A Season of Love

by Carla Kelly

  “When I could bear it, I started turning the pages of her Bible.” She looked at him, and he saw the unshed tears in her eyes. “I read what she underlined, and then I came to Proverbs 17.” She took a deep breath and tightened her lips, which made him take her hand. She gave him a grateful smile.

  “What happened then?” he asked, having his own struggle when she gave his hand a squeeze.

  “She had written my name above the first part of the verse. My name,” she repeated softly, as though even now she could not believe it. “’A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.’”

  He nearly stopped breathing when she rested her cheek against his hand. “Miles, when she was suffering and in so much pain, she liked me to sit beside her.” Another deep breath, followed by an expression so serious he almost didn’t recognize his cousin. “I think I was her medicine.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment, Lucinda,” he said, when he could speak.

  She didn’t move for the longest moment, which soothed his own heart. He had spent so much time lately worrying about what he would do in life, then wondering about his feelings for his cousin. The depth of Lucinda Danforth was starting to amaze him.

  She sat up finally, and flashed him a faintly embarrassed smile. “So sorry! When I feel melancholy, I read Mama’s underlined verses. And lately, I’ve added some of my own.”

  “Tell me one,” he said.

  “It’s in Micah.” She must have noticed his expression. “Miles, Micah is in the Old Testament. Please tell me you have heard of the Old Testament.”

  “I have,” he said, suddenly not wanting to disappoint this new Lucinda Danforth.

  “This part: ‘When I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.’ ”

  She gave him a sweet look, with no mischief in it. “It really does work.”

  Then she was all business. “Mr. Cooper is our retired vicar and he teaches the village school. He never minded if I read the Bible and he is the one we should visit.”

  “You’re including me?” he asked, flattered.

  “I believe third sons are like second daughters,” she told him. “As long as we stay out of the way, we can probably suit ourselves. I intend to have a bang-up Christmas, in spite of everything.”

  “Such cant!” he exclaimed. “Don’t let your aunt hear you.”

  “Never.” She stood up. “Even if there is a wedding and confusion, and no one else remembers it is Christmas, I intend to honor Christmas through Mama. Are you in or out?”

  “Lucinda, I am in. We will keep Christmas.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  U

  She would have to ask him sometime why she was suddenly Lucinda instead of Lucy, but it was enough to know that she had an ally in this business of Christmas. “When can you get away?” she asked.

  “Right now,” he assured her. “I have cleared up a pile of correspondence and set aside receipts awaiting your father’s signature. If I do not stand up soon, this chair will grow to my backside, which will mean never finding a suitable career or even a wife someday. Lead on. It’s your village, not mine.”

  She hated to skulk about in her own house, but something told Lucy that Aunt Aurelia wouldn’t take too kindly to her disappearance, especially when there was probably a wedding crisis looming, in action, or just finished. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to tread lightly down the hall from the bookroom to the front door. Just a few more feet now ….

  “Stop right there, young lady!”

  Lucy winced. She turned around to see Aunt Aurelia coming at her like a frigate sailing into battle.

  “If I weren’t suddenly so terrified, I would swear,” Miles whispered in her ear, which for a small moment proved even more distracting than Aunt Aurelia. Funny how that whisper could make her stomach tingle.

  “You are no help, cousin,” she whispered back in his ear, which made him look a little funny, too. Ah, revenge.

  “Yes, Aunt Aurelia?” she said, wishing herself deep in the interior of Canada.

  “What is this I hear about you refusing to go to the village to try on a bonnet for your come out?”

  “I have better things to do right now,” Lucy said, standing her ground, mainly because Miles stood behind her and pressed his hand into her back, where Aurelia couldn’t see. “A bonnet can wait.”

  She said it firmly, enunciating each word. Papa had once warned her about not looking directly into the eyes of growling dogs. Perhaps bullies needed to be stared down and not avoided like dogs.

  But what would Mama have done? She put her hand around Miles’s hand against her back and pushed him gently away. It took all her courage to move forward, trying to glide as Mama would have done. She held out her arms to her bristling aunt, pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

  “Thank you for what you are doing to help us,” she murmured. “Weddings are such a trial, are they not? I am going into the village with my cousin to see the vicar about some greenery for the church.”

  Heavens, lying about church. Lucy hunched her shoulders for a split-second, waiting for lightning to strike. When it did not, she added prevarication to her list of sins to be repented at leisure, preferably after Christmas. Besides, a little fib must be small potatoes to the Almighty, especially since He was probably still trying to recover from all those lies at the Congress of Vienna.

  “We won’t be long, my dear,” she said, and turned on her heel.

  Don’t look back, don’t look back, she thought, as she continued her serene way down the hall that now stretched roughly the distance from Plymouth to Edinburgh.

  Nothing happened, except that Miles was by her side, holding her hand. “I think you should consider a career in diplomacy, cuz,” he whispered, but not in her ear this time, which greatly relieved her. This was no time for impish thoughts, especially about her second cousin.

  Milsap asked no questions when she requested her cloak and bonnet. In fact, the butler took advantage of his many years’ acquaintance and whispered, “Would that I could run away, too, Miss Lucy.”

  “You would be welcome,” she assured him. “We won’t be long. We are going to visit the village school.”

  “Take good care of her, Mr. Bledsoe,” he told her cousin.

  “I’ll treat her as if she were my cousin,” he promised.

  Lucy already knew Miles was a good cousin; he became an even better one when he matched his longer stride to her shorter one. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been walking with Miles Bledsoe in years. Lately, they met at tedious parties or in stuffy ballrooms. I like this, she thought.

  “I like this, Lucinda,” he said. “Usually we just meet in stuffy ballrooms.” He nudged her shoulder. “Are you any better at dancing now than you were at fourteen?”

  She stopped in the road and held up her arms. “Try me.”

  With a grin stretching nearly ear to ear, he held her in the waltz position, and muttered a monotone one two three until she started humming an actual waltz and he had leave to stop. Around the road they waltzed, to the amusement of a passing carter and two children, who imitated them with predictable results.

  She struck a final note. He bowed and she curtsied and pretended to fan herself, even though her breath came out in cold puffs.

  “La, Mr. Bledsoe, you are my hero,” she simpered and batted her eyes.

  He gave her such a look then, more tender than her silly romp warranted. “I’m calling you Lucinda because I believe you are maturing, but obviously not too fast,” he said, a little out of breath. “I am not certain if I approve or not, but I think you are going to grow up, whether I wish it or not.”

  He crooked out his arm and they continued more sedately down the road. “Country dancing? Polkas?” he teased.

  “All the above.” She stopped in the road. “Miles, I don’t want to go to London for a come out.”

  He set her in motion again. “It might be a necessary evil. Let me assure you that you will have suitors aplenty.”
>
  “How do you know that?” she asked, curious.

  “Trust me. I know it,” was all he would say.

  She gave him her sunniest smile, looked into his eyes and saw surprising depth there.

  Children continued passing them as they walked toward the school, which was located next to St. Andrew’s. Formerly run by the church, the little school allowed any and all to attend, or nearly all. The people of means sniffed at it as the charity school, but Lucy knew the children were well-served by Mr. Cooper, retired these five years from St. Andrew’s pulpit. Some of their own social sphere had thought it strange that her father sent her there, but he knew she would get a sound education.

  She tapped on the door and opened it. Mr. Cooper looked up, saw who it was and got to his feet. He straightened out slowly and put both hands on Lucy’s arms as she came close.

  He smiled when she kissed his cheek, and asked, “Is this your special young man, Miss Lucinda?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “He’s just my cousin Miles. From the time I was four and able to follow him around, I have been his cross to bear.”

  “Hardly,” Miles said in his own defense. “Was she a good pupil, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Aye, generally speaking, except that she had a morbid desire to ask ‘why’ every time I explained a new approach or theorem.”

  “Natural curiosity is not to be sneezed at,” Lucy said in her own defense.

  “Some things just are,” her former vicar said, “like truth, or law, or even love.” He peered closer at her, his good humor evident. “Even you will understand that some day.”

  He clasped his hands in front of his ample girth. “What brings the two of you here?”

  Miles bowed to Lucy. “Your proposition, cuz.”

  She sat down on the bench Mr. Cooper indicated and smoothed out her skirt. She thought she did a good job of consolidating the whole matter, the tyranny of a wedding versus the annual loveliness of Christmas.

  “So you see, Mama always brought a basket of food and clothing for the less fortunate. She did it every year, except last year …” her voice trailed off.

  “When she couldn’t,” Miles finished for her.

  She gave him a relieved glance, then clapped her hands together, breaking her own spell. “And that is why we are here. I …”

  “We …”

  She gave Miles her own smile, the one she thought had earned her the “sturdy bones” and “curly hair” poem. No danger of poetry from her cousin, she knew. “Aye, then, we want to do something Mama would have liked to have done, had she had the strength. Isn’t that it, Miles?”

  He nodded. “Everyone is so busy with Miss Danforth’s wedding that we are feeling a tad melancholy. Give us a challenge.”

  The vicar regarded them both for a length of time that would have grown uncomfortable, if she hadn’t know the man so well. He turned back to his desk and rummaged until he found a ledger. He ran his finger down one page, tapped it, and closed the book. In silence, he looked at them, as if measuring their ability, then wrote. He waved the paper dry and handed it to Lucy.

  “Mrs. Lonnigan has three children. Her husband died at Salamanca. She is destitute.”

  Lucy looked down at the names—Mrs. Lonnigan; Edward, thirteen; Michael, twelve; and Mary Rose, eight. She looked up at her old teacher and her vicar before the current one, who always wanted to foist sermons on her. “You want much more than a Christmas basket,” she said.

  “I do, Lucy. Actually, so did your mother.”

  “You’re saying I only saw the smallest part of what she did.”

  Mr. Cooper nodded. “She was never one to toot her horn or demand attention. Mrs. Danforth just went about doing far more good than you knew, I think.”

  “I had no idea,” Lucy told him. “What will you have us do for the Lonnigans? What would Mama have done?”

  He had a ready answer. “I want you and your cousin to create a better life for this little family. Shame on our nation for not giving more than a paltry pension to those who died in its service. I want you to change their lives. Will you do it?”

  Lucy looked at her cousin, who was already watching her. Does he doubt I can? she thought. Does he still see little Lucy, who annoyed him?

  “We will,” she told the vicar.

  “What should we know about them before we invade their privacy?” Miles asked.

  Mr. Cooper opened his class register again, and pointed to Edward’s name as they both looked over his shoulder. “These are Edward’s arithmetic scores. I believe he could teach the class better than I can.”

  “And Michael?” Lucy asked.

  “He is a scamp. Transportation is a distinct possibility for him.” the vicar said, but Lucy saw the laughter in his eyes. “You’ll think of something for Michael. Mary Rose loves to read, but there are no books at home.” He closed the ledger again. “Here is their biggest handicap: the Lonnigans are Catholic. Lucy, I doubt you are aware of the struggle your dear mama went through to get the children in school.”

  “I had no idea,” she said again, humbled to the dust by the woman she thought she knew. “Mama was such a quiet lady, so calm.”

  “Are you like her?”

  “I want to be.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  U

  As Miles had commented, it may have been her town, but they never would have found the Lonnigans without the little map Mr. Cooper drew.

  “I have lived here all my life, but these parts are as foreign to me as the moon,” she whispered to Miles as they plunged into a regular rabbit warren of twisting, narrow streets and misery all around them. “You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?”

  “Entirely. Completely,” Miles assured her, as he took her hand and tucked her close to him. “If you tell my uncle where I took you today, he’ll probably send me away in disgrace. I’d be more surprised if you did know this neighborhood.”

  There is so much I don’t know about the world, Lucy thought as the dank walls seemed to lean in closer. She heard children crying—not unusual, of course, except that it was the exhausted crying of little ones already without hope. Hollow-eyed children looked at them from doorways. One little boy held out his hand, as though wanting far more than either of them could provide.

  “I have lived a sheltered life,” she whispered to Miles.

  “That is entirely as it should be,” he replied. “We inhabit a completely different world from this one.”

  “We can do the Lonnigans some good, but what?” she asked. “I don’t mind telling you that I am out of ideas.”

  “That will change, once we get to know them, and not just in an it’s-Christmas-have-a-basket-don’t-bother-me way. You heard Mr. Cooper say he wants us to change their lives.”

  She nodded, and clung to his hand. She didn’t think she could even change her life, and the vicar expected her to change four people’s lives. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  He pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. “You wanted Christmas,” he reminded her. “As little as you think I know about the Bible, I strongly suspect that Christmas is much, much more than wassail and kissing boughs.”

  How was it that Miles Bledsoe knew just how to give her heart courage? As they hurried along the alley, she thought of other times he had helped her, mostly without being asked.

  Miles kept his eyes on the row of lookalike houses. “This one.”

  He knocked on the door. After a minute or more, a young lad peeked out of the window next to the door. He looked fearful until Lucy waved at him, and then he looked merely wary.

  Miles knocked again. Another long wait, and then a woman opened the door just a crack.

  “Mrs. Lonnigan?” Miles asked. “Mr. Cooper from the school sent us to visit with you. May we come in?”

  “I … I don’t have anything you would want,” she said, opening the door a crack wider.

  “We don’t want anything except to meet you and your children.” Miles stepped back. “This is my cou
sin, Lucy Danforth. I believe you knew her mother.”

  Mrs. Lonnigan opened the door and ushered them inside. She glanced around the alley, and Lucy knew, with a pang in her heart, that the Irish woman was looking for her mother.

  “She didn’t come with you?” she asked.

  “She died six months ago,” Lucy said, and not without a quiver of her lips. Here she was trying to seem grown up and capable, and her emotions threatened to betray her again.

  “I am sorry to hear that. She was a friend to us,” Mrs. Lonnigan said simply.

  “So the schoolmaster told me,” Lucy replied. “May we sit down?”

  She looked around for a place to sit, but there wasn’t a chair in sight. She saw four neatly tied bedrolls against the walls and what looked like a blanket on the floor.

  “All I have is the floor,” Mrs. Lonnigan said and gestured.

  Lucy sat on the floor, Miles beside her, not betraying with even a glance that this resting place was somewhat out of the ordinary. The children clustered around, looking interested now, no longer wary.

  “I … I have some tea,” the widow offered.

  “That would be divine,” Lucy said, feeling suddenly as calm as if she sat on the floor in a hovel every other day. “May I help you?”

  “Oh, no. Won’t take a minute.” Mrs. Lonnigan’s face fell. “We use the leaves over and over, so they are well-nigh exhausted.”

  “That suits me,” Miles said. “This way the tea won’t keep us up at night.”

  Mrs. Lonnigan went to a corner of the room to a metal stove that looked almost the size of a replica or a toy. Lucy noticed a pan of something cooking on the hob. It was a small pan, and probably held too little for one person’s meal, let along four. No wonder the Lonnigan children looked smaller than the ages Mr. Cooper mentioned. She had never missed a meal in her life. She probably would be painfully thin, herself, if food hadn’t been available every day, and in satisfying quantities.

  The tea turned out to be just a couple of wilted leaves, but it still warmed Lucy’s insides. So did the kind expressions of the children.

  She knew she was making Mrs. Lonnigan uncomfortable, sitting there on the floor of a hovel, drinking almost-tea. Lucy glanced at Miles, hoping he would take the lead, but his expression—oh, she knew his expressions—told her that this bit of negotiation was her show. She set down her cup.