Let's All Go to Mary's House(Charles E.J. Moulton) Let's All Go to Mary's House

- Love and family and that British soldier

By Charles E.J Moulton

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The snow actually fell from the sky that Christmas. Thick snowflakes, like the ones that only exist in movies.
Soon enough, we were out there, four generations, making snow angels, giving Frosty the Snowman life, making snow lanterns. Grandma said it looked like a picture from a childrens book, maybe "The Nutcracker", the ladies looking like sugarplum faires and the boys like little tin soldiers. There was laughter and at least one snowman, maybe even two or three.

It came as a complete surprise, because it hadn't happened in over 10 years. Cold, cold weather and incredible Christmas trees, huge turkeys and stuffing and English fruit cake. There was music, wine, meetings behind the Christmas tree, church visits and Santa Claus coming through the chimney. There were beautiful Christmas songs, everyone gathered around the piano to sing "Ding, Dong, Merrily on High". After everyone was stuffed with turkey and pudding and drunk with punch and wine, the kids played with their train sets, the uncles sat in the salon and smoked cigars, the mothers sat on the couch drinking gin and the grandmothers exchanged tips in how to crochet.

So, there I was in the midst of my family on my couch in front of the roaring fireplace. I think I saw little elfs dancing in the fire. I might have been dreaming, but I think I saw my ancestors smiling as spirits in that fire, singing songs of love. But they were also present in the snow, in the wind and in the marvelous light emanating from my children's eyes. I saw the light of happiness coming from their souls, knowing that we loved them.

You know, I'd learned so much in the last few years. Knowing that worldwide fame and golden riches could never compare with the spiritual riches of love and family. It came from upbringing, I guess, family was so important to me early on.
I lost my way, mixed messages of my folks, control addiction of their will to make me like what they liked, be what they were. Love and fear went hand in hand and I carried a deep wound in heart that created havoc in my way of being.

I saw all that activity of my two families gathered in a huge house, the parlophone playing hits of the time, "I Wonder Where My Baby is Tonight" and "Let's All Go to Mary's House". I strolled around between all the groups and conversed with everyone, sipping a new brandy every five minutes and sometimes even bopping the boogie with my sister. Lucy looked at me with a mix of utter adoration and reeking pity. She knew what an incredible life I had been given and the fact that I had inherited this incredible house from grandpapa. I had my job and my wife and my kids and even got to play billiards with my friends on weekends.

She came over to me with her glass of bubblies, in her eyes a look of pure love. It was so unspeakably warm that I felt I was showered with sunshine. I raised my head toward her, my cheek still facing the fire, the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece reverberating in my ear, reminding me of the universe we were encapsuled in. This Father Time had sent us into a galactic race of impressions. My sister caressed my other cheek gently.

"Feeling melancholy?"

My sister always had a way of saying things in a way that made me feel good. My eyes looked downward. I gazed at my knuckles and that one scar I had gotten on the battlefield.

"I still hear the guns when I wake up in the middle of the night, Lucy."

I laughed, bitterly, remembering how I wrestled with an enemy soldier until I had to kill him if I wanted to survive. His last gaze before he died was one filled with remorse, his knife burying itself in my hand before he died.

"I had to kill him."

Lucy put her hand on my scar. She sighed, contemplating at the old flesh wound that was still there.

"So many years."

Another pause, the chatter now a background noise of normality.

"You were a soldier, Frank. You had no choice."

That sweet feminine look of love now filled my heart with reassurance, the kind of reassurance I got from listening to my mother telling me stories, my grandmother baking me cakes and my aunt taking me on walks.

"Women are the salt of the earth, the love of eternity."

Lucy smiled. "Your wounds are healing."

It didn't matter if Lucy was my sister or what she was. Her sweet female tenderness was what I needed. It brought me the healing I needed.

"Look around you, brother."

I saw my wife Mary conversing with my daughter and son and my brother, probably about Noel Coward's performance at the Picadilly last Saturday. The other wives swaying to the music. Even the uncles speaking about their women. The boys playing train only to impress the girls.

"This is home, honey."

I realized what war had done to me. It had made me forget what really mattered. Not soldiers.

"Family Matters."

I nodded.
And just like that, the memories of the enemy soldier dwindled and I was dancing with my wife and sister and kids to the "Sunshine Rag".

I cried tears of joy that night while making love to my wife. For I knew that there was a time of prosperity ahead.

We lived long and prospered. When World War Two started we were far away in Oklahoma and my memories of war were far away.

When I died, I was a very happy man indeed.

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