The next morning I believe we both felt that we'd had our share of being idle and although we took our time in rousing ourselves, we decided to actually get dressed and take a turn around the town. Margaret cooked breakfast this morning, bacon, eggs and fried bread (to hide the fact that it was now a little stale) which we ate at the kitchen table again. Then we decided to take a stroll to the Mitre Hotel for afternoon tea.
“We're going to be far too early,” Margaret said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled her winter coat on.
“Then we had best make it a slow walk.”
We headed to the park first, taking our time and enjoying the scenery around us. While many people had returned to work today, most of the shops seemed closed, clearly taking advantage of an extra day off.
Everyone we passed, even those who seemed to be working, had a ready smile and a warm “Good morning” for us.
At we neared the top of the hill in the park, Margaret noted that the park and indeed the whole town, looked magical under its fresh covering of snow. Many of the mill chimneys were active again since many businesses don't recognise Boxing Day as a holiday but today the smoke only added to the festive look of the town.
There were a few people milling around in the park. Some children were making snowmen, as we had yesterday and another group were having a snowball fight. The adults seemed to be enjoying the view of the town for none of them seemed in a rush to get to their destinations and most kept glancing back over the town.
Margaret began rubbing her gloved hands together so I looked around to make sure that we were unobserved, then pulled Margaret behind a large tree nearby. Opening my coat, I placed her hands around me so that the heat from my back could warm her hands. My chest would have done just as well but this way I also got to embrace her.
We stole a few kisses while hidden back there but when Margaret's hands had warmed sufficiently, we continued on our way.
Though we had missed the morning service, we stopped in at the local church so that Margaret could say her prayers.
I offered my own silent prayer, thanking Him for my good fortune of late and, feeling the Christmas spirit myself, slipped a generous amount into the pauper's box on our way out.
We stopped in at the bakers, one of the few open shops, and bought some fresh bread. The baker greeted us with a hearty smile and threw in two free gingerbread men that had been iced to look like snowmen. We thanked him and continued on our way.
“I still find it hard to believe that there was a time when people didn't celebrate Christmas,” Margaret said as we walked. “This is all so lovely that I don't understand why anyone would want to miss it.”
“Perhaps they didn't know what they were missing,” I reasoned.
“If that's true, it really would be a shame,” she said, tightening her grip on my arm and resting her head briefly on my shoulder.
Those passing us who might usually look upon such a public display of affection with distaste, today only smiled at us, perhaps understanding the need to show love at this time of year.
As we entered the town square it seemed that we had interrupted a snowball fight among some of the local children and as one hit me square in the chest, the boy who had thrown it paused in fright for a moment. Then obviously deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he turned tail and ran, his friends hot on his heels.
I was angry and about to shout after them (what if they had hit Margaret instead of me!) when Margaret's laugher caught my attention. It seems that she found both my predicament and my annoyance amusing.
“They're only having fun,” she said as she brushed the snow from my coat.
“You call that fun?” I asked. “They could hurt someone.”
“Yes, well you thought it was rather fun yesterday, if I recall correctly.”
She had me there, but I wasn't giving in that easily.
“You started that,” I reminded her. “And besides, we were in the safety of our garden, not hurling missiles at random strangers in the street.”
Margaret smiled indulgently then reached up and kissed me softly, causing the last of my anger to evaporate.
“Come on,” she said, slipping her arm through mine again. “I don't know about you but I'm ready for a nice pot of hot tea.”
We continued to the hotel which was not far from the square and arrived just in time for afternoon tea. They seated us by a window and we enjoyed watching the world pass us by as the people outside laughed, joked and enjoyed the snow and festive season.
“I wish we could do this every year,” she said. “I've loved these two days on our own.”
“And I, love.”
We both knew that we would not be this lucky every year but a part of me hoped that we could recreate this feeling of solitude some time soon. We had not even had the luxury of a honeymoon after our wedding and now that I knew what time alone with Margaret could be like, I was more sorry than ever for that fact.
The mill would be running as normal in another few months so I began to wonder about the possibility of us taking a late honeymoon, perhaps visiting Margaret's brother. It was too soon to voice such ideas to Margaret in case I could not be spared from the mill but I was determined to do my best and secure us a holiday in the coming year. Preferably sooner rather than later.
When the tea, sandwiches and cakes were finished, we paid the bill and set about reapplying all the layers of clothing that we had removed when we entered. Bundled up once more, we headed out onto the street.
The snow was falling again, large fluffy white flakes drifting gently to the ground. Margaret put her hand out in front of her, palm up and watched as the flakes landed there and melted.
“Let's hail a cab,” I suggested. Snow is very pretty to watch but I didn't much fancy the idea of walking all the way home in it. “I find that I am somewhat eager to curl up in front of a nice, warm fire with you once again.”
Though most surely shocking to anyone who might have seen, I couldn't resist Margaret any longer and removed my hat before I leaned over and kissed her. She responded with equal ardour and by the time the cab slowed to a stop, we were both slightly breathless and her lips were quite red and swollen.
After I had paid the driver, we headed inside and although all I wanted to do was have my way with Margaret, I knew that the fires needed tending first.
I had built them up this morning so none had died out but the range in the kitchen was on its last legs. I stoked up the rear parlour fire also in case we spent any time in that room, then I headed up to our bedroom to find that Margaret had already taken care of the fire in there.
She was lying under the eiderdown by the fire and as far as I could tell, not wearing a single stitch of clothing. She had taken her hair out of its bun so it lay fanned out around her head and I paused for a moment to admire her.
“Come and join me,” she pleaded.
'How is a man meant to resist a request like that,' I asked myself? The answer was simple; 'he isn't.'
To be continued...
© Catherine Winchester 2011. All rights reserved.