The Joy of Christmas

Darkness fills the room as Charles begins to slowly wake from his lovely dream. They were at the beach again, enjoying the warmth of a summer day, waves lapping gently against their ankles, ice cream filling their bellies, and birds dancing high above them on a breeze.

Elsie is pressed firmly against his body, both for comfort and for warmth, and he hates to disturb her. She will have to get up and dress soon enough, brave the chilly weather to walk to the house for yet another busy day of work only to walk home again in the frigid temperatures. And he is reminded of just how cold it is this morning when he reaches his hand from beneath the warmth of the blankets to retrieve his watch from the nightstand to check the time. He sighs happily as he reads the time. There is still a good half hour before she needs to wake so he wraps his arms around her and burrows deeper into the covers, perhaps to retreat to the happiness of his dream.

But, before he has even a moment to recapture those images, he hears her soft voice, still thick from sleep and feels her warm breath against his cheek. "What time is it? I feel like we just went to bed." Her arms tighten around him as she waits for the answer.

"You still have a half hour, though I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you stayed home today. It would give Miss Baxter a chance to test her wings." He knows it's a frivolous suggestion. Elsie is too much of a perfectionist, too committed to her work. He remembers those days well and understands it when she tells him that is not an option, gently reminding him that Her Ladyship has already given her the next two days away from the house as an additional treat.

"I'll be home before you know it," she says as she leans up and captures his lips with hers for a soft, warm kiss. "And then, we can eat a hearty supper and decorate our tree. I've been looking forward to this night since you brought the tree home." She presses her index finger to the little cleft in his chin and smiles as he shifts his head ever so slightly to kiss the pad of her finger.

He tugs the blankets up around her shoulders as she easily slips her body over his until she's lying flush against him, belly to belly, her head resting in the crook of his neck. If asked, she would not be able to explain the need to hear his heart beating in her ear or his solid frame beneath her as they cuddle like this from time to time. "I'm not too heavy, am I? I can move."

"Don't you dare." His arms wrap around her waist as he holds her closer, and they slip into a comfortable silence, each enjoying the last few moments of stillness before the day truly begins.

But, it's not long before Elsie is compelled to move. She has a job to do, at least for a few more weeks, and she is relatively certain that if she stays for much longer, Charles might very well persuade her to stay, or at least give her a very good and enjoyable reason to be delayed.

When she joins him downstairs, she finds that there is a good fire going in the hearth, her tea is prepared to perfection, and he's already slicing the bread for their toast and jam. He's pleased with himself, and that fills her with pride. He turns to receive her kiss before she leans into his side. He holds out his hand and smiles. "No tremors this morning … at least not yet."

She takes his hand in hers and kisses the back of it then turns it over and kisses his palm. "It's going to be a good day, Charlie. I feel it."

He chuckles at her enthusiasm. "You're just excited because we are decorating our tree this evening. You're like a little girl who can't wait for Father Christmas to arrive."

"Well, why shouldn't I be excited," she asks, giving his bottom a playful pat. "This is my favorite time of year, and we celebrate the anniversary of your proposal."

He turns and wraps his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace. "And you said yes … warts and all, though I have yet to find a single wart anywhere, and I do believe I have inspected all of you."

The last part of his statement is whispered against the shell of her ear which causes her to shiver in delight, anticipation, and memories. "Perhaps, if things go well tonight, we might perform another inspection," she teases, giving his heart a reason to beat a little faster.

They talk over toast and tea about dinner and decorations. And as much as he loathes visiting Mrs. Wigan at the post office, Charles agrees to go and fetch the decorations they've ordered from the catalog that arrived weeks ago. Elsie had protested, at first, but Charles managed to convince her that they deserved them, little trinkets which they chose together and with love. While they were grateful for the ornaments given to them by the family, these were special … something completely new and their very own.

He watches her leave and waves to her from the kitchen window as she turns around once more to blow him a kiss. Once again, he marvels at his luck and how incredibly happy she makes him. It's just another reason why he wants to spoil her a little with new decorations. She, like him, has worked hard all of her life and now it's time they started enjoying the fruits of their labors.

With the breakfast dishes washed and dried, the fire banked for the morning, and his warmest coat and scarf wrapped tightly around him, Charles takes a deep breath and steels himself for the journey into the village. He doesn't mind the cold as much as the postmistress. She makes him incredibly uncomfortable, though Elsie finds it all very amusing. There's no real harm in Mrs. Wigan, she reminds him whenever he complains about her to his wife. Elsie knows her Charlie is above reproach and would never look at another woman, despite how many in the village would love to be in her shoes. Still, he finds it all very unnerving the way the impertinent woman speaks to him or looks for a reason to touch his arm or ask probing questions. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. If he's lucky, there will be others in the post office. He can retrieve the parcel and be on his way swiftly … hopefully!

Fortunately, fate smiles upon Charles as he enters the post office. Mrs. Wigan is deep in conversation with Mrs. Steadman, no doubt gossiping about someone in the village or some tidbit overheard through the shared phone lines. He nods politely to both women before stepping up to the counter and greeting Michael, her new assistant.

"Good morning, Michael. Mrs. Carson sent me in because she believes we may have a package. I am fairly certain it's coming from London or perhaps York, maybe Manchester."

Michael laughs heartily, startling both women and causing them to turn their attentions to Charles and the lad who finds the conversation so very amusing. "Covering the whole isle, aren't we, Mr. Carson?"

Charles can see the humor in his statement and nods. "Yes, well, we ordered some things from a catalog … well Mrs. Carson actually placed the order. So, I'm not entirely sure where they're shipping from, you see."

And then his luck changed.

"Ah, Michael. I'll take care of Mr. Carson if you'll see Mrs. Steadman to the carriage with her package." Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Michael does as he is told and rushes to help the older woman. If he's quick about it, he can return and offer Mr. Carson some sort of relief from his employer.

Charles stands perfectly still while he waits for Mrs. Wigan to locate the parcel behind the little curtain that separates the front of the post office from the chaos of the letter sorting system in the back. When she returns, her face bears a look of concern and nervousness.

"I located Mrs. Carson's package," she says sweetly enough but then rounds the corner to stand beside him. Shaking the box a little, she watches as Mr. Carson's eyes grow wide and his jaw sets in a firm line which would make even the surest of footmen crumble. "I'm afraid, though, there may have been some damage."

He takes the box from her hands and inspects it for any visible damage. Seeing none, he brings it up to his ear and shakes it gently once more. Sure enough, the sounds of broken glass and shattered baubles resounds and his heart clenches in his chest. Images of a heartbroken Elsie staring down into a package of broken Christmas ornaments cause a wave of great sadness to wash over him.

"I can assure you, Mr. Carson, this was not something that happened on my watch. I have taken the utmost care of the box since I knew it was yours." Mrs. Wigan has placed her hand on his arm and he recoils as if he's been shocked.

"The package is not mine," he reminds her. "It belongs to my wife. It was something special to us, and now it sounds as if it's useless. If you'll excuse me, I have other errands to attend to this morning." Without waiting for an apology or other words meant to no doubt impress him or appease him, he takes the parcel out into the biting cold and walks with crestfallen shoulders down to the general store. The last thing he hears as the door to the post office closes behind him is Mrs. Wigan's shrill voice. Please tell Mrs. Carson I'm sorry for her loss.

Once he's inside the store, he asks Mr. Beecham for a pair of scissors to slice open the box. He must assess the damage, and he might as well do it here before he treks home empty handed. And it is exactly as he's feared. All of the ornaments, except for the delicate little angel for the top of their tree are broken beyond repair, in some cases completely unrecognizable as ornaments at all.

"Oh, dear. What happened, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Beecham has seen the shattered glass and is genuinely concerned.

"I suppose someone was careless in handling the box," he answers honestly, softly. "Mrs. Carson and I had ordered these for our tree this year. I'm not sure what to do now. We have ornaments, but these were ones we chose together." Part of him feels a little ashamed that he is sharing private details of his life with his bride with this woman, though he knows and respects her. He knows she would never indulge in the gossip circles and she's someone Elsie admires and trusts.

"We have a few things left here, but I'm sure they're nothing compared to what you and Mrs. Carson had chosen. I'm so very sorry." She places her hand on his arm and it strikes Charles as funny how he has a completely different reaction to her genuine touch than that of Mrs. Wigan.

"That's very kind, Mrs. Beecham. Perhaps, I'll pick up a few things. I'd appreciate your help, if you have time."

"If she has time … she lives for this sort of thing, Mr. Carson." Mr. Beecham is smiling and shaking his head as his wife leads their friend over to the small display of trinkets and ornaments in the corner of their shop.

"Oh, hush you! This isn't about me or making a sale. This is about helping the Carsons. Mrs. Carson has always been very kind to us, and it's the season for helping others." She pats Mr. Beecham's cheek as she walks by then completely turns her attentions to their selection of Christmas items, carefully choosing a few for Mr. Carson to inspect.

When he finally leaves the general store with his purchases and the box of ruined ornaments, Charles is feeling a little better. It isn't a perfect solution but at least Elsie will have something to adorn their tree. Next year, they will take a trip to London to buy special ornaments. That way, he can ensure their safety from the store to their home. And Mrs. Beecham had been very kind in helping him with the choices, even offering a few suggestions for decorating their tree. In some ways, this might be even better than the ordered ornaments, or at least he hopes Elsie will think that once she sees what he has to offer.

As he stands in their little cottage, he mentally runs through the directions Mrs. Beecham has given him. He hopes to have everything ready by the time Elsie returns home. He can give her all of the details of his day over their supper. Then, afterwards, they can retire to the sitting room with the bottle of wine he has chosen for the evening and focus on making their tree beautiful. Regardless of the setback, he is determined to move mountains to make sure Elsie is happy and their home is decorated for the holiday.

He checks his pocket watch and excitement begins to settle in his heart and mind. Elsie will be home soon so he must have everything ready. That way, she won't have to lift a finger. Their supper is already warming in the oven, the lights have been strung on their tree, and the table is set. It's time for him to finish his preparations for her surprise.

Charles stares down into the little paper bag and tries hard to remember the directions from the kind woman in the store. He is positive she did not give him an exact measurement so he must use his own judgment. He places the pot with the butter on top of the stove and adds a few kernels. One handful, then another. He surveys the small amount mixing with the melted butter and decides that's nowhere near enough. He reaches into the paper bag and fills his large hand with the popcorn kernels before adding them to the pot.

He's still not convinced there is enough corn in the pot. The idea, or so Mrs. Beecham had suggested, was to pop the corn and then attach the pieces with thread. He smiles at the idea of sitting comfortably with Elsie on their little sofa. He would hand her the popped corn pieces while she deftly handled the needle and thread. He would occasionally steal a piece, trying to secretly chew it without her noticing, or he'd feed her a bite then kiss her cheek, perhaps even nuzzle her neck sweetly. And when they were finished, they would have a pretty garland for their tree. Then, it could be shared with the birds and squirrels when it was time to get rid of the tree.

As he looks down into the bubbling mixture, he makes a quick decision. He picks up the paper bag and empties the remainder of the contents into the pot and secures the lid.

With the first part of his plan underway, Charles works quickly to set out the other items they need for decorating their tree. He places the box with the broken objects aside, carefully removing the angel from the debris and placing her in the center of their little table surrounded by ribbons, small ornaments, and bright red cardinals. He takes a moment to truly inspect the five birds, remembering something Elsie had once told him.

Whenever a cardinal appears, it's like being visited by someone you love and have lost. It's their way of saying hello and reminding us that they've never truly left us. Isn't that wonderful, Charlie?

Gently with his index finger, he strokes the top of each bird's head, giving it a name. Mr. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes. Da Carson. Ma Carson. Sybil Branson. He finds it somewhat fitting that there had only been five birds in the store, all cardinals, and there were exactly five people he thought Elsie might wish to honor this season. Fate had intervened, or perhaps it was as it was always meant to be.

Before he could get too lost in his own thoughts, though, Charles begins to hear the distinct sounds of popping coming from the kitchen. Remembering the pot on the stove, he races to the kitchen, just as Elsie is coming in through the front door, greeting him and shaking the snow from her hat and coat.

"Welcome home, love. Be there in a moment," he calls out as he enters the kitchen. Only, the sight that greets him is not what he was expecting. The lid is almost entirely off the pot. There are stray pieces of popcorn all over the floor, the top of the stove, and even the countertop. And more pieces are exploding, more corn is popping and he's not entirely sure what to do. There is no way to contain the mess it's making as each new burst sends popcorn pieces flying all over the kitchen. It is only now that he realizes his mistake. He should have erred on the side of caution and made smaller batches instead of using the entire bag.

He glances around the kitchen in the hopes of finding something to help him contain the situation. That's when he sees his beautiful wife standing in the doorway, her hand covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her laughter. Her eyes are sparkling with giddiness and then he is lost in her happiness, the laughter bubbling from somewhere deep inside her, the joy he hears in her voice. He abandons all hope of containing the mess and removes the lid, placing it aside and letting the remainder of the kernels expand, covering the stove and countertop and even a large portion of the floor with white, fluffy bits of corn.

He crosses the room to her and kisses her deeply, swallowing her laughter and replacing it with a soft moan of happiness and desire. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers and sighs. "Welcome home, Mrs. Carson. I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"Well, it would be nice. Give me a few minutes to change clothes and into something warmer, and I'll help you while you regale me with this tale of mystery and mayhem. I'm sure it's going to be a good one."

"I think you'll find my heart was in the right place, though I wouldn't dare ask you to help me clear away all this mess. Besides, we're not planning to eat it … well, not all of it at any rate. You go change, and I'll explain over dinner."

And so he does. He starts with the unpleasant business at the post office, complete with the encounter with Mrs. Wigan that still makes him shudder. He sees his wife shaking her head, knowing that she understands his plight, and loves him. He brings over the aforementioned parcel and rests his warm hand on her back as she sheds a few tears for the carefully chosen ornaments which will never grace their tree. He kisses the back of her head and reaches around to remove the box from her hands, replacing it with the beautiful angel dressed in all white with a little gold trim around the collar and hems of her dress.

"At least she survived," Elsie says, gently stroking her little porcelain cheek. "That has to mean something, Charlie."

"Indeed it does. We have a little angel of our own in the form of Mrs. Beecham." His sudden praise for the wife of the owner of the general store catches her off guard and she turns in her chair to look into his face. "Ah, you see, I went there after the post office, and she helped me choose a few things for the tree. I know we weren't keen on any of them when you and I looked before, but we tried to choose a few things we both thought you'd like. She was most kind and generous with her time."

"She's a good woman, and I'm sure whatever you chose, with or without her assistance, is perfect." She stretches up to kiss his cheek then to cup it with her hand as she holds his gaze with her own. "But, that still doesn't explain all that popcorn in the kitchen. Did you think you were feeding all of the village with it?"

He takes her hand and leads her into the sitting room where it's toasty warm thanks to the additional logs he's placed on the fire. On the little table in front of their sofa are dozens of bowls and pots, each one containing heaping piles of popcorn. Off to the side is her sewing box and a wrapped gift she has never seen before. The paper is familiar but that is all.

"Once you open the gift, I will explain more." He hands her the present and sits beside her, his arm draped around her waist and his hand resting comfortably on her hip. He is looking over her shoulder as she takes great pleasure in opening her surprise.

Inside the box, Charles has placed each of the cardinals, all of the ribbons, and the new decorations for their tree. He feels his heart leap with joy as she gasps at the contents. He has made her happy and that, in turn, has brought such pleasure to him. He feels that despite the crushed baubles from before, these have more than made up for the accident.

Carefully, she removes each bird, tears of happiness and remembrance spilling down her cheek. "Only five," she asks with a shaking voice.

"Your parents, my parents, and Lady Sybil," he replies as he brushes away her tears. "Messengers, bringers of joy and happiness to our home and fond memories from childhood. I hope you approve."

She shifts until she is facing him fully, her arms draped over his shoulders. "I have the best husband in the world. Of course I approve … of everything."

He kisses her sweetly on the lips, relief flooding him with the knowledge that her night is not ruined, that their decorating plans can still move forward. When he removes his lips from hers, he reaches over and feeds her a piece of popcorn.

"Mrs. Beecham gave me the idea of stringing this together to make a sort of garland for the tree. However, she neglected to tell me how much to use and I'm afraid I was a little heavy handed with the bag." They both dissolve into laughter as he tells her how the entire contents of the bag came to be inside the pot on the stove. In the end, she is wiping away more tears of laughter as she remembers the images of her Charlie in the kitchen with the exploding popcorn as she returned home from work.

As the night wears on, they sit side by side just as he has envisioned. He hands her bits of corn for the handmade garland, occasionally sneaking a bit and sharing some with her. They dress their tree in the beautiful red silk ribbon he's purchased, as well as the popcorn strings, hang the new glass balls from the branches, carefully attach the birds to the tree, making certain they are in a place of prominence. They will serve as a reminder of past joys, losses even, though all laced with wonderful memories which have led them to this place, this time in their lives.

With the angel secured on the top of their tree, Charles switches off the lamps and overhead lights in their home, bathing the room in the soft glow of the white lights on their tree. He walks up behind Elsie and slips his arms around her, drawing her back against him until he's able to rest his chin on her shoulder. "I love you, Elsie Carson. I'm sorry this isn't the tree we had planned for, but I think we did a wonderful job pulling it together."

She leans back into his embrace and turns her head slightly so she can see his face. The glow on his cheeks matches her own and she's not sure it's entirely from the tree lights but perhaps a mixture of bliss and Christmas. "It's better than we planned, Charlie. It's simple and sweet, and it holds so many memories, old and new. It's not about the shiny things on the tree but the thoughts and feelings behind them. I'd say based on that fact alone, we have the prettiest tree in the world." She turns fully and hugs him tightly, her head resting on his chest and her eyes fixed on their little Christmas tree.

He holds her close, once more thanking God for putting her into his life and for allowing him the privilege to be called hers. "Shall we finish our wine and enjoy our tree for a bit longer? Then, if you're not too tired, perhaps we could go upstairs for an early night." He waggles his eyebrows at her and she smiles.

"Who says we have to go upstairs for that, Charlie? Join me on the sofa and I'll explain a few more of the joys and mysteries of Christmas to you."

It was much later when Charles and Elsie finally untangled themselves and made it upstairs to their bedroom. Tomorrow, they would make a special trip into the village to personally thank Mrs. Beecham for her assistance with the decorations. If she woke early enough, she might even have time to bake a batch of shortbread cookies as a way of saying thank you to the woman who had helped her Charlie bring so much happiness and joy into their home for Christmas.

Then again, her husband was well versed in bringing her happiness and joy … over and over again. With a smile on her lips and wrapped up warming in her loving husband's arms, Elsie drifted off to sleep, convinced that this was, indeed, one of the happiest Christmas's she had ever had.

A/N: And this concludes the Downton Abbey Series 8 prompt series. Thanks very much for the lovely reviews and support you've given me for these little glimpses into Charles and Elsie's lives. And a special thanks to Brenna-Louise for the prompt words I used for this DAS8 challenge. HUGS! Also, a HUGE THANKS to DameofDownstairs on Tumblr for the fantastic artwork for this prompt. Hop over to my tumblr (Chelsie-Carson) and check it out. She really is amazing!