by Sharon Sobel
Chapter Seven
ON CHRISTMAS EVE morning Deervale Hall bustled with such activity that the day went by almost in a blur.
“Sophy claims she needs no presents,” Barclay joked with his companions that morning over breakfast, “but perhaps someone might give her proper skating lessons before the season is over.”
By late morning, after making decisions for Maggie in the kitchen, Sophy removed herself from the activity downstairs and made her way to her mother’s bedchamber. Lady Fairfax sat by the window, blanketed in sunlight that warmed the room as it patterned the carpet and bathed Sylvan’s wagging tail in a golden glow. On the table before her mother sat a tray with a cup of chocolate. A flowered plate held assorted rolls with raspberry preserves and bacon.
Removed from the holiday bustle, her mother looked completely at peace and appeared well on her way to recovery from her fall. The atmosphere was so inviting Sophy pulled up a chair beside her, wishing she might take refuge there for the rest of the day.
“Good morning, Sophy,” her mother greeted her with a wistful gaze, turning back to the view of the gardens beyond her window. “There is something in the magic of morning that makes me wish it might last the entire day, especially a day such as this. If only your father were alive to see it.” She smiled sadly, turning back to Sophy. “But, of course, the afternoon has its charms as well, and Christmas Eve day particularly. But never mind that. I’m sure the letter you received from the mission is on your mind.”
Sophy felt so guilty raising the subject that she tried to think of another to bring up, but there was no avoiding the matter. Before she could speak her mother continued, “I’m so glad the society has found a suitable chaperone for you. It seems everything has turned out as you wanted.”
The finality in her voice tugged at Sophy’s heart. Mama’s willingness to sacrifice her own care so Sophy could follow her heart to America was almost more than she could bear.
“Mama, that’s why I’ve come. It’s turned out as I’d hoped, but many things have changed since I wrote that letter to the ministry.”
Her mother gazed at her in surprise. “But your plans are all set. You no longer need crutches. The slight limp you still have will go away in time. All that’s left to do is send your letter of acceptance.”
Sophy searched for the words she had not yet been able to articulate even to herself. “But it has been so wonderful to see the children again, and I worry about leaving you, and—”
Her mother cut in at once. “You must not worry about my health, Sophy,” she said adamantly, “and I mean it. I have a house full of servants who have nothing better to do than wait on me. Isn’t that enough to convince you to follow your heart? It’s obvious you were meant to teach.”
“My deepest devotion is to you and our family.” Sophy’s voice quavered as she managed a smile. While she agreed with her mother’s assessment of her talents, she recognized the truth of her own words.
“You have my blessing on this, darling. Don’t let me be the reason you sacrifice your dream.” Her mother hesitated before releasing a sigh. “I never told you this, or anyone for that matter, but before I married your father I was a fairly accomplished artist.”
Sophy began to recall the few occasions from childhood when she had watched her mother make use of the light in the drawing room to sketch the landscape beyond their window. Her mother had been able to capture the scene vividly. She was so talented Sophy wondered why she had not spent more time in artistic pursuits.
“I remember some of your drawings,” Sophy said. “They were very good. It always surprised me that none of them were hanging on the walls here at home.”
Her mother’s face held the shadow of a smile. “Your father considered it unseemly for me to waste my time sketching. He thought it improper that women should do anything other than care for their children. Not that I minded, of course. Spending time with all of you was my greatest joy.” She shrugged. “Looking back, I cannot see why I could not have managed both.”
“You would have done both splendidly,” Sophy concurred feelingly.
She was silent for a moment, dismayed by her father’s reluctance to allow her mother the artistic freedom she craved. Her mother’s next words stunned her even more.
“That is why you must travel to America as planned,” her mother insisted, taking hold of Sophy’s hands and gripping them tightly. “Doctor Evans expects no change in my condition in the few months in which you will be gone. His concerns are for the future. I was not allowed to pursue my dreams. I will not let you make the same mistake. The time to follow your heart is now while you are young, before you have a family of your own.” She released Sophy’s hands. “I want you to write that letter today.”
Sophy felt herself shaking within. Despite her own confusion, the best advice she received was always her mother’s. Even if she doubted herself, she had no reason to doubt Mama now.
“Thank you, Mama,” she murmured, humbled into acceptance as she gave her mother a quick embrace. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
Her mother’s smile was laced with humor and affection as she squeezed her hand. “You never have, child. You won’t now.”
Sophy rose and hugged her mother before leaving her to her breakfast, her heart still unsettled. She might not be letting her mother down, but there were others who did not understand her as well as Mama did and would not see things the same.
The announcement of her decision became progressively more difficult as the day progressed. Sophy broke the news to Barclay in passing on the staircase, telling him the long-awaited letter had come and she planned to accept.
Her heart tightened as she watched his face fall before he pulled himself together, no doubt putting her welfare first. She berated herself for not being a more loyal sister. She wished she had been home when her brothers had received Mama’s diagnosis.
“I’m glad, Soph,” he said with a lopsided smile. “It’s what you hoped for. You’re a dedicated teacher. They’re lucky to have you.”
As difficult as breaking the news to Barclay had been, the moment seemed less poignant that afternoon when she carried Christmas decorations downstairs and saw Jeremy talking in low tones with Barclay in the great hall. Their sudden hesitation to speak as they glanced awkwardly in her direction pricked her conscience. Guilt mixed with regret flooded through her as she hurried past them, relieved at the jocularity that filled the drawing room where her sisters-in-law and their guests had gathered.
She remained in the farthest corner of the drawing room, refraining from partaking in refreshments or sharing in the merriment. It was enough to hear their laughter in this season of comfort and joy as she placed the Christmas greens in the windows and about the room. Comfort and joy was what she needed most now, and she would find both in the American routine to which she had grown accustomed and to which she would return.
Ready for another task to help her pass the hours in this emotionally draining day, she was startled to come face to face with Jeremy as she left the drawing room and stepped into the entry hall. He closed the doors behind her.
“I understand you’ve decided to return abroad after the holidays,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m disappointed, Sophy.”
“I decided some time ago,” she said firmly, “and I see no reason to change my mind. I’m sorry if that doesn’t meet with your approval, but it is only for a matter of months until the Mission Society can find someone to take my place. Would you have me do otherwise? It is where my heart lies.”
“And apparently your destiny as well.” Jeremy’s next words were crisp and his voice challenging, as if he expected her to answer to charges. “I know you’ve given adequate consideration to your future, but you’ve forgotten your past. Your mission includes no provision for your mother. It’s unfortunate your sense of charity doesn’t extend to those who
love you most.”
Sophy felt her neck burn with anger. She could not begin to fathom the cause of Jeremy’s irritation. While his mother had passed away during his absence in the war, it could not be compared to her situation. Was it anger that she had chosen to leave him for America? If he loved her that deeply, she mused, he should make an effort to express his emotions more directly.
“My mother shall remain here in the joint care of Barclay and Doctor Evans while I am away,” she returned. “She has given me her blessing. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“What would you expect her to say? Spending your days on another continent seems rather unfair, especially when your family has been most generous.” His tone turned icy as Sophy continue to burn. “Your time abroad has given you confidence, but it appears to have robbed you of the kindness you possessed as a child. I did not know you could be so heartless.”
“If anyone has been heartless,” she whispered, “it is you.”
Her frustration overflowing, Sophy lacked the ability to control her speech or emotions. She stormed upstairs, beyond words in the face of Jeremy’s criticism.
Did he not understand she needed time to adjust to her decision to return to England within a few short months and perhaps seek companionship in marriage upon her return? Her mother had at least been kind enough to remember her calling. Despite her advice, doubt lingered. The thought of not returning to America was somehow not as disappointing as it had been.
Although Jeremy could not know it, she still debated her decision. His method of discussion was selfish and insulting. She had attempted to make him understand her point of view, and although he had been kind to her, she had obviously failed to convey adequately the disappointment she felt upon having to change her goals. After hearing his low opinion of her she was forced to face a realization of her own.
Jeremy St. Laurent was, once again, the one who should be left in the past.
Sophy filled the late afternoon hours by putting decorative touches in the drawing room. While setting candles about the room and edging the sideboard with strands of ivy added to the festive appearance, it failed to improve her mood. Her sisters-in-law moved about, discussing tomorrow’s dinner in low tones and contemplating a seating arrangement that would please everyone. Glad they were preoccupied, Sophy gazed out the window, trying to bring the turmoil she felt under control.
She was standing in the oriel window when she realized the twilight of another Christmas Eve had fallen over the landscape. In the lantern light she watched the sparkling snow fall gently, as if time were of no consequence, blanketing the gardens and covering the flagstone paths in pristine white, making everything new. Briefly, she wished she could live the past few days over again, if only to find a way to spend them better.
Her solitude was broken by the boisterous exclamations of Barclay, the three suitors, and Arabella as they burst into the room, their presence heralding the start of Christmas Eve. Soon afterward, the children joined them to prepare for the family’s favorite tradition of celebrating the coming year by bringing in the yule log.
The anticipation Sophy saw in the eyes of Teddy and Emily lifted her spirits. At the same time, she felt a pang of regret at having been away last Christmas Eve. How much she had missed. The excitement the children felt shone clearly in their animated faces and their giggles. Sophy found her own heart reverting back to childhood as the evening wore on.
Soon all had gathered to await the arrival of the yule log. The children waited as patiently as possible in the drawing room, the women listening to the laughter of the men as they struggled to drag in the thick tree trunk they had cut in the forest to fulfill the tradition.
“We’ve outdone ourselves this year,” Barclay gasped, as he helped haul the massive log to the fireplace.
Teddy and Emily clapped at the sight of the log, ribbons attached, as the men deposited their find in the hearth. The group admired the trunk as the men paused to catch their breath.
The log must have been especially heavy, Sophy mused, for it had taken the efforts of two of her brothers as well as Barclay’s three friends and Jeremy to drag it indoors. Amused, she wondered if they were all needed or if they had chosen to participate for the sake of tradition. With a pang of regret, she noticed that Jeremy, while included in the ritual, remained on the far side of the room where he and she could not antagonize each other.
“I trust Mother had the foresight to save pieces from last year’s log,” Eddie said, “so we might light this one properly.”
Watching as the new yule log was lit with the remains from last year, Sophy put aside her troubles and found herself swept up in the sentiment of the moment. She was glad she had chosen to wear her favorite winter dress of green velvet with narrow satin ribbons down the front that were decorated with tiny mauve silk roses. Christmas Eve was meant for festivities like these, she reminded herself, meant to be spent with family. She watched as Harry said a blessing over the yule log, welcoming it by dousing it with wine.
Those gathered for the ceremony fell silent, lost in reverent reflection as the log caught and crackled with the promise of another holiday together. Soon the sparks would become a fire hearty enough to warm the coldest winter night. Teddy and Emily had found it difficult to stay out of the kitchen all week and allow the staff to perform their tasks without interruption. Now they had insisted Maggie join them for the lighting of the yule log. They cuddled in the cook’s ample lap, watching the hypnotic flames.
“Do you know why this night is special?” Maggie asked them.
“Because it’s the night Jesus was born,” Emily replied.
“That’s right. And at midnight,” Maggie said softly, “all the sheep in the fields turn and bow toward the East.”
“Shouldn’t they be in the barn keeping warm?” Teddy asked with concern.
When the laughter and exclamations of affection had subsided Susannah piped up. “That’s what you told us last year, Maggie,” she said, curled up beside the cook. “I like hearing your stories.”
“I’d best return to the kitchen and leave you wee bairns to your holiday,” Maggie announced. “It’s said bread baked tonight never turns moldy, so I must get to work.”
“Isn’t that just a superstition?” Jonathan asked, skepticism in his voice.
“If you’ll be wanting some fresh bread tomorrow you’d better not say such a thing,” Maggie warned with a wink before she left.
“And here we all are,” Harry said meditatively, as quiet fell over the room, “for another Christmastide together.”
“I hope Thomas and Dolly are managing in all this snow,” their mother said in a worried voice. “Dolly must be nearly ready to give birth.”
“They’re fine. I rode to Riggs’s cottage to see if they needed anything when the snow began falling this afternoon,” Jeremy said, his deep resonant voice startling Sophy. She felt so relaxed she had momentarily forgotten his presence. She kept her back to him, retaining a distance on the far side of the room.
Now that she had made the commitment, at least emotionally, to return to her mission work for the next few months, she was content to stand apart from the others. It was time to take in the sights and scents of Christmas so that she might have the memories to hold close once she was absent from her loved ones.
She was saved from further reflection when the steaming punch was carried in from the kitchen and set by the hearth where the women bustled about, readying some for the children. It was followed by the lamb’s wool, reserved for the adults. The aroma of the hot ale with its roasted apples, sugar, and spiced pieces of toast floating on top was another sign that Christmas had truly arrived. The fragrance of bay, rosemary, and laurel filled the house, adding the magical touch so familiar from years past.
As Jane ladled out punch, whistling winds from outside penetrated a lull in the conversat
ion, making the group gather closer to the hearth.
“It’s fortunate we are all safe and sound indoors,” Harry said, “for no one shall reach us on a night such as this.”
They were all surprised soon after when their closest neighbors, a couple who lived a half-mile down the lane, knocked on the door. Next a family from further away in the village called, having arrived by sleigh. Despite the servants’ efforts to keep the children inside at the festivities where they belonged, the children bundled up and ran outdoors to greet the horses and see to their comfort in the stable before returning indoors to play with their guests.
Almost before they knew it, a cluster of friends and neighbors that included their minister had gathered in the drawing room to exchange holiday wishes. When Sophy looked about the room she saw familiar faces she had known all her life, many grayer now and infirm but smiling heartily as they embraced one another. Old friends expressed such delight at seeing Sophy again and were so eager to hear her stories of the New World that after telling her tales she was enthusiastic to hear theirs.
Looking about, she realized family, servants, and neighbors had gathered, regardless of class. It was rather like America, she thought. The Peninsular War had ended, and everyone was happy and shared the spirit of good will toward men.
Her mother, delighted at being surrounded by villagers, clergy, and family, took her seat at the spinet and played the carols so familiar to those gathered. Voices, both melodically high and sonorously low, in tune and out, joined in a harmonious union to celebrate the season with verses from the traditional hymns.
Afterward, the guests departed contentedly, having sung the songs they had sung every Christmas Eve for as long as Sophy could remember. Their visitors wished everyone Happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year, bidding each other farewell until tomorrow when they would greet each other in church. Sophy was sorry to see them go, for it meant she would have to wait until tomorrow to talk with them again.
Having seen them off at the door, she returned to the warmth of the enormous hearth. As she walked into the drawing room, her eyes fell upon the painting over the fireplace that her father had commissioned so many years ago. While arranging holly and ivy about the frame earlier she had remembered how much its subject once meant to her. The oil painting featured trees in a sunlit glade on the property where she and her brothers used to ride when they were young.
