"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."
Isaiah 9:6
December 12, 1908
Saturday's eventide
HollyDale, Frostshire
Charity directed her gaze to inspect if all her children were warm under the comfort of the blankets they had wrapped around them, as their cups of hot milk grew cold with the chill of Winter's night. The frost, that invited itself to their rustic town in this beautiful season of snow, was far from kind, despite the sacrifice of the firewood burning away in the hearth. Her cold hands wrapped the woolen knit around her cup of latté and brought the drink close to her face for the warm smell of caffeine to reach her breath, before she took a long sniff. She resumed listening to Merry's reading out of the first Chapter of the Book of Matthew to their little family sitting around in the light of the fireplace.
Her eyes darted yet again to catch Claire's gaze upon Merry's dancing shadow that waltzing to the rhythm of the fire and reached from beneath her own blanket to touch the child's shoulder and reign her attention back to the holy passage that was being read. Each of the children listened, some with the cream of their drink lingering on their lips like snowy moustaches. Charity took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the little company, each child safe from a dark, difficult or unknown past.
She caught sight of Jesse, leaning on Merry's shoulder, his eyes trained on the woolen rug upon which they sat, his sight yet unfocussed like he was looking into the depths of his thoughts, barely existing in the room in which the family was seated. The lady desperately hoped he wasn't reliving the years before he had found a home in this orphanage. Merry's sweet voice paused before she read the last verse of the chapter slowly and as the words parted from her lips, she closed the Bible and placed it upon her lap.
Charity smiled over at Merry, her eldest daughter, now a beautiful young damsel of twenty years, who reflected the mirth, eyes averted. Time certainly had its way when it came to forging a person both within and out, tuning their whole life into an entirely different piece of art. The second of all her precious children, Merry O'Bell, was one she had received as a baby of an unknown origin, on a misty Christmas Eve, 20 years theretofore.
Charity gave all her little ones a bright smile that prided dimpled cheeks, before she began singing a hymn and the rest of the family blended their voices in harmony, holding hands and swaying to their aimless tune.
~
Merry collected all the empty cups with only residual froth persisting within and looked over at her brother, Jesse, who slowly drew himself away from her shoulder, still looking pensive and entranced in thought. Without casting much attention to his heavy mood, she rose from the rug as the folds of her long skirt unravelled and descended in mild wrinkles to conquer the length that led to her ankles. A glance mother-ward granted her to see the other three children huddled around Charity, their heads rested on her lap. Merry couldn't help the smile that spread itself across her lips as she made her way to the kitchen.
Removing the woolen-work crocheted around the cups, she called out for Jesse to help her wash the dishes before it was bedtime. Nightfall waited, with only the passage of a quarter hour before the two were finished. Merry retired to her room upstairs, which she shared with Claire and Charity, and opened her drawer to see the stack of letters tied together in a satin ribbon awaiting her attendance. She softly lifted them out and placed them on her bed.
She pulled the knot of her midnight burgundy hair and the messy up-do came undone. Long and luxuriant, her hair cascaded down her back in lush curls and swirled attune to her every motion till she lay spread on her bed re-reading the letters. Feelings of excitement spiralled down to churn her stomach as she opened each envelope and stole the letter within its possession. Whilst unfolding the first, a glimpse of the name Allen O'Bell brought a sense of tenderness.
Allen, her eldest brother, had been the first Charity had adopted, when he was five and homeless. Merry could embrace many a cherished memory with his protective, curious and blithe company cruising them though the billowing times of orphaned childhood, the most part of which she'd believed him when he claimed she was truly his younger sister by birth.
It was years before Charity had informed Merry that they weren't, in fact, related by blood and that she had found Allen chased by men whose pockets he'd relieved of valuables, running to the solace of Charity's shadow that one fateful evening, barely aware that her open arms were willing to take him in as a son. A couple of years had lapsed before Merry, a hand-child, was brought to Charity's doorstep with no hues to paint her origin.
What truly stilled Merry's heart was that the stories Charity had told them were precisely what Merry had seen when she had locked eyes with her brother. It was quite a while into deep conversation and consideration with her mother and brother, before the family had decided that Merry was peculiar, gifted:
When her basil eyes met those of any other, she could see moments of their past unfold around her as if she was experiencing the event on present ground. It had provoked her to avoid meeting the gaze of any passerby or companion, for it had oft resulted in her being frozen and irresponsive, while an episode of their life danced around her stilled existence. Of all occasions her knowledge had stolen to possession from other people's private lives, she could recall that seeing the evening of her adoption encompass her while looking deep into Charity or Allen's eyes always brought chills and sometimes, even tears.
Though each time, it was purely perceived through the eyes of the one with whom her vision was engaged, they weren't all of incidents within the realms of her victim's reminiscence. Thus, it wasn't their memories that she read, but the face of their past that she beheld. Nonetheless, the unknown of her past that comprised a few months of early age, remained as secret as her Gift.
She grazed her finger gently over the cursive font that incarnated her brother's name and smiled. It was much too substantial how much she dearly missed him. But as Life always had its way in luring various people to chance opportunities, Allen had to move to the city in pursuit of a handsome employment and thereby concrete future.
Ladye Lockwood, the town's librarian had mentioned to Charity, in passive conversation, that her brother, Sir Gabriel Lockwood would be in the heights of delight to engage a youth as intelligent and brisk as the first son of the orphanage. Under the siege of excitement and hope, Charity had wasted no more than a fortnight's time to pack Allen off to the Lockwoods' estate. Allen had left a silence void of cheer in his place, for months to follow, where Merry would oft find her mother seated by the window in deafening solitude and glazed eyes, mutely staring at the streets like her son would come back home as any evening when he stayed here.
Beyond such point, it was only the postman who would deliver news and feelings in the guise of letters between towns to convey all the love and anticipation between these souls. Merry wouldn't hesitate to admit that she had written and received her fair share of letters.
Each time Merry missed him, she would unwind them and read till the words that had been committed to memory would rise yet again from the face of the letter. This evening wasn't the same as the others. She had, beyond simply longing for her brother, the thrill for a certain someone more. Laying Allen's letter down, she took another envelope that bore the initials "Jude D.C. Lockwood" and her heart flipped. As the pace of her breathing grew unsteady, she carefully drew the letter out, feelings of warmth flooding her cheeks. She didn't know why the simple sight of a name commanded such infatuation and attempted to calm her senses by drawing a deep breath. Just then, the click of the door caused her to jolt.
In running her important errand, Claire stepped in, still holding the knob and looked over at a wide-eyed Merry to say: "Mamma asked if you could carry John to his room. He fell asleep on her lap." Moments of Merry staring blankly back like she was captivated in a trance were followed by her nodding as she rose from her bed, "I'll be there, dear. What about Andrew?" Claire smiled, as she watched her sister tear her gaze away. "Jesse will take Andy", she informed before leaving to hasten downstairs.
Merry pressed the creases of her skirt before rising to her feet and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Her letters and fluttery feelings would have to wait. She descended the dark stairway until the light from the fireplace lit the landing. She withheld from smiling when she imagined how Claire probably raced up and down these stairs like some nightly beast was chasing her in the dark. Briefly looking into the child's eyes had taken her to an hour back when their family had gathered around for prayer. All she had spied was a few minutes of the bible reading where she saw her own shadow frolicking to the will of the fire until Charity's plum hand reached close. It appeared her little sister was distracted, with her wild imagination taking her places.
Walking into the room, she saw Charity talking to Claire, John asleep on her lap and Jesse holding a sleeping Andrew in his arms. "Not too weak for a ten year old", she remarked, getting her brother riled up. "I'm twelve!" she heard him retort through grit teeth, as she careful slid her hands beneath the sleeping child's head and body and scooped him up from Charity's lap. Resting the child's cheek against her shoulder, she turned to the staircase and clicked her tongue. "You need to stop saying that, I can judge by mental age, Jesse", she returned, engaging an arm to hold the weight of the child and another to gather her skirts for keeping the hem thereof from dancing around her heels.
~
"Your judgment is as terrible as you", he muttered, leading the way up-stairs to the room he shared with the toddler twins. Allen used to be his only roommate until three years ago when the twins were adopted into the family. Jesse had enjoyed every second of his elder brother's company. The difference of a decade and a half in age barely fettered them from becoming closest of brothers, for Allen was of the kind to take anyone under his wings of protective affection. Although Merry had known him for much longer, Allen made Jesse feel no stranger than a rightful son and brother born into a family.
His sister, on the other hand, had always accommodated him by duty, until after Allen had left. Theresince, Jesse had grown close to Merry, for they were each other's only solace and fort at the face of overwhelming emotions. "I am not terrible!" were tall demands from his sister that brought a satisfying sense of triumph. "All that time and you couldn't even retaliate a decent comeback", he smirked, unyoking one of his hands from beneath his little brother to turn the knob of the door.
"It was a statement of facts, Jesse. You needn't count every conversation a battle of wits", she asserted, a hint of self-possession deliberately injected into the tone of her voice. He laid Andrew down on the bed as gently as he could, watching the child's peaceful slumber distort mildly at the cold touch of the bed. Holding back what he had intended to say, Jesse's concerns shifted to ensure that his little brother's sleep wouldn't be unsettled, when he saw the child's brows knit together with creases. He took a step back to let Merry effortlessly lay John down softly next to Andrew. His sister claimed a perch at the edge of the bed where she quietly hummed a soothing tune while spreading a warm blanket over the sleeping twins. When it was resolved that the children were safe in the arms of a dreamless slumber, the couple quietly withdrew and closed the door behind them.
Jesse looked up at Merry, shedding every ounce of admiration of her flair for pacifying children before delivering his retort: "I could state facts about the hideous hag you look like, but I know better than to suffer under the spite of your attacks", and no sooner than he'd finished his sentence, Merry waged her strike to the side of his arm, but missed, slapping the frame of the door, leaving them staring at each other before erupting peels of giggles.
Hearing Charity's hush from downstairs dawned realisation upon them, both that their thundering voices could disrupt the children's rest and that there was no discernable reason for such laughter. Whilst they tread down the stairway, Jesse smiled to himself as Merry gathered her long hair into a loose braid. Clearly the remark about the hideous hag had run home.
~
Merry took Claire's hand as she led her sleepy little sister to bed, while Charity accompanied Jesse. It was far past bedtime, permitting her no further hours to leisurely re-read her letters. She felt Claire's tug at her skirt and looked down to hear her whisper, "May I sleep next to you, Merry?" Detecting that the child was afraid of being alone, Merry placed her hand on her shoulder in assurance, "Of course, sweetie."
She carefully removed the letters that were strewed over her mattress and placed them back wherefrom she had fetched them. As Claire reserved her share of comfort, Merry unlit the lantern and walked over to draw the curtains. She cast a long gaze at the empty streets decked with veils of cold snow. A heavy sigh escaped her breath before she noticed footprints thereon. On vigilant observation, she grasped that they had a late visitor.
She hastened downstairs to ascertain if Charity was safe. A flood of calm overcame her anxious senses to see that it was good old Fletcher Jones, delivering letters at these arctic, nightly hours. His spirit was always crisp and the contents of his satchel were welcomed with much eagerness. Merry hurried to the kettle to bring him a hot cup of milk.
She hoped against hope that it was a letter from Allen announcing his annual visit to Hollydale for the festive season of Christmas, before a wild sort of elation clasped her being at the prospect of a letter from Jude. Swallowing hard, she emptied the scalding liquid from the kettle into a wooden mug.
Charity's excitement was contagious as she squealed to Merry about Allen's coming arrival in just a couple of days' time. Merry couldn't contain the deluge of joy that thrilled her heart at the reception of the news. Serving their old friend the drink and seeing him off with a warm, hand-knit blanket were passing stages in their frenzied ecstasy.
Merry's brow shot up in a moment of apprehension when she remembered leaving Claire by herself in the room. The ladies made their way upstairs to have the child run into Charity's embrace. Picking her up in her arms, Charity granted Claire to sleep by Merry's side.
Though it was unlikely for slumber to claim her senses, Merry lay still, holding her little sister close to her side as she considered the various events of the day, purposing that she would need to read the letters from Allen.
Of greater importance, however, was that she had seen nothing less than merciless winds whistling past, descending flakes of snow from unconquerable heavens, icicles curtaining every ledge, the biting cold of a long-winding night ahead and undelivered letters when she had looked into the eyes of their beloved postman, Fletcher. She whispered a silent prayer for mercy and safety to the men that valued the importance of delivering the emotions in envelops, and slowly drifted to a peaceful tune of sleep.