The Christmas Peacemaker by Virna Sheard

Author:Virna Sheard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, short story
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1900-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

This Cinders posted, then waited. More than a week went by. She escaped once and went to the hospital. The porter told her Thorald was very ill, that no one had come to see him. The child made up her mind on the way home that she would go for Thorald’s aunt herself. There was a desperate pain at her heart that made inaction impossible.

About dusk she slipped out of the house, dressed in what Mrs. Stogers called her best clothes. The tin bank was clasped to her breast. The cat followed, scenting adventure in the air. The city looked gay and bright at this dusky hour. The great buildings were trimmed with the snow’s ermine and the frost’s lace, as in honor of the approaching feast-day. Lights winked at the lonely little girl from friendly-looking houses. There was cedar before the shops, and bunches of glistening holly behind the windows.

She passed butcher shops where rows and rows of turkeys, all butchered to make a Christmas holiday, hung stiff in death, and where pigs of cheerful countenance, adorned with paper roses, and holding lemons in their mouths, appeared to rejoice in their fate. On and on sped her light footsteps, for she knew the way. Her starry eyes saw the beautiful city, and it seemed as a city in a dream. Silver sleigh bells rang on the frosty air, but she did not know she heard them.

The man in the ticket office at the station stared as she asked for her ticket and handed him the tin bank.

“Break it open,” said Cinders, “an’ take out the money, please. I think there’s enough. I tried to get it open, but I couldn’t.”

So far her faith in humanity had not been corroded. The official wrenched the box open, took the needed amount and handed back the rest with the ticket. He looked amused, but kindly. People were all kind, she thought—the brakeman who helped her aboard the train, the conductor, all of them.

Perhaps it was because the Christmas spirit was abroad in the land, or else that the serious little face, framed in its bronze brown hair, the eager, appealing eyes, and tremulous red mouth were hard to resist.

The train sped on through the white country and Cinders waited, the cat, who had escaped all pursuit, purring calmly beside her.

At the right station she got out, carrying Mephistopheles, and stood alone on the empty platform. An ancient cab was awaiting possible passengers. Cinders went to the driver and asked him if he could take her to Miss Thorald’s house.

“I want to get there very quickly,” she said, “and here’s the money,” handing him the balance on hand.

“All right, lady,” he answered; “get right in; ye’ll be there in a jiffy.”

If it had been daylight he wouldn’t have called me that, thought the child.

As to how she should return home she did not trouble. No thought of Mrs. Stogers disturbed her. No fear, though the hour was late and the place strange. One idea alone held her mind.

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