Special Note to Readers: Thanks to the good offices of the writer ChocolateIsMyDrug, I recently found out that this site removed ALL the asterisks I had used as line breaks in my stories. As a result, many of the scene changes in my stories are not showing up. So bear with me while I go through the work of the past months and years to clean up and insert the necessary breaks. The whole project has fairly reduced me to tears, as I meant to spend this time revising and posting new material, rather than redoing most of my previous chapters, or explaining to readers what happened.
Chapter 15: Tender Hopes
"How very curious this is, reading A Christmas Carol when the season is past," said Miss Pole said one winter afternoon to the other ladies assembled in Miss Matty's sitting room.
"The value of the story is not diminished by the date on the calendar, Miss Pole," said Mary Smith, looking up from the book and adjusting her spectacles. "And it is but a short work. When we finish the ground will still be frozen, though one might hope the spirit of good will would remain abroad in the land."
"Indeed, my father was so fond of the tale, he fairly insisted upon sharing it with his friends and neighbors," said Mrs. Gordon, exchanging a smile with Miss Matty.
"And it is delightful to have amusements, too, as winter is so very dull between Twelfth Night and St. Valentine's Day," added Mrs. Forrester.
"St. Valentine's Day? Mrs. Forrester, what can you mean? I am sure there is no one among us who pays the least regard to St. Valentine's Day and any attendant nonsense."
At that three pairs of eyes trained themselves on Miss Pole, as Miss Smith looked up from her book, Mrs. Gordon from her needlework, and Miss Matty from the tea tray.
"Have I said something amiss?" asked Miss Pole with a nonchalant air.
"Oh, Miss Pole, there's not a heart, no matter how solitary, but flutters just a bit on St. Valentine's Day. A lady always retains tender hopes, regardless of her age or station in life," said Mrs. Forrester with a sigh. "Besides, you cannot frown upon the day's innocent pleasures."
Miss Pole snorted. "There was little that was innocent about last St. Valentine's Day, Mrs. Forrester. Such mischief as took place I have not seen in Cranford before now. And it was all that Irishman's doing, I think, if my memory has not failed me –"
"Oh, but that has long since been resolved," Miss Matty interjected, exchanging a look of alarm with Mary. She continued, more brightly, "And moreover Miss Caroline is now wed, and very happily too."
"And Dr. Marshland humbly begged pardon and was forgiven," said Miss Smith mildly, looking down at her book.
"Yes. Well, surely that was more than he deserved. There are some failings one ought not to forgive in a man," sniffed Miss Pole before adding, briskly, "We seem to have forgotten our story. Shall we continue with the tale of Mr. Scrooge? I must confess I don't much care for him, though. He is so hard of heart."
Miss Galindo had already donned bonnet and coat in preparation for leaving the office when Mr. Carter, his face ruddy from the wind, suddenly walked in the door. For all that it was late in the day, and they were in the very heart of winter, he exhibited a very marked vitality.
"Miss Galindo, I am glad I arrived back before you set off for home. Firstly, it is bitterly cold, and I want to arrange to have you driven back to town. No arguments," he added when she opened her mouth to speak.
"I was only going to thank you, Mr. Carter," she said, with the sort of smile he thought she gave only to Harry Gregson.
He placed a small package on the desk before them, then pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands to warm them. "Well, I would take you myself, but I am expecting my pupil to arrive here shortly."
"So Harry's lessons continue this evening."
"Indeed they do, and that reminds me of the second matter." He reached down and undid the strings on the package, revealing two books. "I have just seen Captain Brown, who has returned from Manchester and has very kindly brought back two copies of Mr. Dickens's new book – one for Harry, one for you." He picked up one of the books and passed it into her hands, his fingers brushing lightly against hers.
"For me?" Miss Galindo blushed with embarrassment and astonishment. "He has brought me –"
"Yes, and he was very insistent that I must deliver it to you promptly." Mr. Carter's eyes were filled with amusement, and all at once he looked remarkably boyish. "I do not think Captain Brown is used to anyone disobeying his orders, Miss Galindo."
"I must confess, Mr. Carter, that I am astonished. I expected no such gift," she said quietly.
"Well, he had promised to lay hands on a copy on my behalf – or Harry's, really – and I think he felt you might enjoy it as well. You know his enthusiasm for Dickens. Why, I believe he means to make all of us – you, Harry, myself -- read it and report back to him."
She smiled. "Perhaps he means to be a teacher as well."
"Perhaps."
"Mr. Carter –"
"Yes?"
"Do you intend to undertake Harry Gregson's entire education yourself? That was not a challenge," she added when she saw his brow furrow. "It was an honest inquiry. I mean surely you have given some thought to what happens as the months pass, as the years pass."
"Indeed I have."
"It is a great burden for you to assume."
"I know." She had no idea how thoroughly he had considered the question even before Lady Ludlow had given up some of her objections to his plans. "And it is not only my burden. The boy's parents, after all, have something to say about it."
"I am sorry, Mr. Carter. I did not mean to imply you had sole authority or responsibility."
"There is no need to apologize, Miss Galindo. And besides --"
He paused, not caring to recount to her the words he'd exchanged with Job Gregson.
"And besides, Miss Galindo, my own education is inadequate, and I can provide Harry only limited instruction."
"Oh, surely not, Mr. Carter –"
"On the contrary, Miss Galindo," he said, "the boy needs more assistance than I am equal to giving him."
"Well, if there is any way I can help you, Mr. Carter, I will do what I can"
"Truly, Miss Galindo?" The expression in his eyes was one she had never seen before – astonishment, curiosity, and some other emotion she could not read.
"Yes, Mr. Carter," she said simply.
He had not expected such an offer, or considered what it might mean to Harry. But he had such hopes for the boy…
"Then we must resume this discussion at a future date – and soon."
"Yes."
A Christmas Carol amused Harry greatly, as Mr. Carter had expected and hoped, but the reading itself had proven something of a challenge. Mr. Carter had forgotten how many classical and other references Dickens inserted into his works, and how frequently the subtleties of a story, or even of the English language itself, could prove a challenge to an 11-year-old boy.
By the time they got to the second stave, Harry was proudly experimenting with words Mr. Carter had taught him ("'Avarice,' Mr. Carter – that's just like in Aesop's Fables!") but still besieging him with questions.
"Mr. Carter, why is the girl talking about 'another idol'? Who's standing idle?"
"She doesn't mean 'idle,' I-D-L-E, as in doing no work. An idol, I-D-O-L, is a thing you worship – instead of God, that is –"
"It is a wicked thing, then, Mr. Carter."
"Generally, yes, but here it's not so bad – well, to some extent. The girl is Mr. Scrooge's sweetheart, you see, but she thinks he loves money more than he loves her."
"Oh," said Harry, his eyes wide. Then he added, proudly, "Avarice."
"Exactly. Mr. Scrooge cares too much for money! He still wants to marry her, though, but she –"
"But she doesn't marry him, and he becomes a lonely old man," finished Harry. "Mr. Scrooge is sol- -- he is sol- --"
"'Solitary,' I think you mean to say." Mr. Carter turned to a passage in the first stave. "Yes, here it is – 'solitary as an oyster.'" He chuckled. "What a clever turn of phrase."
"But what does that mean, Mr. Carter?"
"You've never seen an oyster, have you? Well, it lives in its shell – its rough, hard shell. Scrooge is like an oyster shut up in his shell, hard and rough on the outside –"
"Like you, Mr. Carter. I mean –"
Harry stopped, his eyes wide with embarrassment. "I mean I was frightened of you, at first," he finished weakly. He cast his eyes down, and for a moment Carter thought the boy would cry. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carter. I – you aren't – "
"Harry, it is quite all right."
"You've been so kind to me, even when I was --"
"Harry, please. No more." Both of them were embarrassed, and it was impossible to continue with reading. For a moment Harry remained silent with shame, fixing his gaze on the page open before him.
Mr. Carter sought to effect a rescue for them. "Well, now, shall we return to the story tomorrow night?" he said briskly.
"Yes, please, Mr. Carter. I quite like it."
"I'm glad." He stood up. "Well, we'd best be getting you home."
It was late at night several evenings later, as Miss Galindo was slipping beneath the bedclothes, hoping to warm herself enough to fall asleep, when she remembered A Christmas Carol. It was again dreadfully cold that evening, and she wondered if sleep might prove elusive, and reading a welcome distraction.
There was a single candle on her nightstand, and beside it lay two books: the new work from Mr. Dickens, a present from Captain Brown, and the collection of sonnets Mr. Carter had sent her on Christmas Eve.
The captain had been so insistent on obtaining a copy of A Christmas Carol for her, and would no doubt ask for her impressions when next they met in the street or after church. He had been so kind about it, and perhaps she had best make a start.
She opened to the first stave, "Marley's Ghost."
Marley was dead –
She could not bear to contemplate death and ghosts this night, not even in a work of fiction, not even for her amusement and edification, and not even out of gratitude to Captain Brown.
After carefully placing A Christmas Carol a safe distance from the candle, she reached for the volume of sonnets and lifted it from its accustomed place on her table. Nestling more deeply under the covers, she tilted the book towards the light as she gently opened its leaves and began to read.
To be continued…