God Bless Us Every One by Everson Eva Marie;

Author:Everson, Eva Marie;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abingdon Press
Published: 2016-06-29T04:00:00+00:00

12

* * *

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

Did you meet with Ashlynne yesterday?” Dusty asked as he walked Charlie from the side porch to his car.

She nodded. “Finally. We picked up quite a few things. For the rest, we’ll have to get with—who did Ashlynne say?—somebody who sews the costumes for them each year.”

“Miss Anise . . . um, Anise Carver.” Dusty opened the passenger door for her, standing so close she could smell the mints on his breath mixing headily with his aftershave and the leather of his jacket. “This is my first year, too, so I haven’t met her yet.”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered, unable to fully speak. She’d waited for this moment since fifth grade. She didn’t want to waste a moment of the memory it would hold for her later by talking about someone neither of them knew.

She slid into the car and adjusted her seat belt and purse while Dusty ran around to the other side and got in, rubbing his hands together. Charlie pulled her hair, now unbraided and curled, from beneath the seat belt.

“Can you believe how cold it’s gotten?” he asked as he shut the door behind him. “I don’t ever remember it being this cold so early in December.”

Charlie threw a smile his way. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”

“You know what would be completely cool?” He turned the key and started the car. “If it snowed the night of the play. It’d be like—well, it would be like a Dickens Christmas.”

“Would we still be able to have the play?”

Dusty’s eyes grew wide. “We’d better.”

“Which reminds me,” Charlie said as they neared the highway. “Why in the world did you choose to have the performance on the nineteenth of all nights? Why not a Friday night? Or a Saturday matinee?”

Dusty steered the car away from town and increased the speed. “The book was released on December 19, 1843. Can you think of a better date?”

Charlie did the math. “Nearly a hundred and seventy-five years ago.”

Dusty nodded. “Give or take a year.”

“Pretty amazing when you think about it.” She pressed her lips together, tasting the strawberry gloss she’d glided over her lips moments before Dusty arrived at the house. “That a book has been a best seller all this time.”

“And to think ole Charles had to fund the thing with what little bit of money he had in his accounts.” He turned his head to look at her briefly, then sent his attention back to the curves in the dark road ahead of them. “You look pretty tonight, by the way.

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