Opening the Holiday Season, In a Charitable Fashion

[Florence Brookes Leighton]

((Early December - Afternoon))

The weather had grown colder, much colder, and the streets weren't as busy as they had been with the typical passerby, but more carriages were seen and soon even the perfect white of the freshly fallen snow was no more than ugly grey slush upon the road. Within one of these carriages Florence was bundled against the chill air, her gloved fingers fidgeting within the fur muff, her mind busy with thoughts of her destination. She had made the same trip several times in her life specifically at this time of year and strangely the feeling of awe had never disappeared, the sight still whispering lovely thoughts into her head as it had the first time.

"Baba...zhe shi shenme?" Her eyes were wide and sparkled with the glow of so many candles lit. Back in China she remembered seeing ceremonies with hundreds of lanterns lighted, but this was different, candles carefully balanced upon tree boughs, their flames dancing and flickering like stars fallen from the sky.

"English, young lady." The gentleman by her side lightly scolded, as for week he had been trying to have her use the country's native language which she had accomplished quite well except for certain occassions when she was either in awe or great disdain. "Then I will answer your question."

A young Florence struggled to find the proper words. "Why do they light the tree on fire, Papa?"

He chuckled at her description. "Not on fire. They light the candles in remembrance..."

In remembrance...

The carriage had stopped and as soon as her feet touched pavement Florence found herself in company with a few of the urchins, their hands held out eagerly. From her muff she pulled out a few coins to give them, hearing a voice inside her head reprimanding her to "not encourage them", but she couldn't convince herself to follow even those simple orders. What were a few pence to cold, dirty fingers? Not a call to arms. Not the beginnings of a revolution. It convinced them of nothing. And she did not offer them such charity because she felt pity. Pity for these creatures? An entire sub-culture that surely outnumbered any other class in the city, one that if they put their minds to it could rise up and be the controlling faction, they did not need pity. They had asked, she had given. If there were consequences she had to face over her actions she would confront them at a later time.

Entering the charity hall her eyes automatically went to the large, towering tree, several candles already lit, spreading a soft glow, each tiny light a life that no longer walked the earth. She wondered if given the chance how many she could light on her own, all those she had known who went forth to fulfill the mission and never returned, others she had grown fond of that were now only memories with names, perhaps she alone could fill a tree with her own fallen stars.

Her musing was interrupted by a stout woman who approached her with a smile and friendly manner. "It's been a couple years, my dear."

Florence gave a polite smile. "I've been a bit busy."

"So I've heard, but atleast you're here now. Your donations are always welcome. Will Mr. Leighton be joining you?"

"I'm afraid not. He's out of country at the moment."

"A pity. You two need to leave that savage land, settle down here. That will cure any ailment."

Florence's smile twisted a bit. Savage land...that is my home you speak of... "I am sure he is considering it. Mr. Leighton takes into consideration many things."

"Lovely! Now..."

She let the rest of the conversation fall on deaf ears, waiting for a turn to add her light to the growing numbers. It was only one - one to represent a million - voices that seemed to cry out to her as the candle flickered to life. She closed her eyes for a brief second, her lashes becoming damp from unheeded tears. There were not many things Florence enjoyed in the world that was increasingly boring her, but this tree, these lights, nothing had compared, and she doubted anything would.

((Not a solo post...join in...be charitable))

[Marigold Driscoll]

There was another person with tears in her eyes that cold afternoon. Marigold Driscoll stood in the cold and rubbed her hands together agitatedly and made little movements with her feet to keep warm. The wind blowing in her eyes could have made them tear up but it was the sight of the magnificent tree that drew awe and pity out of her delicate soul. To think! All those lives lost--and so many of them bravely in the service of Brittania! Queen and Empire were two things Marigold held almost as gods in her heart...the third of course was Charity. Which was of course why she was here.

"Marigold! Look alive, girl!" With a start Marigold turned at her father's stern reprimand. They were here today in the Lord's service...feeding hungry bellies and letting any poor soul in pain known that the Parish of All Hallows by the Tower wasn't neglectful of it's flock. Of course it didn't occur to her that many of the families she handed little baskets of food to today would just go back to starving tomorrow. Or that the money her father and the Hospice collected would just be a tiny fraction of how much was needed to really make a difference. With a sigh and a last look at the tree Marigold hurried back to the Reverend Whitby's side and packaged up another small basket of bread and cheese. As she put a little bow in the string she felt a tea grow cold on her cheek and licked it away with a tiny smile.

"Have you seen Ch..I mean, Reverend Mellings, father?" she ignored his scowl and went on as brightly as ever. "I know he's here somewhere!" After all, he knows the Lord's work better than anyone, she thought with a sigh. Almost as an afterthought she added; "I should like to see my Quinty as well."

Reverend Whitby Drsicoll scowled even more this time but she pretended not to notice.

[Miss Lucy Wainwright]

The two young girls laughed as they chased each other on the sidewalk, barely avoiding collisions with the shoppers walking by. The girls were obviously upper-class, their warm winter coats well made and thick against the cold of the season.

Impassive grey eyes watched the twin girls as they played. "Remember, you must behave properly, especially in public," a musical voice admonished.

Slightly abashed, the girls brought themselves up short, standing almost at attention before the one who had spoken. Her smooth pale face broke into a slight smile, as false as it was beautiful. "It's all right. I'm not upset with you. Just...reminding you."

The twins nodded, then began their game again, more sedately this time.

[Marigold Driscoll]

Marigold didn't take notice of the lovely teenager as she handed out food baskets. It seemed like all the hungry and poor people in London had decided to turn out! Marigold thought it was very humble of them to admit they needed Christian charity (she had seen some be very proud!) but at this rate the parish might run out...

The children however did catch her eye. Twins were always a delight and little girl twins! She smiled and laughed and turned to her father. "Look, Papa! Aren't they cute!" He replied that she was too old to be cooing over babies but Marigold thought that he was completely wrong. He's just bitter that I don't have any of my own yet. Wouldn't that be nice! A little Quinty Junior!

After a few minutes went by she was able to slip away from the line and made her way over to where the girls were playing. She leaned down and smiled a huge smile. "Hello you two!" Did they have parents around somewhere? She gave a quick look around. "Are you enjoying the party so far? What are your names?"

[Miss Lucy Wainwright]

The girls stop their play immediately, and freeze in surprise. They look over at the older girl with them, who inclines her head. The twins then look back at Marigold, staring at her with large blue eyes.

"Hello," one of them says, shyly. "My name is Aristera, and this is my sister Eythys. We're enjoying the party very much!" The other girl says nothing, only nodding vigorously in agreement. "Our parents..."

"Their parents are not here," the older girl interrupts. "I'm their governess, Lucy."

The silent twin, Eythys, stares up at Lucy. She reaches out to grasp her sister's hand, then returns her attention to Marigold.

"What's your name?" Aristera asks, beaming happily.

[Edwina Boyd]

There'd been no evergreens in Africa. No candlelighting ceremonies. More missions than churches, and if there were charity events her family hadn't attended. Her father had always made sure the holidays were celebrated, but they'd had to make do. Her first year in London, she'd arrived so soon before the holidays, it had been over before she had time to take it all in. So much had been new then, as well, that it had been hard to digest how everything connected.

How a year had changed things! Mrs Wilcox had said her rheumatism was too bad to go to the charity event this year in person. She'd put her donation in an envelope, and Edwina had found herself bundled off to the event herself. She nearly walked by the beggars out of habit. There's been alot of beggars at the tradeposts, and she'd learned to ignore the outstretched hands. There were always too many, and back then she'd barely had coins for her own needs. Her own stomach twisting in hunger, even as she smiled outwardly as if nothing was wrong. But the reason she was there made her pause - her own moneybag feeling heavy to her all of a sudden, and she handed out coins to the urchins that dared to approach again before entering the hall.

She tugged a little at the lace on her high-neck collar, but she'd presented the donation without too much of a fuss. Approaching the tree made her pause. This was new, but the idea of it stirred something inside of her. She thought of her father first. Of Thomas. Had it already been four years? Had it only been that long? There were other names, half forgotten. Men who served under her father she'd met briefly, who had died alongside her father and brother. There were no tears. It was an old pain, no longer sharp enough for tears. But it throbbed inside of her as she lit her own candle.

She glanced at the woman next to her. noticing the tears in her eyes. She'd seen her at other events Mrs Wilcox had attended, she was pretty sure. But the old woman had never gone near the exotic looking lady, and the name alluded her. She had no mind for upperclass intrigues. "Are you alright, Miss?"