The Puppy and the Orphan

by Suzanne Lambert

  Cook popped into chapel to tell the children she had an enchanted wooden spoon that simply whizzed round the bowl to make cakes when they sang. The problem was, she told them, it was a very thick wall between the kitchen and the chapel. They would need to sing really loudly because the louder they sang the faster the spoon would spin round. Billy’s eyes, like those of all the other children, were wide and sparkled with images of an enchanted wooden spoon. Nancy smiled at Cook and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’ It was working at last. The Lord had answered her prayers.

  Nancy nodded at Sister Mary Joseph who hurried upstairs to take her place at the organ. ‘Now then, children, as loud as you can so that Cook can hear you sing.’ The organ boomed out the introduction to ‘Away in a Manger’ and the children began to sing.

  Cook’s heart was full of joy as she whipped up fairy cakes, but Nancy’s was sinking fast. Little Billy had opened his mouth to sing and Nancy almost held her breath. Nothing came out. He tried again, but still nothing happened. Little Billy Miller could not sing. It took all Nancy’s resolve not to rush forward to the altar and grab him in her arms. Instead she brought the practice to an end and hustled them all upstairs to the dining room to enjoy their cakes.

  Goodness knows how long Nancy stayed in the chapel afterwards, going over everything that had happened since Billy had arrived. ‘I’ve missed something, Lord,’ she prayed aloud. ‘I’ve tried my best, you know I have. It’s over to you now.’

  She stood up, smoothed her clothes and patted her hair. She walked down the aisle but stopped when she reached the door and turned once more to face the altar. ‘Don’t forget now. Send something to cheer him up.’

  As the chapel fell silent, the moon shone through the stained-glass windows on a lone figure sitting quietly in the darkness. Mother Superior looked up at the cross, but just as Billy had been unable to sing, she was unable to speak for the lump in her throat. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

  As the snow fell over Newcastle that night, and the stars continued to twinkle in a velvet sky, there was no way of knowing how all their prayers would be answered.

  The Doll’s House

  It had been a busy week and by eight a.m. on Christmas Eve Nancy felt worn to a frazzle. ‘Happy Christmas Eve,’ sang Sister Mary Joseph, bouncing into the dining room. ‘Ooh, who’s excited about Santa then?’ she said to the children.

  They all shouted at once.

  ‘Me! Me!’

  ‘Oh, I am, Sister.’

  ‘Hooray for Christmas.’

  ‘Santa’s coming! Santa’s coming!’

  ‘I’m going to ask for a doll’s house, Sister.’

  Nancy momentarily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Sister. I’ve only just in the last five minutes managed to calm them down enough to eat their breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, Nancy, come on now, surely you’re excited about Santa coming.’

  Nancy looked around the room at the excited children. She walked slowly to Sister Mary Joseph and placed her hands on her shoulders. ‘Santa swans in here to the children’s Christmas party, ho-ho-hoing, with a sack of presents to excite the children even more on Christmas Eve when, dear God, it’s hard enough to get them to sleep. The girls have all been wanting their hair plaited since six this morning, and the boys got out of control while I was trying to do it. We’re all late for breakfast, and you know how cross Cook can get. Now, Sister, if you can have a word with the big man and tell him to get here early, throw off his lovely red cloak, dress the children for the party, play with them and help out with the other million chores that have to be done today instead of swanning in and plonking himself down on a chair for an hour, I’ll be more than pleased to see him.’

  Sister Mary Joseph giggled. ‘Oh, Nancy.’

  ‘Never mind oh-Nancy. Here,’ she said, handing her a large serving spoon. ‘You serve breakfast while I calm them down.’

  Nancy usually loved Christmas Eve, full of promise and excitement, but Santa Claus arriving meant only one thing and her heart had sunk when she had been given the news. The nativity play, which was traditionally first performed on Christmas Eve, had taken place the night before and Nancy wasn’t pleased. She liked to stick to tradition and be organised. Still, the local company was giving the children a party and Nancy was not ungrateful. It was a wonderful idea, of course it was, except for the one thing nobody had thought of.

  All around the world children were whispering to Santa their hopes, wishes and dreams, and their parents would try their best to ensure their little ones had exactly what they wanted in the Christmas stockings hanging at the end of their beds. How could you do that for a nursery full of children? It was impossible. Nancy had spent many Christmas Eves at Nazareth House and knew that every child would want something different. She had tried hard over the years until she had come up with a solution. Each year she would go through the toys that arrived and pick out something quite special. She would then begin to place the idea in each child’s mind that ‘It would be wonderful to have a whatever-it-was’ from Santa. Usually it worked quite well. It was perhaps a little unfair, she supposed, but it would be worse for them to think Santa hadn’t sent what they had asked for.

  Two weeks ago Nancy had seen a big van coming down the driveway and wondered what on earth it could be. She’d hurried along the corridor and peered down the staircase to see what was going on. Mother Superior was making her way towards the oak door when she called, ‘Nancy, please don’t hang around on the staircase. Come down and see what treasures we are to receive today.’ It seemed Mother Superior, too, had eyes in the back of her head.

  Mother had received a telephone call earlier that day asking if donations of gifts could be dropped off for the children. When they arrived, the van driver and his mate were offered tea but graciously declined. ‘Just happy to bring these along,’ they said, and Mother thanked them. She never ceased to be amazed at people’s generosity. Nancy and she between them carried all the boxes into the parlour but the last was too heavy so old Mr Bell, the caretaker, had been summoned.

  ‘What is it, do you think?’ Nancy had kept asking, as he pushed it into the middle of the parlour and began to open the box. Nancy and Mother stood together, almost holding their breath, as they waited. Mr Bell carefully sliced all around the top of the box until finally the sides fell down.

  Mother and Nancy gasped. It was the most beautiful doll’s house they had ever seen. Nancy dropped to her knees and Mother leaned forward to watch as Nancy held the tiny door handle and the house opened. The nuns by now had heard the commotion and were all hurrying across to the parlour and gathered around Nancy. There were gasps of ‘Oh!’, ‘How on earth do they make furniture so small?’, and ‘Oh, Nancy, look at the tiny beds! It’s just like the nursery.’

  Nancy simply sat staring at the most beautiful doll’s house in the world.

  There was silence as they all stood in the parlour, looking for all the world like they were frozen in time, until eventually Nancy sat back then turned to them. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I am absolutely lost for words.’

  ‘That must a first,’ said Mother Superior, and all the nuns burst out laughing.

  ‘And the last,’ said Nancy, laughing with them.

  ‘This is a wonderful day,’ she said to them all. Old Mr Bell was looking extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t like being in the parlour. He was asked to put the doll’s house somewhere safe until Christmas Eve and was relieved to get away.

  Nancy almost skipped up the stairs. This would be the special present that the children could ask Santa for, she thought, and straight away began to plant the idea in their heads. Over the next few days she told the children stories about doll’s houses, the tiny beds and other furniture just like theirs, and waited. Eventually, it was Martha who said, ‘Ooh, Aunty Nancy, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Santa brought us a doll’s house?’

  The children all began to agree at once. ‘Like the one in the story you told us,’ they said. ‘Tell it agai
n.’

  Nancy was extremely pleased with herself. After story time she leaned forward and said to the children, ‘You know, there is only one way I can think of that we could get a doll’s house in the nursery for Christmas.’

  ‘Tell us!’ they cried.

  ‘We need to get some paper and a pen and write a letter to Father Christmas asking for one. Shall we do that, children?’ The next couple of hours in the playroom went quickly as, first, Nancy wrote the letter and then the children covered themselves in glitter and glue as they made pictures to send to Santa with the letter. Nancy walked around the playroom, happy in the knowledge that this particular dream would come true for them. ‘We can ask Santa at the party for a doll’s house just to make sure,’ she said.

  Sister Mary Joseph smiled when she walked into the playroom and saw Nancy beaming from ear to ear, her bright blue eyes sparkling. ‘You look even happier than the children,’ she told Nancy.

  ‘Oh, I am, Sister,’ she replied. ‘Isn’t Christmas just wonderful?’

  ‘Aunty Nancy,’ Tommy shouted, from the corner, his arms folded.

  ‘Yes, darling,’ sang Nancy.

  ‘I don’t want a doll’s house. I want a bike.’

  Sister Mary Joseph and Nancy looked at each other in stunned silence, then slowly turned to Mother Superior, who was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Well, that’s wiped the smiles off your faces,’ she said.

  Old Mr Bell

  Nancy was not going to be beaten easily. Something would turn up.

  The very next day, Sister Theresa came hurrying along the corridor, calling Nancy’s name. ‘Come quickly! Come and see what has arrived! God has blessed us.’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Nancy said, steadfastly refusing to move from her room where, for once, she was enjoying a quiet moment and a cup of tea.

  ‘Come along, Nancy! Hurry!’ said Sister Theresa again.

  ‘What is the hurry, may I ask?’ Nancy said with a sigh.

  ‘We’ve had a delivery of second-hand toys.’

  Nancy ran along the corridor and down the stairs to where the pile of toys was lying in the middle of the parlour floor. All eyes were on Nancy as the nuns stood waiting to see what she would think.

  ‘Oh my,’ was all Nancy could think of to say.

  There, in the centre of the room, were two old wooden children’s bicycles.

  The nuns turned when they heard Sister Mary Joseph coming down the stairs.

  ‘I’ve heard all about it! Oh, is that it? Nancy, where did they come from?’

  ‘Some scrapyard, I imagine, Sister. What do you say, Mother?’

  ‘Well, they are just a little battered, Nancy.’

  ‘A little bit battered, Mother! Battered, bruised and broken would be a better description. Please will somebody tell me what in God’s name I’m supposed to do with them?’ Nancy had to give the Lord credit. She had prayed for a bike. But these were not quite what she’d had in mind.

  The nuns all looked at each other but nobody had any answers. ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake!’ Nancy said, exasperated, and had to be reminded that she was in the nuns’ parlour.

  ‘Peace and order, Nancy.’ Mother smiled, but suddenly Nancy was gone. Mother hurried to the window and watched her running up the driveway to disappear into the wood. She sighed. They would all simply wait for her return. How she loved Nancy. A force to be reckoned with – and sometimes, she had to admit, difficult to handle, yet she had managed to weave her way into the hearts of everyone at the orphanage, most especially the children. It was always all about the children, Mother knew that, which was why she forgave Nancy so much. Just a short while later Mother watched Nancy currying back down the driveway, then enter the parlour with a huge grin. ‘All in order,’ she said, a little out of breath.

  A few moments later Mr Bell shuffled in, as usual looking most uncomfortable at being in the nuns’ quarters. He liked his cottage and the grounds. He had a little workshop there and saw no need to go to the big house unless some maintenance task was needed.

  Nancy pointed at the bicycles. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

  Mr Bell grunted. He folded his arms and stared at the two battered objects.

  A few more minutes passed and Nancy was getting fed up. ‘Well?’ she said again.

  There was still no answer. Mr Bell continued to stare at the bikes. Mother gave her a warning look. Except for the tick-tick-tick of the hallway clock there was utter silence in the parlour as they all stared at the broken second-hand bikes. Mother jumped and Nancy let out a little squeal when suddenly Mr Bell leaned forward, grabbed the bicycles and marched across the parlour and out of the door a bike in each hand.

  ‘Well I never,’ said Mother.

  ‘All will be well now, I think,’ said Nancy, and returned to the nursery.

  Old Mr Bell’s cottage, with a weathervane on the roof, was behind the wooded area that ran down the left-hand side of the driveway. Nobody could say how long he had lived there or what his own story was because he had never told them. There was sadness in his brown eyes, yet there was a kindness and gentleness too. There was nothing Mr Bell couldn’t fix. The heating system at Nazareth House ran perfectly, and he would mend broken pots, burned pans, anything electrical, and replace tiles on the roof. He dealt with frozen pipes, too. His cottage had no central heating but he had a roaring coal fire in his living room and another in the bedroom. In the kitchen, he would put his oven on to heat the place up. His favourite place to sit was in front of the living-room fire with his boots off and his feet on the hearth as the flames crackled. Then he would listen to his wireless and light his pipe. There was a photograph of a young child on the mantelpiece and sometimes he would stare at it for hours before drifting off to sleep.

  For three days nobody saw or heard from him, and Nancy was losing patience. She had knocked on the door more than once but old Mr Bell had ignored her. Nancy was in the garden getting a little fresh air one day when she saw smoke billowing from his chimney. He must be so lonely, she thought, yet he never sought company. Suddenly, his door opened and, seeing her, he beckoned. At last, she thought, hurrying over to the cottage. ‘Do I come in?’ she called. Mr Bell stood aside.

  ‘I will take that as a yes then,’ Nancy said, and for the first time she stepped into Mr Bell’s home. He gestured towards the living room and followed her. Nancy went in – and there they were. Her eyes filled with tears and for the second time in a week she was unable to speak. Together, side by side, Nancy and Mr Bell stood in front of his fire, and in the light of the flames there stood two of the most beautiful bright blue wooden bikes. Not only had he fixed them, he had also painted them. He spoke suddenly. ‘Blue for boys,’ he said. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Nancy. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

  Nancy ran all the way down the driveway and burst into the parlour, breathless. ‘All in order, Nancy?’ Mother asked.

  Nancy’s smile said it all.

  ‘Thank you, Lord,’ she whispered. ‘Now, about little Billy …’

  Nancy went back to the nursery to continue with the party and Christmas preparations. All was going well yet something was nagging at the back of her mind and she simply couldn’t think what it was. Then she stopped what she was doing. ‘Well now,’ she said to herself. ‘I wonder who that child in the photograph was on Mr Bell’s mantelpiece. There’s a story there, no doubt.’ But Nancy felt it would be too intrusive to ask. ‘Well now, I wonder,’ she whispered again.

  Santa Comes to Town

  Christmas Eve dawned and somehow Nancy had the children all washed, dressed and ready before the party started at three o’clock.

  It had been a long day for the children, who were now beyond excited at the thought of jelly and ice cream, as well as a visit from Santa Claus. Even Billy was smiling and seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Earlier that day cars had arrived laden with toys, games and prizes for the children, and Nancy had helped to sort them out for th
e girls and boys. The party was to be held in the large juniors’ room downstairs and Santa’s grotto was in one corner covered with tinsel and red paper. Cook had been up since five, making cakes, jelly and sandwiches for the children, and at three o’clock, when Nancy came to see how she was getting on, she was in a state of collapse. ‘Oh, Cook,’ Nancy said, laughing, ‘you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Cook replied. ‘Says the woman standing in front of me with red tissue sticking to her shoe, covered in glitter, and I do believe that’s a piece of jam on your cardigan.’ They looked at each other and burst out laughing. ‘Take the food and get out,’ said Cook, throwing a tea towel at Nancy.

  By the time Nancy returned to the room the children from the junior department and the nursery were all there and the madness and mayhem were in full swing. The people who had arranged the party were running round in circles, trying to keep some sort of order. Nancy thought it was hilarious and went to sit at the table with Mother Superior and the nuns. A slice of cake and a cup of tea while they watched the children have the time of their lives: what a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.

  Most of the party games were a great success, but persuading the children to sit in a circle for Pass the Parcel was not. Nancy had to intervene. ‘Really, children!’ she exclaimed. ‘Circle now.’ The children all sat down.

  ‘How does she do it?’ Sister Mary Joseph whispered.

  ‘No idea,’ said Mother, smiling.

  At four thirty the children were told Santa was on his way but they had to sit very quietly or he wouldn’t come. There wasn’t a sound in the room and every eye was on the door. Mother took Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. The children sat completely still, their eyes as big as saucers. This was Christmas magic at its best. ‘You see, Nancy?’ Mother said. ‘Maybe having the party on Christmas Eve wasn’t such a bad idea after all.’