Page 20 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

“Now I don’t even like bearing his surname. My aunt says I should use Mam’s maiden name—her surname too—but I’m not sure. Mr. Henshall asked me once to adopt his name. I refused. This was a few years ago. I was mean and spiteful about it. Perhaps I really am my father’s daughter.”

“You were an angry adolescent, Effie. Not the first and not the last.”

“Maybe. Yet I regret that now.”

“Then talk to him. I’m sure it’s not too late.”

For a moment Effie said nothing. Then her discouraged expression brightened. She sent Sarah a mischievous sidelong glance and said, “I’ll consider taking his name... if ye will.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. If the girl was in earnest, it was quite a compliment, really. Yet Sarah thought it wiser not to reply. Instead she chuckled a bit awkwardly, squeezed Effie’s hand, and excused herself.

Sarah had already begun working on the dancing slippers for Effie in her rare moments of spare time, embroidering a thistle design onto the toe of each: spiny green ball topped by a purple crown.

Now, as she did so, she found herself praying for the girl, praying that God would heal her wounded daughter-heart from past hurts and guide her into the future. That He would hold her in His mighty hand and, even when she stumbled, not let her fall.

“Please protect her, Lord, and direct her steps. Please direct mine too.”

On Christmas Eve, the five bells in the parish church tower began to chime, calling the faithful to the traditional Christmas Eve service.

Sarah and her family set out together along with Cora, Mr. Henshall and Effie, and the Huttons. Mr. Hutton senior had recently arrived in Sidmouth and joined them as well. William, Claire, and Mira met them at the church.

The temperature had dropped, so they dressed warmly. In fact, Mrs. Denby had declined the invitation to join them due to the cold night and a persistent cough but had promised to come over for dinner on Christmas Day.

“I don’t like that she has to live in that drafty building near the river,” Viola said. “The damp there cannot be good for her.”

As they walked up the churchyard path, Georgiana shivered and then sighed. “I had so hoped for snow. Not for a Christmas as cold as last year’s, but a little snow would be nice.”

Colin teased, “I shall put in a good word with Mother Nature. Women have always liked me.”

“Ha!” Georgiana scoffed and slapped his padded shoulder. “You wish!”

“We had far more snow than usual last year,” Emily said. “Can’t expect that again.”

Sarah added, “I am doing everything in my power to give you a festive Christmas, Georgiana, but the weather is outside of my control.”

Together they all entered the church and processed up the long nave to their usual pews near the front.

During the service, they sang an old Christmas anthem that interwove Latin phrases with English.

“Nowell sing we, now all and some,

For Rex pacificus is come.

In Bethlehem, in that fair city,

A child was born of a maiden free,

That shall a lord and prince be

A solis ortus cardine. ”

In her mind, Sarah translated the Latin— For the King of peace is coming ... From the rising of the sun .

She longed for that peace as well.

After the service, they returned to Sea View. Just like the previous year, they found Mr. Gwilt and their elderly manservant, Lowen, decorating the entrance with pine boughs, holly, and ivy.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “That looks wonderful.”

Once inside, they shed their outer things and continued decorating, winding greenery up the stairway banister, on the mantels, and down the center of the dining room table.

Georgiana, accompanied by Effie and Cora, went and stood at the library windows, watching for their extended family and friends to arrive.

In the adjacent drawing room, a fire blazed in the open hearth, the curtains drawn against the cold.

A shallow pewter bowl sat before the fire, being warmed in preparation for a game of snapdragon.

The games portion of the evening had always been Georgiana’s favorite, and she saw her former enthusiasm mirrored in the eager expressions of the younger girls.

But Georgie found her thoughts more focused on the guests soon to arrive. Or at least, one particular guest.

She had dressed with unusual care in one of her new dresses and kid slippers, forgoing the comfortable half boots she preferred. She’d even asked Emily to help with her hair. Not that anyone had probably noticed. It had been so cold in the church they’d left on their coats and bonnets.

William, Claire, and Mira were the first to arrive. James and Emily greeted them. Armaan and his wife were busy at the boarding house but planned to join them for Christmas dinner and Twelfth Night.

The Hutton family arrived after a brief stop at Westmount: Viola, Major Hutton, Colin, and Mr. Hutton.

“No Miss Marriott?” Mamma asked Colin. “I do hope you extended our invitation?”

Georgiana had seen Colin greet Miss Marriott and her parents after church. Now she waited to hear his reply as well.

“I did indeed, but sadly, family obligations will keep her home tonight.”

“Then perhaps she might join us for New Year’s Eve or Twelfth Night instead?”

“That is very kind of you, madam. I shall ask her.” In his hands, Colin carried his own Christmas decoration: the promised kissing bough, made of holly, ivy, and mistletoe.

Georgie feared her mother might frown on the use of mistletoe, but she made no complaint and suggested he hang it in one of the parlour doorways.

Meanwhile, Mr. Gwilt conscripted Jack, James, and Mr. Henshall to assist him in fashioning the Devonshire equivalent of a Yule log—a massive bundle of ash branches bound together by bands of thin green saplings.

The three men bundled up and went back outside to assist Mr. Gwilt.

Georgie wanted to join them but thought the better of it, considering her thin slippers.

Instead, she helped Colin by finding a nail and ribbon to hang the ball of greenery in the doorway.

She then held the stepladder while he climbed up to hang it.

At her family’s urging, Viola began playing “Deck the Halls” on the pianoforte while the rest of them finished decorating.

As she held the ladder, Georgiana noticed Cora helping Sarah and Jessie carry up food and drink. Mince pies, cider, gingerbread, black butter, hot rolls, and more. Soon the house was filled with the tangy aromas of wood smoke, roasted chestnuts, and mulling spices.

The men returned with the large bundle of bound branches, carried it into the drawing room, and laid it next to the hearth.

When all had gathered, Mr. Hutton senior, as the eldest present, helped place the long bundle onto the andirons. The wood soon sparked to life and distinctive orange and purple flames leapt from it.

Emily, most familiar with local customs, told them, “All unmarried women present should choose one of the bands, and whoever’s burns through first means that she will be the next to marry.”

Georgie said, “Cora and Mira are too young. So that leaves only me, Effie, and Sarah. Unless you want to participate, Mamma?”

“Heavens, no.”

Emily urged, “Quick, you three, choose a band.”

Sarah began to protest, “I don’t believe in such supersti—”

Emily shushed her. “Just pick one already.”

The three each did so.

As the fire consumed the bands, one after another gave way.

“Yours was first, Sarah!” Effie exclaimed. “That means ye shall be the first to marry.”

Sarah’s face reddened from more than the blaze of the fire, Georgie noticed, and her sister avoided Mr. Henshall’s gaze.

After that, they sang carols such as “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night” and “The First Noel.”

Then people rose to help themselves to the trays of savories and sweets arrayed on the sideboard in the dining room, while Mr. Gwilt handed round warm drinks.

The adjoining rooms hummed with lively conversation and laughter as people told stories, shared news, and talked of plans for Boxing Day, New Year’s, and Twelfth Night.

An hour or so into the evening, Georgiana lifted the large shallow dish piled with raisins and set it at the center of a small round table. Mamma carried in a jug of brandy—the signal that the game of snapdragon was about to begin.

Those who wished to play, or were cajoled into doing so, gathered around the table as Mr. Gwilt snuffed out the nearby candles.

“Have you played this game before, Cora?” Georgie asked.

“No, though I’ve heard of it. Won’t we burn our fingers?” Cora shot a surreptitious glance at the major’s burn scars.

At that, Jack whispered something into Viola’s ear and left the room.

Georgiana had not considered that he might mind the game. His burns had come from an explosion, but she supposed any reminder might be painful. She resolved not to suggest playing this game in future.

Refocusing on Cora, she said, “As long as you are quick and put the raisins in your mouth straightaway, it won’t hurt.”

“Cora, you need not play if you don’t wish,” Mamma said as she poured brandy over the raisins. “You can watch.”

The girl swallowed hard. “Good idea.”

The elder Mr. Hutton grumbled, “I can’t believe this game has not been outlawed.”

“What are we waitin’ for?” Effie urged.

Georgie began the traditional chant, and the others joined in:

“Here he comes with flaming bowl,

Don’t he mean to take his toll,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Take care you don’t take too much,

Be not greedy in your clutch,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!”

“Ready?” Georgie asked.

Heads nodded and at Mamma’s signal, Mr. Gwilt lit a long match in the fireplace and used it to ignite the brandy. Blue flames lit up the room.

Little Mira watched the proceedings with round eyes. Her father picked her up in his arms, saying, “How about we wait a few years before you try this game, ey, my pumpion?”

Mira nodded.

Across the fire’s flickering glow, Colin said, “Show us how it’s done, Miss Georgiana.”

Georgie darted her hand in without hesitation, pinched a raisin, and popped it into her mouth.