Read It Happened One Christmas Online
Authors: Kaitlin O'Riley
It Happened One Christmas (27 page)
She sighed. “You are most likely right even though it doesn't make me feel any better at the moment.”
“I never should have agreed to marry you in the first place. It was unfair to you, Emmeline. You deserve to marry a man who loves you with his whole heart. I know that man is out there somewhere for you. Although I'm sure it does not feel like it right now, someday you will be very glad that you did not marry me.”
After a long silence she said softly, “It's my birthday.”
“Excuse me?”
Emmeline tilted her head and stared at him in reproach. “Our wedding date is also my birthday.”
“It is?” How had Quinton not known that? Somehow this news made him feel even worse.
“The fact that you don't know my birthday . . .” She shook her head. “Perhaps we can turn the wedding reception into a birthday party for me instead.” She let out a rueful little laugh.
“I cannot apologize profusely enough for this mess, Emmeline. And I admire you for accepting the situation with such good grace.” He rose to his feet in a motion to take his leave.
“What choice do I have now? Making a scene would not improve matters, would it?” She glanced up helplessly at him with her big brown eyes.
“Thank you for being so understanding.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good-bye, Emmeline.”
“Good-bye, Quinton.”
He was just reaching the door when her voice stopped him.
“Quinton?”
He turned to her. “Yes?”
“Isn't Lisette Hamilton still engaged?”
“Yes, she is.” Yes, there was that obstacle to overcome yet. Henry Brooks now stood between him and the woman he loved.
“I thought so.”
Quinton couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a satisfied smirk on Emmeline's face as he left.
28
'Tis the Season
Wednesday, December 24, 1873
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Hamilton's Book Shoppe overflowed with customers all day long, and Lisette had been on her feet helping shoppers select Christmas gifts since the store opened. People bought a good deal of stationery and dozens of children's books, and she had sold more Christmas cards than she could count. As the last of the customers paid for their purchases, Lisette glanced at the clock. She would close the shop and lock up at seven o'clock. Only ten more minutes to go. It seemed like an eternity.
Lisette usually did not mind working in the store and at times quite enjoyed it, but she did not like the responsibility of being in charge of the shop alone. Usually Colette or Paulette was there with her, but with Colette heavy with child and Paulette suffering from a terrible cold and in bed with a fever, it was left to Lisette to mind the store, for Juliette was as useless as was Yvette with shop matters. Lisette had help, of course, from Lizzie Parker and Victoria Browning, two of the young ladies they had hired, but all the decision making and locking up of the store fell to Lisette. It was all her responsibility.
When the large grandfather clock struck seven, she could barely contain herself from ushering the last of the customers out the front door, which was bedecked with a cheery Christmas wreath. When they were finally gone, Lisette immediately flipped the OPEN sign to read CLOSED.
“We're done!” she cried in triumph.
“Merry Christmas,” Lizzie said wearily. “I'm glad they've all gone.”
“Why don't you two girls head home now?” Lisette offered. “I'll lock up after you've gone.” It was Christmas Eve after all, and they wanted to be home with their families. As did Lisette.
“Oh, Miss Hamilton, that would be wonderful!” Victoria declared. The two women couldn't get their coats and hats on fast enough.
After many warm Christmas wishes, the girls finally took their leave and Lisette was alone. Wearily, she began to close the books and straighten up the counter when she heard a light tapping on the door.
Last-minute shoppers. Could they not read the CLOSED sign? With a heavy sigh, she opened the door.
In the cold December night, a light snow was beginning to fall. A small boy with a grubby freckled little face shivered before her, his tattered cap pulled down low. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his threadbare jacket, he looked up at her with hopeful, searching eyes. Lisette would have known him anywhere.
“Tom Alcott!” she cried in delight. It was the little boy she'd met on the street last week.
“You remember me?” He was incredulous.
“Of course I remember you.” She gave him her warmest smile.
“Yeah?” Relief flickered in the world-weary blue depths of his eyes. Eyes that were far too old for such a young boy.
“Yes. Now why don't you come inside with me and warm up a bit? We can talk, too.”
He hesitated an instant, glancing left and right, as if making sure no one was following him on this frosty December night, and then bolted past her into the shop, almost knocking Lisette off her feet. She closed the door against the cold and snow and gave her attention to the little street urchin she had just let into their store.
His round ruddy face was chilled, and he kept his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. She ushered him toward the large potbellied stove that warmed the store.
He said hesitantly, “I came by a few days ago, but there were too many people in here. I didn't see you.”
“I'm sorry that I missed seeing you, but I'm so glad you came back.”
“This is your shop?”
“It's my family's shop, yes. We sell books and things here. Do you like books, Tom?”
He gave a careless shrug. “Don't know. Can't read.” Approaching the heat emanating from the stove, he held his hands out to the warmth.
“Would you like to learn how to read? I could teach you.”
“I've not the kind of smarts for readin',” he confessed in shame.
“Why, of course you do!” she protested. “Everybody does.”
He rolled his eyes in abject disbelief, giving a little snort of scorn.
“If you are smart enough to speak, you are smart enough to read,” Lisette explained in a soft voice. Her instinct told her that this boy was bright enough to learn anything he put his mind to. “And I've heard you speak, Tom, so I know that you know words. Reading is simply words printed on paper. You just need to practice.”
He gazed around the shop, taking in what she said, weighing his options. It was almost as if she could see the wheels in his little head turning. “I don't know.”
“I've taught lots of boys like you to read.” That fact was true enough. Each of their delivery boys, once having mastered reading and writing, had moved on to better-paying positions, which was as it should be. One of their former delivery boys now worked as a clerk for Henry Brooks. It all depended on how quickly they learned and how much effort the boys put into their education. They had better futures because of their ability to read and were better able to help their families survive. Lisette planned to help some of them move into Quinton's houses when they were built.
“People read all these books?” he asked in wonder.
“Yes. Most people like to read.”
“You mean they read for fun?”
“Sometimes, yes. Other times we read to learn more.”
Tom walked to one of the shelves full of history books and ran his fingers along the spines of a few books. He turned back to face her. “I thought you'd give me a job here, like you said that day on the street.”
“My sisters and I can give you a job here, delivering books to customers, running errands for us, and helping to sweep up and things like that. But since this is a bookshop, you have to learn to read in order to work here. We can pay you fair wages for your work, but part of your work is to learn how to read and write.”
He stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted another head. “You aren't foolin' me?”
She asked calmly, “Why would I want to fool you?”
He tilted his head to the side and studied her hard. “What's your name again anyhow?”
“I'm Lisette Hamilton.” She moved to the side counter, where they had laid out a lovely display of holiday refreshments for their customers. She took a handful of gingerbread cookies that she had brought from Devon House that morning and held them out to the boy.
He stepped closer to her, eyeing the sweets hungrily.
“You can have them,” she encouraged with a smile. “It's all right. I wish I had more to give you. We had a lot of customers today.”
He took the cookies from her. “Thank you, miss,” he managed to mutter before shoving them in his mouth and devouring them as quickly as he could.
Well, at least he knew his manners and remembered to say thank you. Lisette smiled and poured him some tea, which had grown rather cool, but it was all she had to offer him on such short notice. She wondered if she should run upstairs and make him something proper to eat in the kitchen.
“Have you had supper yet this evening?”
Still gobbling the cookies, he nodded. She did not quite believe him, but had no wish to insult his pride by insisting. She handed him the cup of tepid tea and he swallowed it in a series of hurried gulps.
“Who takes care of you, Tom?” she asked. “Have you any family?”
“Just my ma.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand and held out the empty cup. “Thank you, miss.”
“You are welcome.” She took the cup from him and placed it back on the counter. “Where is your father?”
“He died.” A shadow crossed his small features. “When I was five.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry, Tom,” she said. “I understand how you feel because my father died, just a few years ago.”
He shuffled his feet. “My little sister died, too. Last Christmas.”
“Oh, Tom.” The obvious heartbreak on his sweet face caused her eyes to well with tears. “That must have been terrible for you.”
His little chin went up and he squared his thin shoulders. “But I'm all right now, though.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she agreed. Watching him put up a brave front, Lisette felt an aching in her heart for this child and wanted nothing more than to help him.
“Now it's only me and my mother left.”
“You must be a great comfort to her. Does she work?”
“Madame La Fleur let her go and she can't find work. I'm the man of the house now. So I need to earn money.”
“And that's why you wish to work here?”
“It's nice here.” He nodded his little head, adding softly, “You're nice.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You're nice, too.” She pulled a high stool around to the front of the counter and motioned for him to sit there. Moving another stool beside it, she quickly retrieved a small copybook from behind the counter. She sat next to him and opened the copybook.
“In order to read, you have to know your letters,” she explained. “Do you know your letters?”
“Some of them. Just the first couple of ones. My ma tried to teach me, but she's not so good at reading either.” He paused. “I know my numbers, though.”
“Good! That's wonderful, because numbers are very important, too. How about we first start with your name?” With her neat hand, Lisette printed “Tom Alcott” on the first page of the copybook. “Now this is your book, with your name on it.”
“That's my name?” His eyes moved from the page of the book to her face and back to the book. And back to her face. He smiled in wonder.
The boy had the most amazing smile. He could light the room with the warmth of his smile.
“Are you an angel?” he asked, his voice filled with awe.
“No.” Lisette laughed lightly. “No, I'm just a lady who wishes to help. If you come back after Christmas, I will have some work for you to do and we'll have a little reading lesson together. And I will give you a few shillings to start. Will you come?”
Reverently he ran a dirty finger over the letters and nodded. “It really says my name right there? Tom Alcott?”
“Yes. Maybe next time we can learn Thomas Alcott,” she suggested.
“Thomas Francis Alcott sounds more grand.”
“Most definitely.” She smiled, but bit her lip to keep from laughing at his endearing self-importance. “I have a fondness for the name âThomas.' It was my father's name.”
“I like knowing that.” Another grin spread across his face. “Can I keep the book?”
“Yes, absolutely, Thomas Francis Alcott. It's yours.”
“My ma will like this,” he said softly. “And now I can earn a wage and learn my letters. She's been wanting me to learn to read for my whole life.”
“Your mother sounds like a very smart woman, Tom. Why don't you bring her here with you when you come, too? I would like to meet her.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed, full of suspicion.
“Because it would be nice to meet her. I like you, so I would think that I would like your mother. Perhaps we could find a position for her at the bookshop, too, if she wishes.”
“I'll bring her,” Tom agreed immediately. “I think she'd like very much that I was working here for you, and if she could work here, too, I'd think we were both in heaven.”
Hesitantly Tom picked up the pencil and with a shaky hand copied his name with great care and concentration. When he finished, he glanced up at her with his face full of questionable and hopeful pride. It was a fair first attempt and Lisette was pleased by his promise.
“Why, Tom, that's wonderful!”
“I'm smarter than most boys,” he said, beaming with satisfaction. “You won't regret hiring me, miss.”
Lisette, a lump forming in her throat, could barely get the words out. “I don't think I will ever regret hiring you, Tom Alcott.”
A heavy knock on the shop door caused them both to glance up, startled by the intrusion. Quick as a wink, Tom slipped off the stool and raced to the door. He opened it a crack and peered out. Lisette watched him, impressed that he was so quick to work.
“It's some fancy gent. Isn't the store closed now?” he called back to her. “Should I let him in?”
Touched by his protective nature, she looked on in amusement. “Ask who it is first.”
“Who is it?” he barked. Then, “I work for Miss Hamilton.”
Lisette could hear a male voice outside but couldn't distinguish what was being said. Thrilled by her progress with Tom, she smiled. She liked the boy. It was apparent that he had a good heart and an eager willingness to learn and better himself.
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