Free A Dangerous Nativity by Caroline Warfield

all over his jacket. Three boys looked on with wide eyes and
troubled expressions.
    "The boys meant no harm," he murmured. What
can I say to heal this madness?
    "Truly, we didn't, Mama," Charles said. Hands
still holding pine branches hung at his side. "I invited Randy and
Freddy to help make the hall look festive."
    Sylvia's muffled reply was unintelligible.
The boy continued desperately, "It's just that Songbird Cottage
looks ever so festive, and we never do anything…" He groped for a
word. "Fun. We never laugh," he finished, anguish in his voice.
    Sylvia lifted her head and took a look at her
son. "But, Charles, we're in mourning."
    Charles raised a defiant, if trembling, chin.
"We've been in mourning my whole life."
    She gasped, and Will braced for another
outburst. What she said next surprised him.
    "We have, haven't we? Ten years of mourning.
Never any joy. No smiles over dinner. No guests. Never any holiday
greens. No Christmas pudding. No Twelfth Night revels, not here,
not with family. No joy. Even Boxing Day felt like a court
ceremony, and no one ever told me the rules." She gave a little
hiccup and put her head on Will's shoulder. "I always got them
wrong."
    He hugged her close.
    "Oh, Will, do you remember how Father used to
make the household laugh on Boxing Day?" she asked.
    "I remember. I didn't think you did. Do you
remember how Mother organized Twelfth Night revels?"
    Sylvia cried again, but with less
desperation. To Will, it felt like the soul-shaking cry of
mourning. She mourned, he suspected, the loss of youth, family, and
joy, not her husband.
    He gathered her close and spoke to the boys
over her shoulder.
    "You're right to bring joy to this house,
Charles, but perhaps the grand foyer is not the place to start." It
will take more than the boys' efforts at decoration to make this
monstrosity feel human. "I suggest you start with the nursery."
    Charles's face fell, but he complied. He
picked up one pile of branches. "Come up with me, Randy and Freddy.
At least upstairs, no one will interrupt us."
    "Wait, boys," Will said. "You could also
decorate the family parlor. Celebrations belong best with family,
no?"
    "Famous, Charles! We'll all be there, won't
we, my lord?" Randy looked at Will hopefully.
    "You certainly will. We'll all be together
tomorrow night." I have no idea how I'll make sure joy outweighs
grief, but I'm damn well going to try. "There will be gifts," he
said with a wink.
    "Excellent notion!" Charles exclaimed.
    "Come on, Charles. A parlor will be easier to
do, anyway," Freddy suggested. "We were going to need a big ladder
for this one, and that Stowe liked to have apoplexy when we brought
in the greens." He looked around the cavernous foyer. "It would be
a good place for the nativity pageant, though."
    "Don't even think about it," Will called over
Sylvia's shoulder at the retreating boys.
    In the boys' absence, Sylvia's quiet weeping
echoed off the walls. "Come, dear one, let's go upstairs." He kept
an arm around his sister's shoulders while he led her to the
stairs. "Were the decorations so terrible?"
    "They aren't terrible at all," she said, her
voice thick with tears. "It reminded me of Chadbourn Park. Emery
never allowed it. He never allowed us to celebrate."
    "I thought Emery liked his pleasures."
    "He spent the weeks at house parties, but he
left orders. Once, I put up holly in the parlor and took it down
before he returned."
    "Good for you."
    "Stowe told him. Emery beat me and turned off
the two servants who helped. I never did it again. He hated me." He
felt a tremor go through her body and wished his late
brother-in-law to one of the lower rungs of Hell. At least she
finally said the words, he thought.
    When they reached her room, Will took her
face in his hands. "Someday, Sister, when you are ready, you will
tell me everything, and I will tell you again how very sorry I am
that I didn't protect you from that man."
    She smiled sadly. "He was my husband. He had
every right. You could