The Twelve Days of Giving

     But of course, Lexora would have none of that. Mountains of cookies were baked, carols were sung until throats got sore, and Suhel did more socialising than she ever had in her life as she attended ladies’ luncheons and charitable events. It wasn’t fun so much as it was overwhelming, and Suhel kept herself sane by writing daily Neomails to Isengrim, complaining about all the festivity and tradition. It put a smile on her muzzle to imagine him reading the Neomails aloud to his family and all of them getting a good laugh out of her irate descriptions.

     What bothered her worse, though, was the state of Lexora’s family. They seemed more and more harried and frazzled with each passing day as they rushed from one tradition to the next. Tempers flared, items were forgotten, and at one point Millie even scowled, which meant that she was feeling quite cross indeed. Only Mr. Fitchet seemed to keep his composure, as he steadfastly sat by the fire complaining about the crossword.

     “Aren’t you going to do anything about this?” Suhel asked him while the family waited for Alfred to tie his scarf and the boy complained that it itched him terribly, despite the fact that he had been perfectly fine with that exact scarf up until now.

     Mr. Fitchet looked at Lexora rubbing the bridge of her muzzle and sighed. “It’s like this every year,” he said. “I’d love a quieter Giving Day, myself, but this is what seems to make Lexora happy—”

     “Oh, for goodness sake, Alfred!” Lexora said, running her paw through her hair and pulling strands loose from her bun. Her striped tail lashed in agitation. “We’re going to be late for rehearsal if you keep this up! Do you want to be in the ballet or not?!” She wrapped the scarf around him and shooed him down the stairs.

     “I’m hungry!” Simon wailed.

     “There’s sandwiches after rehearsal!” Lexora said.

     “Dear, I could run upstairs and grab him something—” Beoffrey started to say.

     “Don’t encourage him!” Lexora snarled, and that was enough to silence her husband.

     “Yes,” Suhel said, “she seems terribly happy.”

     Mr. Fitchet gave the Werelupe a knowing look. “At any rate,” he said, “I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. At least it’ll all be over in a few days.”

     “I’m not sure I can last til then,” Suhel muttered. She glanced over at the creepily saccharine Petpet doll on the mantel. “And if I hear one more word about that Felf on the Shelf, I’m going to start howling. Lexora stays up late every night feverishly putting together cutesy made-up notes from that little fiend. And I hate the idea that it’s watching my every move.”

     “As do I,” Mr. Fitchet said. “Oh—that’s the answer to 13-across! ‘Felf on the Shelf’! Thank you, Suhel.”

     “No trouble at all,” Suhel said as she reluctantly followed the family to the back door of the shop.

     By the evening of the 23rd – the day before the production of The Snow Faerie – Suhel had half a mind to feign ill. But the children insisted that she come to watch their performance, and she couldn’t let them down.

     She and Millie sat looking out the window at the falling snow and the Barrow ghosts roaming around the lake. From this distance, they looked merely like more of the shimmering faerie lights that the residents of Barrowmere used to decorate their buildings this time of year.

     “Have you really met the Barrow ghosts?” Millie asked as Eldritch dozed on her lap.

     “Yes,” Suhel said, “but we were in a hurry and didn’t have time to stop and chat.”

     “I should like to go meet them someday,” Millie said.

     “They seemed rather pleasant,” Suhel said. “I’m sure they have fascinating stories to tell.” She looked over at the monochrome girl and studied her for a moment. “You don’t really want to be the Snow Faerie, do you.”

     Millie started and looked away. “Oh—don’t tell Mother, she would be livid. She was so excited when I got the part, but I honestly hate being on stage.”

     “Then however did you get the part?” Suhel asked. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure how your brothers managed to get parts as well. I don’t think they could dance ballet if their lives depended on it.”

     Millie chuckled. “They’re awful dancers. But this community ballet is about spotlighting the children, not about striving for any sort of artistic quality. I never wanted to audition, but now that I’m finally at the right age to be the Snow Faerie instead of a supporting dancer, I suppose Mother just got a little too enthusiastic and pushed for me to get the part.”

     She swallowed hard. “Oh well. After tonight, it will be all over again until next year. Frances has been helping me rehearse, anyhow, and she’s a much better actress than me, so she’s making sure I won’t embarrass myself too terribly on stage.”

     “Pardon me for saying,” Suhel said as she sat back on her cot, “but I’ve always thought Giving Day was supposed to be, well, a happier time of year than this.”

     Millie gave her an odd look and said, “Of course we’re happy. We have plenty of traditions to enjoy.”

     “You’re going through the traditions, all right,” Suhel said, “but all I’m seeing is stress and exhaustion. I’m just worried that your poor mother might bite off more than she can chew in the month of Celebrating.”

     The girl yawned and reclined on her pillow, and Eldritch curled up by her head, his eyes glowing as he stared out the window. “Perhaps you’re right,” Millie said. “But she doesn’t seem interested in doing things any differently.”

      “Honestly,” Suhel said as she lay down, “I would love if we could just stay home, play some Castle of Eliv Thade, and perhaps go on a stroll and look at the holiday lights.”

     “I would like that too,” Millie said, turning off the bedside lamp. “I don’t think Mother will go for it, though.”

     Suhel’s eyes drooped shut. “I just hope we can find a way to help her before all this fun ruins our Giving Day.”

     Suhel thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, until the next day proved her wrong. That morning, with toast still in hand, Lexora ushered the Brownings and their Werelupe guest out the door to the opera house where the ballet would be held, for one final round of rehearsal before the big night. They stayed there all day, and Suhel, Lexora, and Beoffrey rushed about helping children with costumes and backdrops and choreography until Suhel’s hind paws hurt, and she decided she wanted nothing more for Giving Day than to sit down for five minutes.

     After a large catered supper for all the children and adult helpers – during which many of the children ate worrying amounts of dessert – everyone gathered backstage to prepare for the first act. Beoffrey had gone home to fetch Mr. Fitchet, and although the entire family had bought tickets, Lexora and Suhel lingered backstage. Suhel could hear the whispered chatting of the gathering audience on the other side of the thick curtains, and the atonal rhythms of the orchestra warming up in the pit.

     “Oh, you look positively glowing, Millie!” Lexora said as Millie’s friend Frances, a yellow Aisha, made some last-minute adjustments to Millie’s costume. The Ogrin wore a sequin-studded cyan tutu with big poofy sleeves and a pair of glittery faerie wings. Her brown hair had come out of its usual pigtails and had been done up in a tight bun. As far as Suhel knew, the actual Snow Faerie did not look anything like that, but she supposed some creative liberties had been taken.

     “Thanks,” Millie said in a very small voice. She looked incredibly self-conscious as she shifted her weight and adjusted her tiara.

     “Do break a leg out there, Millie!” Frances said, straightening some sequins that had been knocked askew. “Figuratively, of course, not literally. I wish I had gotten the part, but there’s always next year!”

     “I rather wish you had gotten the part too,” Millie whispered, so quietly that Suhel was sure no one else heard, but Suhel’s sensitive Werelupe ears picked up on the sound.

     “What a smashing Giving Day this has been!” Lexora said, although her eyes were slightly glassy and her tail drooped in fatigue. “And after this, think of all the fun we’ll have tomorrow—”

     A loud crash interrupted her musings. “I’m the greatest Bori warrior who ever lived!” shouted a certain white Skeith boy wearing a fake shell as he swung his spear and shield. He knocked over a wooden backdrop of some snowy mountains, and it clattered noisily to the floor.

     “Simon, cut it out!” said a green Acara girl who was also playing a Bori.

     “What’s wrong with you?” a purple Jetsam dressed as a frozen skeleton said. “Mrs. Mobberley! Simon’s gone mad!”

     “Whoopee!” Simon said, lashing his tail and charging at a set of ropes and pulleys attached to sandbags. Suhel’s fur bristled. The boy seemed to be acting totally erratically, but Suhel, with her years of battle experience, could see subtle hints of anger in his motions.

     “Young Master Browning!” said a tall, willowy green Kacheek woman holding a clipboard. “Stop that this instant!”

     “I’ve got enemies to trounce, Mrs. Mobberley!” Simon said, knocking over another backdrop with his spear.

     “Simon—” Lexora started to say, and then a smaller figure stumbled into her, doubled over and clutching his stomach.

     “Mummy, I feel ill,” Alfred said from beneath the face of his Snicklebeast costume.

     “What?!” Lexora said, tugging at her updo. “You picked now of all times to fall ill?! The ballet starts in ten minutes, and you’re in the first act!”

     “I—I think I ate too many sweets and biscuits at supper,” Alfred said. He plopped down at Lexora’s feet.

     “Why would you go and do a foolish thing like that?!” Lexora asked.

     “Because—because they were making me happy!” Alfred moaned.

     Mrs. Mobberley strode over to Millie and adjusted her spectacles. “I’ll deal with your brother momentarily, Miss Browning,” the director said, “but for now, the show must go on! Are you ready for your big debut? Remember, enter stage left!”

     Millie looked up at the woman, and the girl’s brown eyes widened in complete and utter terror. “I—I—” she stammered. “I mean—I guess—if I must—” She moved to take a step forward—and froze. Her face scrunched up, she shuddered, and then she burst into tears. “I can’t!” Before anyone could say anything else, she ran off of the stage, to the dressing rooms, sobbing.

     Mrs. Mobberley’s jaw dropped. She looked at Alfred sprawled at his mother’s feet, and Simon continued to wreak havoc while the other children tried to avoid him, and buried her face in her paw. “This is the worst Snow Faerie production I’ve ever seen.”

     Frances patted her shoulder and said, “Come now, it’s not all that bad…” She trailed off as she viewed the mayhem that surrounded them. “Oh, I suppose it is, isn’t it.”

     “This has gone on long enough,” Suhel said, stepping forward. She had been hoping the others would get their lives figured out by themselves, but now it seemed she would have to channel her inner Isengrim. She wasn’t his second-in-command for nothing, after all. “Alfred, go lie down in the dressing room. Mrs. Mobberley, you ought to go stop Simon before he tears your scenery to shreds.”

     Mrs. Mobberley looked as if someone had doused her with cold water. She shook her head as if recovering from a shock, and then ran after Simon.

     “And Frances,” Suhel said, “go check on Millie. She needs a good friend right now.”

     “You don’t have to tell me twice!” Frances said, and she bolted down the stairs.

     Suhel looked down at Lexora, who seemed near to tears herself. The Werelupe knelt down so she was closer to eye level with her friend, and put her paws on Lexora’s shoulders. “Why are you doing this to your family?” Suhel asked. “You’ve run them ragged with activities and traditions. Now Simon is acting out, Alfred is stress eating, and Millie nearly had a traumatic experience. I doubt your husband and father are very happy, either. And quite frankly, I’ve been exhausted these past twelve days, but I’ve just been too nice to say anything until now.”

     Lexora bit her quivering lip. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt all of you. I’ve been tired and frazzled as well, but I just thought—the memories we made would be worth it.”

     “Yes, now we’ve got plenty of memories—perfectly terrible ones,” Suhel said, her green eyes gleaming with a smile that didn’t reach her muzzle. “Giving Day shouldn’t be about cramming your schedule. It’s about taking time to enjoy your loved ones—and doing the things that matter. I think that’s when real memories are made, and everyone comes out of the holiday season much happier.”

     Meanwhile, Mrs. Mobberley and several of the older children had managed to tackle Simon and wrest his weapons away from him. This seemed to subdue the Skeith, as he finally sat down, out of breath, and asked for a glass of water.

     Lexora nodded slowly. “I can see that now… what a fool I was, Suhel. I’m sorry I’ve been a poor excuse for a hostess.”

     “Well, you’ve got tonight and tomorrow to make up for it,” Suhel said. She squeezed Lexora’s shoulders. “Let’s go see Millie.”

     They descended to the dressing rooms, where they found Alfred blissfully asleep on a sofa, and in another room, Millie sat crying with Frances by her side.

     “I’ve just—I’ve just had an awful time this past month,” Millie sniffled, “and I know Eldritch misses me because I’ve been out of the house so often, and I don’t know how to make it up to him—”

     “Millie, dearest!” Lexora said, running to her and throwing her arms around the girl. “I am so, so sorry!”

     “Mother!” Millie said. “It’s my fault—” A fresh sob erupted from her throat.

     “That’s nonsense,” Lexora said, patting her back, “and you know it. I’m entirely to blame for making you audition and making Mrs. Mobberley give you the part. I never should have done that.”

     “Oh—thank you,” Millie said. “I was just trying so hard to please you—I know it’s almost time for the ballet to start, so just let me tidy up a bit and—”

     “No,” Lexora said, putting a firm paw on Millie’s shoulder. “You are not going out there.”

     Millie stared at her mother with a mix of relief and confusion. “But—I’m the Snow Faerie. If I don’t make my appearance—”

     “Frances,” Lexora said, turning to the Aisha, “how would you like to be the Snow Faerie?”

     Frances started, and her ear stalks stood straight up. “Are you serious, Mrs. Browning? I mean—I would love to! I auditioned as well—but do you think Mrs. Mobberley—”

     “I think,” Lexora said, “that right now, Mrs. Mobberley won’t care at all who is playing which part, so long as this production gets going.” She handed Millie a tissue. “Let’s get you changed and your hair done, and quick! The show must go on!”

     “Yes, right!” Frances said. “Millie, you won’t mind, will you?”

     Millie blew her nose and chuckled. “Franny, you’ve just saved my evening!”

     After what Suhel thought should break a record for the fastest wardrobe change, Frances flounced excitedly back onto the stage wearing the tutu and wings, and Lexora got Millie a glass of water. The Kougra woman hauled a battle-weary Simon off the stage, and Suhel slung a sleeping Alfred over her shoulder, and they all stepped outside into the gently falling snow.

     A Uni carriage pulled up, and Beoffrey got out wearing a coat and his bowler. As he turned to help Mr. Fitchet, he saw his family and did a double-take. “What are you doing out here?” Beoffrey asked. “Hasn’t the ballet already started?”

     “Sorry we’re late,” Mr. Fitchet said as he carefully planted his cane on the sidewalk. “The traffic is mad on Giving Day Eve. But now you’ve got me curious as well.”

     “We’ll tell you the whole story,” Lexora said, “on the way home.” She shooed them back into the Uni carriage, and she and Suhel followed with the children.

     “Back to the second-hand shop, then?” the blue Uni asked.

     “Yes, please,” Lexora said. “Oh, but—take the round-about route. We’ve got some holiday lights to look at.”

     The Uni smiled. “Happy to oblige.” She tugged at the carriage and it jolted into motion.

     The town of Barrowmere had turned into a land of winter enchantment with faerie lights hung across streets, decorated trees in the windows of homes, and storefront displays featuring clockwork Terror Mountain scenes. Pedestrians wished each other a happy Giving Day, and some stopped to exchange gifts when they saw someone they knew. More than once, Suhel saw Neopets donating to the less fortunate, and her heart swelled. This was what Giving Day was about. She grinned down at Millie, who smiled wider than Suhel thought possible for a grey Neopet. They had gotten their Giving Day wish after all.

     Traffic was indeed quite bad, so Lexora had plenty of time to tell the men all about the debacle at the opera house. “And, at any rate,” she said as they turned down their street, “I’m just awfully sorry about all the mess I’ve put everyone through—not just this year, but in years past as well. But I promise, that changes tonight. From now on, we’re going to limit our Giving Day activities and not overschedule ourselves.”

     “And we’ll get to do the things we actually want to do, right?” Millie asked.

     “Absolutely,” Lexora said. “I suppose in all my rushing about trying to craft an enjoyable Giving Day, I somehow succeeded in creating the worst Giving Day imaginable.” She adjusted a still-sleeping Alfred on her lap.

     “Sorry about the backdrops,” Simon said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really know what got into me. It just—suddenly felt good to hit things.”

     “You were upset,” Suhel said, “and didn’t realize it until it all broke loose. Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’re still a child.”

     “Even so,” Simon said, “a true warrior would never go out of control like that.”

     Suhel smiled. “If you realise that much, perhaps you do have the makings of a warrior in you after all.”

     “Does that mean—” Simon said.

     “No, no weapons until you get into secondary school,” Lexora said. “And that’s final.”

     The carriage creaked to a stop in front of the second-hand store, and the family got out while Beoffrey paid the Uni. “After I put Alfred to bed,” Lexora said as they squeezed their way through the store to get upstairs, “what say we go for a round or two of Castle of Eliv Thade?”

     “Yes, please!” Millie said. “I mean, only if everyone else wants to.”

     “Absolutely,” Suhel said.

     “Sure,” Simon said, “but Dad, can I be on your team? You’re better at anagrams than I am.”

     “Of course,” Beoffrey said.

     “I would be delighted to join you,” Mr. Fitchet said.

     In the sitting room, the fire in the hearth had been extinguished, so Beoffrey set to lighting it again, Lexora took Alfred upstairs, and everyone else collapsed on the sofa and chairs.

     “I never thought my Giving Day with you all would be so eventful,” Suhel said. “I’m going to have quite a bit to write Isengrim tonight.”

     “Do put in a good word for me with him, while you’re at it,” Simon said.

     “I shall tell him,” Suhel said, “that you had a sobering experience and realised what it means to be a true warrior.”

     “Brilliant,” Simon said.

     Lexora came back down the stairs with the box for Castle of Eliv Thade and heaved a sigh. “I’m about ready to sit down and not get up until New Year’s,” she said. “But first—” She plucked the toy Felf off of the mantel and dropped it in the waste bin. “I hope your children weren’t expecting any more letters from Mr. Jinglekins.”

     “Not at all,” Millie said. “We knew it was you the whole time.”

     “Yes,” Simon said, “we recognize your handwriting. At any rate, I wasn’t keen on the idea of him watching me day and night. I much prefer your discipline, Mum.”

     “Simon,” Suhel said, “you just called her ‘Mum’ instead of ‘Mummy’. I dare say you’ve become a man.”

     “I told you,” Simon said, sitting up straighter, and they all laughed.

          The End.