt exhaustion seeping through him, but it was a good exhaustion, a happy one, one that he had missed for longer than he could remember. Closing his eyes briefly and stretching his knee prior to making the attempt to stand, he felt a warm body huddling at his back and knew instantly who he had missed.

  Opening his eyes, he turned and pulled little John from beneath the branches. The disappointment in the child’s eyes nearly erased all the happiness he had just been feeling. Glancing quickly to see Marian and her mother engrossed in their endless tasks, Alan held a finger to his lips to indicate quiet, then staggering to his feet, caught the boy’s grubby hand and led him through the crowd.

  If anyone noticed, they made no indication as the two of them slipped past Bess and George in the doorway to make the descent of the long staircase. Alan lifted John to the banister, and holding him tight, let him slide to the bottom. It was something he had wanted to do himself, and the child’s glee was worth every ache he would suffer later from the run.

  But the banister wasn’t his goal. He had meant to wait until later to distribute his gifts for the Chadwick family, but little John would no doubt be in his bed by then, and Alan was highly uncertain as to Elena Chadwick’s reaction to this gift in her house in any case. So it was much better now, with just the two of them, while everyone was too busy to notice they were missing.

  The cold night air was crisp and brilliant as man and child hurried across the cobbled drive outside the stable. No horses whinnied their greetings when they entered the musty barn. They breathed in centuries of hay dust as John clung trustingly to Alan’s hand while they traversed the long corridor to one of the center stalls. Once this place would have been warm with the heat of a dozen horses and all the grooms and stable lads who cared for them. That time was gone, but the barn seemed to be sitting there, waiting for them. Alan drew in a sharp breath at the thought, then threw open the door to the stall he had marked the night before.

  He should have brought a lantern, but the chinks of moonlight from outside seemed to be sufficient for childish eyes. John gave a cry of ecstasy and fell to his knees, his hands hovering wishfully over the tiny brown puppies cuddled up beside their mother.

  The mother dog sniffed carefully at Alan as he kneeled beside her, and satisfied with his familiar scent, made no objection when he lifted one of the sleeping puppies into John’s hands. The animal was just a stray the gatekeeper had allowed in, but she had an intelligent collie’s face and looked as if she had once been a pampered pet. With all this empty barn to fill, Alan had seen no reason why the dog couldn’t stay. And there were a half dozen squirming little reasons for him to bring John here.

  “The puppies have to stay with their mama right now, because they’re too little to eat by themselves. But when they get bigger, you can have one if you’d like. You’ll have to ask your mama if it’s all right, but I’m sure she’ll let you visit them here.”

  “Can I keep them?” The child looked up to him with hungry eyes, eyes that knew better than to hope but couldn’t resist hoping still.

  “All of them?” Alan laughed. “They will be as big as you are before long. Where would you put all of them?”

  “Here,” he announced firmly. “They belong here. Where is their daddy?”

  That was a tricky question, one he wasn’t prepared to answer. How did one explain to a child of five that life was uncertain, that daddies didn’t always stay where they were supposed to be, that eventually even mommies and sisters and brothers sometimes went away? And wives. And boyfriends. Life happened, and one went on.

  Alan lifted another pup to his shoulder and felt the rasp of a tiny tongue against his neck. “I don’t know where their daddy is. Maybe God sent us to be their daddies. Do you think so?”

  That simple notion went down well. Little John nodded firmly and happily. “I’ll take care of them. What do we feed them?”

  The child could talk, then. As Alan explained they wouldn’t need to feed them right away, John interrupted with a dozen different questions. As he took the child’s hand and led him back toward the departing party, John chattered as excitedly as any of the others spilling from the Hall right now. It wasn’t a miracle, but it was a warmth that Alan kept to himself even as he greeted the others and helped load weary children into wagons and carriages for the ride home.

  When it came time to help the Chadwicks into their ancient barouche and it was quite apparent there wouldn’t be room for him, Alan waved them off with hearty reassurances of the rented hack waiting for his return. Then he watched them drive off, heard the laughter and chatter spilling behind them as the carriage rolled away, and felt the towering loneliness of the empty Hall at his back. That was when he began to doubt if he could go through with this.

  He wanted to stay, but the home he had in mind wasn’t the grandiose building he turned toward now. The home he wanted was rolling away on cracked wheels and sagging springs.

  * * * *

  “Alan, how lovely! You really shouldn’t have.” Elena Chadwick held up the soft folds of the brilliant cashmere shawl, her delight evident in the way her hands stroked the warm wool.
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  “I wanted to. You have given me a Christmas to remember wherever I go. I’ll not likely ever forget your generosity to a stranger.” Alan came to his feet as his hostess did.

  “That is what I meant to do,” she replied with satisfaction, kissing his cheek lightly. “Now I’ll go see that the children are settled in bed. It’s been a long day. Don’t keep my daughter up too late.”

  Embarrassed at her mother’s obvious ploy, Marian stared into the dying embers of the fire after she had gone. Cups for the wassail they had enjoyed after returning from midnight services needed to be returned to the kitchen, but they could wait until morning. Satiated with the happiness of the day’s activities, she couldn’t bring herself to call the day at an end. She wouldn’t admit that the man crossing the room toward her could be part of the reason she wished to linger.

  “You haven’t opened your gift,” Alan said softly as he took the cushion beside her on the sofa. He had been aware all evening that she was sitting there instead of in her usual chair. He hadn’t dared take advantage of the opportunity until now.

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Marian replied, in the same whispers as he. “I have had so much happiness this day, I feel as if I ought to postpone some of it for another time.”

  “I know the feeling.” Alan took the gift from her fingers and set it aside. “The gift is too paltry for all that I have been given this day. I can remember many happy Christmases at home with my family, but I cannot remember one like this. I keep thinking ...” He hesitated, uncertain whether he wished to reveal his deepest desires right now. But the day had stripped away his caution. He wanted someone else to share his happiness. “I keep thinking perhaps I ought to make my home here. I’m not certain I want to go back.”

  Surprised and not a little cheered at this prospect, Marian turned to meet Alan’s gaze. The warmth and the question in his eyes made her shiver with apprehension, and she fought to remain practical. “Has the idea of the factory so caught your interest then?” she asked demurely.