"Unsuspected Miracles" by AOhTay14
Genre: fiction, holidays
A young boy sat, wrapped tightly in old, brown blankets, outside on a street curb. The snow fell in white turrets and landed atop his head, sending a bitter chill deep into the boy's bones, and snuffed out the small fire he had spent hours creating by scraping heavy rocks against one another. The boy gave a cry of agony when he realized that his pile of dry twigs and leaves was only just that -- there was no longer a small kindled flame atop it.
He turned to his left and looked at his frayed, leather handbag that had been his mother's before. He reached deep inside it and pulled out his grandfather's old Irish cap, his favorite.
As the boy brushed the snow off his head and pulled the cap on, he imagined what his grandfather might say to him, his only grandson, in this moment. How the boy wished he could have his old life back -- his brown, brick cottage with the small wood-burning stove, that he and his grandfather had shared.
Stay strong, lad, his grandfather would say. Life is like riding a boat -- you just need to hang on.
Taking a deep breath, the little boy looked out at the crossing pedestrians. Girls and boys of all ages walked across the gray, cobblestone roads of London, an extra skip in their steps in light of the holiday season. The boy looked longingly at the store across the street from hi. The shop's name was covered up by the dark smog surrounding the town, but the boy didn't need to read the sign to know which store it was. It was Smith & Jay, the tailor shop!
Image Description: An old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage rolls down a cobblestone street. Night has fallen and strings of twinkling lights hang overhead. A building with an ornate, white facade sits beside the curb.
Credit: Ian Stauffer / Unsplash
The child saw a pair of polished, brown, leather boots in a display case, and practically drooled in admiration. How he wished he could have them. His current shoes had holes in the bottom and were coming undone little by little. But the leather boots belonged to the life the boy had long since been torn from -- the life of wealth and happiness.
So, he laid against the curb and let his eyelids close as the heavy snow continued to fall on him.
Meanwhile, Reverend Moore, the pastor, was taking an evening stroll mere blocks away from where the little boy lay asleep on his curb. He was very surprised at the number of pedestrians bustling through the town square at that time of night.
He decided to stop inside of the local pub for a quick drink of ale. Crossing the street quickly in order to get out of the thick snow that had recently begun to fall, Reverend Moore spotted an old beggar resting beside the pub. The beggar had thin, shredded clothes and old, wrinkled skin, and the reverend took pity on her.
"Aye, you're beginning to turn blue! How can ye rest here in this blundering weather?" he exclaimed. "How about ye take these five pence and buy yerself something to eat and wear, alright?"
The woman looked up at Reverend Moore, tears sparkling in her dark brown eyes, and dipped her head in thanks. "May God bless ye, sir," she croaked in her usual scratchy voice.
The reverend smiled as he watched her hobble away. Sure, that meant that he no longer had enough money to buy himself a drink, but his pence had been of help to someone who needed them more than he.
The beggar woman hobbled up the street and turned the corner, tears still in her eyes. She couldn't believe the kindness the tall man had shown her. Perhaps now she could buy something special to eat for Christmas dinner -- a tea sandwich or some banana pudding, maybe.
She turned a corner as quickly as her wobbly legs could take her, and pushed open the clear, glass door of the grocer's.
"Hellow, madam," the cashier greeted, a grin on his face. "Can I help ye find anything?"
"Yes, please," the woman cried hopefully. "Do ye have any small tea sandwiches -- or some banana pudding, maybe?"
The cashier's face drooped. "Aye, I'm sorry, we're all out of holiday food."
The beggar woman sighed. So much for her Christmas dinner.
"But," the cashier called, just as the woman began to walk back out of the store. "We just had a crate of packaged lamb chops delivered, and one was a wee bit smaller than we'd prefer to sell. Perhaps ye'd like that?"
The beggar practically skipped for glee. "Aye, indeed! How much for the package?"
The man behind the counter thought for a moment and then pronounced, "Nothing! Not one bitty coin -- my treat."
The woman was shocked, but grateful, nonetheless. "May God bless ye, sir," she whispered, as the cashier handed her the package of lamb chops.
He nodded at her, a smile on his face, as the woman exited the store.
Where shall I go now? the woman wondered to herself. Aye, look-y here! That looks like a nice shop!
And so, the woman pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside of Smith & Jay, in search of some warm clothes.
"Matilda," a woman's voice called.
Matilda turned around to see her neighbor, Charlotte, skipping gleefully towards her.
""Charlotte!" Matilda exclaimed. "What might ye be doing out here this fine evening? When, actually, maybe not so fine," she concluded, looking soberly out the window at the dumping snow and dark smog.
"Indeed," chirped Matilda, glaring at the snow like it had somehow offended her.
A beggar woman hobbled towards them, a small smile on her face. "Hellow, there," she called. "Do ye ladies know where I might find a blanket?"
Charlotte clucked her tongue in disgust. "Well, never in all my years! Tailors do not sell blankets, woman -- they sell shoes and suits and dresses."
Matilda looked humbly at the woman in front of her, who had clearly not been properly fed or dressed in a long time.
"Excuse me, I'm afraid I don't have any money, or else I would buy you a cloak, but how about ye keep this shawl?" Matilda offered.
The beggar gaped as Matilda pulled a fur-trimmed, crimson shawl off of her own shoulders!
"Ma'am...Are you shure? What will you wear home?" she asked.
But Matilda just smiled at the woman's expression, and said, "I'll be alright. I enjoy the cold weather every once in a while -- I might even try to catch a snowflake on my tongue!"
The girl laughed when she saw Charlotte's expression, and nodded at the beggar as she hobbled away, towards the front of the store.
"Nay," a man grunted. "Those boots are too expensive, John, and they're supposed to be worn to formal gatherings, not on the far. I'm three pence too short -- perhaps you could bring some of your own money next time we shop down here."
The elderly woman looked sadly at the boy, John's disappointed face, and pulled out three of the five pence that she had received from Moore.
"Excuse me," she croaked.
The man and his son whipped around to look at the woman, but barely had time to deduce who had called to them before the beggar placed her money in the father's palm.
"Those boots will look very handsome on ye," she whispered to John.
"Thank you much, madam," John exclaimed. "See, Father, wasn't that kind of her?"
The man simply nodded curtly at the beggar and picked up a pair of leather boots off the shelf for his son.
A large muddy puddle rippled, the effect of a young farm boy happily jumping on it. The snow had finally slowed and now fell softly onto the gray, cobblestone streets of London.
"Oh no!" the boy cried.
His father turned around to look at him, groceries in hand. "What is it, John?"
"I forgot to take off the new leather books you gave me, and thow they're all muddy!" the boy replied, guilt tainting his every word.
His father growled, but quietly, so as not to make John feel any worse than he already did. "Well, let this be a lesson to ye, lad."
John nodded sadly. "I'm sorry, Father."
The farm boy slipped off his muddy new boots and stepped into the old ones.
I can't wear those shoes anymore, he thought. They're all messy!
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, thinking ard. What was he to do with the boots?
Suddenly, John spotted a boy, no older thank himself, resting on a curb across the street from him, snow piled on top of his faded, Irish cap.
John quickly jogged over to the boy and aroused him. The child in the Irish cap sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, hello," he said, surprused to see a young boy kneeling in front of him. "Who are you?"
The farm boy smiled warmly. "My name's john. What are you doing here, lad? Where's your family? Do ye got a name?"
The other boy took the cap off his head and brushed the snow off of it. "Aye, people call me Davy. I ain't got a family -- they're all long dead."
"John, come back here!" his father called.
"I'm sorry about that. It was lovely to meet ye," John said. "But I have to go. Merry Christmas, Davy. God bless ye!"
The young boy watched in wonder as John sprinted away to catch up to his father, then smiled down at what the farm boy had placed in Davy's frozen hands: brown leather boots.
About the Author
Hello! My name is AOhTay14. I love being creative (writing music, playing instruments, acting, reading, and writing)! My hope is to bring laughter, joy, and wholesome, Christian writing into the world, because I think everyone needs some more of that! One day, I would like to sell my books, but for now, I am challenging myself to explore as many different genres as I can! Thank you for reading mmy work and supporting me! Keep being creative, friends!
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