Merry Christmas Daughter
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“I don’t know,” I said. “The weather’s getting a bit iffy.”
She was in the process of unwrapping the present, which turned out to be a set of china plates, with a matching cup and saucer. “You’re not going to go?” she asked hopefully.
“Oh,” I sighed, feeling guilty. It wouldn’t take more than a few hours to get there and back. I’d been looking forward to this all month. In fact, it was one of my favorite annual events. “All right. We’ll see how it looks in the morning.”
Aunt Elsie had given me this particular set as a birthday present some years ago when I still lived at home. At that time Mum wasn’t well enough for us to have visitors, but we were able to bring her up the occasional gift by carrier-piglet or postman on their way back from delivering the local letters.
When I moved out on my own, I kept them for myself, though they weren’t terribly practical—you couldn’t use a mug without breaking the plate or vice versa, nor could you serve tea or coffee in either vessel separately; and anyway, you always put the milk in first before pouring it over the biscuits.
I used them occasionally when I had houseguests (and never let on to Auntie Elsie just how seldom those occasions arose), and also on holidays when I stayed at my parent’s farm and needed something other than chipped old crockery, but otherwise, they were stored away.
When I finally went into partnership with Simon, however, I took out an insurance policy on the set against fire, theft, and accidental damage.
The cost of the insurance premium was a lot less than replacing the set if it did burn down, get stolen, or break, and it gave me great satisfaction to think that the insurance company was guaranteed payment, even should a disaster strike during one of our business trips.
So after we had opened our own office, I decided to keep the set and use it once a year, when we held our staff Christmas party. It was a small thing, but it was something I could do to make sure that my employees knew how much I appreciated them working so hard all year.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your visit,” I added. “I suppose we can leave tomorrow if it’s raining or snowing.”
“I’m sure Mother will understand. Besides, it’ll be fun to meet Mr. Maitland. I hear he’s a charming man.”
My mother-in-law was an elderly spinster who lived alone. I was a little surprised by the idea that she might find Mr. Maitland charming because I thought she must have heard his name before. But then again, perhaps I should remember that she hadn’t grown up in this century like I had.
She would probably have met someone called John or Henry or James. He’d certainly had more chance of being married in his time than most people today, I thought wryly.
“That’ll be nice,” I agreed. “We haven’t seen him since last June, I believe.”
It wasn’t until later, lying in bed with my mind drifting idly, that it occurred to me that I ought to warn Elsie about the dangers of talking to strangers. It was only the next day when I phoned her that I discovered why: Mrs. Maitland was visiting Elsie in her bedroom! And what was more, my sister-in-law seemed to think this was perfectly normal.
“He just stopped by to say hello, didn’t he?” Elsie asked innocently. “And I invited him in.”
“Oh… I see. Well, you shouldn’t be talking to strange men at all, Elsie.”
“No, I guess not, but he is really very charming, and he does look so distinguished, doesn’t he? And he was such a gentleman about not kissing me on the lips!”
“Elsie, you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers—even gentlemen.”
“Well, I won’t do it again.”
“I’d better call your brother and tell him about it, too.”
“Oh, you don’t need to tell Father. He knows everything anyway.”
I wondered how much of that had been true in Elsie’s day and how much had changed. Then I realized that Elsie herself might be an anomaly, as she obviously did a lot of things differently from her mother-in-law. And yet, I could imagine how it would feel for a modern woman to come into direct contact with the past.
For instance, I remembered reading once that in Victorian times women had been forbidden from using lipstick and rouge, both of which were considered to be frivolous or sinful—but now they were accepted as perfectly natural, even fashionable.
And yet no doubt many people in the early days of our own century felt the same way about electric light and telephone wires and automobiles—and the fact that we didn’t wear corsets any longer either. We were all going backward, I thought.
But perhaps it was a good thing, too. After all, how else would the world learn to move forward?
It was a week later that we received the first letter from Mrs. Maitland, and another followed four days later.
Mrs. Maitland is getting on quite well, thank you very much for asking! And so far I haven’t found a single person in my village who remembers Mr. Maitland, which I’m glad about because I think I might prefer it if he just faded away. If anyone does happen to recall seeing him, I’ll let you know.
By the way, do you know anything about the history of old houses? There’s a house here in the village that’s over two hundred years old. I wonder what it used to be like. It would be fun to go and take a look inside.
Anyway, thanks for thinking of me—
Sincerely yours,
Elsie.
As you may imagine, we weren’t pleased about this, especially not since we still had no idea what she intended to write to Elsie about. But it couldn’t be helped, so we decided to ignore it.
“At least the letters are coming regularly enough to keep her amused,” said my husband. “If we get a long silence, we’ll worry about it.”
And indeed, the next letter arrived shortly after Christmas, although there were still none from Elsie. The next month passed, then the one after that, but we didn’t hear anything from Mrs. Maitland at all. By now I was starting to get worried.
Had something happened? Was Elsie ill? Or worse—had she fallen in love with her strange new pen pal? It had been more than a year since their last correspondence; surely it wouldn’t be that unusual for them to go without writing for a while, particularly if Elsie had moved on to other things.
But somehow I was feeling uncomfortable about the whole thing—like it was somehow my responsibility for encouraging it. I decided that we needed to sit down and discuss the matter.
“How’s your sister doing?”
“Fine.” My husband looked up from his newspaper as I answered the phone. “Didn’t you know? She’s got a new friend—Elsie says she hasn’t seen her since school—and they’re always writing to each other.”
“Oh? That sounds nice.”
“Yes, it seems to be working out fine. She’s sending us these really interesting letters.”
“That’s nice. Is she still living at home?”
“No, she moved out six months ago.”
“Ah.”
There was a long silence. Finally, I spoke again.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Crenson?”
“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s just that your sister isn’t responding to my letters.”
I sat down heavily in my chair. This sounded serious indeed. “Has something happened? Has she lost interest?”
“No, no, nothing like that. She’s simply refused to answer them.”
“Refused?”
My husband looked over my shoulder as I continued to listen to Crenson.
“She wrote back saying that she wasn’t interested anymore—that it wasn’t important to her.”
“You have to ask her what she meant by that,” I replied in a tone of voice that implied that she might have had good reason for refusing to reply.
He nodded. “I will, certainly.”
Then he hung up and turned to me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Is Elsie okay?” I asked him gently.
He hesitated. “She’s…fine, I suppose. Why?”
“Because you said that she hasn’t responded to your letters.”
His brow furrowed for a moment before he replied. “She must have forgotten to tell me. When did this start happening?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, I guess it’s not a huge issue at the moment—she may be going through some personal problems—but I should still check into it, just to be sure.”
“Yes, of course.” I stood up. “Thank you.”
He gave a slight nod, then went back to his reading.
But now I was even more uneasy about the whole affair—not only because Crenson had called to report the change in our relationship with Elsie, but also because he seemed genuinely puzzled. Had she changed her mind? Was that it? Or was there something more serious going on?
The truth is that it’s hard for us to say why Elsie decided to stop writing. We never found out exactly how it happened, and we never heard from her again. And although it was a bit painful, my husband and I decided that it was best not to worry about it too much. As Crenson pointed out, Elsie could well have been distracted by something or other at the time.
So we let it drop. But every now and then, when I’m sitting in front of my computer and feel like writing something for Elsie, I think about what might have happened. Perhaps Mrs. Maitland’s illness had made it impossible for her to write as frequently.
Maybe there had been family troubles that prevented her from writing. Maybe she’d been taken ill, or maybe she’d just grown tired of writing to Elsie after all. Or perhaps…something else entirely.
And so every once in a while I take out my notebook and make a note to myself: Write about her last letter, the one that stopped coming.
***
This story is fiction based on real-life events. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
***
“I’ve been thinking,” my mother began, “and I think that if we were to move into town, I would like to buy a house. I mean, why rent when you can own?”
“I don’t see anything wrong with renting,” my father replied. “We’re not going anywhere anyhow—we have enough land here to keep us occupied for years to come.”
“But this place”—my mother gestured around herself—”is getting old. If we want to stay in the same area, eventually we’ll have to leave it, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t like to buy a house before we do.”
“Why not build a new house instead?” my father asked, looking over at his wife with a smile. “It’s cheaper than buying an older home.”
“It is,” my mother agreed, smiling back at him, “but I think that the idea of a new house is very appealing, and it would give us a chance to design it ourselves. That way we could be sure that everything is exactly the way we want it.”
My parents had already been planning on building a new house at some point in the future, but they’d kept this secret from us. They hadn’t wanted us to get too excited about the prospect of moving until we knew more about what was involved in the process.
It was a smart plan—one that most people would consider—and yet somehow it felt wrong, almost as if we weren’t supposed to know about their plans.
After all, we’d lived in this house ever since I’d arrived on the scene. This had always been our home—the only home that any of us had known. So why should we suddenly have to move to another house just because my parents decided that it was a good idea? I didn’t understand, and yet at the same time, I could see that both of them had been quite eager to tell us—more eager than usual.
“You know, the thing is that I think the idea of a new house really appeals to you,” my mother said, turning away from the window. “You’ve always liked things to be brand-new.”
“I do enjoy the challenge of finding the right pieces for a room,” my father agreed. “When we built this house, it took us two months to find the perfect rug and curtains—two months that we spent searching in vain. The truth is that I prefer it when someone else has done all of the work for me, and there’s no greater challenge than designing your own home.”
I could see why my father preferred to leave such decisions to others; my mother, however, would happily spend hours poring over magazines and catalogs in search of inspiration. It seemed strange that she’d been the one to suggest building a new house, though, especially given her preference for having someone else choose her furnishings.
As far as I was concerned, the whole thing sounded absurd. There was nothing wrong with this house that a few coats of paint couldn’t fix. It was large and spacious, but it wasn’t ugly or decrepit or even particularly old, and yet my parents seemed determined to move regardless.
“So what are we waiting for?” my father asked, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. “Let’s look at the prices on these houses!”
“But where shall we go?” my mother asked, glancing up from the brochure she’d been perusing. “There aren’t any houses near here that match the style we’re looking for.”
“We could go farther out,” my father suggested, tapping the edge of the brochure against his teeth. “The further outside of town we went, the cheaper the price. And besides, there’s nowhere, in particular, we need to be.”
I thought about this for a moment. My father had a point, of course: if we wanted a house in the countryside, then we could easily find something closer to the woods or to the ocean, which meant that we wouldn’t need to travel far to reach either place.
“Do you think we could afford it?” my mother asked, looking up at my father. “The house itself, I mean. We can always save the money for furnishings later.”
“Of course, we can,” my father replied. “I’m sure that I could manage a small deposit now, and the rest would come from the bank. With a little luck, it shouldn’t take long at all.”
“What about the kids’ rooms?” my mother asked, turning toward me. “Where will we put them? You know how I feel about sharing a bedroom.”
For a moment I was tempted to tell my parents the truth, but somehow I didn’t want to do that. Instead, I pretended to think it over for a moment, pretending to consider everything that they’d just said.
“Well…” I began, “we could probably fit one extra bed in each room. Or perhaps you could have an office or a craft room somewhere…?”
“Craft room?!” my mother cried, her eyes widening in shock. “No! I don’t care about that!”
“And what about a garden?” my father added. “Do you think we could manage a bit of gardening in there? Maybe a vegetable patch, or something like that?”
“Gardening?” my mother repeated. “A vegetable patch? What in the world were you thinking about, Thomas?”
For a moment I didn’t respond. Then, remembering myself, I shook my head slightly and laughed.
“It’s all so silly,” I said. “I’ll just get rid of the furniture that we already have and then we won’t need to buy any more furniture.”
My mother looked puzzled for a moment. Then, finally, she seemed to understand what I’d said. She smiled sweetly and nodded her approval before going back to the brochure.
“All right,” she said, returning to her seat. “We can look at the houses tomorrow, and make an appointment with the estate agent.”
***
By the end of the day, I had found enough pieces to fill the living room and two bedrooms. All that remained to do was to pick out a few accessories for the kitchen and to select some pictures for the walls. In short, I’d achieved more than I’d hoped for, and by the time evening came around I was feeling rather pleased with myself.
“I’m just popping into town,” I told my mother as I finished cleaning up after dinner. “I need to go and pick up some new pillows for the sofa and then I’ll be right back.”
My mother frowned, but she didn’t try to stop me as I left the house behind me and set off down the hill.
“Don’t stay too late,” my mother called after me, but I knew that she would let me go without complaining.
For a while, I walked along the main street, past all of the shops that were still open for business. There were plenty of other people out, too, walking their dogs or talking to friends. Some of the stores were busy and others weren’t, but it was clear to see that most of the businesses would survive through the winter months.
I was sure that the summer tourist trade would be much better once the snow started to thaw, though, which meant that my family would no longer be dependent on their savings alone to pay the bills.
As I wandered along the high street, my mind drifted back to the house that I’d seen earlier that day. It hadn’t taken long to decide that I’d bought it, and even less time to arrange a date for my parents to meet the seller. But what should I say when they arrived at the door? How could I convince them to buy it?
Then I heard a familiar voice calling out to me, and I turned my attention in the direction it had come from. Sure enough, it was Lucy who was standing there waiting for me. She smiled and waved at me as I approached, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Hi,” she greeted me. “What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t help but smile back. Even after only a few days, I felt as though I’d known Lucy for years. Of course, I’d never met her before this trip, but I’d certainly imagined her many times before—imagined how our meeting might play out. I’d pictured it a hundred different ways, each one as romantic and exciting as the last.
But I knew that Lucy wasn’t like that. She was nothing like the women that I’d fantasized about in the past. In fact, she reminded me so much of my mother that I could almost hear my mother telling me not to waste my time on someone like Lucy. The very idea made me laugh and, just as quickly as I had noticed her, I pushed Lucy’s image from my mind and hurried toward her.
“I thought I might take you to see something special,” I explained. “There’s a house that we’ve just been looking at—it’s really pretty.”
Lucy grinned and nodded her agreement.
“You know,” she continued, “if we’re lucky we might find a house soon and then I can move in with you.”
The words surprised me. After all, they were the first that she’d ever said that suggested that she wanted anything more than friendship from our relationship. But they also made me feel happy and excited.
“That would be nice,” I replied. “I wouldn’t want us to live too far apart.”
“Well,” Lucy began, “there’s a house over in the village that—”
She stopped suddenly and looked around. For a moment I thought she was trying to hide behind me, but then I realized that she had spotted another person coming out of one of the nearby stores.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, and her expression changed completely. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip nervously. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop. But I didn’t think anyone else was around, and it didn’t seem right to interrupt your conversation.”
Before I had time to reply, Lucy darted away from me and slipped into the doorway of the shop. The woman who had been heading inside stopped, and turned to face me. She gave me a curious glance, and then a shy smile before turning and hurrying back into the store.
A shiver ran through me at the memory of how Lucy had reacted. Was she afraid that her presence would embarrass me if anyone heard what she was saying? Or did she just have some other reason for wanting to hide? Either way, it seemed that I had managed to catch my friend off guard.
“Didn’t you say that the house is over here?” I asked her as she emerged from the shop. “Why did you run away like that?”
“It’s just that,” Lucy explained, “the woman who owns the house came out to greet someone else and she didn’t realize that I was there until she’d said hello to him. He saw me at the same time.”
Lucy paused for a moment and glanced down at the ground. Then her expression cleared, and she shook her head with a smile.
“I must have scared myself,” she admitted. “Anyway, I didn’t want to interrupt you any more than I already have.”
Her embarrassment was adorable. I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, and then took hold of her arm to guide her forward.
“Let’s go and look at the house now,” I said. “I’ll make sure that no one comes to visit while we’re there.”
I felt Lucy relax under my touch, and she smiled up at me with a mixture of relief and anticipation. She followed me as I led her toward the entrance of the estate agents where we’d agreed to meet our agent. But when we got there I noticed that he was nowhere to be seen, and his office door was closed.
“Is everything okay?” I asked Lucy anxiously.
“Oh, yes,” she assured me. “He just had to do a little extra work on one of the properties we looked at today. It won’t take long, so he said that he will meet us here as soon as possible. Don’t worry, it’s no trouble.”
We waited for a few minutes, but our agent still didn’t show. Eventually, Lucy gave me an apologetic shrug and let me know that we should probably go and look elsewhere. I felt disappointed that the day wasn’t going exactly as I’d hoped it would.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked me quietly after we’d walked away from the office.
I couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. That my dreams had come true. But somehow I knew that Lucy would understand. So I told her instead that something had happened, but that it wouldn’t stop us from finding a new place to live.
I could see from her reaction that she hadn’t expected such news, but I was pleased to know that she would still be able to help me. There was just one question remaining: why hadn’t she said anything about seeing this woman before?
We wandered along the street for a little while longer until I noticed that a few other people had started to emerge from their houses. Lucy looked at them curiously and then frowned.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “I just hope that we aren’t intruding on anyone’s privacy by being out on the street. We really shouldn’t be here.”
She glanced up and down the road, and then lowered her voice.
“There are people living in those houses,” she whispered, “and we don’t need to attract attention to ourselves.”
I was about to object when I suddenly realized that Lucy was right. There were several people walking past us, and it might not be polite to stand around gawping at their front doors and gardens.
“Okay,” I sighed reluctantly. “But I think I’d better stay close by you anyway. You never know what we might find if we go up to one of these houses.”
My words sounded strange to my own ears as if they had been spoken by someone else. For some reason, I also felt that this was no ordinary day. As if everything that had happened since that morning had been part of some great, elaborate dream.
The thought made me nervous, and I didn’t feel like exploring any further. Instead, I pulled Lucy into a side lane where I could keep an eye out for any passers-by. Then, together, we started to walk back toward the estate agent’s office. But I was only halfway there when I heard Lucy gasp beside me.
“Wait!” I exclaimed, hurrying after her. “You can’t do that! This is private property!”
I stopped and looked around, trying to figure out what I was seeing. Then, just as I realized that the building we had just passed was actually a private house, I saw Lucy turn and start to run.
For a moment, I stood frozen, watching in horror as she disappeared between two houses. Then I ran forward and pushed through the gap, desperate to catch up with her. Before long, I was running across the grass and gravel drive and onto the pavement.
Just as I came to the end of the drive, Lucy turned a corner and sprinted along the next road. I followed her, panting hard as I caught up with her a few minutes later.
“Stop!” I cried to Lucy as I caught up with her again, forcing myself to keep calm despite my racing heart. “If you go any further, someone could see you. And we need to talk to this man, whoever he is.”
I took hold of her arm to stop her from running off once more, but this time she resisted me. She shook her head firmly and looked at me as though pleading with me to explain what was going on.
“Lucy,” I told her. “Please don’t do anything dangerous. Let’s wait here a minute until we can find out who he is, and if we have permission to go inside or not.”
She nodded, but I could see that she was getting impatient. She wanted to get on with searching for clues about her mother’s death. So we sat down on the nearest wall, and I watched her while she tried to compose herself. After a few moments, she finally looked at me and asked the question that was worrying her most.
“Who were you talking to?” she whispered.
“Just a man,” I told her. “One of my neighbors.”
I was telling the truth, but it sounded like I wasn’t completely sure about it myself. In fact, I had seen the man’s face clearly in my dreams, so it seemed reasonable that I would recognize him in reality too.
However, I had also imagined that he was wearing black robes with red trimmings—like a sorcerer’s outfit—but there was nothing of the sort about his clothing. The only things that marked him out were his black boots and the dark green scarf that he wore over his mouth and nose.
“Are you okay?” I asked Lucy when I had finished explaining how my encounter with the neighbor had ended.
“Yes,” she replied with a weak smile. “But what did you mean when you said that it was ‘just a man?”
“That means that he isn’t a sorcerer,” I explained. “He may look like one because he wears all black, but that’s just a fashion statement. He’s a normal guy like us.”
Lucy stared at me for a few seconds, looking relieved and puzzled at the same time.
“But why do sorcerers wear robes and cloaks like that?” she wondered aloud.
I shrugged, not wanting to admit that I really didn’t know the answer to that question myself. Instead, I decided to ask a different question.
“Why are you asking all these questions now? What makes you suddenly curious about the occult and witches and such like?”
Lucy looked away from me and frowned. Then, without another word, she began to walk back along the road toward the estate agent’s office. It seemed as though she wanted me to follow her without saying anything more. So I got up and hurried after her, keeping my voice low so that no one would overhear us speaking in private.
As I drew level with Lucy, I noticed that she had stopped walking in front of the estate agents’ door. She turned to look at me and then opened the door wide enough so that we could both enter the building together. Then she closed the door behind me and walked swiftly to the counter at the far end of the room.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted the young woman sitting behind the desk with a bright smile. “Can we help you find something today?”
The girl gave Lucy an odd look. I thought she must be wondering why a teenager was visiting the estate agent’s office on her own, but Lucy obviously knew the reason for my presence and was determined not to let the other person see her expression.
“We’re looking to buy a new home,” she explained, sounding slightly flustered as she glanced around the large reception area. “Our current house has been sold, and we need somewhere suitable to move into straight away.
We don’t have much time available to look around properties, and we don’t want to waste any time either, so we’d prefer to visit homes that are already available for sale rather than waiting for them to be advertised online.”
“I understand,” the girl answered quickly. “What sort of property are you looking for?”
“Something detached,” Lucy replied. “A big garden and a garage or carport would be ideal.”
The girl gave her a thoughtful look before reaching forward and picking up a clipboard off of her desk. She flipped through the pages, checking that she had Lucy’s name and contact details right.
“Okay,” she said, “you’ve come to the right place. How about this one?”
She held the clipboard up between two fingers and pointed at a large photograph on the top sheet. I couldn’t make out what kind of house it was from the small-scale picture. There were several trees in the photo, and the house itself appeared to be built into a wooded hillside.
The front of the house was completely hidden by vegetation. As soon as the girl showed me the photograph, however, I saw Lucy give me an urgent nod, so I took a closer look at the photo, and then looked at the estate agents again.
“It looks quite nice,” I said, not sure whether I meant the house or Lucy’s reaction to it. I was trying to sound neutral, hoping that I wouldn’t sound suspicious to the other people in the room if I pretended that I hadn’t spotted Lucy giving me an extra meaning to the words that I had spoken. “Is that an old house?”
The girl shook her head. “It’s new.”
Lucy’s face went pale. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed. “We can’t afford to buy a new build.”
Her tone suggested that she felt disappointed, although she tried hard not to let anyone else hear the emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like she was ashamed of herself for having been too poor to purchase something new, which made me feel uncomfortable and unsure of how to respond.
“Don’t worry,” the girl said reassuringly. “You won’t have seen everything we have for sale here anyway. Why don’t you sit down over there while I get some information for you?”
Lucy smiled at the girl and then sat down on a nearby bench seat. For the next five minutes, Lucy filled out several forms on the estate agent’s desk. Then, once all the relevant paperwork was completed, she handed it back to the girl and waited patiently while she scanned each page carefully. Eventually, she nodded and put her pen back in its holder.
“Okay,” she said cheerfully, standing up and putting her handbag over her shoulder. “Here’s your file. You can take it with you and go through the properties listed inside. Let me know when you have decided on one. And please call me again if you have any further questions or require my assistance.”
The End