Outside the window, snowflakes drifted down to the already covered ground. The falling snow had painted the streets white and Isabel couldn't help but think of icing sugar being sprinkled on top of a cake. It made her stomach growl with hunger.

"Come Izzy," her mother, Rosie Ealing, said from the door, "let me sort your hair out."

Isabel clambered off the window seat where she had been sitting for over half an hour. Her legs were stiff with their lack of use, but the Christmas excitement made it easy to ignore. She wanted nothing more than to be at her grandfather's house to open her presents and enjoy the luscious feast that had no doubt been prepared. She could almost smell it as her mother ran a brush through her hair.

"What were you doing last night? Crawling through a hedge rather than sleeping?"

"No, I was asleep! Promise!"

"Hm. I'm not sure I believe you. There might be a few sticks and leaves hidden somewhere here." Her mother tickled her sides, sending Isabel into fits of giggles. "What colour ribbon would you like for your hair?"

"Blue!"

"Good choice. Now, sit still and let me finish. Your father is probably wondering where we are."

Isabel tried to sit as still as she could, imagining herself as a statue or a sculpture made of ice, but her excitement had become too much. She fiddled with a loose thread on her dress sleeve, drummed her fingers on her thighs, and tapped her leg against the chair. Christmas had always been her favourite time of year, as it meant that the entire family would be under one roof. That and her grandfather's cook, Mrs Jenkins, always prepared the best Christmas feast.

Once her hair had been tied up with a blue ribbon, her mother helped her to lace up her winter boots. Isabel grabbed a grey shawl from her bed and followed her mother from the room and down the stairs. Her father, Robert Ealing, stood at the bottom of the stairs, pocket watch in hand. He snapped it shut and looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well, well, don't you look pretty," he said, holding his hand out to Isabel.

She took his hand. "Do I?"

"You do." He lightly kissed her hand. "You are the spitting image of your mother."

"The face she pulls when she's doing something wrong is all you, Robert."

"I suppose I must take credit for something." her father smiled, kissed his wife on the cheek, and checked his pocket watch again. "Shall we be off? I expect a certain someone would like to open her Christmas presents."

"Yes, we don't want to be late."

Isabel's father nodded, tucked his pocket watch into the pocket of his suit jacket and held the front door open. Isabel skipped out onto the front steps, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her arms to protect herself from the bitter chill. Snow crunched underfoot as she jogged down the steps, her mother calling out a word of warning about the ice.

The family motorcar sat on the road with Marsh, the chauffeur, standing beside an open door. Marsh offered a small smile to Isabel as she scrambled into the back seat, bouncing up and down a little as she waited for her parents. Having been up for hours — the excitement of Christmas day had overtaken the need for sleep — Isabel couldn't wait to open her presents, which were at her grandfather's house.

Every year, her entire family would gather at her grandfather's estate to open presents, eat the festive meal, and play games. Isabel had never cared much for the games growing up, favouring to play with her new dolls or spinning top instead. She enjoyed being around her family, though. Family meant everything to her parents and Isabel had come to enjoy their company too.

Isabel watched the flurry of snow swirl around the car as they drove through London's streets. She caught a small snowflake on her glove and held it up to her eye to get a better look at its pattern, but the snowflake melted before she could commit it to memory. Snowflakes, Isabel thought, were like people. They were all different in their own way, all unique, but they didn't always stay around long enough for that difference to become clear.

She often wondered what her baby sister would have been like had she lived long enough to grow up. Isabel still thought of her. How could she not? She had always wanted a younger sibling, but it was not to be.

The snow fell thick and fast. White flakes drifted down around them and Marsh was forced to drive carefully so he didn't send the motorcar into a tree. They drove up what had once been a gravel path, but it had been covered in so much snow that Isabel wasn't sure where the path was supposed to be. Marsh drove the car around and came to a stop just outside the house's front steps.

"There you are!" a man said, emerging from the front door. "We were worried your motorcar had come off the road in all this snow."

"We were a little delayed. Someone didn't want to get out of bed this morning," Isabel's father said.

"It wasn't me!"

"No one said it was, Izzy."

"Oh."

"Come on, you. Inside before you catch your death," her father held the door to the motorcar open and Isabel scrambled out, the snow still crunching underfoot.

The three of them headed up the steps to the house whilst Marsh moved the motorcar to the barn to get it out of the snow. Isabel's grandfather held the front door open and closed it tightly the moment they had stepped over the threshold and into the entranceway. Warmth encased Isabel like a thick blanket and she could hear the low tones of conversation in the other room. The sweet smell of the Christmas feast travelled up from the kitchen. Goose, potatoes, roasting chestnuts, even plum pudding.

She shed her shawl, throwing it up on the coat rack by the door, and stepped into the parlour where the rest of her family were. Gathered in front of the large Christmas tree sat her five uncles, four aunts and seven cousins, the youngest not even a year old. The room hardly seemed big enough to fit them all, but they made do.

They had decorated the Christmas tree with glass ornaments, strings of popcorn and dried cranberries, and candles that hadn't been lit. Someone had placed a green garland on the mantel and there was a singular red candle with it, a dedication to an old friend, her mother had said. A fire roared in the fireplace and filled the entire house with a warmth strong enough to melt the snow outside. Through the window, Isabel could still see the falling snow and the white blanket it had created.

"Here's trouble," her uncle Christopher said, smiling upon seeing Isabel in the doorway. He was the only one of her uncles to have not married, but that seemed perfectly alright to him.

"I am not."

"'Course you're not, Izzy. Come on, come and sit down over here. We might be able to squeeze you in."

Christopher lightly tapped his brother Matthew on the shoulder, causing Matthew to shuffle to the left. Between the two of them, they had created the perfect gap for Isabel to squeeze into, although she felt a little squashed with her knees pulled against her chest and her elbows tucked down by her sides. Even though it might not have been a very comfortable position, she was with her family, and that mattered more.

Across the room, an enormous pile of presents had been placed under the Christmas tree. Isabel eyed them up, wondering which ones were for her. She could see a large, wrapped dollhouse to the back of the tree, a gift that looked suspiciously like a spinning top, and several doll-shaped boxes. One of her cousins, Cole, who was two years older than she was, had been eyeing up several of the packages and Isabel saw him flick a small corner of the paper to take a peek at the present beneath.

Isabel glanced around the room at her family. Her oldest cousin, Sebastian, sat on his hands and she knew that he would have preferred to be in the kitchens helping with the Christmas feast. Zachariah Ealing, Isabel's uncle, sat on one settee with his wife, Emily, the two of them tending to their twins, who were only a few months old. The other three cousins were being kept entertained by Uncle James and his sleight-of-hand magic tricks.

"Right," Isabel's grandfather said, stepping into the room and clapping his hands, "I believe we are ready to see what is lurking under the tree."

"I think Cole has already had a peek," Uncle Matthew said, raising an eyebrow at his son. Cole quickly pulled his hand away from one of the presents, dropping his hands to his lap and feigning innocence with a look of guilt plastered across his face.

"Then we better get on with it. Shall I pay Saint Nicholas? I have been told that I look a little like him."

"You're not there yet, Father," Isabel's father said, stepping into the room. "Maybe in a year."

"I shall ignore that comment, seeing as it is Christmas."

A light trickle of laughter filled the room as he manoeuvred his way across the room, scratching his greying beard as he did so. Isabel tried to wiggle her way out of her squashed position between her uncles and make her way over to the stack of presents, but after a few attempts, she decided it would be best to remain where she sat. Any gifts could be passed to her.

The first gifts to be passed out were right at the front of the pile. They included a spinning top for cousin Harry, an empty notebook for Sebastian to keep all his recipes, marbles for Cole, and a fresh set of paints for Isabel's mother. After a little while, a small square package that looked a little like a book slid towards Isabel.

She tore at the wrapping paper, leaving it in shreds on the floor of the parlour. Isabel turned the little book over in her hand, running her fingers along the writing on the front. It wasn't the novel she had been expecting, but a law book, one that she might have found in her uncle's office. As though anticipating her reaction, Uncle Christopher nudged her lightly with his elbow.

"That one is from me."

"Why?" She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but a law book had not been the present she expected.

"Because you keep sniffing around my books whenever you're at the office. You're not nearly as subtle as you believe you are, Izzy. If you don't want it, I know of a young law student who could do with it."

"No, I want it. Thank you."

"You are most welcome. We'll make a lawyer out of you yet, Izzy."

Isabel couldn't help but smile even though she had yet to even think of what her future might look like. She had always thought no one had noticed her peeking at her uncle's law books since she had always been quick to put them away whenever anyone arrived. Even though she understood little of what they contained, she had always been curious about what Uncle Christopher did for a job.

By the time most of the presents had been passed around, Isabel had added to her pile. She had been given a novel by Charles Dickens, several dolls, and a skipping rope. All that remained under the tree was the large dollhouse, which looked impossible to drag across the floor. Her cousins had already started a game of marbles, with Frank, the youngest, trying to steal the marbles as they played.

She eyed up the wrapped dollhouse, knowing that it was most likely for her as all but one of her other cousins were male and Anna, her youngest cousin, was only a few months old. Her grandfather caught her looking at the wrapped package and smiled.

"Come on then, Izzy. You've probably worked out who this one is for."

Isabel grinned and stood up. Her legs had gone numb from sitting down for such a long time, and in such a confined space. She crossed the room and stood beside the dollhouse, her eyes catching her mother's, who had a small smile on her face. Without waiting for permission, Isabel tore into the wrapping paper until it lay in shreds at her feet, exposing the wooden dollhouse hidden inside.

The dollhouse was better than Isabel could have imagined. The exterior had been painted pink with a black-tiled roof that looked like the real thing. She could see small hinges on the side that allowed the dollhouse's face to open up and expose the rooms inside. Inside, there were nine rooms, each one more detailed than the last. There was a parlour, a dining room, a kitchen, a water closet, a study, a library complete with miniature books, and several bedrooms. Every room came with miniature furniture, some of which looked remarkably similar to the furniture found in her house or her grandfather's.

Perhaps the most interesting part of it was the way the roof opened up to an attic space full of extra furniture that could be swapped. Isabel ran her hands over the dollhouse. She picked up the furniture and inspected it, noticing the patterns on the blankets, the titles on the books, and even the keys on the piano.

"I hope you like it, Izzy," Uncle Matthew said, "that was your mother's when she was younger and it only seemed right that you received it. Of course, it's not exactly the same since it was a little beaten up. Sebastian played with it when he was a boy and he could be a little heavy-handed. I did my best to repair it and Uncle James provided the material for the soft furnishings."

Sebastian's head shot up from the marble game. "I was not heavy-handed! I didn't break it, Oliver did."

"Well, either way, it isn't the same as it was."

"I love it, thank you." Isabel crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her uncle's neck, pulling him into a hug.

"You're making our presents look bad, Matthew," Aunt Charlotte said, gesturing to the dollhouse.

Uncle Matthew laughed. "The dollhouse already belonged to Izzy. I just returned it to its former glory."

"And showed the rest of us up at the same time," Uncle James said.

Isabel watched the exchange between her family, laughing at the jokes and the continued comparisons between gifts and just how Uncle Matthew's gift was better than anything the others could have given. Although she appreciated the dollhouse, Isabel knew they were the least important thing about the day. Just being with her family mattered far more than the dollhouse or the law book.

Despite being only eight years old, Isabel knew it was possible to choose a family. She knew that a family could comprise many different people, from those who were related to friends that someone had known for a lifetime. A family could be anyone a person wanted it to be. Not everyone had the luxury of being handed a family that loved and cared for them, and everyone else.

She knew she was one of the lucky ones, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

~~~

First Published - December 26th, 2022