December 24, 1812 #3
“Charlie sold his coachman’s coat to the Lambton ragpicker in early December.
The feller struck a mean bargain, knowing that a man ’ud ne’er part with his coat, not when a Derbyshire winter was ’round the corner, less’n he’d already be in a hard place.
But we could’na let the children face a bare tree. ”
Amazement at Tomkins’ sacrifice colored Elizabeth’s voice. “Your husband sold his coat to buy these for your little ones?” She waved her hand above the small collection on the table before lowering it to caress the doll.
She continued, “But you sold more, did you not?”
A tear welled in a dark brown eye before trickling down a carmine-stained cheek. Sally ducked her head and whispered, “No, Missus, not more, just different.”
Her downcast eyes were unreadable. Her hands, embarrassed and modest, fumbled with the knot tying the headcloth beneath her chin. Her short-shorn curls tumbled loosely around her face.
Elizabeth unconsciously patted her coiffure. If released, her hair would fall to her waist. Sally Tomkins’ rough cut mane barely covered the top of her neck.
Gathering herself, Elizabeth reached over and collected the young mother’s hands. She asked softly, “Sally, your hair: did you sell your hair?”
“I did, ma’am…”
Elizabeth interrupted, seeking to distract her friend. “Lizzy! You must call me Lizzy.
“You reminded me of my girlhood when I wanted to purchase ribbons for my sister Jane’s birthday. Since I was too young to go into Meryton alone, I must have badgered Mama to escort me.”
She shook her head. “Mama became impatient with my fidgeting while she gossiped with Aunt Philips and sent me into the High Street. She likely assumed I would visit the mercantile to buy some candy. That was never my plan.
“I have always been obstinate and headstrong, and, although I did not have a farthing, I intended to pay for Jane’s gift rather than put it on Longbourn’s account. I took my one treasure, a copy of The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes, to Mr. Pritchard’s bookshop.
“I loved that book. It was the first one my Papa had given me. But, faced with choosing between seeing Jane’s joy at a sky-blue ribbon or keeping the book to read for a hundredth time, I knew what to do.
“I pushed my book across the counter to Mr. Pritchard, who, to his credit, asked me exactly why I wanted to sell it because, in his experience, no Bennet ever sold a book.
“I told him. He nodded and offered two shillings, granting me the great courtesy of treating me like I was my father. But I drove a hard bargain, and we settled on two and four.
“I hurried to the milliner, bought the ribbon, and felt much the slyboots. I gave Jane her gift at dinner two days later.”
Elizabeth’s story had diverted Sally. “And your book: did you miss it?”
“I barely had the chance,” Elizabeth laughed, a crystalline cascade that brought Darcy’s head up. “The next day, Papa called me into his bookroom to gift me a copy of Goody Two-Shoes. He said my tattered one was fit only to level a chest of drawers.
“But, when I opened the book, I discovered it was mine, just rebound. Papa never let on that he had conspired with the bookseller, but now I know he could not see me do without, even for my sister.”
She forged ahead. “My quest for a ribbon is nothing akin to your situation. My book was somewhere I traveled. Your hair: Well, a woman’s tresses define who she is.
“However, like Papa’s silence about my book, there is more to say about your hair. Why did you sell your hair if Charlie’s coat paid for the children’s gifts? Most women would never cut their hair until the birth of their first grandchild.”
Sally’s sigh shook Elizabeth like a cannon blast. “ ’Twas difficult after Michaelmas Quarter Day.
Timmy took real sick in October, and we had to get Mr. Jones from Lambton.
Thank the Lord; he and the medicine set up Timmy.
Plus, we owed Charlie’s uncle for shifting us from Newcastle. Suddenly, there wasn’t enough.
“My curls went in November because Charlie needed his coat to do his duty by the Master. I got a mite over a pound as the peddler said it wasn’t a real lady’s tresses.
But it paid the apothecary, Charlie’s kin, and bought supplies—just. Lest you think we are loose, we counted everything three times. There was just nothing left over.
Her voice broke. “I couldn’t shake one worry. What if Timmy slipped off from a spring fever and never knew the joy of Christmas—you know that wonderful brightness a child gets when they wake up to see Father Christmas has come?”
“I had to do something for the kids. Good man that he is, Charlie decided he could make do with the blanket until spring.”
A wave of sadness swept over Elizabeth. She circled the table and collected Sally in her arms. “No one will question parents who sacrifice for their children’s happiness.
You, my dear, are Mother Mary, our Madonna.
” She kissed Sally’s shaggy locks and continued, “Now, allow me to play lady’s maid.
I think my sewing scissors will do nicely. ”
After setting Sally’s hair to rights, Elizabeth donated several handkerchiefs to wrap the presents.
With stockings stuffed and the fire safely banked, the Tomkinses insisted that the Darcys take the bed while they dossed down on fir limbs and blankets.
As the room dimmed, voices murmured secrets revealed.
∞∞∞