Winter Is Past (27 page)

“I paid me tithes just like ye told me to, and this is wot I get. Lost me job this afternoon.” His forefinger jabbed inches from Althea's face.

Simon had had enough. He grabbed the man's arm and jerked him around to face him. The man towered over him. “Now, look here. Miss Breton does not deserve to be treated—”

The man was so surprised that he stopped and stared at Simon. “'Oo the 'ell are you?” For a second the man looked at Simon as if he were some strange critter, the like of which he'd never seen
before. But then his eyes squinted as he took in Simon's appearance. “Oh, I knows yer type.” He rocked back on his heels. “We got ourselves a nob 'ere. What does yer 'ighness know of 'ard work? You sit in yer clubs all day, while the likes o' honest folks and their children go 'ungry.

“Wot do ya know of losin' yer position, yer livelihood, o' 'avin' to see yer wife and kids wi' not a morsel o' food for their mouths? Wot do you know? Eh?” With each question he jabbed Simon harder in the chest, forcing him backward. “Wot do you know of bein' kicked out into the streets, wi' nothin' to eat?”

“But enough to drink, eh?” Simon asked ironically.

That infuriated the man. His face turned purple, his eyes bulged out at Simon.

Just then, Althea grabbed the man's two hands and shoved herself between him and Simon. “Where is your faith?” she rebuked him. “I never told you it would be easy, but I promised you that if you began trusting God for the welfare of your family and begin following His laws, He will bless you. You will never lack any good thing. Now the devil wants to make you doubt. It is he who comes to steal and kill and destroy. We are going to pray, and you are going to repent of this unseemly behavior. You are going to begin believing God for this situation.” Without waiting for his acceptance or rejection of her demands, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, never letting go of his two big, hairy paws, and began praying in a voice that brooked no interruptions.

“Heavenly Father, we stand before You this day, pleading the case of Arnold. You know he has stepped out in faith, bringing You his tithe and offering. Now the enemy wants to make him believe he has been deceived. But we know better. We know You have already defeated the enemy; every principality and power of darkness has been utterly defeated by Your Son, Jesus. Your Word says to prove You, and see if You will not open up the windows of Heaven and pour down on us a blessing we cannot contain when we bring You our tithes and offerings. Your Word says You have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging
bread. We stand on Your promises for Arnold, asking You to protect his family, asking You for shelter for them, food on their table and a livelihood for him. We ask these things in perfect confidence, knowing You already have provision for him, You already know his every need…”

Simon stood in amazement, watching the blustering Arnold turn as tame as a lamb, submitting to Althea's prayer. He watched the man's hands shake as Althea shook her own in emphasis at the words she prayed. Simon crossed his arms, enjoying the scene. It was like watching an exhibition of bear baiting, with one little dog bringing down a giant, hairy bear.

By the time Arnold left, he was apologizing to Althea. Then she demanded he apologize to Simon.

Arnold shuffled, shamefaced toward Simon. “Sorry, guv'nor. Don't know what got into me.”

“No need to apologize,” Simon told him quietly, half amused, half ashamed for the poor fellow.

Althea led him to the door, telling him she would be by to see his family as soon as possible and to bring them to the mission if they found themselves out on the street before then.

She leaned against the door after she had closed it behind Arnold, and let out a deep breath. She and Simon stood looking at each other.

Simon finally said, “That was a remarkable prayer.”

“I felt a little like Peter must have when he saw the cripple sitting outside the temple, and told him, ‘Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I give thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk!' If I'd had the money to pay his rent I would have, but I don't, so I must give him my faith.” She smiled sadly. “It's unfortunate, isn't it, that so often we don't rely on our faith until we are forced to? How much we must miss out on.”

He didn't really understand what she was talking about so he said instead, “I feared for you.”

Her smile widened. “And I for you. I thought he might kill you.”

“You know it's been proven it's very hard to eradicate my race.”

She laughed. “Thank heaven.”

“I think you took a few years off my life with the scare you gave me when you intervened between the two of us.”

“I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing I know how to do. I started praying.”

“Poor fellow seems to have lost his job.”

She nodded. “Yes, he's one of so many. And he wasn't exaggerating when he said he and his family would be thrown into the streets. The landlords haven't but to hear a rumor of unemployment when they immediately start threatening eviction.”

Simon looked down. “It's ironic, you know, that he accused me of not knowing what it's like to lose one's position, one's livelihood.” He looked at her to see if she had heard anything of the scandal.

One look told him she had. “I—That is, my brother told me. I don't read too many newspapers, but he did show me an article in the
Times.
I've—I mean, we have been praying for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm so terribly sorry.”

“It's no more than I deserve, I suppose. You once warned me about the dangers of society.”

“But I never imagined anything as awful as this….” Her voice trailed off.

Seeing there was nothing else to say, he collected his hat and gloves. “Well, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I didn't realize quite how busy you would be here. Otherwise, I shouldn't have called unannounced.”

“Oh, no, please. You had no need to be announced. Won't you stay for a cup of tea?”

He smiled slightly. “No, that's quite all right. I really must be going.”

“How is Mrs. Coates? Mr. Giles? I haven't been able to get away in a while to visit them.”

“They're fine.”

She seemed on the verge of saying something more, but once
again there was a knock on the door. She seemed torn between answering the door and speaking to him, but finally she turned and opened it to deal with another request.

When she gave him her attention once again, he hesitated. “Miss Breton—”

“Yes?”

“That story you told me about Rebecca—the last time I saw you. Was there any truth to it? Or were you merely trying to comfort a grieving father?”

She moved toward him. “Oh, no! It was no story. Of course I wanted to comfort you, but I wouldn't invent such a story just for that. I told it to you just as Rebecca related it to me. Oh, Mr. Aguilar,” she breathed, “if only you could have heard Rebecca, could have seen her face. She was so happy, so full of joy.”

“Perhaps it was the delirium of a fever. Or the fancy of a child?” he asked, wanting to believe her, yet unable to do so fully.

Her shoulders slumped. She took a step back, and he felt as if her very spirit had withdrawn from him. It made him feel unutterably lonely—for a few moments he had been able to bask in the sunlight, and now he was left in the shadow once again.

She looked at him steadily. “If that is what you wish to believe.”

This time when they were interrupted, she said a quick, apologetic goodbye to him and gave her attention fully to the person who was seeking her aid.

When Simon descended the steps back out into the street, he looked at the various people sitting or standing around. He turned to an urchin hanging around the doorway. “Did you see that big fellow leave here a few minutes ago?”

The lad shrugged. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn't.”

Simon took a half-crown from his pocket and flipped it into the air, catching it in his hand. “Did you or didn't you?”

The boy approached him, watching the coin in fascination as it twirled through the air again. “Guess maybe I did. Big fellow, warn't he?”

“Yes, I'd say so. Looked sort of like a great shaggy bear.”

The boy laughed, his face soot-stained. “Yeah, that's just wot 'e looked like. Wot ya want know about 'im?”

“To begin with, where he lives.”

“Aw, that's easy. Everyone knows where Arnold lives.”

“Perhaps you could take me to him.”

The boy rubbed his dirty coat sleeve against his runny nose, leaving a streak of pale skin showing through the soot. “Sure I could.”

“Is it far from here?”

“Naw, just up a couple o' streets.” He pointed down a narrow alley.

“All right. Let me inform my driver where I'm going.” When he told his coachman, the man leaned toward him.

“Oh, Mr. Aguilar, do you think you should? No telling where the lad'll lead you.”

“It's all right. If I'm not back within half an hour, you can go inside and inform Miss Breton that I went to see Arnold.”

The man still looked concerned but said nothing more.

“Let's go,” Simon told the boy.

The boy hurried off, but slowed at the next corner, giving Simon a chance to catch up. After a few more turns down narrow streets and alleys, Simon was hopelessly lost, but the boy was as good as his word, stopping finally before a run-down building. He gave a loud knock. A severe-looking woman opened.

“Yeah. What d'ya want?”

The boy jerked a finger toward Simon. “Gent 'ere's lookin' fer Arnold.”

“Yeah?” She regarded him suspiciously. “What're ye, the law?”

“No, madam. I am merely a prospective employer. May I come in?”

She opened the door wider and let them pass through. “One flight up. Second door on the right.”

They ascended the steep, dark stairs, which smelled of urine and cigar smoke and other, less identifiable smells. At the door, the boy knocked with enthusiasm. The door opened a crack
to show the slice of a woman's face peering out at them fearfully.

“Good day, madam,” Simon said gently. “I am looking for Mr. Arnold Smith.” Before the woman could become alarmed, he added, “I may be able to help him.”

“Who's at the door?” Arnold's bellowing voice reached them.

The woman closed the door. Simon assumed she had gone to consult her husband. A few seconds later, the door burst open.

Upon recognizing him, Arnold lifted up his chin. “What d'ye want? Come here to cause me trouble?”

“No, sir.” Simon reached inside his coat and drew out his pocketbook. “I came to offer you your month's rent.”

The man's mouth fell open at the sight of the pound notes.

“May I come in?”

Arnold opened the door to let him pass through. He took him to a rough table in front of the fireplace. Simon saw the rude implements laid on it. There was no fire in the grate and the room was cold. A baby lay swaddled in a cradle and three other children of varying ages clutched their mother's skirts, peering out from behind them at Simon, two of them sucking their thumbs.

Simon smiled tentatively at them, thinking of Rebecca and how she would have enjoyed listening to his tale of how he spent his afternoon. He would have to tell her all the details of the room and its occupants.

Arnold pulled out a wooden chair for him and took the remaining one himself. His wife sat on a rickety wooden stool by the fender.

“You have no fire?”

Arnold sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Got to conserve the little coal we 'ave left.”

“What was your job?”

“Operated a loom.”

Simon took out a calling card and scrawled something on the back of it. “If you report to the Guildford Mill in Islington tomorrow and present this card, I think they can find you a place.” He
counted out some coins and placed them in a stack in the middle of the table. “That should suffice for your rent. Here is some additional with which to purchase coal and victuals.”

The man could only stare at the neat stacks on his table.

Simon rose. “Well, I must be going.”

The man stood up hastily. “Uh…could I offer you a drop?”

“No, thank you. Another time, perhaps,” he added. “Mind you don't spend your money on the bottle.” He indicated the children behind him. “You have a lovely family. Take care of them.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” he said quickly.

Simon walked toward the door. Arnold was there before him, holding it open for him.

Arnold sniffed again. “Thank y', sir.”

“Don't mention it.” Simon turned back for an instant. “If you would be so good, I would prefer you didn't mention my visit to anyone at the mission, least of all to Miss Breton. Is that understood?”

“Oh, no, sir. Mum's the word. My lip's buttoned tight,” he said, indicating it with a gesture.

“Very good. Well, so long. I wish you the best. I'll check on you in a month to see how you made out.”

When he returned to the street, the urchin was waiting for him.

He smiled at the boy, feeling suddenly very good inside. “Ready to show me the way back?”

The boy saluted. “Right 'way, guv'nor.”

The two sauntered back. “What's your name?”

“Tim.”

“Timothy.”

“That's what my mum named me.”

“Where's your mum now?”

“Oh, she died a while back.”

“I see.” Simon looked down at the boy, who seemed about Rebecca's age. The boy didn't seem affected by his loss. It must have been some time ago.

“What have you been doing since then?”

The boy shrugged, his hands shoved into the pockets of his corduroy trousers. “Oh, this 'n' that. Worked for the rat catcher for a while, but he beat me too bad every time he was drunk. So I decided to go off on me own. I was a crossing sweeper for a time. That was a good occupation, 'specially when I stationed myself down at Aldgate. Lots o' people crossin' there. But then I 'ad an accident and couldn't do that no more.”