Treasure of the Celtic Triangle (14 page)

“I’m sorry, Edward,” said Katherine. “I didn’t mean to usurp your role as head of the family, not to mention as a minister. But I felt I needed to pray.”

“It was a beautiful prayer, Katherine,” said Edward. “It must be hard for you to celebrate Christmas with Roderick gone. And you, Adela—I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten how to pronounce your husband’s name.”

“Glythvyr,” said Adela with a quiet smile.

“Ah yes,” nodded Edward. “Well, God bless them both and bless their memories in your hearts.”

Both housekeeper and cook were also thinking of their husbands but said nothing.

Katherine had been taught by her parents, and had learned from her own experience, that the best antidote for personal sorrow is service to others. Midway through the meal she explained her scheme for the remainder of the day, and the day that would follow—a day when those of means traditionally boxed up gifts and food to share with those less fortunate. “Tomorrow is Boxing Day,” she began. “I have plans for us all. I want us to visit every home in the village, and the surrounding crofts, with gifts of good cheer. I have been ordering food and drink and gifts from purveyors throughout Wales and northern England. Regular shipments have been arriving at the manor for two months in preparation. I have also been keeping our ladies busy in the kitchen baking Christmas cakes and puddings. They probably thought I was preparing for seven years of famine!” She looked at Mrs. Llewellyn with a smile.

The housekeeper glanced toward Mrs. Drynwydd, and both ladies nodded their heads and returned her smile.

“So we will all pitch in this afternoon and tomorrow, preparing the hampers, and then tomorrow deliver them. I want someone from the manor to visit every house and cottage in Llanfryniog with a gift in remembrance of the season. We will take Christmas hampers to those most in need and a bottle of sherry or port to the rest. Hollin knows every man, woman, and child for miles around. He has been helping me with this. In addition, each household will receive ten pounds and a note personally from me.”

She paused. A far-off look came into her eye, followed by the rising of a few tears. “I’ve not told any of you this,” she said, “but several months after Roderick’s death, Mr. Murray surprised me by delivering to me a check for £1,000. He said it was from a life insurance policy Roderick had taken out. I had never heard of such a thing. I asked him what life insurance meant. He told me that Roderick had paid to have his life insured, such that if anything happened to him I would receive the amount in question. I still did not entirely understand. Roderick knew that I would not be in need. Yet for whatever reason, he chose to do it. I can only believe that he would be pleased if I were to use it, not for myself, but for our people. Therefore, I determined that I would use this money in some way that would reflect the love he had come to have late in his life for our community.”

Her voice became husky, and she brushed at her eyes. “Sometimes it is not until a person is gone,” she went on, “that we reflect on who they really were. We come perhaps to know them better in death in some ways even than we did in life. I want to honor the good that was in Roderick by telling the people that the gifts of these ten pound notes are from him, from money he left for me to use for the village he loved.”

When dinner was completed, the extended family of Westbrooke Manor, the three families of Westbrookes, Drummonds, and Muirs, along with those of the staff who lived at the manor, gathered in Katherine’s sitting room. In the last month it had become a warehouse of goods and wrapping supplies, with boxes of food and cases of sherry and port stacked everywhere. There they began the happy work of assembling and filling some fifty wicker hampers with cured hams, cheeses, crackers, biscuits, Christmas cakes and puddings, and other assorted edible treats to be enjoyed on New Year’s Day, a day of yet greater feasting and celebration, with many of its own unique traditions, even than Christmas itself. After she set the work in motion, Katherine sat down at a writing table on one side of the room and continued the task she had begun some days before of writing out nearly a hundred brief notes of Christmas greeting to be included with each gift along with a ten-pound note.

Conversation and laughter in the room was lively. Once Katherine had enlisted everyone, except Courtenay, in her plan, there was no more time for the intrusion of sadness. Occasionally Edward broke into song. He was immediately joined by the rest, usually in three- or four-part harmony, such that by nightfall, weary and content with their day’s work, they had sung nearly every Christmas hymn or carol in the hymnary.

Early in the evening, Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn slipped away. Half an hour later the rest took a break and went downstairs to enjoy the brief repast the two faithful ladies had set out—meats, breads, pies, cakes, and cheeses. Then again they returned upstairs and went back to work.

Conversation lasted late into the evening. Gradually sleepiness overtook the company. One after another rose, said good night, and retired in anticipation of the big day ahead of them on the morrow.

Steven and Hollin were in the barn by ten on the morning of Boxing Day hitching all available means of transport, which included the large and small carriages and two buggies. Percy soon joined them. By eleven the four horse-drawn vehicles stood outside the manor’s front door. Soon a processional was in progress between the upper room of preparation and the front of the house, while two or three of the men loaded the buggies. Several boxes were also loaded containing bottles of sherry and port, each tied with a ribbon. Knowing that most of the villagers would take the opportunity to sleep as long into the morning as possible, they did not begin their first excursions down the drive until just before one.

They reached town and split in four directions. With hampers or bottles in hand, each member of Katherine’s immediate family—herself, Edward, Mary, Percy, and Florilyn—began knocking on the doors of the cottages to personally deliver their gifts. Within an hour, the whole village was abuzz. No longer were knocks required. Doors were thrown wide in greeting before they reached them. At each home they found themselves enthusiastically invited in for drinks, sometimes for tea, occasionally for something stronger. With every visit their progress slowed. The villagers were beside themselves with eager gratitude to reciprocate with whatever means of hospitality were available to them. Had they allowed it, every home would have kept their visitors for an hour!

Meanwhile, Hollin, who had accompanied them to town, returned to the manor with the largest carriage, where Mrs. Drynwydd, Mrs. Llewellyn, Steven, Adela, and Broakes were all ready to load it with the second round of provisions. It was a bone-chilling day of gray skies that portended snow. But never are human hearts warmed more than when engaged in service, ministry, or goodness to others of their kind.

The busy transport and delivery of hampers and drink and monetary gifts continued all afternoon. Few at the manor or in the homes of the village even noticed the cold. Those homes Katherine visited personally considered themselves as honored as if the queen herself had appeared on their doorsteps. When the last hamper was delivered, and she, Edward, Mary, Florilyn, and Percy rode back up the hill to the manor in the deepening dusk, all five were exhausted from constant visiting with exuberant villagers.

The only difficulty presented by the day was the question of whom to deliver bottles of sherry to Madame Fleming and Mistress Chattan. None of the three women felt comfortable entering either of their two establishments. Edward therefore paid a brief call on the enigmatic Fleming, while Percy, confessing a begrudging fondness for her, delivered a bottle and the best wishes of the viscountess to the proprietress of the inn.

Late that evening, the vicar and his wife retired to their own room. Edward slipped his nightshirt over his head. “A long and tiring but satisfying Boxing Day, wouldn’t you say, my dear?” he said.

“Extraordinary is how I would describe it,” rejoined Mary. “The humble gratitude and hospitality of the people in town was like nothing I have ever seen. It’s not something one witnesses with regularity in Glasgow. They truly
love
your sister.”

“It warms my heart to realize it,” nodded Edward. “Especially after the loss of her husband.”

“I’m certain the holidays were difficult for her. She was probably thinking of Roderick. I noticed a quiet about the place this morning on the part of others as well. I felt that there was much sadness mingled with the joy of the day.”

“Christmas always brings memories and often disappointments. As blessed as we are now to be able to share the holiday one in heart with our son, I remember the pain of those Christmases when he was estranged from us. I ache for those who find Christmas a sad and lonely time. Katherine is now facing a double sorrow. Courtenay is certainly not being a true son to her in her time of need.”

“On Christmas Eve, he was rolling his eyes and had a sour look on his face when you were talking about Christmas and God’s fatherhood. Poor Katherine—how it must grieve her heart.”

“Yet in spite of it, she was thinking of what she could do to make the season special for others.”

Mary nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking that very thing all afternoon,” she said. “I admire your sister more than I can say. She did not let her own feelings keep her from reaching out to the community. She may not have
felt
the joy of Christmas in her own heart, but she
lived
what Christmas means—giving life and love to those around us. It was a memorable day. Katherine is indeed an amazing woman.”

It began to snow about midnight. By the first light of the following morning, all Gwynedd lay under a blanket of white.

T
WENTY
-T
WO

Farewell

E
dward, Mary, and Percy Drummond prepared to depart Westbrooke Manor for their return to Scotland on the second of January of the new year, 1873.

Percy found Florilyn alone in the sitting room after breakfast.

“So you’ll soon be off,” she said. She tried to sound cheery, but without much success. “It will be dreary when you’re gone. Of course it always seems dreary after you leave.”

“You always manage to survive,” rejoined Percy. “Just think of me—far north under piles of snow, with papers to write and endless lectures to sit through.”

“You’ll be through, when is it—in May?”

“May it is,” he said, exhaling a long sigh. “It seems too good to be true that I will actually graduate from the university! Who would have imagined it back when I was running through the streets of Glasgow trying to keep from being arrested!”

“You’ve changed.”

“As have you.”

“Then what will you do?” asked Florilyn.

“My first order of business will definitely be a return to Wales.”

“Really?” exclaimed Florilyn. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I didn’t know if you—”

“No worries. I will be back as soon as I graduate. Or possibly June. There is something I have to do for your father … and I’ll want to see you, of course.”

“For my father?” said Florilyn.

“I will tell you all about it when I can. And we have our own future to decide on, too, you know.”

Florilyn looked away. The subject was still painful to her.

“I
do
admire you for your courage,” he added. “What my dad said is true.”

“Thank you,” nodded Florilyn. Her voice was shaky.

“I am still uncertain what I am supposed to be trying to figure out,” Percy went on. “Gwyneth is gone. There is no way to find her. Even if I may have had more feelings for her once than I realized, what difference does it make now?”

“Like I said before,” replied Florilyn, “we both have to know what is in our hearts.”

Percy nodded then took Florilyn in his arms. Neither spoke as they embraced affectionately. After several seconds they stepped back.

“Your decision has made me admire you as a godly woman,” said Percy. “Whatever happens in the future, you are my dear cousin and friend.”

“And we’ll both keep reading MacDonald,” said Florilyn, forcing a smile.

“I don’t know!” laughed Percy. “I don’t want him to get me into any more trouble.”

He detected momentary chagrin on Florilyn’s face.

“Hey, only joking!” he added quickly. “I don’t have as much time to read as you do. But I shall try.”

They gazed into one another’s eyes. Florilyn’s were misty. Percy stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek, then stepped back and smiled. Though they could not see what the future held, both knew they were doing the right thing.

As Percy climbed the stairs one last time to fetch his bag from his room a few minutes later, he paused on the landing to gaze at the portraits of the Westbrooke lineage. His eyes came to rest once again, as they often did when he was here, on the compelling face of his uncle Roderick’s grandmother. The penetrating expression of her eyes was so mesmerizing that Percy felt that he
knew
her, that he had actually seen her. Yet he knew that was impossible. She had been dead decades before he was even born.

He shook his head in perplexity then continued up the stairs.

T
WENTY
-T
HREE

Plans and Schemes

K
atherine did not bring up the subject of property or a new home to Florilyn again. She did not want to risk loose talk or overheard conversations. But she did not remain idle.

She made several more visits to Hamilton Murray’s office, riding to Porthmadog by buggy and keeping her destination to herself. It did not take long after her ride with Florilyn to decide on the Mochras Head plateau as the ideal site for a future home. She knew that Courtenay had no great love of the sea. She had never seen him walking or riding along the coastline. She doubted he would miss the land in question. But she had long since given up trying to anticipate his reactions to anything. Whether he would be angry at her intentions, once they became known, or grateful for the extra sum in his account when he became viscount, she would hazard no guess.