Currents (26 page)

He hesitated for a minute before he spoke very kindly. “I'm sorry you had to sell it, Mary Margaret. I can tell it means a great deal to you.”

“I'm content with it, Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “It's served its purpose. It was good for something, while it was in its power.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Marcus Aurelius, sir,” she said. “He said we shouldn't live as if we had ten thousand years, but we should be good for something now, while it was in our power.”

“Yes, that's right. It's been a while since I've heard it. It's a fine way to look at life.”

He put the cross back in the drawer when the bell over his door tinkled and a customer entered.

Mary Margaret left quietly when Mr. Hamilton approached the new customer, and she rushed up Charles Street to catch up with Ma and Bridget.

T
he weather had held up until most Bostonians were home from Christmas Eve church services, but soon after dark, a soft snow began to fall and cover the city in a silvery blanket.

“Ah, here they are,” Mr. Bennett said as he threw open the front door, thrusting his hand out to Tomas Casey and his family, who stamped their shoes in the vestibule before entering. Da carried Bridget on his shoulders, and she hung on to him with her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Easy, Bridget,” he said, “you're near choking your poor old da.”

“Oh, my!” Mary Margaret sang out when she saw the tree with lots of candles lighting it up. “'Tis the most beautiful tree I have ever seen.”

The Bennetts' tree was splendid, dripping with hard candies and trinkets, its branches aglow with little white candles. The fireplace sizzled and snapped with the sea coal Mary Margaret had carried in earlier in the day.

“Oh, Mary Margaret,” Bridget exclaimed, feeling a little superior from her high perch, “you've never seen any Christmas tree before!”

“Merry Christmas, Louisa.” Mary Margaret smiled at her friend. Louisa was dressed in a long, black velvet dress with a cream-colored ribbon at her waist, to match the one tying up her dark curls.

“Merry Christmas to you,” Louisa replied, not quite looking Mary Margaret in the eye. Instead she scooped up Boots and buried her face in the cat's silky black fur.

“Merry Christmas to you, sir,” Da said, pulling off his cap. “And to you as well, ma'am.” He nodded politely to Mrs. Bennett. They stood awkwardly for a moment in the front hall, not sure if they had been invited to make a brief appearance at their employers' home, or if they should come in. Mrs. Bennett put an arm around Mary Margaret and steered her to the glowing tree.

“Come right in for a minute.” Mr. Bennett waved toward the tree-lit parlor. Mary Margaret noticed that Da didn't take a seat, but stood with his family respectfully at attention. “My goodness, what a week your family has had, Tomas! Rose told us all about the trouble at poor Elton Eaton's shop—and little Mary Margaret being caught up in the middle of it. Thank heavens they caught the scoundrels, and especially that Mary Margaret is fine. You're a heroine, young lady!” Mr. Bennett beamed at her.

This is going to be a lovely Christmas
, Mary Margaret thought.

The dining room was directly across the hall from the parlor, and Mary Margaret noticed her mother glance in, admiring the work they'd done together earlier that day. Mary Margaret had polished the buffet serving tables and all the chairs that morning with lemon oil. The long, oval dining table was covered with a freshly washed and pressed damask cloth. She had rubbed the silver candelabras until she could see her reflection, and then Ma had placed them in the middle of the table with candles ready to be lit for the Bennetts' Christmas Eve dinner of goose and plum pudding.

Mrs. Bennett reached up to the tree, pearl earbobs the shape of teardrops fluttering from her ears. “Well, look what I found. A little something for Mary Margaret and another for Bridget.”

She placed a bundle of four pencils and a lined notebook in Mary Margaret's hand and a soft blue scarf in Bridget's, each tied with a long red ribbon.

Ma nudged her daughters and they responded politely, saying, “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Well, don't untie them now. Save them for your own celebration,” said Mrs. Bennett. “We just wanted to give you a little something for the good service you have given us. We're happy you're with us.”

“How lovely your tree is, ma'am,” Ma said. “All the ornaments and wee candles. Sure, it's magical.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Bennett said. “Some of them we've had for many years. Some are brand-new. This is the first year we've had a tree to show them off, though. George finally consented. After all, if the President of the United States can have a Christmas tree in the White House, the Bennetts can have one in Boston.

“We're particularly proud of the newest decoration for our tree.” She plucked a silver dollar off a branch and held it out for the Caseys to see. “Our Louisa has finally had a piece accepted in
Merry's Museum Magazine
.”

Louisa shrank farther back into the room, almost disappearing into the potted plants and flocked wallpaper.

“Now, now, come up here, Louisa.” Mr. Bennett waved his beefy hand toward her. “Don't be shy. I bet Mary Margaret will be pleased to see she and Lucas Lowe are both part of the story. The publisher sent us an advance copy since Louisa had an article printed. Gosh!” He beamed. “I think it's awfully good.”

He picked up the copy of the latest edition of
Merry's Museum Magazine
and pointed to the story.

THE RED SLED
by Louisa Bennett

Mary Margaret edged up to the magazine and blinked hard when she read the title. The first sentence was as familiar as the back of her own hand, and she quickly skimmed over the page. She couldn't believe her eyes. Her words, her story, word-for-word from her journal, but with Louisa Bennett listed as the author. Her parents read the first few lines at the same time, both quickly recognizing Mary Margaret's story.

“Well, you should be proud indeed,” Da said, passing the magazine back to Mr. Bennett.

Mary Margaret stared at Louisa.

“How could you?” she barely whispered.

“What's that you say?” Mr. Bennett asked.

“Aw, she's just impressed with your daughter's clever writing.” Da clenched Mary Margaret's arm.

“And Rose and I, we want to thank you for your kindness and your gifts. I know the girls will enjoy them. We won't be taking up any more of your time tonight. We'll be going back downstairs. Come on, girls. Rose.” Mary Margaret glared at Louisa, ignoring her mother's fierce stare and Da's viselike grip.

Mary Margaret barely heard the large front door with the lion's-head knocker shut behind them, nor felt her feet on the icy walk. It wasn't until they reached their rooms down the little side steps that she burst into tears.

“That beast. She's a beast!” she howled, throwing her bundle of pencils on the floor. “And I want my journal back—now I know why she's had it so long!”

Ma quickly retrieved the pencils. She knew Mary Margaret would need them, and there was no money in the Casey budget for pencils. What the Caseys could not bear was to be tossed out in the street over a story in a magazine.

“We have a roof over our heads, Mary Margaret. Look around you, girl.” Her mother's voice was stern. “The Irish are sleeping in sheds and alleys and abandoned buildings. You'll say nothing about this to Louisa.”

Mary Margaret nodded but pulled up her scarf and stomped back outside in the icy cold night to sulk on the stoop. Her father followed her, stopping the door from slamming.

“Is this seat taken, Mary Margaret?” Da stood over his older daughter as she sat shivering in the cold, and draped her coat over her thin shoulders.

“She stole it from me, Da! She stole my story about Lucas and me. How could she? Why didn't you let me say something?”

“You know why,” he spoke firmly. “We need this home and this work. The Bennetts are good folks. You must understand, Mary Margaret, if they decide they don't want us anymore, we have nowhere to go.

“Look, she only took from you the words, lassie. She cannot really steal your story. It is yours. No one can take it away from you. And no one can steal your talent either. It is God-given, sure it is.”

“I think she's just jealous.” She stared up at him.

“I think you're right,” he said. “But remember, this is but one story, Mary Margaret. Louisa may never be able to write one as good as this one. But you, you can go on to write hundreds more of them for the rest of your life—stories that will move people. Maybe the story you wrote about our Tad and Johnny. Their lives and their deaths might touch people enough so they can see the tragedy our people are living, and be grateful for what they have, rather than fearing so much what we might take. Tad's and Johnny's lives could have meaning—a wider meaning than to just our family.”

She reached up and began fiddling with a piece of the dried vine that hung down off the building, twisting it between her small fingers. Beacon Hill's knotted cobblestone streets lay quiet under the piles of drifting snow. Up and down the street, the candles on adorned Christmas trees shimmered in bow windows.

Da plucked two pods off the shriveled wisteria vine, popped them open with his thumbnail, and stuck one on each of his daughter's ears. He leaned back and smiled at her delicate figure sitting quietly now in the cold silvery evening.

“They should be diamonds,” he said.

“H
ear ye! Hear ye! TER-RI-BLE NEWS!”

The town crier's bell jangled, his long horn clasped tightly to his lips, as he strutted around Scollay Square. Da and Mary Margaret were coming back from the fishmonger's with a pound of cod for the Bennetts' dinner, and like several other people, stopped to listen to the crier.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! The schooner
Liberty
crashed off Lovells Island last night, and all souls have been lost.” People rushed out of their shops and up the street as the crier nailed the notice with the list of passengers on the tavern door.

“Da!” Mary Margaret grabbed his arm to steady herself. “Lucas Lowe is returning on the
Liberty
!”

Just then, Mary Margaret saw Mr. Bennett exit a building nearby. He was one of the first to reach the list, and he scanned it quickly.

“It's Mr. Bennett, Da,” Mary Margaret said. “He's looking at the posted list of passengers.”

Mr. Bennett turned away from the list and the crowd and saw Da and Mary Margaret. He shook his head sadly. That's all they needed. They knew. Together all three rushed up Beacon Hill.

On the way Mr. Bennett gasped and said, “Aurelia told me that she sees people every day who are given more than they can handle. I'm not sure Frances Lowe can handle this.”

At the very same time Mary Margaret, Da, and Mr. Bennett arrived home, a messenger from the Custom House whom Mrs. Lowe had paid to keep an eye out for the
Liberty
's arrival approached her house. She was outside with her cape wrapped tightly around her, sweeping the latest snowfall from her walk.

Mr. Bennett burst through his front door with Da and Mary Margaret behind him, and shouted, “Aurelia! Aurelia! Come quickly. I have dreadful news. The ship Lucas Lowe was on crashed and sank last night. No one survived!”

Mrs. Bennett and Mary Margaret's mother had been peering out the kitchen window at Mrs. Lowe talking with the messenger, and they made room for Mary Margaret, Mr. Bennett, and Da. A dread silence rose among the group as they watched the messenger speak to Mrs. Lowe, his head bowed. He passed her a copy of the notice.

Mrs. Lowe swayed for a second and then slumped to the ground, sinking into her skirt as though she'd been shot through the heart. Mary Margaret watched through the window as Mrs. Lowe sat there on the frozen ground, casting the same shadow as always. But Mary Margaret knew Mrs. Lowe was different now. She would be different forever, just like Ma after she lost Tad and Johnny.