Page 38 of The Virtues of Christmas
“We’ll decide whether to cry the banns or use a special license if you propose,” Henrietta said. “First, you must have permission to court me.”
“No,” Michael said, taking her in his arms. “First, I must kiss you, then I must gain permission to court you—provided you’re willing?”
Henrietta kissed him with all the willingness in her, and not a little stubbornness, along with heaps of gratitude and bundles of hope. Desire was making the list just as the door flew open, and a small red-haired girl pelted into the room.
“Can I hide in here?”
“You may,” Michael said. “But only for a short while. I’ll need this room for a private chat with Miss Whitlow’s father.”
The child darted behind the sofa. “Good! Don’t tell anybody I’m here.”
So it came to pass that Michael asked Squire Whitlow for permission to court Henrietta while one of Michael’s nieces giggled and fidgeted behind the sofa. Henrietta fidgeted in the library—but did not giggle—until her Papa returned from the formal parlor to offer her a cup of punch from the nearly empty bowl on the sideboard.
“He’ll do, Henrietta,” Papa said. “The fellow’s besotted, worse even than I was with your mama. Don’t make him wait too long, please. A man’s dignity matters to him.”
“So does a woman’s,” Henrietta said. “I want to be married in spring, with my family all around me, and Michael’s family too. You’ll give me away?”
Michael returned to the library, a little girl carried piggyback. “Nobody found me!” she cried. “I won!”
Michael found me, and I won too.
“Of course I won’t give you away,” Papa replied. “I’ll walk you up the church aisle, but don’t ever expect me to let you go again.”
He passed Henrietta his serving of punch so she held two nearly full cups, kissed her cheek, then crossed the library to pluck the child from Michael’s back.
Michael joined Henrietta and took one of the cups of punch from her. “If the squire made you cry, I’ll thrash him, and I will not apologize for it.”
“He made me cry, but don’t you thrash him, not for that.”
The children were thundering out of the library, every bit as loudly as they’d arrived, and mamas and papas were calling for wraps and finishing servings of punch. A game of fox and geese was being organized, and nothing would do but Uncle Michael must referee.
“Shall I return you to your family, Henrietta? Your father was most insistent that all proprieties be observed.”
“You already did return me to my family, and we’ll observe the proprieties only when privacy is denied us. I’ll marry you, Michael, gladly, but I’d like some courtship first. Not for my sake, but for—”
“Your family’s,” Michael said. “You’ll go from your father’s household to this one. I understand.”
His kiss said he did understand and confirmed for Henrietta that early spring would do for a wedding date, possibly even late winter.
Uncle Michael presided over the holiday game of fox and geese, which became a tradition that grew into a family tournament. Michael and Henrietta’s own brood joined the hunt, along with cousins, aunts, uncles, and—when the snow wasn’t too deep—the squire himself.
Then all would repair inside to enjoy the Christmas punch and listen to a version of the story of how Michael and Henrietta had found each other—and happiness—in the midst of winter’s chill. Some of the details were edited, but Christmas after Christmas, the ending was always the same, a happily ever after, forever in progress.
