Silent Night
Silence is for remembrance.
Annabel sighed. Even in death, her grandfather, the late Lord Haversham, knew what to say. He may not have been very old, but he was quite the wise man.
Christmas is for loving.
“I know, Grandfather. And New Year is for beginnings.”
Annabel shook her head. It was the house. She never spoke to herself before moving back to Devonshire. The contrast of the serene countryside with bustling London made Annabel long for noise.
Music makes the days brighter.
Wondering if she were going mad, Annabel shook her head. Soon, she would be gone, the house would belong to another and the voices would stop.
“If it will give you peace, I’ll play a song.” Feeling foolish, Annabel pushed open the door to the sitting room.
The pianoforte sat in the same place. Next to the window overlooking the drive, the piano was an heirloom, passed from one generation to the next in the hopes that one would be able to play it.
Setting the candle down, Annabel walked over to the fireplace. Dying embers sparked, ready to be called to life with a prod and more kindling. Feeding the fire, Annabel warmed her chilled body a moment before sitting.
Carols are the songs of angels come down to earth.
Taking a hint from her ghostly companion, Annabel began playing the refrain for “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
As the tinkling of the piano drifted through the room, Annabel could almost imagine her grandfather standing nearby with a hand on his cane and a smile on his face. The music conjured images of the past and she even felt the warm touch of a hand on her shoulder.
“Stop imaging things, Annabel. He’s gone, and you’re alone this Christmas. Just like every holiday this year.”
Whispering the admonishment, Annabel was sure she felt an unseen frown of disapproval. Turning, she saw no one but the shadows cast by the fire. Her fingers flew over the ivory and ebony keys with ease. The song was so familiar; Annabel could play it in her sleep, much less without watching.
“Hang a shining star upon the highest bough, and have yourself a merry little Christmas now…”
As she sang the last words of the carol, Annabel heard the bell in the town square toll midnight. Looking at the mantle, she saw the clock’s hand move to twelve. Christmas.
Letting her hands fall to her sides, Annabel bowed her head. The song reopened old wounds.
Pain helps us become strong.
“I’d rather be weak and have you alive.”
No.
The harsh refusal made Annabel raise her tear-streaked face and she stared in shock at the gentle expression on her grandfather’s face.
Merry Christmas, Belle.
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