Christmas At Willbrook: A Bedtime Story

Hello dear ones and welcome to tonight's story.

A Christmas at Willowbrook.

Before we begin,

Just taking a few moments to make yourself comfortable.

Maybe stretching out in your bed.

Snuggling down into your duvet.

And allowing your breath to become longer,

Gentler.

Signaling to your body that it's time to relax.

And when you are ready,

Dear ones,

We will begin.

Willowbrook wasn't the sort of place people visited.

It was the sort of place they found themselves unexpectedly.

As though the village had quietly invited them in.

At the very edge of the village stood Willowbrook Cottage.

Inside lived Eileen Harper,

73,

Silver-haired,

Soft-voiced,

With eyes the colour of morning sky just before it lightened.

Eileen had loved greatly in her life.

Had known the joys of children.

Laughter filled Christmas mornings.

And a husband who once held her hand as though it were a miracle.

But time had a way of rearranging things,

Leaving her with memories tucked into drawers and photo frames.

This Christmas Eve she was feeling lonely,

Her children scattered across the world.

But she filled her home the only way she knew how.

Light draped across shelves,

Garlands woven from pine,

Candles glowing with honey-coloured warmth.

The air smelled of cinnamon,

Orange peel,

And gingerbread that were calling on the counter.

Just one visitor,

She whispered,

Touching the lantern in her window.

Just one visitor,

That would be enough.

Outside snow drifted in slow,

Dreamlike spirals.

And then,

Tap,

Tap,

Tap,

Tap,

Tap,

Tap.

Came a knock so small it sounded like the snow itself had a question.

Eileen opened the door and found a boy wrapped in an oversized coat,

His curls dusted with snow.

His shy eyes were dark and soft,

Like warm chocolate.

Hello,

Eileen said,

Her voice a warm exhale against the cold.

Hello,

The boy echoed.

I'm Milo.

My granny said we needed candles.

She said you might have some,

Because your house always looks so full of light.

Well,

Milo,

She said,

Stepping aside.

Come in and warm your hands by the fire.

I'll find you the brightest ones I have.

Milo walked inside,

Removed his coat,

And sat by the fire,

Staring at the flames,

Dancing in awe.

Your house smells like Christmas,

He said,

Inhaling deeply.

Eileen smiled.

Christmas should smell like cinnamon and gingerbread.

Yes,

Gingerbread,

He said,

His eyes cheekily drifting to the tray.

Eileen laughed softly.

Yes,

Gingerbread.

She packed a small bundle of candles,

Some tall,

Some short,

One shaped like a Christmas tree,

And wrapped two warm gingerbread men in paper,

One for him and one for his granny,

Too.

As Milo pulled on his coat to leave,

He hesitated.

Then he turned,

His cheeks rosy from the fire.

Would you like to come with me?

Granny Linda is lonely,

And it's just us,

But it would be nicer with three of us.

Eileen smiled at this sweet little child.

I would love that,

She said.

And so they stepped out into the snow together,

Candles tucked between them,

Their footsteps falling in sync with each other as they made their way to Milo's home.

Milo led her to a modest cottage,

Not too far from her own,

Its window glowing faintly,

As though unsure whether it should shine.

When the door opened,

Eileen was greeted by a small woman with thick,

Silver,

Streaked,

Auburn hair gathered loosely at her neck,

And a kind,

Gentle face,

Her eyes deep green,

Lit with surprise at seeing Eileen.

Milo,

She said gently,

You brought a guest.

I brought candles,

He said proudly,

And gingerbread,

And Miss Eileen.

Linda's gaze softened as she looked at Eileen.

Well,

How lovely,

Please come in out of the snow.

Eileen stepped inside,

And the remnants of her loneliness fell away.

Like a cloak that she no longer needed.

Linda's cottage was warm and quiet.

A single garland hung above the fireplace.

A kettle hummed softly,

As though it had longed for company too.

You have a beautiful home,

Eileen said.

Thank you.

It's simple,

But we like it.

Linda admitted shyly.

They made tea,

Shared gingerbread,

And sat together by the fire.

The flames flickered like they,

Too,

Were curious about this unexpected gathering.

They talked about small things at first,

Baking,

The weather,

And old village traditions.

But slowly,

The conversation deepened.

Linda,

It turned out,

Had moved to Willowbrook only a year before,

Searching for peace after the loss of her older sister.

Milo,

Her grandson,

Was living with her temporarily,

While his mother,

Linda's daughter,

Worked night shifts in another town.

Over the next few hours,

Linda and Eileen discovered they shared the same favorite books,

The same love for winter walks,

And the same habit of humming when nervous.

They both began to feel that they perhaps had found a new friend in the other.

At one point,

When Milo fell asleep on the sofa,

Linda covered him gently with a blanket.

Eileen watched her hands,

Steady,

Loving,

And felt a warm glow spread through her heart.

You're very good with him,

Eileen said.

Linda looked up,

Surprised by the softness in Eileen's tone.

I think he saved me,

After my sister died.

I didn't know I needed him until he was here.

The fire crackled between them,

And they could hear the wind outside.

People save us in unexpected ways,

Eileen murmured,

Sometimes with loud love,

And sometimes with quiet companionship.

Linda's eyes lifted to hers,

Slowly,

And sometimes,

She whispered,

With just a knock on the door.

When Eileen finally rose to leave,

Linda walked her to the door.

They stood for a moment in the quiet snowfall,

Breath misting in the cold.

Thank you,

Eileen said.

Her voice was low,

Intimate.

Tonight was the first time in a long while that I didn't feel alone.

The snow gently fell around them,

Catching in their hair and settling on their shoulders.

Would you come again tomorrow?

Linda asked.

I wouldn't want you to be alone on Christmas Day,

And we would love to have you join us.

Eileen smiled.

I would love nothing more.

A tender and unexpected friendship seemed to be blossoming between these two women,

Who had thought love,

Of any kind,

Might no longer find them.

Eileen arrived at Linda's cottage on Christmas morning,

Carrying a basket of freshly baked pastries,

A knitted scarf for Milo,

And a heart that felt lighter than it had in years.

Linda opened the door,

Looking rather disheveled,

But with a huge grin on her face.

Come in,

Come in.

Milo is attempting to decorate gingerbread men,

She laughed.

It's a situation.

And indeed it was.

The kitchen table looked like Christmas had exploded,

Bowls of icing in questionable states,

Sprinkles on the walls,

A gingerbread man upside down in frosting like it had fainted dramatically.

Milo had icing on his nose and looked quite proud.

It's modern art,

He announced.

It's something,

Linda said,

Trying not to laugh.

Eileen rolled up her sleeves.

Well then,

Let's make a masterpiece.

And soon they were all elbow deep in icing.

Milo decided each gingerbread man needed a full wardrobe,

Hats,

Boots,

Scarves,

And extremely questionable hairstyles.

Linda,

Competitive by nature,

A secret that she hadn't yet revealed,

Attempted to make the most elegant gingerbread woman ever created.

Eileen created one with a crooked smile and said,

She's perfectly imperfect.

By the time they were finished,

The gingerbread gang looked,

Well,

Eccentric,

But very,

Very loved.

After lunch,

Milo flung open the door and yelled,

Snowball fight.

Before either woman could protest,

He threw a perfectly aimed snowball that hit Linda with a soft thud.

Linda gasped in theatrical betrayal.

Eileen,

He has declared war.

Eileen raised her hands in surrender.

I'm neutral.

I'm neutral.

But then Milo hit her too.

Diplomacy has failed,

She said,

Bravely.

We must retaliate.

They spent the next 20 minutes running around the snowy garden like children set loose from school.

Linda was surprisingly agile and extremely competitive.

She hit Eileen square in the shoulder and called out,

Bullseye.

Eileen,

Laughing breathlessly,

Scooped up a large snowball,

Packed it with suspicious precision,

And threw.

Linda ducked.

It hit Milo.

Milo cried out dramatically and fell backward into a soft drift.

I have been defeated.

Tell my story.

Linda and Eileen were laughing so hard they could barely stand.

You're dangerous,

Linda teased.

I told you I was neutral,

Eileen said.

You didn't listen.

Linda grinned clearly.

After they'd all warmed up by the fire,

Linda insisted they were going to put up lights outside.

It'll be quick,

She said.

It was not quick.

The lights tangled like they were alive and resisting capture.

Every time Linda pulled one end,

Eileen found the other hopelessly knotted.

At one point,

Linda declared,

This puzzle was invented by evil elves.

And Eileen,

Very seriously,

Said,

Then we must outwit them.

They ended up sitting cross-legged on the snowy path,

Laughing as they attempted to untangle the mess.

Milo giving unhelpful advice like,

Try whispering words of encouragement.

Linda leaned closer to Eileen and murmured,

If this works,

I'll believe in miracles.

Eileen laughed and whispered to the lights,

You can do it.

You can untangle yourselves.

I believe in you.

And,

Miraculously,

The lights slipped free.

Linda looked at her with wide eyes.

You're a witch,

Eileen laughed,

A festive one.

That night,

Cozy and sleepy,

They lit the candles Eileen had brought the evening before,

Stoked the fire,

And turned on soft Christmas music from an old radio that crackled charmingly.

Milo fell asleep on the rug by the fire,

Curled into his new scarf.

Eileen and Linda sat on the sofa in comfortable silence,

Sipping mulled wine,

Both quietly happy in a way neither had expected just 24 hours previously.

Linda looked around her cozy home and sighed softly.

This is the best Christmas I've had in years.

Eileen reached over and gently squeezed her hand.

Here's to friendship.

And smiling,

They gently clinked their glasses together.