Free A Dream Rides By by Tania Anne Crosse Page B

and Rose Warrington were there, handing an apple and an orange to each child and pressing what Ling assumed to be a coin into every adult’s hand. Ling smiled to herself. It was typical of the lovely Mrs Warrington, and though there might have been those who would have preferred to refuse her charity, her overwhelming charm prevented it. She had not been born to riches and simply wanted to share her present wealth with people less fortunate than herself.
    ‘Ah, Ling! Merry Christmas, my dear! We have something special for you.’ And she handed Ling a small package.
    ‘Why, thank you, Mrs Warrington! And Mr Warrington.’
    ‘I hope you like it,’ he said quietly. ‘Rose chose it especially for you.’
    ‘It’s very good of you both.’
    ‘Well, you deserve it. And it gives my wife such pleasure to help others. We’re off to the powder mills next.’
    Ling nodded appreciatively and then had to move along as the rest of the congregation spilled from the chapel. She couldn’t wait to open her present, which felt suspiciously like a book, and, as soon as they were back inside the cottage, she carefully unwrapped it. An anthology of poetry!
    ‘Very nice, dear,’ her mother commented, ‘but could you see to the vegetables? And Fanny, set the table, please.’
    Ling raised her eyebrows, catching her sigh in mid-breath. Never mind. She could have a good read later. After all, the book was hers for ever, the first she had ever owned.
Oh, Mr and Mrs Warrington, thank you so much!
    When dinner was over – goose adorned with vegetables from Arthur’s garden, followed by a small plum pudding – and the dishes had been washed and stowed away, it was time to exchange the gifts their shallow pockets permitted. Barney had eaten with them, and Ling noticed him lower his eyes to the tiny parcel in his hands that was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
    ‘I’m sorry tidd’n much,’ he said sheepishly. ‘But we’m only just catching up from when I couldn’t work cuz of my arm.’
    ‘Well, at least it healed properly and that’s the most important thing.’ Her mouth moved into a soft, compassionate smile and Barney wondered why he had been so worried. But, then, it wasn’t the only thing he was ashamed about. That little secret still niggled at the back of his mind. He wanted to make it up to Ling, and the ribbon he had bought for her hair hardly came near the mark.
    ‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Barney, and such a lovely colour! Thank you so much!’ She reached up, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he felt himself flush. ‘And can I read a poem to you all now?’ she asked excitedly.
    ‘Of course,’ Arthur answered, sitting himself down like a dignitary at some official event so that the rest of the family followed suit.
    Ling chose a short verse by someone called Keats – whoever he was, her audience thought. She read it with such feeling, the words so beautiful and evocative that they brought a lump to her own throat so that she struggled to finish her moving rendition. She glanced at the bemused faces watching her. Fanny’s eyes were wide, as if her sister had been speaking in some foreign tongue, and Barney was frowning quizzically.
    ‘Very good, I’m sure.’ Mary smiled indulgently at her daughter. ‘Now, what games shall we play?’
    It was only Arthur who sat for some moments, slowly moving his head up and down in appreciation as the words settled in his brain. Yes. This elder child of his was special. He had known it the minute she had come into the world.
    ‘I’d best be getting home,’ Barney announced reluctantly when the day was finally over. ‘Thank you so much for such a lovely day, Mrs Southcott, Mr Southcott.’
    ‘You’m welcome, lad.’
    Barney rammed his cap on his head and grasped his coat, Ling following him to the door. She shivered on the threshold as the cold night air caught in her lungs. The frosty stillness was almost tangible, and she glanced up at the bright full moon that