A December to Remember (104)
Marguerite, Simone, Heavenly-Stargazer Rosehip, I was not always with you in person, but my love for you was always and forever will be transcendental. I am watching you from the stars and I am shining with pride. Always yours, Dad.
A moment of peaceful reflection drifted over the little gathering in the rowan tree woods, as all around the tables thoughts turned to loved ones who were no longer here with them, and those who were gathered counted their blessings for the ones who remained. For Maggie, Simone, and Star, they had finally got the acknowledgment that they had hankered after from their father and each had the sense that they could lay at least some of their old ghosts to rest. They had found one another despite the obstacles between them and they vowed silently never to lose sight of one another again.
Through this quiet contemplation, the woods made themselves heard. Boughs creaked. Snow, dislodged from laden branches by the feet of small creatures, swished and pitter-pattered down onto the woodland floor. The bonfire outside crackled and hissed while the songbirds in the clearing sang their last melody of the day. And on a table, surrounded by the detritus of a very merry banquet, a large black cat with two white circles around her eyes purred contentedly.
52
Despite everyone proclaiming they couldn’t eat another bite of dinner, they somehow found room for the Women’s Institute’s chocolate yule log and the much-whispered-about Rowan Thorp gateau, which turned out to be a spiced chocolate and damson cake, layered with whipped cream and rowan berry jam and topped with a thick layer of dark chocolate ganache.
When they finally got up to move, Maggie considered that it might have made more sense to do the wassailing before dinner. People groaned and stretched and pulled at waistbands. Verity and her friends were summoned down from the tree house to join in the procession.
Outside the protection of the woods, the weather had turned very cold, and even the bonfire did little to warm the air. Mugs were filled once again, and with the band in tow, the villagers of Rowan Thorp began the wassailing.
Fable Folk played ye olde Christmas songs and carols that everybody knew, or thought they knew, and everyone sang along regardless. They began by standing around the bonfire; some even danced a little. The cider probably helped with that. It also helped to keep the chill at bay as everyone wended their way back along the garden and out onto the high street, where the lights glowing in the windows and on the Christmas trees warmed the frosty scene with their happy colors.
Joe held Maggie’s hand for all to see. He beamed as though holding her hand was his every dream come true. Maggie felt as though her love for him was radiating from her. She didn’t have all the answers, she didn’t know what the future would bring—who did? But she had realized that it would be a waste of happiness not to welcome love when it came.
They wassailed along the high street calling out impromptu blessings on the businesses that they might prosper in the year to come. And they wassailed around Parminder and Gerry’s orchard, giving thanks for the cider—really heartfelt thanks for the cider—and welcoming in the good spirits so that next year’s wassail supply might be just as plentiful. They blessed the church and the pubs and the Rowan Thorp Twitchers and the Women’s Institute and the Cussing Crocheters and the Rowan Thorp Historical Society and the library and anything else they could think of.
The more the little crowd acknowledged the things that they were thankful for, the better they felt. Their gratitude filled them up even more than the banquet had done as they counted their blessings and found them to be bounteous: beloved friends, pets, gardens, stars, flowers, views, trees, food, warmth . . . Once they began, there seemed to be no end to the things that they were thankful for.
Eventually the procession led them back to the pubs, and the villagers parted like the red sea to enter either the Rowan Tree Inn or the Stag and Hound.
The North sisters and their significant others, along with Patrick and Verity, wandered into the Rowan Tree Inn. Joe and Patrick went to the bar and the others took a seat in one of the large curved banquettes. Verity was desperately tired, though she pretended not to be, and objected to all of Maggie’s suggestions that it might be time for them to go home.
“Please, Mama, can I stay up till the end?”
“This is the end, sweetheart, there’s nothing else after this.”
“Just let me have one blackcurrant squash.”
“One drink and then bed.”
“She’s going to be a party animal when she’s older.” Star smiled, pulling a fleece blanket off the back of the chair and draping it over her niece.
“No, she is not,” said Maggie. “She is going to work hard and then become prime minister.”
“No pressure, Verity,” Simone said, fondly stroking her hair.
“So, how do you feel about spending your first-ever Christmas together?” Evette asked the sisters.
Their smiles were enough of an answer.
“I never thought it would happen,” said Simone.
“I always hoped it would,” added Star. “But I don’t think I believed it ever could.”
“Our Christmases have always just been the three of us, just me and the kids. They’ve been lovely, but you know, sort of quiet, or as quiet as Verity ever is. She’s going to love having a big family Christmas. You’ll all come to ours, won’t you?”