"Good thought, Albert," said Tim. "We'll shall go consult this jeweler, and then go on to Hyde Park and see if anyone is skating today. I have a strong desire to walk in the snow and breathe the cold winter air. I've not had a day out in many months. London is all decked out in white, almost like a bride. Let us be her attendants today." Tim nodded at the boy, settled his scarf, secured his collar tightly about his neck and pulled on warm gloves. Albert watched him carefully, all the while trying to hide his own hands in the pockets of the coat. "Wait a moment. I believe there's another pair of gloves here in my pocket." He yanked them from his pocket and handed them to Albert. "We're off," he cried. "I shall follow you."
Albert moved ahead slowly, turning to see if the doctor was having any difficulty. The limp was not evident. The two winter comrades spent some minutes moving up Swallow Street and through Hanover Square. Both Tim and Albert perceived a newness in the color of the snow and the shape and texture of the trees against the smudged gray of London's December air.
They laughed at the birds who, caught in town in the bleakest season, still hopped around the frozen grass hopefully seeking a few insects or an incautious worm. They threw snowballs at one another tirelessly, and it was difficult to tell which of the boys was the younger of the two. Respite for the spirit it was, sorely needed by our young physician!
Albert felt a spreading warmth melting the ice of his anxiety for the young man, and young Doctor Timothy Cratchit could identify a nagging joyousness that seemed to shift the cumbersome burden of guilt and worry that he had carried for so long. Still laughing, covered with a fine dusting of snow, the young people moved out of the square to New Bond Street, brushing the lingering snow from their clothes as they dashed into the jeweler's snug little shop.
A charming bell signaled their entry into the brightly lit room, bringing a cheerful man, short and round of stature, to their aid. The proprietor of the shop smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Mr. Bentley here. How may I be of service to you, sir, this fine morning of Christmas Eve? I assume you are here on a matter of seasonal importance? Is this, perhaps, to be a Christmas gift for your lady, sir? I have unusual oddments that might please any lady and many fine brooches and gems."
At Tim's nod, he motioned them to a small alcove in the rear of the shop. "I have an especially fine selection of table ornaments and music boxes right here. Is this something that might interest you?" The jolly little merchant pointed to a lovely mahogany highboy, cleverly crafted with small shelves and little shining glass doors. Light played lovingly over the highly polished wood.
The cabinet was itself a work of art, and the treasures therein were, each and every one, of special delight to the eye. Colors were fresh and clear. Shapes were delicate though fluid. Little porcelain nosegays looked as if they were newly picked; tiny fair-haired milkmaids held miniature milking stools; small kittens eternally playing with colorful balls of yarn that might roll away at any moment; and little high-heeled boots with tiny crystalline bows that might support a lady's foot, silk clad and ready for a walk in the rose garden. Tim's eyes swept the shelves' enchanting offerings carefully and just as he began to turn away to the jewelry cases, he spotted the small figure of a young, auburn-haired girl, dressed in green and carrying a great sheaf of dew-spangled red roses. His thoughts immediately flashed to his first meeting with the lovely Julianne. He reached down for the exquisite figurine and took it up, holding it gently in his hands.
"It's this one, this one right here. I'll take this. Please find a very special case for it and wrap it beautifully," Tim exclaimed. "I shall need it for this evening's dinner. May I call for it later this afternoon?"
The proprietor smiled pleasantly. "Most certainly, sir, a very good choice. Had you realized that this is a music box? It plays `His Fairest Rose.' Your lady will be delighted. My boy will be pleased to deliver this, if you would prefer, about half past four?" Tim smiled back, pleased with his choice. He paid for the gift, arranged for its delivery and laughingly pushed Albert out the door before him.
"What a very pleasant shop, Albert! I thank you for taking me to it. Now, let's move on to Hyde Park and see if anyone is out sermonizing for our benefit." An hour spent in Hyde Park with another game of snow fights set the two friends up for several more hours of ambling around London, watching the people shopping and visiting, peering into various shop windows and stopping to give a penny or a sweet from Tim's prodigious coat pocket to all the children Tim and Albert met on their adventures that day. Criss-crossing the city, they finally found themselves on the steps of St. Paul's.
Laughing and talking, they heard the bells toll the hour, the sound rolling clearly above them in the cold air.
"I can't think where the time has gone," said Tim. "It's well past luncheon, and I'm suddenly very hungry. Let's go inside here for a few minutes, and then I believe we'll look for the Horn Coffee House and see if we can get a bite to eat and warm ourselves at the same time." Albert nodded. "Whatever you say, sir. I haven't had such a good time since I can't remember when. I'm following you now."
The two adventurers entered the great church slowly, letting its peace and serenity enfold them. No sound could be heard; the huge doors cut off all sense of the ebb and flow of human duty and responsibility. Here there was only a soft, time-stopping stillness, bound only to God and His almighty works and the peace of His servants. Tim and Albert sat unmoving, absorbing the silence and the smooth cessation of human movement until the cold began to penetrate to their bones.
Moving stiffly, reluctant to leave the silence, the friends eased themselves from their pew and quietly left the church, a soft peace settling on each. Standing back on the street, Tim held out his hand and spoke, "Thank you, Albert. You have been a kind friend and a considerate companion. I cannot think why you have given me such a gift, but I appreciate your company and your concern, and I intend to repay it with the finest of hot meals that the Horn can produce."
Standing tall and straight, Albert clasped the hand held out to him. "Mr. Cratchit," he said. "You're a good fellow, a kind gentleman, and I'm pleased to be called your friend. I can't say why I was drawn to you except for your kindness and the way you look out for the young ones. I think you're a man who has too much good to give away and too little to take in. You're going to be important to this old city, and I can't say it righter than that. I want to be here with you when you make your mark on good old London Town. I think we need you. And now I'll be thanking you for the honor of your acquaintance. It's done me good." Albert smiled his whole-faced smile and stepped back. "We're off."
With short steps and long, they paced themselves down the street, bowing and laughing with all who came across their path. Many smiled to see their progress, wondering if the two brothers had only just met again after many weeks apart. Their laughter kindled great family feeling in those who saw it and felt its influence.
The Old City chuckled to see them go and swept the gray shawl of winter over its head, sending dozens of last-minute shoppers and honest businessmen rapidly about their pleasurable and lawful duties.
The afternoon, saddened at its increasing age, bent its back to pull the cloak of night ever so slowly behind it. The light faded slightly to a gloomy haze. Lamps were lit all over the city and a clear, fulsome light illuminated streets and mews, shining with warmth and good cheer. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.
CHAPTER 4
IMAGES
Two hours later, the darkness wavering about them, the two adventurers left the coffee-house, warm and replete, heading for Tim's lodgings. As they rounded the corner to Swallow Street, they spotted a tall young fellow, heavily dressed against the cold, making his way across the street and obviously seeking the number of Tim's rooms. Must be the lad from the jeweler's, thought Albert.
"I'll see to it, sir," cried Albert bounding toward the young man. As Albert raced away, Tim stretched his arms and shook himself. Odd, he thought, I seem to feel less tired than I hav
e in many months. Albert must be good for me. Perhaps Dr. West could have a word with Lord Shaftesbury as to an apprenticeship for the boy. I wonder what we shall find under that huge overcoat and sturdy exterior?
He stared off into the deeply grayed skies of the late winter afternoon and blinked, his eyes puzzled. There had come into his inner eye a vision of Albert's sleeping form on the divan with a shadow-clad figure standing near him. He knew the figure for a woman although he had no real recollection of ever having seen or met her. The vision slipped into light and vanished. Tim shook his head and heard again the chime of a clock. No time, tick tock; no time, tick tock.
I wonder how that little lad fares who was taken ill of a – The thought was interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of himself, Albert and the delivery boy at the stairs to his rooms.
"I brought him to you, sir. I'd not be cheating a man of his rightful due. He brought the little box safe and sound." Albert grinned, the young lad grinned, and Tim, holding out a shilling to the shop's assistant, grinned as well.
"My thanks to you, young man, especially on this cold winter's day. Please tell your Mr. Bentley how very pleased I am and that he shall have my custom when next I need a special gift. He has wrapped the parcel even more beautifully than I expected. My thanks to you as well for such a timely delivery. Good day to you, young man." The youth, flipping the coin into the air, tipped his hat and strolled happily away.
"A Merry Christmas to you, sir. And thank you," he cried.
"A Merry Christmas," murmured Tim thoughtfully. "Why, this is Christmas Eve! We must go back to the shops, for I've claret to get for Dr. Nevins, Christmas punch and flowers for Mrs. Nevins, and while we're about it, we shall find a warm coat for you, one that fits properly. There is quite a bit to do yet this afternoon. Still and all, I must be at the Nevins home by half past seven sharp for Christmas Eve dinner so I will still have time to speak with Julianne and give her her Christmas gift. Let us be off." Tim paused expectantly.
Albert looked up anxiously into Tim's face. "Well, sir, if it's all the same to you, and if you're set on presenting me with a Christmas gift, as you call it, I'd rather have a new blanket to share with my brothers. They do get ever so cold these winter nights, and it just might do them good to have a warm time of it for once. I've done very well without a coat so far." Albert stopped a moment and wondered if he had exceeded the fragile bonds of their newly established friendship.
Looking down at the lad, Tim saw himself as a young boy, anxious for his family, protective of their well-being and trying to provide, in whatever way possible, for their comfort. He had faced a difficult time, aware of their needs and limited by his lameness and his ever-present crutch. He sympathized with the pride and understood even better the swallowing of it. It would never do to have Albert see this in his face, although he was sure Albert would understand in his turn. Tim cleared his throat, and cuffing Albert gently on the shoulder, announced, "I think Uncle Ebenezer's legacy might run very well to a new coat for you, new blankets for your brothers and a Christmas basket for your mother. We shall need a draper, a grocer, a fruiterer and a wine merchant. Do you know of such places within walking distance, or shall I call for a cab?"
Albert's face was a study in frowns. His frugal, practical instincts warred with his desire to ride in a cab like a real gentleman and with his upbringing to always speak the truth insofar as he knew it. He sighed heavily. Tim watched the inner struggle with courteous gravity.
"Well, sir, it's like this. I know where there's a grocer and a wine merchant, but I've no idea where to get fruit and don't even know what a draper might be. So I think we'll be walking a good bit."
To Albert's joy, Tim leaned out into the street and hailed a cab. Albert carefully assisted Tim into its velvet-lined interior and then hopped in himself, craning his neck to absorb every detail of this "one-of-a-kind" experience. It isn't cold in here, thought Albert, and it's ever so smooth and restful. Probably a good bit easier on the doctor's leg. It's no wonder he likes riding. Funny, too, how things have been different since I met him. Blankets, a coat and food for Mam! I wonder what happens next?"
Leaning forward to give directions to the driver, Tim found a rug which he pulled over their laps and settled back with a sigh.
"The driver knows where to take us, Albert, and says he will stay with us as long as we need him and escort us with the greatest dispatch. All will be accomplished in good time. It's nice to be out of the weather." Albert nodded blissfully, hoping the driver wouldn't go too fast after all.
With the willing help of their driver, the tall doctor and the small boy spent two hilarious hours shopping: examining, comparing and choosing their purchases with care. First came the claret for Dr. Nevins, a lovely vintage of deepest red; then a huge and extortionately expensive bouquet of hot house violets for Mrs. Nevins; Albert's woolen coat, heavy and well-lined against the chill of winter, ready for picking up after the rest of the shopping had been completed; two rich woolen blankets, lamb-soft, in brown and maroon; and finally, a huge white basket filled with a great ham, bread and cheeses, sugar and flour, fruits and cakes, and a large bottle of a clear white wine, nothing too rich except for the confections and cakes for the children. Unknown to Albert, Tim had added two small tins of sweets, two pairs of warm red mittens and two gray woolen mufflers. He had considered toys for the pleasure of Albert's young brothers but decided that food and warmth must prevail for now.
As he turned to ask Albert for the location of his lodgings, Tim noticed tears standing dangerously full in the boy's eyes. He immediately fumbled in his coat for his wallet, cleared his throat and asked if Albert would like to deliver this himself or have it delivered by the grocer's lad in time for Christmas tomorrow.
Albert, stunned with his great good fortune and Tim's overwhelming generosity, mumbled his thanks and gave his address to Tim.
"Best send it off to them today, sir, so they can have a Christmas feast tomorrow. They've never had anything delivered before; I just hope Mam's there when it's sent. That'll be quite a treat all in itself. I'm much obliged to you, sir, much obliged. You're a very kind gentleman, and I do thank you, for myself and Mam, too." Albert held out his hand. Tim shook it gravely and then leaned over to give the address to the shop's proprietor, whispering that it should all be tied up with a big red ribbon. Their business accomplished, the two males, one young and the other still young enough, made their way out onto the street and into the flow of warmly dressed, well-muffled Christmas shoppers.
"Well, it's a good day's work we've had here, young Albert. We must be getting back so that I may dress and attend the Nevins for dinner. You must come back with me for a meal that Mrs. Tompkins will bring you on a tray. Please stay until I return this evening. I shall have a few small jobs if you are interested in earning a bit, and then we shall talk about seeing to a proper future for you. But even before all that and with your permission, I have a errand for your attention, that of having coal and oil delivered after Christmas and hiring transport for tomorrow. For tonight I shall just hail a cab."
"I'm at your service, Mr. Cratchit. All shall be done as you like, and then what time shall I look for you tonight? Shall I wait for you at your rooms?"
"I shall be through at the Nevins at 9 o'clock, after which I shall stop at the hospital for a little while and then return home. Ask Mrs. Tompkins to let you in. Just a moment, let me give you my card with a note to her." Tim scrawled a message on the back of the card to his landlady, asking her to allow Albert entry to his rooms. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out several five pound notes which he gave to Albert. "Pay for the coal and oil, and the cab, and spend some on those sugar buns you talked about today. That should do it, Albert. Off with you now. Be sure you eat something." Tim waved, turned and headed back to Swallow Street, to Julianne's gift and his evening clothes. His step was firm and steady.
Albert glanced casually around to see if anyone had seen Tim give him the money for his errands. Sho
ving the notes deeper into his pocket, he moved slowly down the street, searching for the coal merchant's shop. In his happiness and an unusual feeling of well-being, Albert's perception was not as careful as in the past. Three brown-dressed young men, hard of eye and grim of countenance, converged from three corners of the crossroads and followed Albert into the crowd.
As Tim moved away from Albert, he reviewed the day , a day spent in the service of rest and giving. As he walked, he noticed people and shops and details of doors and buildings that he had passed many times but had never really seen. This city of London was a beautiful place even if it was not the kindest. As he tallied the columns of beauty and goodness, help and service to others, he thought again of Sir Henry's voice naming his faults and then of Julianne's lovely, intelligent eyes. Visions and images fought for pride-of-place in his mind and heart: his mother's hands; his father's hat and muffler; Uncle Ebenezer's smile, wide, benevolent and loving; Albert's small body, curled up on the divan, face turned blissfully toward the warmth of the fire; Drs. West and Jenner. Then came a big, wide ward filled with small cots upon which lay tiny children crying pathetically in their pain. Tim shook his head to push away the image and pulled his coat more closely about him. Big Ben struck the hour with a sonorous, solemn tolling. Noooo tiiiime. It's late. Noooo tiiiime. It's late.
I really must hurry, Tim thought, his heart racing and an anxious feeling gripping his stomach. I must go to Julianne's and then rush to the hospital. In his haste, he passed a woman, clad in mourning and knocked a package from her grasp.
The Very Name of Christmas Page 6