For the Love of Polly
It was a cold night in London. The cruel wind blows snow in the face of the lone man on the corner. It is 1881, and nearly Christmas. A cab just passed under the gas light, covering the shadow in the swirling snow created by the single horse and carriage. The once tall man, now old and slightly stooped, made this journey many times. Once again he stood waiting, fingering the few coins in his dark shabby coat pocket - afraid he still hadn't enough. Polly, dear Polly, he thought. This year you will have a Christmas - somehow.Jesse Worder came here almost every evening now, and stood looking in the window of the Second Hand Store to see if they were still there. Satisfied there was hope, he again crossed the street and waited for courage to go through the door. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought.
Jessie lived with his daughter, two streets over and three blocks down from the store. They lived in a small two room apartment on the third floor. Just one bedroom and kitchen. It was furnished in whatever furniture Jessie could find. A wooden table with the white paint mostly worn away, and two unmatched chairs, along with a couch and an old reclaimed carpet, completed their furnishings. At the far end was a sink and a wood burning stove. The bedroom held a single bed, a chest of drawers and a chair, all gleaned from throwaways. Polly slept in the bedroom, while Jessie slept in his clothes on the couch. Each morning Jessie left an orange or an apple on the table for Polly's breakfast. The evening meal was whatever Jessie could find in produce that day. It was always called "stew."
After leaving the fruit, Jessie walked the streets looking for work. He had a keen eye for things to do, but his appearance now kept most folks from hiring him. With his torn black coat, his wrinkled and faded blue shirt and pants, he looked more like a hobo than someone one would want to hire. His leather cap, which he found in an alley, covered and protected his gray and balding head. He last used his razor days ago; stropping no longer kept it sharp. The several days growth did not help his appearance, and it would take several more days for a presentable beard. Today is my last chance, he thought, I've got to earn some money today!
Pulling his cap down lower and his coat collar up around his neck, Jessie headed for the 'Swell' part of town. Fighting against the bitter wind, he spotted a dull brass door knob. Jessie mounted the single step and knocked on the door.
"What da ya want? I see ya - are you a Gypsy?" came a voice from within.
"No, mother," replied Jessie in his most respectful voice.
"It's Christmas Eve, an' I was hope'n to earn a few pennies to buy my little daughter a present. I noticed you might want your door knob polished - you havin' such a fine home an' all."
"All right," the voice came back, "but ya can't come in! Do yer best an' I'll push a tupence through the slot when yer done."
Jessie now realized he had nothing with which to polish the knob, but he pulled a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and , spitting in it, pulled the ends back and forth on the brass. The shine returned. He finished by wiping it with his coat sleeve. Stepping back, he smiled.
"I'm done, mother," he called out. A single coin tumbled out through the slot, hitting the stoop it rolled away, sending Jessie scrambling after it.
"Merry Christmas, mother," he called back.
"Polly, oh Polly," he realized he'd spoken out loud. Polly was his sister's child. She died giving Polly life, and Jessie, it seemed natural at the time, took her and raised her as his won. Now six years old, she had beautiful golden hair, alabaster skin and startling blue eyes, like her mother. When she was almost five, Polly came down with a high fever. Jessie, though not a natural parent, did all he knew for her.
From the time Polly could first talk, she told Jessie of her dream. After the sickness, it hadn't changed. This year would be the year. Somehow, this year Jessie would bring to Polly the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the world.
Jessie straightened himself as best he could, and putting a smile on his worried face, and again started knocking on doors. He could do anything, he said to whomever answered the door, but no one wanted help from such as he, and he gained not a penny more the rest of the day.
As the gas lights were being lit, he found himself once again standing in front of the second-hand store, looking through the dusty window.
"Oh, Sweet Jesus! They're gone!"
Jessie, now emboldened by the tragedy, burst through the door.
"Misses! Misses!" he cried. "The little slippers. The dancing slipper! Have I waited too long?"
"You must love her very much," said the Owner.
"Oh yes, Misses, I do. I have been trying to save for them, but I never had enough." The woman held her gentle eyes on his.
"How much do you have?"
"Only this, Misses. Only this..." and he emptied his coins on the counter.
"I have seen you staring at those shoes for many weeks now. This afternoon I took them out of the window to clean them, and I put on new pink ribbons for you. I knew you would stop in tonight, for tomorrow is Christmas." She reached under the counter and brought out the cleaned little dancing shoes, nestled in paper and with a proper box for Christmas.
"Thank you, mother, thank you, but I haven't enough to pay you."
"I have added up what you placed on the counter," she said, "and you have just enough." Tears filled Jessie's eyes as he took the precious box. "Bless you dear lady. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas."
Jessie hurried down the five streets. It didn't seem cold any longer, and he took the well worn stirs two at a time. Reaching his door and unlocking it, he burst into the room.
"I have something for you, my child. You are going to have a real Christmas this year. I have somthing very special for you!" Polly rushing toward Jessie, bumped into the table.
"Oh Papa, what is it?" As she felt for the box, her wide eyed face looked as if she might burst with excitment. Polly opened the box herself, and as she pulled back the paper and felt the shoes, she squealed with excitement.
"Oh, Papa, it's just what I always wanted. Thank you! Thank you!" They embraced, and Jessie with grateful tears, kissed her head.
Jessie helped her on with one slipper, while Polly put on the other.
"What color are they, Papa, and what color are the ribbons?"
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