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Christmas Charity

By Susan G Mathis

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Chapter One

Monday, December 2, 1864
Wolfe Island, Canada

Susan swung her teaching satchel over her shoulder as she took wee Elizabeth’s hand with her free one. Walking home with five of her siblings—who were also her students—always put a smile on her face and a spring in her step. She could simply be the twenty-three-year-old big sister, not their teacher, and on this sunny December afternoon her walk home with them felt nothing short of heavenly. She glanced out at the mighty St. Lawrence River still flowing freely past her beloved island home and turned to her eight-year-old sister, Cecelia. “The river hasn’t frozen over yet. Amazing.”
Cecelia pouted. “I don’t like it when it’s all frozen and no one can come to the island.”
“I know, but we’ve learned how to get by, haven’t we?” Susan let go of Elizabeth’s hand to pat Cecelia’s unruly red hair. I do hope her hair deepens to a nice auburn, like mine.
Six-year-old Elizabeth gazed up at Susan with big, teary eyes. “Daniel says I’m a stupid baby. I'm not. I’m six and know my letters and numbers and can write my name.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed as she fairly growled. She whipped around to see Daniel, Robert, and James tossing rocks at a tree. So much for a heavenly walk.
“Daniel. Come here at once!” Susan put on her most professional scolding-face and gave her ten-year-old brother a thorough tongue-lashing. By the time they got home, the boy’s shoulders hung limp, his boyish bravado dutifully quenched.
When the six of them tumbled through the door, their hard-working mama smiled and wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. She brushed a strand of her thin, sandy hair from her face, leaving a dusting of white on her forehead. “I’m glad you be home. We have company for dinner and much to do before they come. Lads, go and do your chores.”
Susan quirked an eyebrow. “It’s Monday. Who comes for dinner on a Monday?”
Mama gave her a bit of scowl and cleared her throat. “Father invited his friend, Patrick O’Neill, and his daughter. The men have important things to discuss. I need all of you lasses to help me prepare for tonight.”
Cecelia wrinkled her freckled nose, so much like Susan’s. “That Lizzy is such a spoiled child. She thinks she’s better than everyone else. All nastiness and prickles.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Like a porcupine? I don’t like porcupines.”
Mama spun around and shook her head with a furrowed brow. “Hush, girls. Be charitable. Lizzy lost her mama just a few years ago. You must show her some Christian charity.”
The girls fell silent, but not for long. Soon they were busy chatting about their school day while they prepared for their company. Cecelia straightened the candles on the table. “Teacher taught the class about how we Irish light a candle in the window to welcome Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus to our home. I thought everyone knew that, but they don’t.” Cecelia pursed her lips.
Mama stirred the aromatic Irish stew that bubbled on the stove. “Not everyone has the same traditions as we do, lass.”
“True. Not everyone makes soda bread or gets to enjoy Christmas pudding.” Susan took a delighted whiff of the still-warm soda bread and cut it into slices.
“No Christmas pudding? How sad for them. I love all the fruits and nuts and spices in it. And when you pour on the hot milk, Mama, oh my!” Cecilia licked her lips as if she were tasting it as she poured fresh glasses of milk for each of the diners. Then she helped Elizabeth set the table.
Mama smiled, shrugging her bony shoulders. “The Christmas pudding is not yet ready, but I made an apple cake for tonight. We will have a Monday night feast to be sure.”
Susan paused, holding a knife as she stood over her father’s place setting. “But we never have dessert on the weekday.” More importantly, she thought she detected a shadow behind her mother’s cheerful expression.
Her mama shrugged her shoulders, but before she could reply, the door swung open behind her, and Father entered with Patrick and Lizzy O’Neill. The boys followed close behind. Her stocky, dark-haired father tossed Susan a wink in greeting. “The O’Neills are here, and we’ve washed up already. My but it smells wonderful, wife.”
Mama smiled and met their guests at the door. “Welcome Patrick. Welcome Lizzy.” Susan joined them with similar greetings, but Lizzy scowled at her as if she were an enemy. The girl’s prissy appearance—with her fancy clothes and silken bows—seemed to clash with her demeanor.
Confused, Susan turned to put the bread and butter on the table. The girl was a beauty, to be sure, but Cecilia was right. She was a prickly thing. Susan whispered thanks that Lizzy went to the school in town rather than the one-room schoolhouse where she taught.
“Let’s all sit, shall we?” Father motioned for Patrick and Lizzy to sit to his right, just across from Susan. She sucked in a steadying breath when she saw Lizzy’s dark eyes shooting darts at her from across the table.
Not seeming to notice his daughter’s attitude, Mr. O’Neill nodded to Susan. His full head of salt-and-pepper hair and dark, heavy eyebrows accented a gentle persona. Then her father’s friend smiled, and tiny lines framed his eyes and mouth but faded quickly as they all bowed their heads to pray.
Father said grace, and the hubbub of ten people enjoying an unusually special Monday night dinner ensued. Happy banter about school and winter and the Christmas holidays held everyone engaged. Except for Lizzy. She just picked at her food until her father whispered in her ear, obviously urging her to join in. She did not.
Mr. O’Neill set down his fork and cleared his throat. He smiled at Susan until she felt self-conscious. “How do you like teaching, Miss Hawkins?”
Susan wiped her mouth before answering. “I love teaching, even my brothers.” She glanced at them and winked. “This year I have twenty-three students, so it’s quite a full day.”
“I’m sure they love you.” Mr. O’Neill’s voice was gentle, but his eyes darted between Susan and her parents. Silent tension built, but for the life of her, she didn’t know why.
Father broke the silence. “I hear you made apple cake, my dear. Might we have a cup of tea to go with it?”
Mama laughed nervously. “Would any proper Irish household not have tea with dessert? Why James, you know me better than that.”
Susan and her siblings giggled at their parents’ banter. Maybe one day she would have such a sweet and loving marriage and family. If only she’d meet an eligible man here on Wolfe Island. But no, there were none. At least none she’d care to wed.
“So you sold your farm, Patrick?” Father passed Susan an empty dessert plate as she cut the cake. “And you bought a larger farm in Cape Vincent?”
Before Mr. O’Neill could answer, Daniel spoke up with pride. “Cape Vincent is in New York. In America! It’s just a across the main channel of the St. Lawrence River. I want to go there one day.”
Mr. O’Neill nodded. “Correct. You are a clever boy. How old are you?”
“I’m ten.” He pointed to two of his brothers. “Robert is twelve, and James is fourteen. But he’s not the oldest boy.”
Susan took up where he left off. “Michael, Ned, Mary, Margaret, and I are older. We all came over from Ireland before the rest of this busy herd was born.” She paused and turned to Mr. O’Neill’s daughter. “How old are you, Lizzy?”
Pressing her lips together as if to prevent a response from escaping, Lizzy squirmed in her seat until her father placed a hand on her shoulder.
“She’s nine. From where in Ireland does your family come?”
Susan smiled at the memory of her beloved Ireland. “From Hilltown in County Down, but we sailed out of Belfast. I was ten.” She flashed a glance at Lizzy.
Cecelia shook her head. “I wasn’t born yet, but someday, I want to go to Ireland.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Me too!”
Father grinned and abruptly ended the reminiscing about their immigration. “All right, children. Enough talk. Eat your cake.” Susan gathered that there must be an important topic to be discussed. Tonight. Her father paused for a moment and continued. “So Patrick, when do you plan to move to America?”
“Before the river freezes. I have cattle and other livestock that came with the farm. They need tending to, so we must leave within a week or so.”
“Before the holidays? So soon?” Mama put her hand to her neck and turned pale.
Susan wondered why her mama was so concerned about the O’Neill’s imminent departure. When Mr. O’Neill nodded, Lizzy’s lower lip began to quiver. Then she gulped a breath as if she was going to cry. The girl glared at her for what seemed like an eternity until Susan felt guilty. But for what?
Susan noticed that her father gave her mama a narrow-eyed glance and slight shake of his head, the kind he gave her when something was amiss. Susan had to ask. “What’s wrong, Lizzy?”
“It’s … it’s all your fault!” Lizzy shouted, jumping up from the table and running across the room. “I’m going to the privy!” She slammed the door behind her as the entire table fell silent.
Susan frowned as she addressed Mr. O’Neill. “What is she talking about?” And why was no one acting normal today?
Mama rose and motioned for her brood to evacuate the tiny house. “Children, put on your coats and go play tag in the barn. Susan, stay here, please.”
After the children left, Susan waited for her father to speak. Something terrible and very grown up must be happening for her to stay behind with the adults.
Mama sat next to Susan and took her hand. Father addressed her. “Daughter, Patrick and I have been talking. We have some exciting news. Your mama and I have arranged for Patrick and you to marry.”
Susan blew out a breath and squeaked out her shock. “Marry? Him?” Her gaze darted to Mr. O’Neill. His coffee-brown eyes danced with apparent anticipation and equal apprehension. He was a fine-looking man, but a much, much older man. Her father’s friend. Yet he did possess certain assets. He had a kind smile accented with tiny wrinkles and a deep, warm voice. But he also he had a daughter. Who hated her. “Is that why Lizzy is upset? She knows?” Susan gritted her teeth and rose from the table. “Excuse me.” She shook her head violently as she hurried to her room and shut the door, heaving deep, ragged breaths.
Her mama knocked, entered the room, and took her hand. Mama guided Susan to the bed, and the two sat silently for a few moments.
Then Susan’s angst burst forth. “Why, Mama? Why must I marry him? He is old. He’s Fathers’s age and a widower. He has an angry lass, and, worst of all, he wants to immigrate to America!” Susan pleaded as her mama stroked her long, auburn braid. “Nae, Mama, I cannot marry him!”
“This is for your own good.” Mama’s flat response lacked the sympathy of her touch. “Remember how you thwarted our efforts to wed you to Josiah? We don’t want you to be an old maid schoolmarm all your life, and there are simply no other eligible bachelors on the island. Your father and Mr. O’Neill have been discussing this for some time now, and your father finds him to be a wise and trustworthy man. He will give you a fine future, Susan. Moreover, it is not right to question your father’s judgment.”
“I don’t want to immigrate again, especially to America. Their terrible civil war is still raging. And I do not want to leave Wolfe Island or leave Canada or leave you. I cannot!”
“You cannot shame us, Susan,” Mama said emphatically.
Susan felt like an animal being sold to the highest bidder. “Why?”
Mama pursed her lips and touched Susan’s cheek. “I felt the same way when my father gave me to your father. But I soon grew to love him and trust him, and you know that we have a fine marriage.”
“But Mr. O’Neill is old, and his daughter hates me!” Susan tried to stifle sobs at the thought of her hopeless future.
“You have a charitable heart, one that can look past time and space and love people as they are. Your compassion runs deep for the one who is hurting, so you can help Lizzy to heal from the loss of her mother. And she can learn to be as gracious as you are.”
Mama took her in her arms and held her close. “I have readied you for this day, Susan, and you will make a fine wife. But you must choose to prepare your heart and mind for the changes to come. Remember the Scripture I taught you when you were but a wee lass? ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.’ Take heed, and live it out, my daughter.” With that, Mama kissed Susan on the cheek and left her alone with her thoughts.
Susan pondered her mama’s words. She eventually wiped her tears—until she recalled that Mr. O’Neill had said he was moving next week. That was too soon!
Susan’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She listened until she heard the O’Neills leave and her siblings return to the house. Without saying a word to them, she grabbed her coat and ran to the barn to find her father. As he forked hay to feed the horse, Susan gathered her courage to draw near and implore him. “I cannot leave my students, Father. Not now. Not so soon. Can I wait to wed? At least until spring?”
Father shook his head then took off his spectacles and looked at her with the gentle grey eyes that had always settled her heart—until now. Now they pierced her with her duty. “Patrick O’Neill is a good man, Susan. He wants to provide you with a good home and fine future. That is all I desire for you, daughter. And you will obey.”
Silenced by her father’s commanding words, Susan lowered her gaze and went inside knowing that her fate had been sealed. She climbed into bed, threw the covers over her head, and sobbed as quietly as she could.
Indeed, she would marry Mr. O’Neill. She would become a stepmother to a child who hated her. She would leave her family, her students, her island. And all too soon.

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