“No, a squirrel,” Owen announced proudly. He leaned over the table, arranging greens into different animal shapes. None of which looked like a squirrel.
“Well, while I admire your effort, the execution seems to be lacking.”
Owen took a step back, studying his artistry before giving a final sigh. “I suppose. But it is more difficult than one would think. Look at Jonas’ turkey. It has not even the least resemblance to one.”
“That is because it is a pig,” Jonas defended.
“You know Mother will not allow this. She will expect a lovely decorated table for dinner.” Leah’s hand began to sweat within her glove and she worried if she didn’t dispense the salt soon, it would clump up in her grasp.
“We will fix it. Not to worry.” Jonas moved a bough a little to the left, giving a nod of approval.
“It still does not look like a turkey,” Miranda said, coming up behind the young men and looking at their creations.
Jonas shook his head. “I told you, it is supposed to be a pig.”
Leah glanced about the room and found what she was looking for. The punch bowl.
“Owen, would you care for a glass of punch?” Leah infused her voice with as much sweetness as she could manage without seeming suspicious.
He jerked up, tilting his head. His pause was uncomfortably long before he gave a suspicious and hesitant, “That would be fine.”
She nodded, gliding to the punch bowl. The warm, red liquid looked quite appealing, with slices of oranges floating on the top. Leah took a cup, slipping the salt in before ladling the warm liquid over top and gently tilting the cup to try and swirl it together.
“Jonas.” Her mother’s playfully scolding tone came to her ears. “What is all this?”
Leah turned around, careful not to splash the punch as she walked to Owen. She handed it to him and he took it before turning back to see what Jonas would have to say for himself.
“Yes, Jonas,” Owen said. “What is all of this? Your poor mother puts up with so much from you.”
“Oh, you do not have me fooled, Owen,” her mother said with a grin. “I know you had something to do with this as well.”
“Me? Nonsense.” Owen smiled, lifting his cup to his lips.
Leah held her breath in anticipation. Owen tilted the cup back, and the red liquid flowed from the cup into his mouth, before he quickly pulled the cup away. Owen cleared his throat, his cheeks bulging as he held the punch in his mouth before swallowing so deliberately that Leah could see the swell of his neck as he did so.
“Doesn’t Mother make the best punch, Mr. Turner?” Leah smiled and he narrowed his eyes in return.
“Yes. Quite. Very good.” He held the glass up to Mrs. Thompson before placing it ever so carefully back on the table.
“I say we have a toast,” Leah said. “Let us all get a glass.”
“I think a Christmas toast sounds like just the thing.” Jonas strode over to the table, helping himself to a glass of punch. The rest of the siblings followed, until they all stood around the table with their cups in hand.
“What should we toast to?” Graham asked. “Good health?”
“That is so boring,” Miranda said. “Why not to something about the new year?”
“New year, new friendships?” Cecily asked, her eyes twinkling as she looked over at Leah with her brow quirked.
“No,” Leah quickly added. “How about to—”
“—to change.” Owen lifted his glass up, training his gaze on Leah.
“Change?” Jonas asked. “That isn’t very festive.”
“I agree,” Miranda said. “How about a toast to Mother and Father? To their always being so tolerant of us?”
The rest of them chuckled and it was soon agreed upon that the toast would go to their loving parents.
