Regency Christmas Gifts Read Online Free Page B

parceled macaroons and cloaks. In another minute
she was drawn into a conversation with his sister.
    “ What would you draw?” he whispered
to Beth.
    “ I don’t know why she doesn’t want
you to know,” the child whispered back. “We look in store windows
and decide what we want for Christmas. We draw little pictures and
give them to each other for Christmas.” She clapped her hands.
“Think how wonderful our pictures will look if we can color them! I
hope she will let me spend a few pence on that.”
    It was a good thing that Mrs. Poole called her
daughter over to help her into her cloak, because Thomas Jenkins,
sailing master hardened through years of war, suddenly found
himself close to tears. A few deep breaths and a surreptitious dab
with his fingers tamped them down, and he was able to walk with
Suzie to the door and wish them Happy Christmas.
    When the door closed on their unexpected
guests, he leaned against the panel, trying to control
himself.
    Suzie touched his back. “Tom! What on earth is
the matter?”
    He took her hand and walked her to the stairs,
where he sat down with a thump. Mystified, she sat beside him. When
he told her what Beth had said, she dissolved in tears. He put his
arm around her and they sat together until the maid returned to
light the lamps.
    “ We have to do something to help
them,” he said finally, when he could speak.
    Suzie nodded. She blew her nose. “We have to do
it without rousing any suspicions.”
    “ How in the world can we do
that?”
    “ You’re the smart one,” Suzie told
him, her words ragged. “You had better think of
something.”
    “ I will,” he said and tugged her to
her feet. He gave her a little squeeze. “Suzie, I am not bored
now.”
     
     

Chapter Four
    M ary Ann could think of at
least fifty ways to spend an unexpected seven pence, but she had no
trouble leading Beth by the hand right up to a Plymouth stationer’s
shop.
    Beth got no farther than a small set of
watercolors in miniature metal pans. “Mama, you used to paint with
these, didn’t you?”
    “ I did. I am surprised you
remember,” she replied. “What I would give ….”
    She picked up the tin box with wells of
powdered colors in red, yellow, and blue and set them on the
counter, while the old man minding the store watched them with
interest. She selected two brushes, one for her and one for Beth,
and two black pencils, and added those to the pile. Finally she
stepped back, afraid to ask the price, prepared to be disappointed,
and not so certain just what she would do if he named a huge sum.
She had schooled herself not to cry over fate, but something inside
her wanted to paint, wanted a tiny pleasure, even though she was
about to lose her job, and so far, no other employment had wafted
down from heaven above on angels’ wings.
    Trust Beth. “This really mustn’t be more than a
shilling,” her daughter told the shop owner, her eyes anxious,
too.
    “ No, no, seven pence, my dear,” Mary
Ann said, unmindful of the man who watched them with such interest.
“Five will get us back to Haven on the conveyance. Remember? That
was our plan.”
    “ I can walk, Mama. It isn’t that
far, and it isn’t too dark yet. Besides, what road agent is going
to accost us ?” Beth assured her. “We need this. It would be
nice if we had paper, too.”
    They both looked at the stationer. Mary Ann
felt Beth’s fingers seeking hers and they held hands. She was loath
to pray about something so unimportant to the Lord Omnipotent, who
had far bigger fish to fry, but she hadn’t asked for anything in
ever so long. Please, Father , she prayed silently. Just a
little diversion for a change . It’s
Christmas .
    “ I won’t sell it to you without
paper, because you need the right kind of rough texture for the
colors to stick,” the owner said. He looked from one to the
other.
    “ My father died in the war,” Beth
announced all of a sudden. “He never saw my face.”
    Mary Ann felt her own