Forever in My Heart: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Read online

“Are ye saying ye wanted to buy him a book that was over a hundred years old?”

  He chuckled. “Aye. As it turns out, I was a little naïve. First editions can be very valuable. I had no idea exactly how valuable. But I was able to find a thirteenth edition that I could afford.”

  Pointing to the book in his hands, she asked, “Is that a first edition?”

  “Nay. A Christmas Carol was first published in 1843. Only six thousand copies of the first edition were made, that’s why it’s so valuable. This is the thirteenth edition.”

  “The same one ye bought for yer da?”

  “Exactly the same.”

  “So, the reason yer here because ye met Gertrude while ye were out shopping for it.”

  “Nay, there’s a bit more to it. Gertrude and I started talking about the story and the true meaning of Christmas. I said that I’d like to experience Christmas in a simpler time. Even Christmas at the Cratchits seemed better than this. That’s when she offered me the watch.”

  “Who are the Cratchits?”

  He motioned to the book. “The Cratchits from the story—Tiny Tim’s family.”

  “I’ve never heard the story.”

  “Ye haven’t? Then we must change that immediately. I’ll read it to you. My father always said it was the best way to experience A Christmas Carol. Come, sit in yer rocking chair.”

  “Maybe ye should wait. I’m sure Katie would like to hear it.”

  “I’ll read it again, on Christmas Eve. I want ye to hear it now.”

  She had been curious about the book when Mr. Grant had given it to her, and after hearing her Jock talk about it, she really did want to know the story. So, for the next hour and a bit, she sat listening, completely enthralled. It was heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. When the story ended, she clapped her hands. “That was wonderful.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you like it. After my father finished reading it, he’d always say, ‘Now ye must remember to always keep Christmas in yer hearts.’ And that last Christmas, my little brother ran around saying, ‘God Bless us, everyone,’ for days.”

  “Those are lovely memories.”

  He nodded. “They are.” Then he gave her a cheeky wink. “And God Bless us, everyone. Now I think I should bank the fire for the night.”

  Mary felt even more comfortable with her new Jock tonight and snuggled against him when they went to bed. However, she laid awake for quite a while thinking about everything. It occurred to her that Gertrude had, in fact, dropped him right into a Christmas like the Cratchits had. They even had a kind benefactor in the person of Mr. Grant, who didn’t require ghostly intervention. This would be a Christmas to always remember.

  Chapter 4

  Mary had been on pins and needles all the next day. Jock left earlier than usual to go to the shipyard. He planned to be waiting for Mr. Stone to tell him he had taken other employment. Mary had offered to carry a note to the foreman but Jock wanted to do it personally.

  She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous until Katie asked, “Will fun papa be the one who comes home tonight?”

  Dear God. Even though he’d promised that old Jock would never return, Mary knew that new Jock might leave at any moment in the next fifty-eight days.

  When he came through the door with a package in one arm and a small Christmas tree in the other, and immediately gave her a kiss, she breathed a sigh of relief. And it seemed Katie did too. As soon as she was sure it was “fun papa” she threw her arms around his legs.

  He laughed, laid down what he carried, and picked her up. “Hello, sugar plum. Did ye have a good day?”

  “Aye, did ye?” Katie asked.

  “I had a very good day.”

  “What’s in the package and what’s the tree for, Papa?”

  “It’s a Christmas tree and the package is a surprise for after dinner.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Mary, “dinner is ready.”

  “Then we’d better wash our hands.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

  “Well, sometimes there are things on our hands that can make us sick if they get in our mouths. So if we always wash our hands before eating we have a better chance of not getting sick.”

  She looked at her hands. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I know, but these things are too small to see.” At her skeptical look, he added, “I know it’s hard to understand, but I’m going to ask ye to believe it anyway.”

  “All right,” she shrugged and went with him to the washstand.”

  Mary shared her daughter’s skepticism. “Little things on yer hands that ye can’t see? I thought ye said it was bad water that caused illnesses. I thought that’s why ye want us to boil it.”

  “Aye, the tiny things that cause illness are called germs. There are scientists around the world who are just learning this. Some germs live in water, but others live on surfaces, like door knobs and floors. “Which means we wash yer hands too, little man.” He scooped Robbie up from where he was playing on the floor and held him with one arm while he washed the baby’s hands.

  It was amusing to watch, and the idea of germs was hard to believe. Still, her new Jock had studied science in the future and was absolutely confident about this. If it helped prevent illness, washing hands was a small enough thing.

  Once they were all at the table—with clean hands—Mary served the bread and soup she’d made.

  Jock took a bite. “This is delicious.”

  Mary smiled. It surprised her how a tiny comment like that could brighten her mood. “So tell us about yer day.”

  “Well, I didn’t have to wait long for Mr. Stone to arrive. He said he was sorry to see such a strong back go. But he also said if I was going to stay off the drink, I needed to stay away from the mates I used to drink with. He’s right about that, and it gives me an excellent excuse for staying away.”

  “And how did things go with Mr. Grant?”

  “Brilliantly. I made the window display first thing. And people stopped to look at it all day. Some even came into the store to tell him how festive it was.”

  “Did they buy books?” asked Katie.

  Jock laughed. “Somebody was listening yesterday. But yer right, Katie. The display was meant to bring people in who might buy books. And they did.”

  “So, Mr. Grant was pleased?”

  “He certainly was. By about noon, we had already sold ten copies of A Visit from St. Nicholas, and eight copies of A Christmas Carol, plus some other Christmas stories by Dickens. Just after closing he came to me and said, ‘Please don’t be offended, but I know dock workers don’t make a lot of money. I want yer little family to have a nice Christmas. Today’s sales were very impressive. So I’d like to give ye a bit of the profit.’ Then he handed me five shillings.”

  Mary gasped. “Ye aren’t serious.”

  “I am.”

  She glanced towards the package and tree that lay by the door. “Did ye spend it all?”

  He laughed. “Of course not. The tree was thruppence.”

  “And the package?”

  “It was mostly free. I did buy a tin star for a haypenny.”

  “What’s the tin star for?” asked Katie.

  “Hmm, it sounds like ye’ve never had a Christmas tree.”

  “We haven’t,” said Mary.

  “Well, it’s high time that we do.”

  “But, Jock, there’s nothing to decorate it with.”

  “And it would be frivolous to buy things. So we are going to make a few things. I brought home some white packing paper that Mr. Grant said he was going to throw away. And he gave me the ribbon and cotton wool that was left over after I’d made the window display.”

  “What are we going to make?” asked Katie.

  “Snowflakes.”

  She frowned. “They melt.”

  He laughed. “Not if we make them out of paper.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can make a snowflake.”

  “I, on the other hand, am certain ye can. It’s very easy, and I’ll help.”

  Mary couldn’t imagine how they’d make snowflakes either but she was more than curious to find out. “Then let’s finish dinner so we can learn how.”

  To her amazement, it was simple. He folded paper three times then made cuts on and between the folds. When he opened it up, the result was beautiful.

  Katie was thrilled with the little project. “I can make snowflakes.”

  When they had a small stack, they hung them on the little tree with pieces of thread.

  “What’s the ribbon for?” asked Katie.

  “If we had very much of it, we could drape it around the tree. But since there isn’t a lot, we can cut it in pieces and tie bows at the ends of some branches. And before ye ask, we’ll put the bits of the cotton wool on the branches as well. It will look like snow.”

  When they were finished, Jock, with Robbie in one arm, attached the tin star to the top of the tree.

  Mary spent a moment just looking at it. She had seen pictures of elaborate Christmas trees. None of them looked like this, but she loved this tree more for it. It was unique and it was theirs.

  “I didn’t get candles for it. Not only does it seem a bit wasteful, but with the little ones, I think it’s too dangerous. Do ye like it?” His tone was sweet, and a little nervous.

  Mary put her arms around him, giving him a hug. “I love it. It’s beautiful. And I think ye’re right about the candles.”

  “Aye, it’s pretty,” said Katie.

  Jock beamed. “I’m glad ye both like it. Now, how about I read A Visit from Saint Nicholas once before bed?”

  “But I want to look at the pretty tree,” said Katie.

  “And ye can, while I read. Then it’s bedtime. The tree
will still be here tomorrow.”

  Later that evening, after the children were tucked in and sleeping soundly, Jock pulled coins from his pocket. Taking one of her hands in his, he placed nine shillings in it. “I’ll keep the eight and a half pence but ye take the rest. Spend what ye need to for coal and food. Ye deserve a wee Christmas feast.”

  Chapter 5

  Mary’s parents had always made Christmas special. Even when times were desperate, they celebrated with what little was available. Since their death and her marriage to Jock she had tried to do the same with what little she had. But this year, for the first time ever, she was able to celebrate without worrying that she’d infuriate Jock by spending an extra farthing or two. Still, thriftiness was too deeply ingrained to allow her to go overboard.

  On Tuesday morning she bought a small amount of white cotton fabric from the tailor for whom she worked. She wanted to make a new shirt for Jock. He’d need it since he had to wear his Sunday best every day to work in a shop.

  To her utter surprise, when she told the tailor why she wanted the cloth, he gave her a fair number of scraps too. “If ye’re careful and use the length ye bought to cut the large pieces, these scraps will suffice for the small pieces. Then ye’ll have enough for two shirts in the end. For that matter, if there are any other scraps of fabric here that ye can use for yer children, please feel free.”

  “Thank ye, sir. Would it be possible…maybe…could I take enough to make a wee rag doll for my daughter and maybe a stuffed dog for my son?”

  “Of course ye can. In fact, be sure to take a few fistfuls of the tiny scraps of wool suiting. If ye chop them a bit, they will make a nice stuffing.”

  “That’s so very kind of ye.”

  He smiled affectionately. “Not at all. I have no use for it and ye do such fine sewing for me, it’s the least I can offer ye.”

  So she worked feverishly that afternoon to complete one shirt before Jock came home. She started on the toys that evening, after the children were in bed.

  With no little ears to hear, she could ask all of the questions she longed to about the future. He told her about dozens of modern kitchen appliances as he called them. Initially she didn’t see the point in refrigerators and freezers. She bought the food they needed almost daily. Keeping it colder than the house was already seemed pointless. Then he told her about the modern ways to heat homes. Electric lights sounded nice too. How wonderful would it be to live in a warm, bright house?

  He also told her about telephones, phonographs, radios, television and movies. These captured her interest like nothing else. It was nice to know that someday, she might hear a phonograph. But oh, how exciting to be able to watch a story being acted out with moving images and sound in a theater or even on a small box in one’s home.

  Christmas Eve dawned blustery and cold, but her joy would not be dimmed. After the children were awake and fed, she went to the shops to buy what was needed for a modest Christmas dinner. They would have duck, stuffing, brussel sprouts, potatoes and carrots. She was also able to purchase the ingredients for a Christmas pudding. It would be the finest meal she had eaten in years. A wee voice inside cautioned her not to be too extravagant. When her new Jock’s soul left, she’d be a widow with a very limited income. She wouldn’t be able to stay on in the little house. A shilling a week for rent was much more than she could afford on the little she would earn as a seamstress. Still, it was very likely that this would be the only Christmas of this kind her children would be able to experience. So after a bit of soul-searching, she also bought several oranges for Christmas morning.

  When Jock arrived home that evening, the children greeted him gleefully. No mention was made of the suspicious bulges in his pockets.

  After their supper of rich, creamy fish stew Katie asked, “Will ye read us A Visit from Saint Nicholas again?”

  He nodded. “I will. But then I’d like to read mama’s book first. It’s also a tale about Christmas Eve.”

  Mary rocked Robbie while she listened again to the beautiful stories. And while Robbie was soon lulled to sleep, to Mary’s delight, Katie was a rapt audience.

  When Jock finished reading, Katie yawned. “Read it again?”

  Jock chuckled. “Not tonight, sugar plum. Ye need to go to bed, so that Father Christmas will visit.”

  “Can I hang up a stocking, like in the St. Nicholas story?”

  “Of course ye can,” said Mary. “And since Robbie’s already asleep, ye can hang one for him too.”

  She frowned. “But we have a stove, not a fireplace. Where do we hang them and how will Father Christmas get in?”

  “I promise ye, he can always find a to deliver his goodies,” assured Jock. “And I expect if we put the stockings here on the table, he’ll find those too.”

  “Ye’re certain?”

  “Aye, Katie, I am.”

  Jock’s word was enough to convince her. She fetched two of her stockings from the bedroom and after laying them carefully on the table, she went to straight to bed.

  When Mary was sure Katie had fallen asleep, she took out her sewing box and began working on the toys she was making.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Jock.

  “Not unless ye can sew.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t. But maybe I could help ye with the stuffing. I could cut up the wool ye plan to use at the very least.”

  “Aye, ye could do that. When ye have the bits of wool ready, ye can stuff the little dog too.”

  Together they finished the toys quickly.

  Then Mary removed the small parcel of oranges from the sideboard. “Are ye ready to be Father Christmas?”

  He grinned. “I’m not Father Christmas, but I did run into him on the way home tonight. He gave me a few wee things and asked if I’d save him the trouble of filling the stockings—seeing as how he’s awfully busy tonight.”

  She laughed. “Well then, let’s see what he’s given ye.”

  He removed some of the bulges from his coat pocket. He had a small, brightly painted wooden train engine for Robbie’s stocking and a lovely picture book for Katie’s. He also had two white candy canes, a small packet of barley sugar candy and one of marshmallows.

  As he banked the fire, Mary just took in the scene. It was difficult to believe that her Jock had only arrived four days ago and the cold hard existence she had known until then had been transformed into this happy home. As impossible as it seemed, she had grown to love this wonderful soul from the future in that short time.

  Jock shut the oven door and turned to her. “Ye look happy.”

  “I am happy. Very happy.”

  “I’m glad. Are ye ready for bed?”

  “Aye.”

  He picked up the lamp on the table, put an arm around her waist and guided her into the bedroom.

  Once the lamp was extinguished and they were under the covers, instead of snuggling into the curve of his body, she turned to face him. She wasn’t sure how to do this, or even when she’d decided to. But she wanted him to make love to her. It was even odd thinking of it as making love. Perhaps Jock had made love to her for a little while after they were married, but very soon he stopped putting in any effort. He would just roll her on her back, thrust into her several times, find his release and then turn away from her and start snoring.

  This man, her new Jock, would love her tenderly—she just knew it and she wanted it. “Jock?” she whispered in the darkness.

  “Aye, Mary?”

  “Um…I…well…I’m just going to say it. Will ye make love to me?”

  There was a momentary silence. Dear God, what had she just done? But before she could apologize and take it back he said, “I would love to—if ye’re sure.”

  She sighed with relief. “I am.”

  He raised up on one elbow, cupped her cheek with the other hand and gave her a gentle kiss. He planted soft kisses along the line of her jaw to her ear, down her neck, then back to her lips. She had never experienced such tenderness.

  He deepened the kiss and for the first time in her life, she kissed him back.

  A low groan escaped his lips. “Ye’re delicious.”

  “So are ye.” Had she actually said that?

  He chuckled. “Mary, my sweet. I want to see ye. Would ye mind if I lit the lamp?

  See her? It had always been dark when Jock took her. And she’d been thankful for that. It was rarely pleasant and he’d have probably been angered by the pained look she was certain to have had.