Merry December 2nd!
Christmas afternoon chez Jack. 585 words, rated PG-13
EN FAMILLE
Sophie was knelt before the fire, looking not much older than the twins as she helped Charlotte undo the buttons on her new doll’s pelisse. The Yule log made a merry, crackling blaze behind them. Fanny, not yet recovered from a bad cold, was curled up next to her dozing grandmother, three quarters asleep herself in the middle of the afternoon, but still retaining a fast grip on her own new doll.
Little George, industriously sucking on a section of orange, swayed on unsteady legs and clutched onto his father’s breeches with a sticky hand. Jack stroked his hair fondly. “I missed this last year, Stephen.”
“Sure, Christmas is a time for family,” Stephen agreed, managing to sound disagreeable in the process.
“And so you are to us, brother,” Jack responded, peering at his friend. “Is something amiss?”
“No, not a thing, joy. Only that England is so cold at this time of year.”
Last year it had been warm, exceedingly warm. They’d been not far south of the equator when Christmas Day had arrived. They’d exchanged gaily wrapped trinkets over breakfast, swum together naked to cool their limbs before dressing far too warmly for the far too heavy meal that the wardroom had invited their Captain to partake of. Some of the men had caroled their way through the ship in the evening, and Jack and Stephen had responded with a few very old traditional songs that they had transcribed for cello and violin.
Late that night, they had quietly given each other their true gifts, and Stephen’s skin had burned beneath Jack’s palms as they clung to one another damply.
Jack swallowed. He stood, hoisting George up into his arms. “As the snow is flying on the outside I find that we must warm you on the inside.” He walked behind Stephen’s chair and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “What say you to some rum punch?”
“I say that you ask very foolish questions.” Stephen looked up at Jack with a crooked half-smile.
“Rum! Rum!” George said loudly.
“That’s right, little man,” Jack told him with approval.
“Jack?” Sophie called questioningly.
“I’m just going to start water boiling for some punch. Stephen’s feeling chilled.”
“Oh!” Sophie scrambled to her feet. “Stephen, can I get you a rug? I hope you will not have caught Fanny’s cold. Does your head ache?”
“No, my dear, not a bit. I beg you, do not fuss. The very thought of imminent punch warms me to the core, I assure you.”
With a frown, Sophie reached out to feel Stephen’s forehead.
“Who of us is the doctor, here?” Stephen said with mock sternness.
Jack chuckled and held out a hand to his wife. “Come and peel the lemon for me, sweetheart, and leave Stephen be.”
They went towards the kitchen together and Stephen watched their retreating backs over his shoulder until they disappeared. When he turned around, Charlotte was there, beginning to climb up onto his lap, but finding it difficult while holding onto her doll. Stephen lifted her up obligingly. She settled in with a wriggle and held up her doll for his admiration. “I am very nearly decided that her name will be Tabitha. I think it’s a very nice name, don’t you?”
“A lovely name, mo leanbh.” Stephen stroked Charlotte’s cheek with one finger and sighed. Jack’s booming laughter came from the kitchen, and it warmed Stephen more than any punch ever could. He pulled Charlotte a little closer, smiling. “Very nearly perfect.”
EN FAMILLE
Sophie was knelt before the fire, looking not much older than the twins as she helped Charlotte undo the buttons on her new doll’s pelisse. The Yule log made a merry, crackling blaze behind them. Fanny, not yet recovered from a bad cold, was curled up next to her dozing grandmother, three quarters asleep herself in the middle of the afternoon, but still retaining a fast grip on her own new doll.
Little George, industriously sucking on a section of orange, swayed on unsteady legs and clutched onto his father’s breeches with a sticky hand. Jack stroked his hair fondly. “I missed this last year, Stephen.”
“Sure, Christmas is a time for family,” Stephen agreed, managing to sound disagreeable in the process.
“And so you are to us, brother,” Jack responded, peering at his friend. “Is something amiss?”
“No, not a thing, joy. Only that England is so cold at this time of year.”
Last year it had been warm, exceedingly warm. They’d been not far south of the equator when Christmas Day had arrived. They’d exchanged gaily wrapped trinkets over breakfast, swum together naked to cool their limbs before dressing far too warmly for the far too heavy meal that the wardroom had invited their Captain to partake of. Some of the men had caroled their way through the ship in the evening, and Jack and Stephen had responded with a few very old traditional songs that they had transcribed for cello and violin.
Late that night, they had quietly given each other their true gifts, and Stephen’s skin had burned beneath Jack’s palms as they clung to one another damply.
Jack swallowed. He stood, hoisting George up into his arms. “As the snow is flying on the outside I find that we must warm you on the inside.” He walked behind Stephen’s chair and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “What say you to some rum punch?”
“I say that you ask very foolish questions.” Stephen looked up at Jack with a crooked half-smile.
“Rum! Rum!” George said loudly.
“That’s right, little man,” Jack told him with approval.
“Jack?” Sophie called questioningly.
“I’m just going to start water boiling for some punch. Stephen’s feeling chilled.”
“Oh!” Sophie scrambled to her feet. “Stephen, can I get you a rug? I hope you will not have caught Fanny’s cold. Does your head ache?”
“No, my dear, not a bit. I beg you, do not fuss. The very thought of imminent punch warms me to the core, I assure you.”
With a frown, Sophie reached out to feel Stephen’s forehead.
“Who of us is the doctor, here?” Stephen said with mock sternness.
Jack chuckled and held out a hand to his wife. “Come and peel the lemon for me, sweetheart, and leave Stephen be.”
They went towards the kitchen together and Stephen watched their retreating backs over his shoulder until they disappeared. When he turned around, Charlotte was there, beginning to climb up onto his lap, but finding it difficult while holding onto her doll. Stephen lifted her up obligingly. She settled in with a wriggle and held up her doll for his admiration. “I am very nearly decided that her name will be Tabitha. I think it’s a very nice name, don’t you?”
“A lovely name, mo leanbh.” Stephen stroked Charlotte’s cheek with one finger and sighed. Jack’s booming laughter came from the kitchen, and it warmed Stephen more than any punch ever could. He pulled Charlotte a little closer, smiling. “Very nearly perfect.”