Posted on Sunday, 19 December 1999
It was a bitterly cold Christmas Eve. Everyone in Barton Cottage was sleeping soundly, eager for Christmas morning to come, except for one.
Marianne Dashwood sat up in her room, melancholy beginning to take her soul again. "Christmas. Hmph. Why should I care? I am a foolish, jilted girl who has discovered her love to have no more merit than the veriest of blackguards. No one cares for me in the least." Just then, Marianne's self-pity was disturbed by a sound. It was a strange scraping noise, like something metal being dragged across the floor. "Elinor?" Marianne said.
"Maaaaaaariaaaaannnnne..." a voice whispered eerily. Marianne became frightened. "Who's there?"
"Maaaariaaaaaaannnne..." The voice was closer now, inside her chamber. "What do you want?" she said, now scared out of her wits.
A figure materialized at the foot of her bed. It was her father's first wife! And she was draped all over in heavy chains! How could this be?
"But you've been dead for thirty years! How do you come here?" Marianne asked, trembling. "I come to warn you."
"Warn me? What of?" she asked.
"Do you know why I wear these chains?"
"No. Why?" Marianne said.
"I denied your father's love for me. I married him for security, thinking myself to still be in love with a boy I knew in the village. Each day that I lived with my husband without seeing his love is a link in these chains! Each time that I compared him to the village boy unfavorably is another link! Every day that I denied my own true feelings for my husband lengthens these chains and adds to their weight!"
Marianne looked at the wraith. The spirit's despair was evident in her face and voice. The chains were large and heavy, dragging the ghostly woman's shoulders down, bending her back. This spirit presented a grim prospect for eternity. Thank god she would not face that.
"But my story is not so important here." the ghost said, interrupting her thoughts. "Your soul is the one at stake."
"Mine? How can my soul be at stake?", Marianne said.
"It is. For you, like I, have ignored true love in favor of false. You have hurt others through your own selfishness and self-pity. You, however, are luckier than I. You shall have a second chance."
Marianne looked at the ghost in shock. She could not imagine that she had been that awful. She had loved to the fullest, put her whole heart and being into love.
"Three spirits shall visit you tonight. The first will come at the stroke of twelve, the second at one, and the third at two. Heed them well, that you might not be as I."
With that, the spirit began to back away, slowly dematerializing. "Wait!", Marianne said. "You cannot leave me with that! You must tell me more!" But the ghost was gone. Marianne was left again alone in her room, shivering in the dark.
"What a strange occurrence." Marianne thought. Was it real? Perhaps this spirit was just a figment of her overactive imagination. The ghost could have been a dream, something her mind cooked up because of her melancholy. She looked over at the clock. Only a few minutes until twelve. She'd know soon enough if the spirit were real.
The Ghost of Christmas Past Posted on Sunday, 19 December 1999
Marianne jumped, startled, as the clock began to strike twelve. "No ghost. Well, I suppose it was just my imagin..."
Just then, the window swung open. A young woman hopped into through into the bedchamber. For a moment Marianne could only stare. She got her wits back shortly, though. "What are you doing here?" Marianne asked. "And how did you get up here? It's at least twenty feet up!"
"I can get anywhere I want. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past! But you can call me Elizabeth."
Marianne looked at the girl. She was not much older than Marianne herself, entirely too young to be haunting people. And this Elizabeth was not at all transparent or insubstantial or wraithlike. The spirit of her father's first wife was really much more the thing. "I must say," she said, "you are not what I was expecting out of a spirit sent to warn me."
Elizabeth gave her a Look. "Well, one seldom gets what one expects, does one? Experience has a tendency to prove our expectations and judgments quite silly."
Elizabeth took a look at the clock. "Oh my! We must be off, or we'll be late getting back. The Ghost of Christmas Present gets most irate when people aren't punctual, and you really don't want to see him angry." The ghost held out her hand to Marianne, who was staring quite dumbly at her. "Well? Come on, take my hand." Marianne strengthened herself and held her hand out to the spirit. Whatever would come, would come. Elizabeth took her hand firmly, and they were flying out the window.
"Oh!" Marianne cried. "We're flying!"
Elizabeth smiled at her. "Of course we're flying, silly! Did you think we were going to trudge all the way to Norland Park on foot?"
Marianne looked at Elizabeth in surprise. "Norland Park?", she asked. "Whyever would we go there?"
Elizabeth sighed, mildly exasperated. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. It is my duty to show you the Christmases that have gone before, in order that a lesson may be learned. All of your past Christmas seasons have been at Norland Park, so we are going there. Specifically, we are going to Norland Park ten years ago, when you were eight years old." Marianne smiled. She remembered that Christmas well. It was the year she had received her first pony. Her father was, of course, still alive then. It was a beautiful time in her life.
Marianne and her ghostly companion landed with a thump, stopping Marianne's reverie. They were at a window, looking into a cozy sitting room at Norland. Marianne saw her eight-year-old self hugging her father ecstatically. "A pony?!" Young Marianne said. "A real pony!? Papa, you are the best papa in the whole world!" As Mr. Dashwood looked over Young Marianne's head at his wife, a look of pure love passed between them.
"They were so in love," Marianne said wistfully. "I always wanted someone to love me the way Papa loved Mama. I dreamed that I would return that love, and we would live happily forever." As Marianne turned to the spirit, she saw that Elizabeth was looking at her.
"And yet, she was his second wife." Elizabeth said. "You met his first wife earlier tonight. Did it seem to you that he had loved her any less?"
Marianne thought about Elizabeth's question. The wraith who had visited her was certainly distraught about the love she had lost. That sort of passion could not spring from bland emotions. Elizabeth spoke again. "Love is not a commodity, to be used and then lost. It can only grow; Love cannot be used up." Perhaps this spirit was right. Maybe a person could love a second time.
Elizabeth paused Marianne's thoughts once again. "We have another place to visit before we return to Barton Cottage. We are going another four years back from now. Take my hand."
Marianne did, and they were off, flying over the countryside. Soon, the city of London came into view. As they landed, Marianne looked around. They were in a modest, though respectable, neighborhood. "Why are we in London, Elizabeth? I have never spent a Christmas here."
"You shall see."
Elizabeth led her into one of the houses. It appeared comfortable, though it was small.
"How can we go in these places?" Marianne asked. "We will never be able to explain ourselves if we are caught."
"They cannot see us. You are as insubstantial to them as air. Now enough of this. Follow me."
The two walked up a set of stairs, at last reaching a bedchamber. A young woman lay in the bed, ravaged by consumption. Her face was pale, eyes surrounded by dark circles, hair hanging limp. She had been beautiful once, but illness had taken her loveliness. Beside her kneeled a young man, head bowed as he clutched her hand. Something was familiar about him. Then he looked up to the ceiling to pray. It was Colonel Brandon, fourteen years past!
"Please, Lord! You cannot let her die! I cannot lose her! Please, have mercy upon me, on her child! We cannot go on without her.", he cried out. The girl's head rose slightly, her eyes opening a bit.
"Christopher?" she whispered. "I love you."
Her eyes closed again, for the final time, and Brandon began to sob.
Marianne was crying, too. The scene was of unbearable sadness. They loved each other so much, and now it was taken away from them. "Elizabeth! Why are you showing me this? It is too sad, to terrible to watch!"
Elizabeth's fine eyes softened a little, also struck with pity for the young couple. "It is terrible. He loves her very deeply. He feels everything deeply, though he will not show it. That is why you must see this. I want you to know his character better. Now dry your tears; it is time to go back."
Marianne sniffled and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her nightgown, and then held her hand out to the ghost. "Very well. Let us return." They took off through the night air, and Marianne lost herself in the view of the countryside below. Elizabeth returned Marianne to her bed. "You have given me much to consider, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth clasped her hand. "See that you do consider it. But you do not have long. The Ghost of Christmas Present shall arrive in only five minutes."
The Ghost of Christmas Present Posted on Sunday, 19 December 1999
Marianne stared out the window. The Ghost of Christmas Past had vanished into the snowy night, leaving Marianne to contemplate what she had seen. Was it possible that she had been wrong about love all along? That was rather hard to believe. And Colonel Brandon! Elizabeth said he felt deeply. Could it be that he did, in fact, have passion in his soul?
As Marianne pondered these questions, the door opened, and a tall, fine-looking young man walked into the room. "Good evening." He said.
After the past two intrusions into her bedchamber, Marianne was no longer surprised by such. "Good evening, sir. I presume you are the Ghost of Christmas Present?"
He looked down at her. "I am. My name, however, is Mr. Darcy."
Marianne stared up at this rather imposing looking gentleman. "Why, might I ask, do you not fly, as did the Ghost of Christmas Past?"
A bit of fondness touched Darcy's eyes and a slight smile crossed his face. Perhaps he was not so imposing, after all. "I do not have Elizabeth's enthusiasm for ghostly revelry. I prefer to be a bit more sedate in my haunting. But we do not have time for this. I hate to be late, and we must be off if we are to accomplish everything we must in an hour."
With that, Mr. Darcy snapped his fingers. Marianne looked around, and found herself no longer in her bedchamber, but in the sitting room in the Delaford parsonage. Elinor and Edward sat on the sofa, having some late night tea. As was often their habit, the two were deep in conversation despite the late hour.
"Well I, for one, am quite tired of her nonsense.", Edward said. "She's treated the man abominably. And after all he's done for her!"
Who could he mean? Marianne rarely missed a good piece of village gossip, and this surely promised to be interesting.
Elinor frowned. "Now, Edward, she's very young. And she's been hurt very badly."
"That is no excuse." Edward said. "You know for a fact that she's said some awful things about him, though he's never shown her anything but the utmost kindness. She shows no regard for anyone else's feelings. I'm fond of her, but even I have to admit that she's a selfish brat."
Elinor sighed. "I know she can be a little...self-concerned sometimes, but she really is a good girl. I feel sure Marianne will come around in time."
Marianne gasped at the mention of her name. All those things Edward said were about her? Even Elinor thought she was selfish? She had no idea that people saw her that way. She wasn't selfish! But then Marianne began to think about her past. She had behaved without any propriety and could have embarrassed her family terribly. She had made horrid remarks about Colonel Brandon. "...He has neither genius, taste, nor spirit." , she had said. And she had completely ignored Elinor's misery during Edward and Lucy's engagement. In fact, she had never thought of anyone but herself. She really was a selfish brat, just like Edward said! Marianne began to cry.
The ghost looked down at the weeping girl on the floor. "Come now, girl. It isn't so bad as it seems."
Marianne tried to control herself, but continued to sniffle. "I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy! *sniff* I've been an awful person. I've been mean to *sniff* Colonel Brandon and to *sniff* Elinor and I haven't thought *sniff* about anyone but myself. It's a wonder anybody will *sniff* even speak to me."
Mr. Darcy gave her a hard look. "And is moaning about it going to change anything? Feeling sorry for yourself is not the way to make a new start, you know." Marianne stood and straightened her back, sniffling her last sniff. "See, there you go. It feels a bit better to stand tall and face life than to rush into it as though you were trying to lay siege to it. Besides, if you try to rush, you may miss something important. Now get yourself together; we've got another place to go before your lesson's complete."
Marianne nodded. Stand tall and face life. Don't rush. The Ghost of Christmas Present was right; it did feel rather good. She was still scared, but she did not have to give in to it. Maybe life was not a simple choice between feeling and thinking. Perhaps there was a compromise between the two. "I am ready, Mr. Darcy.", she said, chin up.
"Good, then. We're off." Darcy snapped his fingers to take them to the next destination.
Marianne examined the room she now found herself in. She did not recognize it, except to note that it was the study of a well-to-do person. It was richly furnished with a mahogany desk and two comfortable-looking armchairs. The door swung open, and Colonel Brandon walked in, looking exhausted. He poured himself a snifter of brandy and collapsed into the large chair behind the desk. "Old fool." he muttered. "None of this is going to make her look at you as anything but a friend. A friend nearly twice her age, at that."
A maid entered with a plate of food and set it on the desk.
"Thank you, Jenny, but I'm not hungry."
"You really ought to eat something, Mr. Brandon. You've been to the village all day. You can't do heavy work and then not eat." Jenny said.
"All right, Jenny. Just leave it." he sighed. The maid left, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Who do I think I'm fooling?" the colonel said to himself. "Myself? Certainly not her. She's eighteen, and I'm thirty-five. As far as she's concerned, I'm an old man. There's no possible way under heaven she could ever want me, and I was a fool to ever think it." Brandon's head was hanging low. He gripped the brandy glass tightly, then hurled it into the fireplace with a crash.
Marianne stared at the colonel in shock. Could Colonel Brandon be talking about her? For the first time, she began to feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought that he might be speaking of someone else. Jealousy! What was she thinking?! But he didn't seem quite so old as he had before. And he certainly didn't seem dull. After all, only a man of great passion could throw a glass into a fireplace with such vigor. A respect for Colonel Brandon was beginning to form in Marianne's mind.
"So, you begin to understand now, do you?" Darcy said. "Not all feelings are so visible as you think, nor is reveling in them always called for."
Marianne looked at the stately ghost. "I think I begin to understand. But I still don't know what I should do."
Darcy gave her a nod of satisfaction. "Good enough. Come, then. We shall be back a little early. Get a bit of sleep; you'll need all your strength for the Ghost of Christmas Future's arrival. Your hardest lesson is yet to learn."
The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come Posted on Sunday, 19 December 1999
Marianne laid on her bed and tried to sleep for a few minutes, but could not. All she could do was stare at the clock and count down the minutes until two. The longer she stared, the more worried she became. Mr. Darcy had warned her about this ghost; this visitation must surely be worse than the last two. And Marianne still had no idea how she might go about behaving properly. After all, she couldn't very well stop feeling things. She certainly wouldn't marry Colonel Brandon, no matter what those spirits thought she ought to do. She might recognize the need for hiding emotions now and then, and it might be possible to love a second time, but she was not going to marry where she did not love.
Then the clock struck the first bell of two. A figure draped in black robes faded into substantiality beside her bed. The being looked like Death, its face obscured by the hood it wore. Though considerably shorter than Mr. Darcy, this almost delicate looking spirit was far more frightening than the Ghost of Christmas Present. This wraith was as she had always imagined ghosts to be, but she did not like it at all. Somehow she preferred the less exciting hauntings of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to this very thrilling but very ghastly one.
"Wh-who are you, spirit?", Marianne asked. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"
The spirit merely nodded. With no warning, the room began to spin. Marianne gave a blood-curdling scream as it spun faster and faster until it blurred and at last faded out of sight. The spinning slowed to reveal a new scene fading in to take the place of the bedchamber.
It was a club in London, crowded with men and quite noisy. Marianne felt as though she could smell their drunkenness. At a card table sat Willoughby, a young army officer, and another young gentleman. They were laughing and playing quickly, heedless of the amounts of money they were losing.
"Best watch your hand, Wickham. You'll run that girl's dowry out in another ten minutes if you keep playing like that."
"Never you mind my play, Willoughby. You'd do better to mind your own. Anyhow, I hear that one of your neighbors finally bought it."
How vulgar, Marianne thought.
"That's right, the old sod finally kicked off!" Willoughby said.
Marianne was truly shocked now. She could not believe Willoughby would speak so of one who was dead. No matter how much he may have disliked this man, it wasn't proper to speak ill of the dead. 'Good heavens,' Marianne thought, 'I'm starting to sound like Elinor.'
"I suppose the fever was too much for his old bones. Hah! Good riddance to him. One of those fellows that no one notices, he was."
Marianne was suddenly very glad that she had found out about Willoughby's character before attaching herself to him more firmly than she had. "Love must have more basis than merely passion.", Marianne said, her voice shaking. "Is that what you wish me to learn, spirit? If so, I see it."
"Not enough.", the spirit said. Its voice seemed to slide over the air, smooth as the ice that covered the roads and twice as cold. The spirit nodded again, and the club began to whirl.
When the scene righted itself again, Marianne was looking into the window of the servant's living room of Delaford. For the first time that night, Marianne felt the cold night air through her nightgown. It had not occurred to her that she should have felt cold during her journeys. Now she shivered, but not just from the cold; this Ghost of Christmas Future stared at her from the dark confines of its hood, giving her a chill that the December night could not begin to match.
"What have I to see here, ghost? What lesson am I to learn?", she whispered, frightened.
"Watch.", the spirit said. It raised its arm slowly, pointing at the window. Though still held by her terror, Marianne noted that the arm looked feminine. "Watch.", the spirit said again as she lowered her arm.
Marianne turned from the spirit to look into the window again. Two maids sat in chairs, looking truly distraught. Marianne recognized one as the girl who had brought Colonel Brandon food earlier.
"Why him?" Jenny sobbed. "He was so good! He was far too young to die!"
Marianne turned to look at the ghost. "No. Not him." she whispered. "He cannot be the one."
The ghost only stared impassively at her. "Silence. Watch and learn.", she said.
The two maids continued to weep. "It's too awful!" the second maid said. "There weren't no reason for 't. 'e just seemed to fade away, 'e did. I say 't was a broken 'eart, that's wot."
"I think you've got the right of it, Annie. He was a strong man; there's no reason that fever should've killed him. I think he just gave up."
"It's all the fault o' that Dashwood chit, that's wot Oi say."
Marianne, kneeling in the snow outside, began to weep. She stood and faced the ghost. "This is not acceptable! He cannot die! He is too young to die! He has too much life in him! Colonel Brandon would not give up! I would not allow it!", Marianne shouted.
The ghost nodded mysteriously. Seeing that, Marianne realized what she had just said. Brandon was not an old man; in fact, five and thirty was not old at all. And what did she mean, 'I would not allow it'? Marianne began to look deep into herself. She cared what happened to the colonel. She cared deeply. She could not bear to think that he would die, that she would have a part in his death. Marianne realized that it was not merely guilt or duty which made her feel this. Her passionate nature, despite its new temperance, could not be roused so by obligation. She loved him.
Marianne sobbed heavily, kneeling at the ghost's feet. She clutched the spirit's robe, looking up at the faceless hood. "Please! Tell me there is a way to change this! Tell me that this does not have to happen! It cannot happen! I will change! I shall not be selfish anymore! I shall be more circumspect! But please, please do not let this happen!" She looked to the ghost, her desperate plea evident in her eyes. The ghost lifted her hands to her hood and slowly slid it off.
Conclusion Posted on Monday, 20 December 1999
The ghost lifted her hands to her hood and slowly slid it off. As the dark black cloth slipped away, Marianne saw the face of a very beautiful young woman.
"At last, you understand," the woman said. Her voice was no longer the icy wind that it had been before. It was warm and pleasant, a very friendly sound. "I'm so sorry I had to scare you like that.", the ghost said. "My name is Jane, by the way."
Marianne looked at the beautiful ghost, extremely confused. How could this woman be the creature which had so tormented her? This Jane seemed to be the sort that wouldn't even harm a fly.
"I felt really terrible about frightening you, but Darcy and Elizabeth agreed that it was the only way to really make you see. They said if you weren't frightened, you'd take everything for granted. You wouldn't have paid proper attention to the hardest part of the lesson: acknowledging that you would have to change your behavior. This journey was not merely about making you feel sorry, after all. You must avert this future by your own will." The lovely spirit smiled at her. "Are you all right now? Oh dear, you're still crying. Here, have a handkerchief.", the spirit said, reaching into her voluminous robe.
"Thank you." Marianne sniffled, trying to stop her tears. "I'm just so glad that it does not have to happen this way. I was so afraid..."
"That you might have lost him forever when you had only just found him?"
Marianne looked at her, a little startled. "How did you know?"
"I felt a little like you myself, once. I thought my love was lost to me, but found that he was not. It is a profound joy, is it not?", Jane said.
"It is.", Marianne replied.
"It is time to go back to your room now. When you wake, you will remember all of this. I would not advise talking to anyone about what happened, though. If anyone asks about the change of heart, just tell them it was the Spirit of Christmas. It's not the whole truth, but it's close enough" Jane smiled at Marianne. "Now, let us go home."
A look of fear crossed Marianne's face. "Might I make a small request?", she said.
"Of course, my dear. What is it?"
"Could we travel some way other than the spinning? That was rather...discomforting."
Jane laughed. "Oh, certainly. That was another one of Mr. Darcy's ideas. We'll travel a bit more simply this time. Just close your eyes."
Marianne obeyed. An instant later, when she reopened them, she found herself lying in her bed. None of her ghostly companions remained in the room; Marianne wished she had at least had the opportunity to thank them. Oddly, she felt as though she had spent a full night in restful sleep. In fact, she had never felt better in her entire life. A huge smile broke over her face. It was time to start changing life for the better.
Marianne leapt out of bed and went scrambling down the stairs. "Merry Christmas!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Merry Christmas!"
Her mother and sister trudged sleepily out of their rooms.
"What on earth are you about, Mari?" Margaret said, yawning.
Marianne grabbed her sister's hands and spun around the room with her. "It's Christmas! I'm spreading joy!" Marianne beamed at her little sister.
Margaret groaned. "You're spreading dizziness, is what you're spreading. Now let me go."
Mrs. Dashwood stared in shock at the girl who had, just yesterday, been moping about the house. "Whatever has come over you, child?"
Marianne gave her a grin. "The spirit of Christmas has caught me. Now, we must make preparations to go to Delaford!"
Mrs. Dashwood continued to be amazed. "Delaford? Why must we go to Delaford?"
"Because I am in love with Colonel Brandon and I can't wait another minute to do something about it! Now both of you, get dressed. I can't very well go by myself. And hurry! We must get going if we are to be at Delaford by noon!"
Margaret and Mrs. Dashwood simply gaped at her. Mrs. Dashwood went to feel Marianne's forehead. "Are you having a relapse, child?"
Marianne laughed. "No, no! I am quite well. I feel better than I have ever felt in all my life!" Marianne's small family hadn't the foggiest notion what had happened, but they were certain it was good.
Due to much rushing of everyone on Marianne's part, they were indeed at Delaford by noon. All through the carriage ride, Marianne had tingled with anticipation. Now, as she arrived at the doorstep of the man she loved, she began to worry. What if she did the wrong thing? Perhaps she should just turn around now. Then she remembered what Mr. Darcy said. 'It feels better to stand tall and face life than to rush in as though you plan to lay siege to it.' Marianne straightened her back and knocked upon the door.
"Good afternoon, sir.", she said to the butler. "I am here to see Colonel Brandon."
The butler turned and headed to the library. "Colonel Brandon," he said, "Marianne Dashwood is here to see you."
The colonel's head jerked up from his work. "Marianne Dashwood? Here to see me? On Christmas Morning?"
"Indeed, sir."
Brandon regained his wits. "Show her in! Please!"
Marianne entered the room in the most regal manner she could muster.
"Good afternoon, Miss Dashwood. How may I assist you?"
Marianne looked at him. She realized that she had no idea how to tell him how she felt. She was already forgetting the ghost's advice and rushing headlong into things. 'Calm. I must be calm. I can do this.' Marianne closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. "Colonel Brandon, I...I...I've been terribly selfish. I've been improper, and cruel, and self-centered, and I'm really awfully sorry. Please, if you can, forgive me."
Brandon looked at her uncomprehendingly. "What are you talking about? I would never say you were selfish, Miss Dashwood."
Marianne's next statement came out so quickly that it seemed she didn't breathe at all. "Oh, but I am! Well, I was. But I'm not anymore! I've changed! Before, I didn't pay attention to anyone's feelings except my own, and I didn't even realize what my own real feelings were. Colonel Brandon, is there any chance that you could still love me, despite what an awful, childish person I've been?"
Brandon now stared at Marianne in absolute shock. Was she preparing to say what he thought she was going to say? Last night, it had seemed impossible. But she was certainly in a tizzy about something. He took a breath. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance. "Yes, Marianne. My feelings remain unchanged."
Marianne smiled the most beautiful, joyful, heartwarming smile he had ever seen. "You don't know how happy you've made me!", she said. Marianne leapt out of her chair and threw her arms around Colonel Brandon. "I love you!", she said.
The colonel was still in a state of shock, but he was so happy that he didn't care. The dreams he thought were dead were more alive than he had ever hoped or imagined. Colonel Brandon stepped away from Marianne and kneeled down. "Marianne Dashwood, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Marianne began to cry tears of joy and relief. "Of course!"
The colonel stood, and did what he had wanted to do thousands of times: he kissed her.
Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and counteract by her conduct her most favorite maxims. Over one Christmas Eve, she had changed her opinions so completely as to baffle those around her. She was still their Marianne, but a little more adult version of her. And whenever someone asked what had brought about her change of heart, she gave them a smile that would make one think she had a marvelous secret impervious to all forms of winkling. Then she would simply say, "It was the Spirit of Christmas."