Authors: Leen Elle
At dinnertime they ate until they couldn't possibly stuff in another bite and joined in the parlor once more. Betsy and her sister-in-law sat together at the piano, playing lively duets, while everyone else began to dance. Ethan and Mary were first on the floor, followed by Brook and Emy, John and Nora, and Mr. Lindsey and Sara. They waltzed and jigged and all were having a marvelous time. Partners were switched often and even Gail, with Nathaniel's insistence, joined in once in a while though she and Nathaniel spent most of the night teaching
themselves
to play cribbage.
By midnight everyone was tired and their stomachs were full, but it had surely been one of the most joyful Christmases in years. Brook's parents said their goodbyes, kissing each of the girls in turn and promising they'd visit again soon. Their carriage was waved off with shouts of goodbye, Brook remaining at the house for he'd be spending the night on the sofa.
Gradually, the girls drifted upstairs; their heads still caught in the faded music and their feet still tapping as if the dancing had never ended. John headed slowly around the house to each of the candles, his back aching as he leaned over to put out each flame. Betsy, humming to
herself
as she worked, washed all the dishes and cleared all the plates; she refused to receive help from any of the girls and said they all ought to go straight to bed. Brook was gathering blankets and pillows from the downstairs cupboard to set up his bed, while Ethan straightened up the parlor in an effort to relieve his mother of more housework. He helped Nathaniel into his wheelchair and then offered to push him to his room, but much to Nathaniel's surprise and delight, his arm strength had come back enough that he was able to wheel himself around the house with little effort. He headed off to his room with a "No, thank you" and a "Goodnight" to Ethan. And finally, just as Brook lied down upon the sofa, Betsy finished her kitchen work and bid him sweet dreams as she walked slowly upstairs.
The only person still out of bed now was John, whose old age prevented him from moving around so easily. He stood in the library and dragged his feet over to the window where one last candle sat, its crimson wax nearly all melted by now. The small, flickering flame cast a subtle glow across the grand room, softly lighting up the titles of John's beloved books, and created dancing shadows on the wall opposite.
He stepped closer to gaze out the window, rejoicing in the lovely winter's night. Far in the distance, he could just make out a gathering of pine trees, their boughs so perfectly covered in snow it looked as though they'd been painted white. The sky was clear and millions of stars lied above, twinkling innocently. He tried to count them for a moment, but it was impossible, tried to make out a constellation, but could only find the easiest- Orion from his belt. The moon was nothing but a tiny sliver lying just beyond the hills, a silent reminder that the day had ended and Christmas was over until next year. With a sigh and a sleepy smile, John blew out the candle and headed off to bed.
*****
The following day, the family had once again gathered in the parlor. Although they were nearly as joyous as the day before, the liveliness and the noise and the undeniable felicity had been consciously subdued. They were joined together quietly, cups of tea scattered about, their gifts still lying around the room, and the tree still looking and smelling quite as well as it had on Christmas.
Betsy and Mary sat together on the chaise, their knitting needles clicking as they chattered and gossiped. Unfortunately, their progress on the sweaters they were constructing was horribly detained as their mouths moved faster than their needles.
Ethan and John were playing a skillful game of chess while Nathaniel and Gail sat beside them playing checkers. While father and son played slowly, carefully, and silently, examining each move from all angles and always hesitating their placements, young Gail and her invalid played quickly and absent-mindedly; although both were competitive and didn't want to lose, their constant bickering and mocking delayed the game immensely. Nora sat between the two games, gazing from one to the other with true interest, admiring the attentive playing of John and Ethan whilst enjoying the laughs and jokes coming from Nathaniel and Gail.
Brook and Emy were at the piano, though only Emy was playing. Her fingers glided gracefully across the keys as she played "Hark the Harold Angels" once more and sang along softly and sweetly. Brook sat beside her, though his knees were on the opposite side of the bench, and his notebook rested upon his lap. He was sketching the Christmas tree quietly, careful to not miss a single ornament or branch.
And Sara, our poor Sara, sat on her own beside the fireplace with her back leaned up against its reddish-brown bricks. Already she'd immersed herself in the pile of books she'd been given by John. Nearly halfway through the first, its leather binding cushioned against her knees and close to her chest, she was reading like a madwoman, scared that if she stopped her mind would race to other things. But it did nevertheless. No matter how hard she tried to deter it. And with a solemn gulp, chastising herself for being so spineless, she picked up the one thing that made her think of him more than anything,
Great Expectations
. Pushing back a strand of loose hair, she began to read the first sentence. Though his name was never mentioned, each word only brought his face to her memory.
*****
Near five o'clock, the fire was just beginning to burn down and
their were
no longer any logs piled beside the hearth. Ethan, though still distracted in the chess game, offered to head outside for more wood. But before he had the chance to pull his brain from knights and kings and squires, Nora had risen. She quickly offered to go herself, realizing she had nothing better to do at the moment, and Ethan was more than willing to let her.
Swiftly pulling on her coat and grabbing someone's gloves, she didn't quite know whose, she took the burlap sack from beside the fireplace and headed out the front door. Hugging herself against the cold, the snow falling at the perfect angle to shield her vision, Nora hung her head low in order to make out the woodpile beside the side of the house. When she'd reached it, she buttoned her coat, realizing she hadn't done so before, and began to drop logs into the sack, wishing she'd found her own gloves for these were far too large for her. They must belong to one of the men, she thought listlessly, probably Ethan though they might well be John's. Not Brook though, his hands were smaller than this; soft, white hands that moved as smoothly and beautifully as a dancer. One rarely notices the size and oddities of hands, but his were somehow etched into her memory. Perhaps it was because he used them so often and so visibly, drawing and playing the piano and painting. But then, for some strange reason, she also could really remember Zooey's hands well, from aboard Violet. She recalled how they'd always seemed too large for his body, and hopelessly freckled too.
As the sack filled, her mind continued on the rather boring, peculiar subject of hands. She was so distracted and the wind was howling so loudly, the snow still blowing straight into her chilled, pink face, she didn't even notice their arrival. Looking back, she couldn't imagine how she wouldn't notice it. But perhaps the snow had hidden the hack in white and since Nora hadn't lifted her head since first coming out, it was quite possible she just hadn't looked their way. Furthermore, the wind could have disguised the sound of the horse's hooves. Or, she realized, her mind may have simply paid no heed to the distant sound, thinking it held nothing worthy of her concern.
Nevertheless, Nora was still slowly picking out logs, lowering them into the sack and pulling at her oversized gloves. As she hummed herself a little tune, still thinking thoughtlessly of memorable hands, she heard his voice. It was loud, scratchy, undeniably his, barely reaching over the lamenting wind.
"Nora!" he shouted, a broad grin spreading across his face, "Nora!"
Nora straightened her back, placing her hands before her face to guard it from the snow. She asked wearily, hardly believing the word even as she spoke it, "Sawyer?"
He'd run up by then, his trousers soaked in melting snow, his gloves covered in holes, droplets of water dripping down the lenses of his glasses, and his hair more limp and ugly than ever. But nothing would have made him more perfect to Nora at that moment. Not one little detail. Removing his ragged hat politely, his voice lowered now, he said simply, bashfully, "I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, Nora."
But now, when he was so close and she could no longer doubt his presence, Nora didn't want to speak calmly and politely. Instead, she dropped the log she'd been holding, ignoring the pain that shot through her as it landed on her foot, and threw her arms around his neck shouting wistfully, "Sawyer! Oh Sawyer! I can't believe you're here! I really can't! Even when my arms are around you I can scarcely believe it! However did you get here? Are you alone? Oh do tell me you had as lovely a Christmas as mine! But oh . . . curse this throbbing foot."
"Are you alright?"
"It's nothing."
"Is it hurt?"
"There'll only be a tiny bruise, I'm sure. It's nothing to talk about. Not when you're here, Sawyer! I thought you were out at sea! I thought that surely you'd never turn around and come back to Brighton and I . . ."
It was just then that she saw a figure upon the porch and she knew without seeing his face or his eyes, simply by his mannerisms,
who
it must be and her eyes lit up. But before she could say a word to him the front door opened. Nora could barely make out the sleeve of Mary's dress as he was ushered inside, disappearing within the house.
Nora turned to Sawyer, beaming uncontrollably now, "Oh do tell me that was Charlie, Sawyer! Sara will be so glad to see him! You wouldn't believe how sad she's been since we arrived. Is it only the two of you? Where is Violet? Where are the sailors?"
"They're all in Brighton, near the harbor. We didn't think it'd be proper to bring everyone along, though they all wanted to, of course. The sailors are roaming about the shops now, I suppose, looking for amusement but I . . ."
"Oh I wish they'd all come! While you're in town you'll all have to come up! We can have ourselves a grand party, right here at the Lindsey's!"
Sawyer smiled, "I'm sure they'd like that."
"Do tell me you're all doing well!"
"Quite well.
And yourselves?"
"Wonderful," Nora's arms had been lingering around Sawyer's neck all this while, clasped loosely behind his head. With a saddened smile, she pulled him closer, "But I missed you, Sawyer.
Ever so much."
Sawyer, his face reddening, leaned down to give her a kiss as sweet and as heart-racing as the one they'd shared aboard the ship. And then he smiled and murmured unabashedly, "I missed you too, Nora."
Sawyer helped Nora over to the woodpile, her foot still throbbing, and sat her down on one of the lower stacks. With his arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the cold, they sat and they talked as though they'd never been separated at all. Nora had never felt happier.
The occupants of the Lindsey's parlor didn't stop their activities for a moment when they heard the knock upon the door. Its beat, though halted, reverberated through the house and yet no one rose to answer it. John and Ethan, still intently focused on their chess match, didn't stop their game; Nathaniel and Gail, with their continued merciless taunting of one another, were still playing cribbage; Emy's fingers never left the piano keys; Brook was hunched over his drawing, working at tree's shadow; and Sara's eyes never left the pages of her novel. Even those seated closest to the door, Betsy and
Mary,
didn't move for quite some time though they'd heard the knock clearly. Everyone in the room assumed that someone else would do the honor.