A Christmas Story Chapter Six Back to Previous Chapter The Shockleys' butler opened the door and peered down at the small, red-haired woman on the doorstep. The woman smiled brightly. "Hello, Stanley. I am Daisy. I am here to see Mrs. Shockley." The butler was too well-trained to react to the use of his Christian name. "If you will be so kind as to give me your card, madam, I will ascertain if she is at home." "I have no card. She will see me. Just tell her that it is Daisy." Again, there was no reaction to this singular behaviour. "Very good, madam. Please step this way." He held the door open so Daisy could walk into the entryway, and went off in search of his mistress. Daisy looked around her with great interest, and rather than take a seat as any well-bred lady would, she calmly walked into the drawing-room. It was a large room, fitted up with heavy, serviceable fabrics. There was none of the air of light elegance that marked the same room in the parsonage. The only nod to gentility was a harp at one end of the room. Daisy grinned in delight. Angels are, of course, the best harp players. She sat at the instrument and ran her fingers expertly over the strings. Music swelled and burst forth, angelic music, sweet and rich. The sound of it propelled Mrs. Shockley, who had been on the point of having the butler deny that she was at home, to run into the drawing-room and stare at her in amazement. "This is a lovely instrument, Mathilda," said Daisy. "Do you play?" "No," she said. "I do not." There was a strange expression on her face. "You have a harp you cannot play?" asked Daisy gently. "Why is that?" Mrs. Shockley stared at her. "I wished to learn," she said wistfully. "When I was at school. I wished to learn to play the harp, but I was not allowed." "Why not?" The angel's voice was gentle, barely louder than the sound of the harp music, which had not faltered with the conversation. An expression of pain and sorrow passed over the older woman's face. "My father would not pay for music lessons. He said it was a waste of money because I would never use such an accomplishment." "And you wanted to play," encouraged Daisy softly. "I wanted to play, so much!" Improbably, a tear ran down Mrs. Shockley's face. "I would creep outside the door when the other girls were taking their lessons and listen. It was like the music of the angels, and I loved it so!" She took out her handkerchief and honked into it, then resumed her story. "One day one of the older girls, a parson's daughter, found me lurking outside the door. She carried the story back to the other girls and they teased me until I cried." She began to sob, and groped her way to a sopha and sat upon it. Daisy left the harp and came to sit by her. She took the other woman's hands in hers. "That girl, that parson's daughter-she made you very sad, did not she?" Mrs. Shockley was well beyond speech, and she simply nodded. Daisy continued speaking. "And is there anyone that you know now who reminds you of her?" The older woman sniffed and mastered herself. "I suppose that Mrs. Tilney reminds me of her, somewhat." "Yes, Catherine is a parson's daughter, as well as a parson's wife." "And she is pretty, like that girl at school." Mrs. Shockley sniffed again. "Yes, Catherine is pretty, but she is not really like that girl. She has a good heart and would never purposely hurt anyone." Mrs. Shockley did not seem to hear her. "All the other girls were prettier than I, and learned more easily, and were more accomplished." "But you have compensated, have you not, Mathilda?" Mrs. Shockley nodded emphatically. "Yes! I have always tried to help others. I have done my duty to my neighbours and to the village." Daisy chose her words diplomatically. "Perhaps you are a trifle too attentive to duty, Mathilda. But your family is grown. It is more difficult for someone to be so attentive when they have a family, would not you agree?" Mrs. Shockley gazed at her in surprise. "Do you think so?" She considered for a moment. "Yes, perhaps I have expected too much from Mrs. Tilney. She must be very busy with those children, and all those…creatures." She looked at Daisy in dismay. "Oh, I have been so wrong! I must apologize to Mrs. Tilney!" At that moment the bell rang. "I believe you have an opportunity to do so now," observed Daisy. "We are late," said Catherine in a tight voice. "It is three minutes past one. Mrs. Shockley expected us at one o'clock exactly." "Worry not, my sweet. If she has anything to say about it, I shall deal with her." Henry squeezed his wife's hand. "I wish you would permit me to deal with her more often." "No, Henry. I thank you, but Mrs. Shockley is my cross to bear, I am afraid." The dignified butler returned. "Mrs. Shockley is at home, if you would step this way." He led them into the drawing-room, and Catherine braced herself for the full measure of the older woman's disdain. But Mrs. Shockley behaved in a completely unexpected manner. She rose and came to greet them, smiling widely. "My dearest Mrs. Tilney!" she greeted Catherine, taking both her hands. "I am so very glad to see you! What a lovely pelisse!" Surprise rendered Catherine unable to speak, and turned wide eyes to her husband. Mrs. Shockley followed her gaze. "And dear Mr. Tilney! How delightful! Come in, come in, both of you, and get out of the cold!" She led them to the sopha and rang for tea. "My dear," she said to Catherine, "I must apologize. I cannot expect you to take so much time away from your family. I can do much more, and from now on I shall. Your first priority is your husband," smiling at Henry, "and your children. I realize that now, and I apologize for taking you away from them so much in the past." "Oh, well," said Catherine weakly. "Thank you!" "No, no, my dear, do not thank me. Daisy made me see where I was in error." "Daisy?" said Henry. "Is she here?" He looked around the room. "No, she could not stay. And you are not to go to the gatehouse today," Mrs. Shockley added in mock command, shaking a finger teasingly at Catherine. "Go home with your husband. I must insist, madam. It is Christmas Eve, and you should be with your family." "Very well," said Catherine, though she remained rather stupidly on the sopha. Henry recognized the opportunity for what it was; he rose and pulled Catherine to her feet. "Thank you, Mrs. Shockley," he said, pulling his wife toward the door. "You know you have whatever assistance we are able to render in your project." "Of course," she said warmly, following them to the door. "But not daily help. You both have your duties, and I now understand mine better. God bless you both." "I think He already has," muttered Henry, but he bowed politely and steered Catherine outside to the waiting sleigh. Henry was in his library writing a letter when he became aware that he was not alone. He turned and saw Daisy standing by the door. He smiled and stood. "Hello, Daisy," he said softly. "I suppose the housekeeper let you in." "Something like that," she agreed. "I owe you a great debt," said Henry. "I know not how you did it, but you have taught Mrs. Shockley the true meaning of Christian charity. I think she will not trouble Catherine any further. You have rendered my family a great service, and I know not how to repay it." "Repayment is not necessary, Henry," she said softly. "You have only been given that which you requested." "'That which I requested?'" asked the rector, his brow wrinkling. "I have asked you for nothing." "No, you have not," said Daisy. "You asked those from whom I take command." Henry stared at her, realization fighting with belief. "Then you come from--" He could not articulate his thought. "Yes," said Daisy. "And now I must return." "Oh," said Henry, for once at a loss for words. Finally he asked hopefully, "Will we see you again?" "No. I shall not return. They do not send us to the same place more than once. We might grow--attached." "I see," said Henry. "Then this is goodbye." Daisy extended a hand, and Henry took it and raised it to his lips. "Thank you, dearest Daisy," he said. "I shall never forget you." Daisy laughed, but an expression of sadness passed over her face. "You will, I am afraid. By the time I leave, you will have forgotten me." Henry gazed at her steadily. "And will you forget us?" "I shall remember you always," she said softly, then added with a smile, "and I do mean always." They both laughed at this, and she left him standing by the fire and staring into its glowing depths. "I must say goodbye, Catherine." Catherine jumped and turned around hastily. "I wish you would not sneak up on me so." Daisy laughed. "I apologize. It is a bad habit of mine." She held out her hand. "It is time for me to leave you." "Leave us?" cried Catherine, forgetting that she had banished the angel from her home the night before. She hesitated, then added, "If we need you again, will you come back?" "That would not be a good idea," said Daisy. "When an angel begins to envy a mortal being, it is never a good thing." "You envy me?" cried Catherine. Daisy's eyes turned once again to the portrait of Henry that hung on the drawing-room wall. "I do, Catherine. I do." She finally pulled her gaze away and turned back to Catherine. "But you may call upon us at any time." "Thank you," said Catherine in some confusion. The angel smiled at her and folded her into an embrace. "God has blessed you. Take good care of Kitty and Harry, and the other children to come." "Other children?" gasped Catherine. "But it has been more than two years already!" "There will be others, my dear, fear not." Daisy touched her cheek. "You are a woman, and Henry is a man. Go to him now. And kiss him for me, lucky Catherine." Catherine watched the angel leave. She looked up at the portrait of Henry. "Yes, I am lucky," she murmured to herself. "So lucky!" She ran out of the drawing-room, calling her husband. "Henry! Henry!" she cried, running up the stairs. She went to the nursery, where Henry was sitting by Kitty's bed. He raised a finger to his lips. "She's asleep," he whispered. He took a pretty dark-haired doll from a box, placed it carefully by her pillow, and kissed her gently. He then went to Harry's bed and placed a stuffed dog next to the little boy. He smiled at his son, gently passed a hand over his dark, tousled curls, and kissed him. Catherine dropped kisses on each of the children in turn. She moved closer to Henry, who took her in his arms and whispered, "It is past midnight. Merry Christmas, sweet Catherine." "Merry Christmas," she whispered, and tilted her head back for a kiss. Henry obliged her willingly, and then saw the promise in her eyes, a promise that he had not seen for some time. He kissed her again, lingeringly, then took her hand and led her toward the door, toward their own bedchamber. Catherine stopped to take up the candle and whispered, "Henry, did you give Kitty that doll?" She indicated a doll that stood on the table next to the child's bed. "No," he said. "I thought perhaps one of the parishioners brought it." "That is probable," she agreed. Henry, anxious to get her alone, tugged her toward the door, but she stood staring at the doll, a memory playing about her mind, never fully forming no matter how hard she fought for it. Finally she allowed Henry to lead her away. "What is it?" he whispered as they closed the door behind him. "Do not you like the doll?" "Oh, yes," she said, as they walked hand-in-hand to their bedchamber. "It is just that I have never before seen a red-haired angel doll." finis ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.