Chapter XVI: A Quiet Christmas

THE weather turned very cold when Tomina arrived home. The first day that she drove out in her van again, she had a surprise for her women passengers. Susan had worked hard with her kettles, and in the van were some hot water foot-warmers.

"No cold feet in my van," said Tomina, gaily, as she got upon her seat. "If our feet are warm, the rest of us will be, our hearts included, in spite of the old saw."

"Eh, dear soul, 'tis comfort sure enough," said an old woman with a happy sigh. "It do warm the cockles of yer 'art, as you say, mem."

They were a very happy jovial party to-day. They loved to have Tomina back, and said one to her—

"Me dear, the van wi'out our carrier is a dumpsey place. You mustn't never leave off a-drivin' us."

"She'll be carried off herself, I reckon, one day," said another, "but we'll hope your man will live in these parts, miss, and then you shall still be our carrier."

"Oh, don't wish me such a fate as yours!" said Tomina. "To be tied up to a man is such bondage—now, isn't it?"

There was a cackle of laughter at this.

"'Tis Bible orders," said one old woman, solemnly—"that the woman serve the man; an' as I tell the young folks, if the maids want to turn that topsy-turvey, the Lord will have it agenst 'em in the judgment."

Tomina got sober at once.

"I wish we all lived our lives according to the Bible, Mrs. Sapper. What a happy world it would be, wouldn't it?"

"It would be a world of Sundays," said another.

"Oh no—I don't believe that the Bible and religion only belong to Sunday. We are meant to have our busy weekdays, but every bit of work is gilded with sunshine if we feel we belong to God."

There was sudden silence in the van. Tomina surprised her audience. They thought her very good company, but rather a careless, giddy sort of individual.

"Be you proper religious, miss?" asked a chapel-goer, gravely. "Have you got your soul saved?"

There was some indignation at this, and the speaker was hushed.

"'Tisn't preachin' and such like we has in this van," said a Mrs. Hutton. "Look at 'ome, Mrs. Coke; we heard a proper wrangling night afore last, when your Bill came home a half-hour behind his time!"

"Oh, hush!" said Tomina, looking back over her shoulder at the woman. "We won't say any more now. But Mrs. Coke is quite right—our religion is not right unless we can say our souls are safe in God's keeping, and—and I dare to hope that mine is."

The talkers were silenced.

Their carrier was continually surprising them, and for her to "talk religion" was the most surprising event of all.

It was a busy day in Damerton, for it was the Christmas market. The shops were gay with bright evergreens and all kinds of Christmas novelties. Tomina had a good deal of shopping to do for herself to-day. She was looking into a toy-shop window wondering what she could buy for Harry, when he himself rushed into her arms.

"Oh, Tommie darling, is it you? I thought I was never going to see you again. And you are going to have me for Christmas, aren't you? We break up the day after to-morrow, and Miss Dale has brought us out to see the Christmas market."

"Of course, I'm expecting you," said Tomina, putting her arm round the boy. "I'm getting a dull old woman, now I've nobody to play with."

"Oh, you should play with Thor, he's ripping! Tommie, you aren't going away to London and leave us altogether? Miss Dale heard you were. I think if you did, I should turn into a little old man with wrinkles!"

He was dancing round her as he spoke, and then Miss Dale came up with two other small boys. Instantly Harry's manner altered, and Tomina laughed at his consequential gravity.

"It's a friend of mine," he said, in a lofty aside to his two schoolfellows. "I'm going to spend Christmas with her."

Miss Dale and Tomina exchanged a few remarks, and then the former called Harry to follow her.

For a moment he lingered, and put his mouth up close to Tomina's ear.

"Tommie, if you had to give a present to a—a kind of lady—not a very old one, what would you get for her?"

"I'd go to the penny stall in the market," said Tomina, promptly, "and buy her a bundle of tape—a nice, useful thing to have—or a pen, Harry. They have lovely pens there for a penny."

"But she mustn't know how much it costs," said Harry, with a frown.

"You needn't tell her."

Harry was called again; he was obliged to go.

"If I don't get it at the penny stall, she won't know," he said. "Good-bye, Tommie!"

He dashed away.

And Tomina went on shopping with a catch in her throat.

"Oh, I wish I was a mother of a family!" she said. "One wants to have children belonging to one at Christmas-time."

She came home that night very tired. And Susan was aghast at all the parcels brought into the house.

"Something for each of my old women," said Tomina, laughing, "and for the young ones too, of course. And I saw Harry, Susan. We shall have him here in two days' time."

"Mrs. Francis called, ma'am, and seemed to want to see you badly. She said she'd come again to-morrow morning."

"It's about Harry, I suppose."

Tomina relapsed into silence. Mrs. Francis brought thoughts of Colonel Norman and his mother. She remembered that she had promised to write to him at Christmas-time. She had only heard from him once, and that was a terse few lines telling her of their safe arrival abroad. Tired as she was, after her evening meal was over, she got out her blotter, and sitting in her low chair by the fire, sat gazing into the hot coals, pen in hand.

"I must get it over," she said at last, rousing herself from a reverie into which she had sunk. And then she wrote as follows:—

"MY DEAR COLONEL NORMAN,

"My best wishes for you and your mother at this time! You see I have remembered my promise to write, but letter-writing is always an effort, and my pen seems to paralyse my brain. We are having hard frost now, and I spend most of my time dreaming over the fire. Do you remember my brother Tom? He has just married. I am selfishly sorry, for the bits of time he spent with me on leave were always very precious to me, and they are gone for ever now. I went up to town, but I like it less than ever, so I am back here jogging away on market days with my van, and learning a good deal in my studies of nature and humanity.

"How is your mother? My heart sinks down as I think of the enormous amount of resignation and patience it must take to bear such a lot as hers, and yours, cheerfully. Do you ever smile, I wonder? Does she? Does the Riviera sunshine reach your heart?

"Well. I must close. We do Christmas in the old style in this village, and if you think of me at all, you must imagine me wreathing church pillars with ivy and holly berries and moss, or going round the village with a big basket of goodies under my arm, and pulling aside my curtains to listen to the waits and carol singers outside.

"As a matter of fact, I expect I shall do none of these things because
of my unregulated mind, but I mean to enjoy everything if I can.

"Your old friend,

"TOMINA."

"P.S.—Do you remember I told you I was in a metamorphosis stage? I have got through into a new life altogether—at least, my inside man has—and my outlook upon the world is quite, quite different.

"For the better I hope, but I cannot write about it.

"I suppose some need no change. Yet one of my old dears said in the van
last market day—

"'If I think as I thoughted when I were a maid, why, life has taughted
me nothing!'

"Can you divide the human race into these two classes?—'What can I
give?' and 'What can I get?'

"Isn't this all very egotistical? Adieu."

This letter went its way, and brought a prompt reply—

"MY DEAR TOMINA,

"You 'Colonel' me, but I will not 'Miss' you. We are too old friends for that. Your letter arrived on Christmas morning, and if the sunshine had not reached my heart before, it has done so since. My only fault is that you might have been more egotistical and given me some further and clearer account of your dear little self and surroundings. You may be quite sure that I shall imagine you in many Christmas pictures of my own composition. If you sit dreaming over your fire, I sit on the sunny verandah outside my mother's room and dream my dreams as I look away at the distant mountain with peeps, between mimosa bushes, of the blue Mediterranean.

"My mother is better in many ways. She can talk, but she will always be a helpless invalid. She now has a longing for home, and when the warmer weather comes, I think we shall return to England. But the Court is going to be sold, so I do not know where we shall settle. We may go down to Devon. Will you write again and cheer our spirits? Even a letter is an event to my mother now. She loves all news in any shape or form. It is her only entertainment. Will you give us this pleasure from time to time? I do not understand your metamorphosis. You did not need any change in my eyes.

"But then I am only an old fogey, and a very dull one now at the best of times. I saw your brother's marriage in the 'Times.' It surprised me. I knew her years ago. She was a brilliant beauty, and I quite thought she had married an old chum of mine, but I suppose they altered their minds. Adieu, Tomina! May Christmas blessing be yours!

"Always your devoted

"GERALD."

Tomina heard about Yockley Court being for sale before she received this letter. Mrs. Francis told her when she came to see her. She wanted to know if she should have Harry at the Hall, or whether Tomina meant to keep him with her for the whole of his holidays. When this matter was settled, she began to talk about the Normans.

"It is so sad that they should have to give up the Court, but I think Colonel Norman has known for some time that it must go. He could not pull things together, though he tried hard. And, of course, this stay in the Riviera is a great expense. I think it just wonderful, don't you, that a man of Gerald Norman's sort should be such a patient, devoted son? I have known him many years, and some of his friends used to call him 'the Despot.' But we are given many lessons to learn, are we not? And I am sure his character will be mellowed and softened under this trial."

Tomina would never discuss Colonel Norman with any one, least of all with Mrs. Francis.

But she no longer disliked the young widow. She felt that now she had a great bond in common with her.

"You think that we all have to go through discipline?"

"We are told so, are we not?"

And Mrs. Francis looked at Tomina very sympathetically.

"I know some people who have never had a trouble in their life," said Tomina. "And I used to think that if you were good, you courted trouble at once."

"Not necessarily. But we are reminded that a father chastens his sons—not strangers."

Tomina's face grew very grave and sweet.

"I hope I am not going to be chastened yet. I am only two months old—a mere baby."

Then Mrs. Francis's face lighted up, and her eyes glowed. Putting her hand on Tomina's arm, she said caressingly—

"How very sweet of you to tell me what I have been longing to know!"

"Did you guess, then? Why haven't you spoken to me?"

"I have learned to be patient. I have prayed for you every day since we first met."

"But why?" asked Tomina, touched and a little mystified. "What made you think of me at all?"

"I fancy most people who have met you think about you. You came down here a perfect stranger to us all, and now I think I may say that you live in every one's heart."

"Thank you," said Tomina; "I don't believe you pay empty compliments. I suppose you have thought me very scatter-brained and frivolous?"

"It seemed to me that you were in a transition stage, like an empty house waiting for an owner."

"Then why didn't you tell me so?"

"Would you have liked it?"

"No," and Tomina laughed as she spoke; "I don't think I should have ever spoken to you again."

"That was what I felt. I was ready if any opportunity had come, but I prayed much."

"Well," said Tomina, softly, "I hope the empty house is tenanted. But I still require a good deal of sweeping and garnishing. Harry was a little angel in disguise. You taught Harry, and Harry taught me, so I do owe you something after all."

Quite simply she told Mrs. Francis of how one thing had led on to another, until the centre of her life was disturbed and changed.

"It was reading the Bible so much to Harry that showed me my need. And then, when I was in despair about myself and didn't know what to do, Mrs. Cayley solved my difficulties with the simple words, 'Ask, and ye shall receive.' It just flashed through me what a fool I was not to ask for everything at once. So I did it."

They sat on talking like close friends, and when Mrs. Francis at last rose to go, she kissed Tomina.

"I do hope that you will break through your unsociable rule, and come and see me some time."

"I will. I should like to do it."

So they parted, and Susan could not keep the glint of satisfaction out of her eyes when Tomina said to her—

"I like Mrs. Francis at last, Susan, you will be glad to hear."

"'Tis time indeed, ma'am! I do think for two of our nicest ladies not to be on close visitin' terms is very strange! And 'tis only for want of knowin', as I have told you often."

When Harry came home, Tomina found she had her hands full. They had a very happy Christmas. On Christmas Day they dined at the Hall. On Boxing Day, the Rector gave a village tea and Christmas tree. And that same week, Tomina gave a tea to all of her regular passengers in her van. She heard from her brother and his wife on Christmas Day. They both seemed happy.

Doreen wrote as follows:—

"MY DEAR TOMINA,

"Isn't it strange that we have come into each other's lives in such a short time? I hope you're having a good Christmas. We are. Tom and I spend most of our days in choosing papers and chintzes and bits of antique furniture for my house. We do it from catalogues, and it is great fun. Our present quarters are very luxurious, but hardly snug. And I am so glad that my home is not a great rambling place like this. Tom goes next Friday. Will you have me on Saturday? I am quite looking forward to it. And then we shall renew and cement our friendship, I hope. May I send you my love?

"Your affectionate sister-in-law,

"DOREEN GAVIN."

Tomina gave a little sigh.

"I am glad she likes me, but she has taken Tom too quietly. Her letter is more full of that house of hers than of him."

It was arranged that Harry should go to the Hall the day before Doreen arrived.

"You are sure, Tommie," he said, "that you don't send me there because you're tired of me?"

"Quite sure, sweetheart! But we haven't much room, you know, and Susan couldn't wait upon all of us."

"Susan says," announced Harry, solemnly, "that the way you wait on yourself now is a marvel! She says those that ain't born to it rarely take to it late in life."

"Oh, Harry, you and Susan will be the death of me!"

And Tomina laughed so infectiously that Harry joined her, though he did not know at what she was laughing.

When Saturday came, Tomina awaited Doreen's arrival with a strange mixture of feelings. She was very low at Tom's departure, and felt that she had been defrauded of his society. Doreen would always in the future stand between her and her twin brother. She had had a great struggle in her heart to think kindly of Doreen, and yet she had a curious and intense interest in her, and was glad that she would have the opportunity of getting to know her.

Doreen arrived late on Saturday afternoon after dark. Tomina sent a close fly for her. And when she came into her little room, her shoulders were powdered with snow.

They kissed each other warmly. Doreen's cheeks were pink, and she declared she was warm with the exertion of walking up the steep hill.

"It's an awful place to get to in winter!" she said. "You could never ask an elderly person here or a delicate one, for the cabman insists upon turning you out at the bottom of the hill. He said that it would do me good to walk. And he was right. I was freezing slowly inside his carriage."

"I sent a foot-warmer and a rug."

"Yes," and Doreen smiled as she spoke. "He said to me, 'Our young lady be wonderful thoughtful for the feet. Her van be fitted up with these here hot tins.' By which he meant that you gave your passengers foot-warmers, I suppose?"

"Of course," said Tomina; "it's the least I can do for them."

"How snug and cosy you are here! It is like a bird's nest."

"I have never suffered from the cold in my life," said Tomina, "and as this cottage is not so warm as the London houses, I have piled comforts in every room, and keep fires going in them all. Susan was quite aghast at first, but I found a small girl in the village who comes in every morning to help her, so we're all right. Now tell me how Tom is."

"Quite well. He went off at six this morning, before I was up."

"Didn't you go to see him off?"

"To Southampton? Dear no! Why should I? How could I have come down to you to-day if I had?"

"I pictured you both going down to Southampton yesterday, and dining and sleeping there," said Tomina.

There was a little reproach in her tone.

"Men don't like to be fussed over by their belongings," said Doreen, indifferently.

Tomina made no reply. There was a little restraint in their conversation after that.

Later on in the evening, after they had had a dainty little dinner, and were sitting in two big easy-chairs before a blazing fire, Doreen began to talk about her house, and then she grew enthusiastic at once.

Tomina listened and was interested. But at last she said—

"I believe you're one of those women whose home is the dearest thing in the world—dearer than a husband."

"Perhaps you are right."

Doreen's face grew grave at once, and a sad look came into her eyes.

"I suppose I may be romantic," went on Tomina, "but I feel that I shouldn't care a bit about my circumstances as long as I were with the one I liked."

"You are younger than I. As you get on in life, you learn to be content with the second best."

Tomina's bright brown eyes dwelt reflectively upon Doreen's proud, clear-cut face.

"I feel as if it is an insult to Tom to call him second best."

Tomina's tone was fiery.

"I did not necessarily allude to your brother. A home has its attractions to me, and from what I hear of you, I should have thought you sympathised with me. You became tired of your stepmother's gay house in town; I became tired of the same thing out in Queensland. When I went out there, I thought I should get away from society, but I discovered my mistake."

"Why did you want to get away from society?" Tomina could not refrain from asking.

"Why did you?" Doreen asked, looking at her steadily.

Tomina laughed in an embarrassed fashion.

"I was sent away by doctor's orders."

"Yes, but why did you wilfully let your health go? Why did you rack your body and nerves to pieces? There is no need to do it. We both know that."

Then Tomina smiled her sweet smile.

"My dear Doreen, our lives are our own; we need not pry inquisitively into each other's motives and way of spending our existence."

Doreen looked sombrely into the fire in front of her. They fought shy of personal topics after that. Doreen described the place in which she was going to live, and talk flowed smoothly till bed-time.

When they said good night, Tomina looked up into Doreen's face with a little of her old gay audacity.

"Sisters-in-law rarely like each other. Do you think we shall be exceptions to the rule?"

"I don't see why we should not be," answered Doreen, promptly, "if you will be reasonable, and not expect me to be for ever extolling your brother's virtues and bemoaning his absence."

"My dear Doreen, I would rather you were sincere than anything else in the world."

"And," pursued Doreen, gravely, "just as you can be happy when your brother is at sea in spite of your great love for him, so can I, and I mean to be. It takes a good deal to make me content and happy, but when I have once reached that stage, it will take a good deal more to disenchant me. So do not try to do it."

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. You ought to be a blissfully happy woman."

They did not kiss each other as they separated for the night.

"We shall go slowly," said Tomina to herself. "I wonder if she will be dull company?"

But she was not. She was full of information and interest. Gardening was her hobby, but she was also a great reader, and could talk well. She had had many strange experiences in Australia, and Tomina listened to her stories with a fascination which surprised herself. Doreen was quite content to saunter about the village and take an occasional walk with Tomina; the rest of the time she spent over the fire with a book.

On one of the carrier's days, she accompanied Tomina in the van, but she was not a success in it. The passengers were afraid of her, and the usual jokes and stories were not forthcoming.

Tomina taxed her with stiffness.

"You don't like my dear country people. You are too sensible; we are all silly together when we go to market. Everything amuses us, unless a tragedy has happened, and then you should see our round eyes and open mouths. Sometimes the tragedies are more amusing than painful. I wish I could tell you some of them. They are inimitable in their slow country dialect."

"I don't care for the lower classes," said Doreen, a little indifferently.

"But if you're going to live in the country, you must. You will be surrounded by them."

"I shall live my life to myself. I am looking forward to it. I have been entertaining people that have never appealed to me for years. Now I shall have a rest."

"That was how I first felt when I came down here. And then I had a surfeit of myself; and the villagers don't want entertaining—they entertain me. I wonder—I wonder if you will be led along the same road as I was?"

Doreen looked questioningly at her and Tomina's eyes glowed as she said—

"When we know each other a little better, I'll tell you what has happened to me down here."

She said no more, and Doreen asked no questions.