Christmas 2023
My dearest
children,
Mercy! Can I call
you children? All five are grown, four are flown, and the Youngest, Miss
Lily, towers over even the tallest elf! I must devise a new greeting—or
perhaps, since you remain Thorplets through and through (and since I persist in
being Far Older than all of you together), “children” is still best.
As you may have
heard from your Rome Family, another scribe has been assigned to Masters
Augustine and Charles—my cousin, Archival Gudwerds. He is an excellent Correspondent
and a good elf—less fanciful, but more faithful, than Yours Truly. He will
serve your extended family well!
The Better News
is this: I was not assigned the Rome crew because I have been asked, instead,
to compile more of the History and Stories of the Pole, as your Father and I
did with The Terrible Caribou Flu. So while I won’t be taking on New
Families as an annual Correspondent, I will continue to correspond with All of
you—a joyous Note, indeed!
T T T
That said, there
is still a Question among you, keen Readers that you are, and it is not an easy
one for me to answer. It has been my great joy the past few years to share news
of my courtship of Miss Bell Doubletree (which continues at a breakneck pace—shared
meals and fireside carols now). But you, dear ones, noticed what I had
forgotten: Many years ago, early in our correspondence, I mentioned dear
Gracie, my wife…
Grace Goodcheer
and I grew up together here at the Pole, not just elves of the same generation
or grade, but birds of a feather and Fast Friends. In her eyes, I was a
delight—colorful, humorous, and quick-witted, seeing the Tilted World with eyes
of joy and wonder. In mine, she was good as Gold: pure-hearted, selfless, and
faithful. I loved her from the first—a recess encounter in the school-yard. (I
tackled her and rubbed snow in her hair, of course!)
Gracie was slight
of build, even by our standards, fair-skinned, dark-haired, with eyes like deep
pools of blue water and a light, tumbling laugh like the tinkling of tiny
bells. I am sure your Father and Master Brendan can relate when I say she
inspired me to be a better man. But she was never completely well, even as a
child, and the cold and dark of Polar Winters can be hard on those who don’t
have a typical hardy elfin constitution. We married as soon as we were of age,
but she often spent the darkest, coldest months with the Devout Sisters of Our
Lady of Perpetual Winter, who could nurse and encourage her in long-suffering
and prayer.
Even then, she
loved. She offered herself daily for those with less: less Health, less Comfort,
less Family, less Hope. It may seem strange to you, given the tales and movies
made about Us, but we are fallen and mortal, too. (Yes, Miss Emma, elves, like
reindeer, pass away…) By God’s grace, elves tend toward warmth and cheer,
health and hardihood—but there are a Few who wander in the cold and darkness,
and Some, like sweet Gracie, who carry their crosses and offer their sufferings
for the needs of those who struggle or stray.
You’ve noticed,
no doubt, my use of past tense. She died, my bride, a few years before I
started my correspondence with all of you.
I was heartsick,
of course, and, like many men among you Big Folk, I threw myself entirely into
Work. I requested more Families; I researched legends and recorded stories—I
wrote and wrote and wrote—and failed to mourn and mend. I spoke to all as I did
to you, in present tense—Grace Quill is my wife. And I refused help or
advice, no matter who offered.
It is easy for an
elf to feign Happiness, and, in this blesséd Place in particular, easy for
others to Believe.
It was the Old
Man himself—St. Nicholas—who finally interceded. “My child,” he said, “the
Enemy would like nothing more than for you to lose yourself in Memories or Work.
He does not need you to turn away from Light and Love, only to stop and
stagnate. In faith, remember!—your bride is still alive, still a Grace and a
Goodcheer!—and you are not alone. It is time again to live.”
His words found
their mark. I took my first few steps back into the Light. I left work for an
entire month and went on Retreat with the Sisters—they even gave me Grace’s
room! I wept, and prayed, and slept long hours, and ate and drank heartily*, in
silence, with her soft Presence so near, so near!
T T T
The Lord is good,
and patient with us. When I first referenced Bell, I said “after decades of
waiting.” It has been decades—just barely, and only two—and, by waiting,
I suppose I meant marking time. I had no thought of courting or marrying
again. I returned to my work at peace, with clear Eyes and an open Heart—and
then I saw Bell. What a sight she was, for eyes sore as mine! Freckled and
feisty, with rusty curls and rosy cheeks and glittering green eyes—I looked a
moment overlong, and she saw and blushed and smiled.
And somewhere
near my heart, Gracie did, too.
And so. I have
come clean, and it was not as hard as I thought it might be—perhaps because you
are all grown now; perhaps because I know of your own long-suffering these
days, with the Passing of Becky’s grandfather and your Dziadzi’s illness. Know
that it was never my intention to mislead—to paraphrase Gandalf from those
great tales of Master Tolkien: A fool I remain, but an honest one!
We have much to
be grateful for, even on a gray, muddy Christmas such as this. God so loved the
World that He was born in barn, a helpless, wriggling Babe—the least
intimidating, easiest-to-love form He could have taken. Let us embrace Him,
softly and tenderly as Mary, watch over and protect him like Joseph—and then
bring Him, like the Bishop of Myra, to the rest of the waiting World.
Wishing you the
happiest of Christmases and a very blessed New Year!
Yours
still and always,
Q
Siberius Quill
PS You are, each and all, on the Nice list, of course. Well done!
*Sister Catherine Cornucopia, who manages the Covent Kitchen,
says she has never seen such an appetite; they were forced, as Master Gabriel
might appreciate, to beg meat and wine from larder at the Kringle House!
