The River Rose (6 page)

Clint sighed. "No, Vinnie, I know. You just don't see it, do you?" He looked directly into his friend's face and said in a low tone, "Gentlemen never tell, Vinnie. If you get one thing, get that.
Gentlemen never tell
."

AT MIDNIGHT
,
AS CLINT went into a narrow dark alley just off Main Street, it started to snow. He paused for a moment to watch with pleasure. Of course there was no streetlight in this little nameless alley, but at the top of the stairwell just above him was a window that glowed a welcoming deep amber. The big powdery snowflakes seemed touched with gold against the lantern light. Humming
The Holly and the Ivy
, he went up the stairs and knocked on the door. A slender, fair woman with her shoulders bare and her hair flowing down to her waist opened it.

"Madame Chasseur, I know the hour is late," Clint said in a low voice, "but I find I am suddenly in need of some cosmetics and perfume. Something to take the chill of this snowfall away, perhaps?"

"Hmm, I see," she said thoughtfully. "As it happens, I not only have perfumes and cosmetics, but just today I received some soothing oil of sandalwood. It would, I think, be very good for a warming massage."

"Giving one? Or getting one?" Clint asked with very great interest.

"Both," she said, and pulled him inside.

The window's lantern-glow lit the snow all night.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

Jeanne lit the last small white candle, the one on the very top of the Christmas tree. Then she and Marvel stood back to look. Jeanne glanced down at her daughter's joyous face, and thought tiredly that it had all been worth it, both the money and the work. Marvel had never looked so happy, or so well.

Marvel took Jeanne's hand and she automatically noted that her daughter's tiny hand was freezing cold. "Why don't we have a nice hot cup of tea?" Jeanne suggested, hurrying to put the copper water pot on the fire.

"That would be nice," Marvel said dreamily. She couldn't take her eyes from the tree. "I think this is the most beautiful Christmas tree ever."

It was a humble little tree, the top of a scrub pine that Roberty had managed to salvage for Jeanne from a woodcutter's haul. The branches were spare but symmetrical, so it was a pretty cone shape. Jeanne had put it into a small bucket of water on their only table, a rough much-scarred oak worktable that had two bricks under one broken leg. For the last four nights she had brought home something to decorate the tree: first popped corn and cranberries to string together to make garlands, then squares of red and white felt to make stars. As promised, Roberty had brought a dozen little pinecones, and Jeanne and Marvel had fun making "snow" from laundry soap and starch and putting dollops on the top of the pine cones and the tree's branches. Finally, on this night of December 23, Jeanne had brought home the candles. With that final touch, the tree did look pretty.

They settled down on the mattress and bundled up, for it was very cold in their room despite the roaring fire. They had their cups of tea, and each of them had a sugar cookie that Jeanne had splurged and bought them. Afterwards Jeanne got her sewing kit and began darning her winter stockings, for with her work she was continually wearing out the toes and heels. Marvel said, "I can't wait for the Christmas Regale tomorrow. It sounds like it's going to be so much fun. Maybe everyone in town will be there!"

"I hope not," Jeanne said. "That would be a great crush, and I would probably lose you and have to wait for St. Nicholas to bring you home."

Marvel grinned. "Would he bring me down the chimney, do you think?"

"Of course he would. You don't think that St. Nick is just going to come up and knock on the door, do you?"

"No, he wouldn't do that. But you won't lose me, Mama, I know, even if everyone in Memphis is there." Suddenly, like a startled kitten, she yawned hugely. "I'm not sleepy!" she said quickly.

"Uh-huh," Jeanne said with disbelief, setting aside her sewing. "I think I'd better read the next part of our Christmas book, and then to sleep with you, little girl. We have a very busy day planned tomorrow."

Jeanne had put together all of the verses about the birth of Christ, including the angel's visitation to Mary and then to Joseph, Mary's visit to Elizabeth and the
Magnificat
, the journey to Bethlehem, the story of the shepherds, and the story of the wise men, and had written them all in order in a small book. For a week she read passages every night, to end on Christmas Eve. As she finished the reading, ending with Joseph finding only a stable to shelter them, Marvel was already fast asleep. Jeanne hurried to blow out the candles on the Christmas tree, then bundled up again on the mattress and picked up her sewing. She sewed for a long time, for their clothes were old and worn and needed continual mending and patching. Her back ached, and her eyes watered, because she sewed only by the firelight. Candles and lanterns were luxury items.

She looked back up at the tree and a small smile played on her lips. Marvel had truly been entranced by the little tree. Jeanne had had so many misgivings about spending money on frivolous things like decorations for a Christmas tree. It was difficult for her, because every penny she made had to go for food, for fabrics for clothing, for shoes, for rent, for wood, for supplies like soap and needles and thread, and often for ointments and medications for Marvel when she got catarrh or a cough or skin irritations.

Two things, in particular, bothered Jeanne terribly about their poverty. One was that she couldn't afford to buy books or even papers and pen and ink. When Marvel turned five, Jeanne had bought
McGuffey's Primer
, and within three months Marvel knew it by heart. Then Jeanne had bought the McGuffey's first-year schoolbook. Along with a slate and some chalk, those two books had taken every little bit of her savings, for she desperately tried to put money aside every week, even if was only a penny or two. More than anything Jeanne wanted to buy a little cottage, their very own place. She knew that it would have to be a shack in the Pinch, but even that, if it belonged to them, would make Jeanne immeasurably happy.

For the thousandth time, she reflected that in their circumstances that would be the highest goal they could possibly attain; but when? Every time she managed to put even a few dollars aside it seemed that some new expense dogged her, either an emergency such as Marvel's illnesses, or a simple have-to, as when either she or Marvel wore out their shoes. Jeanne's leather half-boots were much-patched right now. She doubted that she would make it through the winter without having to buy a new pair.

Even as these melancholy thoughts went through her mind, she looked up to rest her eyes for a moment, and saw that it had begun to snow. Quietly she got up and, pulling her shawl closer, went to stand in front of the small four-paned window on the front wall. It faced the back of another shotgun shanty right in front of them, but now the dismal view had become enchanted, for each single puffy flake of snow drifted down on the lightest air and settled into picturesque little drifts at the corners of the panes. Jeanne watched for a long time. Then she bowed her head and whispered, "I know, Lord Jesus, that You're reminding me. There is beauty even here, and there is always hope. Thank You for the snow."

JEANNE OPENED ONE EYE reluctantly. She could hardly see, because thick curls had fallen out of her nightcap and covered her face. But dimly she made out her daughter, in her nightdress, doing a wild pantomime dance. Marvel's skinny arms were high above her head, her face was exultant, and she was hopping and leaping in circles. Not a single sound did she make.

Jeanne sat up and pushed away the curtain of curls from her eyes. "Good morning, little girl," she said with a yawn.

Marvel stopped dancing and ran to the mattress. "Mama! Mama, it snowed, it snowed! It's so pretty, come look!" Again she leaped up and began her dance, talking jerkily. "I tried—to be—quiet—so you could—sleep—"

"You didn't wake me up," Jeanne assured her. "Thank you, Marvel, you're a good girl." For the first time in four years, Jeanne was off work on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. She treasured the days she could sleep later than her usual rising time of five o'clock in the morning.

"Thank you. Come see, come see!" Marvel trilled.

"You are dancing in your bare feet," Jeanne said sternly. "And you are dancing without your warm robe. You may dance, Marvel, but only if you put on warm clothes."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, and danced to fetch her stockings and flannel robe. Jeanne, still yawning, got up and stirred the almost-dead coals and began the tedious process of building up a good fire.

They had planned their entire day. After breakfast they were going to both have hot sponge baths and wash their hair. It took hours for Jeanne's hair to dry, but not Marvel's, and Jeanne had promised to roll it up into little rags so that it would be curly for their outing that evening. The afternoon was taken up with preparing everything for Christmas dinner: roasting a small hen, boiling the giblets for gravy, baking cornbread and chopping up celery and onions for dressing, and chopping walnuts and raisins and dried apples for a mince pie. Jeanne had spent most of her tip money on the costly food.

When they finished it was time to get dressed for going to the Christmas Regale. Marvel didn't have a new dress, but Jeanne had washed and ironed her best blue wool, and the ruffles on her cotton pinafore were starched and crisp. She had brand-new cotton stockings that she wore under her wool stockings. Jeanne took down Marvel's hair and pulled the top away from her face, and it fell in soft little ringlets to her shoulders.

Jeanne wore one of her gray skirts and a plain white blouse, and all three of her petticoats, two cotton and one wool. Her hair, now dry, was gleaming darkly, and the curls were rich and springy. She pulled it up to the crown and secured it with four precious hairpins.

"Is it time to go?" Marvel asked, hopping from one foot to the other.

Jeanne smiled. "Just about. Here, it's time to put on your new things." For her birthday Jeanne had made Marvel a new mantle, for her old cape was threadbare and too short. The new one had a hood with a gold tassel, and a little capelet about the shoulders. It tied at the neck with a gold ribbon. Jeanne had also spent a lot of money to buy fine cashmere yarn instead of wool, a bright Christmas red color, and had knit Marvel a long head wrap and mittens. Marvel's skin was very delicate, and wool gave her a rash. Because Marvel always worried that Jeanne never got Christmas presents, Jeanne had also bought cheap wool yarn of the same color and had made herself a muffler like Marvel's. After they were completely dressed, they joined hands and looked each other up and down. "We look beautiful," Jeanne said complacently.

"You do, Mama," Marvel breathed. "But I'm not as pretty as you."

"Yes you are, darling," Jeanne insisted. "You're much prettier than I was when I was your age. And your new red muffler makes your eyes bright and your cheeks look rosy. Now, before we go, I have a little surprise for you."

"Really? A Christmas Eve surprise? What is it?"