# Scarlet Sister Mary (1928, Bobbs-Merrill Company)/Chapter 17

The next Christmas Day found Mary with Seraphine, a tiny baby girl, in her arms. Mary herself was a new creature. Her heart was light, her eyes sparkled and her laughter rang out as gaily as anybody's. She had learned again how to enjoy waking up to see the sky and to work all day long without slackening her speed. Her blood was warm with new life. It was pleasant to walk along the roads, to go to the forest for fire-wood, to swing her ax like a man, driving its keen bright edge into the clean white wood of the trees. She could never be the same free-hearted girl she had been, for trouble had left a scar somewhere deep down in her breast.
But sin and Seraphine had agreed with her. She would have been completely happy except for Budda. He would not speak to her, so cross was he that she had brought a child into the world after her lawful husband had left her. Instead of coming to see her Christmas Day, he sat on the wood-pile cutting splinters, frowning and being as surly as he was on all the other days of the year. When she called a cheerful "Christmas ​gift" to him, he glowered at her and turned his face away with an ugly snort that cut her to the very quick. Budda was too hard on her, too unforgiving.
He tried to make her marry June, then he tried to make her quit grieving over July but now, when she had proved to the world by means of Seraphine that July was out of her mind, and June in his place, Budda was cross and mean and would not speak to her even on Christmas Day. It didn't seem right. He was so vexed with her, he hated a little innocent baby.
Mary thought and thought until the long shadows began closing in on the sunshine. She must do something. If Christmas passed and Budda still stayed angry she would never be able to win him back.
The sun had set and the clear first dark had grown keen and chilly, but she wrapped a warm woolen shawl carefully around Seraphine and, hurrying to the wood-pile, laid the child in Budda's lap, calling out, "Here's a Christmas gift for you, Budda." She ran away as fast as she could, stopping behind a tree to hide so she could peep out and see what happened. Budda was ready to go home, but now he was trapped. He dropped his stick and snatched the baby up as if he would throw her away.
​Mary's heart stood still. "May-e! May-e!" he bawled. "You better quit you crazy doins. Come back here an' git dis child!" A dead silence made Seraphine's faint "Goo-goo" sound very sweet.
"May-e! Come git dis chile."
"Goo-goo," Seraphine cooed.
Budda Ben must have been stunned for it was several minutes before he moved again. He carefully laid the child down on the wood-pile among the chips and sticks and reached for his walking stick. But he could not get himself up and balanced on his feet without running a risk of stumbling over Seraphine.
"May-e!" he shouted, and Mary laughed to herself. At last she had made him not only speak to her, but made him call her to come to him.
Seraphine began a little fretful whimpering which suddenly shifted into a furious wailing. The sticks of wood were hurting her soft little bones. She wanted to be taken up.
"May-e, you fool, come get dis baby befo e catch e death o cold on dis wood-pile."
Mary's mirth changed to anxiety, but she must not give in yet. Budda would hate to be caught with a crying baby at his feet. He might try to hush it before anybody saw his plight.
"Sh-sh-sh," he began softly, but it did no good. "Shut you mouth, fo Gawd's sake," he growled, ​then he leaned and scooped Seraphine up into his arms again.
Maum Hannah heard the disturbance, and came to her door and called out, "Who dat duh cry so pitiful, Ben?"
"Come here, Ma!" Ben growled, and soon Maum Hannah had Seraphine, carrying her into the house while Ben hobbled along beside them, muttering what Mary knew were curses of herself.
When Mary went to get Seraphine, the baby lay quiet in Budda Ben's arms, her small head close against his heart. Maum Hannah had some butter and brown sugar and was tying it into a cloth, making a sugar rag for Seraphine to suck. One of the baby's hands clutched the end of the red kerchief tie around Budda's neck, and the other was closed fast around his thumb.
"You tink you is smart, enty?" he asked Mary savagely. "You counted on havin some sport out o me. Well, you can go on home by yousef. Me an' Ma can take care o dis baby." His under lip was thrust out and his voice was grim, but Mary's heart sang for joy for the trick she played on him had worked.
Disregarding his struggles to pull away from her, Mary knelt down and squeezed his arm.
​"Budda, Budda," she whispered, "please don' be vexed wid me no more. It's Christmas. I gi you a nice Christmas gift, enty? I wasn' makin sport o you. No. I want you to love me an' po lil Seraphine too. Budda, I missed you too bad. I know I done wrong, but I ain' gwine never do wrong, not no more. Not long as I live, Budda."
"You is a low-down gal, May-e. Low-down as you only can be. If it wasn' fo dis po lil stray baby, I wouldn' never speak to you again, long as I live. Dat's de Gawd's truth." In spite of his contempt which burned her clear through, Mary felt a smile tugging at her lips.
"Now, Budda——"
"I mean it." His tone was harsh, and his eyes were blazing. Yet she caught a glimmer of the old kindliness she had known all her life.
"Budda—smile at me one time, just by it's Christmas Day." Budda turned his face away and gazed into the fire that glowed scarlet as her sin. But from that minute on when nobody else could hush Seraphine's crying, Budda could.