filled the air, and for a brief time Meg put aside the many hurtful words that had been spoken in this house and opened her heart to the season.
She unwrapped a pair of lambskin gloves from her father, then a brooch made of tiny seed pearls from her mother, and finally, from Alan, her first snow globe. Even knowing that her mother had chosen it and her father’s income had purchased it, Meg still thanked Alan profusely as she upended the lead glass dome, then turned it over to watch the tiny bits of porcelainswirl around a ceramic cottage that looked very much like their own.
“My students will be enchanted with it, as I am,” she told her brother, placing it carefully on a nearby end table so everyone might admire it.
By the time the Park Church bell began to peal, their discarded wrapping paper had been added to the fire, the twine was rolled up for another year, and Clara had the parlor set to rights.
Meg slipped her coat over her shoulders, thinking how her brother might brave the snow. “Shall we send Father for your sled, Alan?”
“No,” he grumbled. “I have no use for sleds and even less for Christmas carols.”
The light faded from their mother’s eyes, however briefly. “Very well,” she told Alan, patting his shoulder. “Clara will see to your needs while we’re gone.”
Meg wanted to pinch her brother’s ear in passing as she often had when they were young.
Be nice, Alan. It’s Christmas, after all
.
On an ordinary day Park Church was only a few minutes from their door. However, this day was anything but ordinary. Meg huddled between her parents as they started toward Dumbarton Road, lifting coats and skirts to plunge their boots in and out of the snow, hailing neighbors along the way.
Jubilant cries of “Happy Christmas!” rang through the air as children of all ages threw themselves into snowdrifts with abandon.
Seeing them, Meg missed her students keenly. In a fortnight she would welcome back a classroom full of boys and girls, all under age twelve. She taught them not only reading, writing, and arithmetic but also grammar, history, and geography. Taxing work, yet she reveled in it and loved the children, however often they tried her patience. Surely by this evening the snow would end, the trains would resume, and she could return to Edinburgh and prepare for the next term.
Though she was content to spend the afternoon with her parents, Gordon Shaw was never far from her mind. Had he found lodging? A warm room? A hot meal? She hated to think of him being alone on Christmas Day.
Meg gazed in the direction of King Street. Was it only last evening they’d walked between the rails together carrying little Tam?
Alas, Gordon had taken her at her word.
Go
.
Chapter Fourteen
The more we know,
the better we forgive.
M ADAME DE S TAEL
H ave you ever seen so much snow, Father?” Meg eyed the drifts piled high against the town wall as she climbed up the steep road leading to the Corn Exchange.
“Aye. The year they finished this church, when you were a wee girl.” He turned toward the Gothic gables and soaring belfry of Park Church. “We had snow over the windowsills and halfway up the door.”
As they neared the broad entrance opposite the town wall, she looked up at the rose window in the north gable and recalled sitting in the pew each Sunday counting the stained glasspanes that fanned out from the center like a carriage wheel.
I’ve missed too many worship services of late
. So she’d confessed to Gordon, but the truth was, she’d not been to church in months.
Remember the sabbath day
. Meg had not forgotten, but she had been neglectful. She touched the stone around the arched doorway, deciding this was the perfect day to begin anew.
I will remember thy wonders of old
.
“We’re in time for the bidding prayer,” her mother whispered. They crossed the threshold with due reverence and moved into the sanctuary.
Amid the plastered walls and cast-iron columns, a hundred
She unwrapped a pair of lambskin gloves from her father, then a brooch made of tiny seed pearls from her mother, and finally, from Alan, her first snow globe. Even knowing that her mother had chosen it and her father’s income had purchased it, Meg still thanked Alan profusely as she upended the lead glass dome, then turned it over to watch the tiny bits of porcelainswirl around a ceramic cottage that looked very much like their own.
“My students will be enchanted with it, as I am,” she told her brother, placing it carefully on a nearby end table so everyone might admire it.
By the time the Park Church bell began to peal, their discarded wrapping paper had been added to the fire, the twine was rolled up for another year, and Clara had the parlor set to rights.
Meg slipped her coat over her shoulders, thinking how her brother might brave the snow. “Shall we send Father for your sled, Alan?”
“No,” he grumbled. “I have no use for sleds and even less for Christmas carols.”
The light faded from their mother’s eyes, however briefly. “Very well,” she told Alan, patting his shoulder. “Clara will see to your needs while we’re gone.”
Meg wanted to pinch her brother’s ear in passing as she often had when they were young.
Be nice, Alan. It’s Christmas, after all
.
On an ordinary day Park Church was only a few minutes from their door. However, this day was anything but ordinary. Meg huddled between her parents as they started toward Dumbarton Road, lifting coats and skirts to plunge their boots in and out of the snow, hailing neighbors along the way.
Jubilant cries of “Happy Christmas!” rang through the air as children of all ages threw themselves into snowdrifts with abandon.
Seeing them, Meg missed her students keenly. In a fortnight she would welcome back a classroom full of boys and girls, all under age twelve. She taught them not only reading, writing, and arithmetic but also grammar, history, and geography. Taxing work, yet she reveled in it and loved the children, however often they tried her patience. Surely by this evening the snow would end, the trains would resume, and she could return to Edinburgh and prepare for the next term.
Though she was content to spend the afternoon with her parents, Gordon Shaw was never far from her mind. Had he found lodging? A warm room? A hot meal? She hated to think of him being alone on Christmas Day.
Meg gazed in the direction of King Street. Was it only last evening they’d walked between the rails together carrying little Tam?
Alas, Gordon had taken her at her word.
Go
.
Chapter Fourteen
The more we know,
the better we forgive.
M ADAME DE S TAEL
H ave you ever seen so much snow, Father?” Meg eyed the drifts piled high against the town wall as she climbed up the steep road leading to the Corn Exchange.
“Aye. The year they finished this church, when you were a wee girl.” He turned toward the Gothic gables and soaring belfry of Park Church. “We had snow over the windowsills and halfway up the door.”
As they neared the broad entrance opposite the town wall, she looked up at the rose window in the north gable and recalled sitting in the pew each Sunday counting the stained glasspanes that fanned out from the center like a carriage wheel.
I’ve missed too many worship services of late
. So she’d confessed to Gordon, but the truth was, she’d not been to church in months.
Remember the sabbath day
. Meg had not forgotten, but she had been neglectful. She touched the stone around the arched doorway, deciding this was the perfect day to begin anew.
I will remember thy wonders of old
.
“We’re in time for the bidding prayer,” her mother whispered. They crossed the threshold with due reverence and moved into the sanctuary.
Amid the plastered walls and cast-iron columns, a hundred
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