I include some notes on the title of the story. A reprise is the repetition of a passage of music in a song. A duet is a song sung or played by two. The Christmas Carol is being repeated; and it isn't a solo performance. So I guess the title is a plot spoiler.
Did I go overboard with Mrs. Cratchit's reaction to Scrooge's sudden moral transformation? Maybe. But it was fun.
Biblical references are included. I normally quote a more contemporary edition. But King James Version was pretty much it in Dickens' day.
I wanted to finish by Christmas. But hey…it's moi, the Glacially Slow Writer. This chpt was half done until the 1st Monday of 2011. And the ideas flowed
. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, my brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and the Family of Man.
REPRISE; A CHRISTMAS DUET
chpt 2
Over the next few months, Ebenezer Scrooge took all his clients aside. Those who owed the firm money were given extensions and manageable interest rates. To the destitute, he forgave the loans entirely.
He took pains not to advertise his new largesse. After all, did not the Holy Writ say, in the Gospel according to Matthew, the sixth chapter, and first through third verses:
Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven. Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.
But the word managed to spread. And his business increased.
In the spring, he made Bob Cratchit a full partner. The poor man was dumbstruck. Scrooge downplayed it. "It's merely good business, Bob. Jacob Marley was younger than I am now when death took him. You know the operations of this enterprise as well as I do." In his heart, he still thought he might die by next Christmas, as he had seen in the vision shown to him by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.
Just a few months previous, when her husband had come home on the day after Christmas as full of merriment as the day before, Kate Cratchit wondered what the cause. When he related the story of his employer's new liberality, she was skeptical. And blunt. "It's a ploy! He means to trick you, Robert Cratchit! By this time next week, he'll dismiss you for a mistake in your figures! That mean-spirited old skinflint! Miserable old pinchpenny! And we'll all be homeless on a street corner!"
And when Bob mentioned Scrooge's wish to see to the wellbeing of the children, she became alarmed. In vain he strove to reassure her, trying to allay her fears and relate his own initial doubts.
"Our children? Our dear ones? He's gone dotty, Bob!" she raved. "He's bonkers! Mad as a hatter! Lord help us, it's punishment for his stinginess! He needs to be reported! He needs to be locked away so he doesn't do you harm! As God is my witness, he'll be in Bedlam before another month is out!"
But when Bob took out of his pocket what Scrooge had stuck in, the good woman become overwrought.
He unrolled it. The entire family stared.
"Bob Cratchit…is that a…"
"Yes, my love…it's a…"
It was a five pound note. Whether at Bob's old wages of fifteen shillings a week or his new wages of thirty, it represented a sizeable sum; a hundred shilling sum.
Kate had nearly fainted. She sat in the chair and fanned herself with her apron. "Oh, my stars! Oh, Merciful Heavens! It's too much!" At last, she lay her head down on the folded arms on the table and wept. "God have mercy, I've wronged him! He's a prince! He's an angel!"
Peter nervously asked his father if he should go to the neighbors and fetch smelling salts.
Bob shook his head. There would be no need. Good news was it's own restorative.
In a moment, Kate recovered and raised her head. She blinked, and gathered her thoughts. "Bob! Children! We must invite him to supper! We must show a proper appreciation!"
At Scrooge's friendly but firm insistence, Bob had provided a complete recounting of the tale. As Kate Cratchit had done, Scrooge had to take his seat. He roared with laughter. He wept with merriment.
Bob couldn't help it. He joined in. The offices rang with hilarity. Passerby heard the row and fetched a policeman.
The patrolman knocked on the door. A voice breathless with laughter called loudly to come in. He tentatively opened the door and peered in. "Beg your pardon, sirs, is everything all right?"
The two men were doubled over in mirth.
"Yes, officer…we're…we're…" gasped Scrooge, struggling to answer. He looked over at his man. "Oh, dear…how are we, Bob?"
For the first time in his life, Bob Cratchit ventured a joke with his employer. "Mr. Scrooge, sir…I fear we're…we're quite dotty! Ruddy out of our minds! The both of us!"
The jollity was rekindled. It was redoubled. They clutched their bellies and contorted their faces with rollicking laughter
The policeman stared with both wonder and some amusement himself. This was the infamous humorless Ebenezer Scrooge. Rumors had abounded how he had strolled up and down the street just the day before randomly wishing passerby merry Christmas. He began to chuckle.
Ebenezer finally waved a hand. "We're…we're fine…officer…thank you for your concern. Bless you and merry Christmas."
The officer grinned. He tipped his hat. "Thank you, sirs. And merry Christmas to yourselves. And a happy New Year." Yes, there was no trouble here. He closed the door behind him. "Quite alright," he said, reassuring the gathering of concerned townsfolk. "Merely a slight excess of the spirit of the season."
As the crowd dispersed, he said to himself, "God grant that we all partake of such excess."
In another five minutes, Scrooge was still chuckling. His face was still flushed. He wiped his brow, blew his nose, and clapped Bob on the shoulder. "Oh, my dear Bob! A remarkable woman! An extraordinary creature! A credit to her sex! As formidable a lady as our monarch! God save the queen of the Cratchit kingdom! Tell your dear spouse I hasten to fulfill my obligations at her earliest convenience."
Bob conferred with his wife that night. She had already laid her plans. She had been reluctant to spend any of the five pounds. To even give the note to a merchant to make change seemed like a sacrilege; like squandering a treasure. But she took a portion of it and stocked their larder, gathering provisions for the reprise of the Christmas feast.
It was one day later that Ebenezer Scrooge was the dinner guest of Bob and Kate Cratchit and family. It was hard to tell who was more nervous. The host family or the guest.
Preparations for the meal were as feverish as for the Christmas feast. Peter stirred the boiling potatoes. Edward minded the turkey. Belinda and Dora helped their mother baking the bread, and cutting and cooking the vegetables.
Tiny Tim had set all the dishes and utensils. Then he returned to his fireside stool, prompting and encouraging them all. "Ed, do turn the spit more slowly. The bird is browning wonderfully. Mother, the bread smells delicious. Belinda, Dora, carefully; don't cut yourselves. Peter, are the potatoes thoroughly cooked? Oh, it will be so delightful having Mr. Scrooge visit!"
"Tim, my dear, would you sing us a song?" asked Kate. "A song of the season?"
He thought a moment. His face brightened, and he began singing. It was a male soprano voice, as clear and bright as a bell. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly…"
His mother and siblings joined in the chorus. "Fa la la la la, la la la la."
" 'Tis the season to be jolly,"
"Fa la la la la, la la la la."
"Don we now our gay apparel,"
"Fa la la, la la la, la la la."
"Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,"
"Fa la la la la, la la la la."
They applauded, and Tim bowed merrily. The flour on the girls' hands sent up a cloud of powder that made them sneeze, to the merriment of all.
"Another, dear brother!" begged Dora.
Tim chose a slower, more sacred song. "God rest ye merry, gentlemen / Let nothing you dismay / Remember, Christ, our Savior / Was born on Christmas day / To save us all from Satan's power / When we were gone astray…"
The family again accompanied in he chorus. "O tidings of comfort and joy, / Comfort and joy / O tidings of comfort and joy!"
"The potatoes are ready," said Peter. And he drained them and they all set to work peeling them, except Tim, at his spot by the fire.
Ebenezer accompanied Bob home to Camden Town from the office. "Alas, Mr. Scrooge, my dear Martha, my eldest, was unable to take time away from her situation."
But when Bob opened the door to his home, he was shocked to see…
"…Martha!"
His eldest daughter smiled shyly. "Hello, father."
Bob glanced from his daughter to his wife. "How…when…?"
Kate took her husband's hand and drew him close. "I hired a coach to deliver our daughter home for an evening," she told him quietly. "We'll hire another coach to take her back late tonight or early tomorrow."
Bob was appalled. This was an almost unconscionable waste of the treasure conferred on them by Mr. Scrooge. But the look on his daughter's face persuaded him otherwise. How could he deny one of his own a chance to share in this celebration of their change of fortune?
Kate Cratchit and Ebenezer Scrooge caught each other's eye. There was no profound nonverbal communication; merely the shared awareness that a wealth lavished on another was not a squandering; it was a kindness.
Kate and the children were lined up, facing Ebenezer. Bob stood between his wife's and employer's side. He faced his employer and gestured toward his family. "Mr. Scrooge, this is my dear missus, Kate Cratchit, and our children…Martha, Belinda, Peter, Dora, Edward, and Timothy." Then he faced his family and gestured toward his employer. "My dears, may I present our guest of honor, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge."
They had all seen him from afar in the street, with his icy face and appearance, his very hat and frock looking severe. Afar was how they preferred it. But now this Bogeyman, this Ogre of the Cratchit household, whom the children all dreaded and whom their mother despised from afar, who ruled their father like a despot, who held all their fortunes at his caprice, appeared to them as a quiet man, with gentle eyes and kindly smile. He behaved hesitantly, as though unsure of the welcome he would receive.
It was just a moment of uncertainty. Kate, her husband's great helpmeet and advocate, and Ebenezer's fiercest skeptic, broke the deadlock by taking her guest's hand.
This family whom Scrooge only days before would have dismissed as the "poor and destitute"…the "surplus population"…they appeared as decorous and genteel as nobility. They displayed a simple but stately dignity.
The boys all shook his hand solemnly. Scrooge had to fight mightily the urge to chuckle aloud out of a sense of endearment. God forbid he should shatter the serious mood by seeming to be flippant.
The girls all curtseyed prettily. With a bittersweet pang and a silent sigh, Scrooge thought upon Constance, the wife of his nephew Fred. And upon his dear departed sister Fannie, Fred's mother. And upon his own mother, whom he never knew, who died giving him birth, And most of all, he thought upon Belle, his lost love.
But it was little Tim Cratchit, his game leg bound in an iron frame, limping upon his crutch, who tipped the scale of Scrooge's deportment.
He seemed even frailer than before. But he hobbled toward his father's employer as though the guest in their house was Father Christmas burdened with gifts. It was an indomitable spirit and a buoyant heart, that blazed like a bonfire.
Ebenezer was awestruck. The face of Timothy Cratchit was the face of the Ghost of Christmas Past. It glowed with a beatific light. It was the face of all whom Scrooge had ever loved. It was the Face of the Christmas Babe in the Manger.
"Uncle Ebenezer!" bubbled the boy, and hugged the man excitedly.
Bob, Kate, and the older Cratchit children were aghast. The is was an unforgivable breach of propriety and good manners.
But Ebenezer Scrooge only stared in rapt wonder. He had always been addressed in the formal manner, "Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge". Even his nephew Fred had always called him "Uncle Scrooge". From the time of his mother's death, no one but Fannie and Belle had called him by his given name or held him in their arms.
His reserve broke. He dropped to one knee and gathered Timothy Cratchit into his arms. His nephew Fred was the closest Scrooge would ever have to a son of his bloodline. But the arms which had never cradled an infant, or bounced a toddler…the arms which had not taken another living human into a compassionate embrace since Belle Gray…the arms of Ebenezer Scrooge seized tiny Tim into a gentle but fierce clasp. It was an embrace of desperate yearning, and a hunger of the heart long denied "Oh, my boy…my dear boy…"
No further words could he utter. They caught in his throat. In his heart he made both a fervent resolve and an impassioned plea. If I was spared for any reason at all, it was to see this boy healed. O Lord, let me not have lived in vain…I beseech Thee, Monarch of Heaven…whether by my own poor efforts or by Thine own ineffable sovereign means….raise this lad up.
And Scrooge wept like a baby.
to be continued