Little Shoes and Mistletoe

by Sally Laity

  Once during the ride homeward, he’d even caught the shimmer of tears in those wide blue eyes of hers, though she’d pretended a smattering of snowflakes had stung her face on a gust of wind. Micah sensed that the immigrants now had another concerned ally on their side, and a very beautiful one, at that.

  With chagrin, he willed his thoughts to Anabelle, suffering through a cold, her pert nose pink and puffy, her eyes watery, sipping endless cups of tea laced with glycerine and honey to soothe her sore throat. Micah had grown up knowing her. She’d been a part of his life for as far back as he could remember. They shared a multitude of each other’s secret dreams and fears and felt completely at ease with each other.

  If only she understood his calling.

  He had invited—all but begged—her to come with him upon occasion when he’d needed to drive to the tenements. But her constant refusals stopped just short of being adamant. Not only did Ana not wish to go there, she was just as determined about him finding some new line of work. Eventually he’d given up asking.

  Every night he prayed with renewed fervor that she would have a change of heart, become burdened for the sad, never-ending stream of America’s newcomers and share in his ministrations to them. How else would their marriage last? Until he was convinced that his life’s work would not cause strife between them, he was in no hurry to take that step.

  Realizing that his eyelids had grown heavy, Micah slowly filled his lungs and rolled over, nuzzling into the warmth of his own blankets as remembrances of this day’s most pleasant companion crept into his thoughts. Again.

  ❧

  “My goodness, but you’re quiet this morning.” Aunt Phoebe’s voice came from across the breakfast table.

  Eliza became aware that she had yet to take a sip of coffee from the cup she’d been holding for who knew how long. “Sorry, Auntie. I suppose my thoughts were occupied elsewhere.” Sampling the now-lukewarm liquid, she set it down and took up a square of toast, spreading on a thin coating of marmalade.

  “Elsewhere. I see.” The older woman’s discerning blue gaze didn’t miss much. “Considering you’ve been like this ever since you returned late yesterday afternoon, it must have something to do with that ‘errand of mercy’ Micah took you on.”

  Eliza tried to smile but failed miserably as her eyes filled with tears. “You have no idea how those poor people live, Aunt Phoebe. If you could just see the shabby hovels they are forced to call their homes, smell the filth, listen to the hopeless crying of children. It’s far more than I can bear. Especially—” About to blurt out a bold remark about their own overabundance of blessings, she bit her lips and averted her gaze to her toast once again.

  “Oh, but I have seen some of what you experienced, child,” her aunt said softly. “Up until it became difficult for me to get around the way I could in my younger years, I was far more active in acts of benevolence. Personally, I might add.”

  The news surprised Eliza and also filled her with remorse. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. But don’t you find yourself wishing you could do more? I mean, here we are, living in this grand old home, just the two of us, when not so very far away there are needy folks who exist with practically nothing. And more of them, it seems, arriving every week.”

  “Yes, it is a shocking reality. Which is why, even I, an old woman, endeavor to keep contributing all the funds this shop brings in. Little as it is, it’s the best the Lord has enabled me to provide at this time in my life.” Her aged face gentled with a wistful smile. “Truth is, I’d love to wrap up in a warm shawl and pull the rocker up close to the hearth for the simple joy of basking in ease. But as soon as I did that, we’d run out of stationery or hankies or scarves or some other item that brings in money I wouldn’t have otherwise. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Eliza nodded. She had misjudged this kind relative and could only hope she hadn’t hurt her as well. Coupled with the distress she’d felt ever since yesterday, it made it even harder to contain her unshed tears. “Please, forgive me for speaking out of turn. This is just so completely new to me that I’m having trouble dealing with all the emotions I’m feeling inside.”

  “I know, dear. How it must grieve the very heart of God to witness the often needless suffering of those unfortunates. I believe that must be why He lays the burden on the occasional younger, stalwart heart, like Micah Richmond. Through that sensitive man and others of similar character He is able to accomplish much more than we can ever realize to alleviate some of the woes of the poor.”

  Eliza chewed the last bite of toast in thought. Yes, Micah had a personal hand in what she now viewed as an incredible ministry. Never had she met such an unselfish, giving young man. Anabelle was truly fortunate to know she would one day wed such a champion of the downtrodden.

  Champion. For all his advantaged upbringing, he had no qualms about picking up and hugging a dirty, ragged child. On the contrary, little ones ran to him with their arms outstretched, their eyes shining with adoration. It made quite a picture. . .one Eliza did not expect would ever completely fade from her most priceless memories.

  Then, conscious that harboring such notions about her best friend’s fiancО was bordering on betrayal, Eliza purposely pushed all thought of Micah Richmond from her consciousness.

  As she had a thousand times since yesterday.

  ❧

  “Splendid!” Anabelle turned away slightly to dispose of her sniffles in her handkerchief before replacing it in the pocket of her indigo skirt. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “Yes, an hour a day actually.” Eliza rested her fingertips lightly on the ivory keys. “I’ve been committing to memory those pieces you loaned me on Sunday.”

  “And it shows. Well, my friend, all I can say is that if you continue to keep at it, I’ll not be of much use as your teacher. After all, this skill is acquired through diligence and single-mindedness.”

  “I know. Practice, practice, practice,” Eliza said wryly. “Seems I’ve heard that before. But somehow, I don’t seem to mind it now as I did when I was young and flighty. I’ve even enjoyed the scales, tiresome as I once thought them to be.” She began at the beginning again, playing smoothly through the piece. The lilting melody resonated back from the papered walls of the sitting room.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anabelle tuck her chin. “Were you very flighty? I find that hard to imagine. You’ve appeared so serious since you came here to live.”

  Thinking back on her arrival, not to mention the reasons for her hasty departure from Harrisburg, Eliza could only agree. “Well, I hope I haven’t put you off with my dreary moods.”

  “Not at all. I haven’t found you to be moody in the least. That word is better used to describe Micah these days.”

  Eliza’s fingers fumbled on a chord, and she stopped and turned to Anabelle. “He hasn’t struck me that way at all.”

  Recognition dawned on Anabelle’s fragile features, and her brows arched higher. “Oh, yes. He told me he implored you to accompany him on his errand of mercy yesterday afternoon.” She shuddered, and her jade eyes took on a pained look. “How you could subject yourself to go among those ragamuffins is a mystery. I could never do that. Never.”

  Observing her friend’s dark expression, Eliza could not bite back the urge to speak out in Micah’s defense. “I, too, looked upon the occasion with dread, almost regretting that I’d allowed him to persuade me. But once we reached the tenements and I actually saw the horrors those poor families suffer every day of their lives, I could not help but be moved to tears. They so need someone who cares, which Micah does most admirably. You’d have been extremely proud of him, Anabelle, the way he reaches out to them and makes them feel important.”

  “Indeed. Well, the fact is, he’s not the only kindhearted soul who looks after their needs. He’s just the one who seems to draw his very life’s breath from doing so.” Ana gave a huff of consternation.
“I do sorely wish he’d pass that burden on to someone else.” Shuffling determinedly through some music sheets in her tote, she drew one out. “Here, try this. It’s becoming quite the rage.”

  “Sweet Songbird of Love.” Eliza perused the title as she tried to dismiss Anabelle’s criticism of her fiancО. “Do you know the lyrics? I’ll play it through once, and then you can sing as I go over it again.”

  Ana shook her head, her golden pompadour moving slightly with the motion. “Just play it, Eliza. I’m afraid I haven’t much of a voice just yet.”

  “Oh. Of course. You’re looking so well, I forgot you’re still recovering from a cold.”

  Aunt Phoebe breezed into the room just then, bearing a silver tray with tea and cakes. “I thought you might enjoy some refreshments.”

  “Why, thank you, Auntie.” Eliza rose and accepted the tray, placing it on a small, drop-leaf table by the window. “Won’t you have some with us?”

  The older woman shifted her slight weight to her other foot. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. It’s pleasure enough to listen to the music drifting from here to the parlor. No sense in getting in the way of two young ladies who want to talk.”

  “We wouldn’t mind at all,” Anabelle assured her with a smile. “In fact, I’m sure we can prevail upon Eliza to play the new song I brought today.”

  ❧

  When at last the house had been locked for the night, the fires banked and curtains drawn, Eliza snuggled deeper into her fluffy bedding. The chilly air in her room hardly seemed noticeable as the blankets absorbed her warmth and multiplied it. Part of the heat radiating from me surely must come from my face, she thought in vexation. She had no right to be entertaining thoughts of Anabelle’s beau. Nevertheless, visions of Micah Richmond had come unbidden to her mind amazingly often today.

  He had reminded her so much of her own fiancО, Weston Elliot, when her aunt first introduced them. But Eliza couldn’t picture Weston showing such concern for immigrants—or for anyone else other than himself, for that matter. His strong, patrician features at times seemed carved in stone, whereas Micah’s possessed the ability to reflect an abundant range of emotions, depending on the moment. Weston would definitely frown upon that sort of spontaneity. Everything had to be kept to a strict schedule and work in precise order to suit him.

  What had she ever seen in that egotist in the first place?

  The question had come from nowhere, and Eliza gave herself a mental shake. Such ridiculous musings would be better spent if turned into prayers. So in the comfort of her warm bed, Eliza poured out her heart to God, trusting Him to make sense of the muddled ramblings of her overburdened mind as she lifted up two recently orphaned little girls in prayer.

  eight

  Despite a concentrated effort to occupy her every moment, Eliza found her thoughts returning time and again to the plight of Manhattan’s underprivileged inhabitants—particularly to Rosa and Gabriella. Their heartbreaking loss caused a wrenching memory from Eliza’s own past to surface. She’d been just a little child herself when her long-awaited baby sister fell prey to a fever and passed away in her infancy. A raft of girlish plans and dreams had been laid to rest with tiny Emily. But in her grief, Eliza had had loving mother arms to comfort her and dry her tears. She prayed that these two little ones would find solace with the kind friends who had taken them in.

  Returning her attention to the violets she’d been embroidering on the front of a tea cozy, Eliza cast a critical eye at several uneven stitches and released a ragged sigh.

  “Something troubling you, dear?” her aunt asked.

  Already clipping the threads to make them easier to remove, she grimaced. “I’m afraid my mind insists upon wandering. I’ll just have to redo this section.”

  The slight woman set her tatting on the lamp table beside her and got up. “Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been laboring for more than an hour already, and I was just thinking fondly of some hot tea.”

  Eliza lay the scissors and tea cozy down and rose also. “I’d say that’s a splendid idea. In fact, I’ll even go and prepare it. I’ll just be a moment.”

  “Thank you, dear. It does feel good to stretch these old legs a little after sitting for so long in one spot.” She took a few cautious steps to the nearby window and moved a curtain panel slightly to peer outside.

  Heading for the kitchen, it dawned on Eliza that her aunt’s movements had lacked their normal perkiness. Perhaps an extra log on the fire would help dispel some of the dampness brought by the stormy sky. She’d see to that on her return.

  The kettle on the back burner of the massive stove always retained a good supply of heat, so Eliza knew the water wouldn’t take long to boil. She moved it to a hotter front burner, then went to the cupboard to take down the tea things. Soon enough, she returned to the workroom bearing the refreshment tray.

  Just then, the doorbell trilled.

  “I’ll see to the customer, love,” the older woman said. “You sit and enjoy your tea. Don’t bother waiting for me.”

  Eliza nodded and watched after her aunt, noting the halting footsteps. The room did indeed seem chilly, so she crossed to the hearth and stoked up the fire, adding two small logs. On her way back, her gaze took in the dwindling supply of thread in the spool basket on the table between their chairs. With Aunt Phoebe occupied, it would take scarcely any time at all to run upstairs for more supplies before pouring the tea.

  When Eliza opened the door of the spare room on the second floor, cold air wafted toward her from its unheated confines. She quickly found the needed thread and slipped several spools into her apron pocket. Turning, she glanced around as she strode slowly toward the door. Such a shame, a nice bedroom like this sitting virtually empty. It was larger than the one common sleeping chamber in the Garibaldi apartment. Yes, a true shame.

  ❧

  “And so, dear friends,” Pastor Norman said, focusing his attention on the congregation of worshipers, “it behooves us to remember what this passage in Matthew chapter twenty-five is telling us. ‘I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink. . .’

  “As I studied these verses in preparation for today’s sermon, I saw something quite interesting. Something I would like to point out to you, as well. Notice, the Bible says it was the righteous who didn’t understand what Jesus was saying—the very people who are most apt to be conscious of doing service to God. The Lord had to explain the deeper meaning of His words to the people of His own flock. This is His answer: ‘Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ ”

  Peering up from the open Bible on his lap as the preacher droned on, Micah thought of scores of destitute folk he’d met since becoming associated with Child Placement. He had to admit that much was being done for them by a host of righ-teous people. Nevertheless, those efforts barely scratched the surface of what actually needed to be done. He couldn’t help wondering, if every person who truly wanted to serve God did as much as humanly possible to relieve the circumstances of the immigrants, would there still be such deep need?

  Even as he contemplated that question, Micah felt an even more disturbing one rise to the fore: Could he fault someone else, when he himself might not be doing as much as he possibly could? Perhaps his own efforts left much to be desired.

  “ ‘Unto one of the least of these my brethren,’ ” the minister was saying, his voice cutting across Micah’s musings, “ ‘ye have done it unto me. Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’ ”

  The man’s discerning eyes surveyed his audience. “Next time you are faced with an opportunity to do good to someone less fortunate, beloved, think back on this passage of Scripture. Remember that the service you render unto others is, in reality, service to Almighty God. Can you do less than make it your very best
?” He paused. “Let us bow in prayer.”

  ❧

  The pastor’s message rang a chord in Eliza’s heart as Ana-belle’s fingers rendered a quiet postlude to the departing church members. All she could think about was that spacious, almost empty room at Harper House, whose purpose was for nothing more than cast-off furniture, cartons of unused items, and a selection of sewing supplies. Wouldn’t it be of better service if occupied? Dare she even mention the notion to Aunt Phoebe?

  One look at the older woman’s pale countenance at the close of the service, and Eliza immediately dismissed all thought of the spare room as she moved nearer and placed an arm about the bony shoulders. “Are you not well this morning, Auntie?”

  She fluttered a veiny hand. “Oh, it’s probably just a chill. Once I get home and take a nice rest, I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself. You’ll see.”

  But Eliza had her doubts. Gently taking her aunt by the arm, she maneuvered the dear woman past the clusters of widowed friends who normally waylaid her to chat and led her aunt toward the entrance.

  “Good day, Eliza,” Micah said, coming alongside. “And to you, Mrs. Harper. Always nice to see some bright faces on such a gloomy day.”

  “Yes, hasn’t it been dreary of late?” Aunt Phoebe remarked, her voice lacking its usual vibrancy.

  Eliza watched concern register in the young man’s expression as he centered his attention on her aunt, then flicked a questioning glance to her.

  “I’m afraid Aunt Phoebe is feeling a bit under the weather. I’m taking her out to the buggy.”

  Without hesitation, he sprang to the opposite side and offered his arm. “Then I shall be honored to assist.” He steered them around the departing worshipers bidding good-bye to the pastor and pushed the door open with his free hand.