Beggar's Miracle Read online

  He wiped the rain out of his face and peered into the semi-darkness.

  “Mam?”

  “Praise be, Son. We need help,” Fiona said. “Come quickly.”

  Percy stared down at his mother, focusing his eyes with the help of the dim light that persisted through the back windows. Beside her was a lump of thick wool.

  “Mam,” he said. “What is wrong? What are you doing out here in this shed? And in this dreadful weather? You’ll catch your death.”

  “Shush, now,” Fiona said. “I’ll not catch my death if you’ll give me a hand.”

  Percy looked at the light coming in from the window. It radiated with a golden brightness that he’d seen only once in his life, the day his former friend, Master Owen, passed away.

  It’s the same light, the very same.

  With his thick, wet robe clinging to every inch of his body, he reached out a hand to the window so that, perhaps one ray of that shimmering glow would touch his fingers. He wanted, more than anything, to feel it, feel its warmth on his skin. When the beam shone across the end of his fingers, Percy closed his eyes and sighed.

  Then the light dimmed.

  Percy wriggled underneath a completely dry robe, plumped softly against his skin. The pain that had plagued him only moments ago had disappeared. For the first time in years, his leg felt normal.

  “Percy,” Fiona said, her voice raspy and hoarse.

  He knelt beside his mother.

  “Come on, Mam, let’s go inside. Leave that lump of wool out here. You don’t need it. Here,” he said pulling off his dry robe. “This will warm you.”

  “Get the fog out of your eyes, Percy. Look, will you?”

  When the lump of wool moved, it startled him. He scanned what he’d thought was a lump of old wool and realized he recognized it.

  “I’ve seen that old coat before. Just yesterday,” he said.

  Percy reached to gingerly draw back the edges of it, hoping that the destitute man had found his way here to get out of the cold. He’d seen him before, but his memory didn’t cooperate in pulling up an image. For some reason he couldn’t explain, his heart warmed at the thought of the old beggar.

  He stared down at the figure underneath the coat.

  His voice caught in his throat when he tried to speak.

  7

  Bluebelle

  Bitty Brown moaned and tossed in a world filled with strangers, a cold and freezing world where waves crashed over the sides of a vessel, great masts ripped from their moorings, and sounds of screaming assaulted her ears. Her mother lay still, drenched not in water but in the blood that poured from a gash on the side of her head.

  Bitty reached out to her, stretching her four-year-old arms for one last touch of her mother’s beautiful face. She kicked her legs and beat against the hands that bound her. She screamed and cried until her child’s voice grew hoarse and raspy. She begged until the sounds from her mouth could barely be heard.

  “Mama, come back. Mama, no! Wake up, Mama. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”

  But then, she was whisked away into a black car, and from that moment, Bitty Brown fell silent. She spoke no more, her voice carried away, forever tucked inside her mother’s heart.

  “Child,” she heard from a far off place.

  Warm hands stroked her hair.

  When her eyes fluttered open, she lay still as death. Only her eyes moved, scanning the surroundings. A large chandelier hung from an ornate ceiling. Elegant draperies covered the enormous windows.

  Everywhere her eyes landed they found more beauty, from the plush furnishings to the cherry wood four-poster bed in which she lay. White material hung like angel wings between the posts.

  Am I in Heaven?

  “Child,” the lovely white-haired woman said. “You’re all right. You’re safe here.”

  The woman’s soft fingers slid across Bitty’s cheeks.

  “Fear not, child. We mean ye no harm.”

  A young man stepped into view.

  “I’m Percy,” he said in a voice that sounded like a melody.

  Bitty blinked.

  The white-haired woman smiled. The smile lit up her face, and she seemed to glow.

  Am I dead? Is she an angel?

  Then, Bitty’s heart began to beat rapidly. She gasped, her fingers fumbling to find her treasure. A tiny moan escaped from her mouth.

  The woman glanced at the young man.

  “It’s all right,” the woman said. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

  But Bitty paid no attention. She sat up in the bed and searched through the heavy quilt. Her heart beat pounded in her ears.

  My treasure. My treasure.

  On the verge of panic, Bitty threw back the covers lunged forward.

  My treasure. I have to find it.

  The burly young man with the melodious voice caught her under the arms before she fell.

  “Easy, now,” he said and gently propped her against the fluffy pillows.

  Bitty covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  “Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Oh, precious girl. What is wrong?”

  A loud meow came from the floor.

  The woman patted the side of the bed and nodded.

  Bitty moved her hands away from her face when she felt the weight of a large cat.

  “I am Fiona,” the woman said, “and this is the Lady Bluebelle. She came to us over a year ago. A beauty, isn’t she? And clever, too. If not for her, we’d never have known you were in the shed.”

  Bitty blinked again and cocked her head.

  The shed? What shed?

  The last thing she remembered was the old beggar singing “Amazing Grace.” And the dog, the big ugly dog with his head in her lap.

  How did I get here? Where am I? And where is my treasure?

  “Dry your eyes now, child. All is well.”

  Fiona blotted her face with a soft rag.

  “You had this with you, dearie,” she said as she laid the parcel on the bed. “You’ve a fever, child, so we’ll need to call the doctor.”

  Fiona nodded in Percy’s direction.

  Bitty grabbed it up and held it tightly against her chest, her fingers stroking the bag as if it were a beloved person.

  “All better now, are ye?” Fiona said.

  Bitty gave her a questioning look.

  “Ah,” Fiona said as if she’d read her mind. “Yesterday morning, we found you in the shed, covered in an old coat. It was Bluebelle who led me out there. She pitched a fit until I followed her. Then she pawed at the door ‘til I opened it. And there you were on the floor. Quite a mess you were, but we—Percy and I—brought you into the house. This is Dunaghy Manor, though some folks call it The Swan House. It belongs to me and to my son. He’s the assistant pastor at the church in Dungarran.”

  From her chair beside the bed, Fiona took Percy’s hand.

  “He’s a good one, he is,” she said. “I couldn’t manage without him.”

  Bitty recognized him then. The pastor at the church where she’d slept…and stolen the shawl. She lowered her eyes when she thought of that theft.

  Bluebelle snuggled beside her and purred.

  Percy bent, put a finger under her chin, and lifted it.

  “You’ve nothing to fear. You’re welcome here for as long as you need to stay. Mam could use the company. Besides, Bluebelle seems to like you.”

  Bitty studied this young man, his deep green eyes, his dark curly hair, the sweet smile, broad shoulders, and melodious voice.

  He’s…he’s…wonderful.

  The warmth of his finger on her chin set in motion something she didn’t quite understand. She felt an almost uncontrollable urge to touch his face. Heat rose in her cheeks. Her body relaxed. The warmth in her heart brimmed to overflowing. For the first time in a very long time, a smile spread across her face.

  Bluebelle crawled up close, nuzzled her neck, and made a funny trilling sound, something Bitty had never heard before. She stroked t
he cat’s velvety coat but kept her eyes on Percy.

  He smiled down at her.

  In that instant, Bitty Brown fell in love.

  8

  Water

  Seven days after she’d come to Dunaghy Manor, Bitty stood in the tub and waited for the water to stream from the hand-held shower. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a warm bath and never a warm shower. The tubs at the orphanage were cold metal filled with barely-warm water and used only once a month.

  “Water is a gift,” the sisters would say. “We must not waste it.”

  Bitty found no fault with this. Water, she thought, was indeed a gift. But every now and then, she imagined what it would feel like to soak in a tub of hot water, not scalding hot like the water the sisters used to wash the girls’ hair and make blisters on their scalps and faces, or the fiery scalding water forced down their throats with rubber tubes if the sisters heard them say anything that wasn’t godly. She’d been held down and “cleansed” when she was only four because she wouldn’t stop crying after her mother.

  Afterwards, Bitty could not get words to come from her mouth, no matter how much she might want them to. She was cleansed again a year later when she could not say a prayer aloud in front of the Bishop. Trying to speak became an enemy then. She left it alone because it brought only more pain. With the last cleansing, something in Bitty’s throat closed, as if it had grown over. Occasionally, a sound would escape, but for the most part, the scalding water blistered her throat so badly that it never really healed.

  An image crept in.

  Bitty winced.

  Go away. Leave me alone.

  She balanced herself on the tile wall as a coughing spasm seized her.

  A tap at the door prompted the reach for a towel to cover herself.

  The door eased open, and she saw Fiona’s snow white hair.

  “Hello, luv,” she said with her head barely in the doorway. “I didn’t hear the water running and wondered if you might need some help. You can’t stay too long, now. You’re to be in bed, remember?”

  Bitty gestured for Fiona to come in. Bluebelle followed her in and jumped up onto the toilet seat.

  “Well, now,” Fiona said. “How are ya comin’ with that shower?”

  Bitty shrugged and shook her head.

  “Needin’ some help, eh?”

  Fiona tapped the large white box on the wall.

  “This is the electric heater. There’s water already inside. When you want to shower, you slide this lever all the way up like so.”

  Bitty watched as Fiona moved the lever to the top of the box.

  “Then, you press this red button to heat it. And don’t you worry,” Fiona said. “It’s programmed for showers. We keep it on a mild setting so it’s warm but not too hot.”

  Bitty sighed.

  “Now, here’s the next step, child.”

  Fiona took the hand-held sprayer, pointed it down toward the tub, pushed in the knob on the front, and held it. Water streamed out.

  Bluebelle hopped onto the edge of the tub.

  “Meow,” she said, her great fluffy tail swishing back and forth.

  “Go on,” Fiona said. “Feel it to see if it’s the right temperature. And don’t mind the cat. She loves water.”

  Bitty stuck her hand out cautiously but drew it back.

  Fiona smiled at her.

  “Here,” she said and put her other hand under the flow of water. “Feels just perfect to me. Won’t you try it?”

  Fiona let go of the knob on the front, and the water stopped. She handed the sprayer to Bitty.

  “It’ll not harm ya, child. That is a promise.”

  Bitty took the hand-held from Fiona, pressed the knob, and pointed the sprayer toward the drain. When the water gushed out, she stepped back so no drops would touch even her feet. After a few seconds, she put her hand under the flow. The towel inched down and finally fell away.

  Fiona caught it.

  “No worries, child. There’s no shame here, no shame whatever. He makes us all in His image, eh?”

  Fiona gently took the hand-held from Bitty.

  “Let me help you?”

  Fiona poured the lavender-scented shampoo onto Bitty’s head and worked it into a heavy lather on the long mass of wild dark waves. Several times, she hit tangles and worked them all out with her skillful fingers.

  Bitty watched the suds and grime pool around the drain.

  Dirty girl, dirty inside and out.

  “Now, how does that feel? This is my sweet Emalyn’s shampoo. It’s been here all these years. Still good as new.”

  Bitty looked at Fiona, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  Bluebelle meowed and swatted at the drain.

  “Now, for a good rinse. Bluebelle will love it if we squirt her with a bit of water.”

  With a quick tilt of her hand, Fiona cast a light spray on the cat who sat, then, licking from her paws and cleaning her face.

  “See? Beats me why she loves water, but she does.”

  Bitty smiled and reached down to stroke the cat’s face. As soon as her fingers touched her, Bluebelle began to purr.

  “Ah, she likes you, child. You’ve a special way with her.”

  Fiona wrapped the girl in a towel.

  “Now, you’re all done, and don’t you smell lovely? And just look at your hair, so shiny. Just look at those beautiful waves.”

  Fiona held up a small mirror.

  “Now, aren’t you the pretty one?”

  Bitty studied the reflection. She put her hands to her face and ran her fingers across her cheeks. She traced the outlines of her eyes, then gently let her fingers brush the contours of her jaws and neck. Then, she gathered her wet hair and brought it in one mass to hang across her right shoulder.

  “Why don’t we straighten up the ends? It will help keep your hair bouncy. Mind if I trim it a bit? Won’t take but a few seconds.”

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Bitty watched the straggly ends fall into the tub.

  Bluebelle hopped down immediately to swat at them.

  “There ya go, now,” Fiona said as she fluffed Bitty’s hair with a small towel. “Next time, you can do this all by yourself, eh?”

  But Bitty was caught by her reflection in the mirror.

  With no dirt and grime, no matted spots or tangles, she felt different. The apples of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips blushed a pale pink. Her eyes seemed a brighter blue than before, and the color of her drying hair contained flecks of golden light.

  From the mirror, her mother’s beautiful face stared back at her.

  Bitty smiled.

  She glanced at Fiona, who reached and stroked her face.

  “You’re a beauty, you are,” she said, “almost as beautiful as my Emalyn.”

  Bitty decided then that a shower could transform a person and that water was magic.

  9

  Laughter

  He’d been thinking about it for a while now. He tried to rationalize, tried to analyze, but nothing worked. Nothing made sense until it dawned on him what was wrong with him, why he felt unsettled, why he wanted more than anything to please her.

  He was in love with Bitty Brown.

  On his lunch break, Percy wandered down the street to meet Mr. Sidney, the florist.

  He wanted to do something nice for Bitty. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew that he was falling for her. She was so beautiful, so fragile, so kind-hearted. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he just didn’t have the nerve.

  What if she didn’t like him at all?

  He shook that off and decided on a dozen roses. But then, there was the matter of color: red, yellow, white?

  Percy asked Mr. Sidney,

  “Which color should I choose?”

  “The red are prettiest this time of year. The ladies seem to like them.”

  Percy smiled.

  “I’ll take a dozen, then, for someone special.”

  Percy thanked the flori
st and as he left, he spied the jewelry store. He stood looking in the window at a necklace with an intricate cross pendant, small and delicate and shimmering when the sun’s rays caught it just right.

  “This is perfect,” he said.

  After he made the purchase and had the necklace gift-wrapped, Percy smiled and walked toward his car. He had just enough time to get to the Manor, deliver his gift, and get back to work.

  When he walked into the house, he smelled one of his mam’s stews cooking, so he headed toward the kitchen.

  Fiona stood at the stove stirring the broth.

  Percy walked up behind her and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I need a vase if we have one,” Percy said.

  “Well, mercy me, I’d say so,” Fiona said and opened a bottom cabinet. She pulled out a large crystal vase with scrollwork designs on it.

  “How about this?”

  Percy smiled.

  “They’re for Bitty. Think she’ll like them?”

  “Indeed she will. Now, let’s get them settled into their temporary home,” she said as she arranged the bouquet until it looked perfectly beautiful.

  “Are you surprised, Mam, I mean, that..”

  Fiona chuckled.

  “Surprised? No, son. I’ve seen how you look at her. I’d have to be blind not to see that you think she’s very special, though there’s a couple of young ladies in town who won’t be too pleased. You’ve been the eligible bachelor in Dungarran for a long time, Percy.”

  Percy grinned.

  “There’s no one like Bitty.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true, that.”

  Percy sat down at the table.

  “Mam,” he said. “Do you think she’s bothered by my limp?”

  Fiona stared at him and shook her head.

  “No, son, I don’t think she’s even noticed. She’s quite smitten with you.”

  “I worry that she will think I’m less of a man, that maybe I couldn’t take care of her or protect her if she needed it.”

  Fiona sighed.

  “Well, then, you’ll just have to ask her now, won’t you?”

  “Mmmm,” Bitty said as she walked into the kitchen.

  Percy’s eyes widened when he saw her. He stood up abruptly.