London, 1948

The scent of warm cinnamon and pine filtered through the house, climbing the stairs and seeping through the crack of the bedroom. It filled Josie’s nostrils and awakened her from the deep sleep she’d been immersed in.

With a yawn and a sigh, she rolled onto her side and squinted over towards the window. A bright glow outlined the hazy curtain, creating a heavenly radiance that brightened Josie’s spirits. Pushing back her blankets, she stepped out of bed and shivered when her bare feet touched the chilly wooden floors. She hopped over to the window and held back the curtains to have a look outside.

A bright smile crept across her face and her eyes glittered with delight as she saw the familiar street covered in a thick layer of snow. It sat atop the red telephone boxes, the rooftops, and the shiny black cabs. All the festive wreathes and boughs of garland were dusted in white, making it a perfect sight for the holidays. A perfectly white Christmas.

It was too early to get up, she decided, so Josie slipped back beneath the covers of her cozy bed.

With her grin still apparent, she rolled over to gaze at the dozing form of her husband, still resting peacefully with muffled snores. His soft brown hair was rumpled against the pillow, sticking up in all directions, and his chin was covered in short stubbles from a lack of shaving. He wore a pair of red plaid pajama pants and a gray thermal shirt that was filled with several tiny holes; he always said that worn-in clothes were far more comfortable than those bought new at the store. Josie had, in fact, just bought him several new garments last week, but Jude insisted upon wearing all his old, withered shirts instead.

Josie cuddled up against his chest, resting her head on the pillow just beside his. She’d only just begun to doze off again when a gleeful yelp sounded just down the hall.

Damien, now eight years old, had awoken with a start, realizing what day it was. Like all children, he’d been dreaming of this day all year. He’d counted down the weeks on his calendar, spent several afternoons shopping for gifts with his mother, and even sent a letter to Santa Claus. And now, after the terribly long wait, Christmas was finally here.

With a jubilant grin, Damien jumped out of bed, fumbled to put on his robe and slippers, and hopped over to the window. His eyes widened in delight as he saw a blanket of snow covering the city. It fell from the pale blue sky in an almost dream-like way, dusting the world in glittery white.

Damien began to bounce up and down and exclaimed, “It’s snowing! It’s snowing!”

His shouts reached the ears of a young boy asleep in the bed beside his own. Still lost in his slumber, the child yawned and rubbed his eyes lazily before squinting over to see what his brother was up to. Already six years old, Thomas Ralph Turner knew all about his father’s days in the war and was proud to bear the names of his Great Grandfather Ralph, who he visited every summer in Polperro, and Thomas Harting, who had been a great friend of his father’s during his days as a soldier.

Thomas, like all the Turner boys, had two sparkling emerald eyes that were so green they resembled toads. A shock of black hair sat atop his head and his face was littered with soft brown freckles. Like his father, little Thomas was quite short for his age and rather thin as well.

“It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” Damien repeated, running out of the room and leaving Thomas behind.

After glancing quickly out the window with a smile, Thomas jumped out of his bed as well, grabbed his teddy bear, Oscar, and ran down the hall after his brother shouting, “Wait for me, Damien! Wait for me!”

Their little feet pitter-pattered across the house as the two brothers ran off towards their parents’ room. Damien was now shouting, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! Wake up, everybody! It’s Christmas!” while Thomas continued to wail, “Damien! Damien, wait for me!” and ran as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him.

Their shouts awakened Jude, who found Josie cuddled up against his chest, just drifting off to sleep. He wrapped his arms around her and indolently placed kisses on her forehead, her cheek, and her nose, before finally resting them upon her mouth. Like sleeping beauty and her prince, his kiss served to awake her.

She yawned and whispered, “What time is it?”

Jude pulled the covers up over their heads, “Too early to get up.”

The shouting of Damien and Thomas echoed through the hall until it finally reached Jude and Josie’s bedroom. Damien bounded in with a grin and hopped onto his parents’ bed.

“Wake up! Wake up!” he cried, “It’s Christmas!”

Josie sighed, “Give us just one more hour, love.”

Damien curled his feet up beneath him and bounced up and down, causing the whole bed to shake, “No! Come on, mum! Come on, dad! It’s snowing! And it’s Christmas! Don’t you want to see what Father Christmas brought you?”

“Whatever he brought will still be there in another hour,” Jude replied with a yawn.

“But dad . . .”

Before he could continue, poor little Thomas scampered into the room. He dragged his teddy bear along behind him and was still whimpering, “Wait for me, Damien! Wait for me!”

He walked along to the side of the bed and tried to climb up, but he was just too short to make it.

“It’s already eight o’clock!” Damien persisted, “Don’t you want to get up, mum? Don’t you want to open all your presents and see what’s in your stocking?”

Josie groaned, “Just thirty more minutes, darling. Thirty more minutes. That’s all.”

Finding it impossible to climb up onto the bed like his brother had, Thomas began to whine and called for his dad.

Jude rolled over and lifted the little boy up and onto his lap. He sat up and leaned against his pillow, holding Thomas close against his stomach.

While Damien maintained his argument with Josie, Thomas leaned into his father’s chest and whispered, “Do you really think Father Christmas was here last night?”

Jude smiled, “’Course.”

“And all his reindeer too?”

“Every one.”

Damien, hearing their conversation, crawled over and sat between his parents. He grinned and said, “Do you know what I think, dad?”

“What’s that?”

“I think Father Christmas must have been a chimneysweep as a boy, just like you. That’s how he knows so much about chimneys and how to climb inside them.”

Jude chuckled, “That’s an interesting theory, my boy.”

“So can we go down and see what he’s left us then?” Damien pleaded, “Please, dad?”

“It’s up to your mother.”

Josie frowned and punched Jude playfully in the arm, “Trying to make me the mean one, hmm?”

Damien ignored her and persisted, “Please, mum?”

She looked at the two eager faces of her boys and, with a sigh, surrendered, “I suppose so.”

Damien and Thomas yelped with glee and jumped off the bed. While Damien was searching the room for his mother’s slippers and robe, Thomas dragged his father’s cane across the floor to the bed.

Once Josie had on the robe and slippers, Damien grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room and down the hall.

Jude yawned, stretched his arms, and slowly pulled himself out of bed. He swung one leg out from beneath the covers and it was followed by the prosthetic leg Jude had been fitted with a year after returning home from the war. Although there were days he found it a bit uncomfortable, most of the time Jude wore it for the simple fact that it made it much easier for him to get around. After scratching his head and pulling on a lumpy gray sweater, he held out his hand. Thomas lifted up the wooden cane to his father, who took it with gratitude and stepped out of bed.

Using the cane to avoid various objects in the hall, Jude made his way across the foyer, down the stairs, and to the living room with ease. After living with his blindness for several years, he’d become quite used to going through his day without sight. Now, he found all his everyday activities simple to perform and no longer worried about such menial tasks as walking down a flight of stairs or preparing dinner on the stove without burning his hand.

Thomas led the way, with his teddy bear Oscar still at hand. As soon as he reached the living room, the young boy gasped in delight before rushing forward to join his brother at the fireplace. In the corner of the room a large evergreen tree was standing tall, decorated with golden beads, popcorn strands, glass baubles, and handmade ornaments constructed by Damien and Thomas. And a golden star, sparkling in the candlelight, sat on top. Beneath the beautiful tree, piles of presents wrapped in pretty paper and tied with curly ribbons sat waiting to be opened.

Damien and Thomas, sitting beside the warm fire, spilled the contents of two knit stockings into their laps and revealed a mound full of candy canes and sweets. Josie helped them remove the wrappers so each could indulge in creamy chocolate while Jude brought in some coffee from the kitchen for he and Josie.

They sat on the couch together and watched as the boys joyfully unwrapped their gifts.

The room was soon filled with rocking horses, toy trains, model airplanes, and building blocks. Scraps of wrapping paper were scattered about, but Damien had decided to place all the ribbons and bows upon his own head. Jude thanked Josie for the new wool coat she’d bought him and wrapped the green knit scarf around his neck. And Josie kissed Jude gleefully on the cheek for the earrings he’d given her. Damien and Thomas played with all their new toys and both ended up with stomachaches from all the sweets they ate.

Just before afternoon approached, a knock came upon their door and a large man dressed in red entered. He wore a big white beard, rosy red nose, red coat and hat, and a jolly old smile, but Damien and Thomas weren’t convinced. They knew almost instantly that this wasn’t the real Father Christmas and ran over to him shouting, “Uncle Mark! Uncle Mark!”

“Oh bother,” he sighed, “I’m not your Uncle Mark.”

“You can’t fool us!” Damien insisted, “Come see all our new toys! I got a new bicycle!”

“And look at my new train!” Thomas added.

He joined them on the floor beside the tree and played contently while Josie headed upstairs to get dressed and Jude sipped his coffee in the warmth of the fire.

“How’s business going?” Mark asked his nephew.

“Quite well, actually,” Jude nodded, “The holidays brought in loads of customers.”

“I’ll bet.”

The two men were referring to Jude’s new occupation. During his twenty-eight years, Jude had been a chimneysweep, a fisherman, and a soldier, but once he returned home from the war, he and Josie opened up a little business of their own.

They moved across town and found a little apartment that sat beside a vacant shop. With some hard work and elbow grease, the building was cleaned, painted, and filled with many shelves of books. It was a quaint little bookstore, smelling of withered pages and warm coffee, and both Jude and Josie adored it. Damien and Thomas spent their days looking at picture books in the children’s section while their parents sold all sorts of literature to their growing number of customers. It was small and it didn’t bring in a terrible amount of money and the sign above the door that read Crewe & Turner always sat crooked, but Jude and Josie loved that little shop more than they could say.

As the afternoon bore on, several other visitors stopped by. Monsieur Martin, who lived just down the street, brought over a loaf of cinnamon raison bread for his good friend Josie and the postman arrived with packages from Grandfather Ralph in Polperro and Thatcher in Liverpool. Their cards of greeting and goodwill joined those Jude had already set upon the mantel from his old friends in the war- Ricky Cormeier, Dean Radcliffe, and Cliff Wallis.

Late in the afternoon, the Hatfields stopped by to exchange gifts with their good friends. Clarence sat with Jude and Mark in the living room just beside the window, so they could watch the boys play. Hugh, Simon, Damien, and Thomas were throwing snowballs at one another gaily and sliding down the icy sidewalk on trashcan lids, their noses pink from the cold. In the kitchen, Josie was preparing dinner while Bernadette sat nearby with her daughter Susan, who was six years old, like Thomas.

The Hatfields left just before dinner and headed over to their Grandfather’s house for the night, leaving the Turners to enjoy their meal alone.

Jude sat at the head of the table, with Thomas and Mark on his left side and Josie and Damien on the other. Glasses filled to the rim, plates of steaming vegetables, bowls of warm cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes, and a basket of hot bread sat around the table. And in the center, cooked to golden perfection and fit with all the trimmings, was the turkey.

They feasted until their stomachs were full, and then sat by the fireplace with warm cherry pie and coffee. Mark turned on the old wooden Meissner radio and sat beside the boys beneath the Christmas tree. Damien was constructing a small town with Thomas’ blocks and driving his train through it, but little Thomas was so tired he curled up on the rug with his teddy bear Oscar and drifted off to sleep.

Jude and Josie sat on the couch under a red plaid quilt. Josie had her feet tucked up beneath her and was gazing towards the window. A stubby wax candle sat on the windowsill and small white snowflakes drifted down lazily from the black sky. She leaned into Jude’s shoulder and listened as he softly sang along with the voice of Bing Crosby:

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know.
Where the treetops glisten,
And children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write.
May your days be merry and bright.
And may all your Christmases be white.”

As he finished the song, Jude placed a kiss upon Josie’s head and whispered, “Happy Christmas, love.”

She smiled and cuddled up closer beside him. The flames in the fire crackled, Mark sipped his hot coffee, Thomas snored softly, and little Damien gave a low, long whistle as his train traveled around the Christmas tree. And then, with a sigh, Josie fell asleep in Jude’s arms on that perfectly white Christmas in London.

THE END

(A/N) Well, it’s finally finished. I hope you all liked this ending, because I certainly enjoyed writing about the Turner’s Christmas. At first I was just going to do what I always do and simply tell what happened to Jude and Josie in a few paragraphs, but I thought it would be more fun to do it this way.

This story is exactly 150 pages long on Microsoft Word. I think that’s a new record for me. It’s also my first “real” historical fiction, which I’m rather proud of.

I’m still not very satisfied with that last chapter though and I am planning on changing it a bit at some point, but for now it will stay as it is until I can think of something better.

I’d like to thank everyone who has read this story and been kind enough to comment or criticize on it. To all my reviewers:

Railee, Lizzie, Steph, an-cat-gaelige, Whistling Gypsy Rover, A Forbidden Fantasy, passion101, Mikiba, SloanePeterson, La Gitane, Kay, Crystal109, red-flower, Wings As Eagles, zarastar, anonymous, Godzgirl, aims80, Karla, Katrin the Great, the-beautiful-tragedy, Kelly, Astrid Rose, Jules, Elodie, Brit, asga, euphoric tragedy, monadoll, Invisible Pen, and The Prophet aka J.D.

Merci beaucoup! Grazie! Gracias! Danke! Thank you very, very much! Your reviews never failed to brighten my day!

For now, I’m just going to continue with the other two stories I’m currently working on- “The Voyage of the St. James Sisters” and “Meg Hepburn: Princess of Worthington.” But I’ll probably end up starting something new as well in the next few weeks and I hope to hear from all of you again!

Until next time,

S. Renee