A Wreath of Snow by Liz Curtis Higgs

Author:Liz Curtis Higgs
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307729569
Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group
Published: 2012-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

Meg sighed into the morning darkness of her cold bedchamber, convinced she could see her breath if the lamp on her bedside table were lit. Even burrowed underneath three woolen blankets, she was shivering. The coals in her fireplace needed to be stirred to life. But her warm slippers were in her trunk. On the train. In a snowdrift.

Daybreak would not come for two hours or more. Yet in homes scattered across Edinburgh’s New Town, her students would be well awake by now, curled up by the hearth, waiting for the rest of their households to appear so the day’s festivities might commence. Stockings would be emptied into laps and the contents exclaimed over. An orange, round and fragrant. A monkey on a wooden stick. Crayons made of colored wax. A handkerchief printed with a scene from a fairy tale. And deep in the toe of the knitted stocking, a shiny new penny.

Meg sighed, remembering how she and Alan enjoyed their stockings when they were children. She always made him wait his turn while she slowly pulled out her gifts one at a time, cherishing each trinket and toy from Saint Nicholas. Such happy years, when Mum’s laughter rang through the house, and Father took young Alan sledding at the King’s Knot in the old royal gardens below the castle.

But those days were gone forever.

Throwing back her bedcovers, Meg vowed to make the most of her brief time at home. She poked at the coals until they glowed again, then turned up the nearest lamp and began searching through her chest of drawers for something clean to wear. The striped skirt and blouse she’d worn on the train were still drying by the fire, and last night’s blue dress would never do for church.

Meg pulled out a gray flannel day dress she’d not worn since she was twenty. The narrow sleeves were patently out of fashion, but with a bit of pressing, the dress might serve. She spread the skirt across the bed and was hunting for a pair of silk stockings when Clara announced herself with a light tap on the door.

“I heard you up and about, Miss Campbell. Here’s your hot water for bathing and a cup of tea.” She placed the pitcher on Meg’s washstand and the teacup on her bedside table, then gathered up the flannel dress. “I’ll not be long,” Clara promised and left as quietly as she’d come.

Meg sat on the edge of the bed, sipping her tea, overcome with gratitude. In Edinburgh she had neither a lady’s maid nor a live-in servant, only a housekeeper, who came once a week. Piping hot tea delivered to her room? Ironing done by another pair of hands? Those were luxuries indeed.

She’d scrubbed herself clean from head to toe by the time Clara returned with her flannel dress and troubling news. “The trains are not running from Stirling this morn, not in any direction.”

Meg peered out the window into the darkened garden behind the house. “I cannot believe it’s still snowing.

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