Under The Mistletoe Read Online Free PDF Page B

she said, “even though the sun is not shining, as if someone has sprinkled the surface with thousands of miniature sequins. How beautiful it is.”
    But she was not given long to admire her first real experience of snow. The two teams were facing each other across a neutral expanse of it, and Mr. Chambers whistled again, the signal for the snowball fight to begin. Most of the players, it soon became obvious to Elizabeth, had armed themselves in advance. Snowballs zoomed through the air, and squeals and shouts and laughter revealed that many of them had found their mark.
    Elizabeth shied away from all the vigorous action, uncertain what to do herself. She felt the beginnings of misery in the midst of such bubbling animation. She had never been allowed to play and enjoy herself—she did not know how. She was a lady.
    And then a snowball collided with her chin and dripped down inside the collar of her cloak before she could brush it away. Another struck her on the shoulder. She could think only of her discomfort, of getting back indoors, where it was warm and quiet and dry and sane and all was familiar to her.
    â€œThe best defense is invariably offense,” her husband advised from close beside her, and he struck Peregrine, her chief tormentor, on the nose with a large, wet snowball.
    Elizabeth laughed and felt suddenly, unexpectedly exhilarated. She stooped to gather a handful of snow, formed it into a ball, and hurled it, also at Peregrine, who was still sputtering and trying to clean off his face. It struck him in the chest, and Elizabeth laughed with delight, even as another snowball from an unidentified assailant shattered against her shoulder.
    After that she forgot about discomfort and cold and dignity andhurled snowballs as fast as she could mold them at any foe within her range. Soon, without even realizing it, she was helpless with laughter. She was also liberally caked with snow from head to foot. But several minutes passed before she spared a moment to slap ineffectually at her cloak with snow-clogged mittens.
    By the time the fight was losing momentum, the children having discovered an even more amusing activity. They had captured Mr. Chambers, two of them hanging off each arm, one off each leg, while a few others pushed and shoved. With a ferocious roar he went down on his back.
    â€œBury Uncle Edwin!” Charles shrieked over and over again, and the other children took up the cry until it became a chant.
    They proceeded to heap snow over him until only his shoulders and head were visible—and his hat, which had tipped to a rakish angle.
    â€œPoor Mr. Chambers,” Aunt Amelia remarked.
    â€œHe is a jolly good sport, I must say,” Uncle Horace commented. “You would not catch me letting them do that to me.”
    Elizabeth stood and watched while the other adults and young people slapped themselves and one another relatively free of snow and recovered their breath. Mr. Chambers was laughing good-naturedly and putting up only enough of a struggle to amuse the children. She felt as if she were gazing at a stranger. Where was the cold, humorless, dour man she had married? By some instinct, the children had picked out the very adult who would indulge them and play with them and allow himself to be played with. How had they known?
    For the first time Elizabeth could see her husband as the son of that hearty, jolly man who had arranged the marriage with her own parents and insisted upon having a private word with her in order to assure himself that she was not being coerced into anything against her will. Her husband, it seemed, possessed the same generous, fun-loving nature, though he had never displayed it for her benefit.
    She felt plunged into sudden depression again. He had not wanted to marry her, of course. He disliked her. He very probably despised her.
    Five minutes later the play portion of the morning was over and they were all trudging off in relatively good order toward