A Victorian Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve, 1858

Hampshire, England

“Robbie!” He heard his mother calling.

The little boy threw his small wooden truck down, running downstairs and into the parlor. His eyes lit up with excitement as he saw the tree in the corner waiting to be decorated. A light rain was falling outside. His father would be home soon, probably wet from the misty rain, but in a good mood. His father loved Christmas.

On a table prepared by his mother and their housekeeper, Mrs. Beeton, lay paper snowflakes and angels, popcorn and cranberries on a string, and small pink, green, and yellow candies in a bowl. Several white candles sat ready in their candlesticks, ready to be placed carefully on the tree and lit until the family went to bed after carols and scripture.

His little sister, Margaret, babbled and cooed in her crib in the corner near the fire. Her blonde curls gleamed in the firelight. Robbie went over to her and tickled her cheek. She giggled and held her hands out to be picked up.

“Can I hold her, Mummy?”

His mother was coming in with a large plate of gingerbread men. All thoughts of holding Margaret left Robbie. He met his mother by the table with the decorations. His mouth watered as the aroma of the warm spices filled the air. His older brother and sister were close at their mother’s heels, eyes never leaving the plate.

“Now, children, let your mother through,” Mrs. Beeton scolded. She picked up Margaret, who had begun to cry when Robbie walked away. His mother moved aside the strings of cranberries and set the plate down. Edgar elbowed Robbie out of the way as he and Lucinda eagerly reached for the warm, soft biscuits.

“Not yet, you two. And don’t push your brother.” The middle of his chest smarted from the jab as their mother ushered him back to his place near the table.

“You know we don’t eat those until the end of the evening. And your father isn’t even home yet.”

“But they’ll be cold,” Lucinda grumbled. She quieted from a stern look from Mrs. Beeton, and she and Edgar went and sat on the brocaded sofa near the fire. Robbie sat on the hearth, warming his back. Edgar pushed him.

“Out of the way, Robbie. You’re hogging all the heat.”

Mrs. Beeton scolded again and made his brother and sister move over so he could sit on the couch with them. Robbie preferred his seat on the stones but, even at seven-years-old, knew it wasn't proper.

His mother was at the window, peering out into the dark night, a look of concern on her face. The clock in the corner began to strike six. “He should be home by now.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and they heard a booming voice,

“Is that delicious gingerbread I smell?”

With a smile, their mother nodded, and he, Edgar and Lucinda scampered out of the room, Edgar elbowing past him again. They raced down the hall to where their father was hanging up his hat and overcoat.

The chill of the evening was around him, and he smelled like cold rain when Robbie hugged him. Father picked him up and laughed at his children's happy greeting. Lucinda held their father’s hand as they followed Edgar back into the warm parlor. He kissed his wife, gave Margaret a kiss, and greeted Mrs. Beeton with good cheer.

“It’s so wonderful to come home and see my family ready to decorate for Father Christmas. And look at this delicious gingerbread.” He put Robbie down and reached a hand out to take one. His wife slapped his hand playfully.

“Archie, I told the children not until later. How would that look if you ate one while they couldn't?”

He laughed again. “Yes, darling, you’re right. I’ll wait and we can all enjoy it together.” He clapped his hands and looked around at his children's faces staring up at him. “Shall we start?”

“What about your dinner, Father?” Lucinda asked.

Robbie hoped his father would eat later; he wanted that warm, tasty gingerbread man as soon as possible.

“Later, Lucy, later. Let’s decorate so Father Christmas can come and we can have our treat.” He and their mother shared a secret smile that Robbie had just begun to notice this year. What did it mean?

“Sir, Ma’am, I'll be upstairs if you need me,” Mrs. Beeton said, gathering her sewing basket and turning to leave.

“Oh, take some of the gingerbread for you and Giles.”

Robbie's mother took the two largest, best-looking gingerbread men off the plate and put them into Mrs. Beeton's basket. They were already hardening and Robbie could almost hear the crunch. He preferred them just out of the oven, soft and hot. Edgar and Lucinda watched, horror-struck. Robbie was sure those were the ones they wanted.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Mrs. Beeton said. The gingerbread’s smiling, iced faces and raisin eyes stared back merrily at Robbie as she left the parlor, closing the door on the chill of the hallway.

Edgar and Lucinda began to protest.

“Mummy, those were the ones we wanted.”

“And I can't think of a better reason for giving them to Mrs. Beeton and Giles to enjoy. They can't be home with their families, and a gingerbread man is a small sacrifice for the two of you,” their mother said. “Before the end of Christmas Day, I want you both to write a letter to Mrs. Beeton and Giles saying why you appreciate them and all they do for you.”

They began to grumble again but from a sharp look from their father this time, they went silent. He put his arm around their mother’s waist, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Well said, darling. Children, even though we have so much, not everyone is as fortunate as us.”

“Why can't they go home, Father?” Lucinda asked.

“The journey to Manchester is too far north.”

Robbie, making faces at Margaret, wondered if they would ever decorate the tree.

“Well, shall we begin so we can get to the best part?” his father asked them.

“What's the best part, Father?” Edgar asked, trying not to scowl.

“Why the gingerbread men of course.”

Robbie grinned along with his siblings, his stomach aching for the tasty treat.

As the fire cracked merrily, his mother played Christmas carols on the piano, sometimes joined by Lucinda for duets.

As they decorated the tree, the family sang; Edgar and Lucinda sporadically and Robbie trying his hardest to be loud like their father. He loved hearing his mother’s clear voice as they sang ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’. ‘Jingle Bells’ had his father dancing around the parlor with a happy, squealing Margaret, and his deep voice filled the parlor as they sang his favorite, ‘I Saw Three Ships’.

“It makes me want to go to sea,” Father said, putting his hands on his hips as Mother took Margaret from him, the last strains of the carol dying away.

“Oh Archie, don't be silly.” His parents gazed at each other, eyes bright, and Robbie felt nothing could ever go wrong.

Edgar and Lucinda strung the last of the cranberries around the bottom of the tree, smiles playing around their own lips. Father placed the candles Mother handed him, lighting them each with care. The family gathered near the fire as Father brought over the large Bible and read the story of Mary and Joseph, baby Jesus, and the Wise Men following the star.

Margaret lay nestled in Mother's arms, sleeping. Robbie’s own eyes were getting heavy as he imagined a sleepy baby Jesus, rain pouring down outside the stable as he heard the rain pattering on the window pane.

“Robbie, wake up.” His father gently rustled his hair. “It’s time for your treat.”

Robbie sat up, not realizing he’d laid down on the warm floor. The plate of gingerbread men was held in front of him; Edgar and Lucinda already munching away on theirs. Robbie woke more fully, the smell of cloves in his nose. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, smiling up at his father, who had a smile to match.

“You can’t go to bed without a gingerbread man.” His father handed him one and Robbie held it. It felt warm to the touch and he took a bite. It was still soft! But how? His mouth filled with the sweet, spicy taste of the gingerbread, and he looked at his father curiously.

As if reading his thoughts, he said,

“We warmed them on the hearth for a bit so they would be soft again.”

Robbie leaned back against the warm stones, eating as slowly as he could.

“Shall we leave a few out for Father Christmas?” their mother asked.

“How about just one? That small one.” Edgar pointed. He looked eagerly at the plate of biscuits.

Their parents laughed. “What about Father and I?” she asked him. “Don’t we get one?”

Edgar smiled guiltily, wiping crumbs from his mouth.

As the rain pattered outside, and Robbie finished his biscuit, his eyes began to droop once again as he drifted off to a dreamless sleep in anticipation of the next morning when gifts would be given and a roast goose would be eaten for Christmas dinner.

And perhaps another gingerbread man - if he was lucky.