A Gerrard Family Christmas

by Rebecca Connolly

  The only audience was the goat trudging through the snow behind him, and he did not seem to notice Kit’s agitation whatsoever.

  “Why in the world would anyone want a goat for Christmas?” Kit asked the wintery scene, which was actually a great deal worse than he’d thought it would be. The snow was still falling heavy and thick, and the temperature was quickly dropping.

  The trouble with being in one of the more remote corners of Yorkshire was that they were also higher in elevation than the rest of Yorkshire and therefore experienced harsher weather, particularly in the winter. England had a rather temperate climate, all things considered, and rarely was winter cruel.

  Only a few years ago they had experienced one such winter, but that had been the first in some time.

  It seemed fitting that this year, having opted for a retreat in Yorkshire, they should have to deal with all of this, too.

  Whatever magic he had ever considered a snow covered Christmas to be, he was convinced there was none to it now.

  “Goat cheese would have been a decent enough present,” Kit said aloud, crunching through more snow on the road towards the village and tenants. “Goat’s milk, not so much, but more understandable. An actual goat?”

  He looked back at the animal, who seemed oddly delighted to be out in the snow. “Can you even eat goat?”

  The goat looked at him balefully, and Kit nodded once.

  “Probably. I bet you taste like weaker, tougher lamb.”

  The insult was lost on the goat.

  Kit shook his head and let himself release a loud, agitated growl that echoed in the silent, wintery hills around him. It felt good, he’d admit that, but he also felt like a fool.

  He could have had the horses hitched up to a sleigh and driven the blasted goat back to Mr. Matthews. In hindsight, that probably would have made more sense than marching out here bundled up and returning the goat on foot. Why, he could have had one of the servants deliver the animal and washed his hands of the whole thing.

  But he had ordered the goat to be returned in that manner only a few hours ago, and it had not been done.

  This way, at least, he would see the deed done properly.

  There was no need to put more people and resources to work when it really was quite a simple errand.

  Yes, the snow was tiring and taxing. Yes, the air was cold and crisp and he wished he had bundled up more. Yes, the goat was an aggravating creature that did not wish to be moved at times. But all of that was irrelevant because surely being out in the cold with no one to upset or distress would do Kit some good. This was action, and he would not be waiting with limited patience for his carefully constructed plans to come to fruition.

  This was just a way for him to waste time until the real Christmas events could take place.

  Had he wanted to be walking a goat back to its original owner on Christmas Eve in the snow? Not exactly, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

  Kit looked down at the goat, who was now at his side. “It’s nothing personal, you know. I don’t know you well enough to have this be personal.”

  The goat said nothing, which came as a relief to him, as he was currently also wondering about his sanity.

  “I’m sure you are a very good goat, if such a thing exists.”

  Silence again.

  “I’m just not in a position to have a goat in my life in any capacity,” Kit explained, “and certainly not as a pet. You understand.”

  The goat made a soft bleating noise that sounded rather like an acknowledgement, so Kit accepted it as such.

  “Good lord,” Kit muttered with a derisive shake of his head. “Did I just have a dissolution of an understanding with a goat?”

  Again came a bleating sound.

  “That is not helpful, goat,” Kit snapped. “I will have you roasted yet.”

  A weaker bleat came from the goat, but Kit was very careful to not respond to it.

  There was nothing to be gained from conversing with a goat.

  Kit did not say another word aloud until he could see Mr. Matthews’ farm, and he was entirely unprepared for the elation that filled him.

  “Ah ha!” he cried. “A finer sight I have never seen in my life, I swear it.” He tried to pick up his pace, but the goat had decided that he had gone far enough and sat down.

  Kit glared at the creature. “Are you serious right now? Home is there. Warmth is there. Food is there, and you want to remain right here? In this spot?”

  The goat stared at him without blinking.

  Kit glowered, wishing he were not quite so honorable. “I would leave you here to freeze in the snow or be devoured by some dangerous creature,” he told the stubborn creature, “but I could not answer to Ginny if I did that, and I cannot lie to her. So please get up and get moving.”

  The lack of response was more aggravating than the reappearance of the goat in the first place.

  “Ugh!” Kit groaned loudly. “I did not want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” He lunged for the goat and scooped him up in his arms, carrying him away as swiftly as he could.

  “Do not get hair on this coat,” Kit grunted. “And do not let your unpleasant odor rub off on it.”

  He shook his head and pressed forward with as much vigor as he dared in the slippery terrain. “This is not how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve, you cursed animal.”

  The goat made an odd growling noise.

  “And the same to you, sir,” Kit snapped.

  A figure appeared from the barn and started jogging towards him. “Mr. Gerrard?”

  “Mr. Matthews,” Kit called, not bothering to hide his relief. “I have come to ask a favor.”

  Mr. Matthews paused at the sight of Kit holding the goat. “Humphrey?”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. I have enough to say on the matter that this creature came to be in my sister’s possession, let alone that she named him. But it is Christmas and I do not want to deal with this now. Will you kindly tend to this goat until I can figure out what in the world to do?”

  Mr. Matthews took the goat quickly, looking more than a little ashamed. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. A thousand apologies, sir.”

  Kit shook his head and brushed himself off. “Thank you.” He paused in the brushing and gave the man an incredulous look. “And what in the world were you thinking, selling a goat to an eight-year-old girl?”

  “I know, sir, I know,” Mr. Matthews sighed heavily, his thick accent rumbling deep in his chest. “I would never have done so normally, but…” He winced and then looked at Kit with widened eyes. “Sir, have you ever tried to say no to that little sister of yours?”

  Kit stared at him for a long moment, then gave a reluctant chuckle. “Why do you think I am asking you to tend him instead of take him back?”

  Chapter Twelve

  "I don’t want to hear about the stupid Yule log!”

  “It’s not stupid.”

  “It’s just a log!”

  “Ginny, it’s tradition!”

  “Not my tradition!”

  “You’re in enough trouble for not doing as you were told with the goat, so if I were you, I would be quiet and listen.”

  “You gave away Humphrey!” Ginny wailed, no actual tears forming.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ginny,” Rosie cried, throwing up her hands. “He didn’t give the stupid goat away. He just gave it to Mr. Matthews for safe keeping, like he said.”

  Ginny gasped in outrage. “Humphrey is not stupid!”

  “Well, Rosie is, so it may be catching,” Freddie mused from his seat in a chair.

  “Freddie!” his parents scolded together.

  “I’m smarter than you, numbskull,” Rosie spat, flicking something at Freddie.

  Ginny let loose with another tearless wail. “I want Humphrey!”

  “You can see him tomorrow,” Marianne tried to soothe. “I’ll take you myself.”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “I didn’t give him away, Ginny. He’s still
ours, he’s just in a place where someone can take care of him until we can.”

  “I want Humphrey here!” Ginny cried.

  Bitty covered her ears. “Why is everybody shouting?”

  “That is enough!” Kit bellowed.

  The room was silent, everybody staring at him in surprise.

  “I do not want to hear one more word about a goat, or anybody being stupid, or anything about not wanting to do something for Christmas,” Kit announced, his voice still louder than it ought to have been, his head feeling as though it might explode if his family didn’t behave with an ounce of decorum.

  Ginny sniffled once, and he glared at her, his breath seething through his nostrils.

  “It is Christmas,” he snapped, “and we will do the Christmas traditions, and it will be perfect, and we will all be happy! Understood?”

  Marianne looked as though she were going to say something to him, but she clamped down on her lips, her eyes saying quite enough.

  He knew full well he was out of control, but he was completely at his wit’s end, and enough was enough.

  “Happy!” he repeated for emphasis.

  Rafe looked up at him and grinned. “Happy, Papa!”

  Kit looked down at his son, who had just effectively ruined the serious nature of his tirade, as now a few people in the room were snickering.

  “Yes, Rafe,” Kit sighed, his hands going to his hips. “Happy.”

  Rafe nodded and went back to the blocks at his feet.

  Kit looked at Colin, who sat next to Susannah on a sofa. He had a suspiciously blank expression, but his eyes were trained on Kit. “Happy,” Colin repeated obediently.

  He could throttle Colin. That might make an excellent Christmas present to himself. He’d have to get to him, though, and there were four children and a table in his way. Not to mention that Susannah was sitting next to him, and he really didn’t want to hurt her. He’d always liked Susannah a great deal.

  Well, maybe not when she broke Colin’s heart and in the intervening years when he considered her the greatest evil in the world, behind the actual devil and his father, who were in somewhat of a draw for the position.

  But that was all past now, and he knew better.

  Throttling Colin would be an excellent use of his hands and his time.

  A soft clearing of the throat brought Kit back around. Marianne was giving the sort of look that told him to get on with it, and for a brief moment, he thought she might actually be telling him to throttle Colin.

  Which would have been perfect.

  But he suspected that wasn’t it.

  “The Yule log,” Marianne said at last. “We’re waiting to hear.”

  “Right,” he replied at once. “The Yule log.” He looked around at everyone, who watched him warily.

  Well, some attention was better than none, he supposed.

  “It’s an old tradition,” Kit began, “so it holds a great deal of meaning. It’s a favorite tradition of many, many families in England and Scotland, France, Bavaria, and several other countries in Europe. No one really knows how it started, but it is very, very important to do it properly if you want good luck in the coming year.”

  “Do what?” Bitty asked, looking completely lost. “What do you do with it?”

  “Ask it to dance,” Rosie muttered.

  “Enough, Rose,” Colin interjected quickly before Kit could round on her.

  Kit thanked him with a look.

  “This log was brought in today by some of our farm hands,” Kit explained, trying for a patient and instructive tone. “In just a moment, we will anoint it with salt, oil, and wine.”

  “Are we supposed to eat it?” Ginny blurted out, looking appalled.

  Kit exhaled slowly, counting to five in three languages. “No, Ginny. We are not eating it.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said with a heaving sigh, grinning up at Rosie, who looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

  Colin was barely keeping it together at this point, but he still watched Kit as if truly paying attention.

  The effort was something, at least.

  “We light the Yule log,” Kit ground out, his teeth beginning to ache from pressing together, “with splinters or remnants from last year’s log. This begins the bringing of good luck.”

  Freddie raised his hand, frowning deeply.

  He was never going to make it through this. “Yes, Freddie?” he sighed, grateful that at least he hadn’t blurted something out as everyone else had.

  “Did we have a Yule log last year?” Freddie asked, then looking back at his father for confirmation.

  Colin very studiously kept his attention on Kit, his clamped lips white, his frame slightly shaking.

  “No, we did not,” Kit admitted.

  “So are we going to have bad luck?” Freddie persisted.

  “I don’t want bad luck!” Bitty gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks.

  “Me neither!” Ginny shrieked as she covered her head.

  “I think I already have it,” Rosie muttered.

  Colin squeaked and buried his head against Susannah, who patted his leg as she shook her head.

  Kit looked heavenward, praying he would survive the evening. “We are not going to bring bad luck. Some of our tenants had spare remnants of their Yule log from last year, and they offered to let us use part.”

  Freddie frowned still. “Will that work?”

  Suddenly Kit quite understood what Colin had been saying that morning about irksome questions. “Yes,” he said bluntly. “Yes, it will still work. The family assured me they have had very good luck all year, so it is a good log to use.”

  Bitty sighed with relief, and Ginny echoed it.

  Rosie looked as though she were going to die at any moment.

  Marianne rubbed at her brow.

  Rafe and Matthew started tossing blocks at Livvy, which seemed a terrible idea, but Kit didn’t care enough to tell them off.

  “Once the Yule log is lit,” Kit said quickly, sensing he was losing his audience, “the flames consume mistakes, faults, bad choices, and everything unlucky. Everyone in the house will be able to begin the new year without any mistakes at all, and will be protected from all of the bad luck. We will bring good luck to ourselves and to each other.”

  Rosie raised a hand, looking doubtful and sardonic, and Kit would have given a great fortune to not call on her.

  “Rosie,” he said stiffly, “do you have a legitimate question that will add to this discussion?”

  “Yes,” she snapped in a defensive tone.

  He nodded once. “Fine. Ask it.”

  “Is it possible to put bad luck on one person in the family instead of the good luck from lighting the log?” she asked, lifting a brow in an obvious dare. “Or is it all inclusive?”

  Kit stared at her, his jaw working as his teeth ground together more.

  “Shall we begin the, ah, anointing of the Yule log?” Colin asked quickly, scrambling to his feet. He pushed past the smaller children on the floor to the items on the table beside Kit. “Is this all that we need?”

  Kit just looked at Colin, still unable to speak.

  Colin nodded as though Kit had said something. “Excellent. Do we take turns? Not sure if that matters or not, but it is important that we do this properly.”

  “Take turns,” Kit managed to say, though that wasn’t something he’d ever heard or found in his research. It seemed a good idea though.

  Colin nodded again. “To make the experience more personal. I like it. Shall we have the little ones go first? Come here, boys. Rafe, Matthew, come on.”

  One by one each member of the family came up as directed by Colin, no one uttering a single word of complaint. Marianne had squeezed Kit’s hand as she came up, and he’d latched onto the sensation as a lifeline. He was convinced that only that touch had brought him back from the edge of madness he seemed to be so very near.

  When Colin had added his portion, he handed off the rest of
the wine to Kit. “Don’t drink it,” Colin muttered so only Kit could hear. “I’ll get you something stronger once the room is empty.”

  Kit gave him a tight nod, and turned to the log. “Please, please work,” he begged under his breath.

  Colin heard him, and uttered the faintest “Amen” known to man.

  Kit poured the rest of the wine on the log. The splinters from the borrowed Yule log remnants were handed to him and he lit them from a candle on the mantle.

  “Are you supposed to say something?” Colin asked quietly.

  “No clue.” Kit extended the now lit splinters towards the log.

  “Well, say something,” Colin hissed. “Make it up.”

  Kit nodded again. “I hereby light the Gerrard Family Yule log,” he said, sounding as official as he could. “May it bring us all of the goodness we deserve and more.”

  “Yes!” Bitty cried, apparently caught up in the moment.

  “Please!” Ginny echoed.

  Colin was back to trying not to laugh and said nothing.

  Kit shook his head, exhaled, then touched the splinters to the anointed log, setting them in their proper places.

  It took a moment, but eventually the fire grew and the aroma filled the room.

  Someone started applauding, and then the rest joined in, making the whole thing more momentous for Kit, and he felt his anger ebb away somewhat.

  He turned to face the family. “Now, this log has to say lit until at least the end of tomorrow. Anything shorter than that is absolutely bad luck. So we will need everyone to be watchful and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Ginny and Bitty were wide eyed and nodding, while everyone else just smiled.

  There. That was done. And he’d only bellowed at the family repeatedly and basically obliterated the true meaning of the tradition in the face of keeping the tradition itself. A tradition that he had absolutely no experience with and had not actually engaged in until this moment.

  How very merry of him.

  “Now what?” Rosie asked him, not sounding disgruntled for the first time in recent memory.

  Kit gripped the back of his neck. “That is all for the Yule log. There’s more tradition, but it won’t come until supper.”

  Colin clapped his hands together. “Yes. Supper will be in a couple of hours, and we will expect everyone to be properly dressed. I believe your Christmas ensembles have been pre-selected, and have all been perfectly pressed and arranged for you. We will let you know when the time comes to change, so in the meantime, just amuse yourselves however you see fit, and try to keep the good luck coming to us with good behavior, eh? We’ve just poured all of our bad on the log, surely we can behave for as long as it burns.”