“A Lily for Christmas” – Winter
England, 1915. The Great War drags on and no one is left untouched. At the Carrington estate one son is dead and the other returns home physically wounded and emotionally scarred. Lily, a maid who works at the manor, brings the rebirth of spring into the winter of Jonathan’s life.

Excerpt:

Lily poked her finger on a holly leaf that she was inserting into the holiday centerpiece. She cursed under her breath and sucked on the bright red drop of blood welling from her index finger then quickly looked up to see if Mrs. Manning had heard her mumbled swear.

The thin, old woman continued kneading dough as if she were destroying the whole German army single-handed. Mrs. Manning was currently filling both the post of housekeeper and cook on the Carrington estate and her temper was more volatile than usual these days.

“I suppose with your mother gone now you’ll be trotting off to the city like the rest. In my day you worked for a house from the time you were a girl ‘til you couldn’t work any longer. These days all the young women are looking to ‘better themselves.’” She shook her head and turned the dough with a thump on the floured board. “All of ‘em are going off to work in factories. Girls nowadays have no respect for being in service. It’s just as important to the war effort as factory work.”

Lily shook off the pain in her finger then added a few more greens to her arrangement. “I hardly think decorating the Carringtons’ house for Christmas is as important as manufacturing munitions.”

“Hold your tongue.” Mrs. Manning gave the dough a vicious jab. “In my day a girl showed respect for her elders and betters.”

Lily kept her lips pressed tight on her retort. In my day an old woman would have some compassion for a girl who’s just lost her mother. She wove a red ribbon through the wreath then leaned over to breathe in the sharp, pine scent that mingled with the aroma of cinnamon and cloves already wafting through the kitchen.

“Protecting home and hearth, that’s what this war is about. And what will be the point of all the bloodshed if there isn’t a home to come home to at the end of it, answer me that? It’s our national duty to keep the homefires burning.”

Lily bit her lip to keep from making a smart remark about waving the Union Jack while they cooked and cleaned. “Yes, I suppose so.” She looked at her wreath and wondered if it would fall apart when she carried it to the dining room. If she had assembled it there, she could have avoided Manning’s ramblings and dire predictions.

“Maybe I’ve outlived my time.” The cook sighed. She put the dough back in the bowl, covered it and set it aside for its second rising. “Never thought I’d live to see 1915. I had the scarlet fever when I was a girl and they told me I’d never live to twenty, you know.”

“Mm-hm.” Lily had heard the story ever since she was thirteen and first came to work in the kitchen. Mrs. Manning was now a hale and hearty seventy-one.

“It’s evil times we’re living in. Evil times.” After pouring a cup of tea from the kettle on the hob, the old woman settled in her chair to brood. “You should stay here, my girl. The city is no place for a nice young woman.”

“I suppose I will.” With no other staff left besides Wendy the scullery maid Lily didn’t feel she had a lot of choice. She could hardly leave Mrs. Manning to cook, act as housekeeper and run the whole place without help. “At least ‘til the war’s over—whenever that might be.”

She carefully lifted her wreath and carried it from the kitchen up to the dining room where she placed it on the pristine, white tablecloth. It encircled the golden candelabra with its tiers of red candles and gave the dark room a festive air.

Lily shivered and rubbed her arms. They were chilly even under her long-sleeved, wool dress. The new gas heat never seemed to completely dispel the cold from the rooms. She would build a fire and light it in a bit so the dining room would be toasty by dinner.

Going to the sideboard, she gathered flatware to lay around the table. Only three places to set now. She was arranging utensils by Master Jonathan’s place when a voice near the doorway made her jump and drop the forks with a clatter.

“Very nice, Lily. Your arrangement is quite beautiful.”

She looked up at Lady Carrington who had drifted quietly into the room the way she wafted all through the house these days. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“There’s hardly any cause for celebration though, is there?” The mistress walked over to the table and ran her finger along the red velvet bow threaded through the greens. “Perhaps you should change it to black.”

Before Lily could decide if she was serious and come up with a response, Lady Carrington wandered back out of the dining room, her black, silk skirt rustling.

Lily finished setting the table and recalled the fancy balls and house parties that had always marked the Christmas season in the past. Despite the tremendous amount of work those events required, Lily and the other maids used to love them. They would sneak peaks at the guests. Men in crisp white shirts and black tuxedos escorted women in glittering gowns and extravagant jewels. Elaborate gold decorations and gorgeous flower arrangements filled every room and a sense of excitement pervaded the house. The sense of celebration filtered down to the servants’ hall and when all their duties were finished, the girls could count on a small party of their own, including a cup of sherry each.

But there would be no parties or guests this year. The house was in mourning.

After laying out the china and checking the table to make sure everything was in place, Lily headed upstairs. There would be no tall, ornamented tree in the drawing room this year but surely she could make the rooms a little festive with decorations here and there. She planned to search through the boxes in the attic to see what she could find. Running her hand along the banister as she climbed the stairs, she thought an evergreen garland wrapped around it would be nice if she could find the time to cut and fasten the branches.

On the second floor landing, she stopped.

Wrapped in his tatty, blue dressing gown, Master Jonathan limped slowly down the hall in her direction. His pale face was thin and drawn making his dark eyes seem larger than normal. His gaze was trained on the floor but he glanced up at Lily and nodded as he drew close. “Good day.”

Her pulse sped up a little the way it always did when she saw him. She smiled “Good morning, sir. How are you coming along today?”
He stopped walking. “Better, thanks.”

Looking into his deeply shadowed eyes, Lily felt an ache in her chest. She had never seen anyone look so haunted, so lost—except maybe her mother the day Dad died in the mine explosion.

She smoothed the front of her apron nervously. “Can I get you anything? Perhaps a mid-morning snack? You should keep your strength up.”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“Mrs. Manning has just taken some biscuits from the oven. They’re warm and fresh. I’ll bring one and a cup of tea to your room—or maybe you’d like to come down to the drawing room for a change of scenery.” She felt almost desperate to get him out of his room where he’d been moldering for weeks now.

His eyes slid away from hers. He stared at the carpet again as if reading something in the intricate pattern. “No, thank you. I don’t want anything.” He passed Lily and continued down the hall, turning in at the water closet and closing the door behind him.

Lily stood a moment, staring after him. Could his parents not see what was right before their eyes? They’d lost one son in the war and the other had returned shattered yet day after day, they left him alone, ignoring his suffering. She didn’t think Jonathan was healing properly—his leg, yes, but not his spirit. Someone needed to help this broken man.