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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Courage / Heroism
- Published: 12/16/2021
A Ghostly Intervention - by T.R.Hart
A thick blanket of snow covered the little New England seaport town with the arrival of the Winter Solstice in the year of 1828. Though most dreaded the approaching cold and dreary months to follow, everyone in town was now making plans for the Christmas festivities that lit up the darkness in the hearts of even the dourest of its citizens. There promised a good time for one and all and the spirit of goodwill was abundant. No belly would be empty due to the generosity of the merchants of that small town during that most joyous time of the year.
The wind ceased to blow which enabled the lamplighter to find it much easier to perform his nightly duty. Main Street was festooned with greenery that gave a delicious scent to the salty air, and draped in ribbons of red and silver. Wreaths were hung on every door and candles were lit in the windows of the little cottages in remembrance of the light that came into the world on that first Christmas.
Most had retired for the night after a hard day's work, save one Edward Primb, who like the others was anticipating the Holiday. There were last minute bits of paperwork to finish, and so, his fingers glided through his ledger checking his accounts and making certain that there were no errors in his calculations lest he or his client be cheated.
Primb was a successful businessman with a talent for investing his money wisely. His business acumen, analytical mind, and good sense had enabled him to accumulate a modest fortune. For those who wanted to invest their monies, but lacked his expertise in finance, Primb charged a very reasonable rate. He warned every client, humble as he was, that his ability came through him from God almighty and that he was fallible, but his luck and the lucrative trade markets held out. It was said that Edward's money was earned by the volume of the clients that he had; not the rate of the commission.
Though he secretly admitted to himself that he did indeed love making money, he was not miserly. His memories of an impoverished youth were not forgotten and those who were truly in need were the beneficiaries of his generosity. His father, a widower with a large family, was a barely literate barber. Young Edward worked in his father's shop while his older brothers went to sea, some never to return. He was always undersized and frail, but had a powerful mind which was recognized by the older gentlemen who patronized his father's business.
"He's a young Alexander Hamilton!" Mr. Winthrop the banker declared.
"Yes, he is good with money" his father would say. "His nose is always in a book, and he spends his pennies on them. Not one for the silly adventures…no, little Eddie loves mathematics and the sort."
It was by the good graces of men like Mr. Winthrop that Edward was given his education. Men who lost their sons sought to do good for a deserving son of the village. Edward was seen to exhibit those qualities that endeared him to them. His education was paid for, and they were not disappointed. Edward's gratitude was paid back with interest.
He had achieved everything that he had set his mind on. His ambition and hard work had been rewarded with prosperity. The house, in which he lived, though it was by no means a mansion, was one that he could never have dreamed of owning in his youth. "My father died happy and content" he mused. "I was fortunate to take care of him in his final days tho' he was a pauper for most of his life."
Edward Primb had all that he desired except for one thing: Love. At thirty five years of age he was still a bachelor and had never been engaged. Perhaps he would meet a pretty young daughter of one of the more respectable families at the socials. He was in a cheerful mood.
The visions in his head of the girls he had encountered quickly popped out of his head when a knock was heard from behind the heavy oak door of his office:
"Sir, the fire is set and your meal is ready" came the thin voice of little Mrs. Pratt. She was his sole companion for seven years since the day that the young widow came to his business seeking employment. She, with a small daughter named Emma, was destitute without family or any means of support. With no wife or younger sisters to keep house for the young bachelor, he had hired her immediately part from pity and partly from need.
William Pratt, or "Billy", as he was known about town, was a well-liked charming ne'er do well whose life as a Yankee whaling man was cut short one day while chasing a large and furious sperm whale. The harpoons hit their mark. The "Nantucket sleigh ride" was exhilarating he thought, but all joy turned to tragedy when the whale dove beneath the waves only to return in a fury. In a second a large shadow leaped from the water and smashed the boat into matchsticks.
If not for Billy's place in the bow of the boat, he too would have been killed. Alone in the water, the sole survivor, Billy, was rescued, but the young man's courage had been shaken to his core, and he resolved never to return to the sea again.
Billy
Billy, broad-shouldered, handsome and with a devilish charm that no girl could resist, captured the heart of little Rose, the future Mrs. William Pratt. They were engaged, married, and in a short time Mrs. Pratt had given birth to little Emma, a little dark haired beauty with brilliant purplish eyes just like her father. Some of the more waspish of the women counted on their fingers, the months between the young couple's marriage, and the birth of their child.
Despite the desperate situation that the young couple faced, they were happy together and hopeful that providence would provide opportunity for steady work. With his charm and good looks Billy found enough work to support his little family. His lack of a formal education was an impediment to be sure, but he had an innate intelligence and common sense that eluded many of the better class of indolent young men. As a regular at the Public house, Billy was quick to pick up on a conversation that might be advantageous to him. His ears were quick to pick up an accent foreign to his locale.
The ports of the young country were ripe for the shipping trade, and though he vowed never to go to sea again, his interest in the maritime world never left him. While the men of his village spent their winter months repairing and refitting their idle ships, Billy, the unofficial "Mayor", made his services available to the businessmen who traveled up and down the Eastern Seaboard in search of the best prices to transport their merchandise. There was no request that Billy could not fulfill. Little Rose was proud of her handsome husband, and with their little Emma they were in the happiest of spirits as they prepared for their first Christmas.
It was in mid-December when the hopes of Billy and Rose were highest. A certain Charles Durwood, whose British accent was immediately detected by Billy's acute hearing (It was said to be so fine that dogs could hear what Billy could!), was impressed by the young man's energetic comportment and offered him a most lucrative opportunity. Relations between the two countries, former enemies in not one but two wars, had warmed due to mutual interests.
Britain's wealth grew as an industrial nation due to the advancements of machinery for manufacture. As all of her resources had been depleted, she looked to her former rebellious child to supply the materials needed. America was rich in resources and had a fine merchant fleet that rivaled Great Britain. Both economies would flourish with cooperation rather than discord.
The circuitous route from farms and lumber mills to the docks of New England’s merchant fleet was full of ambitious men seeking to sell their goods. Billy was well aware of those farmers who had much to offer and convinced Mr. Charles Durwood that he had the ability to buy their goods at the best prices. It was happy news that Billy was to bring home to his little wife and he was eager to return home with the good news, but it would be a tragic story that Rose would receive.
No one could have predicted the storm that hit New England that afternoon as Billy made his way home. The darkened sky had a stillness about it that brought an ominous feeling in the air. “I have but ten miles to go, he thought as he reached the mile marker. Looking at the sky made him uneasy. He was not dressed warm enough, he thought. I could make it quicker if I take the old Indian trail that runs behind the town. While on his way he discovered something remarkable: A wild rose in bloom.
“Surely God has given me a good sign!” Bill said to himself as he reached over the bushes and cut a single rose and put it in his shirt. His good spirits were suddenly dashed as a howling wind bore down bending even the strongest oak trees. He held on to any branches that he could get hold of as he was buffeted by the wind. A snap was felt and his arm hung loose. Pain coursed up to his brain and he screamed but could not hear his own voice. Then it came: snow and sleet, fast and furiously wetting him to the skin, and chilling him to the bone. He tried to call out as he struggled to save himself, but no ears would hear his calls. He was alone until the next day when some travelers found his body.
“Poor lad!” the older man sighed. “Better wrap him and put him in the wagon. What a pity, and with Christmas coming. Pray for his folks boys. His troubles are over."
The body was frozen and half covered in snow. It was like watching a tragic play, Billy thought, as he realized that the body being covered and taken in the wagon was his. He felt no cold, no pain, and his feet made no tracks in the tall snow and yet he moved effortlessly through it.
“No, it cannot be!” he shouted to the men. Couldn’t they hear him? Could he really be dead? What will become of my Rose and Emma?
He watched as the men lit a bonfire on the cold ground in the pauper’s cemetery. Almost as soon as they cleared the burning embers, the men went to work with the pick axes, cursing and digging his grave.
“Of all the time for ‘im to die… You’d think he’d had the decency to wait until after Christmas!”
“Quit yer’ complainin’ Jack! Have a little sympathy for the lad. He was a young ‘un and didn’t live long enough to know better than go about in a storm. He’d a young wife and little girl.”
Billy felt angry that the men would think that he was a fool who would go rambling through the woods in bad weather. The storm took him by surprise through no fault of his own.
The funeral service was hastily performed at the gravesite by Parson Sheffy, a tall, fat man who seemed put off by the absence of a lunch following the affair.
He saw his little wife with Emma clutched tight to her breast struggling to keep warm under her scant clothing. He despaired for them as he thought how hard life would be with no-one to provide for them. They were at the mercy of the charitable institutions whose pity was never given without admonitions as well.
As the tiny group parted, he saw Rose kiss her hand and touch the ground that had become his final resting place. She placed a small flat stone upright as a marker, and began walking away. He noticed something held in her hand. As he moved closer to her, the object was revealed to be the rose that he had picked for her. She wiped a tear from her eye with it and placed it on his grave. Billy was overcome by emotion, yet he could not weep.
A Miracle
Little Emma looked out the window as she waited for her mother to return from work. Snowflakes accumulated on the window pane nearly obscuring her view of the street. It was a short distance to Mr. Primb’s business and if she had been allowed to leave the house she could see it from the corner of her street.
Each Christmas Eve Mrs. Pratt would visit the bakery to buy some sweet cakes for her with the money she received from Mr. Primb, but this year was special. When he had heard that Little Emma was seen wearing a ragged dress filled with patches and threadbare around the hem, he had contracted his client, a seamstress, to make a new one for her and to “Make it pretty!” It was with great ceremony that he bestowed this wrapped and bowed box to his housekeeper.
“Bless you sir!” cried Mrs. Pratt. “You have been so kind to us. How can we ever repay you?”
“You and Emma have been a blessing to me Mrs. Pratt. As a Bachelor I have taken quite a pleasure to sharing your company in this house. Many years I would have spent alone without you as my family has moved far from here. I wish you good tidings and a most Joyous Christmas!”
Emma lived with her mother in the tiny home that once was home to the father that she never knew. On the other side of the window was a face unknown to her. Looking into the window was a handsome young man with dark hair and the deepest blue eyes. She noticed him smiling at her, but as she went to wipe the condensation from the pane to get another look at the man he seemed to have faded into the falling snow like a shadow and then he vanished altogether.
“Perhaps he is an angel” She thought to herself. “I will be sure to tell Mother about him, but Emma soon forgot about her vision and began to daydream again and wistfully wishing for a special visit from St.Nicholas.
The same man who had visited Emma now walked amongst the merry townspeople. He noticed that the shopkeepers had grown fatter and grayer than he had known them except for the constable who appeared to be a young man, not at all like the grizzled and whiskered Mr. Button. There were more shops than he had remembered, but his eye caught a view of a little woman carrying some bundles.
“It is my Rose!” He waved and yelled frantically to her but she seemed not to hear him. A woman carrying bags next to him didn’t seem to hear him either. Billy quickly moved aside lest the women walk through him…and she did walk through him! Well, at least through his outstretched arm.
He followed her and noticed the careworn face and the grey that peeked through her once golden locks now pulled back tightly and covered with a black bonnet. Her clothes were black as well. It had been seven years since his passing yet she still mourned!
“Rose” he whispered. She turned as if she heard him. She turned again realizing that in her haste she had forgotten Emma’s present. She made her way back to Mr. Primb’s office with Billy at her heels.
She called into the house. “Mr.Primb, sorry to disturb you, but I have forgotten your gift to Emma. There was no answer. Surely he must have gone to the festivities. Mrs. Pratt heard the clock on the hearth chime five times as the light grew dimmer in the office. She felt slightly dizzy but decided that she was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the day.
With Billy standing by her side, she came upon the figure of Mr. Edward Primb stretched out on the floor as if dead. “God help me!” she cried. Smoke started to billow out of the chimney. She knew immediately that the chimney had crumbled in on itself and that some invisible ether had overcome Mr. Primb.
“She rushed to his side and started to pull him toward the door. Billy tried to help his little wife but was helpless.
“Please Lord!” he pleaded. “Do not let this good man die. Give me the strength to save him!”
Edward Primb felt himself rising upward toward the ceiling.. He looked downward and saw Mrs. Pratt struggling to pull his lifeless body to no avail. Who was the man standing beside her? Surely he was strong and could have easily helped.
In a second or two Primb found himself passing through the roof into the dark sky of evening. He was floating as if he were a human kite being taken this way and that by each gust of air.
Billy called out again. Rose seemed to weaken. All of her exertions had been to no avail as Primb’s corpulence prevented her from saving him. Billy gripped her hand and found that his prayer had been answered. He pulled with all of his strength and… with one quick pull and a jerk; Primb was pulled out the door and onto the stoop. The townspeople quickly gathered around little Mrs. Pratt and Mr. Primb. It was witnessed by Billy and Mr. Primb himself, who felt as if he were falling toward the earth and into his body!
How could such a petite and thin woman have the ability to move such a large man they thought? Mrs. Pratt herself could not comprehend her sudden burst of strength. In fact, she had remembered nothing but a pulling in her muscles and within an instant, she and Mr. Primb were safe.
It was determined that Mr. Primb’s chimney had been neglected by Mr. Kerbin, though he was quite attentive to being paid for his services, the money being used to keep him well stocked in spirits. He was immediately fired by the newly married Mrs. Primb, the former Mrs. Pratt.
It was not without much agitation that Mrs. Pratt considered the proposal by the besmitten Mr. Primb who considered her his savior in body and spirit. Would her beloved Billy approve? She would go to his grave and talk with him she thought. His consent was given not in words, but in a sign: growing from Billy Pratt’s grave in the dead of winter…was a Rose… in full bloom.
The End
A Ghostly Intervention(T.R. Hart)
A Ghostly Intervention - by T.R.Hart
A thick blanket of snow covered the little New England seaport town with the arrival of the Winter Solstice in the year of 1828. Though most dreaded the approaching cold and dreary months to follow, everyone in town was now making plans for the Christmas festivities that lit up the darkness in the hearts of even the dourest of its citizens. There promised a good time for one and all and the spirit of goodwill was abundant. No belly would be empty due to the generosity of the merchants of that small town during that most joyous time of the year.
The wind ceased to blow which enabled the lamplighter to find it much easier to perform his nightly duty. Main Street was festooned with greenery that gave a delicious scent to the salty air, and draped in ribbons of red and silver. Wreaths were hung on every door and candles were lit in the windows of the little cottages in remembrance of the light that came into the world on that first Christmas.
Most had retired for the night after a hard day's work, save one Edward Primb, who like the others was anticipating the Holiday. There were last minute bits of paperwork to finish, and so, his fingers glided through his ledger checking his accounts and making certain that there were no errors in his calculations lest he or his client be cheated.
Primb was a successful businessman with a talent for investing his money wisely. His business acumen, analytical mind, and good sense had enabled him to accumulate a modest fortune. For those who wanted to invest their monies, but lacked his expertise in finance, Primb charged a very reasonable rate. He warned every client, humble as he was, that his ability came through him from God almighty and that he was fallible, but his luck and the lucrative trade markets held out. It was said that Edward's money was earned by the volume of the clients that he had; not the rate of the commission.
Though he secretly admitted to himself that he did indeed love making money, he was not miserly. His memories of an impoverished youth were not forgotten and those who were truly in need were the beneficiaries of his generosity. His father, a widower with a large family, was a barely literate barber. Young Edward worked in his father's shop while his older brothers went to sea, some never to return. He was always undersized and frail, but had a powerful mind which was recognized by the older gentlemen who patronized his father's business.
"He's a young Alexander Hamilton!" Mr. Winthrop the banker declared.
"Yes, he is good with money" his father would say. "His nose is always in a book, and he spends his pennies on them. Not one for the silly adventures…no, little Eddie loves mathematics and the sort."
It was by the good graces of men like Mr. Winthrop that Edward was given his education. Men who lost their sons sought to do good for a deserving son of the village. Edward was seen to exhibit those qualities that endeared him to them. His education was paid for, and they were not disappointed. Edward's gratitude was paid back with interest.
He had achieved everything that he had set his mind on. His ambition and hard work had been rewarded with prosperity. The house, in which he lived, though it was by no means a mansion, was one that he could never have dreamed of owning in his youth. "My father died happy and content" he mused. "I was fortunate to take care of him in his final days tho' he was a pauper for most of his life."
Edward Primb had all that he desired except for one thing: Love. At thirty five years of age he was still a bachelor and had never been engaged. Perhaps he would meet a pretty young daughter of one of the more respectable families at the socials. He was in a cheerful mood.
The visions in his head of the girls he had encountered quickly popped out of his head when a knock was heard from behind the heavy oak door of his office:
"Sir, the fire is set and your meal is ready" came the thin voice of little Mrs. Pratt. She was his sole companion for seven years since the day that the young widow came to his business seeking employment. She, with a small daughter named Emma, was destitute without family or any means of support. With no wife or younger sisters to keep house for the young bachelor, he had hired her immediately part from pity and partly from need.
William Pratt, or "Billy", as he was known about town, was a well-liked charming ne'er do well whose life as a Yankee whaling man was cut short one day while chasing a large and furious sperm whale. The harpoons hit their mark. The "Nantucket sleigh ride" was exhilarating he thought, but all joy turned to tragedy when the whale dove beneath the waves only to return in a fury. In a second a large shadow leaped from the water and smashed the boat into matchsticks.
If not for Billy's place in the bow of the boat, he too would have been killed. Alone in the water, the sole survivor, Billy, was rescued, but the young man's courage had been shaken to his core, and he resolved never to return to the sea again.
Billy
Billy, broad-shouldered, handsome and with a devilish charm that no girl could resist, captured the heart of little Rose, the future Mrs. William Pratt. They were engaged, married, and in a short time Mrs. Pratt had given birth to little Emma, a little dark haired beauty with brilliant purplish eyes just like her father. Some of the more waspish of the women counted on their fingers, the months between the young couple's marriage, and the birth of their child.
Despite the desperate situation that the young couple faced, they were happy together and hopeful that providence would provide opportunity for steady work. With his charm and good looks Billy found enough work to support his little family. His lack of a formal education was an impediment to be sure, but he had an innate intelligence and common sense that eluded many of the better class of indolent young men. As a regular at the Public house, Billy was quick to pick up on a conversation that might be advantageous to him. His ears were quick to pick up an accent foreign to his locale.
The ports of the young country were ripe for the shipping trade, and though he vowed never to go to sea again, his interest in the maritime world never left him. While the men of his village spent their winter months repairing and refitting their idle ships, Billy, the unofficial "Mayor", made his services available to the businessmen who traveled up and down the Eastern Seaboard in search of the best prices to transport their merchandise. There was no request that Billy could not fulfill. Little Rose was proud of her handsome husband, and with their little Emma they were in the happiest of spirits as they prepared for their first Christmas.
It was in mid-December when the hopes of Billy and Rose were highest. A certain Charles Durwood, whose British accent was immediately detected by Billy's acute hearing (It was said to be so fine that dogs could hear what Billy could!), was impressed by the young man's energetic comportment and offered him a most lucrative opportunity. Relations between the two countries, former enemies in not one but two wars, had warmed due to mutual interests.
Britain's wealth grew as an industrial nation due to the advancements of machinery for manufacture. As all of her resources had been depleted, she looked to her former rebellious child to supply the materials needed. America was rich in resources and had a fine merchant fleet that rivaled Great Britain. Both economies would flourish with cooperation rather than discord.
The circuitous route from farms and lumber mills to the docks of New England’s merchant fleet was full of ambitious men seeking to sell their goods. Billy was well aware of those farmers who had much to offer and convinced Mr. Charles Durwood that he had the ability to buy their goods at the best prices. It was happy news that Billy was to bring home to his little wife and he was eager to return home with the good news, but it would be a tragic story that Rose would receive.
No one could have predicted the storm that hit New England that afternoon as Billy made his way home. The darkened sky had a stillness about it that brought an ominous feeling in the air. “I have but ten miles to go, he thought as he reached the mile marker. Looking at the sky made him uneasy. He was not dressed warm enough, he thought. I could make it quicker if I take the old Indian trail that runs behind the town. While on his way he discovered something remarkable: A wild rose in bloom.
“Surely God has given me a good sign!” Bill said to himself as he reached over the bushes and cut a single rose and put it in his shirt. His good spirits were suddenly dashed as a howling wind bore down bending even the strongest oak trees. He held on to any branches that he could get hold of as he was buffeted by the wind. A snap was felt and his arm hung loose. Pain coursed up to his brain and he screamed but could not hear his own voice. Then it came: snow and sleet, fast and furiously wetting him to the skin, and chilling him to the bone. He tried to call out as he struggled to save himself, but no ears would hear his calls. He was alone until the next day when some travelers found his body.
“Poor lad!” the older man sighed. “Better wrap him and put him in the wagon. What a pity, and with Christmas coming. Pray for his folks boys. His troubles are over."
The body was frozen and half covered in snow. It was like watching a tragic play, Billy thought, as he realized that the body being covered and taken in the wagon was his. He felt no cold, no pain, and his feet made no tracks in the tall snow and yet he moved effortlessly through it.
“No, it cannot be!” he shouted to the men. Couldn’t they hear him? Could he really be dead? What will become of my Rose and Emma?
He watched as the men lit a bonfire on the cold ground in the pauper’s cemetery. Almost as soon as they cleared the burning embers, the men went to work with the pick axes, cursing and digging his grave.
“Of all the time for ‘im to die… You’d think he’d had the decency to wait until after Christmas!”
“Quit yer’ complainin’ Jack! Have a little sympathy for the lad. He was a young ‘un and didn’t live long enough to know better than go about in a storm. He’d a young wife and little girl.”
Billy felt angry that the men would think that he was a fool who would go rambling through the woods in bad weather. The storm took him by surprise through no fault of his own.
The funeral service was hastily performed at the gravesite by Parson Sheffy, a tall, fat man who seemed put off by the absence of a lunch following the affair.
He saw his little wife with Emma clutched tight to her breast struggling to keep warm under her scant clothing. He despaired for them as he thought how hard life would be with no-one to provide for them. They were at the mercy of the charitable institutions whose pity was never given without admonitions as well.
As the tiny group parted, he saw Rose kiss her hand and touch the ground that had become his final resting place. She placed a small flat stone upright as a marker, and began walking away. He noticed something held in her hand. As he moved closer to her, the object was revealed to be the rose that he had picked for her. She wiped a tear from her eye with it and placed it on his grave. Billy was overcome by emotion, yet he could not weep.
A Miracle
Little Emma looked out the window as she waited for her mother to return from work. Snowflakes accumulated on the window pane nearly obscuring her view of the street. It was a short distance to Mr. Primb’s business and if she had been allowed to leave the house she could see it from the corner of her street.
Each Christmas Eve Mrs. Pratt would visit the bakery to buy some sweet cakes for her with the money she received from Mr. Primb, but this year was special. When he had heard that Little Emma was seen wearing a ragged dress filled with patches and threadbare around the hem, he had contracted his client, a seamstress, to make a new one for her and to “Make it pretty!” It was with great ceremony that he bestowed this wrapped and bowed box to his housekeeper.
“Bless you sir!” cried Mrs. Pratt. “You have been so kind to us. How can we ever repay you?”
“You and Emma have been a blessing to me Mrs. Pratt. As a Bachelor I have taken quite a pleasure to sharing your company in this house. Many years I would have spent alone without you as my family has moved far from here. I wish you good tidings and a most Joyous Christmas!”
Emma lived with her mother in the tiny home that once was home to the father that she never knew. On the other side of the window was a face unknown to her. Looking into the window was a handsome young man with dark hair and the deepest blue eyes. She noticed him smiling at her, but as she went to wipe the condensation from the pane to get another look at the man he seemed to have faded into the falling snow like a shadow and then he vanished altogether.
“Perhaps he is an angel” She thought to herself. “I will be sure to tell Mother about him, but Emma soon forgot about her vision and began to daydream again and wistfully wishing for a special visit from St.Nicholas.
The same man who had visited Emma now walked amongst the merry townspeople. He noticed that the shopkeepers had grown fatter and grayer than he had known them except for the constable who appeared to be a young man, not at all like the grizzled and whiskered Mr. Button. There were more shops than he had remembered, but his eye caught a view of a little woman carrying some bundles.
“It is my Rose!” He waved and yelled frantically to her but she seemed not to hear him. A woman carrying bags next to him didn’t seem to hear him either. Billy quickly moved aside lest the women walk through him…and she did walk through him! Well, at least through his outstretched arm.
He followed her and noticed the careworn face and the grey that peeked through her once golden locks now pulled back tightly and covered with a black bonnet. Her clothes were black as well. It had been seven years since his passing yet she still mourned!
“Rose” he whispered. She turned as if she heard him. She turned again realizing that in her haste she had forgotten Emma’s present. She made her way back to Mr. Primb’s office with Billy at her heels.
She called into the house. “Mr.Primb, sorry to disturb you, but I have forgotten your gift to Emma. There was no answer. Surely he must have gone to the festivities. Mrs. Pratt heard the clock on the hearth chime five times as the light grew dimmer in the office. She felt slightly dizzy but decided that she was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the day.
With Billy standing by her side, she came upon the figure of Mr. Edward Primb stretched out on the floor as if dead. “God help me!” she cried. Smoke started to billow out of the chimney. She knew immediately that the chimney had crumbled in on itself and that some invisible ether had overcome Mr. Primb.
“She rushed to his side and started to pull him toward the door. Billy tried to help his little wife but was helpless.
“Please Lord!” he pleaded. “Do not let this good man die. Give me the strength to save him!”
Edward Primb felt himself rising upward toward the ceiling.. He looked downward and saw Mrs. Pratt struggling to pull his lifeless body to no avail. Who was the man standing beside her? Surely he was strong and could have easily helped.
In a second or two Primb found himself passing through the roof into the dark sky of evening. He was floating as if he were a human kite being taken this way and that by each gust of air.
Billy called out again. Rose seemed to weaken. All of her exertions had been to no avail as Primb’s corpulence prevented her from saving him. Billy gripped her hand and found that his prayer had been answered. He pulled with all of his strength and… with one quick pull and a jerk; Primb was pulled out the door and onto the stoop. The townspeople quickly gathered around little Mrs. Pratt and Mr. Primb. It was witnessed by Billy and Mr. Primb himself, who felt as if he were falling toward the earth and into his body!
How could such a petite and thin woman have the ability to move such a large man they thought? Mrs. Pratt herself could not comprehend her sudden burst of strength. In fact, she had remembered nothing but a pulling in her muscles and within an instant, she and Mr. Primb were safe.
It was determined that Mr. Primb’s chimney had been neglected by Mr. Kerbin, though he was quite attentive to being paid for his services, the money being used to keep him well stocked in spirits. He was immediately fired by the newly married Mrs. Primb, the former Mrs. Pratt.
It was not without much agitation that Mrs. Pratt considered the proposal by the besmitten Mr. Primb who considered her his savior in body and spirit. Would her beloved Billy approve? She would go to his grave and talk with him she thought. His consent was given not in words, but in a sign: growing from Billy Pratt’s grave in the dead of winter…was a Rose… in full bloom.
The End
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Kevin Hughes
12/24/2021Well that was a lot of fun. And a happy ending. Like everybody else in this thread I love happy endings. And to win story star of the day and story star of the week in the same week wonderful merry Christmas to you and thanks for lifting our spirits. Literally paid lol
Smiles Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
T.R. Hart
12/24/2021Thanks so much for the kind words Kevin. I grew up with a Kevin Hughes and thought you might be him. Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
12/16/2021That was a really good story! I love a good story with a happy ending! It was a great Christmas story. Thank you for sharing it.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
12/20/2021Merry Christmas to you as well! Happy star story of the week! I love when good stories get recognized!
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