by L G Rollins
At the sight, Martha cupped her hands over her mouth.
“Martha, dearest, I was blessed beyond measure the day you interrupted my moment of peace, here, in the church house. I have learned from you, I have grown for knowing you, and I—never want to go back to who I was. I never want to go back to a life without you.” He scooped both her hands up, cradling them in his own. “Please, loveliest Martha, would you consent to be my wife?”
Martha’s eyes began to fill with tears, but her smile radiated through them. “You want me to be the next Duchess of Pembroke? A woman so poor she had to accept work as a maid and perform in the streets just to keep the house warm?”
“I can think of no one better for the position than a lady who is willing to work hard for those she loves. But I’m not interested in marrying you just so there’s a Duchess of Pembroke again. I want to marry you b-b-because I love you.”
“Oh, Hugh.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself closer to him. She kissed his cheek, then his forehead.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes! Absolutely, yes.”
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her up with him as he stood. He returned her kisses fervently and wholeheartedly. All the years of loneliness—as Tim had so aptly labeled them—melted away, the years of uncertainty and worry fading into nothingness behind them. It was him and her and the promise to always be there for the other.
A vow to face life side by side.
Chapter Twenty-Five
5 Years Later
Jan 10, 1818
Martha pulled on her new pelisse. It had been a Christmas gift from Hugh. Warm and thick, it felt divine. She never would have dreamed, all those years ago, that she would enjoy a future of such comfort. Through the tall mirror before her, Martha caught sight of Hugh and smiled at him.
Then she scowled. “You aren’t half dressed yet. We are expected at the church house in a quarter of an hour.”
Hugh walked up behind her, looping his arms around her waist and bending low to kiss her just below the ear. “I’ve been distracted.”
Martha giggled, then swatted him away. “Don’t blame me. You should have gotten up when I did.”
“Oh, I completely blame you.” He kissed her again and then moved off to get ready.
Martha watched her husband retreat into his dressing room, allowing a smile to spread across her lips. Life had certainly turned out far better than she’d once imagined. Not that they hadn’t had their share of struggles, but facing them together, nothing could destroy their family or their happiness.
A knock came from the door. Martha moved from the bedchamber, through the sitting room, and pulled the door to the corridor open.
The sight she beheld fully shocked Martha. Not only was Peter standing there, ready for services, but so was Tim. Martha moved into the corridor and shut the door behind her.
“All right, boys, what have you done?”
They exchanged glances, but it was Tim who spoke first. “What makes you think we’ve done anything?”
Peter, now eighteen and very nearly a grown man, seemed to be silently willing Tim to keep quiet.
Martha kept her expression firm—she couldn’t have them realizing she was in a nostalgic mood this morning or they might mistakenly believe they didn’t have to tell her whatever it was they’d done. “You two are never ready to attend church on time. This”—she pointed to their fine clothes and well-set hair—“only leads me to believe you wanted us to hurry off before the housekeeper or one of the maids tattles on you.”
Peter’s mouth pressed into a tight line; he looked so much like their father when he did that. A longing for her lost parents welled up in her, but it was more sweet than bitter. She still had her brothers, her grandfather, her husband, and even a daughter, Sarah. She could trust that her parents weren’t so very far away, either, even if she couldn’t see or talk with them.
“What’s that weird look on your face?” Tim asked.
Martha shook her head and let her smile come out fully. Tim was on the cusp of manhood as well, though he still had some growing to do if he was ever going to catch up to Peter.
“I was only thinking,” Martha said, “how blessed we all are to have one another.”
“Boys!” The angry sound of the housekeeper echoed down the corridor.
Both Tim and Peter visibly cringed at the sound. First one and then the other boy took small steps to the side.
Martha reached out and took hold of Tim’s shoulder and speared Peter with a scowl.
Both boys must have realized they weren’t going to be getting away and sighed in unison. Leaning toward his older brother, Tim whispered out the side of his mouth, “I doubt she’ll be feeling as blessed when she hears.”
Oh, dear heavens. Martha blew out a gentle breath and refrained from scowling harder.
The housekeeper came around the corner, spotted them all, and marched toward them, Sarah on her hip. “You boys . . . this is the last straw.”
“I want mama,” Sarah cried. She wiggled out of the housekeeper’s arms even before they’d gotten close.
“What happened?” Martha asked as she reached out and scooped her little girl into her arms.
“They swapped out the canister of sugar for one filled with snakes.”
“Again?” Martha asked, shooting her brothers a look they wouldn’t soon forget.
The housekeeper nodded. “Gave dear old cook a heart attack, they did.”
Oh, gracious, what was she going to do about these two brothers of hers?
The door opened behind Martha and Hugh stepped up beside her. “We best hurry if w-w-we don’t want to be late.” He gave his superfine jacket a last tug, but as his gaze landed on Martha’s scowl, he froze. He took her in, as well as the housekeeper’s exasperated expression, and finally turned toward Tim and Peter.
“What did you two do—this time?”
“You’re always blaming us,” Tim declared.
Truly? That was his argument? That they shouldn’t be blamed when it was clear they’d done something wrong?
Martha shook her head and turned back to the housekeeper. “Please give Cook my sincerest apologizes and inform her that she shall have two helpers this afternoon and evening. They will be available to do her bidding for the rest of the day just as soon as we return from church services.”
Peter groaned loudly.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The housekeeper curtsied and then moved off.
“Do we have to?” Tim asked.
“Certainly,” Martha said, kissing little Sarah on the forehead.
“But I’m a man now,” Peter said. “You can’t expect me to work in the kitchen.”
Hugh’s heavy hand came down on Peter’s shoulder. Though Peter had surpassed Martha in height a couple of years back, he still hadn’t matched her husband.
“One is never too far above making amends,” Hugh said in his deep voice.
“I know,” Peter muttered. “Let’s just get to church already.”
Though he was nearly grown, there were still times when Peter looked just like a young, petulant boy. A rush of love for her whole family washed over Martha as they all began their walk toward the front door.
Life had truly turned out so very wonderfully.
Martha stood before her parent’s grave. Bending down, she placed a few flowers on top, ones Hugh had purchased from a local hothouse especially for her to leave here. Through the years, she’d come here so many times while sad or troubled. As of late, however, she found herself coming here because she was happy and wished her parents to know.
“Hello, Martha.” A woman’s voice drew Martha’s gaze up. A lady with auburn hair and many freckles across her nose stood not far off, wearing a dark green riding habit.
“Helena,” Martha said. She rushed over to her friend and embraced her tightly. Not long after marrying Hugh, she had learned whom the couple was she had encountered at Mr. Scrooge’s house that fateful Christmas Eve.
More still, they had both learned they were not the first to see Mr. Scrooge that night. Ever since, the three of them—Belle, Helena, and Martha—had become close friends.
“It has been far too long,” Martha said.
“Yes,” Helena agreed. “But I suppose that’s what happens when one’s husband decides the children need to see Germany.” She pulled back, the tight red ringlets forever framing her face bobbing cheerfully. “I must tell you all about the Tannenbaums we saw there. They were exquisite.”
No sooner had she said as much that Belle rounded the bend, her tiny James Jr cradled in her arms.
“Oh!” Helena squealed. “I told you both not to have any more babies while I was away.”
“Welcome back, Helena,” Belle said.
Helena reached for the tiny bundle and Belle handed her the little boy. James Jr was Belle’s second boy, and her husband could not be more proud.
Soon, husbands and children had all gathered around, happy to be together once again. More still, if Martha wasn’t mistaken, Peter—who had not seen Mary, Helena and Fredrick’s ward, in nearly two years—was far more happy to speak with her now than he ever had been in the past. The two were soon standing a little ways off, deep in conversation.
Tim and Helena’s boy, Jim, hurried off to throw snowballs at one another even as the husbands, too, moved a bit to the side, starting up their own conversation regarding Germany, travel during these modern times, and the like.
James Jr. began to squirm a bit. Helena moved him to her other arm, even while leaning in a bit toward Martha. “Will you look at that?” she asked, nodding toward Peter and her daughter. “I think they might fancy one another after all.”
“Young love can be as fast as it is insistent,” Belle added, taking her little boy who was growing insistent himself. “Just like this little one.”
“Perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interest for me to inquire if he is still planning to become England’s finest man of business?” Helena said.
“But of course,” Martha answered, pride growing inside her. “His skill with numbers has only improved these past few years, and so has his astute eye for opportunities.” He’d proven himself more than once. Especially where the development of the land they had bought from Sir Roberts was concerned.
“What a relief.” Helena let an overly dramatic sigh. “I won’t have to play the overly protective mother this time, then. Mary hates it when I do that.” The love in her voice was evident. “By the bye, when he’s gotten along in his education a bit more, do let me know. Several of my husband’s associates will be looking to employ someone new in the next while.”
Martha hardly knew what to say. “That is most generous.” For Peter to have something lined up for when he finished at University, it granted her much peace indeed.
Their conversation flowed comfortably to other matters: babies and neighbors, traveling excitements and the daily struggles of raising children.
It was Belle whose gaze first drifted toward the one grave site that drew them together more than any other.
“Why do you suppose he changed so?” she asked.
“Who knows,” Helena said.
Martha only shrugged. “Whatever it was, his reformation was complete.”
For a man who’d spent most of his life as a grouchy old miser, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge had surely made up for it these past several years. Now, hardly a day went by that someone wasn’t by his gravesite, visiting him despite the fact that he was no longer with them.
“And seemingly overnight,” Belle marveled.
Helena bumped Belle’s shoulder with her own. “Just like young love.”
At that moment, Belle’s oldest came toddling over to her with his arms raised.
“Are you done playing with papa?” she asked the little boy.
He nodded, his arms still high above his head, and made as though he wished to jump into his mother’s arms unaided.
“James, sweetheart,” Belle called out, “Come take your namesake.”
The man strode over and took little James Jr. even while calling over his shoulder, “I agree, I think the treaty will prove beneficial for both us and the Americans.” With his youngest son safely cradled in his arm, he returned to the other men.
Belle bent down and picked up her older boy. “Oh, you are growing again.”
Martha flicked a finger toward Tim. “Wait until they’re that size.” She nodded Peter’s direction. “Or even that size. Getting them to mind is a completely different matter when you can’t just pick them up and set them in the corner.”
“Oh,” Helena said, making faces at the little boy, “I still would take a baby in an instant, even knowing they would grow up into something gangly and dramatic.”
Martha’s smile was bittersweet. She knew that, while neither Mary nor Jim were Helena’s natural babies, she loved them as much as if they were her own children. Nonetheless, she’d prayed for a baby of her own for years.
Martha looped her arm over Helena’s shoulders. “Whatever you do, don’t lose faith in the future. You never know when something grand might be just around the corner.”
Belle, too, moved in closer. “And don’t give up hope. Your life may not unfold the way you foresee it. But, more likely, it will turn out better than you ever dreamed.”
Helena blinked several times. “How did I survive apart from you two for nearly two years?”
“And to think,” Martha said, “we have that stingy old miser to thank for bringing us together.”
“I guess we are just one of those ‘good things around the bend’ that none of us expected,” Belle added.
“Regardless,” Helena said, “thanks for reminding me to not neglect the joy of today.”
They had to part ways a few minutes later, as both Sarah and James Jr. were beginning to fuss. However, they promised to get together the next day for dinner followed by a long night of cards and laughter.
Hugh held Martha’s hand in his own as they walked back toward Stonewell Castle. It was such a peaceful morning, the kind that Martha wished would continue on and on and on.
“I’m so glad you fell asleep on that pew all those years ago.”
“As am I.”
“Though I can’t imagine how you managed such a thing. Those pews are hard.”
Hugh’s laugh was deep and rich. When he finally stopped, he reached over and took Sarah from Martha's arms and faced her more fully. “I am grateful every day that—we met that morning.”
Peter and Tim were several strides ahead, not yet having noticed that she and Hugh had paused in their walk home. Martha went up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly. “You are the peace I was needing in my life.”
He returned her kiss with an ardent one of his own. “And you are mine.”
Epilogue
Christmas Morning, 1813
Scrooge awoke. The blankets atop him were his own. The pillow beneath his head was familiar. He twisted in the bed and caught sight of his hand holding tightly to his bedpost. His bedpost.
Good heavens, but what a night he’d had.
Of all the silly things to imagine and dream up . . .
But, suppose it wasn’t a dream. At least, not all of it?
He searched back through his mind, trying to recall what had truly happened. He clearly remembered working hard all afternoon. His illness had begun with a sore throat and a bit of an ache behind his eyes. He’d ignored it though, pushing both himself and Bob Cratchit to continue working in the bitterly cold room. He’d even turned away two gentlemen who’d come knocking at his door asking for alms for the poor.
The memory didn’t fill him with the same satisfaction it had yesterday.
Scrooge pulled the blankets back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Blast these nights of little sleep. What had those people been thinking, visiting him in the middle of the night like that? Or, perhaps they hadn’t been real at all?
His memories were so hazy, so vague, he couldn’
t recall if actual people had come to call on him, or if he’d been the victim of three spirits.
If only the room would stop spinning, he might be able to sort it all out. Scrooge lay back down. There had been a gentle-speaking woman first. She’d reminded him of his Belle, the only woman he’d ever loved. She’d reminded him of more than just that, however. She’d also reminded him of all the hurt and pain of his childhood. He’d allowed those memories to fester for far too long.
Then, there was the lady with two children hidden under a man’s large greatcoat. Why the blazes had she been wearing a man’s greatcoat, and what had she been doing hiding children beneath it? Seemed more likely the woman had been a ghost come to haunt him after all. But the visiting hadn’t proven unpleasant. Scrooge couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so jolly.
The last time he was with Belle—that was when he’d felt so jolly.
Then there had been the final visitor. The one dressed all in black. Scrooge never did get a look at his face. But the horror at seeing him hadn’t left fully either. The man hadn’t spoken once, but had only pointed toward the hearth, toward the fire, as though to impress upon Scrooge exactly what sort of end he could expect.
Scrooge shivered. It had to have been a dream.
Or had it?
What if the visits had been real?
Scrooge blinked, his gaze taking in the cracked and peeling ceiling above him. What had he done with his life? What had he allowed himself to become? He’d blamed Belle’s leaving on her own fickleness. But such wasn’t true. He was to blame for that. He was to blame for all the loneliness and cold in his life.
Why had he insisted on shutting out the joy all around him? What had that gotten him? How many people might he have helped if only he’d looked beyond his counting book?
The tall dark man—or spectre, Scrooge still wasn’t sure—was clear in his message, wordless though it was.
Scrooge hadn’t attended church in decades, but he still remembered the small bit of bible teachings he’d received as a boy. He’d been set on this same path for years, for nearly the whole of his life.