Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War & Reconstruction by Allen Guelzo (self help books to read TXT) 📕

 Nia brought Tom a glass of red wine and as he sat in the lounge’s other chair, she sat in his lap. She took a sip of her wine.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said.

“You’re welcome, but what for?”

“For last night. It meant a lot to me that you came to the BFI event. I really had a good time and that was because of you. And for this.” Nia motioned to the little scene in the cabin.

“Nia, there’s no need to thank me for anything. Really, I should be thanking you for the last five weeks,” Tom added. “They have been the happiest of my life.”

 Nia guffawed, then kissed Tom with wine wet lips, “Fuck, Tom,” she said. “It’s the bloody same for me.”

 The next morning, Christmas Day, was cold, wet, and windy. The Periwinkle rocked gently at its mooring.

Nia made coffee as Tom scrambled eggs. They kept brushing against each other as they worked side by side in the small galley until Nia wrapped her arms around Tom from behind, “Hmmmm,” she said. “How do you always smell so…?”

“Eggy?”

“No, silly. So, warm and masculine.”

“Because it’s Christmas,” Tom said.

“And, I can’t imagine a nicer Christmas than with you here,” Nia laughed, but then became serious.

“My Christmases growing up were usually pretty rubbish. So, I’ve never been one of those people who go nuts for Christmas. If I’m not working, I usually have a quiet day by myself with some good food, a good book, a bit of telly. Or, maybe dinner with Amanda and Penny or Ben. But it’s never felt special. Just dinner with friends really. But today, but today is… different, it really feels like… like Christmas.”

 Tom grinned. He faced Nia and held her face gently in his hands and kissed her.

 After breakfast, Tom and Nia walked into the village and attended Christmas Day services at the local parish church. Neither were regular church goers, usually only attending for weddings and funerals, but they both wanted a shared experience that was new for them as a couple. They sat, stood, and knelt when they were supposed to, they sang carols, chatted with some locals, and shook hands with the vicar at the end of the service. They held hands as they walked back to the boat through misty rain.

 The Periwinkle’s oven couldn’t handle a Christmas turkey, so Tom had prepared two plump chicken breasts with all the traditional trimmings. They ate heartily, Nia stating that church must have made her hungry. “Let’s have coffee in the lounge,” Nia said. “And open presents.”

 Six wrapped gifts nestled under the small Christmas tree. Two each and two for Jack. Nia’s gifts for Tom were wrapped exquisitely and expensively. She wanted him to open her presents first. Nia had commissioned a highly regarded watercolour artist to paint the Periwinkle crossing the Pontcysyllte aqueduct. She had paid a premium to have it ready and framed in time for Christmas. Tom was touched.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It deserves to go in a gallery but I’m going to hang it here in the cabin.”

“I’m so pleased you like it. I had the artist make a copy that’s going on my study wall, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course it is,” Tom answered. “I love that you enjoy the Periwinkle and the canals. There’s no way my gift can compare but, please, do go ahead and open your present.”

 Nia did so. Tom had bought her a Barbour waxed jacket. “Perfect for rainy days on the canal,” he announced with the subtext clear.

 They exchanged and unwrapped the books; a first edition of Ian Fleming’s ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ for Tom and Melvyn Bragg’s Richard Burton biography for Nia. They opened Jack’s presents for her.

 They took Jack for an early evening walk along the towpath and Nia wore her new Barbour. They were alone on their cold and dark walk but were welcomed back to the narrowboat basin by the warm lights of the Periwinkle. Back on the boat, they settled in with generous glasses of port to watch a Christmas film on the cabin’s small TV. Nia excused herself momentarily only to return to the lounge wearing her new coat.

“I love it Tom,” She said. “It really is perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tom said.

 Nia unzipped the coat, she was naked underneath it.

“Wow,” Tom said. “Now, that’s a Christmas present.”

 In bed, in that moment just as sleep embraced them, Nia and Tom, independently, thought to themselves that it had been the best of Christmas days.

***

Rachel’s Farm, Boxing Day

Rachel had sent the boys to finish the washing up and she and Nia settled into the farm’s sitting room. She poured herself and Nia brandies as they sat down in front of the lounge’s wide log fire. Jack, as was usual, curled up on the fireplace rug. Nia asked Rachel about the farm. It had originally been Owain’s, Rachel told her, but she and Tom had bought additional land to make it a true family affair. Owain was a careful and proficient farmer so everyone’s investment was paying off.

“So, Tom’s a landowner?” Nia joked.

“In a way, yes,” Rachel noted. “He owns about half of the farm.”

Rachel watched Nia for a moment.

“Tom’s not landed gentry but he’s okay financially,” Rachel said. “His army salary was decent, and his separation pay, kind of a pension, is healthy. Plus,” she smiled, “he has hardly spent any money since his divorce, he’s got solid savings, and he gets some income from his writing. And, as you know, he lives rather frugally.”

Nia nodded although she wasn’t sure what to feel… grateful for Rachel’s efforts to, what? Make it clear that Tom wasn’t a gold digger? She realised that some