How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas (36 page)

My head was held in place by the stocks, so I couldn't be sure what Mayor Sabine saw, only that, whatever it was, it caused him to stop talking, drop the pages of his speech, and motion for the dozen soldiers from the Trained Band to raise their muskets. Elizabeth, in stocks to my left, had a better view toward the West Gate and the beginning of High Street, and suddenly she gasped, “Is it really possible?” Then there was the thudding of footsteps from every direction, and a great procession swept in front of me, and I saw that, yes, it
was.

Sara, John Mason, and the blacksmith named Clark made certain they led the group at the West Gate, since it was their intention to rescue the four “Christmas criminals” from the stocks. As the town bell tower tolled noon, the marchers surged forward from six different directions.

CHAPTER
Twenty-two

 

 

 

 

W
e learned later what happened to Sara after her parents and I were arrested. On the night that Culmer captured us, she sat up waiting for our return until well after midnight. Then, overcome with weariness and sure that our meeting at the barn was just taking longer than expected, she went up to her loft bed and slept.

But when Sara woke at dawn, the cottage was still empty and she knew something must be wrong. She got up and dressed, quickly ate a little fruit for breakfast, put on her warmest cloak, and went outside into the cold winter morning. She intended to walk from the cottage to the meeting barn atop the high hill, but she had only gone a few hundred yards when she noticed a commotion along the road toward Canterbury. Peeking around the adults lining the thoroughfare, she saw a horrifying sight—her parents, auntie, and Arthur chained together and being led toward town by blue-cloaked, leering Richard Culmer. Sara's instinct was to scream and run to us, but my precious girl had enough sense to realize that would only make things worse. She might be arrested, too, and used as a bargaining chip to make her parents and me do whatever Culmer wanted. So she ran back to the cottage and raced up the ladder to her loft bed, where she lay shivering with fear—but only for a few moments.

As soon as Margaret Sabine heard of her parents' arrest, Sara guessed, she would send some of her servants to the cottage with instructions to bring her along to the mayor's house. That would still leave her at Culmer's mercy, so she had to run. The problem for the girl was that, because she had always been so shy, she had no friends other than Sophia whose family might take her in and hide her. So she had to make a decision, and quickly—would she stay cowering in bed until her parents' enemies came to get her or would she overcome her lifelong shyness and seek help from neighbors she'd never really gotten to know very well?

Sara chose not to wait for capture. She resolutely put some fruit and cheese and a small gourd of water in a pack and left the cottage, walking east away from Canterbury rather than west toward the city. She didn't know that she barely left in time—perhaps fifteen minutes after she shut the door behind her, Margaret Sabine's people arrived looking for her. But all they found was an empty cottage; Sara was out of sight in the nearby hills.

She knew that she should go to one of the other houses in the vicinity, identify herself to whoever lived there, and ask for shelter. Almost all the neighbors, she knew from overhearing conversations between her parents, Arthur, and me, opposed the banning of Christmas and were unlikely to turn a thirteen-year-old girl over to the nasty clutches of Blue Richard Culmer. But the thought of talking to someone she didn't know was almost as frightening as the sight of her loved ones as prisoners. Sara truly
was
shy, and the habits of a lifetime, even one that had so far lasted only thirteen years, were hard to overcome. So, that first awful day, she wandered and occasionally tried to find the nerve to ask for help, and always panicked at the last moment. Finally she found a small grove of trees in the space between two low hills. The spot was out of sight of the road, and Sara huddled there as the day dwindled into night, chilled by bitter December winds and petrified by the horrible turn her life had taken.

As she crouched for hours with her cloak pulled tight around her though, she began to think about overcoming fear, and about each person's responsibility, if something wrong is being done, to try and stop it. The three people she loved most in the world, the adults she looked to for guidance and protection, were undoubtedly in a Canterbury dungeon. There was nothing she could do about that. But she could, at least, do something about the Christmas protest they had so deeply believed in that they were willing to risk their freedom, even their lives, to help organize and lead it.

Just as the sun rose the next morning, December 20, a farmer named John Mason heard a knock on his cottage door. He opened it to find a young girl standing outside, shivering both with cold and nerves.

“My name is Sara, and I need to talk to you,” she said, almost choking out the words because she so much wanted to turn and run instead. “You know my parents, Alan and Elizabeth Hayes, and my Auntie Layla. You've been meeting with them about the protest on Christmas.”

“I'm afraid they've been arrested, child,” Mason said, gesturing for his wife to come over and help him bring the shuddering girl inside. “It is a sad thing, indeed.” The Masons fussed over Sara, putting extra wood on the fire to help her get warm, and insisting she eat some hot mush. Sara swallowed several spoonfuls before she felt strong enough to say anything more.

John Mason

“They trusted you very much,” she finally said. “At night, they would talk about how brave you are, how they expected you, Mr. Mason, to be one of the best captains on Christmas Day.”

Mason shrugged sadly. “I would have been proud to take part in any way I was needed. Now, of course, there will be no protest, since our leaders are captured and our plans are ruined. It would have been a good thing to save Christmas, but now all we can do is hope your parents and auntie don't give the rest of us away to Blue Richard Culmer.”

Sara took a deep breath. “You're wrong, Mr. Mason.”

He looked worried and asked, “You mean, you think your family will identify the rest of us in hopes of saving themselves?”

“No, not at all. My parents and auntie are very brave people. But now we have to be brave, too, and hold the protest that all of you have planned for so long.”

“Our leaders are gone, child,” Mason protested.

“Then
we
have to be the leaders, sir,” Sara replied. “Those who stand by watching something wrong being done are as guilty as the people who do the bad thing. My auntie taught me that. Help me talk to all the people who were helping to plan the protest. We have to march on Christmas day. We have to.”

For the next few days, Sara and John Mason walked dozens of miles, quietly visiting all the captains who'd been named by Arthur and convincing them that they still must march. A few could not be persuaded. Because of the arrests at the barn, they were now too afraid of Blue Richard Culmer, Avery Sabine, and the rest of the Puritans. Many were shocked to see a teenaged girl assuming leadership of such a complicated, important effort. No one realized how hard it was for that thirteen-year-old to overcome her bashfulness and talk to so many people. But Sara did this, and very effectively. She remembered all she had overheard from her loft bed when the adults downstairs were talking—how, above all, they wanted thousands of marchers, so sheer numbers would prevent arrests or other reprisals by Culmer, Sabine, and the Trained Band. So, when she had convinced most of the captains to continue the protest, she emphasized to them that they, in turn, must recruit as many other people as possible.

Then, leaving the adults to that task, Sara herself spent hours talking to other children. It was hard, at first. Besides her natural shyness, Sara also had a bad reputation among her peers to overcome. Boys and girls in Canterbury were all aware of her special friendship with Sophia, the richest child in town. While the rest of the working-class children had to help their parents in the fields or in shops, Sara had been enjoying private lessons and fine meals with Sophia, and so she was often resented. Her bashfulness was mistaken for snobbiness. But now, for the first time, she sought out other young people and talked to them about Christmas, how special it was, how it must somehow be saved. She explained the purpose of the march and its intended message to Parliament. Even more than the adults, the children understood: No one should have the right to force beliefs on others. And so a whole new youthful battalion of protestors was added to the demonstrators' ranks.

By the time of the final planning meeting, on the night of December 24 in the barn high atop the hill, the protestors accepted Sara as a leader. A week earlier, everyone would have considered such a thing impossible, particularly those who realized just how bashful she was. But, in times of emergency, intelligence, imagination, and courage are the most important traits, and no one had more of these than Sara. Mayor Sabine and the Trained Band assumed the plans for protest were dead, so Sara and the five dozen adults with her were able to meet in the barn without too much concern that soldiers might come for them. If they were still understandably nervous, they were excited, too.

“We have to remember tomorrow to approach all six gates at once,” Sara cautioned. “One big crowd at one gate will just alert the guards. So let's gather everyone here just after dawn, then divide into six groups.”

“How do you think of such things, young lady?” someone asked.

Sara smiled. “I heard Mr. Arthur say it to my parents and auntie.” Here, she was displaying another sign of true leadership by not taking credit for someone else's good idea, even though she could have. Then, Sara and John Mason, who had also stepped forward to lead, reminded everyone that there was not to be any violence on the part of the protestors.

“The moment even one of us strikes a blow or throws a stone or breaks a shop window, that will give the mayor and Trained Band an excuse to claim we were rioting rather than protesting,” Mason explained. “They'll use it as further evidence that Christmas is sinful and that those who support it are criminals. So we will march—”

“And sing,” Sara added.

“And sing,” Mason agreed, smiling fondly at the girl who he had come to admire very much. “We will have ourselves a very special Christmas celebration right on High Street, and when Sara gives the signal, waving her hands over her head, then we will all march back out of town to our homes. If we begin at noon, the whole business should take no more than an hour. This will be sufficient to make our message clear. Anything longer, and one of our people or one of the Trained Band might do something unfortunate. We want a brisk, peaceful protest.”

Mason paused a moment, then said, “There is one thing more. We know, of course, that Sara's parents and auntie, along with their friend Arthur, are being held in the town jail. Certain information has reached us. By Mayor Sabine's order, tomorrow on Christmas Day they are to be taken out and put in the stocks as examples of how anyone who celebrates Christmas will be punished from now on. Those entering town from the West Gate must immediately get to the stocks and free them. Place them in the middle of the marchers, so that Sabine and his Trained Band can't recapture them. Clark, you are a blacksmith by trade.” A massive man nodded. “Well, then, bring along a hammer and chisel for breaking the locks on the stocks. But use them only to strike the locks, no matter how tempted you might become to tap Mayor Sabine once or twice, as well.”

Afterward, Mason and Sara walked back to his home, where she was staying with him and his wife. “We're going to save your parents and auntie,” he promised.