‘We’re off!’ shouted Nicholas, enthusiastically. ‘First one to spy a sheep wins a point.’
The passengers on the top were provided with blankets en-route. Despite the tip of her nose feeling decidedly chilly and the brisk rush of air against her face, Rose loved every minute of the thrilling journey. On two occasions she nearly lost her hat, much to Nicholas’s amusement as he chased it to the back of the bus to retrieve it for her. Eventually he took off his scarf and wrapped it around her, effectively tying her hat on her head.
‘There,’ he said quietly as he admired his handiwork. She watched his gaze follow the line of the scarf, before dropping to her lips. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured absently. Nicholas blinked and shot her a glance, before quickly turning to stare at the cows and scattered farmsteads racing by. ‘Can’t see any sheep yet,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Can you?’
Their vantage point, high above the leafless hedges, offered a wide sweeping view of the countryside. Yet if a hundred sheep were grazing in one of those fields, she was not sure she would notice them. He had murmured “perfect”. Although he was just talking about his scarf tying technique, she couldn’t help imagining it was for her.
‘Not yet,’ said Rose as she blindly followed his gaze, a little shaken at the thought.
* * *
Rose felt she had died and gone to heaven when they entered Truro Cathedral. The three spired church, completed only nine years before, was a mixture of gothic design and French influences. It had the strength and durability of Cornish granite and stone, but the warm honey tones of limestone from Bath. As they entered, a vision of spiritual beauty presented itself and robbed her of her next breath. Rose’s legs began to tremble. She reached for Nicholas’s arm, who immediately placed his reassuring hand on hers. She knew he felt it too and was humbled by the beauty man could create when not driven to go to war.
A long row of giant, arched, stone pillars welcomed them into the central nave. Rose gazed up in awe at the majestic multi-vaulted ceiling above and felt she was truly in a holy sanctuary for worship. The tall stained glass windows resembled brightly coloured jewels set in stone, their intricate, elaborate designs commissioned in a time when the theory of evolution threatened to shake the very foundations of religion itself. Their vibrant beauty drew them forward. They found a seat and sat down. Although the congregation was respectfully quiet, the air was still thick with anticipation and excitement.
Rose looked about her. Flickering candles adorned every corner, their soft golden glow casting light on every wall, pillar and carving. For the next hour, Rose was transported to the ethereal world of angels as the choir’s voices lifted to the heady heights of the vaulted ceilings and lingered there until they were absorbed into one’s very soul.
Half-way through the service, when Rose felt it was impossible to be enchanted further, the choir fell silent. Heads turned and necks craned towards the central nave to watch a trail of small children emerge from the shadows at the back. They were led by a young, serious man with rounded spectacles,who Rose suspected was their Sunday school teacher. Hushed chuckles rippled through the congregation as the children made their way to the front. The children appeared so solemn in their task. Each one had been schooled to hold the hand of the child in front and behind, whilst at the same time trying their best not to trip on the trailing hems of their homemade costumes. Some of the youngest ones failed and did trip, although thankfully none fell. Eventually they arrived at the front of the smiling congregation to re-enact the nativity itself.
They concentrated hard to remember what they had practised, some excelled whilst others floundered, all fidgeted as they waited their turn. Their voices were endearing, their mistakes equally so, but they did not fail to captivate their audience with their innocence. At the end they left as they had arrived, a little more excited, a little more tired, but all content and proud to have played their part.
Rose sighed and looked down at her hand resting on Nicholas’s arm. She had placed it there when they had entered the cathedral and it had remained there throughout. She gently withdrew, embarrassed that she had not noticed before and quietly brushed away a tear. A tear of joy? A tear of wonderment? Or a tear for the children Sam would never have? In that moment, she really didn’t know.
The journey home was drawing near. Rose remained seated as the congregation around them prepared to leave. She wanted to savour this precious moment and lock it away, so she could revisit it again every Christmas for the rest of her life. Nicholas lifted her chin towards him so she had no choice but to look into his eyes.
‘Come on, Rose,’ he said gently. ‘We have someone to see. He will put a smile on that pretty, sad face of yours.’
Nicholas reached for her hand, stood and drew her to him with a gentle tug. They strolled down the central naveilluminated by the warm glow of candlelight. For the first time, Rose was blind to the intricately carved stonework surrounding them. Nicholas had called her pretty and the simple word had ignited a warm glow of its own inside her.
They stepped outside into the fading light. The gentle hiss of gas-lit lamps greeted their arrival, as did the man sitting in a horse-drawn buggy beckoning them forward. He was dressed in a hooded scarlet coat, trimmed in white, and wore an ill-fitting beard. The horse waited patiently, unfazed by the gathering crowd as his jovial passenger waved and revelled in all the fuss he was creating. The Sunday school teacher arrived, leading the same trail of children behind him. Rose tugged at Nicholas’s arm to go closer.
They joined the gathering at the same time as the children. The crowd parted to allow them through. For the briefest of moments, Rose felt like a child again as she was about to meet the festive man too. She decided to hang back. It was the children Saint Nick wanted to see, not her, despite a sudden urge to approach him. The man gave a hearty laugh and opened his sack. He withdrew a small gift and gave it to the first child who was presented to him and so it went on, until they had all received a gift. Rose watched, still clutching Nicholas’s arm. She felt as happy for the children as she would if he had given the gifts to her. She would have stayed until he had driven away, if it was not for Nicholas whispering softly into her ear.
‘We have to leave or we will miss the motor bus. I’m sorry for putting a damper on the fun.’
She looked up into his dark eyes, creased with concern, and smiled.
‘I have had the most wonderful time. Thank you for arranging this. I will never forget it.’ She looked down at her hand still holding onto his arm. She let go, embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I must stop doing that.’
‘Don’t be sorry. It’s nice.’
He offered the crook of his arm again. The gap at his elbow looked so inviting. Rose relented and shyly slipped her hand through it. Nicholas immediately lowered his elbow, drawing her closer. This time she did not want to let go. They walked in companionable silence back to the motor bus, each taking comfort in the warmth of the other, but neither remarking upon it.
Two vacant seats still remained on the lower level, separated by two rows. Although it would have been warmer downstairs, Rose and Nicholas chose to return to the top where they could sit together. Additional blankets had been left on their seats and they gratefully snuggled beneath them. They gazed up at the stars as they listened to the driver crank the engine down below. He tried several times, but it was not until several minutes had passed and the fourth attempt that the engine finally spluttered into life.
‘Thought we were going to be stuck here all night,’ confessed Nicholas with a hint of sadness in his voice. Rose wondered if he felt the same as she did. Relief, tinged with regret that they were finally on their way home.
The cloudless sky sparkled above them. ‘There are so many stars,’ mused Rose as they left Truro behind them. ‘Do you think the earth is the only planet to have life on it?’
Nicholas did not answer. She turned to him to find him staring at a battered cigarette packet. He frowned as he partially withdrew one.
‘Nicholas?’
He glanced at her. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking. I don’t know.’ He turned the cigarette in his fingers, before abruptly returning it to the box. He thrust it into his pocket. ‘I just hope they are more peaceful than ours. I had hoped Saint Nick would arrive in a sleigh.’
‘He looked splendid riding his horse and buggy.’
‘I was hoping to persuade him to give us a sleigh ride.’
