His Christmas Family

HIS CHRISTMAS FAMILY

EPILOGUE

London

The air was fine, and the sun spied shyly on the hill on which the cottage was erected. Leonard and his beautiful wife Hannah had lived there for five years. They had a three year old son who looked exactly like his father. Leonard was not a very rich man, but he lived a simple and satisfied life with his family.

He especially liked the way his son would point at Hannah’s stomach and exclaim, “Why is mama’s stomach so big? Did she swallow a huge pie?”

“No son,” Leonard would reply, “Your sister is resting in there, and she would come out when mama says its time.”

Hannah would smile at the father and his son, and she would run a palm over her stomach to restrain herself from correcting her husband that this baby in her would be another boy. She had no preference of the child’s gender, only that she wanted to make the gender of the coming baby a little interesting, hence her reason for creating the controversy.

They were having a good time that afternoon. Hannah was facing her husband whose back was against the window and the child was carried in his arms. There, she saw the swift movements of the gypsies that occasionally wandered around their house.

“Look!” she exclaimed, pointing in the direction. If she had thought about her action, she wouldn’t have screamed, but she had seen them in such haste and her reaction had been delivered impulsively.

Leonard turned in the direction and figured the quick escape too. He lowered his son down.

“Papa!” Augie shrieked.

“Not those miscreants again!” Leonard bellowed, blinded in his fury by his son’s disappointment. “They are not getting away this time.” He had begun to hurry in the direction of the front door when his wife, clutching her stomach called him back.

She had done that on several occasions; call him back when he was aiming to confront the sinewy looking gypsies, and all those times, his instant return to her had not proven efficient in stopping the mischief.

“’Tis about time someone taught those dingbats some deep lessons.” He retrieved his long spade on his way to the door and hurried out of the house. Outside the hut, he found his horse tied to a stem. He loosened the chord and hopped on his horse.

“Do be safe!” Hannah said loudly, more to herself than the man. It was clear that was all she could do now. The strange feeling she was having within her was not a new sensation. It had prompted her to stop him from similar missions in the past; all to have the miscreants coming back to their lawn.

The gypsies had never stolen nor burgled their own home, but the frequent wandering on another man’s property was worthy of suspicion and pursuit.

Hannah quickly leaned against the window, beside it was a painting of her family, but that was not her focus now. Her heart thumped heavily against her chest as sweat seeped through the pores on her skin. Dear God. She muttered quietly.

Augie looked about him, and when he identified the commotion, he began to wail.

Outside, Leo galloped on the horse furiously as he descended the hill. Cursed be anyone who was ever found lurking around his house again.

Leonard was the object of his wife’s attention while the baby cried in what appeared to him to be nothing short of desertion. Hannah hoped her husband would catch up with none of the troublemakers and would soon return to the hut. The gypsies were small statured, a six foot five Leonard should easily take down four of them at once, without breaking a sweat but who knew if they had dangerous weapons with which they’d attack? His spade might not work if they challenged him with fiercer weapons.

Augie kept wailing amidst the drama, and his incessant noise soon became overbearing, Hannah retreated from the window and she dragged lazy feet to attend to the baby.

When she returned to the window neither her husband, his horse nor the culprits were within sight. Hannah widened her eyes to see clearer. She could not believe her eyes. Had he chased them beyond the valleys? Of what good was that?

She lifted Augie up to her shoulder, despite herself, and she began to amble out of the house, to the edge of the cliff where she had last spotted Leo heading.

“Leonard!” She screamed as soon as she got outside. Under the weight of the children about her, she could only trudge along the path. “Leo!” She screamed on.

Eventually, she got to the cusp of the cliff and saw the horse down below it, near the river. Neither Leo nor the horse had ridden to the valleys, they had crashed. Around the horse was a gory splash of blood and the spade.

The horse was on the bank of the river that ran across their land; the beast was clearly too heavy to be swept by the water. Her husband however had not been so lucky; he had obviously been flown away by the river. But the spade’s presence? Unexplained.

One final time, Hannah screamed her husband’s name, but it echoed through the wideness of area and came back to her empty. The nearest help she could get could only come from their neighbors who were several miles away. It would take about an hour and half to get the help.

CHAPTER ONE

18 months after

Kelly cried out loudly and her brother hurried to stick her feeding bottle into her mouth. The baby kept quiet instantly, and in place of her tears, squelching sound took over.

“Good girl.” The boy complimented while he watched with admiration and unending surprise as a mere bottle put the baby’s miseries to an end.

The mother hurried into the living room looking weary. “Thank God you were prompt. You are starting to take up responsibilities.” Hannah complimented.

“Thank you, mama.” The lad replied smiling.

“Seeing that you are both good, I need to fetch the wood now, to ensure the house is warm. And when I get back, we shall decorate the house in preparation for Christmas.”

“Yes, Christmas.” Augie smiled.

Hannah noticed the error in his buttons and she walked toward him, he was gradually learning everything but still needed to know so much more. She knelt by him and undid the buttons on his shirt. Then she started fixing them.

“You missed one button and the entire arrangement is wrong.”

“Oh oh.” He said as he frowned.

“’Tis not too bad now, see I fixed it.”

“Thank you mama. You are the best.” He leaped at her and hugged her tightly.

The moment’s compassion hurriedly brought layers of tears to Hannah’s eyes. She clutched the boy tightly to herself, not wanting him to see the tears if they eventually fall off.

“Are you crying again mama?” the boy asked solemnly. Hannah realized he had heard her sniff.

“No…Yes, my son.” She drew away so that they both stared into each other’s eyes; “I’m crying because I love you.”

“I love you too mama.” And then he hugged her again, but his inquiry was far from being over, “Will papa be back anytime soon? I know you would not cry if he was with us.”

“Oh darling.” Hannah clutched him close again. “Your papa will be with us very soon. And yes, you are right, none of us would cry again then.”

“I hope he gets back before Christmas.” Augie said after a brief moment.

When she finally left the house, the tears continued in her heart. A number of men in the market where she sold and bought items had approached her with different proposals; some were too malicious that she had to snap right back at them. Many of them had ruthless intentions and they made bold of it, hurling it in her face as though she was without worth.

After all, she was regarded in their sight as a widow, and so they came in all manner of defiance bearing a supposed desperation for her.

One particular Mr. Wells who had an unendurably bad smell displayed his lack of wits whenever he came to Hannah’s stall. He’d say demeaning things to make her feel bad. His untoward behaviors began when he had come to terms with the fact that Hannah was not going to marry a foolhardy as him. “You will be mine eventually, when the rotting bones of your husband is finally brought to you.”

His words, as terrible as his smell offended her. “Be gone you with your untowardness!” She yelled at him and that was the last time he came to her stall drunk. The following times, he tried to be well mannered.

Either they were decent men or not, Hannah was not in the slightest means ready to entertain the thoughts that her husband was dead. He is alive, as far as she was concerned. She had convinced herself about that so firmly that nothing anyone could do or say shook her faith.

Sometimes, when the breeze blew into their home and made the door creak, she would instantly look up in its direction. Little Augie had now grown accustomed to that too; he would impulsively look at the door with hope.

As she walked the distance reflecting on these, she knew she needed to prepare her boy’s mind for an eventual disappointment of his father’s never coming back.

The December cold was light but she didn’t want her children staying alone for so long. Every now and then, she looked back at the cottage in the distance, just to make sure that no one was sneaking around it. Since her husband strange departure, there had been no parading of miscreants.

People had tried to look for him. Some traced the Sismondi River for as far as all the four villages the water ran by, but no one came back with any news of ever sighting him.

Hannah found a tree finally, and she knew the woods would be good for the purpose of keeping the family warm. She examined the back of the tree before she began to axe portions of it down.

My husband would be back to me. She told herself. I know he will. Although she could not convince herself that he would return before Christmas. Christmas was only five days to go. That seemed too soon, especially given the fact that he had been gone for over a year, and had missed the previous Christmas which had come with so great a hope.

Hannah didn’t even have a set date for his return, all that she knew was that she would see him again…hopefully sooner than later.

CHAPTER TWO

October,

Scotland.

The two daughters of the earl stood like figurines admiring each other’s beauties. The light gowns were the most difficult part for the artist who was a few feet away from them, squinting to pick every detail.

He’d always claim that he had difficulty painting the folds of the gowns, but when the painting was over, nothing seemed unlike the intention.

The artist grabbed the mantle that he had slung over his shoulder, and he dabbed his forehead to clean the beads of sweat. Even painting could be that stressful sometimes, the girls thought.

“Is this difficult Mr. Wenger?” the older of the ladies quizzed.

“Very difficult.” The artist replied furrowing his brows to remain focused.

“What about this?” Cindy moved. She plucked tendrils from her sister’s hair in a new poise.

“Do not move.” Elizabeth cautioned. “You’ll ruin it.”

“It is impossible not to move.” Cindy reminded, “And never mind, Mr. Wenger always takes note of the details, he’d miss none. It doesn’t matter how many times I change my position.”

“It does matter, actually.” The artist replied. “But I shall spare every move you’ve made before this turn.”

“Good.” Cindy said as she changed her position yet again.

With her consistent movements, it took nearly two hours for the painting to be completed. When finally the man invited them to take a look, the ladies were thrilled.

“Your skills are beyond this world Mr. Wenger.” Elizabeth complimented.

Elizabeth was the elder sister and the witty one, Cindy was only ever conscious about getting attention from all, but they were both adorable ladies.

The ladies were still gloating over the result of Mr. Wenger’s piece when their father sauntered into the drawing room with a strange man who none of them had seen before in the house.

“Father. You must see the masterpiece painting Mr. Wenger has made of Elizabeth and I.” Cindy said. The joy on her face made it seem like the work was an achievement on her part.

“Leo’s skills are impressive, and I am myself a witness of that.” Lord Francis stared at the piece and nodded with approval. He turned it so that the visitor would see too. The man nodded approvingly and stared at the girls to examine the accuracy of the painting.

The earl then walked to a seat and offered the gentleman behind him a seat too.

“This is Mr. Thierry. He is French.” The earl introduced.

“Bonjour Monsieur.” Elizabeth and her sister curtsied.

“Good afternoon madams.” The man had a croaky voice.

“These are my daughters. And right here is Leonard Wenger, my chief manservant. But as you must have seen yourself, he is an excellent man with his hands.”

The French man shook Leo’s hands and smiled. “It is nice meeting you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Sir.” Leo smiled back without looking into the faces of either of the men.

The ladies, seeing they had no further business in the drawing room, grabbed the painting and scurried to their chamber to allow the adults discuss. As soon as they were gone, the earl swung into action.

“So, Mr. Wenger has a little trouble. He was rescued by my brother who was hunting in the field about a year ago.”

“Yes?” Mr. Thierry nodded.

“Ever since he was rescued, he has trouble remembering anything. I especially feel concerned now because I have taken care of him long enough. He is a grown man and perhaps has a family who must have grown weary of his long absence. I want you to help him remember all that he has forgotten so that he can make his way back home.”

Leo smiled. Of course, the smile was the only personal belonging he had left. No memories. Once in a while, he’d remember water rushing into his face, and the people who rescued him had attested to rescuing him from the river, and that was easily understandable.

Turning in Leo’s direction, Lord Francis continued his speech. “Leo, this is an expert in the field. He has helped three people in the past and has developed a great repute for himself in this regard. I implore you to allow him help you remember.”

“Yes sir.” Leonard nodded.

In the days that followed Mr. Thierry and Leo spent several moments together.

“First,” the French man said, “I shall start from the tiniest detail you remember.”

“Water.” Leonard replied.

They were sitting at the shed outside the house, overlooking the garden that was excellently tendered. Leonard had made a painting of the garden once, and the Francis had been deeply appreciative of it.

“What quantity of water?” Mr. Thierry probed further.

The flashes of his rescue ran through his mind. “Gushing water, like a river.”

A river. Mr. Thierry wrote that in a parchment in his hand. “And when you came into full consciousness, what was the first thing you saw?”

Leo smiled, “The adorable roof of Lord Francis’ guest room… the sonorous voice of the nurse who informed the doctor and Lord Francis himself that I was awake.”

“Do you have any snippets of events you cannot remember happening?”

“No…” Leo said, the ignorance was clear in his appearance, but when the French man refused to accept the response, it caused Leo to think deeper about the question again, and then the memory of a falling horse came to him. “There was a stallion!”

“Good.” The French man quickly drafted that in his parchment. “Think about the color, the size and then the environment in which you were both in.”

Subsequent days followed the same pattern. The idea was to get Leo to remember details surrounding the small memories of the past he had tried to recollect. The activity was not difficult, with his painting skill; he was able to put pieces together to create some scenes that had happened in his life.

The entre picture however, was still unclear. He remembered falling from the brown horse on a slightly sunny afternoon, and he remembered losing control of the cords when they got to the edge of the cliff. He also remembered falling, the fright in his eyes as he felt this would be the last scene in his life, and after that was the water.

The pieces were coming to him. Mr. Thierry made some recommendations and offered him herbs. Ponder on the simple things you remember every night before sleeping. If a word sounds relevant, write it down and think hard and long about it. If you remember a face, sketch it.

All that, Mr. Thierry recommended, would help him remember who he was faster.

The thought that he might have a family made even Leo hungry to know about who he was. He had a gashing wound across his head, which signified that he had suffered a terrible accident. There must be people who he ought to return to. He didn’t even care if they were rich and had everything like the Francis, or if they were too poor to afford a living.

One Sunday afternoon in November, there would be a major breakthrough in Leo’s trials. The Francis’ had returned from church and was settling for lunch when one of the daughters uttered an observation that sent Leo rushing into his room to make out a painting.

“Mrs. Dempsey looks so old with her swollen belly. I do not know how being pregnant makes people ugly that way.” Cindy had said, without any intention to juggle anyone’s memory.

CHAPTER THREE

London.

Two drunken men found their way to the terrace of the hut. Their movement was completely unsteady as they competed like children to see who would make his way to the door first.

The sound of their unsteady footsteps along the terrace of the house made Hannah jolt frightfully. She hurried toward the door to ensure that it was bolted.

“Hannah?” one of the men said, and she identified the speaker immediately. “Hannah, is that you?”

“Of course that is Hannah, who else do you think it could be?”

“Maybe her husband is back, you cannot tell.” Mr. Bolton scorned. “Is anyone home?”

“No one is home!” Augie’s voice pierced through the silence that followed the man’s inquiry. The drunks outside laughed rudely at the boy’s response and Hannah hurried to hold her son.

She kissed his forehead and watched furtively for any nefarious moves.

“Hannah, we know you are in there, get this door opened or we would help ourselves in.” the other man said. His voice was no so familiar, but a man like Mr. Bolton had friends who looked exactly like himself. He was surely one of his friends.

“We are not here to harm you Hannah, we just came to say hello. It is Christmas season. A season of love.”

“If you do not leave my home this moment, then I shall make you both regret the day you were born!” Hannah declared.

A silence that seemed like compliance followed her threat, and then the men laughed again but retreated from knocking at the door in the rude manner they had been doing.

“Can you really call this a home without the man in there?” Mr. Bolton laughed. “It is only a matter of time before you allow me into that cozy chamber of yours. Trust me lady, it is for your own good.”

Hannah said naught further, she heard the men’s frustrated sighs and their retreating footsteps, and then she walked toward her window to peer at them as they wandered off.

Mr. Bolton was only an inch taller than his friend. They were both short and heavily obese. If Leo was home, he could put an arm behind his back and still defeat both men with his left hand.

Hannah would think of him with great fondness, and often time when men made such insolent moves like Mr. Bolton had just done, she’d find herself thinking if Leo was capable of fighting and overpowering them.

There was hardly any man in London who had Leo’s strength. Hannah could never forget the day a rakish earl required Leo’s service and refused to pay the agreed amount despite the efforts he had inculcated in completing the tedious painting.

In order to dissuade Leo from pressing for his payment, the earl called his footman to deal with Leo. That day, the earl’s men were terribly ridiculed after Leo gave the men severe beating.

Only the earl who ordered them around was spared of the punishment, but after seeing the competence of the painter, he paid in full for Leo’s service and thereafter kept away from him.

Hannah’s love for her husband would not wane off easily. But she did not like the way in which men trespassed to insult her.

That night, she knelt beside her bed and prayed.

“Dear God, please let my husband return to me this year; make this a Christmas gift for me. My children are young and they need their father. I need my husband too. Keep him safe and bring him to us. Please. Amen.”

It was then only two days to Christmas.

***

Scotland.

The carriage in which Leonard was to travel had items after items loaded in it. He could not keep his mouth closed as the maids of the generous family he had stayed with walked in and out of the house with gifts.

It was a spacious carriage and several trunks were loaded behind it.

“Most of these came from members of the church.” Lord Francis informed with a hearty smile. “And it is Christmas, so you have a lot of Christmas gift for your family.”

“I wish I had more time to appreciate them.” Leo replied with a helpless smile. “Sir, you have been a very good man to me, and I deeply appreciate your family’s continuation to my life.”

“You are a wonderful man yourself Mr. Wenger.” Elizabeth chirped.

“Yes, we can all say that. And we shall not soon be forgetting your marvelous impact in our home.” The countess chirped.

“Send our warmest regard to your family.” Cindy said just as Leo was hopping unto the carriage.

Departing from the Francis was a bitter sweet experience for Leo, but to think of the joy that awaited him in London, Leo could not keep his excitement to himself.

Two weeks ago, Leonard recovered fully from his memory loss. He remembered his wife in her pregnant state. And he remembered the paintings around his hut in London; every bit of it that he had drawn with his talented hands, he remembered.

He remembered the moment his attention was drawn to the men loitering around his home. He and Hanna had gotten that secluded place for its quiet and serene environment, and those riff raffs had been parading the area and causing nuisance with their unending creeps. He remembered that he and his wife had had enough of those lads and the men that sponsored them.

Leo recollected how he hopped on his horse in fury, and how he had pursued the men. Little as they were in size, their legs were quite swift. His horse was just as determined as he was and in that determination, it had hopped blindly and treaded the cusp of the hill were an hoof slipped and had them crashing to the ground.

Before his own body hit the soft skin of the horse, the horse had already crashed against the stony valley and had broken its bones. Leo must have fallen on the horse, because now, he remembered the spade slashing the part of his head that nearly hit the rocky ground.

That was when he blacked out. That was perhaps when the river waves flowed to them and carried his body, moving him gingerly along the narrow path that led into another town.

His body must have been brilliantly transported all the way to where it was finally found. And to imagine this was done by the water that would never stop to amaze him.

CHAPTER FOUR

The excitement with which Leonard had begun his journey dissipated into fear as the silence of the journey hit him. Before that time, he had looked through the busy streets of Scotland, admiring the fact that he was leaving all these behind for the pleasure of finally reconnecting with his family.

Every moment he tossed the curtains of his carriage aside, there seemed to be families who had returned for the holidays and were reuniting with their families. The display of love was strong; it was the Christmas season anyway and was expected. But it whetted Leo’s appetite to see his own family members too.

As the journey became silent, the thought that Hannah might now be married became his primary fear. She was adorable and intelligent lady, talented in playing the pianoforte and it was almost impossible to think that he had neatly forgotten about her before his memory was juggled. That though, was a medical situation, the physician had explained to him, but Leo was yet to find any contentment in that comfort.

It would have taken so much for Hannah to remain unmarried. If the love she had for Leo had endured for the first two months of his disappearance, it surely would not keep this long.

A woman whose husband’s dead body was found - as proof of his death - might stick with the fondness of her loss for a long time. One whose husband was absorbed into oblivion? Not so much.

Leo imagined that Hannah would have been traumatized by her unpredictable absence. If he was in her shoes, he would have remained alone anyway. Forever, perhaps.

Then he thought about their new baby. He knew one of them would have been right about the gender of the child. That would not make any meaning to Hannah anymore, seeing that the only person who she would have loved to win was nowhere to be found.

As he approached London, fresher fears arose. What if the baby did not survive? What was happening to Augie right now? Has Augie been sent back to his own parents? Did Hannah still cared about him? Would his return to them interpret into good results or bad?

***

“What is the plan tonight mama?” Augie asked that morning, with a dry expression.

The question had been asked because Augie had picked discussions from a few people about how Christmas Eve had been anticipated with high thrills around the city. The previous year, he had barely grown into the consciousness of his existence. Now, he was older.

Hannah had nothing planned. She had decorated the house, and vaguely planned to wrap gifts in boxes for the children. The celebration all around town had only worn her out, she only wished the Christmas was over already.

Leo’s parents had told her that she could bring the children to them, but she had insisted on them being with her, claiming that the house would be so lonely. It was apparent that was how she wanted to spend her time; with her children alone in their hut, and so the family did not make any further pressure of her coming with the children.

“We shall sing hymns.” Hannah replied casually.

The response didn’t go well with the boy. Since he woke from bed that morning, he had not been excited about the entire season thrills.

By two o’ clock that afternoon, Hannah had grown weary of playing the pianoforte to Augie whose mind was not even there. She was seized between the decision to stop playing or to allow Augie try his fingers, but none of that would happen because just then, the cottage was startled by the clattering of a stone on their dining table. It was hurled in through the window closest to the table.

The gypsies? Hannah wondered. By instinct, she crawled from the old pianoforte that occupied a large space in the living room to hold Augie and Kelly. Their safety was all that mattered to her now.

An air of relief swept through the home when the cackle of a most notorious Mr. Bolton was heard from the door post.

Hannah’s eyes darted to make sure the door was closed. It was.

“Hannah Banana.” Mr. Bolton teased. “’Tis Christmas Eve tonight, would you still be curled up in the loneliness of this filthy hut?”

“Nay!” an unknown accomplice replied mockingly. Hannah imagined that it had been he who hurled the stone through their window.

“And you Mr. Bolton speak about filth when you are an incarnation of it.” Hannah yelled.

The men outside laughed. “That is so sad, because today, I shall not be leaving here without you.”

“Then I shall be here for a hundred years.” Hannah replied.

“Wait until you find out what I have planned.” Mr. Bolton threatened.

Another stone was hurled from the direction of the first. Hannah had to duck again, safety was not yet assured.

It was clear that there were more than Mr. Bolton and an accomplice at upon the house. Mr. Bolton had come with more than one of his accomplices.

“I do not want any trouble Mr. Bolton. Please be gone!” Hannah screamed.

“Please be gone.” Bolton himself mimicked and the voices of two men laughed satisfactorily.

Three fools. Hannah told herself, and she silently prayed for safety.

***

The sight of his home from afar almost had Leo’s heart leaping off his chest. He was not even sure Hannah would still be there, but that was a question that would be answered in a few seconds.

His carriage hurried to the cliff, but at the edge, a most disturbing sight soon appeared before his face. Three men were flaunting themselves around the hut. They were so flagrant and reckless that they made Leo feel his bile lifting up to this throat.

He got off the carriage and hurried at them. The first man that noticed his presence screamed for the attention of the others, but it was too late for the screamer to escape a dirty slap on his bald head. The slap had him reeling to the ground in utter pain.

“Think you are good?” the closer man gritted his teeth at Leo and began to take tentative steps toward him.

Leo hurried toward the man approaching him, and he tossed him off balance. As soon as he fell, Leo grabbed him by his collar and dragged him to the open lawn, while Mr. Bolton himself hurried after him to strike a blow.

While awaiting the third attacker, Leo raised the victim in his hand up and slammed him down to the earth. The man would survive only with a permanent impairment.

Mr. Bolton saw the easiness with which Leo dealt with his accomplices and he considered running. He had not taken three steps before Leo caught up with him, and he dragged him all the way back to the terrace. Bolton would tell the story of his brutally sored back to his grandchildren, who would learn by seeing his scars, never to covet their neighbors wife.

The very moment Leo let the man go, he and his accomplices ran like mad dogs away from the house. They shall not be having a good Christmas.

Leo walked to the door and was about to knock when his utterly shocked wife pulled the metal bars aside, flung the door opened and stood; bewildered, at the door way.

“Papa?” Augie asked. Then he looked at the bright smile on the face of his father and his next word was not a question. “Papa!”

The Christmas and all the days that followed, was never again sad for the Wengers.