Love Like the Dickens: A Heartswell Harbour Romance

by Mavis Williams

  “Dad scarpered, as expected,” Paisley had said when Agnes asked her where he was. “He doesn’t do parties.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Agnes wasn’t one for big social gatherings either, but the sense of family and shared accomplishment of the cast made this special. She was sad he chose to miss it. She had looked around the warm house party, watching her new friends dancing and laughing. Nick danced with every girl in the room. Except Agnes, since she managed to dodge him the whole night and she snuck home before he noticed she was gone.

  The curtain went up and the play began. Agnes’ nerves buzzed with pins and needles until she walked off the stage at the end of her scenes. She finally relaxed into a deep gratitude that it was over. She had done it, and enjoyed it, but theatre was simply not her thing.

  She made sure to watch Oscar’s scenes, stifling a giggle as he raised the huge fake hand at the end, sending Irenia cowering in terror before him. Irenia had pulled it off, she had to admit.

  The show ended and there were several curtain calls as the performers hammed it up for the crowd, ending in a spontaneous sing-along of “We wish you a Merry Christmas”. Agnes tried to sidle up beside Oscar, but he moved quietly to the wings as the singing ended, beginning to tidy up backstage as the crowd filed out of the theatre. Someone opened the back door and exclaimed about the surprising accumulation of snow.

  “Look at that, will you?” The Fezziwigs stood in the door, snow drifting in on gusts of wind. There was a flurry of action as everyone grabbed their belongings, calling goodbyes and well wishes as they hastened to leave.

  “Christmas Eve, and a snowstorm,” Irenia looked as if she had created the snow herself. “A perfect ending to our little production, if I do say so myself.”

  “Are you sad it’s over, Irenia?” Agnes hung her costume carefully on the rack.

  “Another triumph under my belt.” Irenia had no problem owning the moment. “I shall miss the intense fervour of my dramatic urges—”

  “Pretty sure your dramatic urges will be just fine,” Belinda said, bustling past her as she gathered up stray bits of costumes. Nora put various props in a big box on the floor. Oscar’s fake hand sat innocently on the counter.

  “Belinda, dear,” Irenia crooned. “Be a darling and help Nora with this box.”

  Belinda glared at her cousin, but moved to help Nora who tried to maneuver a large box toward the stairs. Agnes rushed over and the two of them carried the heavy box of props onto the stage as Nora smiled weakly at them.

  “She looks awfully pale, doesn’t she?” Belinda whispered as they put the box down.

  “I think she’s about to burst,” Agnes said. “I don’t know anything about babies, but it looks like that one is ready to make an appearance any day now.”

  The back door opened suddenly and the Fezziwigs stumbled back into the theatre just as Oscar appeared from the wings, carrying an armful of costumes.

  “Car won’t start,” Mr. Fezziwig breathed. Mr. Fezziwig, whose real name was Morty, put his hand on his wife’s elbow and huffed like a freight train. “Louanne here tried to push it, to get it going, but no dice. Snowing hard.”

  He blinked at the small crowd on the stage, snow melting on his droopy mustache.

  “I’ll drive you home.” Oscar stepped forward. Agnes loved the way he moved so gracefully, putting down the costumes and lightly hopping off the stage. The older couple smiled in relief as he turned them back toward the doors. “I’ll come back and drive you ladies home as well. Don’t want to see anyone off the road on Christmas Eve.”

  Nora appeared at the edge of the stage. “We’re fine, Dad,” she said, her voice sounding strained. “You go on home. We’ll lock up here and head out.”

  Oscar hesitated, glancing at Agnes who shook her head subtly. Nora could barely fit behind a wheel, never mind drive on treacherous roads. Oscar nodded at Agnes and followed the Fezziwigs back out into the storm. She knew he would return. He was the most reliable man she’d ever met.

  “Where is that young man of yours, Agnes?” Irenia appeared on the stage, dressed in her winter coat.

  “Oscar just left to drive the—”

  “Nick, silly girl.” Irenia swatted her with a mitten. “That loud young man who’s been dogging your heels these past two weeks.”

  “Oh. Nick.” Agnes peered into the dark rows, the seats all empty and brooding now the crowd was gone. “I think he and Paisley went to shovel out Nora’s driveway for her.”

  “Well, girls.” Irenia smiled at them, tugging on her mittens and ignoring the tidying up happening all around her on the stage. Even Nora bent awkwardly over Scrooge’s bed, tugging on the blankets to put them away. “It’s Christmas Eve and my Walter is waiting for me at home. We’ll leave this mess for later. Let’s all go be with our family.”

  Belinda looked at Agnes. Nora stood up and groaned softly. None of them had any family to speak of, a fact that came home to roost in the silence of the theatre.

  “Oh no,” Nora said softly as a gush of water darkened the stage beneath her feet.

  Belinda gasped. She rushed toward her, bracing her as Nora sagged forward with her hands on her knees.

  “Her water broke,” Agnes said stupidly. “Her water broke. She’s having a baby.”

  “This isn’t good timing,” Irenia’s voice was strained. “I didn’t plan for this, no, not at all.”

  “This isn’t about you, Irenia. Not this time.” Belinda helped Nora to ease onto Scrooge’s bed, tugging bedclothes out of the way as she settled herself awkwardly against the pillows. Nora panted heavily, her face white.

  “What can I do, what can I do?” Agnes rushed to the bed, crouching and putting her hand gently on Nora’s forehead. She had spent hours and hours bedside with Savannah and the memory hit her painfully in the chest. Nora moaned softly as her belly tightened with a contraction.

  “You can stop touching me and call 911,” Nora said.

  “Right! 911! Got it.” Agnes fumbled her cell out of her pocket just as the lights flickered and went out.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Nora said moments before she groaned again, her voice disembodied in the pitch darkness.

  ∞∞∞

  It took Oscar an hour to get the Fezziwig’s safely home and return to the theatre. The roads were slick with ice. He resolved to take the women to the Book Nook rather than risk driving them home in the storm. He hoped they hadn’t left the theatre, and he was disappointed as he slogged through the snowy parking lot to see there were no lights on at the back door. He glanced around and realized there were no lights, anywhere.

  He almost turned around, certain the women must have left when the power went out, when he noticed Nora’s car still parked by the curb. He looked around, but the snow would have covered footprints in no time if they had walked out of the building.

  The Book Nook had a fire and he could heat water for tea.

  He knew he shouldn’t wish it, but the thought of Agnes curled up by the fire sent a rush of warmth into his chilled bones. He couldn’t touch, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.

  She would be leaving soon.

  The play was over, her duty was fulfilled. And he had been doing his level best to ignore her so she could focus on Nick.

  Surely one stormy night in front of the fire… chaperoned by Belinda and Irenia Crawley… wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  He opened the doors to backstage, pleased that they were unlocked.

  A scream pierced the darkness.

  He raced toward the stage, stumbling over shadowed set pieces in the dark.

  A pool of light illuminated center stage as candles flickered around the edges of Scrooge’s bed. He took in the mound of Nora’s belly, her knees raised as she strained forward, her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Irenia and Belinda knelt beside the bed, each clutching one of Nora’s hands, looking like elderly angels as the candlelight kissed their grey hair and concerned faces.

  He froze as
he saw Agnes. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair pulled hastily back in a bun, crouching line-backer style at the end of the bed, a hand on each of Nora’s knees as she coached her through the contraction.

  Agnes didn’t look up, her gaze riveted on Nora’s face.

  “You’ve got this, honey. Baby’s coming. I think I—” she glanced down between Nora’s legs, her eyes wide as she looked up again “—I think I can see the head.”

  She looked utterly terrified.

  Nora grunted, falling back as the contraction passed.

  “I hope…” Nora panted as Belinda wiped damp tendrils of hair from her face. “… I hope you read ‘Childbirth for Dummies’, librarian-chick.”

  “I didn’t,” Agnes sputtered. “I don’t have a clue, but there’s something coming… right, right there…” She pointed shakily between Nora’s legs.

  “That’s good,” Nora grunted as another contraction grabbed her. “That’s where it’s supposed to come from.”

  Oscar knelt beside the bed and took Nora’s hand from Irenia.

  “Just havin’ a baby, here, Dad. No biggie.” She grimaced at him, her mouth twisted as she pushed. Agnes leaned in, pushing gently on her knees as she bore down.

  “Where is the ambulance?” she said, turning wild eyes to Oscar. “We called 911 an hour ago.”

  “Storm.” He could barely speak. There were no words for what he was witnessing as his oldest child screamed again into the echoing darkness of the theatre. Irenia put her hand on his shoulder, but for once, she was speechless.

  Nora screamed again.

  Agnes released her knees and reached down.

  “Again, Nora,” she said. “Do it again.”

  “You do it again!” Nora snapped, gasping as she crushed Oscar’s fingers in her hand. “Don’t you tell me to do it again… gaaaaa!”

  “Push, Nora. You can do it.” Agnes’ voice changed. She sounded sure, strong. Oscar saw a new strength come into Nora’s eyes as Agnes urged her on. “One more, honey. We’re right here. You’re not alone. Bring that baby out.”

  Nora bore down.

  Oscar blinked fierce tears from his eyes.

  Belinda squeaked in alarm.

  And a baby’s cry drifted into the gentle light of flickering candles, as the storm howled outside the old theater doors.

  Twenty

  He paced the Book Nook in the dimness of the pre-dawn light.

  It was Christmas morning.

  He was a grandfather.

  He was in love with Agnes.

  Twelve paces to the woodstove, twelve paces to the front door. Back and forth, with those three thoughts running a circuit in his mind. The wind howled outside the shop. A snow plow rumbled by, it’s flashing yellow light strobing into the shop as it passed. He paused as the roar of the plow diminished.

  Agnes was waiting for him upstairs.

  Twelve paces to the woodstove, twelve paces to the front door.

  The ambulance arrived shortly after little Ellen Marie had come into the world, crying and perfect and swaddled in Scrooge’s dressing gown while everyone but Nora had a good old-fashioned cry. Nora simply smiled, holding her daughter like her world was suddenly complete. The paramedics bundled them off to the hospital, with Nora insisting that everyone go home to wait out the storm and come see her tomorrow.

  They called Paisley. They called Paul. They would all get together at the hospital in the morning.

  Irenia’s husband made it through the storm to pick up the two Crawley cousins, leaving Oscar and Agnes to walk hand-in-hand through the snow to the Book Nook.

  “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Agnes said, squeezing his hand as the snow glinted on her eyelashes. “Terrifying—but beautiful.”

  He laughed, the tension easing as the wonder of the moment began to settle deep inside of him. Nora was fine, the baby was healthy. He was a grandfather.

  “You’re a grampie,” she said, reading his mind.

  “And you’re a spectacular midwife.”

  He unlocked the shop door and they stepped into the darkness, shaking off the snow and cold. She stoked the fire while he hung their coats to dry. They didn’t speak, but moved quietly around each other, lost in their own thoughts. He was keenly aware of her, kneeling by the fire and feeding bits of wood into the flame. Her hair glinted in the firelight and he stood very still and simply watched her. Emotions flared through him like fireworks, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

  He knew he wanted to kiss her.

  They came together on an unspoken word. She rose from the fire. He crossed the room to wrap her in his arms. Their kiss was gentle and warm, salted by tears.

  “You’re crying,” she whispered, touching his cheek gently.

  “Am I?” He blinked. “I don’t, usually.”

  “You don’t usually experience the birth of your first grandchild in a dark theatre during a snowstorm either.” She grinned, kissing away another tear that rolled down his face.

  “Agnes, I—”

  “You’ve been ignoring me.” She looked at him, and he wanted to erase the hurt in her eyes.

  “I have.”

  “Why?”

  “Twelve years, Agnes. There are twelve years between us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “And I’m a grandfather.”

  She smiled at him. She pulled his head down toward hers and kissed him, her lips warm and teasing against his.

  “Do you feel like a grandfather?” she asked, pulling away and smiling. He looked down at their hands, fingers laced together between them. “I want you to come upstairs.”

  He stared at her. He cupped her cheek with his hand and drew her to him, inhaling the scent of her skin and the sweetness of her mouth.

  His mind churned with objections.

  He was a grandfather. He was twelve years older than her. He was boring. Dull. Emotionless.

  She placed a hand on his chest, his heart pounding steadily beneath her palm. She began to lead him toward the back door of the shop and the stairs leading to her apartment.

  “Let me lock up,” he said. He released her hand as a wall of objections grew invisibly between them. “And bank the fire. I’ll be… I’ll be right there.”

  She had smiled at him, looking at him over her shoulder as she walked toward the door.

  And now he paced the Book Nook in a turmoil of indecision.

  It was Christmas morning.

  He was a grandfather.

  He was in love with Agnes.

  And he was twelve years older than her.

  He should go upstairs and profess his love. He should pull her into his arms and woo her with passionate words… no, wait.

  Actions.

  Passionate actions was what he was looking for.

  He hated to admit it, but he looked to Nick as his role model. Nick wouldn’t hesitate to act on his emotions. Nick would probably climb down the chimney, or rent a helicopter, or be his own singing telegram. Nick was emotion on a string.

  Oscar was a grandfather.

  He began pacing again.

  He wished he hadn’t let her go upstairs without him, because now, in the dark shop with only his confusion to keep him company he could come up with a Bucket List of reasons why he should not go upstairs.

  He was the wrong choice for her, this incredibly brave, outgoing, vibrant younger woman who lived her life boldly every day. Ever since he met her… had it only been two months ago?... she had impressed him repeatedly with her nerve and daring.

  He did crosswords.

  She took up running in November.

  He read James Joyce.

  She delivered babies during snowstorms.

  She took a leave from her job, moved to a new town where she knew no one, embraced a community theatre project that terrified her, and broke into his shop in the dead of night.

  She needed a man like Nick.

  Well, he winced, maybe not exactly like Nick.


  But not a man like Oscar.

  Oscar, the grandfather.

  He shrugged on his winter coat, grabbed his scarf and twisted it around his neck as he left the Book Nook, a swirl of snow drifting in through the door as he closed it firmly behind him.

  ∞∞∞

  She laced up her running sneakers with enough force that she snapped one of the laces. She had bought them as a Christmas present to herself, and she decided, after a sleepless night alone in her cold apartment that she would not roll around in self-pity and embarrassment on Christmas Day, but that she would, instead, go for a run.

  In the snow.

  She would run to the hospital to look at Nora and baby Ellen, and then? Well, then she would run straight out of Heartswell Harbour for good.

  She tied the broken lace together, dashing a stupid tear off her cheek as she crouched on the floor, cursing herself.

  Oscar had disappeared.

  Her cheeks burned with shame. How stupidly brazen she had been! Kissing him and practically trying to drag him upstairs to her bed when he was obviously counting the seconds until he could escape.

  She was utterly mortified when she went back downstairs to the empty bookshop after waiting for over an hour, pacing her rooms and biting her nails.

  Idiot.

  So much for making bold choices and living on the edge. She had tried to seduce Oscar, and this was the result.

  So be it.

  She stretched aggressively, grunting as she tried to limber up. She was tied in knots on the inside.

  She slammed her way out the back door of the Nook. A swath of snow slid off the awning and ran icily down her back. She cursed, kicked the doorstep, then hopped on one leg to the gate, her toe throbbing.

  It felt better than her bruised heart.

  She didn’t love him. She didn’t.

  She started to run, hoping to beat the tears that threatened to overflow her overtired eyes. She turned down the main road of Heartswell, the air vibrantly crisp in her lungs. It was Christmas morning, and the storm had vanished from the sky, leaving a cold sun vibrating off the white blanket that coated the town. There was not a soul to be seen. The street had been plowed, but was still snow-covered, and the sidewalks were buried. Her sneakers squealed on the icy track, and her breath clouded the air around her head. She jogged, carefully avoiding patches of ice as she made her way through the silent town.