Read Online Light A Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maeve Binchy
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what they were doing, working until their bodies ached. To admire five shining children at mass, a kind of reward.
Elizabeth tried to remember whether she had known any church-going on this scale at home, but she could not recall it. Mr and Mrs Flint were ‘church types’, Mother had said, but she hadn’t known that it meant all this washing and shoe polishing and great masses of people walking to and from a building where you knew everyone.
The crib had been put up in the beginning of December. Great life-size figures of the Family in the stable and real straw . Aisling went to pray in front of it when mass was over, and put a penny into a big collection box which was covered in melted wax. This allowed you to light a candle and stick it with all the other lighted candles; apparently, if you did this you got a wish.
‘Do you get a wish even if you haven’t got the gift of faith?’ Elizabeth whispered on one occasion. Her wish would have been to receive a long cheerful letter from Mother and Father.
‘I don’t think so.’ Aisling considered the matter seriously. ‘No, I’ve never heard that you do. Better not waste the penny, keep it for sweets in Mangans.’
Christmas Day, for Elizabeth, had always been an anticlimax; so much looked forward to, so much talked about, but when it came it always seemed to bring some disapproval, or some other cause for complaint which she would pretend not to notice. Last year it had been one long discussion about rationing and arguments about how they could possibly manage. Elizabeth thought that the Day with the O’Connors would be utterly perfect. She expected a storybook Christmas for the first time in her life.
For weeks they had all been making each other presents, and the cry of ‘Don’t come in!’ arose whenever you went into a room unexpectedly. To Elizabeth’s great surprise, Aisling talked enthusiastically about Santa Claus. Once or twice, Elizabeth had ventured a small doubt about him.
‘Do you think that there actually might not be a Santa Claus, you know, the gifts might come from … somewhere else?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Aisling said. ‘Sure, where else would they come from?’ She had lit several candles asking God to remind Santa Claus of her requests.
Elizabeth had changed a great deal in her four months with the O’Connors. Once upon a time, she would have said nothing and just hoped that things would turn out for the best. Now, however, she felt able to intervene.
‘Auntie Eileen?’
‘Yes, darling?’ Eileen was writing in the big household book she filled in every Saturday.
‘I don’t want to interfere but … you see, Aisling is praying to the Holy Family people in the church and asking them to tell Santa Claus that she wants a bicycle … and, you know … just … I thought you should know as well, if you see what I mean, just in case she doesn’t tell you.’
Eileen pulled the child towards her affectionately. ‘Now, that’s very kind of you to tell me that,’ she said.
‘It’s not that I’m asking you to buy expensive things like that, it’s just that Aisling believes very strongly that what you tell Santa Claus should be a secret, and she mightn’t tell you.’
‘Well, I’ll keep that information very carefully in my mind,’ said Eileen solemnly. ‘Run off with you, now.’
Christmas Eve was like a combination of Saturday nights with all the shoe polishing and neck washing, and the day of the Christmas play at school, all feverish excitement. Even grown-up people like Maureen and her friend Berna were giggling, and Young Sean was happy and wrapping up parcels.
During the night Elizabeth heard the door open. She glanced worriedly over at Aisling’s bed but the red hair out on the pillow never stirred. Through half-closed eyes Elizabeth saw Sean place the bicycle, wrapped in brown paper and holly sprigs, at the end of Aisling’s bed. And to her amazement she saw a similar shape coming to the end of her own bed.
Elizabeth tried to remember whether she had known any church-going on this scale at home, but she could not recall it. Mr and Mrs Flint were ‘church types’, Mother had said, but she hadn’t known that it meant all this washing and shoe polishing and great masses of people walking to and from a building where you knew everyone.
The crib had been put up in the beginning of December. Great life-size figures of the Family in the stable and real straw . Aisling went to pray in front of it when mass was over, and put a penny into a big collection box which was covered in melted wax. This allowed you to light a candle and stick it with all the other lighted candles; apparently, if you did this you got a wish.
‘Do you get a wish even if you haven’t got the gift of faith?’ Elizabeth whispered on one occasion. Her wish would have been to receive a long cheerful letter from Mother and Father.
‘I don’t think so.’ Aisling considered the matter seriously. ‘No, I’ve never heard that you do. Better not waste the penny, keep it for sweets in Mangans.’
Christmas Day, for Elizabeth, had always been an anticlimax; so much looked forward to, so much talked about, but when it came it always seemed to bring some disapproval, or some other cause for complaint which she would pretend not to notice. Last year it had been one long discussion about rationing and arguments about how they could possibly manage. Elizabeth thought that the Day with the O’Connors would be utterly perfect. She expected a storybook Christmas for the first time in her life.
For weeks they had all been making each other presents, and the cry of ‘Don’t come in!’ arose whenever you went into a room unexpectedly. To Elizabeth’s great surprise, Aisling talked enthusiastically about Santa Claus. Once or twice, Elizabeth had ventured a small doubt about him.
‘Do you think that there actually might not be a Santa Claus, you know, the gifts might come from … somewhere else?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Aisling said. ‘Sure, where else would they come from?’ She had lit several candles asking God to remind Santa Claus of her requests.
Elizabeth had changed a great deal in her four months with the O’Connors. Once upon a time, she would have said nothing and just hoped that things would turn out for the best. Now, however, she felt able to intervene.
‘Auntie Eileen?’
‘Yes, darling?’ Eileen was writing in the big household book she filled in every Saturday.
‘I don’t want to interfere but … you see, Aisling is praying to the Holy Family people in the church and asking them to tell Santa Claus that she wants a bicycle … and, you know … just … I thought you should know as well, if you see what I mean, just in case she doesn’t tell you.’
Eileen pulled the child towards her affectionately. ‘Now, that’s very kind of you to tell me that,’ she said.
‘It’s not that I’m asking you to buy expensive things like that, it’s just that Aisling believes very strongly that what you tell Santa Claus should be a secret, and she mightn’t tell you.’
‘Well, I’ll keep that information very carefully in my mind,’ said Eileen solemnly. ‘Run off with you, now.’
Christmas Eve was like a combination of Saturday nights with all the shoe polishing and neck washing, and the day of the Christmas play at school, all feverish excitement. Even grown-up people like Maureen and her friend Berna were giggling, and Young Sean was happy and wrapping up parcels.
During the night Elizabeth heard the door open. She glanced worriedly over at Aisling’s bed but the red hair out on the pillow never stirred. Through half-closed eyes Elizabeth saw Sean place the bicycle, wrapped in brown paper and holly sprigs, at the end of Aisling’s bed. And to her amazement she saw a similar shape coming to the end of her own bed.
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