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Kitty suddenly cried, “Oh, look, there is old Silas!”
An elderly gardener was leaning on his fork. He was well wrapped up in an old muffler and woollen cap and puffed upon a pale clay pipe. He was watching a lad, who appeared to be woefully underdressed for this bitter weather, brushing snow from the tall brussel sprout plants. A trug was set on the low wall beside him, already half full of the small green brassica vegetables.
Holly introduced herself to both men before she explained their mission.
Silas knocked out his pipe on the wall and disappeared into the recess of the building, returning shortly carrying an old wooden toboggan.
“Will this un do? ’Tis solid, made of oak. The wood be good’n strong, even though the paint be worn away.”
Kitty clapped with excitement.
“It looks perfect, and we can paint it up, can’t we, girls,” Holly suggested.
“Oh, but I wanna go on it now,” Clemmy whined.
Holly laughed. “And you shall; we will all have a go. I meant after we are done playing, then we can take it inside, dry it off, and paint it,” she explained.
“Nay, bring it back here, Lady Caulderbury, an’ I’ll paint it for ’ee using good, outdoor paint. I ’ave green, black, or red. What’ll it be, m’ladies?”
“Red!”
“Blue!”
“Red!”
“He didn’t say blue, Clemmy. I suggest red,” Libby said, being diplomatic.
“But I want blue!” Clemmy argued mulishly.
“I am afraid you are outvoted, Clemmy dear. Three reds to one blue because I vote for red as well. Don’t you think perhaps red is more of a Christmassy colour?” Holly quickly intervened, fearing a tantrum.
“Yeth, all right,” Clemmy agreed, plugging her thumb in, which she quickly removed because her mouth filled with the wool of her mitten.
Holly sighed with relief.
She turned to Silas. “Red would be perfect, thank you, Silas.”
“Red it shall be then. A word of warning fer yer ladyship. Buttercup Hill, ’tis best known for sledgin’, but don’ go down the eastern side towards the woodland, ’cause the weight of the snow has toppled the fencing down there, an’ the wire be all rusted through. It snowed again last night an’ covered the fallen fence. ’Tis dangerous. Make sure the young’uns stick to the western slopes, an’ you should be jus’ fine.”
“Thank you, Silas, we will, and I shall look after the girls. We will bring it back to you later on ready for painting.”
“Bye!” the children chorused as they each took hold of the rope and towed the toboggan away while chattering excitedly.
Holly was thrilled to see the colour return to Libby’s now glowing cheeks. All the girls were warmly wrapped up, each wearing mittens, mufflers, woollen bonnets, and thick winter capes.
Trudging through the altered landscape, they marvelled at the humps and bumps formed by the snow covering bushes and shrubs. Gradually leaving the gardens behind them, they walked around field edges, slow going in the deep snow. Clad in sturdy, lace-up boots enabled them to continue the climb until they finally reached the top of Buttercup Hill.
The children argued over who should go down first. Holly interrupted the heated discussion and decreed that Kitty should go first, followed by herself and Clemmy, and lastly, Libby.
Kitty seated herself on the toboggan, and the others gave her a push. She was off, gaining momentum as she sped down the slope, whooping with joy.
“Why did you leave me until last?” Libby suddenly asked.
Holly glanced at her eldest stepdaughter.
“Because you are the eldest and most adult of your sisters, and I knew I could rely upon you to accept that going last was no insult,” she explained.
Libby nodded but made no further comment.
