The Magic of Christmas. Carolyn Davidson

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СКАЧАТЬ had homes to go to, Marianne suspected, warm coats to wear and mothers to tend to their needs.

      For the first time in a week, her loss seemed overwhelming. The planning and working to accomplish this trek had taken her mind from the perils she would face—a woman alone, a newborn child to care for and but enough cash to buy a meal or two.

      The map in her pocket was clear. If she would but turn her horse to a side street, down this alley and then turn right, she would arrive at the home of Sarah Nelson, Mrs. Baker’s sister. A kindly lady, she’d been told. And yet as she rode the mare close to the front porch, she heard a thundering roar from a man who erupted from the front door, fast on the heels of a young boy. Snatching up the child, the man delivered several hard swats of his palm against the boy’s backside and tossed him back into the house, then turned and looked at Marianne.

      “You lookin’ for somebody, lady? Or just enjoying the scenery?”

      Marianne froze atop the mare and shivered. “I was told that Sarah Nelson lives here,” she said quietly, to which the man snorted, then opened the door and shouted words that echoed back from the hallway.

      “Sarah. Somebody here wants to see you.”

      A small, skinny soul who bore but a slight resemblance to the sturdy form of Mrs. Baker came to the door, and a tentative smile lit her face. There was a resemblance after all, Marianne decided, there in that fleeting smile.

      “I’m—or rather I was—a neighbor of your sister’s, ma’am,” Marianne began. “She told me I might find you here.”

      “I’m here, all right” was the harsh reply. “What do you want?”

      “A place to get my little brother changed and warm and some milk to give him in his bottle.”

      The woman’s face softened a bit and then she looked up at the man who towered over her. “Ain’t got no room for anybody else in this house, girl. I’ll give you a cup of milk for the baby, but that’s the best I can do.”

      Marianne’s heart sank. Mrs. Baker had been so sure…so certain that her sister would welcome the travelers. She watched as the skinny woman closed the door and waited until her return, just minutes later. Carrying a cup in her hand, she approached the horse, peering up at Marianne with a look of sorrow.

      “Sorry I can’t be more hospitable, but my man don’t hold with givin’ away the food he buys. I couldn’t give you this, but I’m the one milks the cow and makes the butter and I told him it was mine to keep or give and I chose to give it to the babe.”

      “I thank you,” Marianne said, well aware that there was no welcome here for her, hoping that Mrs. Baker would never find out how desperate her sister’s situation was.

      “Head on into town. You might be able to get some help at the general store.”

      Without awaiting a goodbye, the woman went back into the house, the door closing with a solid thud behind her. Marianne turned the mare and rode back down the drive and onto the road. The lights of several storefronts were still ablaze and she halted before the general store, sliding from the mare’s back in a quick motion, holding her small brother to her breast.

      The store was warm, redolent with the scents of leather and pickles and smoke from the potbellied stove that reigned in one corner. Behind the counter a woman watched her approach and bent a smile in her direction.

      “Hello there, young lady. You just arrive in town?”

      “Yes,” Marianne said quietly, shifting the burden of her brother to rest him against her shoulder.

      “You got you a young’un there. Looks pretty much like a newborn, don’t he?”

      “He’s three weeks old now. My brother, Joshua.” Marianne pulled back the blanket and displayed the darkhaired child she held, his flawless skin pink and healthy looking.

      “Sure is a good-lookin’ young’un,” the storekeeper said.

      “Where you heading, honey?”

      “Nowhere, just looking for a place to stay for a bit. I had instructions to find a friend’s sister, but she apparently doesn’t have room for me, so I rode on.”

      “Who did you say you saw in town?”

      “Sarah Nelson is the sister of my old neighbor. She sent me here, but Mr. Nelson didn’t seem too hospitable.”

      “Hospitable! Hah, that’s one word you couldn’t apply to Henry Nelson. He’s a mean one, gives poor Sarah a hard time of it. Treats those young’uns like slaves.”

      “Well, anyway, I won’t be staying there, and I was wondering if you knew of anybody who needed help, maybe in the house or with their children. I’m a good hand with cooking and cleaning and such.”

      “Not around here, girl. Things are pretty tight in town, and with Christmas here, everybody’s pretty well taken up with their own business. Them with kids is doing their best to make it a good holiday, baking and cooking and knitting up mittens and such. It’s a poor town, sure enough, and barely enough to go around. I don’t know of anybody who’d be needing help. At least, not help they’d be willing to pay for.”

      Marianne’s heart sank. She’d expected no more, but her hope had been that she would find a place to rest her body and keep the baby warm. Even that seemed to be a dream, for there was no help to be found here.

      “Tell you what, girl,” the storekeeper said quickly. “I’ll let you sleep in the storeroom for the night if you like. There’s a kettle on the stove and tea in a tin out there and I can scrape up a loaf of bread and some milk for the baby if you like.”

      “I’d be ever so grateful,” Marianne said, her heart beating rapidly as she recognized that she had a place for the night, and something warm to put into her stomach. “My name’s Marianne. Can I do anything to pay for the room? Sweep your floors or something?”

      “You just get yourself into that back room and lie down on the cot and we’ll find some fresh milk for that baby, and you can sleep a bit.” The woman was kindly, Marianne thought, bustling back and forth through the store, locking up the front door and leading the way to a warm, dusty room where a small potbellied stove held the cold at bay, and offered a warm place to sleep.

      A kettle atop the stove indeed held hot water, and a cup appeared with tea in the bottom of it, the leaves floating on the hot water that splashed into its depths. The water turned color as Marianne watched, and the scent of tea arose to tempt her nostrils.

      “I haven’t had a cup of tea since my mama died,” she said, fighting back the tears that begged to be shed.

      “Well, this one oughta make you feel some better, then. There’s milk and sugar to put in it if you like, and a piece of fresh bread and some cheese to eat with it. I’ll just wash out that baby’s bottle and fill it up with milk for him.”

      The woman hummed beneath her breath as she pumped water and rinsed the bottle, then refilled it with milk and snapped the nipple in place. “That oughta be enough for him to last till morning.”

      “He doesn’t drink a whole lot yet, about half a bottle at a time,” Marianne said. “This is just fine. He’ll have enough for his breakfast.”

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