Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance by Carol Rivers (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📗

All the children looked bewildered.

‘Nor will there be any gifts.’

At this, a soft murmur went round.

‘Instead, the bishop will give us his special blessing. Remember, Jesus gave his life for us and died on the cross. Now he asks you to do something for him. If you make this sacrifice willingly, then He will always take care of you.’

Ettie stared around her, at the sad, grubby faces of the orphans. She knew every one of these children loved Christmas. The nuns always made a fruit cake that was divided into thin slices, one slice for every child. The orphans would receive a tiny parcel carefully wrapped in newspaper. A pencil or chalk for the boys, a ribbon for the girls or even a book. This was the happiest time of the year, especially for Ettie whose birthday it was on the 25th. But now there was to be only a blessing.

After Mother Superior’s announcement they were told to put on their coats before going to the schoolroom. Usually they were eager to play and ran around the yard excitedly. But today there were no smiles.

‘We don’t want to play,’ they complained as they stood, shivering in the cold.

Ettie tried her best. ‘Let’s have a pretend party.’

‘Without presents or cake?’

‘We have each other. Come here.’ They all gathered together. She began to sing. She was so cold that her voice was shaking. ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright …’

The orphans slowly joined in as they pressed their bodies together for warmth. Gradually their voices grew stronger. Smiles touched their lips and roses bloomed in their cheeks.

There in the bleak backyard of the orphanage, they sang the carols they loved best and had always sung at Christmas.

That afternoon, even though the weather was cold and miserable, Ettie followed Michael’s directions to Victoria Park. The convent gates were open for one day only in order to welcome visitors. But it was rare that anyone came now. Donations were expected for the big wooden box, yet people were poor and very few had money to spare. And if they did, it went to their families.

The roads were busy as Ettie made her way through the streets. There were many carts drawn by panting horses and a few pedestrians, though today was quieter than when she walked to the market with Sister Ukunda, where she would wait to carry the nun’s weekly purchases. This was a day she always enjoyed. But now she was on her own.

She felt sorry for the beggars huddled in their rags on the corners of the street. Their filthy hands were held out for alms but she had nothing to give them except a smile. In her ill-fitting and threadbare coat, she felt very fortunate to be dressed as she was. Even though her boots were two sizes too large, they still had good wear in them. Her undergarments and smock had been washed so many times they were paper thin but Sister Patrick had knitted a shawl for her. Though it was only made with cheap wool, it kept her warm.

‘Can you tell me the way to Victoria Park, please?’ Ettie asked a passer-by.

‘Wotcha want the park for?’ demanded the woman who pulled two small children along with her. They looked up at Ettie with wide, hopeful eyes just like the children of the orphanage.

‘I’m meeting a friend.’

‘Then watch yerself, ducks. There’s layabouts that wait for an easy touch.’

Ettie didn’t know what an easy touch was so she just nodded.

‘Keep going down this road till you come to Old Ford. You can’t miss the park gates.’

Ettie smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Shouldn’t let no one hear yer posh accent. They’ll ‘ave yer for sure. And keep to the path, don’t wander.’

Ettie wanted to ask more about this path, but the woman hurried away. The two tiny children stumbled after her, their little ankles blue with cold and bare feet black with grime.

The further she walked on, the worse the poverty became. Every now and then, a beggar would bar her way, pleading for help. Although she was sorry for them, what could she do? A smile wasn’t enough. Without Sister Ukunda’s company she felt alone and vulnerable.

The road seemed never-ending. Its cobbles were covered in horse dung left to go mouldy and fouling the gutters. The street traders didn’t seem to care. Instead they pushed their barrows and carts through the mess, so that the wheels got stuck in the grime. The Lord’s Day didn’t stop them from trying to sell their wares whenever they spotted an opportunity.

Ettie was beginning to feel very lost as she ventured alone through the thoroughfares of London’s East End. The overhanging roofs of the ancient buildings were all leaking from the overnight rain. She thought of the orphanage and how the big puddles would form on the floors of the schoolroom. It seemed to Ettie that the whole world needed to be repaired, yet people managed somehow.

‘Where yer off to?’ A voice suddenly boomed in her ear. She looked up into the very tall man’s unfriendly face. His black bushy eyebrows were so close together they seemed to meet over his long nose. His whiskers were matted and he wore a filthy waistcoat under his torn jacket. A gnarled hand held fast to a stick made of wood. The other hand grabbed her arm.

‘To the park,’ Ettie said and regretted her words immediately.

‘I’m goin’ there too. I’ll show you the way.’

Ettie tried to free herself. But he held her tight.

‘Please let me go,’ she stammered.

‘I’m offerin’ yer my assistance,’ he growled. ‘A young gel like you shouldn’t be on yer own.’

Ettie froze. She looked into his dark, sly gaze. She could smell the drink on him and something much worse.

He pulled her along. There was nothing she could do, except be dragged, falling over her own feet as he marched her along the road. She wanted to call out for help, but the people all