Coming Home for Christmas Read Online Free

damn me, Thomas thought, as he closed Davey Ewing’s eyes. He glanced at the carpenter, who was observing him thoughtfully.
    â€œI hope you don’t hate me, Thomas,” the man said.
    â€œFor being alive?” he asked. “You’re troubling the wrong man about that. I’m your surgeon. I’d like to keep you on this side of the soil.”
    It was true; he meant it. He also felt himself succumbing to the worst case of self-pity he had ever indulged in. But for you, and the Spanish captain, I would be sailing north, he couldn’t help thinking, even though he knew it must be a sin to feel that way.
    He could tell Ralph Gooding didn’t believe his bonhomie; he scarcely believed it himself. He made himself look Gooding in the eye, except the carpenter had already sighed and turned his face to the wall.
    Thomas assuaged his guilt by taking extra care over the body of Davey Ewing, dead so far from home. His innate curiosity made him want to perform an autopsy, but he resisted. He doubted anyone in the presidio would think kindly of him after such a procedure and he did have to get along with the Spanish.
    Still, he couldn’t help but be touched by the way Father Hilario gently helped him with a soft cloth and stood silently by the dead man, his hands clasped together. When he had finished praying, he put a crucifix between the profane and adulterous foretopman’s tight grip.
    â€œHe wasn’t a very good man, Father,” Thomas said.
    â€œWho among us is?”
    The words were softly spoken, but Thomas felt the rebuke settle around him like mortar. “Forgive me, Father,” he whispered, and left the room.
    Perhaps if his father had been a cruel man, and his mother an indifferent woman, Thomas would not have yearned for home with quite the longing that attacked him now. If he were honest, he could recall many a moment in the far northern latitudes when he would have gladly committed all seven deadly sins for the privilege of rotting in so blissful a prison as San Diego. In fact, he knew there would be many a San Diegan who, suddenly transported to Dumfries, would havebeen shocked at being exiled to such a spartan environment.
    But home was home and he was far from his; the matter was as simple as that. Thomas knew himself well enough to know that he would probably mope about for a few days and then resign himself to the current affair. Still, it was hard, and he knew he had to tough it out on his own.
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    The third cruel incident was not specifically his problem, but made him feel considerably less sorry for himself. After a night of tossing and turning in his tidy quarters off the ward, Thomas had wakened to a disgustingly lovely morning. Even though it was November, the shutters were open and the fragrance of various tropical flowers wafted inwards, daring him to think ill of Alta California. Sourly, he could and did, until he glanced out of the window off the surgery to see the royal accountant being led toward the inner courtyard in chains.
    â€œGood Heavens!” he exclaimed, setting down the bowl of warm water he had poured with which to wash Ralph Gooding. The water sloshed onto the bedside table and Ralph looked at him with amused eyes.
    â€œIs it Napoleon?” the carpenter joked.
    â€œNot quite. It looks as though Father Hilario was right. Laura’s father is being led away in chains. I guess the Spaniards suffer fools no more gladly than the Navy Board would.”
    The carpenter frowned. “Is he the man accused of pilfering money from the presidio treasury?”
    â€œThe very one. Father Hilario has kept me abreast of the audits and investigating committees,” Thomasreplied. “I swear the Spanish are even more diligent bean counters than our own fiscales. ” He stopped and smiled at his use of Spanish where English was expected. “Accountants, I mean.”
    â€œWhat happens now?”
    Thomas shook his head. “I have no