A Silver Lining by Catrin Collier Read Free Book Online Page B

of the bowls set on the warming rack above the stove and ladled out a tiny portion.
    ‘Would you like some broth?’ her mother ventured to the minister when she heard Alma replace the lid on the pot.
    ‘No thank you, Mrs Moore. I’ve satisfied the inner man well over the festive season. I was at the workhouse yesterday, to help serve the paupers their dinners, and I have to say that the town did them proud. You should have seen the decorations, the table, the linen, the variety of meats,’ he eulogised, hearing no humour in the words he used to a blind woman. ‘There was a choice of roast pork, chicken or beef, three vegetables and all the trimmings ...’
    ‘I take it there was enough left over to feed the crache who’d been doling out their annual allowance of charity?’ Alma couldn’t resist the gibe. It was a tradition in the workhouse that the poor were served their Christmas dinners by the town’s councillors and well-to-do businessmen.
    ‘I won’t deny we had a fair meal. But we hardly took food out of the paupers’ mouths. I doubt that any of them could have managed another morsel.’
    ‘If you’d given them a couple of hours I’m sure they would have, bearing in mind their diet the rest of the year.’
    ‘I take it you think they’re hard done by?’ The minister raised his voice as though he was sermonising in chapel. ‘These people aren’t deserving of Christian charity or pity. Having contributed nothing to the town, they throw themselves on the parish demanding to be clothed, warmed and fed. They don’t spare a thought for the decent, hard-working, thrifty people who find themselves having to work all the harder to keep the workhouse doors open. The inmates are nothing more than idle layabouts who’ve never done a day’s work, or saved a farthing in their lives. And instead of punishing them for their laziness and lack of prudence as we should, what do we do? We give them Christmas presents,’ he answered quickly, lest Alma interrupt. ‘There wasn’t a man yesterday who didn’t get his ounce of tobacco, or a woman who didn’t get a bar of chocolate and an orange. And as if that isn’t enough, we feed them first-class food. The meal I saw yesterday was as good as you’ll get for half a crown in the New Inn any day of the week.’
    ‘Workhouse inmates don’t get Christmas dinner every day of the week,’ Alma pointed out.
    ‘You will take a cup of tea with us, won’t you Mr Parry?’ Lena broke in hastily as the kettle began to boil.
    ‘I don’t think so, but thank you for offering, Mrs Moore.’
    ‘Please don’t go on my account. I have to be on my way.’ Alma rose from the table.
    ‘In that case, perhaps just one cup, Mrs Moore.’
    Lena went to the pantry to get the sugar and milk, hoping Alma wouldn’t say any more than had already been said.
    Alma carried her soup bowl into the washhouse and managed to tip most of what little she’d taken down the sink without her mother hearing.
    ‘Don’t wait up for me.’ She kissed her mother on the cheek as she prepared to leave. She said no goodbye to the minister.
    The last thing she saw as she allowed the curtain to swing down over the doorway was the Christmas tree she’d set up in the alcove next to the stove. Christmas had only been yesterday, yet already it seemed like months ago. The sweets and fruits she’d bought had all disappeared from the boughs and the presents she’d wrapped for her mother had gone from underneath it. It looked ragged and forlorn, and she made a mental note to take it down as soon as she returned.
    She smiled as she recalled the expression on her mother’s face when she’d handed her two of the four chocolates she’d bought. Her mother had loved the coat, but Alma had learned as a child that it was the little things that made Christmas memorable.
    Upstairs she had a new jumper. Not the green lamb’s-wool she’d coveted on Wilf’s stall, but a grey one that her mother had re-knitted her