Rose Healey
Wicked Wit
Joined: 21 Jun 2006
Posts: 317
Location: Jersey Shore
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 Posted: Mon Dec 25, 2006 10:38 am Post subject: The Secret Christmas Baby |
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The Secret Christmas Baby—A BonBon Gift
Christmas 1798 was unlike any Janet had known. Her father had died in October, leaving her, at seventeen, orphaned among the expatriate community in Paris. Her work at the orphanage that served as the Episcopal Church’s mission to that community was her only escape from memories of past, happier holidays. While the staff held a little party for themselves and the mentally deficient toddlers who were their charges, she stayed upstairs, sewing.
The sound of Kingsbridge, a minor-moded carol from her father’s 1771 edition of The American Harmony, drifted through the small, limestone building: “Hark! Hark! A choir of angels sing…”
A brief commotion on the stairs ended with Malachi bursting through the door, shouting, “You won’t believe this!“ He was a year younger than Janet. His long, glossy black hair smelled of cold air and chimney smoke, as though he’d just arrived.
Janet dismissed the urgency of his greeting. “What brings you here? You don’t celebrate Christmas. You’re Jewish.”
“It doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the notions of peace and goodwill. We invented them, you know. CHAZAL—the Sages of Blessed Memory—say that—"
“’The Sages.’”
Mal waved off the derisive mutter. “Forget the Sages. Listen: A baby’s been left outside. Do you believe it? A baby left here on Christmas day!”
“Babies can be left here any day. This is an orph-“
Janet swallowed as Kit appeared, cradling a blanketed bundle.
It was no ordinary child. The body was unnaturally small; the face, covered in thick, white hair. In revulsion, Janet squealed and recoiled. Her heart pounded, but Malachi bent double, so wracked by hilarity that he could hardly speak. “Your face…that look…”
Recovered from the shock of “the baby’s” appearance, Janet recognized Claudette, the guinea pig that Mal often brought to visit the orphans. Fury launched her toward her friend. He almost ran, but she grabbed him by the collar. Somehow they fell over each other. Mal scrambled to his feet and fled as Janet swiped at his coattails.
Sighing with wounded righteousness, she sat up, adjusted the scarf at her bosom and smoothed her hair—the same hair that Mal himself had cut into a fashionable shag. The sight of boots in the corner of her eye made her look up.
Kit crouched beside her; Claudette nested in the crook of his arm. “He wanted to make you laugh again. He said it would be his Christmas gift to you.”
“He wanted to mock me! He doesn’t believe in Christmas.”
“He believes in hope. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about—hope?”
Janet studied the warm, hazel eyes that filled Kit’s intelligent, young face. Was he admonishing her as the mission’s vicar or as the confidant she could never again let out of her life?
When she later surprised Mal with a quick, timid peck on the cheek, she knew it wasn’t out of love for the boy or Christian propriety that she bestowed that kiss.
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NOTE: This is adapted from my book Some Trust in Chariots. I'm going to ask Janga to please add it to the BB Christmas anthology once she's back on the BB. Meanwhile, please enjoy--and have a Merry Christmas!
Rose
Who couldn't resist throwing this in  _________________ The truth is that every writer produces dreck. --Eloisa James
Some chariots need no horses. |
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Rose Healey
Wicked Wit
Joined: 21 Jun 2006
Posts: 317
Location: Jersey Shore
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| Posted: Mon Feb 19, 2007 10:15 pm Post subject: |
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Hi, guys. Now that my attorney has rescued me from that e-book deal, I may plop some excerpts in a new Rose's WIP thread. Until then, the work may be seen in continuity at http://sometrustinchariots.blogspot.com, or by clicking on "chariots" in my sig below. The first eight chapters are up, with period illustrations (which add some visual interest to an otherwise white page, LOL)
Rose
Who would rather remain unpublished than go through what she just went through  _________________ The truth is that every writer produces dreck. --Eloisa James
Some chariots need no horses. |
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