The Baker's Tale. Thomas Hauser
he turned to Christopher.
“Antonio visited me last night and told me of your circumstances. Tell me your history in your own words.”
There was something so earnest in the way this was said and with such disregard of the class differences between them that Christopher felt at ease. He spoke. Mr. Joy listened attentively and, when the narrative was done, put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder.
“Let me make an offer to you, something that may change your life for the better. I have made it my concern to place men and women who come from hard origins in situations where they can live decently as a consequence of their own honest labour. One of the people I assisted in this manner is a woman named Marie Wells. Marie and her husband were the proprietors of a bakery in a nearby part of London. Mr. Wells died suddenly four weeks ago. Marie is a good woman and in need of help. There is a job for you at the bakery. You and Ruby would live there. You would have food to eat, a small salary, and a home.”
Christopher seemed at a loss for words.
“I would like that very much,” he said at last.
“And there is another condition of your employment. You and Ruby must learn to read.”
“It is my dream that Ruby learn to read and write. But for me, it is beyond my comprehension.”
“At the moment, it is also beyond Ruby’s comprehension. That will change for both of you. Reading will come more easily to her because she is young and will be without the fear that you bring to the adventure. But what a child can learn, you can learn too.”
“And if I cannot?”
“When the opportunity presents itself, learning to read is a responsibility that you have to yourself. Learning to read is like entering a dark room and lighting a candle. It will light the fire of your imagination. You need not learn to read well, only as well as honest effort on your part allows.”
“I will try.”
“Then it is settled. Marie must first approve of you, but I think she will. She needs a man’s help in the bakery, and she has long wanted a child in her life. I spoke with her this morning. She is expecting our visit now.”
The most common form of public transportation in London is the omnibus. The public gets on and off as the vehicle is drawn along its route by horses. Hackney coach stands offer licensed public cabs for those who prefer their own coach and driver.
Mr. Joy summoned a hackney coach. Christopher, Ruby, and I joined him inside.
“We are going to meet a very nice woman named Marie,” Mr. Joy told Ruby. “Last night, Antonio told Marie that you are very nice, and she would like to meet you.”
The cold of the previous day had lifted a bit. Mr. Joy and Ruby got along exceedingly well as the carriage clattered through the streets of London. Of course, Mr. Joy got along exceedingly well with everyone. Fifteen minutes after our ride began, we arrived at Marie’s bakery.
I have known Marie for many years. She is two years younger than I am and one of the kindest people I know. Anyone who casts even a casual glance upon her can discern that she has a loving heart. Her serene blue eyes and gentle face bespeak her nature. She has the good opinion and respect of all who know her.
Mr. Joy introduced Christopher to Marie, and she explained the operation of the bakery to him in simple terms. Then she and Ruby played together.
“You and the child are to be here tomorrow morning with all of your belongings,” Mr. Joy told Christopher at day’s end.
Marie added a promise to that instruction.
“If you live in my home, Ruby will have the best of care and the most love that I can give her.”
The following morning, Christopher and Ruby arrived at Marie’s bakery with a small cloth bag. The whole of their worldly belongings—the discarded clothes of others and a tiny doll not much more than a rag—were inside.
Octavius Joy had given money to Marie to buy Ruby some better clothes. Christopher would wear the clothes that had belonged to Marie’s husband.
“It would make you sad to see me in them,” Christopher protested.
“It would give me pleasure to know that they are well used.”
Marie led Christopher and Ruby to the floor above the bakery and showed them the living quarters. There were two rooms, each with a simple wood bed that consisted of a platform and mattress filled with straw. Like the beds, the other furniture was of little worth but sufficient and neatly kept. Christopher and Ruby would sleep in one room. Marie would sleep in the other.
Ruby had never seen a bed before.
Marie washed Ruby’s face, combed her hair, and made the rest of her as fresh and clean as a child can be. At day’s end, she prepared dinner.
There is a soft place in my heart for Marie. She is like family to me. I had been invited to share this occasion with her and her new family.
The fire burned clear. The kettle boiled. The table was set.
Ruby did not know what it was like to sit down for a meal at an appointed hour. In the past, she had eaten whenever there was food.
“This is where we eat our meals,” Marie explained.
“Every day?”
“Every day.”
If a child of three can be said to contemplate, Ruby contemplated the meaning of those words.
After dinner, Christopher moved his chair closer to the fire and sat with a look of contentment on his face. The room was warm. One of the logs broke in two and blazed up as it fell. Another log was thrown on.
“I am grateful beyond anything that I can express,” Christopher said as he pondered the change that had come upon his life. “If ever I can prove to you the truth of those words, I will.”
Seen with the fire behind her, Ruby looked as though she had a glory shining round her head.
Then it was time for her to sleep. One night earlier, Ruby had shivered in the cold on rags placed on a hard dirt floor. Now she would slumber in the warmth of her bed, as humble as it was.
Marie lay Ruby down on the bed and wrapped a blanket round her. Warmth, shelter, and peace were there.
Then a look that I am unable to describe stole across Ruby’s face.
“Ruby and uncle stay,” she said.
The words were spoken as both a question and a plea.
“Ruby and uncle stay,” she said again with anxiety rising in her voice.
“Ruby and uncle stay,” Marie pledged.
Ruby smiled a smile of relief.
There are moments of unmixed happiness in our lives that cheer our transitory existence on earth. This was one of them. Marie had the child that she had longed for but thought would never come. And Ruby Spriggs had a home.
I made a silent promise to myself that, whatever happened in my life, I would help care for this child.
“Good night, little one,” I said. “Pleasant slumber. Happy dreams. May angels guard your bed.”
Ruby fell asleep with a smile on her face. I fancied that she was dreaming.
Christopher had sought honest labour. Once it was found, he adapted well to the demands of a baker’s life.
He learned first to mix yeast and water with grain—wheat, rye, barley—and to bake the dough for bread in the large brick oven. Before long, he was able to make rolls, muffins, and