The Puppy and the Orphan

by Suzanne Lambert

  ‘Goodnight, God bless you, Oliver,’ she said.

  The Treasure Box

  The cottage in the wood fell silent – even the fire no longer crackled. There was still a cosy red glow from the embers, though, and the room was warm. Mr Bell’s bed was perfectly made, the corners tucked in tight for the first time ever. Every surface had been polished to a high shine, and the rugs had had a good beating. There was a whiff of baking soda, vinegar and soap in the air. It was important, Norah said, to ensure all germs were removed. Chances are when Norah walked purposefully through that door, her arms packed with every cleaning product known to man, the germs would have gone running for the hills before a cloth was even unpacked.

  Nancy, of course, had refused to let anybody touch Mr Bell’s belongings. ‘They’re private,’ she had said, horrified, when Norah had started opening cupboards. James Bell might be her brother, but this was Nazareth House and Nancy had no intention of letting her pry into his private life, sister or no sister.

  ‘I was looking for his treasure box, Nancy, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Treasure box?’ Nancy had wondered if Norah was making things up. She knew a nosy-parker when she saw one and didn’t like it at all. She thought Norah must have had a sad life and felt compassion for her but that did not mean she’d allow her to root through Mr Bell’s cupboards. Not in Nancy’s presence anyway.

  Norah had ignored her and continued to look around the room. ‘He was apparently muttering in his sleep, asking for his treasure box. I have no idea what he was talking about,’ she told Nancy.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to ask him now that he’s better, rather than to continue pulling cupboards apart?’ Nancy had replied.

  ‘I did ask him,’ she’d said haughtily, ‘but he said he had no idea what I was talking about.’

  ‘Then I rather think the best thing to do would be to stop looking, don’t you?’ Nancy had said with a stern look on her face that said I am not listening to any of this nonsense. Prying, that’s all she was doing.

  Now Nancy sighed. What on earth was going on? She had tried to be kind to Norah, but the woman she’d met today had been very different from the one she had talked to yesterday. Nancy decided not to mention their little talk. Norah obviously regretted taking Nancy into her confidence.

  When Nancy had done all she could, she walked around each of the rooms with Oliver at her side. Another thing Norah hadn’t been pleased about. ‘Hard to clean with a dog around,’ she’d said.

  ‘Then we will all have to try to clean a little harder,’ Nancy had replied.

  Nancy sighed as she walked round the little cottage by herself before she locked up for the night. She patted Oliver. ‘Honestly I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ she told him. ‘I usually have much more patience and understanding but you saved his life and you have more right than any single one of us to be here. Anyway, I will tell you a secret. Mr Bell is going to hate all the fuss that has been made. I have a feeling he won’t be best pleased. Really, Oliver, for goodness’ sake, she didn’t really think I would fall for the story about the treasure box. An excuse to pry, that’s all it was.’ Nancy burst out laughing, ‘How daft does she think I am?’

  Oliver suddenly raced into Mr Bell’s bedroom. ‘Where are you, Oliver? Come here this moment. I’m too tired for games,’ she added. Nancy found Oliver standing in front of Mr Bell’s bedside table, barking and pawing at the little drawer. ‘Leave that alone at once,’ Nancy shouted. ‘I didn’t let Norah look in there and I’m certainly not letting you pull it open.’ Oliver sat down in front of the dressing table and whimpered. He looked at Nancy, then back at the drawer. Nancy walked over. ‘What is it then?’ she said. Her fingers touched the handle on the drawer, and Oliver waited. Nancy shook her head. ‘Sorry, boy, it just isn’t right. Come along now.’

  Outside the cottage it was a clear night and the stars were shining brightly, which meant it was freezing cold around the grounds of Nazareth House. There was already a thick layer of frost everywhere making the little wood look like an enchanted forest. The weather vane on the roof of the cottage looked down upon the pretty scene.

  The moon shone down through the window and the moonbeams played round the dressing table that stood beside old Mr Bell’s bed. At the back of the drawer lay a small tin box. It had lain there for thirty-eight years, untouched. Nobody knew it was there, except, of course, for James Bell.

  He had never forgotten.

  Wholesome Muck

  ‘It was a heavy cold that had got onto his chest and affected his breathing,’ the doctor had said.

  Norah had called in to let them know it had been touch and go whether or not it would turn to pneumonia. He’d be in hospital for another couple of weeks at least but should be home for Christmas. ‘I’ll be popping into the cottage regularly from then on to make sure James eats properly,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Mother. ‘That is perfectly acceptable. If there is anything further that we can do, please just ask, Norah.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother. That’s very kind,’ she had said before leaving.

  Mother and Nancy stood together and watched Norah walk up the driveway. ‘Well, Mother,’ said Nancy, ‘shall we tell Cook that Norah’s popping in to make sure Mr Bell eats properly?’

  Mother looked appalled. ‘Not unless we want to cause the onset of World War Three,’ she said, smiling. ‘Come to chapel,’ she added.

  They chatted as they walked along. ‘I can hardly believe we’ll be decorating for Christmas next week,’ Nancy said. ‘I’ll be getting the nativity figures and crib down on Friday, with a whole new tub of glue.’

  Mother smiled. She had given up asking if Nancy would like a new set of figures. She knew quite well what the answer would be.

  ‘Can it really be a year since the children crept down and stole the straw for Oliver? It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Nancy marvelled.

  ‘It does seem to have been an eventful year, Nancy,’ Mother agreed. ‘Maybe this Christmas …’

  ‘Oooooh, Mother, don’t say it, please don’t say another word. Let’s not tempt providence, shall we? Every time I say all is well, He sends us another challenge.’

  ‘Likes to keep us on our toes,’ Mother said, smiling at Nancy.

  ‘Well, my toes are getting awfully tired, Mother,’ Nancy laughed.

  They made their way up the aisle and knelt at the altar, then went to the candles and lit one each, silently saying their own prayers. After a little while they sat on the front pew and Nancy closed her eyes. What a difficult few days it had been. Her heart had hurt when Norah had told her Mr Bell’s story. Nancy discovered that she could never refer to him as James, it felt really strange to call him that. Let him be home for Christmas, she prayed.

  Nancy’s prayer was answered: on 18 December Mr Bell was to be brought home. Norah had been in the cottage again, scrubbing and polishing. ‘She’ll wear the furniture away if she does much more,’ Nancy had whispered to Sister Mary Joseph. Mr Bell wouldn’t like it one little bit and Oliver didn’t like the new smells at all.

  A strange smell was coming from the kitchen. Nancy went in to investigate. Some sort of stew, she thought, and lifted the lid of the pan to have a look. She nearly dropped it when Norah came up behind her and asked what she was doing. ‘Just looking. It smells … erm, lovely,’ Nancy said hastily, trying hard not to wrinkle her nose.

  ‘It’s a healthy stew, full of goodness, just what he needs. Times are hard but it’s the best I can do. It’s got all the things in it he needs to get better. Just make sure he eats it,’ she told Nancy.

  Nancy said nothing; she did not hold with telling lies. She muttered something about seeing to Oliver and left the room. ‘Is the dog staying?’ Norah called.

  Nancy stopped in her tracks. She paused for a moment, then walked back into the kitchen and for the first time Norah saw a steely look in Nancy’s eyes. The look that said, ‘Do not mess with me.’ Nancy looked Norah in the eye.
‘Yes, Norah, Oliver will be staying. Let’s remember, shall we, that if it wasn’t for “the dog” your brother might not be coming home tomorrow.’ Then she busied herself with the fire. Anybody who knew Nancy well would see through the smile on her face and run for cover.

  By late afternoon Norah had decided there was no more to be done and thanked Nancy for all her help. Once she had gone, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief, then took Oliver for a walk in the woods. They were just about to go back inside when she heard Cook calling her. She was puffing up the driveway carrying what seemed to be half a dozen pots of food on a large tray. ‘Heavens above,’ Nancy shouted, hurrying down the driveway. ‘Stay where you are.’ Nancy reached her just in time to grab the pot balancing on the top and together they walked to the cottage. Once they were through the door, Nancy suddenly realised she would have to keep Cook out of the kitchen and led the way into the living room. ‘Let’s put them by the fire. It will keep them warm.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nancy. He isn’t coming home until tomorrow. Do you want to poison him?’

  ‘Maybe we should leave them outside then. Keep them cool.’

  ‘Nancy, have you totally taken leave of your senses? Why in all that is holy would I leave them outside? His larder is quite cold enough to keep the food fresh until tomorrow. He’ll need good wholesome food as soon as he returns.’

  With that, Cook marched into the kitchen and Nancy stayed where she was. Oh dear, she thought, her shoulders sagging. She waited. Yes, there it was.

  ‘Nancy Harmer! What in God’s name is this muck?’

  ‘Now, Cook, I can explain.’

  ‘Who left this muck, have you smelt it?’

  ‘I have, Cook.’

  ‘And yet it’s still sitting on the stove.’

  ‘Now, Cook, listen to me. His sister Norah brought it. She wanted to ensure he got some proper wholesome food when he came home.’ Oh dear Holy God in Heaven, did I just say that? thought Nancy and waited for the onslaught.

  ‘And what exactly, Nancy Harmer, do you imagine this is? I have been sweating all day cooking it. In case you wondered, this is proper wholesome food at its best. This rubbish over here is muck. Do you hear me? Muck.’

  By this time Cook was red in the face and shouting. Nancy thought it was absolutely hilarious and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Cook, you are funny! Of course it’s muck. I was going to throw it away. I knew you would have thought ahead and made something wonderful for him.’

  Cook was looking mollified. She looked at the offensive pan and lifted the lid, ‘Dear Lord in Heaven. I wouldn’t even give it to Oliver.’

  ‘Let’s get rid of it and put your dishes in the larder, then I will make us a nice cup of tea and we can sit by the fire for a little while,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Best idea you’ve had all day,’ Cook said, as she began getting rid of the offending muck.

  A little while later, as they sat together enjoying a cuppa, Nancy told Cook Mr Bell’s story. Cook had to dab the edge of her eyes many times during the story. ‘I never knew,’ she said, shaking her head sadly. ‘So his birthday is Christmas Eve, is it? she said looking into the fire. Well, you know what we’ll need, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Cook, could you?’ Nancy said, knowing exactly what she meant.

  ‘I can do anything I put my mind to, just like you, Nancy,’ Cook said. ‘We’re quite a twosome, you and me.’ Then she roared with laughter before asking what his favourite colour was.

  Nancy shook her head. ‘Favourite colour, Cook, he has been here thirty-eight years and I have only just found out what his first name is and the date of his birthday. Oh, Cook, tell me you are planning what I think you are.’ Nancy watched Cook, knowing she was loving every moment of this. ‘Rationing, though.’

  ‘Don’t tell me about rationing!’ Here we go again, Nancy smiled. This was Cook’s favourite rant even though the war had been over for years. ‘If I want to make a cake it will be a spectacular one. Nobody will tell me what I can and can’t have. It will be a sponge, my lightest ever. It will have buttercream icing and jam in the middle.’

  ‘Mmmmmm, will you dust the top with icing sugar, like the last one?’ Nancy licked her lips in anticipation.

  ‘No, Nancy, I will most definitely not. I shall make proper icing and then you know what I will do?’ Cook was thoroughly enjoying herself and Nancy was loving it.

  ‘Come on then, tell me what you’ll do that is so special.’

  ‘I shall put “Happy Birthday” on the top and …’ there was a pause for effect ‘… I shall then put his name on.’

  Nancy was about to say how wonderful that was, then stopped.

  ‘What’s wrong, Nancy?’

  ‘It sounds wonderful … except won’t that be a bit much? “Happy Birthday, Mr Bell”.’

  ‘You told me his name’s James.’

  ‘It is, but …’

  ‘ “Happy Birthday, James” … Oh, I see what you mean. “Mr Bell” is too formal for a birthday cake but you’re uncomfortable with calling him James.’

  The two friends sat either side of the fire pondering this dilemma. Oliver was asleep, curled up warm and cosy.

  ‘Nancy! I’ve got it.’

  ‘How wonderful, Cook. What do you think?’

  ‘ “Happy Birthday, Welcome Home”.’

  ‘Perfect!’

  ‘All that thinking has made me thirsty. Pop the kettle on again, Nancy.’

  After more tea had been drunk they cleared up and left the food prepared for Mr Bell’s return tomorrow.

  ‘What shall I do with Norah’s muck, I mean stew?’ Nancy said.

  ‘Double-bag it and burn it for all I care,’ said Cook.

  So the muck was double-bagged, the cottage was clean and warm and the good and proper food was all prepared for Mr Bell’s return. Nancy, Cook and Oliver were making their way down the driveway when Cook stopped suddenly. ‘Nancy, why is Oliver following us? He needs to go back to the cottage.’

  Nancy’s face turned red.

  Cook slapped her on the back. ‘Nooooo, the good and honest Nancy Harmer has been keeping a secret, has she? You’re keeping him inside, aren’t you?’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell,’ Nancy said, her face getting redder by the minute.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. Nancy Harmer with a dog in her room! I’ve never heard the like.’ Cook had to wipe her eyes with the corners of her apron she was laughing so much.

  Cook’s laughter could be heard all the way down the driveway to the main house. They parted as Cook went to the kitchen and Nancy sneaked through the garden door with Oliver. As they reached the end of the corridor she heard footsteps. She ran into her room and closed the door quickly. That was close, she thought. She jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. ‘Sssh,’ she told Oliver.

  ‘Nancy,’ Mother called.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ she muttered, making the sign of the cross and asking for forgiveness before she told a lie. ‘Sorry, Mother,’ she called back. ‘Just getting changed. It’s been a long, tiring day.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Very well. Goodnight. God bless you, Nancy.’

  Nancy heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Goodnight. God bless, Mother.’ Nancy put her ear to the door. All was quiet.

  ‘Goodnight. God bless, Oliver,’ called Mother.

  There was a single bark in response.

  Mother Superior smiled. Sometimes she, too, liked a little joke, and she wished with all her heart she could see Nancy’s face.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ Nancy sighed, ‘she really does have eyes in the back of her head.’

  Long Shiny Ringlets

  Mr Bell wasn’t the only person at Nazareth House who celebrated their birthday on Christmas Eve: Josephine Jones had come into the world on that day, much to the delight of her parents. It had been such a surprise to them, as she wasn’t due to arrive until the beginning of January. ‘Couldn’t wait to share her first Christmas with us,’ her father had said, smiling down at the child
in his arms. Nancy always made a special tea for a birthday girl or boy, with Cook’s special cakes. The children made decorations to hang in the dining room and the birthday child would sit at the table with cards from the staff and a bowl of sweets. They were also allowed to choose what they would like in the sandwiches and there were jugs of juice, instead of water or milk.

  Mr Bell was at home where he belonged and the children visited him every day. Oliver was thrilled to be back in the cottage although those strange smells were not what he was used to. He looked questioningly at Mr Bell. ‘Don’t worry, boy,’ he was told. ‘We’ll pretend to be out next time she turns up with her washrags.’ It was very kind of Norah but she wouldn’t be getting her way and taking over his life as she wanted to, Mr Bell thought. Oliver wagged his tail in agreement.

  Mr Bell was ordered not to go walking in the woods and to keep warm, so Nancy and the children took Oliver out, and Cook always had delicious meals to send along. While Oliver and the children were running about, Nancy often found Billy and Josephine lingering in the cottage with Mr Bell, telling him what had been happening while he had been away. Today, Oliver was lying on the hearthrug while Josephine told Mr Bell their birthdays were on the same day and that Aunty Nancy was going to make a party for them both. Mr Bell looked at the children and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but you must,’ pleaded Josephine and Billy together. ‘It is going to be so wonderful. We have made decorations specially, please come.’

  ‘Your birthday too, Josephine?’ said Mr Bell.

  ‘Oh yes. Mummy and Daddy used to say just because it was Christmas didn’t mean I wouldn’t have a very special present on my birthday. I don’t suppose I will get one this year but Cook is making cakes. You must come to my party, Mr Bell, really you must.’

  Josephine and Billy looked at Mr Bell who was staring into the fire. He was far away in another place and there were tears in his eyes. Josephine looked at Billy. ‘What have I said?’ she whispered. Mr Bell began to cover his embarrassment by shovelling coal into the fire and then he held the paper up while the fire caught. The children sat and watched him as he sat back down again. Oliver moved closer to the fire – oh, how he had missed this.