The Christmas Mission

Chapter 2

"We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul,

Of some better and fairer day;

And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal

Are gliding and sliding away"

— Friedrich von Schiller "Hope"

            While many were nestled away in the northern part of town, there were many civilians who were not so fortunate to eat a large meal and crawl into their warm beds in their three-story homes built with the finest brick and wood. A great deal of people lived in the southern part of the town, a poorer and frowned upon district.

            While the people in the north lived in large log cabins with constant fires going, those in the south lived in small cottages, praying that the winter would not be too unbearable and that some great meal would come there way.

            And unfortunately, the people who lived farther south, while they were free to roam in town, were often frowned upon due to their dirty complexion and ragged clothing. They tried to make as many jobs as they could, usually low-paying ones that no others wanted. And while they worked hard to earn a living, they were shunned by others and weren't able to experience the same magic, friendship, and love that those farther north seemed to have a great surplus of.

            Thanksgiving night was a particularly painful night for those who lived down south. Some were fortunate enough to maybe buy a small chicken, but many, while they tried their hardest, had a very slim Thanksgiving feast.

            Those that lived farther south believed that each person was for themselves, and so they often did not assist each other. Each person was trying to make a living and to survive. They had no time to help others nor share a meal together.

            Tucked away in a neighborhood of cottages lived a mother and daughter. Their cottage was like everyone else's. Small, confined, dirty, and so forth. The cottage was built of wood with a straw roof. Fortunately, this particular cottage was located near the river, and sometimes, the inhabitants were lucky to catch a fish or two. In addition, there was a fair amount of land surrounding the cottage, allowing the inhabitants to grow a few crops as well.

            Normally, the southerners were pitied and looked down upon. It was no worse crime than to be from such a low neighborhood. And yet, those from the south did not act as if they were paying for their sins.

            Mary Ellis, the young girl living in the cottage with her mother, did not think this way at all. She was thankful for what she had, and though living was not always pleasant, it was bearable, and that was all she needed.

            Mary Ellis was thirteen years old with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She supposed she looked more like her father, who had fled from his family when she was only an infant. Her mother, meanwhile, had short brown hair and green eyes. Some said they looked nothing alike, but Mary knew they were. They both stood the same way, used the same hand motions, and spoke in the same loud and confident tone.

            Late on Thanksgiving night, Mary sat at a small wooden table on top of an old, squeaky wooden chair. Her mother sat across from her, and they were just finishing their Thanksgiving meal.

            It had been soup, a treat which they normally ate, but her mother had added a few extra ingredients this time, and Mary was thoroughly enjoying it. She dipped her spoon into the small amount of soup she had left and sipped away, watching as her mother licked her own bowl clean.