A Clockwork Christmas Angel by J. W. Stacks Page B

stomach rumbled at the memory of how much she enjoyed them as a child. She wondered if she might indulge herself but a glance at her coin purse dissuaded that fantasy.
    ****
    “Abby?”
    The insistent brogue cut through her reflections. It sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. She chose to ignore it.
    “Abby! Is that you?”
    A hand grasped her sleeve and Abigail turned to look into the questioning face of Maggie Talbot, one of her companions that fateful night. The look of stunned recognition on her old friend’s face undid her.
    “By the heavens, it is you—” the other woman exclaimed, “Bless me I never miss a face!”
    “You’re... mistaken,” Abigail tried to pull her arm free. “I... must go.”
    The grip on her good arm increased.
    “Oh, no, you’re not,” Maggie protested. “Not until you tell me where you disappeared to!”
    Abigail inwardly groaned. Maggie was formidably stubborn when she latched onto something. Abigail had learned to hide her beauty behind a mask of cold indifference but Maggie’s fiery tresses, scandalous good looks, and increasing volume drew attention. Abigail shrank from it as the guard she’d put up against the world began to crumble.
    “Abby, what’s wrong?” Maggie’s voice turned uncertain as she saw the fear creep into her old friend’s eyes. “Come on. We’ll get you off the street and a spot of tea into you. It looks like you need it.”
    Against her better judgment, Abigail allowed herself to be steered to a nearby tavern where the barkeep scowled at them for ordering tea but he disappeared into the back after a grateful smile from Maggie. Thankfully it was too early for anyone else to patronize the gin house. “Good God,” Abigail thought, “she can still twist a man around her finger. She hasn’t changed a bit since I saw her last.”
    And indeed she hadn’t. Her red locks still threatened to spill out of whatever fancy hat she tucked it under and no amount of pins could ever bring it to bay. Her emerald green eyes lost none of their infinite mirth and her button nose and pert lips were the same as always—a dangerous weapon against which no man had ever been victorious. Under her beauty there lurked a mouth that could scandalize the coarsest sailor to ever sail the seven seas, which was only matched by the size of her libido. Maggie blamed her da. Abby believed she just enjoyed being shocking for the sheer enjoyment of it. God bless her though. For all her rough edges you couldn’t ask for a more stalwart companion.
    Maggie took Abigail’s hand into hers, breaking her reflections, and seemed to notice the sling for the first time. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Why didn’t you come back to the theater? We all thought you eloped and, when nothing showed up in the papers, we figured it was something really nice and scandalous. Then I find you here today, hurt and... well... in desperate need of a new frock.”
    Abigail stared at Maggie’s hand clutched around hers and remained silent. “How did you find me?” she finally said.
    “A pipe under the street burst and my cab had to take another route. I saw you from the window. Now stop trying to avoid my question.”
    “I got hurt, Maggie,” Abigail said quietly. “Very badly.”
    “Your arm?” Maggie’s voice had lost its playful lilt but she paused only for a moment. “Why didn’t you come back?”
    “I’m... not whole. Nobody wants to see a... cripple.”
    Maggie pursed her lips. “Even if that were true, why did you leave us? We all cared about you even if you were the second-best actress.” Her attempt at levity fell flat. “Why don’t you come back? Even if you don’t act, I’m sure that Charles can find you a job at the theater...”
    Abigail fought back a sob. “I don’t want anybody’s pity.”
    “But you’re going to wallow in your own?” Maggie retorted sternly and then softened her expression. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
    Abigail