Emerald Star (Hetty Feather) Read online

  ‘To me too,’ I said solemnly, though I felt a little awkward. There was something so sweetly sincere about Jem. I knew he truly meant every word he said. I had often used words to make people like me or to get my own way. They’d flood out of my mouth in a colourful torrent, but I wasn’t quite sure whether I was only acting for effect.

  Jem sometimes gazed at me with such intensity as we sat by the fire together in the evening. His brown eyes were so big, so shiny, so earnest. I was pleased that he looked at me like that – and yet I couldn’t help thinking of Farmer Woodrow’s docile cows with their moist eyes and strangely long lashes.

  I felt uncomfortable whenever our conversation petered out, though Jem didn’t seem to mind. I suggested we read aloud to each other.

  ‘You read to me, Hetty. My eyes are too tired for deciphering small print by rush light,’ he said.

  So I read aloud from my precious copy of David Copperfield. At first Jem took a great interest, and laughed and commented, but gradually he stopped talking and closed his eyes.

  ‘Oh, Jem! Wake up!’ I said.

  ‘I’m not asleep. I’m simply resting my eyes. Go on, Hetty – it’s a wonderful story and you read it so well,’ he said – but in two minutes he was snoring.

  I stared at his nodding head, trying to make excuses for him. The poor man was up before dawn, doing hard physical labour all day long. Of course he was bone tired. He couldn’t help falling asleep. I knew this, but I couldn’t help feeling lonely and disappointed.

  It was almost as if we were an old married couple already. I’d sunk into the cosy routine of a woman twice my age, and it frightened me. I started longing for change – any change at all in our daily life.

  I got very excited and enthusiastic about Christmas. It had never been an extraordinary occasion at the hospital. We’d each been given a penny and an orange – that was the extent of our Christmas gifts. There had been no lessons, no hours of darning, but there had been a punishingly long session in the chapel that gave us all aching backs and pins and needles in our dangling legs.

  I had read about Christmas though, and was convinced that all other folk sat down to huge tables groaning with capons and figgy puddings galore, with a Christmas tree and coloured lanterns and many presents.

  I looked around our small, dimly lit cottage, saw our big stewing pot, and sighed at the few coins rattling in my purse. ‘How can we make Christmas special, Jem?’ I wailed.

  ‘We don’t really set so much store by Christmas,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can have a bit of stewing beef. That’ll make a nice change.’

  ‘It should be a roast,’ I wailed. ‘And I need to decorate the house to make it pretty. But what are we going to do about presents? I want to give real gifts. Folk will be getting tired of me stitching them silly clothes.’

  ‘Oh, Hetty, you stitch beautiful clothes. We don’t really give elaborate gifts – but I do have a tiny present for you.’

  ‘Really? What is it?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait until Christmas Day! And listen – perhaps one of the girls will invite us to her house. Both Bess and Eliza have big ovens, so we could share their roast. We could bundle Mother up and drive her over in Molly’s donkey cart,’ said Jem, a little doubtfully, because both sisters lived miles away.

  There were certainly a flurry of letters inviting us over for Christmas, and Mother seemed excited by the idea. But when Jem and I talked it over together, it didn’t seem at all practical. It was getting so cold. Mother would freeze to death on the journey, even if we wrapped her up in twenty blankets. We couldn’t take her special wheeled chair too, so she would be trapped in a corner – and would there be room enough for her in any spare bed?

  It was dear Janet who solved our problem. ‘You must come to our house for Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Jem and Father could give Peg a chairlift to our house. We have a big oven, and you know how much my mother loves cooking. Please say you’ll come, Jem and Hetty.’

  I think we were both torn. I wanted to have a wonderful Christmas in our house, and that was what Jem seemed to want too. If only our walls could expand so I could invite the Maples and many other guests besides. Perhaps not my foster sisters. I’d seen a little too much of them at the funeral.

  I’d have liked to invite my father for Christmas. Katherine and Mina and Ezra could have smokies and baked cod and fishy pudding back where they belonged. I’d have liked my dear friend Freda the Female Giant to come too, though we might have to raise the ceiling specially. I’d have liked to see my pal Bertie the butcher’s boy too, and he would surely bring us a fine turkey or a side of beef, but I wasn’t so sure Jem would enjoy his company. And oh, most of all I’d have liked to send an invitation up to Heaven and have Mama pop down for the day. I’d make her a feast even better than manna, whatever that was. I just knew it was the only food they seemed to eat in Heaven. I paused, trying to decide what Mama would most like to eat during her visit.

  ‘Hetty?’ said Jem. He gave me a little nudge. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Janet. ‘She’s got that look in her eye. I think she’s picturing again.’

  ‘Don’t tease me, you two,’ I said, coming back to my senses. ‘It’s so kind of you and your family to invite us for Christmas, Janet. We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Jem?’

  So that’s what we did. It was all very jolly and we ate like kings. Mother particularly enjoyed herself. Mrs Maple was so kind to her. She’d made up a special chair like a throne, with extra cushions and blankets and shawls, and gave her a special Christmas meal tactfully cut into tiny pieces.

  Mother was learning how to feed herself again now, though her hands were very shaky and she sometimes lost concentration halfway to her mouth. She couldn’t help making a mess on the tablecloth and looked upset, but Mrs Maple patted her shoulder and said calmly, ‘Don’t fret, Peg dear, you’re doing splendidly.’

  We ate turkey, the very first time I’d tasted it. I didn’t care for the live birds at all, with their weird worm-pink heads and fat feathery bodies and yellow claws. I always skirted round the turkey shed, keeping my distance. I’d had no idea that such a grotesque creature could taste so sweet and succulent. We had roast potatoes too, crisp and golden, and parsnips and carrots and small green sprouts like baby cabbages.

  We ate until we were nearly bursting, but when we were offered a second serving we said yes please, and Mother nodded enthusiastically. There were puddings too – a rich figgy pudding with a custard, a pink blancmange like a fairy castle, and a treacle tart with whipped cream. I could not choose which pudding I wanted because they all looked so wonderful, so I had a portion of each.

  This was a serious mistake, as I was wearing my first proper grown-up corset for the occasion. I’d bought it in the hope that squeezing my stomach in with its strong whalebone might help a little bust to pop out at the top, but I remained disappointingly flat-chested – and unable to breathe properly into the bargain.

  I was glad I hadn’t tried to encase Mother in her own corsets. She spread comfortably underneath her loose gown. She usually fell fast asleep after a big meal, but she stayed wide awake for the present giving. The Maples gave her a specially wrapped little package. I helped her unwrap it. Mr Maple had carved her special cutlery, cleverly designed to help her manage more efficiently. The spoon had a deep bowl to prevent spillage, the fork had clever prongs for easy spearing, and the knife had a curved handle so that Mother could grip it.

  She seized hold of her spoon and fork, wanting to try them out immediately, so Mrs Maple gave her another bowl of figgy pudding, even though she was already full to the brim.

  Of course, Mother had no presents to give the Maples in return, but Jem and I had done our best. Jem gave me several shillings from his farm wages and I bought them an ornament at the market – a little china model of a house, not unlike their own, with a little lumpy extra bacon room beside the chimney. There was a message written carefully across the plinth: Bless This House.

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