Page 84 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
She looked at him, her hand still tucked in his, her brow raised.
“Thank yourself. You were the one who opened that door to this wintry night, and to me. You were the one who invited me into your home. You were the one who found the true peace and spirit of the season by doing something you might never have thought, or wanted, to do.” He squeezed her hand and stood up. “’Tis when we give of ourselves to others, that we gain the most in return.”
Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
He took and bowed over her hand. “In a few hours, I’ll be gone. And as I’ve touched your life, so you’ve touched mine. I will never forget you.” His eyes were dark above her knuckles, and she wished, absurdly, that he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her here by this dying fire, near these empty tea cups, in the firelit gloom of a deserted kitchen. But he did not. Instead, he straightened up, wincing a bit with the sudden pain, and retrieved his coat and hat. “Good night, Lady Katharine.”
“Good night, Mr. O’ Flaherty.”
He turned and walked away. Outside, the wind, depleted now of snow and sleet and as empty as Katharine’s heart suddenly felt, pushed against the cold black pane of glass and then whistled off into the night, chasing a destiny that only it could see.
The fire dimmed.
And Katharine was, as she had been for most of her life, alone.
* * *
The world had changedthat night nearly two thousand years before, changed in a way that would never be the same and on this night, perhaps as holy in its own way as that long-ago one in a distant town called Bethlehem, in a world that was still capable of producing miracles, Lady Katharine Farnsley’s world also changed in a way that would never be the same.
She sat alone in the darkened kitchen, her thoughts her own, the clock out in the great hall wearily chiming off the hours. The black pane of the window eventually began to lighten as dawn, still far off, crept over the snow-covered landscape and claimed the day for its own.
Christmas morning.
She and Perry had exchanged no gifts, hung no decorations, had not even attended church the night before. They had gone to bed as if it were a night like any other, cold and dark, wintry and wet, nothing special about it at all even if it was Christmas Eve.
No gifts had been exchanged, but with her opening that door to a stranger, Katharine’s world had been rocked on its axis, and she knew again, as the night began its slow-fade from outside the window, that she had been given the greatest gift of all.
Upstairs, Perry slept on in his alcohol-induced slumber, oblivious to the holy miracle that had taken place in his sister’s heart. And somewhere beyond the kitchen and far out in another part of the house, Katharine heard the quiet easing-open of the great door that led to the outside, and to the world beyond.
The cook’s heavy woolen cloak hung near the door, old but serviceable above a pair of stout boots into which a pair of woolen mittens were stuffed. Seized by an impulse that was as sudden as it was true, as inspired as it was honest, Katharine shoved her feet into the boots and was just reaching for the cloak when she heard the big heavy door out in the hall quietly close. The crunch of footfalls in the snow outside. The silence that followed, filled with emptiness and loss and the sudden knowledge that the second very best gift she had ever received was about to leave her life forever.
She ran upstairs to change into the warmest clothes she had. She dashed off a note to Perry, grabbed the cloak, ran from the house and nearly slipped in fresh, newly-fallen snow as she tore open the front door with far more abandon than the person who had just passed through it. The heavy expectancy of dawn still hung over the world, a world of frozen boughs and branches, slowly whitening pastures, snow sifting down from a tree overhead and a cold, clean wind full of promise.
Fresh footprints led toward the stables.
Dawn was coming, but night had not yet relinquished the Eve to the Christmas, and above the stable the morning star hung, the brightest thing in the night, the brightest thing in the sky.
Mr. O’ Flaherty came out, leading his horse.
He paused, looked back towards the house—and saw Katharine.
For a moment, neither said a word. And then he smiled and reached a hand out to her in invitation, and Lady Katharine Farnsley, former shrew, was running across the frozen courtyard towards him, her hair flying out behind her and her cheeks reddening with cold and girlish delight.
He opened his arms to her, and she went into them.
His lips were warm against hers, his sheltering embrace something she wanted to feel for the rest of her life. Whether or not that gift would be granted her, she did not know. Whether or not she and Noel O’ Flaherty would find happiness with each other, she could not predict. But she did know that if she didn’t follow her own Christmas star, the joy she had discovered on this very special night would wither away like the snow would when the sun found it at last.
“You don’t want to wait for your brother?” he asked, leading his horse to the mounting block. “We’ll need his help.”
“He’ll catch up to us,” she said simply, and allowed him to steady her as she deftly climbed up into the saddle. A moment later he was behind her, his chest warm against her back, his arms safely enclosing her.
Nollaig O’ Flaherty grinned and set his heels to the pied mare’s flanks. Her sturdy feet were as round as dinner plates, the fetlocks already balling up with newly-fallen snow as she snorted and, eager to be off, moved off across the white lawn. Her hoofprints, the edges caught by the first thin rays of the Christmas morning dawn, followed them as the mare trotted down the drive and out to the road that would take them to Ravenscombe and from there, to London.
And above their heads, searing what remained of the night with beauty and guiding the mare’s path as steady and true as that long ago beacon above a little town called Bethlehem, the morning star stood.
