The 12 Stories of Christmas: Day 11

Here is day 11. This story is from Rose Hemlock's point of view. Once again this is the Christmas before the events in book 1. Enjoy.

                The Twelve Days of Christmas – Day 11 Rose Hemlock  

“Oh look Ella,” I exclaimed. “Look! It is snowing, the perfect Christmas weather.” I turned back to Ella and she just shook her head and laughed with me. In her hand she held the presents I had just given her. One was a nice warm horse blanket for her dearest friend in the world, her horse Sun. I had asked James what to look for in a good horse blanket and he had been more than helpful. He had even offered to go to town with me and help me look for a good one, but I had declined. While it was true that I usually did not like to leave the estate unattended, that trip needed to be secret. If my mother or sister had known what I was doing they would have disapproved so strongly that I fear that I would have had to forgo giving any Christmas presents this year.

Ella and I had been exchanging now for three years and every year we had tried to up our value within the gifts, since as we aged our monthly allowances increased. The first year, Ella had given me a lovely bouquet of flowers, but when she learned that my mother always gave me a single rose on Christmas, well she reacted rather violently. She had apologized profusely and proclaimed that she would make sure her present the next year would be much better than some greenhouse flowers. I had assured her, but well, Ella is just so spirited. I had given her a fine tipped paint brush, but while she loved it, she never used it. She never paints anymore.

Laura had started exchanging with us last year and the other gift Ella had sitting next to her now was for her. It was a jar of hand cream to protect her skin during this harsh winter. Poor Laura, her life was hard and during the winter her hands always got so cracked and would often bleed at the slightest provocation. I had thought of giving a jar to Mrs. Trodbottle as well, but I would never wish to cause discomfort for giving a gift to someone who had no gift for me. When I had mentioned this to Ella, she had suggested that I give it as a gift of appreciation, but well, it just didn't seem right, not at Christmas. Maybe at her birthday, which now that I thought of it, I realized that I had no idea when it was.

“Well, do you want to go for a walk then Rose?” I turned to Ella in shock.

“What now? But Ella we must leave for the church soon and we need to look respectable on Christmas Eve. We cannot show up with windblown hair or wet feet.”

Ella chuckled and nodded. “Alright Rose, your sense of propriety has convinced me. Perhaps tomorrow, after breakfast.”

“Yes, that sounds very agreeable.”

“Well,” Ella said after a moment, “I should go get ready and give Laura her gift. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Oh I do hope so.” She smiled as she left and I sighed. I looked out upon this white world and I wondered why at a time of year when everyone was supposed to be happy and going to parties, I was so lonely. True, I always felt alone, but now I suppose I felt it so much more acutely. Ella and Laura are wonderful company of course, when I can get it, but mother and Brianna watch me constantly and I just can’t seem to get even a moment where I can decide to do with my time what I will. That was why Ella and I had to meet in secret and why poor Laura really couldn't join us. Mother would be furious and well, I suppose I must practice honesty, especially to myself, and admit that I feared both her and my sister. Yes, fear often creates loneliness if I am allowed to go on my own experiences, limited though they maybe.

The truth was, and I know, it sounds girlish and naive  but what I really wanted and if I was young enough to still be allowed to believe in Santa Clause, then I would be asking him for my true love. I know it does not work that way, but I often wish it did. I suppose many wish that. It would make life so much easier. In truth, I envied James, for he and Laura had a love and a connection I could only hope for.

“Rose,” my mother called. “We must leave.”

“Coming mother.” I exclaimed and put on my coat and hat. We left as a group. Uncle Edward and Ella left first. Poor Uncle Edward, he was always more dead around the holidays and I could tell that it hurt Ella and Mrs. Trodbottle. There was nothing behind his eyes this day. Ella had been able to dress up quickly and I could see that her fire was close to the surface this night. I knew that she would not take anything from Brianna or my mother if they decided to be confrontational. What made this whole thing worse was that Brianna seemed to be in a bad way.

This annoyed me just a bit. I mean, she was the only one that got a very nice gift every Christmas. Last year she had gotten a beautiful pearl necklace and I only ever saw her wear it once. In fact is exasperated me so much that once or twice I even thought about going into her room and taking it. Of course, I would return it, and such thoughts I am not proud of, but I am only human and so prone to slipping into thoughts not so pure.

We rode in separate carriages that night and as we rolled into the town I sighed at how beautiful our little hamlet looked. The roofs were white with the new snow and the people were dressed in their best. Oh, how I just wish that I could decorate my own home and make it warm and beautiful. Where I could entertain those I wish and as long as I wish. Somewhere where I could give gifts to whomever it pleased me to and no one would question me about it.

I sighed as we entered the church. It was truly beautiful dressed in holly and evergreens. Candles were lit everywhere and the songs, oh how their melodies and harmonies lifted my burdened soul as they echoed off the stone vaulted ceiling. The old sounds mingling with the new ones, much like snow in a playful breeze. That night as we listened to the old familiar story of the first Christmas, my mind began to wander. It seems that this night has a history of miracles and well-wishes coming true. Perhaps if I wished hard enough, it would come to a culmination.

Such a thought gave me hope, but one look at my stoic sister, embittered mother, ghostly uncle and oppressed cousin, I knew that I, the frailest of us all could hardly escape the situation first. No, my only hope is that something changes and soon. I felt that I could not withstand another year such as this one. Ella, my only true hope in the house, with so much fire and freedom of thought and heart was beginning to grow to use to her chains. I believe that she was beginning to think that there was nothing better for her to dream of.

If Ella could not leave, then I couldn't. Not unless some young gentleman came and saved me from this well-constructed prison. He didn't even have to be handsome or wealthy, just titled enough to get the approval of mother and kind and gentle enough to keep my heart safe. Ella once told me that I was properly named, for she said that my heart was much like a rose. Beautiful and fragrant, but easily bruised. I knew this all too well. My poor heart was positively scared with all the words and actions of my unthinking family.

Yes, he would have to be very kind and thoughtful. Kindness without thoughtfulness is a rather pointless combination in my opinion. So let us see. He would have to be gentle, kind and thoughtful, but I do not believe that I would want someone who was to serious. He would have to have some humor, though being a jokester all the time would be rather unbecoming, so a personality tempered with humor would be best. I also feel that he would need to be easy going but not so much that his propriety was ever in question.

When we got home, I laughed at the list I was creating for myself. It was impossible to hope for, especially since no man came without a fault. So I suppose I should add to my list what fault I could deal with. Well, he would need to be loyal. I could not stand even the suspicion that he could ever be unfaithful. So it couldn't be lack of loyalty. A temper would be most bruising, so no high tempers. Perhaps, I could stand a man who had a difficulty with disappointing anyone. Yes, for that fault I understood. I am not saying cowardice, for I could not be with a man who could not say no, but I could stand it if it would hurt him to disappoint any that he admired. That is not much of a fault though. Perhaps, his strengths would become his faults.

Perchance his loyalty would be so strong that it would hinder his good sense at times. Lack of clarity, for any reason is a fault and rash decisions for the same incentive would also be a problem. Lack of anger could become a problem, especially once children entered the home. He would need to show them boundaries as a father and at times he would have to show them his anger, though never in a violent manner.

“Oh,” I said to the ceiling. “I am asking for too much perfection aren't I?” I was lying in bed. I had eaten, but I really don’t remember it. I would assume that I had interacted normally, but honestly it was all a blur now. No I had been too busy constructing my perfect man and of course perfection is never obtainable.

“Such stupid thoughts on Christmas Eve, I know. But perhaps, you could give me these thoughts for tonight. After all you have a tendency of giving miracles on this night, could I not be one of them? I’m not asking for him to be delivered to my door step or even to be found under the tree tomorrow.” I laughed at my own silliness, “But could he not take me away from all this. Could he be the piece of the puzzle or the domino that starts a chain reaction, releasing not only me, but well, everyone in this house? Then again, putting so much responsibility on one person is rather unfair if I must say. Maybe, I should just keep this simple. You, after all have been the miracle worker forever, so you know what you’re doing. I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I’m asking for my miracle. I suppose it would be good enough if I could just leave this house, but I've been so alone my entire life that getting my freedom without having someone to share it with would seem hollow.”

The silence of my room was almost loud, and the silver of the moon reflected on the snow made my room bright. I could almost believe that there was an angel standing there and listening. Ready to help me out, though my childish wishes and hopes made me smile. I had to grow up and realize that I was not quite important enough to ask a miracle. But still, it was Christmas and generosity was often preached so I took a chance to breathe my request before I slipped into sleep.

“I just want a life where joy could be possible and not just a childish wish.” As sleep took hold I dreamed of angels flying on feather wings, taking my prayers to the stars where miracles are possible.