Author's Note: This story is a retelling of Charles Dickens' classic tale, A Christmas Carol. I borrowed most of the dialogue from the book, so don't be surprised if there's only little tweaks here and there. This chapter will be from Robert Cratchit's point of view. I personally prefer the name Robert over Bob and Mrs. Cratchit calls him Robert in the book so I changed his name to Robert. I would love some constructive criticism, any kind of feedback at all really, so please don't forget to review. I am going to try to have the last chapter be posted on Christmas as a present but please don't get your hopes up. I think that's all the things I wanted to say. Thank you so much for reading.
Love and well wishes,
Zosia Rose
It was so warm under the covers, so comfortable. I mean, why wouldn't it be? Staying in bed always seems so appealing when you have to go to work in half an hour. Speaking of half an hour, I'd better get ready or I'll be late again. Mr. Scrooge would kill me if I was late. I sighed and stood up, flinching a bit as the cold air hit my skin, dressed and kissed Nell on the forehead as I left the room. Poor dear, she looked exhausted. She hadn't gone to sleep until late last night. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't able to convince her to stop waiting up for me. I peeked into the children's room to check that they were still asleep. It was far too early for them to be up and about. Once satisfied that none of them were only pretending, I grabbed my coat and papers and headed out the door just as the clocktower across town chimed the hour. One, two, three, four. I trudged through the slush filled streets toward the office of Scrooge and Marley's. Just thinking about the place gave me the chills, but what could I do? If I made the slightest mistake or offended Mr. Scrooge in any way he would have me fired in an instant. If that happened, Tim would never get his medicine, Martha would never be able to get a job she actually liked instead of laboring all day making hats for people who had far too many already, Nell would never be able to afford that book in the display in the shop window that she'd practically drooled over on our last walk together. No, I would just have to put up with Mr. Scrooge for now and hope against hope that things would get better over time.
It took just over an hour to get to the office and fortunately Mr. Scrooge had not yet arrived. That gave me a chance to turn the heater on, not for longer than a few minutes, mind you, but on all the same. Mr. Scrooge refused to pay for the so-called frivolity of keeping the office warm, even when it fell well below freezing as it did quite often in the winter. The fact that it was Christmas Eve merely made him worse than usual. I got right to work, dutifully copying paperwork onto new paper. Don't ask me why that was what Mr. Scrooge had me do, I don't have the answer for you. I had learned the hard way long ago not to ask questions. Around seven, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, a man and a woman stepped inside. The man pushed his floppy black hair out of his eyes and introduced himself as Mr. Stevens and his companion as Ms. Holden. The woman, Ms. Holden, smiled and asked, "Are you Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?"
I paused in my writing, I had gone back to work as soon as the door clicked shut, just long enough to glance up at her briefly, "Mr. Marley died seven years ago tonight. My name is Robert Cratchit. I'm Mr. Scrooge's assistant. He's not here right now but I'm sure he will be shortly. You can wait if you want."
They sat in the chairs lined up against the wall for that very purpose and were silent for a few moments. Then Mr. Stevens spoke, "I'm sorry to hear about your loss but I'm sure that his liberality is well represented in his surviving partner. We were hoping that he would donate to our charity."
My pen slipped from my grasp and rolled across the floor as I gaped at him, "Lib-liberality? Donate? Charity? Mr-Mr. Scrooge?"
Ms. Holden raised her eyebrows and started to respond but the thud of the door opening cut her off. I was up in an instant, taking Mr. Scrooge's hat and coat, then hurrying to grab my fallen pen and get back to my desk. He didn't so much as glance in my direction, glaring at Mr. Stevens and Ms. Holden instead. He snapped at them in his grating voice, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The two looked at each other, shocked at his tone, then back at Mr. Scrooge as he stalked away and plopped down at his desk. They followed after him and repeated what they had told me, minus the offering condolences of course.
"And just what, may I ask, are you going to do with my hard-earned money once you have it in your grubby little hands?" was Mr. Scrooge's sharp reply.
"We are raising the money so we can buy food and shelter and medical care for the ones who have none. We choose this time because it is a time when want is keenly felt and abundance rejoices." Mr. Stevens opened his book, ready to jot down whatever amount Mr. Scrooge saw fit to give.
Neither he nor Ms. Holden were prepared for his next remark, "Are there no homeless shelters?"
"There are, but they are filled to overcrowding."
"Are there no clinics?"
"There are, but not nearly enough."
"Good! From what you said, I was afraid that something had stopped them in their useful course. I am very glad to hear it," the corners of his lips turned upwards in an imitation of a smile.
Ms. Holden plowed on, "What shall we put you down for sir?"
The smile flipped upside down in a fraction of a second, "Nothing."
They speechless for a moment, then Mr. Stevens smiled hopefully, "You wish to remain anonymous?"
I flinched as Mr. Scrooge's hand slammed onto his desk, "I wish to be left alone! Since you ask me what I wish, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. My taxes go to to support the establishments I have mentioned, they cost enough. Those who are badly off must go there."
Ms. Holden was fuming, "Many can't go there and some would rather die than accept help."
Mr. Scrooge gazed calmly back at her furious stare, "If they would rather die, then had better do so and decrease the surplus population. Besides, it truly is none of my business. It is enough for someone to understand his own business and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon," and with that, he opened his laptop and began to type.
It was all Ms. Holden could do to hold Mr. Stevens back from pummelling Mr. Scrooge into the ground. She all but dragged him to the door. After hesitating for a moment and a quick glance behind me to see if Mr. Scrooge was paying attention, I went to them and silently slipped a dollar bill into Mr. Stevens hand. He stared at it then opened his mouth to thank me but I put my finger to my lips and gestured with my other hand towards Mr. Scrooge. Ms. Holden smiled and merely wished me a merry Christmas. Mr. Stevens reiterated her words as they headed out the door together. I called a merry Christmas of my own after them and continued my copying. I could hear Mr. Scrooge muttering in his office, "There's another Christmas lunatic. My own assistant, with fifteen dollars a week, and a wife and family, blathering about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."
Work continued undisturbed until six o'clock. That's when the door burst open and Fred came in, flushed and out of breath from his walk. He grinned at me, "Merry Christmas, Robert. How've you been?"
I grinned back, Fred always seemed to be able to cheer me up even on my worst of days, "Merry Christmas to you too, Fred! I'm doing well, thanks. Just a bit cold, that's all."
"I don't blame you. It's like being on the North Pole in here!" he leaned over to the wall and fiddled with the thermostat before I could stop him. When he turned back to me he chuckled at my nervous expression, "It's all right, Robert. My uncle can't punish you for something I did."
"And just why shouldn't I, dear nephew?"
Mr. Scrooge's retort caused Fred to stride over to him and plant a kiss on the top of his head, "Merry Christmas to you too, Uncle."
Mr. Scrooge shifted away from him, "Bah! Humbug!"
"Christmas a humbug? You can't really mean that, I'm sure."
"I do! Merry Christmas? Bah! What right do you have to be merry? What reason do you have to be merry? You're certainly poor enough."
Fred grin nearly split his face in half as he replied cheerfully, "What right do you have to be dismal? What reason do you have to be morose? You're certainly rich enough."
I had to quickly stifle my laughter before Mr. Scrooge could hear. Mr. Scrooge had no witty repartee ready at the moment so he settled for his usual answer, "Bah! Humbug!"
"Don't be cross, Uncle."
"What else can I be when I live in such a world of fools such as this? Merry Christmas? Away with Merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in them through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!" his voice was scathing and hard.
"Uncle!" Fred pleaded.
"Nephew! Keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine," he glowered at Fred as he spoke.
Fred couldn't believe it, "Keep it! But you don't keep it."
"Let me leave it alone, then. Much good it'll do you! Much good it has ever done you!"
Fred had had enough, "There are many things from which I derive good but have not profited monetarily, I daresay. Christmas among the rest. I have always thought of Christmas, when it comes around, as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not some other race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a penny in my pocket, I believe that it has done me god and will good; and I will keep wishing everyone a Merry Christmas!"
I burst out in involuntary applause that stopped abruptly when Mr. Scrooge scowled indignantly at me. "One more sound from you, Cratchit, and you can spend your Christmas on the unemployment list. Get back to work!" he shifted his attention back to Fred, "You're quite a powerful speaker, Nephew. I wonder why don't you go into government. You're fool enough."
He looked at me apologetically, "You mustn't be so angry, Uncle," then back towards Mr. Scrooge, "Come to Christmas dinner tomorrow."
"I'll see you in Hell first."
"But why? Why?" Fred cried.
"Why did you get married?"
He sighed softly, "Because I fell in love."
"Because you fell in love!" growled Mr. Scrooge, as if the only thing more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas were those words, "Good afternoon!"
"But Uncle, you never came to see me before I got married. Why give it as a reason now?"
"Good afternoon," was his only answer.
"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had an argument, to which I have been a party. But I came here in honor of Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a Merry Christmas, Uncle!"
"Good afternoon!"
"And a happy new year!"
"Good afternoon!"
Fred stopped on his way out to say goodbye to me, then was gone. I followed Mr. Scrooge's order to turn off the heater and went back to my copying, drowning out his mutterings about lunatics. Neither Mr. Scrooge nor I moved from our spots until the bell tolled nine. He stalked out of his office towards where I was waiting with his coat and hat. I had no need to waste extra time by putting on my own as I had never taken them off if the effort to keep myself from freezing. I wrung my hands while I tried to give my confidence a boost. I wanted to ask him if I could take Christmas off but my lips refused to form the correct words. After Mr. Scrooge had finished buttoning up his coat, his cold gaze settled on my trembling form, "You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose."
I gulped, "If that's okay with you, sir."
"It's not okay with me. And it's not fair. If I was to dock you that day's pay, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound. And yet you don't think me ill-used when I pay a day's wages for no work," he was nearly seething by then.
"It's only once a year, sir," it wasn't the best defense but it was all I could think of.
"A poor excuse for picking my pocket every twenty-fifth of December!" retorted Mr. Scrooge. I looked down at my feet. It was over. I wasn't going to get the day off. But then he sighed slightly, "I suppose you must have the whole day. But you'll be staying an extra hour here at the office for the next two months. And don't expect to be paid for tomorrow. Be here an hour early the next morning. Do you understand?"
At my nod, he left and slammed the door behind him, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with my mouth hanging open in shock. Mr. Scrooge had given me the day off. Mr. Scrooge had given me the whole day off! It didn't sink in for a full minute and a half. An enormous smile spread across my face as I realized that it was true, that it hadn't been a cruelly wonderful dream. I rushed to my desk in order to shove my papers into their folder. It took me a mere two minutes to gather my things and turn off the lights and lock the door. Then I was free. I felt like I could fly as I started on my way home. I didn't feel the cold that night, my brain and body were too busy in their imaginings of the following day.
