Mr. Punch looked at Robert with tears in his eyes, “Did you know ‘bout this?”
Robert smiled, “I did.”
“Let me help you,” Adrienne said, removing Fuller from Mr. Punch’s Lap. Toby rose and sniffed the box that sat in front of Mr. Punch on the floor. The dog wagged his tail as he sniffed.
Mr. Punch moved aside the tissue paper and studied his gift.
“You made this?”
“We did,” Cecil nodded. “I’m afraid you’ve already seen part of it. That’s my contribution. I painted it myself based on memories of Covent Garden. Adrienne made the rest herself.”
“I’m afraid that it may not be exactly as your old one.” Adrienne said. “Remember, I grew up with Guignol, so I’m not sure if I made the costume quite right, but I worked from a drawing that Cecil made for me.”
“Me hands, Chum,” Mr. Punch sniffed. “Would you help me with him?”
“Of course,” Robert knelt down next to Mr. Punch and removed his gift from the box.
Robert held the puppet up the light of the bay window.
“He’s beautiful!” Mr. Punch whooped. “Can I hold him?”
“Of course, Mr. Punch,” Robert said, gently placing the puppet in Mr. Punch’s lap. “He’s yours.”
“He’s me.” Mr. Punch sniffed. He cradled the puppet and examined it closely. “There’s me head—just as it once was. Me nose all hooked to me chin and me big red smile. My eyes—all wide and blue, just like they was. And me body! Lady Chum, you made me body!”
“Cecil made the hands.” Adrienne smiled. “But, I sewed the rest of the body.”
“Look at him in his red suit with his ruff! And his hat! With a bell and all, just like the one I had before. Gold trim, and…look, there’s little buttons on the front an’ all!” Mr. Punch murmured excitedly.
“We thought that since your own body has been lost, you might like to have this one.” Cecil said. “We do hope you’re pleased.”
“I am. Oh, yes, I am.” Mr. Punch whispered. “Reminds me o’ what I was, it does.”
“Perhaps you can talk to him the way Julian once talked to you before the two of you…” Robert began, unsure of how to continue.
“Before the two o’ us shared a body.” Mr. Punch nodded. He sighed. “What a lark it must be for the other Mr. Punchs. Sittin’ up in the tent with their sticks, talking through their swazzles. ‘That’s the way to do it!’” Mr. Punch wiped Julian’s eyes on the bandages on his hands. “He’s a big one, too. Bigger than I was. I was from a toy shop. I wasn’t this big. This is a right proper Mr. Punch.”
“Well, you’re a big man now.” Cecil grinned. “Of course you should have a big portrait.”
“A portrait of me.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Like I was. There’s portraits of me master, there are—at Fallbridge Hall, hangin’ on the wall all flat. Never had one of me. And, mines not flat at all. Mines got arms what move and a head that’s round what you can touch.” Mr. Punch looked up with a helpless expression. “I promise I’ll love him always, I will.”
“I’m so glad.” Adrienne smiled.
They all watched as Mr. Punch stroked the puppet for a few seconds. “When me hands get better, I’ll make him talk. And, then, when Julian’s usin’ the body, maybe he can make him talk for me. Right?”
“Right.” Robert nodded. “Shall I help you put him back in the box for now?”
“Oh, no.” Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head. “He don’t wish to be in the box.”
“Very well.” Robert smiled.
“Here, I got things for all of you, too.” Mr. Punch said. “Over there—see them things by the tree?”
“I do.” Robert nodded.
“Would you mind giving the envelope to Adrienne for me?” Mr. Punch asked.
“I’d be happy to.” Robert said. He fetched a crème-colored envelope and handed it to Adrienne.
“Open it careful. There’s somethin’ inside. Then, there’s a note, there is. Naasir helped me write it.”
Adrienne opened the envelope and held it over her palm. Into her hand, a glittering green stone fell out.
“It’s what’s called an emerald.” Mr. Punch said as if Adrienne might not know. “Me master’s been carryin’ it ‘round in his jewel case waitin’ to find the right place for it. He wants you to have it. Maybe he can make it into somethin’ you can wear sometime.”
“It’s stunning.” Adrienne said softly.
“Color of your dress.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Color of Springtime and good things like the things what you brought to us. Here! Open the note. That’s the bit what’s from me. It’s what’s called a poem. I thought it up. Naasir wrote it down for me. Go on, read it.”
Adrienne read aloud.
Songs what talk about angels and beauty
Do not know that they have failed their duty.
For the true angel what comes from prayin’
Is me new sister, lovely Adrienne.
Happy Christmas. 25 December, 1852
From Julian Lord Fallbridge and Mr. Punch Molliner
Adrienne’s lip quivered. “Thank you, Mr. Punch.”
“I made them words up me-self.” Mr. Punch said proudly.
“They’re beautiful.” Adrienne nodded. “So very…”
“See, then, there’s a little box for Cecil.” Mr. Punch pointed.
Robert retrieved the box and handled it to Cecil who opened it slowly to reveal a silver handled folding knife. On the handle, the initial “M” had been engraved.
“This is from me master and me both.” Mr. Punch said. “It’s a knife what folds into itself so you can carry it in your pocket. I figured since you carve things, you might could use it.”
“It’s quite handsome,” Cecil grinned. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”
“And, you’ll use it?” Mr. Punch asked.
“Often.” Cecil nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.”
“One more!” Mr. Punch whooped. “This one’s for you, Chum, the leather case there.”
Robert opened the case and smiled. “It’s a gold pen.”
“That shiny blue rock on the top is what’s called a sapphire. I was thinkin’. Bein’ as you’re so smart, you should write a book. Smart fellas like you write books, they do. You could write a book ‘bout medicine with that. Maybe you could write a book ‘bout you and me. I’ll wager there’s other folk like me and me master—folk what got two people inside ‘em. Maybe you could write somethin’ down ‘bout us that might help them other folk know that it ain’t no pantomime, but a real thing what happens. You could use the pen, you could, to write with.”
“I think that’s a fine idea.” Robert said, his voice catching in his throat.
“There’s more.” Mr. Punch added. “See, there’s a paper in the bottom of the box. That’s from me.”
“Ah, yes.” Robert said, composing himself. He withdrew the paper, unfolded it and read aloud.
25 December, 1852
Dear Chum,
Knowing you made all this worthwhile. Goes to show that sometimes lovely things grow in the hardest of rocks.
With affection,
Mr. Punch Molliner on the occasion of Christmas morning.
Robert lowered his head and trembled for a moment.
“Here, not feelin’ sick are ya?” Mr. Punch asked.
“Not at all…just the opposite.” Robert responded.
They sat in contended silence for a few seconds.
“This is, I think,” Adrienne said after awhile, “the loveliest Christmas anyone could have.”
Little did they know, but Agnes Rittenhouse was climbing the stairs to their front porch. Her hand on the bell would signal an end to their peace.
Did you miss Chapters 1-92? If so, you can read them here.
