Read Online Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell - Free Book Online Page A

particularly cold day, I was on my way home, wrapped snugly in my heavy wool greatcoat. Scurrying down the street, arms full of sketches I’d done that week at my art lessons, I was looking forward to a blazing fire in the hearth and a cup of warm chocolate. Distracted, I tripped on a loose stone and landed hard, vellum flying everywhere. Cursing my stupidity, I looked around to see if anyone had noted my mishap. Three grubby, solemn-faced children milled nearby. One of them, a girl, stepped forward and silently began picking up the scattered sketches. I stood quickly and began to scoop some up as well, mumbling my reserved but polite thanks (though, to my everlasting shame, I clearly remember hoping that the filthy little thing didn’t smudge them).
Once they’d all been gathered up, I held a hand out for the ones in her possession. The girl boldly met my eyes with hers and I finally, really looked at her. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Her frame was thin, too thin. Dark shadows under her eyes gave her the look of someone far older than her years. She lifted her pointy little chin haughtily as I stared. Her navy-blue eyes snapped with pride, daring me to judge her. She handed me the drawings without a word and, with the bearing of a miniature queen, turned to go. Something made me reach out for her scrawny little arm, but I stopped as she flinched.
“It’s all right, child. I just wanted to give you a coin for your help.”
“You aren’t much more than a child yerself, are you, Master? But I’d be ’appy to take yer coin,” she responded blithely.
The two children behind her, a small red-haired boy and another towheaded lad, moved forward then, hands out. I looked at them, noting how pale they were, and that all three were trembling.
“You tremble. Are you afraid of me, then, children?” I asked them gently.
The girl snorted and replied, “No, sir. Mayhap you didn’t notice, but it’s bloody cold out ’ere.”
I realized then that none of them had coats or gloves and suddenly my world tipped. The scenery came to life and the background became the foreground. I dropped the sketches onto the street and stripped off my coat, tossing it over the girl’s shoulders. She swam in it, and it could have wrapped her three times around, but she closed her eyes and buried her face in the neck. I stripped off my scarf and waistcoat, wrapping up the little redheaded boy next, and gave the yellow-haired child my gloves and hat. I pulled the purse from my belt and handed it over.
“Get something hot for dinner, will you?” I said and picked up my drawings to leave. Turning back, I called over my shoulder, freezing myself now, “I’ll be back later in the week!”
“Sure you will, sir. We thank you fer the clothes and coin, though,” she said, her face filled with acceptance and an understanding that humbled me. Then they scampered off with the small sack of coins, chattering with excitement.
I kept my word. In fact, I went back once every week, dropping off food each time—mincemeat pies, loaves of bread and even coins when I could. The three soon became a dozen, and I would sketch them and tell them stories. During this time, I became especially attached to the little girl I’d met that first day, Molly. She was full of piss and vinegar, and I admired her greatly. Although she remained wary and a bit reserved, every time I came when I promised I would, she seemed to trust me a little more. There was something special in her. Something that both humbled and surprised me. I was in awe of the way she took the younger children under her wing. The way she was so willing to share when she had so little. I found myself wishing I was as strong as she was, as good as she was. I spent a fair amount of time thinking how unfair it was that she never really had a chance in this world. In truth, I spent even more time hoping that someday I would be able to give her that chance.
As the weeks passed, I got to know all