Christmas Day dawns, the frost clinging thick to the windows, but inside there is nothing but warmth and motion. Levinia has been at work since before sunrise. She moves through the kitchen, sleeves rolled, tending to a meal fit for the occasion. The centerpiece, a rich cranberry roast beef, fills the house with a deep, savory sweetness, accompanied by roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and all the small comforts that mark a proper holiday table. She says little, as always, but her effort is unmistakable.
By midday, the house begins to fill. Mortimer arrives with Alexander at his side, both bundled against the cold. Not long after, Pascal Curious welcomes his own kin, both brothers and their small household, until the rooms are alive with conversation, footsteps, and the overlap of voices.
Near the hearth, Esther stands before the tree; a modest evergreen brought in from the woods, its branches strung with bits of ribbon and a few carefully placed candles. She stands very still, taking it in with quiet wonder, before at last turning her attention to the stocking hung just behind it.
Cassandra gives a gentle nod of permission, and Esther reaches inside, drawing out a sweet roll. Her face lights as she takes a small bite, savoring it as though it were the finest thing she had ever tasted.
When the time comes for presents, Mortimer steps forward with something hidden behind his back. He leans slightly as he offers it to Esther, his expression softer than usual.
“For your birthday...and for Christmas,” he says. Esther looks at it almost reverently.
In Mortimer's hands is a beautiful bisque doll; delicate and finely made, with painted features and a dress of its own. For a moment, Esther simply stares.
“Oh!” she breathes, clutching it gently but firmly to her chest. “She’s beautiful.”
Mortimer allows himself the smallest hint of a smile as he looks at his first grandchild, and the doll does not leave Esther’s hands for the rest of the afternoon.
Later, Esther approaches Clara, still small enough to sit among her toys without much concern for order. The wooden horse on wheels, worn from use, sits in Esther's hands.
“You can have this now,” she says, handing the toy carefully to her sister. “I have my doll.” Clara looks at it, then at Esther, before reaching out with small, eager hands.
Across the house, voices continue, laughter rising and falling, stomachs grumbling and anticipating Levinia’s careful work. Outside, winter holds firm, but inside, there is warmth enough for everyone.