The little house was cold. Outside the snow was thick and heavy and still falling. It glowed in the gaslit lamps that lined the street. Abby shivered as she dressed. There was no coal in the house. The iron stove was black and dark and there was no money to buy more coal. It was Christmas Eve morning and there was no way to heat the house, or cook what little food they had. Abby knew there was only one option left. Mama and Papa couldn’t get any money for the coal, and her own wages wouldn’t be paid for another week. But she would get the coal. She just needed to be bad. Bad enough that Father Christmas would bring her coal.
Carefully she made her bed and stroked the brown yarn hair of the rag doll Father Christmas had brought her last year. This year she had been hoping for a toy theatre or a book. But now they needed coal, and she was the only one who could provide it.
She hurried through the snowy streets to the Seymour Mansion. Taking a deep breath, her stomach churned at the thought of what she was about to do. Back talking to Mrs. Seymour or even the housekeeper would get her fired. But Miss Seymour… she would be angry and give her more work, but she would overlook it, provided she never misspoke again. Which she wouldn’t. She only needed to be bad for one day.
In the warm mansion, the smell of gingerbread permeated every room, holly and evergreens adorned the walls. The Seymour children ran through the house with shrieks of laughter and were met with indulgent smiles. The normally grumpy cook overlooked stolen gingerbread men; including the one Abby snagged. She didn’t know if that made stealing the gingerbread bad or not.
Miss Seymour was flustered when Abby arrived to wait on her. “Mr. Edwards will be here this afternoon!” she wailed. “Oh, whatever will I wear? He said he wouldn’t be in London until after Christmas. Oh, I’m not ready for this!”
Abby nodded distractedly. She had to say something bad. But she did hate to spoil Miss Seymour’s day. Mr. Edwards was bound to propose soon. What if he had come back to London for just this purpose? Miss Seymour chattered on, while Abby halfheartedly pulled dresses from the wardrobe. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to do it. For her family.
“It’s not fair,” she blurted out in the middle of Miss Seymour’s cries. “You get to spend the day with your young man and your family, but I have to work through Christmas.”
Miss Seymour stared at her in shock. Silence draped over them. Was it enough? Wondered Abby. Should she say anything else?
“You poor thing,” sighed Miss Seymour. “I’m such a selfish creature. You must go home at once!”
Before Abby knew what was happening she was bundled off with many “Merry Christmases,” several gingerbread men wrapped in paper, and strict instructions not to return until Boxing Day. She found herself outside the mansion, completely stunned. This was not what was supposed to happen. Surely though the back talking was still bad, even if Miss Seymour had agreed with her. But was it bad enough? And now she was no longer in the warm mansion, but starting to shiver in the street.
As she pondered this, a gentleman came into view. It was Mr. Wright, a young man who was rumored to be in love with Miss Seymour. Of course, everyone knew he didn’t have a chance; Miss Seymour fancied Mr. Edwards. Mr. Wright was a newcomer on the social scene (the Edwards were old established friends of the Seymours’). Mr. Wright was well-to-do (but not as rich as Mr. Edwards), and kind (a triviality; so was Mr, Edwards). Mr. Wright just couldn’t compete. Suddenly Abby knew another bad thing she could do.
“Mr. Wright!” she called, running up to him. “Miss Seymour is waiting for you!”
He gasped and turned towards her at once, “Waiting for me?”
Abby nodded vigorously, “She won’t tell anyone of course, but she’s terribly in love with you.”
“But Edwards-”
“Doesn’t care for him,” Abby lied happily, thinking of the coal that surely awaited her for this. “She only favors him to please her family. But if you went to her right now-”
“Of course,” cried Mr. Wright and hurried to the mansion before Abby finished speaking.
She shivered in the snow and felt terribly sorry for the terrible disappointment he was about to receive. Maybe Miss Seymour would fire her after all when she found out about her outrageous lie. But by then her own family would be warm. Selfishly she ate her gingerbread just to be sure Father Christmas wouldn’t think of bringing her presents and wandered the freezing streets until dark.
As she returned home, she passed the Seymour mansion again and to her astonishment, saw Mr. Wright and Miss Seymour exiting a coach. They smiled at each other, glowing in the light of the street lamps. They didn’t look at all like people who’d had a nasty trick played on them. In fact, they looked like an idealistic pair of lovers. But that wasn’t possible. She looked down at the street as she passed, not wanting to be recognized.
“I still can’t believe you finally declared your intentions,” sighed Miss Seymour. “Today has been the happiest dream.”
“It’s all thanks to your maid,” replied Mr. Wright, causing Abby to jerk to a stop before forcing herself to keep moving. “I wouldn’t have known I had a chance otherwise.”
Abby shook as much from surprise as from the cold. Miss Seymour really had been secretly in love with Mr. Wright the whole time! How could anyone have known? He didn’t have anything Mr. Edwards didn’t. And worst of all that meant she hadn’t told a lie. Visions of coal and a warm Christmas vanished. Of course, she’d meant to lie, she assured herself. That had to be enough to get her coal for Christmas. Then she remembered the happiness on Miss Seymour’s and Mr. Wright’s faces. Anything that led to that much joy couldn’t be bad. Not really. She hurried home, tears leaving icy trails down her cheeks. There had to be something else she could do. They needed that coal!
The little house was as cold as the streets. White puffs of breath danced in front of each family member. Even wrapping up in blankets didn’t help. Dinner was cold. Mama and Papa tried to be cheerful. Abby pretended to believe their predictions that next year would be better. They all said Christmas was the best and happiest time of the year.
“Off to bed with you,” Mama said at last. “Father Christmas won’t bring any presents if you wait up for him.”
Abby nodded dutifully, but realized that she had one last chance to be bad. She laid in bed and waited for her parents to fall asleep. Then she crept down to the bedraggled Christmas tree and waited for Father Christmas. Despite the cold her eyelids drooped. She jerked up and started pacing the room. She had to stay awake. Surely this one last thing was bad enough for coal. Then a terrible thought occurred to her. What if staying up kept Father Christmas away completely? It was disappointing enough to be giving up her gifts, but if she lost the coal as well… Abby flung herself into a chair and sobbed.
“Why the tears on Christmas Eve?”
Abby looked up and gasped. There he was with a snow white beard and a long red coat. Father Christmas himself.
“I-“ She stopped. How could she tell Father Christmas? “I’m getting coal for Christmas, aren’t I?”
The saint laughed, a deep jolly sound, “Yes my dear, but not for the reason you think!” He knelt down and took Abby’s hands in his. “You were good this year. Even your attempts to be bad were good. And that means you get what you want most for Christmas: coal.”
Abby cried with joy as Father Christmas piled heaps of coal around the stove and lit the fire. Soon, flames were dancing merrily in the iron stove. Warmth flooded into the house. She threw off the blanket she had been huddling under and basked in the heat. It was wonderful, wonderful. She fairly danced back to her room and only with difficulty restrained herself from waking her parents. As she fell asleep, she was glad. Glad and warm.