Sara washed his voice away with more lemonade and refilled her glass. She studiously watched the dancers as they spun around the room, oblivious to her thoughts. Jacob was dancing with Claire for a scandalous fourth time, Louisa with a middle-aged father, and Mr. Pomeroy with that young debutante. The tepid lemonade slipped down her throat again and she moved to pick up a lobster patty.
Something brushed her skirts and Sara looked down, seeing a bony arm sneaking out from under the tablecloth, the attached hand curving up to search the table. Securing a handful of biscuits, the hand vanished under the table again.
Her brow furrowed with curiosity, she knelt down and lifted the tablecloth, revealing Robert and Daniel Simpson, the two eldest of an abandoned mother struggling to raise her five children. The family was one of her and Mr. Pomeroy’s weekly visits.
“Hello there,” she said softly.
The boys stared back at her, Daniel’s small hands strangling the handle of their basket. Glancing in it, Sara saw different foods from the table. She looked into their wide eyes, recognizing the fear and hunger.
“You needn’t hide under here,” she continued, keeping her voice soft. “I would be happy to help you fill your basket. Come.” She lifted the tablecloth higher and stretched her hand toward Robert, encouraging him to come out with his brother.
Uncertainty warred in his eyes, battling with what he knew of her and his mother’s admonishment to not get caught. She held her hand patiently, not moving her gaze from his. When he lifted his hand and put it into hers, she smiled at him and helped him and his brother move from their hiding spot.
“Now,” Sara said, her hands on their bony shoulders, “point to what you would like and we will put it into your basket. Your mother will be so proud of how much food you bring home.”
After a moment of hesitation, Robert pointed to the lobster patties. Smiling, Sara took some and placed them in the basket. Taking the lead from his brother, Daniel pointed to small pasties and they too were added to the growing pile of food. The boys lost their uncertainty once they realized that Sara had meant what she said.
The basket was almost full when a shrill voice came from the opposite end of the refreshment table. “Miss Collins, stop that at once!”
All three jumped and turned to see Mrs. Glendoe bearing down on them, fury on her face. She continued, “Those ruffians should not be here, let alone stealing the food. And here you are, aiding and abetting them.”
The ants clamored in her throat, growing more vicious the closer Mrs. Glendoe came. Sara sucked in what breath she could, hoping it would be enough to sustain her through this attack. The boys quaked with fear, pressing their trembling bodies into her side. Sara placed her arms around them, hoping they would not bolt and draw more attention to them.
“You ought to know better,” Mrs. Glendoe was saying. “Encouraging them in such behavior. Children are not to be at such events; their mother is not even here. What a neglectful woman. No wonder they are turning to a life of crime.”
Sara swallowed, trying to dislodge some of the ants. “They are—” she squeaked.
“What was that?” Her beady eyes narrowed even more.
Sara cleared her throat and tried again. “They are merely hungry.”
“That is no excuse for theft,” was the shrill reply. “You should be aware of the Biblical commandments, being the daughter of a vicar. Theft is forbidden. I have a good mind to summon the constable.”
Sara took a deep breath, feeling anger well up in her chest. It was one thing to suffer the woman’s attacks; it was another to allow her turn her sights on innocent, hungry children. The anger burned its way up her throat, destroying the ants in its path. “And we are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves, Mrs. Glendoe, and such to treat them as we would like to be treated. Would you not want someone to offer you food when you are hungry?”
The older lady blinked, the response unexpected. “That hardly diminishes the severity of the situation.”
Sara’s brows rose. “The severity of the situation? Yes, I must agree with you there. It is a severe shame that this town boasts residents who are more than comfortable in their circumstances yet do little to help those who are not, who in fact condemn those very unfortunates when attempting to merely survive another day. While it is true theft is a sin, the greater sin may be found in those who had means to help those in need and did not.”