Fire was a vampire’s natural enemy. They could die by fire or sunlight just as much as a sword to the neck. But Kendrick knew forges and bellows and hammers and tongs, and he had a healthy enough respect for flames to be wary about his business. He had observed and learned many crafts over the centuries, but smithing had always been one of his favorites. It took skill, strength, imagination—and for one such as he, a chance to face one of his last remaining fears.
He set his sword aside and doffed his coat, rolling up his sleeves before donning a smelter’s apron. He reached for a gold bar and set it to heat.
Giver of rings, a king was.
He stoked the fire high.
This evening at Sally’s, Hannah had been full of questions about Christmas. “Is it really coming? What do you do at Christmas? What is it about?”
What is it about?Genevieve wondered as baby Justin blew bubbles on her shoulder. Could a child get to this age and not know anything about the season? “Does your mother have a Bible, Hannah? If so, I could read you the story.”
“Don’t think so,” Peter said. “But Augie’s mum takes them to church. She might.”
“Oh, is she home?”
Peter shrugged.
“I shall go and inquire.” Genevieve carted the baby with her out of the room and up the stairs. She didn’t need the number—she could follow the scent trails of the children to the second floor. She knocked on the door quietly.
The normal sounds of movement and quiet voices behind the door ceased. After a long silence, feet moved towards the door and someone carefully unlocked it. “Yes?”
The woman behind the door blinked bottle-green eyes at Genevieve. Blonde hair struggled out of the pins piling it on top of her head. The woman looked hollow-cheeked, as if she were not eating enough. Perhaps she was giving her portions to the children.
Genevieve smiled. “Good evening. My name is Genevieve Dryden. I watch children for Sally Blevins and others.”
“Oh!” The woman’s expression cleared. “Miss Dryden—thank you so much for helping June and August. I hate leaving them alone, but I—I had to go out suddenly.” She swallowed. “I am pleased to meet you. I am Evangeline Hartshorne.”
Genevieve shifted Justin to her other arm and shook hands with the woman whose name and accent marked her an outsider among the East End’s inhabitants. “I was happy to. And if you ever need to, you can always bring the children by for a while. I try to do a short lesson on their letters or numbers. But I wondered if you had a Bible I might borrow. Hannah has asked about the Christmas story, and I thought I would read it to them.”
“Oh, yes! One moment.” Mrs. Hartshorne disappeared into the room and through the open door, Genevieve saw August playing with June on a threadbare quilt that covered the bare floor. He waved at her, the solemn tyke. Genevieve smiled and returned the motion. Then she helped Justin wave too before the baby shoved his hand back in his mouth.
“Here. What a wonderful idea, to read through the Christmas story,” Mrs. Hartshorne said. “We have been reading the Old Testament stories lately, but switching to the Gospels for the season is very appropriate.”
“Thank you so much,” Genevieve said. “I shall return it before I leave.”
On her way back to Sally’s room, she wondered what sort of past Evangeline Hartshorne had, to have begun her life somewhere very different and ended up here.
But didn’t we all,Genevieve thought. Except perhaps Fletcher. Worry roiled in her stomach, but there was nothing she could do about it until Sally came back.
With Hannah waiting expectantly around the wobbly table and Peter pretending indifference but still listening, Genevieve sat down and opened the book to the Gospel of Luke.
“‘And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary…’”
The story of the angel’s arrival to Mary and his announcement that she would be the mother of the Most High rolled off her tongue in the small, squalid room, until she reached the next-to-last verse of the section. “‘For?—'”
Genevieve’s throat closed. She cleared it. Cleared it again.
“‘For with God, nothing shall be impossible.’”
She stared at the type on the page, faded as if another thumb had smoothed the words over and over, clinging to the promise. Genevieve swallowed hard. The words were not some ephemeralmaybeorperhaps. They were declarative. Without equivocation.
“Nothing shall be impossible.”
“Is there more?” Hannah broke in.
“This is just the start,” Genevieve said, pushing aside the hurts the season held for her. “Christmas is the time of hope coming to fulfillment. The long-awaited Savior of the world being born to Mary.” She took a deep breath and continued.
Once her bonnet was tied on and her cloak fastened, Genevieve delivered the Bible back to Mrs. Hartshorne. “Thank you for the loan,” she whispered as Mrs. Hartshorne opened the door. She could hear the quiet breathing of the sleeping children.
