第86章AStringofBlueBeads

第86章astringofbluebeads

fultonoursler

peterichardwastheloneliestmanintownonthedayjeangraceopenedthedoorofhisshop.it'sasmallshopwhichhadcomedowntohimfromhisgrandfather.thelittlefrontwindowwasstrewnwithadisarrayofold-fashionedthings:braceletsandlocketswornindaysbeforethecivilwar,goldringsandsilverboxes,imagesofjadeandivory,porcelainfigurines.onthiswinter'safternoonachildwasstandingthere,herforeheadagainsttheglass,earnestandenormouseyesstudyingeachtreasureasifshewerelookingforsomethingquitespecial.finallyshestraightenedupwithasatisfiedairandenteredthestore.

theshadowyinteriorofpeterichard'sestablishmentwasevenmoreclutteredthanhisshowwindow.shelveswerestackedwithjewelcaskets,duelingpistols,clocksandlamps,andthefloorwasheapedwithirons,mandolinsandthingshardtofindanamefor.behindthecounterstoodpetehimself,amannotmorethanthirtybutwithhairalreadyturninggray.therewasableakairabouthimashelookedatthesmallcustomerwhoflattenedherunglovedhandsonthecounter.

“mister,”shebegan,“wouldyoupleaseletmelookatthestringofbluebeadsinthewindow?”petepartedthedraperiesandliftedoutanecklace.theturquoisestonesgleamedbrightlyagainstthepallorofhispalmashespreadtheornamentbeforeher.“they'rejustperfect,”saidthechild,entirelytoherself.“willyouwrapthemupprettyforme,please?”petestudiedherwithastonyair.“areyoubuyingtheseforsomeone?”“they'reformybigsister.shetakescareofme.yousee,thiswillbethefirstchristmassincemotherdied.i'vebeenlookingforthemostwonderfulchristmaspresentformysister.”

“howmuchmoneydoyouhave?”askedpetewarily.shehadbeenbusilyuntyingtheknotsinahandkerchiefandnowshepouredoutahandfulofpenniesonthecounter.“iemptiedmybank.”sheexplainedsimply.

petelookedatherthoughtfully.thenhecarefullydrewbackthenecklace.thepricetagwasvisibletohimbutnottoher.howcouldhetellher?thetrustinglookofherblueeyessmotehimlikethepainofanoldwound.“justaminute,”hesaid,andturnedtowardthebackofthestore.overhisshoulderhecalled,“what'syourname?”hewasverybusyaboutsomething.“jeangrace.”

whenpetereturnedtowherejeangracewaited,apackagelayinhishand,wrappedinscarletpaperandtiedwithabowofgreen.“thereyouare,”hesaidshortly,“don'tloseitonthewayhome.”

shesmiledhappilyoverhershoulderassheranoutthedoor.throughthewindowhewatchedhergo,whiledesolationfloodedhisthoughts.somethingaboutjeangraceandherstringofbeadshadstirredhimtothedepthsofagriefthatwouldnotstayburied.thechild'shairwaswheatyellow,hereyesseablue,andonceuponatime,notlongbefore,petehadbeeninlovewithagirlwithhairofthatsameyellowandwitheyesjustasblue.andtheturquoisenecklacewastohavebeenhers.

buttherehadcomearainynight-atruckskiddingonaslipperyroad-andthelifewascrushedoutofhisdream.sincethen,petehadlivedtoomuchwithhisgriefinsolitude.hewaspolitelyattentivetocustomers,butafterhourshisworldseemedirrevocablyempty.hewastryingtoforgetinaself-pityinghazethatdeepeneddaybyday.theblueeyesofjeangracejoltedhimintoacuteremembranceofwhathehadlost.thepainofitmadehimrecoilfromtheexuberanceofholidayshoppers.duringthenexttendaystradewasbrisk;chatteringwomenswarmedin,fingeringtrinkets,tryingtobargain.whenthelastcustomerhadgone,lateonchristmaseve,hesighedwithrelief.itwasoverforanotheryear.butforpetethenightwasnotquiteover.

thedooropenedandayoungwomanhurriedin.withaninexplicablestart,herealizedthatshelookedfamiliar,yethecouldnotrememberwhenorwherehehadseenherbefore.herhairwasgoldenyellowandherlargeeyeswereblue.withoutspeaking,shedrewfromherpurseapackagelooselyunwrappedinitsredpaper,abowofgreenribbonwithit.presentlythestringofbluebeadslaygleamingagainbeforehim.

“didthiscomefromyourshop?”sheasked.

peteraisedhiseyestohersandansweredsoftly,“yes,itdid.”

“arethestonesreal?”

“yes.notthefinestquality-butreal.”

“canyourememberwhoitwasyousoldthemto?”

“shewasasmallgirl.hernamewasjean.sheboughtthemforheroldersister'schristmaspresent.”

“howmucharetheyworth?”

“theprice,”hetoldhersolemnly,“isalwaysaconfidentialmatterbetweenthesellerandthecustomer.”

“butjeanhasneverhadmorethanafewpenniesofspendingmoney.howcouldshepayforthem?”

“shepaidtheestpriceanyonecaneverpay,”hesaid.“shegaveallshehad.”

therewasasilencethenthatfilledthelittlecurioshop.hesawthefarawaysteeple,abellbeganringing.thesoundofthedistantchiming,thelittlepackagelyingonthecounter,thequestionintheeyesofthegirl,andthestrangefeelingofrenewallingunreasonablyintheheartofpete,allhadcometobebecauseoftheloveofachild.

“butwhydidyoudoit?”

heheldoutthegiftinhishand.

“it'salreadychristmasmorning,”hesaid.“andit'smymisfortunethatihavenoonetogiveanythingto.willyouletmeseeyouhomeandwishyouamerrychristmasatyourdoor?”

andso,tothesoundofmanybellsandinthemidstofhappypeople,peterichardandagirlwhosenamehehadyettohear,walkedoutintothebeginningofthegreatdaythatbringshopeintotheworldforusall.