Joy Cometh in the Morning

Joy Cometh in the Morning

“Nana? What you holding?” The young boy, Thomas, rubbed his blue eyes sleepily.

Nana, or Martha Washington when she wasn’t addressed by her grandchild, gently smiled at the lad through her steel-rimmed spectacles. The early morning sun shown through the window at her left, illuminating the corner in which she sat. Already the sun felt welcome after another cool night in England.

“Good morning, sweeting. This is a windmill toy I’ve just finished making. Would you like to see how it works?” Thomas nodded, and she pulled the string to demonstrate. Thomas’ eyes lit up as he watched the pink blades spin. He reached for the toy. “Can I hold it, Nana?”

The old woman smiled. “May I hold it, and yes, you may. But you must be careful.”

Thomas nodded his acquiesce.

She set the toy in the lad’s hands, and watched as he carefully pulled the string.

Martha, born in 1824, now owned the Staffordshire Toy Shoppe. Her husband, Harold, started the business thirty years past, but had died nine years ago, leaving the Shoppe to his beloved Martha.

Pebbles the cat, rubbed against her long, gray woolen skirts, seeking attention. Meoowww!

Martha reached down and picked the white, black and brown-splotched cat up. Her bones, stiff from years of hard work, creaked in protest. She tried not to let the pain show on her face.

“Good morning to you, as well, Mrs. Pebbles.” Nana petted the cat before sending her on her way. “You must go wake your kittens and give them their breakfast.”

Thomas looked up at the word breakfast. “Can I have my breakfast, Nana? I’m hungry.” He rubbed his little tummy to demonstrate.

Nana shook her head slightly and smiled. “May I have breakfast, and or course you may, sweeting.” She reached down and gently took the toy from her grandson’s hands, setting it back on the shelf. “Come now,” she said as she picked the lad and carried him from the front room and down the hall.

Even though the lad was nearly three, and it pained her every time she did, Nana still didn’t tire of holding young Thomas as often as she could. He was all she had left.

In the kitchen, Cook had nearly finished making the porridge for breakfast. “Ah, Mrs. Cunningham, I’ve nearly finished. Please, sit.” Laura gestured to the roughly hewn table in the center of the small room.

“Thank you, Laura.” Martha set Thomas on his feet, and let him to the washbasin standing in the corner of the kitchen.

“Put out your hands, please.” Thomas dutifully held his hands out, and she scrubbed them as best she could. “Now, sit at the table,” Nana said as Laura set a steaming bowl of porridge on the table. “Would you like to say the blessing, Thomas, or shall I?”

Thomas glanced at Laura, then back to Nana. “I would like to, Nana. Please,” he added, folding his little hands.

Nana nodded and folded her own hands.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this good-smelling breakfast,” he opened one eye to make sure his porridge was still there. A thin stream of steam rose from the bowl. Satisfied, Thomas closed his eyes and continued. “Thank you for Nana, and please tell my mommy and daddy hello from me. I thank you for this food. Amen.”

He looked to Nana and Laura proudly. Martha nodded at him to begin eating, and after he did, walked over to the stove with Laura. She noticed Laura’s eyes were a little shiny as well.

Laura sighed. “Poor, motherless little lad. ‘Tis a shame such a fine boy don’t have no parents to raise him.”

Martha Cunningham nodded. “It came as such a shock to me. I still can hardly believe it’s been five months since I opened the door to find the constable standing there, young Thomas holding his hand as the rain poured around them.”

The two women were quiet as they each in their minds relived the experience of that night. First the constable and the boy were there. Then the constable told them the late Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham had lost control of their buggy as they crossed a bridge. By the time the police had arrived, it had begun to rain. The only thing they could find was one broken wheel, and a very cold, wet young boy, clinging to a tree that hung over the river.

Nana shook herself from her musings as she heard the chimes tinkling on the door to the toyshop. She glanced out the door as she said, “Oh, I’ll be right back Laura, Thomas. I do wonder who is at the door at such an early hour?”

Martha moved quickly from the kitchen, through the hall and into the small room in the front of the house that served as the Toy Shoppe. The colorful room, filled with delicious scents and bright, cheerful colors greeted her. She hurried to the door and found, to her dismay it was empty.

Martha lowered her aching body into the hard backed wooden chair, sighing quietly. She peered around the small room through her spectacles, feeling blessed beyond measure, despite all she had lost.

First my second baby, then my husband nine years ago, and now my son just five months ago. And yet You are so merciful, Lord. You’ve given me my precious grandbaby. Martha wiped tears from her tired brown eyes.

The door opened from the living quarters, and Thomas toddled in.

“Nana?” he called, pausing in the doorway.

“I’m over here, sweetness.” Martha beckoned to him from the chair in which she sat.

The smile lit up Thomas’ face as he tottered to her. “Nana!” The bright morning sun shown on his head, making a golden halo glisten on his blond hair.

When Thomas reached her chair, he looked up at her. “You crying, Nana?” he asked, his pudgy arms reaching to be held. Nana reached down and picked him up, ignoring the joints that screamed in protest.

“Yes, I was crying, Thomas. But I was crying happy tears. Do you know why?”

Thomas shook his head, using the corner of his dress to wipe the tears that rolled down Nana’s cheeks. “Why, Nana?”

Nana smiled softly. “They were happy tears, sweeting. I was crying because I love you so much.” She paused, then continued. “But do you know, even as much as I love you, our heavenly father loves you so much more? Dosen’t that make you happy?”

Thomas nodded, and slipped his chubby arms around her neck. “Yes, Nana.” He nestled his head in her neck, then slipped to the floor.

He knelt at Martha’s feet, and petted Pebbles. Pebbles purred, and rubbed against Thomas, almost knocking him down. He stood to his feet and laughed, a big baby giggle that made his blue eyes sparkle. “Can I see the windmill again, Nana? Please?” he added, putting his chubby baby hands together in excitement.

“Of course, dearest.” Nana took up the windmill toy in her arthritis-ridden hands, and gently pulled the string, making the blades spin in a circle. Thomas giggled. Nana glanced at him, but saw to her confusion he wasn’t looking at her. He looked out the window.

Nana turned slowly; her aching back didn’t allow her to move quickly anymore. To her amazement, three young children stood at her window, with pink cheeks and smiles on their faces. They looked curiously at the toy she held in her hands.

Martha beckoned them, motioning with her hands and smiling. The two younger glanced at the oldest, a lad of about eight with a curly mop of carrot red hair. With one more glance at the inside of the toyshop, he nodded. The youngsters raced from the window and opened the door. The chimes tickled as three children dressed in ragged clothes moved into the toyshop.

Martha smiled. “Good morning, children. What are your names?”

The tallest lad spoke. “I’m Gilbert, this here’s Mable and the littlest one, Timmy. We’re orphans.” Then he nodded. “Pleased to meet you.” He grinned at Martha and Thomas, showing the dimples in his red cheeks. “I a-heered a fancy gentleman say that to a lady in the mercantile.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, as well, Gilbert, Mable and Timmy. My name is Mrs. Cunningham, and this is my grandson, Thomas,” she paused, formulating an idea. “Why don’t you children look around while I go make up some hot chocolate? You look like you could use something warm in your tummies.”

The children glanced at each other excitedly. “Yes, ma’am!” they chorused, and Thomas clapped his hands. “Ca-late! Ca-late!” he cried.

Martha chuckled as she moved from the Toy Shoppe. In the kitchen, she quickly made some cocoa. She breathed in deeply the pungent scent of chocolate.

Thank you, Lord, for sending me these children to cheer me when I felt sad.

Martha smiled, knowing the joy that awaited her in the other room. The joy that came in the morning.

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