Greetings of the Season and Other Stories
Page 31
The collection plate was filled. Evan would not have to petition the bishop to sell the statue in order to finish the repairs, but would even have some money left to feed the hungry. There would not be so many needy mouths, not once Lord Whittendale kept his promise to better conditions for his dependents.
Alice’s eyes were filled with tears of happiness.
Mr. Merriweather’s heart was filled with joy and hope.
The mice’s bellies were filled, too, with the slice of Christmas pudding the vicar had hidden behind the lectern where no one could see.
Never had there been a more glorious Christmas service. The children all remembered their parts, and so many voices joined in the hymns and carols that no choir could have sounded sweeter. Evan was so elated that his words, for once, flowed smoothly, movingly, in benediction. No souls burnt in eternal damnation in this sermon; he spoke only of the love of God for His children. Feeling the vicar’s sincere spirituality, knowing he cared for their well-being as well as their redemption, the congregants vowed not to miss a single one of his Sunday services.
Evan knew that would take another miracle, but he smiled as he shook hands with everyone leaving the church. Some were on their way to the feast at the vicarage, while others were on their way home to share Christmas dinner with family and friends. Some were headed toward White Oaks and another elegant repast.
“My man of affairs will call on you in the morning, Merriweather, to see what’s to be done and in what order,” Lord Whittendale told him.
“I have some of the ready in the church funds now, my lord, so St. Cecilia’s can get by on its own for a bit.”
“Nonsense, the sooner the church is fully repaired, the better.”
Lady Farnham, stunning in her white furs, laughed. “I told him I wanted to be wed in St. Cecilia’s, that’s why Randolph is in such a rush. A special license would only give rise to more talk, so we would prefer starting to call the banns this Sunday, if you will.”
“I would be honored, my lady. And St. Cecilia’s will be glistening for the wedding in three weeks, I swear it.”
The viscount nodded. “And not a moment too soon, lest people start counting months. I’ll come by later, after my guests have left, to discuss what changes we can bring to the parish. Perhaps we can establish a pottery or a brickworks, to employ some of our people, so they don’t have to leave for positions in the factories and mines.”
“Don’t forget the school,” Lady Farnham reminded him.
“That’s right, we’ll set up a proper school for the children, boys and girls, so they can better their lot in life. That’s if you are willing to oversee its operation, at a raise in pay, of course, in addition to the increase I already promised.”
“I…I…”
“Can’t expect you to do more work without recompense. Yes, and I intend to recommend that the bishop consider you for rector of Most Holy, when old Bramblethorpe there retires. No reason you cannot hold two livings, earn a decent wage. That ought to make your days brighter, by Jupiter.”
“You are too generous, my lord. That was never part of our bargain, nor a school nor a pottery.”
“Nonsense, my son is going to be born here, isn’t he? Can’t have him living in some beggar’s backwater.”
“Your daughter Cecily will be born here,” Lady Farnham corrected. “Then your son Francis.”
“Francis?”
As the two left, arm in arm and bickering over the sex of their firstborn, Squire Prescott took their place, with his womenfolk behind him stopping to greet some of the neighbors.
The squire pumped Evan’s hand. “Good show, lad, good show, I say. Didn’t know you had it in you. Alice said you did, of course, but she always had a soft spot for this church. I heard what Lord Whittendale said about when Bramblethorpe retires, and I’ll second his recommendation. Meantime you’ve got a respectable livelihood, eh?”
“More than respectable. In fact now I can—”
“And I suppose now that you’re come into your own you’ll be looking around you for a wife.”
“Why no, I don’t need to—”
The squire shook his head in regret. “You’ll be off to London, I’d wager, before the cat can lick its ear.”
Since the cat could barely lick its foot currently, Evan would not be leaving any time soon. He tried to tell Squire he had no intention of seeking a bride in London, or anywhere else, for that matter, but Prescott was bemoaning his fate. “Dash it, just when I find an eligible match for m’daughter, one that will keep her in style but close to home, he up and marries a dashing widow. Now you’ll be looking over the crop of heiresses in Town, the devil take them, and I’ll have to traipse off to Bath or some outlandish place to find puss a proper match.”
“I am not going to London, Squire, and I am not looking for a bride. I already found one, if Alice will have me, and if we have your blessing. We do, don’t we?”
“Love her, do you?”
“With all my heart, till my dying day.”
“Good, for I fear she’ll have no other. Just like her mother, she is, knows her own mind and won’t settle for less. You’re a lucky man, Vicar.”
“She hasn’t said yes yet.”
Squire laughed. “She will.”
She did, after the rest of the worshipers left the churchyard.
“You are sure, Alice? Life won’t be all parties and pretty gowns and trips to Town.”
“Such a life would be pointless, without you in it. But are you sure, Evan? You could find a woman with a larger dowry.”
“But none I could love more. Will you marry me, my Alice, now that I am a man of means and can make you an honorable offer? I promise to fix the vicarage roof and windows first, of course, so you are not frozen by the drafts.”
“I would marry you if we had to take up residence in the barn, my love. And I refuse to wait until all of the renovations are completed. You will just have to keep me warm until then.”
As Alice and Evan went to help serve Christmas dinner in the vicarage, they made a detour around the back of the church, to seal their pledge with a kiss. They were out of sight of everyone but two very small observers.
“I told you they weren’t very smart,” said Pass, rubbing at his ear.
“How so? These two seem to be catching on to the really important business of life. I’d wager there’s the patter of little feet in the nursery before next Christmas.”
“What, are those barn mice moving in now that Dread Fred stays in the kitchen?”
“No, you dunderhead, a baby.”
“Oh. Well, I might be a dunderhead, but how long do you figure before those human people think to look at the rest of the statues?”
*
The parishioners uncovered the rest of the gold before Twelfth Night. St Cecilia’s didn’t need half as many candles, with all the gleaming. It just needed an extension, to hold everyone who came to see.
And Exultemus Domine was right: The Merriweathers had a daughter within the year, named Faith. She arrived not too many months after the somewhat premature birth of the viscount’s heir, Randolph Francis Pemburton Whitmore.
Long before that, young Passeth-All-Understanding had a mate of his own, and her mother and sisters moved in, too, with a cousin or three, and an old auntie to keep Ed company. Together they managed to drag a new book behind the altar, for bedding and names for the next generation.
The firstborn, the biggest and strongest and smartest mousekin, was the cub chosen to be the leader, the one destined to guard the clan’s perpetuation. They named him after the vicar who made sure they were well fed, and after the new book.
His name was Merriweather Christian Hymnal Churchmouse.
They called him Merry Christmouse, for short.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Copyright
Greetings of the Season and Other Stories
Greetings of the Season
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
The Proof Is in the Pudding
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Christmas Pudding
Three Good Deeds
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Epilogue
Christmas Wish List
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Little Miracles
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9