A Time for Giving

by Jean Little

I snatched the straps of the sled out of her hands and bundled Jonathan back into it. I patted him and soothed him and promised him that we would look into every store window on the street. Gradually he calmed down and I brought him home, Beth scurrying along behind me, begging me to be silent about the accident all the time. I just ignored her. Jack conveniently disappeared.

  When we arrived home, Missus Bradley was waiting for us. A friend of hers was waiting with her. Beth’s begging was all in vain, as Missus Bradley’s friend had seen what happened and had already told her the whole story.

  Beth was dismissed forthwith.

  But I cannot stop shaking.

  Thursday, December 24th, 1868

  Christmas Eve

  The house is fast asleep and I am beyond tired, but I must write down what a lovely evening it was.

  Briney and Jean-Louis brought the tree in after dinner at noon today, and we set about decorating it and putting our presents on it. Brutus, silly dog that he is, took far too much interest in sniffing at it, but Mister Bradley soon put a stop to that. Then Brutus lay down and kept looking at the tree in a confused sort of way. I think that lack-wit dog thought we had brought it in for his personal use. My little Sophie is much more clever. She just stalked around the tree disdainfully, then sat down with her back to it and started grooming herself. It was obvious that she did not think the house was any place for a tree. She was almost sitting on Brutus’s tail, but he pretended not to notice. He learned long ago, after many a scratched nose, not to trifle with Sophie, no matter that she is only about as big as his head.

  I gave Jean-Louis and Briney their cakes. Jean-Louis gave me the sweetest little cat that he had whittled out of wood. It looks just like Sophie. He is still so shy, though, that Briney practically had to force him to hand it over. Then Briney gave me his present. It took me aback. It was a ring! A slim band decorated with blue enamelled forget-me-nots. I didn’t know what to say, but just stammered out some kind of thank you. I am wearing it now and looking at it on my finger in the candlelight as I write. It gleams and sparkles.

  Who would ever have thought that Briney would give me such a pretty thing? He must have saved some of his wages for months to afford it.

  When we had the tree all decorated, we had a small supper, then the Bradleys went to their church and I went to Mass. By the time we all came home it was dark and very cold, but a light snow was falling and everything looked quite beautiful in the light of the gas lamps along the street.

  We returned to the house and Mister Bradley lit the candles. Then we all exchanged presents. I think they liked the ones I had chosen for them. Jonathan was barely awake, but he clutched the rag doll I had made for him and snuggled his face down into it. Missus Bradley gave me a lovely, warm shawl. I shall treasure it.

  We sat for a while in the dark room, enjoying the silence and the flickering light from the candles on the tree. Then, from the street outside, came the sound of carolling. Missus Bradley opened the door to the carollers, and I made haste to warm up some cider for them.

  Friday, December 25th, 1868

  Christmas Day

  A very different day today. It was hustle and bustle from the time I woke up. Cook nearly ran me off my feet. But the Christmas dinner was excellent and Missus Forrester made a great show of complimenting Cook on her dishes. Cook was so pleased she puffed up like a partridge.

  Bessie and I did not have a moment of free time, but we still managed to catch up with each other’s news.

  One thing happened that could have been very embarrassing, but ended up just being amusing. I was preparing the table for the dinner when I happened to glance at the tree. Something seemed odd about it. I went over and peered more closely at it, then jumped back, startled, when I saw two bright little eyes staring back at me from deep within the branches. It was Sophie! She had curled herself up on a branch, right in the middle of the tree, up against the trunk.

  I reached in and tried to get her out, but accidentally dislodged some of the decorations and one of Missus Bradley’s precious glass ornaments nearly fell. I drew back, wondering what I should do. Another attempt to get the cat out was just as unsuccessful. Then I heard Cook calling to me and I gave up. I left Sophie there, and there she stayed for the rest of the afternoon. I had a difficult time keeping a straight face when Missus Forrester complimented the Bradleys on the lovely decorations on the tree, though. If only she knew one of them was a live cat! Fortunately, when it came time to light the candles again, Sophie had taken herself off and disappeared back up to my room. I said a little prayer of gratitude.

  The Forresters have gone now. I put Jonathan down for a nap, and I finally have a moment to sit down and rest.

  No, I haven’t. Missus Bradley is calling me.

  Later

  I hardly know how to write down the news I have just received.

  Missus Bradley was in the parlour and, when I went in, she told me to sit down. I was astonished, as that has never happened before. Then she told me that she has decided on a new nursemaid for Jonathan. My heart sank. I knew this was necessary, but I have loved having the care of him since Beth left. Then she asked me if I would like to know the name of the new nursemaid. I was a mite confused, but I nodded.

  “Her name is Rosie,” she said.

  “Like mine?” I blurted out, stupidly.

  “Not like yours, Rosie. It is your name. Mister Bradley and I have decided that you are old enough now, and no one could care for Jonathan better than you. You are the new nursemaid.”

  For a moment I could not answer. Then I blurted out again, even more stupidly, “Truly?”

  “Truly,” she answered with a smile.

  No more blacking the stove. No more boiling the laundry. No more scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees. No more running to Cook’s beck and call.

  I am no longer a kitchen servant. I am Jonathan’s nursemaid.

  Monday, December 28th, 1868

  Today was a bright, sunny day, with the snow sparkling and crisp. Not too cold, so I dressed Jonathan up and took him out for some fresh air.

  We walked by the courthouse and, sure enough, there was Missus Whelan with her bundle. I had not been able to keep from imagining what her Christmas was like while everyone else was celebrating the season and rejoicing with family and friends, and I had a secret plan in mind. I approached her again, but this time I did not offer to carry her bundle.

  Instead, I held out a small package of my own to her. “Please take this,” I said. Before she could say anything, I spun Jonathan around on his sled and hurried off.

  It was one of the candles from our tree. Missus Bradley gave it to me on Christmas Day. I had been wanting so badly to be able to do something for poor Missus Whelan, but could think of nothing that was within my power, nothing that could possibly lessen her worry and grief during this dreadful time. Then I thought of how the candles on our tree had brightened up our gloomy parlour and made a haven of warmth and brightness within it, and I thought of giving my candle to her.

  Such a tiny thing.

  But perhaps, just perhaps, it might bring a small spark of light and comfort to a grieving woman and her husband.

  When Charlotte’s family agreed to take in war guests because England was being bombed by Germany, they didn’t know Jane Browning and her brother Sam would be staying so long, or that the war would still be going on, over a year later. But it is, and Jane has settled in so much she decides that she’ll start keeping a diary like Charlotte’s. She’s even become sort of an older sister to Pixie, a war guest who came to Canada along with her and Sam.

  The Rescuers

  Sunday, November 15, 1942

  Ten days ago, on Guy Fawkes’ Day, I turned eleven. I told Charlotte that I wanted a diary like hers for my present and she ordered one from the bookstore. She had to wait to get one like hers, but today she gave it to me. It is perfect. I hope I will like keeping a diary as much as she does. I have never done it before.

 
I got lots of lovely presents on my actual birthday, but I will only tell about a few.

  Sam gave me a really fat box of crayons with lots of colours you don’t usually get, and a colouring book with pictures from fairy tales. I really like it. Sometimes I change the pictures. I turn princesses into beggar girls dressed in rags, for instance, and make up stories about them while I colour. Sometimes I put in a cat or draw a big cloud in the sky. Colouring is a lot more fun when you do it my way.

  Eleanor gave me a copy of Jane of Lantern Hill. I love it. I have read it once and I’m starting again.

  George sent Charlotte money, all the way from England, and she bought me two Nancy Drew mysteries. I don’t like them nearly as much as Jane, but we pass them around at school. It is nice to have some to lend.

  I feel sorry for a couple of the girls whose families never get them books. Grace Allen stole one. At recess, she ran down the stairs to the toilet with it in her hand and, when she came out, she didn’t have it any longer. She had hidden it in her underpants! Later, when she had to go up to the board, you could see the shape of it under her skirt. The others picked on her, but I kept out of it. I don’t like her either, but Charlotte says I must be nice to her because her family is really poor.

  Grandpa gave me a Dr. U.B. Well bag. It looks like a real doctor’s bag, even though it is made of cardboard, and it has a toy stethoscope in it and candy pills and a thing to look into ears and a chart to check people’s eyesight and tongue depressors and a toy needle to give shots. There’s a thermometer too, although it doesn’t work.

  Pixie loves playing hospital with me when she comes over from her aunt’s. She was here for my birthday supper — Mum invited her because she came over from England with me and Sam. She wanted to start playing hospital as soon as I opened the kit. But Mum said not when we had guests.

  “What guests?” Pixie asked, looking around.

  “Sam and Robbie,” Mum told her with a smile.

  “They aren’t guests,” Pixie said, tossing her head. “They’re just boys.”

  Everybody laughed.

  I can’t go on writing. My hand is tired and so are my thoughts.

  Monday, November 16, 1942

  The birthday present that really surprised me was the china cat Charlotte’s Aunt Carrie gave me. She told me she has had it for years. She said he looks like “that cat of yours.”

  She was right. I showed the china cat to Only, but he just glanced at it and stalked off. Aunt Carrie said my darling cat certainly lives up to his full name, The One and Only.

  I got a doll from Mummy and Father in England. Mummy had made her an extra dress out of an old one of mine she found. She told us about clothes rationing and how they are supposed to make do and mend instead of buying new things. She made our brother William a shirt out of an old pillowcase. She said it looks funny but he is too little to mind. I think we will be sending William an outfit from Canada one of these days.

  The box from England came three days early, but I made myself wait. I opened it the moment I woke up on my birthday. The wrapping paper smelled like home and made me lonesome. In the wrappings there was some newspaper, telling about what damage was done by bombs. I wish I hadn’t read it. It scares me, thinking about my parents maybe being in danger.

  Nearly bedtime

  I wonder if I should start with saying that I’m Jane Browning and my brother Sam and I were sent to Canada as War Guests to save us from the bombing in England. Sam was sent to the Bennetts, who live across the street from the Twiss family, who got me.

  At first, I didn’t know what to call Charlotte’s mother and father, but I call my real parents Mummy and Father, so we decided I should call the Twisses Mum and Dad.

  Dr. Twiss is a professor and Mrs. Twiss teaches school. She quit teaching when she got married because back then married women weren’t allowed to teach. But now so many men who were teachers have gone overseas to fight the war, they need the women to come back. She really likes teaching, so she is happy about this.

  I guess I’ve barely mentioned Charlotte’s older sister Eleanor. I like her a lot. She’s almost as old as George. We met him when we first came, but we didn’t get to know him very well before he enlisted. I did like him though. He gave me run-unders on their swing.

  Charlotte turned fourteen last June. I really love her. She seems like my real sister.

  Tuesday, November 17, 1942

  Even though I don’t know George that well, I think that Mum and Dad are worried about him right now. I am not sure why. He almost died when his ship was torpedoed, but he and his friend Bertie and some others got in a lifeboat. It drifted around in the Atlantic Ocean for days. Everybody thought he had drowned. But they came ashore and, even though he was in the hospital for ages and has a crippled hand, he is getting better now.

  But something is making Mum and Dad unhappy. They used to share George’s letters and laugh about them, but not lately.

  Friday, November 20, 1942

  I asked Dad if George was coming home to Canada soon. He said he didn’t know. He looked so miserable when he said this.

  I felt nosy but I wanted to know more, so I asked if he was well now.

  “The wounded spirit takes time to heal,” Dad said. Then he went into the front room and closed the door.

  George has met my parents. Mummy and Father visited him in the hospital and then later he went to our house for tea. He was the one who told us that Mummy was going to have a baby. It was a great shock! But I guess it helped prepare us for the news when William was born.

  I have seen his picture, of course, but I do wish I could meet the real little boy.

  We got a letter from England yesterday, and Mummy said that she and William may be evacuated even though the Blitz is over. She did not say much about it, but Dad told us their letters would be censored in case they let slip something to the enemy. I don’t think Mummy would know anything the enemy would care about. Reading her words makes me homesick.

  I am tired of writing in this diary. I think I won’t keep it up. Yet, when I look back, I like reading about what has happened to me since I got it.

  Tuesday, November 24, 1942

  I had an earache last night so Mum kept me home from school. It stopped hurting and I got to stay in bed and listen to the radio. After I heard “The Happy Gang,” I finished reading Jane of Lantern Hill over again. Jane’s grandmother is as mean as the witch in Hansel and Gretel. I like it that Jane lives in Ontario some of the time instead of always in Prince Edward Island.

  Pixie is coming over tomorrow so we can play with my doctor kit. I have decided that one of my dolls will have a heart attack. And my new one from England will have a broken leg or arm. I like bandaging them and making them wear slings.

  Wednesday, November 25, 1942

  Something terrible happened today. I can hardly believe it even yet. Pixie says it was an accident, but somehow she let my new doll, who I named Elizabeth Rose after the princesses, fall out the bedroom window. The poor darling, who came all the way from England without a scratch, crashed to the ground and broke. She is not exactly shattered, but the top came off of her head and her eyes rolled back out of sight and one of her arms is smashed.

  I was crying my eyes out when Aunt Carrie came by. She told me to gather up all the pieces carefully and put them into a bag she had. She’s going to take E.R. to The Doll Hospital when she goes to Toronto next week. I did not know there was such a place in the world.

  I wish I could go too, but Aunt Carrie will be busy. Then she said maybe I could come when she picks E.R. up.

  Mum told us tonight that we are all going on the train to see the Santa Claus Parade in Toronto. After the parade, we will go to see the Eaton’s windows, which are specially decorated for Christmas. We might even go to Toyland to choose a present.

  In England we don’t have Santa Claus. Well, maybe it is the same, but we call ours Father Christmas. He doesn’t come with a sleigh and reindeer, but he visits each house. Y
ou put your stocking on the foot of your bed.

  Charlotte said it would be perfect if the doll was ready on the Santa Claus Parade day. Then we could all go to The Doll Hospital. Aunt Carrie laughed and said, “We’ll see,” just like Mum does.

  Mummy says the same thing when we want her to promise us something. She says it is because once in a while you have to break a promise, and so it is better to wait and see.

  Wednesday, December 2, 1942, night

  I was right about my not liking to keep a diary as much as Charlotte does. My life just isn’t exciting enough. But going to Eaton’s Toyland to see Santa Claus himself does sound exciting, even though I do like Father Christmas better than this Santa person. I suppose they are the same, but they don’t sound like it to me. Well, Santa Claus is an American. There is Saint Nicholas too and Kris Kringle. Mum says they all stand for the spirit of giving. I like the animals they have. Santa has all those reindeer, and Saint Nicholas, who is in Holland, rides a big white horse.

  Pixie wanted to come to Toronto with us and she begged and pleaded. When Aunt Carrie said, “No,” Pixie flopped down on her knees, clasped her hands together, rolled her eyes up and tried again. But Aunt Carrie declared she wasn’t up to taking someone so flighty and full of highjinks. Pixie sniffled a bit but gave up. Even she can tell when Aunt Carrie turns into a stone wall.

  I know what Aunt Carrie meant about her being flighty though. She’s seven but she acts as though she is five. She’s always losing things or getting the giggles or bursting into tears. Or letting other people’s dolls fall out of windows. Yesterday she was fiddling with a necklace of Mum’s and let it slip out of her hand and down the heat register. She doesn’t know I saw.