"You know," Marianne said as she wiped down the counter, "for someone who hates Christmas, you're being remarkably helpful with our preparations."
"I don't hate Christmas."
"You called it collective hysteria."
"I'm revising my opinion. It's more like collective insanity with festive elements."
"That's progress, I suppose."
"Small steps."
"Your mother would be proud."
The comment, casual as it was, hit Alaric unexpectedly hard. Would his mother be proud? To see him here, in her beloved village, actually participating instead of standing apart with cold disdain?
"Perhaps," he said quietly.
Marianne seemed to sense she'd touched something deep and changed the subject. "We should probably tackle some of the other list items. Unless you're too exhausted from your battle with gravity and geese?"
"I'm perfectly capable of continuing."
"Even the bronze turnip?"
"Especially the bronze turnip. I'm curious to see this vegetable monument to survival."
The bronze turnip turned out to be even more ridiculous than Alaric had imagined. It sat on a pedestal, about the size of a real turnip but with an elaborate plaque describing the "Great Turnip Salvation of 1742" in flowery script.
"It's actually quite tarnished," the land steward said, producing polish and cloths. "Been neglected since Fletcher left."
"How does one properly polish a bronze turnip?" Alaric asked.
"With dignity and respect for history," the land steward replied seriously.
"Of course. Foolish of me to ask."
Polishing the turnip was oddly meditative, though Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that this was perhaps the most absurd thing he'd ever done.
"You're taking this very seriously," Marianne observed, watching him work.
"If one is going to polish a vegetable monument, one should do it properly."
"That's almost philosophical."
"Everything about this turnip is philosophical. It represents survival through absurdity."
"Is that what it represents?"
"What else could it represent?"
"Hope? Perseverance? The power of root vegetables?"
"All of those things are absurd."
"All of those things saved the village."
"Through turnips."
"Through turnips," she agreed solemnly, then ruined it by giggling.
