Grandma’s Christmas Lessons

Holiday Stories for Older Children

And Adults Who Love Christmas

By

Eileen Telford

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2012 by Eileen Telford

Author Page

I love Christmas.  These stories represent years of Christmas writing.  It has been fun to gather them together for you in this Christmas collection.  I wrote these stories with an older audience in mind.  Please feel free to share any stories that you feel appropriate with your younger children.  I hope you enjoy these stories for many years to come.  Many of my friends ask me if I have written anything new for Christmas.  It is a holiday tradition for them to read through the stories each year.  I hope you make it a tradition as well.

You can reach Eileen at

eileentelford101@gmail.com

Dedication Page

To the wonderful people that God placed in my path that taught me so much and inspired such great Christmas lessons.

Table of Contents

ANGEL IN THE RED SCARF

THE MUSIC BOX

MAIL-ORDER MOMMA

THE PRODIGAL’S GIFT

LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL,

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

STRANDED FOR CHRISTMAS

ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

PACKAGE TIED UP WITH A BEAU

ON CHRIST’S ERRAND

KRISTAL’S GIFT

THE LEGEND OF THE SILVER BELL

ANGEL IN THE RED SCARF

Plucking off five or six cards from the Christmas tree at Hastings, the young woman glanced at the cards briefly and then tucked them in the pocket of her black wool coat.  She then wrapped her red knitted scarf around her neck and headed for the exit.

“Humph,” the manager, Brett, mumbled.  “I wonder how many of those poor kids will ever get presents from her.”  A customer interrupted his grumbling by asking assistance to find the newest Josh Grobin Christmas CD.  Brett escorted her to the music section of the store and dismissed all thoughts about the young woman with the red scarf – until the next day.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, Brett looked up from straightening a stack of discount books.  The same young woman with the red scarf briskly walked into the store and headed straight for the Christmas tree.  She plucked off another handful of cards, stuck them in her pocket, adjusted her red scarf and headed for the door.

Brett moved towards the store front and watched through the window as she headed out into the crowded parking lot.  He soon lost sight of her amid the bevy of Christmas shoppers.

Brett mused over the occurrence.  Few shoppers stopped at the tree to pick up even one card, yet this young woman had taken at least twelve cards – and maybe more.  “I wonder if she'll really buy those kids presents,” he thought aloud.  Walking over to the tree, he picked off a card and glanced at it.  It read:  Brittney, age six, new winter coat, size 6X.   Brett looked at another card.  Jason, age four, snow boots, size five, and a sled.

“These aren't cheap gifts,” Brett said thoughtfully, “nor are they frivolous.”

He looked at a few other cards.  Aaron, age eight, socks and shoes, children's size twelve.  David, new work shoes for my mom (her feet are kind of small), and a Harry Potter book – any one.

Katie, age three, warm tights and a stuffed animal (she likes kittens).

Brett shook his head in wonderment.  Although he'd authorized the PR department of his store to put up the tree, he'd never given it much thought – and had never taken time to even glance at the cards.  As he placed the cards back on the tree, he paused at David's card and read it again.  “How hard could it be to pick up a Harry Potter book and a pair of women's shoes?” he said aloud.  He stuck the card in his pocket and returned to straightening books.

Several days passed before Brett saw the young woman with the red scarf again.  This time she carried several large bags in her arms.  Brightly wrapped packages peeked out of each bag.  Walking over to a checkout counter, she nodded to her packages and spoke with the clerk.

Brett grinned as he headed towards her.  He wanted to find out more about this angel in the red scarf.  Just as he neared the counter, a woman stepped in front of him.  “Excuse me, are you the store manager?” she asked.

“Yes, but I ...” he began.

“I bought these CDs for my kids and they're all the wrong artists.  I want my money back,” she demanded.

“I'm sure that it's . . .” he began, as he glanced over to the checkout counter.  The angel with the red scarf handed over her packages to the clerk, turned on her heels, and headed out the door.

“Too late!” he cried.

“I just bought them yesterday!” the woman snapped.  “How can it be too late?  Don't you have a thirty day return policy?”

Brett turned to her shaking his head, and asked, “What in the world are you talking about?”

“My CDs!” she wailed.

“Jerry!” Brett called to an associate.  “Can you help this woman?”

The startled woman and Jerry stared at Brett as he pushed displays aside and bolted towards the door.

Standing on the icy sidewalk as snow swirled around him, Brett sighed, “Where you, angel girl?”

Brett walked back inside.  Bustling harried shoppers milled around the bookstore, bumping into one another without apologies, snapping at tired children who whined and trailed behind them, and growling at the prices of things.  None of them stopped by the Christmas tree.  None of them took a moment to ponder over the heart-breaking wishes from poor children.  None of them thought of anything remotely related to the true meaning of Christmas.

Brett walked over to the tree and pulled down another card.  He'd already bought the Harry Potter book for David – at 30% discount, and found a pair of woman's shoes on sale at Penney's.  It wasn't much, but it was more than anyone else was doing – except for the angel in the red scarf.

“Who are you?” he asked again, “And why did you buy so many presents for these kids?”  He felt a tug at his arm, and turned around, half-hoping and wishing that his special angel would be standing there.

“Excuse me,” an elderly woman spoke softly, “what do you do with these cards?”

Brett half smiled.  “You buy the presents listed on the card, and then you return the present and the card either to our store or to the Salvation Army on Broadway.”

“Oh,” she replied, “glancing at one of the cards.  “These gifts seem awfully expensive.”

Brett nodded.  “Yes, they probably are, ma'am, but when you realize that these gifts are likely the only things these kids will get for Christmas, it doesn't seem that expensive after all.”  He paused and added, “Look at this card.  This little girl wants a baby doll and a new pair of girl shoes – not boy shoes, size eight.  This little girl probably never owned a doll before, and has had to wear hand-me-down shoes her whole life.”  He smiled, and placed the card in his pocket.  “I know it costs money, but do you want to know something?  A young woman came in here and took twelve of these cards – and two days later she brought in brightly wrapped presents for all twelve of those kids!”

“Oh, my goodness!” the woman exclaimed.  “Who was she?”

Brett shook his head and shrugged.  “I wish I knew.”  Looking around the store, he opened his arms expansively and said, “All of these shoppers, with money to spend on themselves, their spoiled kids and relatives they don't even like, can't even pick up a card and buy a gift for one little girl who only wants a doll and shoes that are pink!”

The woman nodded, and reached for two cards.  “I think I can afford two of these cards.  Thank you, young man, for opening my eyes to what Christmas is really all about.”  She smiled at him and shuffled away from him in her black snow boots, leaving a muddy, wet trail behind her.

Brett walked over to an associate and asked him to mop up the muddy tracks left by the woman.  He then hurried to his office and grabbed the phone book.  Flipping through the pages, he found the number to The Daily Times and quickly dialed the number.  “I have a human interest story for you.”  He paused, listening, and then answered, “My name is Brett, manager of Hastings.”  Pause.  “Noon tomorrow would be just fine.  Here at our store?  Good.  I'll see you then.”

Brett hung up the phone, leaned back in his office chair, and smiled.  “Well, now, my angel in the red scarf, you are going to be the means of helping a lot of children to get Christmas presents this year.  And maybe I'll get my present, too – meeting someone who really cares – a real, live angel.”

He sat down at his computer and typed out a beginning for the article: “Angel wearing a red scarf sighted in Farmington, New Mexico.  Recently seen in Hastings taking a dozen or more Santa Wish Cards from the Christmas tree, and then later sighted back at Hastings, bearing the brightly-wrapped Wish Gifts.  It will be a very merry Christmas for those twelve lucky kids.”

Promptly at twelve noon, Cassandra, the woman from The Daily Times arrived to see Brett.  She liked the beginning of the article, but wanted to add an extra spin to it – looking for the Angel with the Red Scarf.  Although Brett agreed that he'd like to know who she was, too, he thought it was more important to push her example of benevolence – and get more people to pick up cards from the tree.

“Oh, I think the article will do both,” Cassandra commented as she tucked the notepad into her purse.  “If I'm not mistaken, you'll see a lot of red-scarfed angels in your store – and in other stores as well.  Everybody wants to be a hero.”

She bustled out of the store, leaving a perplexed Brett to wonder what kind of monster he'd just created.

Sure enough, when the article appeared two days later, a number of red-scarfed people, men included, crowded into the store and grabbed cards off the tree.  Storming into Brett's office, they all wanted the same thing, to have their picture taken for The Daily Times as the proclaimed Christmas Angel Wearing the Red Scarf.

Brett pushed them out of his office, and asked them to wait in the hall.  Calling The Daily Times, he demanded to speak with Cassandra immediately.   Nearly shouting into the phone, Brett cried, “Do you know what you have done?  I’m being bombarded by selfish, greedy people who want to have their pictures in The Daily Times – as the Angel in the Red Scarf!  This is absurd!”

“No, no, Brett!  This is wonderful!  Tell me, do they all have the Santa Wish Cards in their greedy little hands?”

“Yes, but. . .” Brett began.

“Then you have your wish!  Children will receive their gifts – and we have stirred up good will in the community!”

“Have we?” Brett demanded.  “What makes you think for one minute that these fake angels will buy gifts for these kids?”

“Well, let me think for a moment, Brett.”  She paused and then said, “I've got it!  We'll have a contest.  When the red-scarfed angels bring gifts back to your store – or to the Salvation Army, and they have to be wearing a red scarf to qualify, we'll put their names in a drawing and then choose. . .”

“Whoa, there, Cassandra.  This is not a publicity stunt nor is it a Daily Times/Hastings Special.  We're talking about commercializing a very compassionate act performed by a young woman – someone who gave from her heart!”

Cassandra paused, and Brett could almost see her smiling, “Isn't that what Christmas is all about, Brett?  Commercializing compassion?”

“And turning it into greed?” Brett fumed.

“Well, yes, that, too – but we'll all profit from it!” Cassandra beamed, but quickly added, “Tell you what, Brett, send all those people to me.  We'll take over the receiving process at The Daily Times.  When the Red-scarfed Angels bring a wrapped gift with the Santa Wish tag attached, we'll give them a ticket.”

“Almost like a lottery ticket,” Brett added, frowning.

“Yes!  That's it exactly!” Cassandra said jubilantly.  “And the winner will get his or her picture printed in The Daily Times – along with a gift certificate from Hastings!”

“No, Cassandra, I don't think so,” Brett interjected.

“Well, why not?  It was your idea!”

“No, this wasn't my idea.  This isn't the way I wanted it to go,” Brett snapped.

“You may be the manager of Hastings, but you're not the owner.  I know a good publicity stunt when I see one, and this is it!  Now you make sure and send those people over to me, and I want a sign in your window advertising this event.  Do you understand me, Brett?”

“Oh, I understand, Cassandra, but it ain't happenin',” he retorted.

“Oh, yes, it will.  Trust me,” Cassandra replied and hung up the phone.

Brett sighed deeply as he hung up the phone.  Walking out into the hall, he sent the red-scarfed, tag-bearing angels over to The Daily Times, telling them to ask for Cassandra.  At least that got them out of his hallway.  He called Jerry on the phone, and told him that he was going home for the day with a bad headache, and that any other red-scarfed angels coming to the store should be sent over to The Daily Times.

When Brett arrived at work the next day, he saw a huge sign in the window of Hastings.  It read: “WHO IS THE ANGEL IN THE RED SCARF?  CONTEST RULES INSIDE.”

Brett stormed through the doors, ready to pull down the sign, when the assistant manager stopped him.  “Mr. Downs called.  He wants you to call him back right away.”

Brett frowned and headed for his office.  Closing the door behind him, he dialed the home office and asked to speak with the owner of Hastings, Mr. Downs.  The phone conversation turned out to be a brief, one-sided discussion and ended with Brett saying, “Yes, sir.  If that's what you want, sir, we will support this publicity stunt, as you call it.  And, yes, I'll arrange for a gift certificate from Hastings, just as you recommended.”

He hung up the phone and stared at the wall, lips pursed in anger.

A slight knock sounded at the door.

Brett turned, and said, “Come in.”

Jerry stood in the doorway.  “What's happening, Brett?  What's with all the red-scarfed shoppers and the Angel sign in the window?  It looks a little insane to me.”

“Tell me about it, Jerry,” Brett shook his head and explained, “I just wanted people in this town to know that Christmas is more than commercialization.  It's about compassion – and giving.  It's not a contest to see who can be the best imitation angel.”

“How did this all start, Brett?  I mean, who came up with the idea of the angel in the red scarf?”

“I did, Jer,” Brett conceded.

“You?!  Man, that doesn't sound like a stunt you'd pull.”

“It wasn't a stunt – not at the start.  It was sincere, Jerry.  I truly was touched by a young woman wearing a red scarf that gave from her heart – and brought in more than twelve wrapped gifts for disadvantaged kids.  I wanted to celebrate her compassion – and hoped that it would catch on.”

“Oh, it caught on,” Jerry grimaced.

“Yeah, like cholera!” Brett sneered.   He paused, and then added, “I just wanted to meet her – and say thank you.  I've never seen anyone like her in my whole life, Jerry.  She was so real, so giving.  It made me realize what Christmas is all about – or should be.”

“So, Mr. Store Manager, what are you going to do?” Jerry asked.

Brett shrugged.  “Go about business as usual, hope the store turns a good profit, and keep the angels at bay.”  He smiled wryly and then added, “See you out there, Jerry.  Thanks for stopping by.”

Brett turned on his computer and then reviewed the store e-mails.  He opened the necessary ones and then went out to the store.  Although still chagrined by the greedy, red-scarfed, wanna-be angels, he smiled when he realized that only two Wish Cards remained on the Christmas tree.   He walked over and picked up one of the cards.  As he did so, a stout woman wearing a red scarf snatched it out of his hand.

“You can't take that card, mister!  You don't have on a red scarf!” Stuffing the card into her purse, she glared at him and marched off.

“And don't you think you can take that card either!” another red-scarfed scoundrel snorted at him.  He grabbed the last card off the tree, stared at it with beady eyes, and stomped off to the CD section of the store.

“Oh, angel-girl, where are you?” Brett groaned.  He stared at the card-less tree for a few moments and then walked over to straighten a row of disheveled magazines.  It was December 18th, one week exactly until Christmas Day.  Never had he felt quite so down-hearted as today, even though he knew he should be elated because so many disadvantaged children would receive gifts on Christmas Day.  His pager buzzed and he turned back to his managerial duties.

Glancing at the pager number, he recognized it as from the home office.  Walking briskly to his office, he returned the call.

“Brett?  Downs here,” the caller barked.  “Got a call from the Salvation Army.  Seems they've already received more gifts than any other year – all of them from our store.  They want to send us more names, either that or allow our Red-scarfed Angel promotion to go to other stores – with our name on the placard, of course.  What do you think?  Farmington is your store and your town.”

Brett wanted to tell him exactly what he thought about the plan, which included telling both he and Cassandra to jump off a cliff.  But then he thought about the card-less tree and how many children would receive gifts this year.  None of that would not have been possible without the red-scarfed angels.

“Sir, I'll do whatever you think is best,” he replied.  “Hastings started the campaign, so everyone in town knows that the Red-scarfed angel came to our store first.  It's all about the children, Mr. Downs.  If you want us to extend a gift certificate drawing from Hastings to every store with a Salvation Army Christmas Tree, I think that would be a fine idea.  It's great advertising as you say.”

“Great!” Mr. Downs gloated.  “Get in touch with that Daily Times girl and tell her to authorize individual drawings and Hastings gift certificates at every store that has a Salvation Army Christmas tree.  But make sure that all participants wear a red scarf – and that the Santa's Wish tag accompanies each gift.”

“Yes, sir,” Brett responded.  “I'll get right on it, sir.”

“Thanks, Brett.  By the way, I'm giving serious thought to starting the Red-scarfed Angel campaign in all of our stores statewide.   And, why not?  We've still got a week until Christmas, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the numbers are looking good, Brett.  Your store is number one in sales, thanks to this great gimmick you came up with.”

“It's not a gimmick,” Brett started to say, but before he could get the words out, Mr. Downs hung up.

Brett shook his head dejectedly.  “Angel-girl, can you forgive me?” he asked aloud.  He then dialed Cassandra at The Daily Times to tell her the news.

The next day a new tree arrived from the Salvation Army, fluttering with Santa's Wish cards.   Signs and billboards went up all over the city, proclaiming the Red-scarfed Angel campaign city-wide with drawings promised on Christmas Eve.  Each store would select their own Red-scarfed Angel with a gift certificate from Hastings as the promoter, plus gifts from the respective stores as well.  Sales soared at Hastings and elsewhere and Santa's Wish cards disappeared from trees like popcorn before a flock of hungry birds.  And all of the hungry birds wore bright red scarves.

As Brett left the store for lunch a few days before Christmas, a young woman walked up to him.

“I hear you're the store manager for Hastings,” she said softly, her voice floating like a sweet melody.

“You heard right,” Brett replied, smiling at her.  He stood back and looked at her.  “Where's your red scarf?” he asked.  “I think you're the only shopper in the city who's wearing a blue silk one.”          She smiled.  “Red's not really my color,” she replied.

“It's not mine either,” Brett remarked.  “Used to be though.  It used to be my favorite color.”  He smiled wryly and then asked, “Uh, Miss, is there something I can do for you?”

The girl extended her hand and said, “Hi.  My name is Marie.”

Brett shook her hand.  “Hello, I'm Brett Brown, the manager of Hastings, but then, you already knew that.”

The girl smiled.  “Yes, Mr. Brown . . .”

“Please, call me Brett.”

“Brett.  Yes, well, uh, I just wanted to see you – and talk to you about this Red-scarfed Angel campaign, and to find out what prompted you to do it.”  She paused, and took a step backwards.  “But I can see that you're on your way somewhere, so I don't want to delay you.   Maybe we can talk some other time.”

Brett shook his head.  “No, now is just fine, Marie.  I was just heading out for lunch.  Would you care to join me?”

“I hate to intrude,” she began.

“No, really, I insist.  Actually, I'd enjoy the company of someone not wearing a red scarf for awhile.  It's all become so commercial somehow.”  He sighed audibly, and looked out at the madding crowd of red-scarfed shoppers.  “It all started out so innocent, and so beautiful.  I saw this young woman, an angel, really, with her wings tucked inside her dark wool coat.”  He turned to gaze at Marie.  “She entered the store quietly and had no idea I watched her take six cards from the tree and tuck them inside her pocket.”  Brett smiled, remembering.  “And the next day, darned if she didn't come back for six more.  I wanted to stop her and ask her why she did that, but a shopper interrupted me.”

Brett paused, and then continued. “The next time I saw her she brought in all of the presents stuffed in bags and under her arms.  I tell you, it was just beautiful.  I wanted to rush up to her and hug her and say, 'You!  You are my Christmas Angel!'”

“Well, why didn't you?” the young woman asked.

“I tried, but a shopper got in my way.  I never saw her again.”

“So, why the campaign?” Marie asked.  “Why all the commercialization for something you said was so beautiful?”

Brett looked at her and shook his head.  “It wasn't my idea, Marie.  But it brought a lot of media attention to the store and to the Daily Times, and my boss thought it was a terrific idea.  I almost quit over it, but then I saw how many cards were taken from the tree, and I realized just how many kids would get presents this year because of my Christmas Angel in the Red Scarf – and I went along with it.”  He paused and smiled wanly.  Then, looking into her eyes, he said, “You know, it's kind of like St. Nicholas, the original one – the guy who lived way back in the third century.  Did you know he lived in Turkey?”

Marie laughed.  “No, I didn't know that.”

“Well, he did -- and he had a good heart.  He loved kids and gave generously to them.  Sometimes I wonder what he thinks about his name being changed to Santa Claus and about all of the commercialization in his name. But then I realize that all he really wanted to do was to make children happy – and I think he's smiling right now, knowing that a lot more kids are getting presents than otherwise would have – and certainly more than he possibly could have given by himself.”

Marie smiled and touched his arm.  “I think you're right, Brett.  I'm sure that St. Nick is smiling right now, and that your Angel in the Red Scarf is smiling, too.”

Brett grinned as he looked closely at her.  “Even if she's wearing a blue silk scarf today?”

Marie nodded.   “Yes, but let's keep that our little secret, okay?”

“You got it, Angel Girl.  Now, where shall we go eat lunch?”

THE MUSIC BOX

“Christmas time!” Jenny muttered unhappily.

The other people waiting at her bus stop carried shopping sacks and bundles and visited gaily with one another.  Her bus arrived and the shoppers and commuters pushed their way past her and climbed onto the already crowded bus.  Jenny stomped the snow off her boots then boarded the bus after everyone else.

Jenny gazed at the seated passengers, hoping to find a place to sit.  No one in the crowded bus stood to offer her a seat.  Of course she didn’t expect it.  Chivalry died with the classic romantic novels she noted with a sigh.  It simply didn't exist in today’s busy world.

At last Jenny spied an empty seat by a window and pushed her way towards it.  A man sat on the aisle seat next to it, but did not move over when she approached.  He stared straight ahead without so much as acknowledging her.  Irritated by his seeming rudeness, Jenny cleared her throat to get his attention.  He sat, staring straight ahead, and didn't have the courtesy to look up at her.

“Excuse me,” she grumbled.  “I’d like to sit in that seat.”

He moved his legs over so she could pass by.

“Or you could sit by the window and I could sit by the aisle.  It’d be easier for you to move over than for me to crawl over you,” she snapped.

It was then that Jenny noticed the white cane in his hands.

He smiled.  “Actually, the aisle seat is easier for me – and I won’t be looking out the window anytime soon.”  Then he added, “Do you have enough room to pass?”

Jenny nodded, then realized he could neither see her nor hear her nod.  “Yeah,” she answered, and plopped herself down.

“Is it still snowing,” he asked congenially.

“Yeah,” Jenny replied.  She wiped the melting snow off the sleeves of her coat.

“I like this season,” he said cheerily.  “Of course it gets slippery out there, but people are kind and give me a steady arm when I need it.”

Jenny half-laughed.  “People help you?” she asked incredulously.  “Nobody helps anybody anymore.  It’s every man – or woman – for herself.”

“Oh, I don’t agree,” he said warmly.  “People are basically good and kind.  They just get in a hurry sometimes.”

“Yeah, like all the time!” Jenny muttered.   She felt badly for snapping at him.  She knew he was just trying to be kind, but she was not in the mood for it.  It had been a bad week.  No, she corrected herself; it had been a bad life.

“Do you work here in town?” the man asked.  “You’re not carrying any packages so I guessed you weren’t out Christmas shopping.”

“How’d you know that?” she asked.  “You’re blind, aren’t you?”

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean that I don’t know what’s going on around me.”  He paused, then added, “When you got into your seat, you passed by me easily.  If you had been holding packages, you would have moved awkwardly and probably would have dropped at least one of them in my lap.  I can tell that you are slender, even with your winter coat on – and I know by your voice that you are young – probably in your early twenties.”

Jenny gazed at him, fascinated.  “What else can you tell me about myself?”

The man smiled.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yeah,” Jenny answered.  “I’ve got time.  My stop is by the hospital, so I’ve got a ways to go.  How about you?  Do you get off soon?”

He smiled.  “By some coincidence I’m getting off at the same stop.  A friend of mine is in the hospital.”  He paused, then added, “Are you sure you want to hear my observations?”

Jenny smiled wryly.  “Why not?  It’ll be like listening to a fortune teller.  Are you going to tell me that I’ll meet Prince Charming and that we’ll live happily ever after?”

The man frowned.  “I think you’ve already met him, but he turned out to be a toad instead.  Am I right?”

Jenny’s cheeks burned hotly.  “Yeah.  How’d you know?”

The man reached over and patted her hand.  “It’s Christmas time.  You’re on a bus heading back to your apartment.  There’s no urgency in your voice to hurry home.  You have no packages in hand and no lilt to your voice.  You’re heading back to a cold, empty apartment – and a bowl of Fruit Loops for supper.  Right?”

“Frosted Flakes,” she replied.

“Sorry,” he answered.  “Fruit Loops are my personal favorite.”

Jenny drew a slow, deep breath.  Five years ago she’d come to the city for work – and to get away from a bad home situation.  She was barely seventeen -- timid and frightened.  It was at work that she met Prince Charming.  He was much older than her – probably in his late twenties.  He was cool, debonair, and charming – and perfect in every way.  He swept her off her feet in a dazzling romance.  It was too good to be true…

“Ever cook supper for yourself?” the man asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Sometimes.  Not often, though.  It’s such a bother cooking for one person.  Then there’s the mess to clean up.”

“Tell me about it!” he said with a laugh.  “That’s why I keep a dog in the house.”

“He licks your pots and pans clean, right?” Jenny asked wryly.

“Exactly!  And if the Board of Health doesn’t get onto us, we’ll be in fat city!”

Jenny laughed out loud.  It felt good to laugh.  She hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.

It was a clear bright spring morning when Jenny stepped out of the doctor’s office.  She hadn’t been feeling well and had gone in for a check up.  The doctor told her she had the “flu” – the nine-month kind – but once the baby was born she’d feel better.  A baby! She thought excitedly.  I’m going to have a baby!  She was so happy she laughed all the way to work.  Wait ‘til I tell him.  He’ll be so excited!  We’ll get a house in the suburbs and I won’t have to work anymore.  I’ll be able to stay home and just take care of my baby. . . .

“Do you like kids?” the man asked, once again breaking into her thoughts.  “Christmas is for kids.  My dog doesn’t understand Christmas.  He tears up the stockings I drape over the heater on Christmas Eve and eats the holly I hang on the door.  Christmas is for kids – not for adults, and definitely not for dogs!”

Jenny sighed and smiled weakly.  “Yeah, I like kids.  I like kids a lot.”

It was that very day – the day she’d been so excited about having the baby – that he informed her rather awkwardly about his wife – and that maybe it wasn’t  a good idea for them to keep seeing each other.  He offered to pay to have the baby – No! She couldn’t even say the word!  -- No, she firmly told him; she’d been thinking about taking a new job in a different city.  Her cousin told her about a job opening up and now seemed like a good time to take it.

“What was your favorite gift as a child?” the man asked, bringing her back to the present.

“A music box,” Jenny answered.  In truth, it was the only present she ever remembered getting.  It was a gift she shared with her beloved grandmother when she was six years old.  The Salvation Army Santa and a cute boy scout gave it to her.   She loved it and played it constantly.  When she ran away from home at age seventeen, the music box and a few clothes were the only things she brought with her.

“What tune did it play?” he asked.  He turned his face towards her as he spoke.  In the passing street lights, she saw scars on his face that she hadn’t noticed before.  She also saw that he was younger than she’d previously thought.

He asked again, “Do you remember the tune?”

“The Tennessee Waltz.”

“Hm-m-m,” he mused.  “That’s a sad song.”

“Is it?  I never knew the words – just the music.”

The air brakes on the bus screeched and the driver called out “General Hospital!” – Mostly for the benefit of the blind man.

“It’s our stop.  Can I help you up?” Jenny asked the man as she reached out her hand.

“No.  That wouldn’t be very gallant of me.  Gentlemen are supposed to help ladies – not the other way around.”

“But with you being blind and all, I thought maybe. . .”

He smiled warmly and replied, “I'm blind, not helpless.”

“I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend you.”

The man laughed as her reached over and took her hand.  “Let me help you down this aisle.  It's crowded and hard to see in the dark.  Just my kind of territory.”

Jenny shook her head in amazement as he flawlessly led her down the aisle and helped her to the steps.

“Careful, it might be slick,” Jenny warned.  “Should I go first?”

“And risk you falling?  Not on your life!” he grinned.  He walked down the stairs backwards, holding her hand.  “Here you go, one more step, and -- ta-da!  We made it!”

Jenny laughed as he helped her down to the sidewalk.  “Are you sure you're really blind,” she asked, “and this isn't just a way to pick up poor, defenseless girls?”

“Hey, Matt!” the man called to the bus driver.  “Am I blind?”

“Blind as a bat!” the bus driver called back.  “See ya tomorrow, Rick.”

They walked up the sidewalk in silence for a few moments, then Rick said, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“It's Jenny,” she said, “That’s short for Genevieve.”

“Genevieve.  What a beautiful name.  Why don’t you go by that?” he asked.

“It was too hard to spell in first grade,” she answered honestly.

He laughed heartily, then asked, “Did you ever learn how to spell it?”

“Of course, silly!” she said and playfully pushed his arm.  “I’m a big girl now.”

“Then why don’t you go by Genevieve?” he asked.  There was a tone of seriousness in his voice.

Jenny cleared her throat.  “I’ve been Jenny for so long I don’t know if I know how to be a Genevieve.”  She paused, then asked, “So your name is Rick.  Isn't that short for Richard -- or don’t you know how to spell it?”

“I do.  My dad didn’t.  Rick is my given name.  Really.  Scout’s honor.”

“Scout’s honor?” Jenny asked.  “Were you ever a scout?”

“You bet!  I made it all the way to Eagle!”  He paused, then added, “I haven’t always been blind, you know.”

Jenny’s face grew hot in embarrassment.  They walked in silence again.

Far away they heard carolers singing somewhere in the Avenues.  Jenny felt hot tears fill her eyes and flow down her cheeks.  She wiped them away with a gloved hand and was glad Rick couldn't see her cry.  “Why do they have to sing carols anyway?” she muttered.

“Well, they often do that for Christmas,” Rick commented, then asked with concern, “Jenny, are you all right?”

“I have a problem with Christmas, okay?  Well, not so much with Christmas, but with the memories surrounding it.  I don't want to talk right now.”

Rick nodded respectfully, still holding her hand as they walked up the sidewalk towards the hospital.

Jenny had gone into labor late on Christmas Eve night.  She was all alone.  Her cousin had to work that night and couldn’t be with her.  She’d called a taxi and had gone to the hospital alone.  It was awful to be alone on Christmas – especially when you were having a baby that you knew you couldn’t keep.

“Do you have any next of kin?” the admitting clerk asked her.  “No,” she answered and handed the clerk a small card.  “Just Marilyn, my social worker.  Can you call her for me?”

Rick and Jenny paused at the entrance to the hospital.

He turned to her and asked, “Jenny, do you have to go straight home?  Why don’t you come with me to visit my friend?  Afterwards I’ll walk you home if you like.”

Jenny nodded, glad to do something – anything – to distract her from the sad thoughts which filled her mind.  “Yes, I'd like that.”

As they entered the bright corridors of the hospital, Rick turned to her and asked, “Do you still have the music box?”

“No,” she answered.  “I gave it away.”

Rick looked surprised.  “Why?  I thought you loved that more than anything else.”

“Almost more than anything else,” she heard herself say.

Marilyn, the social worker, arrived before the baby was born and held Jenny’s hand during the last half hour of labor.  Jenny was glad she was there, but was sad at the same time.  It was Marilyn who would take her baby to the new adoptive mother.  Jenny had hoped that this day would never come.  Why did the baby have to come early?  Why did she have to be born on Christmas day?

“Pediatrics is on the third floor,” Rick told Jenny.

As she reached to push the button for him, he beat her to it.  He’d felt the Braille dots and knew which one to push even before she did.

“Are you okay, Jenny?” he asked again.

“Yeah.  I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Are you too tired to go?  I can take you home then come back later to visit my friend.”

“No, it’s all right,” she answered, then added, “I didn’t know your friend was a child.”

“She’s actually the daughter of my best friend.  He and I used to work in the same plant before the accident.”

The elevator door opened and Jenny saw the brightly painted Pediatrics sign down the corridor.  Rick leaned over to her and whispered, “Don’t be upset if Camie is jealous of you.  She’s only three, but she thinks she and I are going to get married when she grows up.”

Jenny laughed.  Rick radiated warmth and caring.  No wonder a three-year-old had fallen in love with him.  He seemed like an easy guy to love.

As they walked towards the Pediatrics ward, memories once again flooded Jenny's mind.

My little girl is three – almost four actually.  Jenny paused and mused on the birth of her baby.  Right after she was born, Jenny begged Marilyn to let her hold her newborn daughter.  Marilyn said that it wasn’t advised – that it would be easier for Jenny to let the baby go if she didn’t hold her.  But Jenny insisted.

The nurse placed the warm, soft bundle in her arms.  This baby felt so different from the doll she’d held at the care center as a child.  The baby was soft, yet surprisingly strong; fragile, yet tough.  The baby had a strength about her which fascinated Jenny.  Holding the baby next to her heart was the greatest feeling she’d ever known.

Tears poured down Jenny’s cheeks and she said over and over again, “Baby, I love you.  Baby, I love you.  Please forgive me for giving you away.  If I could keep you, if I could care for you, I would.  But you need a mama who’s old enough to take care of you.  And you need a daddy, too.  I can’t give you that.”

Marilyn reached for the baby, but Jenny held her tightly.  “Not yet, Marilyn.  You can take her in a few minutes, but, please, not right now.”

Then Jenny hummed the Tennessee Waltz to her little girl.  The baby cooed softly in her arms and held her tiny little hand around Jenny’s finger.  “Baby, I love you,” she said again.

Marilyn moved closer to her.  “Jenny,” she said, “Don’t do this.  Don’t get attached.  You’ve signed the papers . .  .”

“Just a minute, Marilyn,” she said. “Just a minute longer.  I want to remember this moment forever.  I want to remember how this baby smells and looks and feels.  I won’t ever have another one just like her.”

Humming again, she rocked the baby back and forth.  Then, motioning to her backpack on the floor, she said, “Marilyn, there’s a music box in my backpack.  Will you hand it to me, please?”

Marilyn reached into the backpack and pulled out the small music box and gave it Jenny.

Jenny wound it up, still cradling her newborn babe.  “My grandmother gave this to me, little princess, and I’m giving it to you.”  The lovely strains of the Tennessee Waltz filled the small room, as Jenny cradled the infant in her arms and wept on her tiny neck.  Marilyn looked away to hide her own tears.

Then Jenny held out the bundle to Marilyn.  “You can take her now, Marilyn, but please take the music box, too.  Please ask her new mama to let her have it.  Please, Marilyn,” Jenny’s voice sounded desperate.  “It’s all I have to give my baby.  I want her to have it.”

Marilyn nodded, and took the baby and the music box from her.

“I will, Jenny,” she said, then hurriedly left the room.

Rick and Jenny entered the Pediatric ward and stood at the nurse’s station.  “Is Camie in her room?” Rick asked the nurse whom he somehow knew was standing there.

“Yes, Mr. Davis,” she said.  “Camie was hoping you’d make it tonight.”

The nurse walked over to Rick, as though ready to guide him to the room, then noticed Jenny standing by him.  “It’s Room 7,” she said, pointing to the left.

Rick thanked her.  Still holding Jenny's hand, they walked down the short hallway.

“Why is Camie in the hospital?” Jenny asked.

“She has the Failure to Fly Syndrome.”

“What?”

“You know, the Failure to Fly Syndrome.  She thought she could fly off the balcony – and found out she couldn’t.  She broke both her legs and one arm.”

“You’re kidding!”  Jenny laughed.  “Is she okay?  She didn’t hurt her head, did she?”

“No.  She’s one tough kid.  And, honestly, that’s what the pediatrician called her diagnosis.  She said she sees it a lot and blames in on kids watching too many super hero cartoons.”

As they entered the room, an energetic little voice called out, “Uncle Rick!”

Jenny looked into the room and saw a cute little curly-headed girl lying on the bed.  Both legs had bright casts on them – one red and the other green.  The cast on her arm looked like a candy cane.

A man and a woman stood to greet them.

“Rick!” the man said, reaching for his hand to shake it.  “You’re looking good for an old man!”

The woman went over and kissed Rick on his cheek.  “Hi, Rick.  Thanks for coming.  Camie has been asking for you all day!”  She looked over at Jenny.  “Who’s your friend, Rick?  Why don’t you introduce us?”

Rick put his arm gently around Jenny’s shoulder.  “This is my friend, Genevieve, but she goes by Jenny.  Jenny, this is Bill and Sandy – and my little sweetheart, Camilia.”

“Camie!” the little girl called out.  “I can’t spell Camilia!”

Jenny drew a quick breath when she heard that.  It sounded so familiar.

Camie looked over at Jenny and reached for her hand.  “It’s going to be my birthday on Christmas!  I’ll be four.”  Camie held up four fingers.

“You can count to four!  My, what a smart little girl you are!” Jenny said brightly.

Jenny's thoughts bombarded her mind again.  My little girl is going to be four on Christmas day, too.  And you look so much like I imagine her to be.

Jenny found herself kneeling by Camie’s bed.  Taking her small hand in her own, Jenny asked, “What do you want for your birthday, Camie?  Maybe Uncle Rick and I can get it for you.”

“I want to get out of the hospital!” she said loudly.  “Can you do that for me?”

Jenny laughed.  “If I could, I would.  Hospitals are no fun.  The last time I was in a hospital, I. . .”  She stopped without finishing the sentence.

“Why were you in the hospital, Jenny?” Camie asked.  “Did you break your legs, too?”

“No.  It was more like a broken heart,” she whispered, then quickly added, “but broken hearts get better and so do broken legs.”

“I’ve got a music box, Jenny,” Camie said.  “Do you want to hear it?”  She reached over to the bedside table and pulled a small music box out of the drawer.

Jenny gasped and her eyes filled with tears the moment she saw it.

“Does it play The Tennessee Waltz?” Jenny asked.

“Why, yes it does,” Camie's mother answered as she reached over to wind up the music box.  “How did you know?”

“I had one just like it when I was a little girl,” Jenny answered.

As the soft music played, Jenny looked up at Rick and said, “You’re wrong about The Tennessee Waltz, Rick.  It’s not sad.  It’s the happiest song I’ve ever heard – and this is the happiest day I’ve had in a long, long time!”

She turned towards Camie and touched her soft, curly hair.  Then, standing up, she kissed Rick on the cheek.  “Merry Christmas, Rick – and Merry Christmas, dear little Camie and Bill and Sandy.  I’m so happy to be here with all of you.”

Rick smiled and put his arm around Jenny.

Sandy whispered something to Bill.  Bill nodded then said, “Jenny, Camie should be out of the hospital by Christmas.  How would you like to join us for Christmas dinner?  And, if you like, Rick can come along, too.”

Everyone laughed as Jenny nodded eagerly.   “I’d like that,” she said.. “I’d like that a lot.”

After a short visit, Rick told his friends that he had to get Jenny home.  They said their good-byes and walked out into the hall.

“They are such nice people,” Jenny remarked.  “I'm so glad you invited me to go with you.”

“Hey, no problem, Jenny.  I thought you'd like them.”

“It was especially nice to see Camie.  She's really cute.”

Rick nodded.  “She's special all right.”

As they walked out into the cold night air, Jenny said, “You don't have to walk me home, Rick.  It's cold out here and I don't want you to miss your bus ride home.”

Rick waved his hand and said, “A deal is a deal, Jenny.  You took time to go to the hospital with me, and I promised to walk you home.  Do you live far from here?”

“About four blocks – but it's all uphill.  It's too far, Rick, and I'm worried about you getting back home.  I don't own a car or I'd drive you.”

“I'm not worried about it, Jenny,” he remarked.   “It'll give us a chance to talk.”

“Okay, Rick,” she replied.  “I like talking with you.  I'd like to get to know you better.  You're different from other guys I've met.”

“Yeah, blind is different,” he quipped.

“Not that,” Jenny replied as she playfully punched his arm.  “You're different in a good way, you know, nice, gentlemanly.  It's like I've known you my whole life.  Weird, huh?”

“Not so weird, Jenny.  Maybe we did know each other before.”

“Like reincarnation?”

“No, I don't believe in that stuff.”  He paused then added, “Like when you first got your music box.”

Jenny turned to him, stunned.  “What are you talking about, Rick?”

He drew a slow breath and turned to her.  Taking both hands in his own, he said, “Camie's music box – was it yours, or did you have one just like it?”

Jenny tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.  “Tell me, Jenny, was it yours?”

“Rick, this is too much.  I barely know you.  Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Because I think I love you – and I want to know the truth.”

Tears welled in Jenny's eyes.  “Yes, the music box was mine, but Sandy and Camie must never find out.”

“How did they get it?  Did you pawn it or something?”

Jenny shook her head as tears poured down her cheeks.  “Don't you get it?  You were right about me.  I did meet Prince Charming but he turned out to be a horny toad – and a married one at that.”  She paused and said quietly, “Camie is my daughter.  I put her up for adoption when she was born because I couldn't care for her or give her a decent home.  The only thing I could give my precious child was my music box.  I asked the social worker to give it to her from me.”

“Whoa, Jenny – I-I didn't know that about you.”

“What did you think?  How else could I have known about the music box – and that it played the Tennessee Waltz?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm not who you think I am, Rick.  I'm an unwed mother who gave my child away.  I am a really horrible, terrible person for doing that.”

Rick pulled her close.  “No, you're not, Jenny. I don't think that at all.  I think you are brave and wonderful and you did a noble thing by giving Camie a better chance at life.  Sandy and Bill are great parents and they love her.”

Jenny nodded.  “I know that now, Rick, and I thank you for the gift of letting me see her again, even though you didn't know what you were getting yourself into.  I have worried and wondered about Camie for four long years.  At last I know that my baby is okay.  She is happy and healthy and has great parents. That's why this is truly the best Christmas I've ever had.”

Rick smiled and kissed the top of her head.  “I'm so happy to hear you say that, Jenny.”  He paused and grew serious.  “Jenny, I have a question to ask you – about your past.  Did you grow up here – in Salt Lake City?”

Jenny started.  “No.  I moved here to live with my cousin – and  to have Camie.  I grew up in LA.”

“Anywhere near Woodland Hills?”

Jenny laughed.  “No.  That was way too posh for me.  I grew up in downtown LA – in the worst part of town.”

“In a rundown apartment building?”

“Yeah, before they took me away from my grandmother and put me in foster care.  Why?”

“I think I knew you then.”

“That's impossible, Rick.  You said you were a Boy Scout.  Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts didn't live in my part of town.  Besides that, you don't look or act streetwise --  or like you were ever poor.”

“Tell me about the music box, Jenny.  Where did you get it?”

“From my grandmother.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Sort of.”

Rick paused, pressing her, “Is that the whole story?”

“No, it's not.  There was this one Christmas when I was six.  A bunch of us lived in a crowded apartment.  I wanted a doll of my own to love.  Some of the kids heard that Santa Claus was coming to our apartment.  I just hoped and prayed he'd come see me and give me a doll.”

“And did he?”

Jenny shook her head.  He came into the apartment, loud and scary.  He yelled Ho!  Ho! Ho! and it frightened me.  I hid behind my grandmother's skirt.  I peeked out as he handed out the dolls.  There were four of us girls in the apartment, but only three dolls. I started to cry and then this Boy Scout looked at me.  He was Santa's helper, I think.  He just looked at me and asked Santa what they could do.  Santa shook his head and said to give me a candy cane.  The next thing I knew, this boy rushed out of the apartment and then came back in and held out a music box to me.  I was too shy to take it, so my grandmother took it.  She wound it up and it played the most beautiful melody.  She told me it was the Tennessee Waltz.”

Rick smiled and let out a sigh.  “I thought so.”

Jenny looked at him, puzzled.  “Why did you say that?”

“I want you to know, Jenny, that now, right now, is the best Christmas I've ever had.”  He paused and laughed nervously before continuing.  “I need to tell you something.  I met you a long time ago – and I've wondered and worried about you for the past eighteen years.”

Jenny looked up at him. “What?  We've met before?”

He nodded.  “Remember the day you got the music box?”

“Yes. . .”

“I was the Boy Scout who gave it to you.”

“That was you?” Jenny asked incredulously.  “That cute scout who came with the Salvation Army Santa?”

Rick nodded, and grinned.  “You thought I was cute?  Thanks for thinking that.  Thirteen year olds seldom get those compliments.”

“You were adorable!  I remember how much you fretted when you saw me hiding behind my grandmother's skirts and I didn't get a doll.”

“It really did upset me.  I knew a candy cane would never do for a present, and then I suddenly remembered the music box my mother gave as a donation.  I thought it was a lousy gift for a child, but it was better than a stupid candy cane.  I dashed out of the apartment and down to the car to get it.  When I came back and handed it to you, you were too shy to take it from me.”

“I remember.  At first I was disappointed because I wanted a doll so badly, but when my grandmother wound up the music box and I heard the beautiful melody, I loved it with all of my heart.  I wanted to thank you, but when I looked up, you were gone.”

“I watched you and your grandmother, Jenny, as you listened to the lilting music.  I wanted to tell you that everything would somehow be okay.  I wanted to talk with you, but the Salvation Army Santa pulled me out of the house before I had the chance.”

Jenny paused, pondering the whole situation.  “When did you suspect that Camie's music box was mine, Rick?”

“When you gasped as Camie reached for it.  Then when the music played, I felt like I was a thirteen year old scout once again, standing in a shabby apartment.  I listened to the music and heard a girl's voice say, 'Grandma, this is the happiest song I've ever heard.'  Just then, in the hospital room you said, 'You're wrong, Rick.  This song isn't sad.  It's the happiest song I've ever heard.'  I knew then that it was you, but it didn't make any sense as to why Camie owned your music box.”

“You're not upset to find out that Camie is my daughter?”

Rick laughed.  “Of course not.  I always wondered where Camie got her good looks – it certainly wasn't from her dad.  And now I know – it was from you.  Hey,” he grinned, “if I can't marry Camie, then why not her mother?”

Jenny laughed and punched him.  “You really are terrible.  You know that, don't you?”

“Terribly lucky, I'd say.”

“Yeah -- me too.”

Rick paused and gazed at her and touched her face with his hands.  “I wish I could see your face again, Jenny.”

“Who knows?   Maybe you can.  I believe in miracles.  Hey, we met again, didn't we?”

“Yeah.  At least I got to see you when you were six years old – and I've seen Camie.”

“And you'll have me beside you for years to come, Rick  – that is, if you're serious about marrying Camie's mother.”

He laughed.  “Of course I am – if she'll have me!”

Jenny smiled.  “She will.  I have it on good authority.”  She paused and said, “We just arrived at my apartment.  Care to come in for a bowl of Frosted Flakes?”

“Sure.  And tomorrow night we'll go to my place and eat Fruit Loops – and celebrate our official engagement.”

“I'd like that, Rick.”

“Me, too, Genevieve.”

“Jenny!” she corrected.  “I can't spell Genevieve.”

“But can you spell love?”

“Sure.  Y-O-U and M-E – forever.

MAIL-ORDER MOMMA

Snow flurries blew past the window of the small log cabin.  Benjamin, the oldest of three children, stood at the fireplace stirring the stew for dinner.  It consisted of a bit of dried meat for flavor, potatoes, turnips, cabbage and carrots.   He stood tall for a ten year old, and worked harder than any of his friends.  But, then, all of his friends had mothers at home to do the cooking, cleaning and gardening.  After school each day, Ben began the task of cooking the evening meal for the family of four.

Sarah sat on a hassock next to the fireplace mending socks.  At age seven she helped with cleaning, mending, and washing.  Sarah was a pretty girl, with a dimpled chin and curly blonde hair.  Ben loved his little sister, and watched out for her at school.  He hated to see her work so hard, but he couldn't manage the home without her help.

Before coming home from school each day, Ben and Sarah stopped by Aunt Lela's home to pick up Luke, their five year old brother.  Luke was still too little for school – and too much for his father to handle at his small mercantile business.  Agile as a monkey, Luke climbed the shelves of the store, and crawled along the rafters on the ceiling.  Seated on his perch high above the customers, and with a pocketful of dried beans, he'd throw beans at the customers one at a time.  Seldom did the customers look up to see what had hit them, so he got away with his antics.  But the time he threw a whole handful of beans at old Judge Poppem, was the day that Thomas Dobson found a new daytime location for his youngest son.

Thomas loved his children dearly and refused to farm them out to his well-meaning relatives  after the death of his wife two years ago.  His mercantile business provided money enough to keep his family in food and clothes, and he felt that if they pulled together, they could make it on their own.  They managed quite well, even though Luke gave his aunt fits by putting jam on the cat, salt in the sugar bowl, and, just once, powdered cement in her flour bin.

It was the brick loaves of  bread that made Thomas consider marrying again, an action strongly encouraged by his sister, Lela.  Thomas talked with his children about the possibility of getting them a new mother, but Ben, Sarah and Luke fussed and cried and begged him not to do it.  They promised to do their chores even better and Ben offered to drop out of school to take care of Luke so that Aunt Lela wouldn't have to put up with him.

Thomas shook his head and said that Ben must never consider leaving his schooling as a solution to life's problems.  Education was too important.  For the meantime, he'd take Luke back to work with him, and weigh the situation in his mind.

Weeks passed with no mention of a new mother coming to their home.  Thomas took his youngest son to the mercantile store with him each morning with a stern warning to behave.  But Luke still scampered up the shelves to the rafters and  threw beans at the customers whenever he got the chance, and he switched labels on the dried goods.  But the customers were on to Luke by this time and learned to sample the sugar and salt before they scooped it into bags, and they all knew the difference between dried corn, beans and lentils although they were never quite sure of the price.  Poor Thomas had to figure the cost of the goods anew each time a purchase was made.  So, once again, Luke went back to Aunt Lela's during school hours.

One evening, early in December, as the Dobson family ate their supper of stew and biscuits, Thomas pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Children, I have an important announcement to make.”

They stopped eating and looked at their father.

“I have given considerable thought about whether or not to remarry – and bring a new mother into our home,” he began.

“Pa, I'll do better,” Ben spoke up, but his father held up his hand to silence him.

“Let me finish, children,” he admonished kindly, “and then I'll hear what you have to say.”  He paused and carefully pulled a piece of paper from the envelope.  “I will read you the letter exactly as it came to me.”

Mr. Dobson:  Our minister gave your letter to my father.  He told my father you are looking for a mail-order momma for your children.  My older sister and my cousin go to America already to be mail-order brides.  I do not know what to think about going to America to be a mail-order momma.  I not been a momma before.  I do not know if I be good or not.  Our minister told me of all the girls in our village I be best for you.  I cook good and I clean.  I love little childrens.  I sing good songs and my face is happy with big smile.  I be good to you and your childrens.  If you want me to come, I come.   Sincerely, Olga Poulson.

Thomas placed the letter back inside the envelope and looked at his children.  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

Ben shook his head, and remarked, “I think we're doing just fine without a mother.  Where is she from anyway?”

“Sweden.”

“Why did you choose Sweden?” Sarah asked with surprise.  “If you wanted a mother for us, why didn't you choose someone from Denver or Colorado Springs?”

“Your mother's mother was from Sweden.  I wanted someone who would love you the way your mother did – with some of the same old customs.”

“She doesn't speak very good English,” Ben remarked.

“Then you can teach her, Ben,” his father replied.

“I don't want a new mother!” Luke shouted.  “I don't need one!”

“Yes, you do,” Sarah replied firmly.  She paused, and then said quietly,  “We all do.”

“No, we don't,” Ben seethed.  “I'm doing fine as a cook around here.  Ps, don't do it,” he pleaded.   “I don't want anyone to take the place of Mama.  It just won't be the same.”

“No, son, it won't be the same, but I can't handle Luke at the store anymore, and . . .”

“I'll leave school then,” Ben answered quickly.

“You'll not leave school, Benjamin, and that's final!  I have already sent for Olga.”

“You sent for her?” Ben asked hotly.  “You didn't even ask us first?”

“I had hoped that you would be supportive, even happy about my decision,” Thomas remarked.

“I can't believe you didn't ask us, Pa!” Ben shouted.

“Do not shout at the table, Benjamin,” Thomas said firmly.  “You are spending too much time looking after your sister and brother and neglecting your studies.  This is best for all of us.”

“No, not for all of us – not for any of us!” Ben snapped.

“When will she be here, Papa?” Sarah asked.

“A few days before Christmas.”

Ben shook his head in disgust.  “Just in time to ruin our Christmas!”

“Yeah, ruin our Christmas!” Luke piped in.

“Benjamin, Luke, you're not even giving Olga a chance,” Thomas chided.

“Come on, Benny and Luke – Papa's right,” Sarah broke in.  “She might be really nice.  And maybe she'll sing songs to us at night – like Mama used to do.  The letter says she likes to sing.”

“She probably sings like a frog,” Ben muttered.

“Yeah, like a frog!” Luke mimicked, and then proceeded to make croaking, throaty sounds.

“Boys, behave or go to your room!” Thomas said firmly.

“Gladly!” Ben replied as he stood up from the table.

“Yeah, gladly,” Luke said, copying his older brother.  He stood up and looked at his unfinished supper and then added, “after I finish eating.”

Sarah cleared the table alone as Ben and Luke had already gone to their room.  Her father placed his books and ledgers on the table to do some figuring before he went to bed.

“Papa, what do you suppose Olga is like?” she asked.  “Do you think she's very old?”

“She's probably close to your mother's age – maybe twenty-nine or thirty.”

“Do you suppose she's as pretty as Mama was?”

“I don't know, Sarah.  I haven't seen a picture of Olga, but, being Swedish, I'm sure she'll have pretty blonde hair like you children.  She'll be a good mother.”

“I hope she learns to love us,” Sarah said quietly.

“Oh, I don't worry about that, Sarah,” her father remarked.  “I do worry about whether or not your brothers will learn to love her.  I hope they give her a chance.”  He paused and then added, “Mail order brides don't have to stay if they don't want to.  They are required to stay three months, and then they are free to leave if they are not happy.”

“Is that the same for mail order mothers?” Sarah asked.

Thomas smiled, “Yes, dear.  It is the same.”  He grew quiet and then asked, “Do you want a new mother?”

Sarah nodded.  “It's hard being the only girl in the house.  You and Benny are always good to me, but I miss having someone help me do my hair – and sew pretty clothes for me.”

“I buy you clothes from the Mercantile, and Aunt Lela makes you dresses,” Thomas remarked.

Sarah nodded, “But it's not the same as having someone pin a dress on you and make it just right – and ask you if you want pink ribbons or lace on it.”  She paused, and wiped a tear from her eye.  “Only mothers ask you questions like that.”

Thomas nodded and swallowed hard.  “I suppose you're right.  I've missed not having your mother around.”

“Do you think you will learn to love Olga?” Sarah asked.

“I hope so.  'Course she won't be your mother, and I don't expect her to be, but it would be nice to have a wife again – but most of all, I want a mother for you children.  That's why I ordered a mother from Sweden – from the town where your grandmother grew up.”

“Was Grandmother Olson nice?” Sarah asked.

Thomas nodded.  “She was a good woman.  She loved your mother so much.  It was hard for your mother when she died.  Ben was just a baby at the time.  She never got to see you or Luke.”

Sarah walked over and hugged her father.  “I wish people didn't have to die.”

Thomas nodded, but could not speak.  He hugged his little daughter tightly, and quietly sobbed.

Not much was said about the mail order mother over the next few weeks.  Ben stoically made supper each night and then quietly worked on his studies.  Sarah busied herself with mending and  a handiwork project.

“Hope you're not making something for ugly Olga,” Ben remarked one evening.

“Don't call her that,” Sarah said quietly.  “What I'm making is my business, and who I give it to is my choice,” she remarked.

“I can't believe you'd betray Mama like this,” Ben said at last.  “Do you honestly think Mama wants someone else living in her house, eating on her blue and white dinner plates, and sleeping in her bed?”

“I think she wants us to be happy,” Sarah remarked quietly.

“Well, ugly Olga won't make us happy!  I wish she'd stay in Sweden where she belongs!”

“I want her to come, Benny!” Sarah said firmly.  “And don't you and Luke be mean to her!  If you're not kind to her she might go back after three months!”  Immediately after saying those words, Sarah put her hands over her mouth.  “I didn't mean that, Benny.”

Ben grinned.  “So, if we're mean to Olga, she'll go back to Sweden?” he  asked slyly.

“Don't you dare be mean to her, Benny!” Sarah shouted.  “I want a mother!”

“And I want our mother!” Ben shouted back.   “And since we can't have our mother, I don't want any mother!”

Sarah burst into tears and ran to her room and shut the door.

“Sarah, I'm sorry I yelled,” Ben said as he stood by her closed door.  She did not respond, so he quietly walked over to the kitchen table and resumed his homework.

The day before Christmas Eve, Thomas hitched up his sleigh, loaded up his three children and drove his team of horses to the train station in Durango.  Ben stared out at the snowy landscape, his mood as gray as the sullen clouds above.  Sarah sat close to her father, so excited she could scarcely sit still.  Luke sat in the back by Ben and kept asking, “Are we there yet?”

As the team pulled them through the snowy drifts, Sarah asked her father, “How will you know Olga when you see her?  Do you know what color of coat she will be wearing?  Will she be holding a special carpet bag or wearing a certain hat?”

Ben folded his arms over his chest and leaned his head back.  “Who even  cares?” he muttered.

“I care!” Sarah shot back.  “I don't want to miss her!”

“We won't miss her, Sarah,” Thomas remarked.  “We'll find her.”  He paused and then added, “Now, Benjamin, I want you to behave like a gentleman.  You know the family rules.  Marrying this woman is my choice and as long as you live in my house, you will treat Olga with respect.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben mumbled and turned again to look out at the snow-filled landscape.

The family arrived at the Durango station before the train.  They tied the horses to a secure post and walked towards the platform to await the coming train.

As they walked, Thomas said, “It will have been a very long journey for Olga, and she will be tired.  Children, please don't bother her with a lot of questions right now.  Let her get home and get some rest and dinner before we start questioning her.”  Thomas paused and then added, “Maybe she won't feel much like talking until tomorrow.  Please be patient with her, Sarah.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, Papa,” Sarah answered, but she couldn't stand still.  “I'm just so excited to see her, Papa!”

Thomas squeezed her hand.

“Benjamin and Luke, be polite now, you hear?”  Thomas said sternly.

Both boys nodded.

In fifteen minutes the train whistled in the distance and dark smoke filled the sky.

“She's coming!  She's coming!”  Sarah squealed, jumping up and down.

Ben looked plaintively at his father, and then looked down at the snow and kicked it methodically.

Luke simply looked perplexed.  He didn't know whether to be excited like Sarah or angry like Ben.  Instead he stood still and stared at the black train pulling into the station.

The train whistle blew again, long and shrill.  The brakes screeched and the massive train chugged to a stop by the wooden platform.

“Come on, children,” Thomas said as they moved closer to the small crowd waiting near the train.

A very plump woman wearing a fur trimmed coat and a feathery hat exited first.  Sarah looked up at her father who watched the woman step onto the platform.  A tall skinny man wearing a suit walked up to her.  Thomas looked at Sarah and seemed to give a sigh of relief.  He shook his head no.

Four children, very well dressed, leaped down the stairs followed by a harried woman who shouted at the children to slow down. Again, Thomas shook his head no.

Next, a slender woman dressed in red with her black hair pulled up in a bun exited the train.  Thomas shook his head no to the children.

A young man dressed in a dark suit and tie next exited the train and was immediately surrounded by about ten or twelve people who hugged him, patted him on the back and welcomed him back home over and over again.

A heavy set man with a mustache exited the train next, followed by a middle-aged woman dressed in a plain gray coat and hat.  Thomas watched the woman.  She did not follow the man with the mustache and seemed lost at the station.

Sarah looked anxiously at her father who studied the woman intently.  Just as he took a step towards her, a young woman with blonde, curly hair piled high on her head stepped out of the train and stood on the first step.  Her bright smile lit up her whole face.  She briefly scanned the crowd waiting at the train, and then, when she spotted Thomas and the three  children, she waved happily and hurried down the steps.

Thomas grinned at Sarah and hurried to the woman's aid.  Sarah stood still, watching the vivacious young woman as she ran towards Thomas and shook his hand heartily.

“You must be Mr. Dobson, ja?” she asked enthusiastically.

Sarah, Thomas and Luke caught up with their father and stood just behind him.

“Are you Olga?” Thomas asked.

The woman seemed to ignore his question as she looked at Ben.  “You are Benjamin, ja?” she asked happily.  “Your father write you are ten but, no!  You must be twelve!  My brother, Peter is twelve.  You  bigger boy than him!”

Ben grinned, although he tried hard to hide it.

“Peter is best wrestler in our village, Benjamin, but you beat him, ja!” the vivacious woman exclaimed.

She then turned her attention to Luke who stared up at her with wide open eyes.

“Mr. Dobson, this no your baby?  He big boy!  Smart boy!  Handsome boy!  We good friends, you and me, ja?” she said to Luke, who reached out to her with both arms and hugged her legs.  “Good boy!” she said.  “I like you!”

“Olga?” Thomas asked again.

The woman did not answer, but turned her attention to Sarah.  She gazed at her fondly and moved a wisp of blonde hair from her face.  “What beautiful girl you are, Sarah,” she replied softly.  “Your face so pretty; your hair so lovely.  I braid your hair and put in ribbons, ja?” she asked.

“Ja!” Sarah squealed happily and hugged her.

Thomas spoke again.  “You obviously must be Olga Poulson or you would not know so much about my family,” Thomas said.  “Welcome to America.”

The woman's smile faded slightly, and then she brightened again.  “I something to tell you, Mr. Dobson.  Olga still in Sweden.  I her sister, Kirstin.”

Thomas, Sarah, Benjamin and Luke stared at her with shocked looks on their faces.

“No you to worry!” the young woman said brightly.  “I explain.  Olga, the silly goose, ready to come to America and her sea captain come back and say he love her and want to marry her.  Olga not know what to do.  She say, 'Kirstin, you go to America.  You meet nice man Thomas, and his good childrens.  You be good momma and good wife.'  I say, 'No, Olga, you they want, no Kirstin.'  But she say, 'Kirstin, you sing happy songs to childrens.  You be happy momma and happy wife.  I no can love Mr. Dobson now my sea captain come back for me.'”

The beautiful young woman stood quietly and looked into the faces of Thomas, Benjamin, Sarah and Luke.  “Kirstin go back to Sweden now, ja?”

“No!” Ben cried out.  His face grew red, and then he said, “I mean, you came a long way to get here – and, well, you might be happy here.”

“Ja?  You think maybe?” Kirstin asked, nodding her head.

“Please stay!” Sarah begged.  “No one has braided my hair for two years!  I don't want you go!”

Luke looked up at her with a worried look on her face.  “I promise I'll be good if you stay, Kirstin.  I don't care if you're not Olga.”

“Ja?” Kirstin asked brightly.  She looked at Thomas and said, “What you say, Mr. Dobson?  Kirstin stay, ja?  Or Kirstin go?”

Thomas looked at the bright, beautiful young woman standing before him and his heart melted.  He looked over at his happy children and grinned.  “Kirstin, I think we all want you to stay.”

Kirstin squealed with delight and opened up her arms and hugged them all at once. “Ja!  Ja!  Kirstin stay with new, happy family!”

As they rode back home in the sleigh, Kirstin sat in back with all three children crowded around her.  She asked them question after question about their home, their school, if they had animals, what they did for fun, and what songs they knew.  Ben told her that a fun song they liked to sing was called Jingle Bells.  Kirstin begged the children to teach her the song as they rode along in their two horse open sleigh.

Her bright, melodious voice floated above the others as she quickly learned and sang the new song.  Thomas found some bells under the seat and handed them to Luke to ring as they sang Jingle Bells over and over again.  In no time at all they arrived at their home.

Without any encouragement from his father, Ben helped Kirstin with her bags while Luke and Sarah hurried through the snow to open the door to their cabin.

Thomas grinned and called over to them, “Don't worry about me.  I'll just get the horses in the barn by myself.”  Kirstin and the children smiled and waved to him.

Once inside the cabin, Ben quickly added logs to the fire to warm the small kitchen and heat up the stew.  With great effort Luke dragged a chair over to the fireplace for Kirstin.

“You sit close to the fire,” he said with a big grin.

She smiled at him and tousled his blonde hair.  “Kirstin thank you kindly,” she said warmly.

As Ben stirred the stew he called Sarah over to him.  “Get Mother's good blue and white plates for dinner tonight,” he whispered.

“Benny, are you sure?” Sarah asked as she looked at him with surprise.

“Yes, Sarah.  I think Mama would want us to.”

Sarah grinned and hurried over to the china cabinet where the cherished dishes stood on display.  In a drawer she pulled out the white tablecloth reserved for special occasions and carefully, joyfully set the table for five.

“What beautiful dishes you have,” Kirstin remarked.  “From Sweden, ja?”

Thomas, who had just come through the door, remarked, “Yes.  They belonged to my late wife's mother.  She was from Sweden, too.”

Kirstin smiled warmly.  “I feel like Kirstin at home – warm fire, beautiful blue and white dishes, delicious-smelling stew, and happy, smiling faces.”

“We hope you'll be very happy here, Kirstin,” Thomas said kindly.

“Kirstin happy already,” she answered with a bright smile.

After dinner, Kirstin pulled a dishcloth around her waist and said, “Where you wash dishes?”

Sarah and Ben objected.  “No, Kirstin, you sit.  We'll wash the dishes.”

“You no think Kirstin can wash dishes good?” she asked.

“No, we're sure you can,” Ben said quickly.  “It's just that you're tired.  Sarah and I can do them.”

“If family work together, dishes done quickly, ja?”

“Ja!” Ben, Sarah and Luke said together.

Thomas laughed out loud as his three children scampered about clearing the table, filling the dishpan with sudsy water, and setting up the wooden drying rack.  Within minutes the dishes were completely washed, dried and put away.  Thomas helped by sweeping the floor.

After the dishes were done Kirstin suggested that they sing songs around the fireplace.

Thomas placed a few more logs on the hearth and then he pulled the chairs close by the fire.  He led Kirstin to his wife's rocking chair.  He paused briefly and glanced over at Ben – seeking his approval.  Ben nodded, so Thomas helped Kirstin sit down.  Luke sat at her feet and leaned against her legs.  Thomas sat on one side of her and Sarah on the other.  Ben sat on the floor close by, admiring Kirstin's beautiful, youthful face.

Kirstin sang a lovely ballad in Swedish, and then she asked the children to sing a favorite song to her in English.  Ben suggested that they sing Love at Home.   When they finished singing, Kirstin remarked, “That most beautiful song.  I learn song fast so I sing with you.”

Before they sang another song, Kirstin asked Thomas to hold Luke so that Sarah could sit at her feet and she could braid her long hair.  She then motioned for Ben to sit beside her.  He quickly jumped up and moved the chair a few inches closer to her and sat down.  Kirstin smiled warmly and sang a Swedish lullaby.

Luke yawned and Thomas excused himself to lay the sleepy boy in his bed.

“It very late now,” Kirstin said with a warm smile.  “Childrens tired.  Kirstin tired.  Tomorrow good, happy day.  Now we sleep, ja?” she suggested.

Sarah stood up and kissed Kirstin on her cheek.  “I'm glad you're here, Kirstin.  I was excited for Olga to come, but I think I love you even more than I could have loved her.”

“Ja?” Kirstin asked with a broad smile.  “Kirstin happy she here – not Olga.”

Ben stood up, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.  “I'm glad you're here, Kirstin.  I was sort of mad about Olga coming, but you're different.”  He paused and then added, “So, do you really think I look like I'm twelve?”

“Ja!  Ja! You big boy.  You good young man.  I like you, Benjamin,” she said with a warm, tender smile.

“Ja?” Ben said with a laugh.  “Maybe I like you, too, Kirstin.”

“Someday, maybe you call me Momma, ja?” Kirstin asked.

“Ja.  Maybe someday,” Ben replied.  He hugged her and walked off to bed.

After the children had gone to bed Thomas showed her to the bedroom.  “You sleep in here, Kirstin, and I'll sleep on a bedroll in the kitchen.  When you're ready, if you choose, I would like you to be my wife.”

“Ja?  You think?” Kirstin asked with a broad smile.

“Ja.  I think,” Thomas answered warmly and hugged her.  “You have made my family so very happy, Kirstin.  I'm glad you came to America.  I'm sure Olga would have been wonderful, but you are delightful.  You are perfect in every way.  Thank you for coming.”

“Ja.  You welcome, Mr. Dobson.”

“Thomas.  Call me Thomas.”

Kirstin smiled at him as she leaned against the door frame of the bedroom.  “Kirstin think Thomas make good husband.  Maybe Christmas day we marry, ja?” she asked.

Thomas grinned.  “That would be a wonderful Christmas present, Kirstin.”

“Ja?” she asked.

“Ja!” he answered.

Kirstin smiled and closed the door to the bedroom.

Thomas prepared his bedroll in front of the fireplace and lay down on it.  He laced his hands behind his head and a wide grin filled his face as he thought about Kirstin becoming his wife.

A minute later  the door to the bedroom opened.  “Thomas,” Kirstin  whispered.  “Come.  Kirstin need show you something important.”

Thomas stood and walked over to the doorway.  Kirstin handed him a piece of paper.  On it he read the words:  Certificate of Birth.  Olga Kirstin Poulson.

“You're Olga?” Thomas asked with surprise.  “I don't understand.”

“Sh-h-h,” Kirstin whispered as she placed two fingers gently on his lips.  “Thomas no tell childrens.  Listen please.”  She paused briefly and then said,  “Kirstin no dumb pebble.  Childrens no like idea of new momma coming.  Bad thing.  Scary thing.  Maybe new momma mean.  Maybe no like childrens.  Kirstin know.  Kirstin smart big pebble.”  She paused again and then continued.   “Thomas, your childrens hate Olga even before Olga ever come.  Kirstin know that, so -- Olga no come.  Kirstin come.  Kirstin happy.  Kirstin love childrens.  Childrens love Kirstin.”  She paused and then added,  “No sea captain, Thomas.  No younger sister. Just me, Olga Kirstin Poulson.”

Thomas nodded.  He drew a  slow, even breath and then said,  “When you write home, Kirstin, tell Olga hello from me – and that I hope she is happy with her sea captain.”

Kirstin smiled broadly.  “Ja, Kirstin write Olga and say that.”

“Tell her I'm sorry that she'll miss our wedding.”

“Ja.  Poor Olga.  She miss marrying fine man.”

“Lucky Thomas.  He marry fine girl, Kirstin.”

“Ja, you think?” Kirstin asked with a bright smile.

“Ja, I think,” Thomas answered, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

“Maybe Kirstin marry Thomas on Christmas Eve not Christmas day, ja?” she asked.

“Ja, Thomas like that.”

“Ja, Kirstin like that, too!”

THE PRODIGAL’S GIFT

Caleb pushed his way through the crowded streets of Bethlehem.  The sounds of braying donkeys, arguing adults and crying children added to his own heated frustration.

“Why are there so many people here!” he asked irritably to no one in particular.

“Where have you been?!” the man next to him barked.  “Haven't you heard the decree of Caesar Augustus?”

Caleb shook his head, “No, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The tax!  All the world is to be taxed!  Have you been sleeping under a rock for the past year?!”

“No, I. . .” Caleb began, then he asked, “Is the whole world coming to Bethlehem?”

The man laughed hoarsely then spat on the ground.  “Only them that was born here, boy!  Was you?”

Another man joined in.  “Maybe he wasn't born at all!  Maybe he was hatched from an egg!”

The raucous laughter continued as Caleb pushed his way through the crowd and away from the men.

Caleb's eyes scoured the crowded streets, searching for an inn with an available bed.  Hastily scrawled signs hung over door stoops and in windows – NO ROOM.   NO BEDS.  All Caleb wanted was a place to lie down for the night and a crust of bread to quiet his gnawing hunger.

The biting wind chilled Caleb to the bone.  He pulled his crimson robe tighter around his thin, bony body.  Beneath the woolen robe, Caleb wore tattered, dirty rags, and his worn sandals offered little protection for his scraped, calloused feet.

To the casual eye, Caleb looked like the son of a wealthy land holder.  His fine crimson robe gave the air of wealth and position.  On closer inspection, however, one might more rightly suspect that the young man had stolen the fine robe and left the owner worse off than himself, if that were possible.

But the truth of the matter lay hidden in the young man's heart.  The robe was indeed his, a gift from his father, a wealthy land holder in Hebron.  Hebron was the destination of this young man – and he would get there if the fates allowed – and if he didn't starve to death or get accused of theft before then.

Times had not always been harsh for Caleb.  At one time he had more than enough gold to buy food, wine and friends – but once his gold vanished, so did everything else.  He sold his horse, his saddle bags, his jewels and fine clothes.  All left to him, besides his rags and worn sandals, which even the poorest of the poor did not want – was his splendid crimson robe.  He vowed never to part with the robe – and had thus far fought, and won, to keep it with him.

Up the street Caleb spied an inn with a ROOM FOR RENT sign.  Pushing his way through the crowd, he pounded on the door.  A weary old innkeeper answered the door.

“I have but one room left,” he groused, “for one who has gold in his hand.”

“Gold I have not, but I will gladly sweep floors and wash dishes if I may have the room for the night,” Caleb said with a hopeful smile.

The innkeeper shook his head as he started to close the door.  “Give me gold and the room is yours.  I'm not running a charity inn.”

“I understand, good man, but I am cold and hungry and far, far from home.  I beg you to let me stay this one night in return for my work.  I am a hard worker.”

The innkeeper reached out and fingered Caleb's crimson robe.  “This is not the robe of a worker, but it might be the robe of a thief.”

Caleb  pulled his arm away.  “I am not a thief!  I know how to work if you'll but give me the  chance to prove it.”

“Where'd you get the robe, boy?  It's certain you did not earn it.  No fool would give that robe away for wages.”

Caleb hesitated before answering.  “It was a gift – from my father.”

“Willingly given?  I'd wager not,” the old innkeeper sneered.

“Willingly given,” Caleb replied.

The innkeeper eyed has calloused, dirty feet and worn sandals.  “It's been a long time since you were home, I'd venture to say.  Does your father know what has become of you?”

“No.  And if I don't get some sleep and a crust of bread tonight, he may never know.  I am close enough to dying without being talked to death by a prying innkeeper!” Caleb snapped.

The old innkeeper chuckled lowly.  “Not so close to dying that you can't snap back like a young snapping turtle, I'd say!  Tell you what, boy, you give me your handsome robe, and you can stay for a week!  How's that for a bargain?  If you don't take me up on it, you're a bigger fool than I imagined.  I can tell that you won't live long, boy, but you won't be buried in your precious robe.  Someone will snatch it from you before your last breath is out – and it mightn't just be me!”

“I'll take my chances on that!” Caleb retorted as he walked away from the inn.

The innkeeper closed the door, but not before he muttered, “You're nothing but worthless prodigal!”

Caleb pulled his robe up over his ears to keep out the wind and to muffle the snarling voices of the desperate, weary travelers surrounding him.  “Bethlehem!” he mumbled.  “What has become of the small, peaceful town I passed through several years earlier?  Bethlehem!  Once you housed King David, but now your sons are angry, snarling masses of depraved humanity!  Ah, poor Bethlehem!  You are no longer fit to house a king!”

As he pulled away from the madding crowd, Caleb spied a small stable partially hidden by the shadows of the inn.  It was little more than a shack, a poor shelter for road-weary animals, but it might prove to be a safe haven for him on that dark, windy night.

Quickly, Caleb darted to the safety of the shadows of the inn and then he crept in through the doorway of the small stable.  Inside cattle silently munched on the hay piled into a rough-hewn manger.  In the rafters, protected from the wind, turtle doves cooed and nestled closely together.  Towards the back a few horses and a donkey stood, tied to a railing.  They, too, quietly ate the hay spilled on the dirt floor of the stable.

“It's not much, but at least it's out of the wind and I won't have to listen to the babbling of a miserable innkeeper, nor listen to the crowds moan and complain.”

Caleb pulled down some fragrant hay and made a bed for himself in one of the stalls away from the open doorway.  As he snuggled down into his makeshift bed, he pulled his crimson robe up over his shoulders and his face.  With the wind away from his face, and the gentle cooing of the doves above him, Caleb closed his eyes.  But restful sleep did not come.  His thoughts turned homeward, as they had so many times over the last few months.  He thought about the last time he saw his father – and his pained, sorrowful face.  Caleb stood defiantly before him, and demanded to be paid his inheritance early.  He spat on the ground before his father and denounced his sonship and any rights to the farm and lands he loathed.  He, Caleb, would make something of himself in the world – and not slave away day after day as did his older brother.  Caleb held out his hand expectantly, and his father did not leave it empty.  He handed him a large bag of gold, and ordered his servants to fill Caleb's saddle bags as well.  Through the protests of his older brother, Caleb's father gave him more and more gold and jewels as well as food and victuals to last him for several months.  And then, as Caleb prepared to mount his horse, his father took off his precious crimson robe and placed it on his back.

His older brother cried out in anger.  “Not the robe, Father!  It is yours!  It is far too precious to waste on Caleb!”

But his father gently placed his hand on the older son's shoulder and said, “I want Caleb to have it.  It may yet remind him of his father's love – and lead him home again.”

“I doubt that!” Caleb sneered as he mounted his horse and rode off without looking back.

Three long years had passed since he had seen his father.  Oh, he'd seen the world – the riches, the song, wine and dance!  He'd hearkened to the siren calls of strange women, and had played the games of chance and fortune – and he had lost.  When his money slipped through his careless fingers, so did his so-called friends.  They left him to die, weak, penniless and ill.  He'd managed to find work slopping pigs, and feign would have filled his belly with their foul food, so hungry was he.  As he reflected on his pitiful life, mirrored in the wretched drinking trough of the pigs, he remembered that his father's servants had plenty of good food to eat, and warm beds to sleep in at night.  He resolved to return to his father's farm and to beg for a position as a lowly servant.  Caleb knew that his squandered fortune made him unworthy to return as a son, but he would be content with a servant's life, if just to be permitted into his father's presence again.

And so the journey had begun – and now he lay huddled in a drafty stable, two days journey away from Hebron – and his father.  As Caleb felt the warm robe upon his shoulders, he thought of his father's last words – that the robe may yet remind him of his father's love – and lead him home again.  Caleb smiled.  “Yes, the robe is leading me home at last.”  Sleep at last overcame him.

Caleb awoke suddenly to the sounds of someone entering the stable.  Frightened that he might be seen, he took off the bright crimson robe and rolled it tightly into a ball.  Quickly, he hid the robe and himself as best as he could behind the water trough.

Caleb heard the rough voice of the innkeeper.  “There is no room in my inn, with pay, or without it.  But I pity you and your wife in your plight.” Motioning with his arm he said, “The hay is clean, and these bare walls will mostly keep out the wind.”  With that he walked away with his lantern, leaving the stable with its dark shadows.

The man thanked the innkeeper for his kindness and helped a young woman off the donkey she rode.  She walked awkwardly towards the hay, to the spot where Caleb had been lying.

“Look, Joseph,” she said softly as she observed the place where Caleb had been sleeping.  “A soft bed has already been prepared for me.”  She lay down on the hay to rest, but she shook from the cold, and from pain.

Her husband, a kindly looking man, hurriedly took off his thin, brown robe and lay it across  her.  “Tomorrow I'll search for a better place for us to stay.”

From his place behind the watering trough, Caleb could see the couple and hoped they did not turn to see him.  He knew he had to find a way out of the stable to give them their privacy, but there was no way to leave without being seen.  He resolved upon a plan to sneak out just as soon as they fell asleep.

Shivering from the cold, Caleb carefully unrolled his crimson robe and wrapped up in it, still hidden from view behind the trough.  He felt a twinge of guilt knowing that his robe was warm and soft and that the thread-bare robe of the woman's husband, though given in love, was not sufficient to keep even a small sparrow warm.

Not moments later the woman reached out for her husband's hand, and cried, “Joseph!  The baby!  He is coming!”

“No, Mary!” the distraught man answered.  “Not here!  Not now!”  He stood and looked around the forlorn stable.  “Mary, the cradle I made for the Babe is back in Nazareth!  The only thing to use for a cradle here is the cattle's lowly manger!  Please, can't you wait?”

Mary stared at him and cried out, “No, Joseph, I cannot wait!  The Babe will be born here – tonight!  Please go ask the innkeeper's wife if she will come!”

Caleb jumped up from his hiding place, eager to offer help.  “Joseph, you stay with Mary!  I'll go get help!”

The startled couple stared at him as he bolted for the door.

“I'm Caleb,” he called back to them.  “I won't hurt you.  I just want to help.”

Within minutes the innkeeper's wife bustled to the stable with Caleb following behind holding a dishpan full of hot water and some clean linen towels.  The innkeeper kept pace with them, holding the lantern up to guide their way.  The moon waned and the stable lay hidden in the shadows of the inn.  As soon as the innkeeper's wife settled in next to Mary, and the lantern hung on a nearby rafter, the innkeeper and Caleb walked outside.

“Something told me to give them that extra room – the one I didn't give you, boy.  But they were poor – and I knew I'd get a better price for the room if I held onto it a bit longer.”  He shook his head and wiped a bitter tear from his eye.  “I didn't know she was going to have a baby.  Honest, I didn't!”

“Do you still have the room?” Caleb asked.

The innkeeper shook his head.  “No.  I gave it to the next person who came along – a Publican with plenty of money jangling from his purse.”

Caleb nodded.  “It would have been nice for them to have a room.  A stable isn't much of place for a babe to be born into this world.”

The innkeeper shook his head in remorse, barely listening to Caleb.  “I shouldn't have been so selfish.  But a man has to make a living, you know.  And they didn't have much money.”

Caleb nodded, then he grabbed the innkeeper's arm.  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“No,” the innkeeper said.  “What do you hear?”

“Singing!  Beautiful, heavenly voices – and they're singing!”

“I don't hear it, boy,” the innkeeper said.  “Are people in the streets singing?”

“No, I don't think so,” Caleb answered.  “It's like it's coming from above the stable, but I don't see anything.”

A newborn baby's cry pierced the air, and the innkeeper's wife shouted joyously, “It's a boy!”

Caleb's eyes filled with tears at the sound.  He looked over at the innkeeper and saw tears in his eyes as well.

“I should've done more,” he cried remorsefully.

“You let them stay in the stable – and you brought out your lantern,” Caleb offered.  “That was a good thing.”

The innkeeper's wife joined them, drying her hands on a towel tied to her waist.  “It's a boy!” she beamed.  “A handsome baby boy!”

The innkeeper and Caleb walked solemnly into the stable and stood before the beautiful mother and the newborn Babe lying in a manger.

The innkeeper cleared his throat and then said, “If you want my room . . . .”

Joseph placed his hand tenderly on the innkeeper's shoulder.  “Thank you, but we will stay here.  It is quiet, whereas the inn is very crowded and noisy.”

The innkeeper gazed at Mary and the tiny baby wrapped in soft linen swaddling clothes.  “If you change your mind, my room is yours.”  He then nodded respectfully and walked back to the inn with his wife.

Caleb walked over to the manger and knelt before it.  The tiny infant seemed to glow from an inner light.  “He is so beautiful,” Caleb whispered as he lightly touched the Babe's tiny cheek.  He glanced up at Mary who lay on the straw, smiling, but shivering from the cold and travail she had just experienced.

The baby cried and Mary reached out for him.  Joseph tenderly handed the tiny infant to his mother and she cradled him tenderly in her arms.

With a sudden burst of compassion and love, Caleb took off his precious crimson robe and laid it across the mother and her child.

“Thank you,” Mary whispered gratefully as she looked at the young man dressed in rags, “but it is very cold tonight.  We cannot take your robe.”

“Yes, you can,” Caleb insisted.  “You are shivering from the cold.  You and your baby need the robe far more than I do.  I – I can get another – once I get to Hebron.”

“What is in Hebron?” Mary asked.

“My father's home,” Caleb answered quietly.

“Then you are going home.  That is good,” Mary answered with a warm smile.  “I hope you find that your father is well.  I'm certain he will be joyous to have you home again.”

“Thank you most kindly,” Caleb answered.  “We shall see what we shall see when I get there.”

“What is your name, young man?” Joseph asked.

“Caleb.”

“Ah, that is a good Jewish name – from the tribe of Judah.  And you say you live in Hebron?”

“Yes.”

“Are you named after Caleb of old, the prophet Joshua's friend?  Are you from his line?”

Caleb nodded.

“Noble blood!  What a noble heritage you have!” Joseph said warmly, and extended his hand.

Caleb took his hand, and shook it, but his heart filled with shame.  He had not lived up to his noble heritage.  He had shamed the name of his father – and the name of Caleb of old.

Joseph continued.  “The gift of your robe shows your noble heart, Caleb.”

“Yes,” Mary added.  “We will cherish this robe – your gift, Caleb.  When the baby Jesus is grown, this robe will be his to wear.  We will tell him of you and your kindness to us on the night he was born.”

Caleb bowed humbly.  “I am not worthy of such remembrance,” he argued.

“Yes, you are,” both Mary and Joseph replied.

Caleb bowed again and then rose to leave.  “May peace be with you both,” he said and then he quickly walked out of the stable and into the night.

Whereas the night had previously been dark and windy, the weather had cleared.  Caleb looked up to the sky and saw a magnificent new star shining down on the humble stable where the newborn babe lay.  His path lay brightly before him and Caleb decided to continue his journey to Hebron that night for he was too excited to sleep.  As he walked he passed shepherds talking excitedly as they hurried down the path where he had just traveled.

“Could it be true?” they whispered.  “Has the King at last been born?”

“King?” Caleb wondered to himself.  A child had been born in a lowly stable.  Surely that was not the king they spoke of.  Kings, like David of old, were born in palaces – not in stables with a manger for a bed.

Caleb hastened his pace towards Hebron.  He was going home.

As Caleb neared his home, his father recognized from a distance and ran to meet him.

“Caleb!” he cried as he kissed his face, neck and hands.  “Caleb, my son, my son!”  he cried as he wept.

He placed his ring upon Caleb's finger and ordered his servants to kill the fatted calf and to arrange for a wonderful feast to be held later that day in his honor.

“No, Father,” Caleb protested.  “I have sinned before God and heaven and I am no longer worthy to be called your son.  However, I beg for the opportunity to work for you as your servant.”

Caleb's father touched him tenderly on his shoulder, and said, “Caleb, you will always be my son.  Come and wash yourself and put on clean clothes in preparation for the feast.  Today I will rejoice with my family and friends, for my dear son is home at last!”

When Caleb's older brother saw the preparations for the feast, he asked a servant what the occasion was.  When he learned that Caleb had returned home – and that the feast was in his honor, he became very angry.  He refused to go into the feast.  Hearing about his older son's dismay, Caleb's father came out to talk to him.  “Son,” he said, “all that I have is yours – and you will be with me always.  But your  brother has returned home alive!  Doesn't that fill your heart with as much joy as it does mine?”

The older brother did not answer, and so his father continued, “Son, you have lost nothing.  All that I have is yours.  But you have regained your brother and I have regained my son.  It is good that we hold this great feast and be merry, for this, your brother was dead and is alive again; he was lost – and now is found.  Come, my son, and feast with us and let us rejoice.”

Years passed, and although Caleb had been greeted with great love by his father and had been given a feast, he was constantly reminded by his older brother of his sinful, wanton past.

His father, now dead, left his inheritance to his older son, for Caleb had wasted his during his prodigal years.  His older brother did not turn him out to die because of his father's specific request, but he was obliged to work in servitude for the rest of his life.

Often Caleb's brother reminded him of his wasteful years and told him that their wealth would have doubled by now if it had not been so foolishly squandered.  Caleb grew dark and sullen.  His miserable life grew daily more miserable as his brother harped on his past life, refusing to forgive him.  And Caleb could not forgive himself either.  It was only when he thought of the tiny babe he'd seen in the stable years before that peace came to his soul.  Why did that child in swaddling clothes have such a calming effect on his mind?  When he paused, remembering, he could almost hear the angels singing – unseen, but heard nonetheless, in the heavens.  And that peaceful remembering gave him courage to continue in his daily menial tasks for his spiteful older brother.

One hot, sultry afternoon, Caleb traveled from Jerusalem to Jericho on business for his brother.  As he made the journey alone, he fell among thieves and was robbed and beaten.  The men stole his horse and belongings, and left him by the side of the road to die.

As he lay dying, he looked up and saw a Priest afar off.

“Have pity on me!” he cried weakly, but the Priest looked the other way and hastily passed by him.

Not long after a Levite came along the road.  He looked around, and fearing that the thieves might be hiding, he quickly hurried away as well, leaving Caleb to die.

“Help me please,” Caleb called out weakly, as he struggled to his knees.  But he was too weak and had suffered badly at the hands of the wicked thieves.  The heat of the day and his injuries took their toll and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Some time later, Caleb felt strong arms cradling his head and shoulders and he tasted sweet wine as a few drops trickled down his throat.  “Can you swallow, my good man?” he heard a kindly voice ask.

Caleb nodded, but was unable to open his eyes.  More sweet wine entered his parched lips.

Next Caleb felt warm, soothing oil poured on his bruised flesh and into his deep wounds.  When his wounds were bound with clean linens, the kindly man asked if he could stand.  When Caleb answered that he could not, strong arms lifted him from the ground and hoisted him onto a sturdy donkey.   “Can you hold on?” the voice asked.

Caleb answered that he would try.  And try he did, though the effort shot piercing jabs through his arms and ribs.  He had been very badly beaten.

The journey to the inn, though not long, seemed like a thousand miles to Caleb.  At last he felt other strong arms lift him from the stranger's donkey and carry him to a clean bed.  The stranger asked the innkeeper to summon a doctor then he returned to Caleb's bedside and poured more sweet wine into his mouth.  At last he felt his strength returning.

As he opened his blurry eyes, Caleb saw by the man's robes that he was a Samaritan.  Caught by surprise, Caleb started.  “You're a Samaritan!  Don't you know that I am a Jew?!  Why did you help me?”

“We are brothers,” the man answered simply.

“We are not brothers,” Caleb answered as he collapsed back on the bed.  “We are enemies.  Why did you show me compassion when the Priest and Levite left me to die?”

“I cannot answer for them for they must answer to the Master themselves.  But for my part, I could not leave a stranger to perish, be he a brother or an enemy.  My newfound faith would not allow it.”

“What is this faith you speak of?” Caleb whispered hoarsely.

Gently, the Samaritan wiped Caleb's brow with a cool, damp cloth.  “Rest, my friend and I will tell you.  Not long ago my sister went to Jacob's well to draw water.  She saw a man sitting there who asked her for a drink.  The request surprised her because he was a Jew – and Jews normally have nothing to do with Samaritans.  He then told her that he could give her living water so that she would never thirst again.

“My sister excitedly asked for this mystical water, thinking to save herself many hours of drawing water from the well, but the water he spoke of were the words of eternal life.  He then told her some things which she had done in her past that no stranger could have known – unless he was a prophet.  The man told her that his name was Jesus.”

“Jesus?” Caleb asked as he struggled to sit up.

“Lie down, my friend,” the Samaritan said as he gently pushed him back against the pillow.  “I will tell you about this man Jesus while you rest.  He taught us to love and to care for one another, and to forgive each other.  He said we must  forgive each other not only seven times, but seventy times seven!  He told us to treat one another as we would like to be treated.  My sister told us of his words – and she and all our household and many of our friends were converted that day.”

The Samaritan paused for emphasis and then added, “That is why I called you brother, and why I helped you today.  We are all brothers in the eyes of Jesus.”

“How old is this man Jesus?” Caleb asked,

The Samaritan thought form a moment and then answered, “He is a Rabbi – a teacher.  He must be about thirty-two years old, maybe thirty-three.”

Caleb thought for a moment.  He was now fifty-three years old.  He had been a youth of twenty years when he had first seen the tiny babe in the stable.   Was it possible that this man the Samaritan spoke of was the same Jesus?

“What did Jesus look like?” Caleb wanted to know.  He pulled himself up on his elbow to look more fully into the face of his benefactor.

“He was not handsome as the world would say, yet such love filled his eyes that we were all drawn to him.  His hair was brown and to his shoulders, for he was a Nazarene, and he wore a crimson robe over his shoulders. . . .”

“A crimson robe!” Caleb exclaimed excitedly as he struggled to sit up.  What did it look like?”

“My friend,” the Samaritan said gently, “you have just been beaten nearly to death and yet you want to know what this man Jesus was wearing?  Is it not enough to know that He is the promised Messiah?  If you had the faith, my good man, His touch would heal you instantly.”

“I must go to Him.  I must find this promised Messiah,” he said quietly as he lay back down on the bed.

The good Samaritan laid his hands gently over Caleb's eyes.  “Sleep now, my brother, and get well.  I will pay your bill to the innkeeper.  When you are strong enough, you will find Him teaching in Galilee.”

After many days Caleb had healed sufficiently to leave the inn.  He did not return to his brother's home in Hebron, but went instead towards Galilee.  Though the way was long, he vowed to not quit until he at last laid eyes on this man, Jesus.  As he walked along the dusty road outside Jerusalem, he spied a horse grazing beside a tree.  As he could see neither a rider nor a blanket near the horse, he thought it no sin to borrow the horse for a few days to hasten his journey to Galilee.  “After all,” he rationalized, “if someone had not borrowed my horse, then I would have no need to borrow this one.

As Caleb mounted the horse and led it onto the road, he told himself that once he had seen Jesus for himself, then he would return the horse back to this tree.  He would then return to Hebron to live out his days in contentment with his brother.

Caleb had ridden but a few miles when thundering hooves pounded on the road behind him.  Thinking to let the riders pass, Caleb edged his borrowed horse off to the side of the dirt road.

“Stop, thief!” one of the riders shouted.

Caleb turned in surprise to look at the men.  Three big men rode their horses up to Caleb.  One of them grabbed Caleb by the shirt and threw him onto the ground.

“Horse thief!” he shouted as he jumped off his horse and pulled Caleb upon on his feet.

Another man produced a strong cord and immediately tied Caleb's hands together.

“Stop!  I can explain!” Caleb shouted.  “I'm not really a horse thief!  I simply borrowed this horse for a few days to get to Galilee!”

“Silence!” the man shouted as he tied the Caleb to his horse.

“We'll see what Pilate has to say about your horse thievery,” he scowled.

“I'm not a thief!” Caleb shouted, but the men rode their horses at a fast pace and ran behind them rather than be dragged the whole way to Jerusalem.  This was no time for petty explanations.   He had to save his breath just to stay alive.

Great crowds of people thronged the streets of Jerusalem that day, making it difficult for the three riders and Caleb to pass.  As they pressed forward, they saw that the streets were strewn with palm leaves and many people took off their robes and lay them in the street.  Others cut palm branches and waved them, shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David:  Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest!”  A man of a donkey colt passed over the strewn palm branches and garments.  He wore a crimson robe.

As Caleb stared at the man, he turned his gaze upon him.  It was as though this Man could read his thoughts and knew the intent and feelings of his heart.  As Caleb returned his kindly gaze, great feelings of love swelled in his heart.  It was the same feelings he had felt as a youth as he knelt before a tiny babe in a manger.

“My Lord and my God,” Caleb cried as he fell to his knees.

“Ho! You!” one of Caleb's captor's cried.  “Get on your feet and let's go!”

Caleb felt the ropes chafe his wrists as the man yanked on them and pulled him to his feet.  Caleb craned his neck to catch another glimpse of the Man in the crimson robe, but his captors pulled him in the opposite direction.

“Master!” Caleb cried, but the cries of the crowd and the hollering men drowned out his words.

Caleb ran, stumbled and picked himself up in order to keep up with the horses.  When they arrived at the prison, the men spoke briefly to the guards, pointed at him, and then forced him into the dank, dark prison cell with a number of snarling, angry men who also awaited their trials before Pilate.

Several days passed with no word about a trial.  Caleb and the other prisoners drank dirty water and moldy bread.  Mice and rats ran about their feet, and if the prisoners dared to sleep, the rodents gnawed on their sandals or their toes.

One morning the cell gate opened and a burly guard shouted for Barabbas to come forward.  Barabbas, another prisoner, had been imprisoned for insurrection and theft.  All of the prisoners hated and feared the beast of a man.  As Barabbas passed by Caleb, he pushed him and knocked him to the floor.  Just as he was about to kick Caleb, the guards grabbed Barabbas and pulled him out of the cell.

As the gate slammed shut after them, Caleb heard the guard mutter, “Why they chose you to be saved rather than the Nazarene, I'll never know.”

Caleb felt his blood run chill.  “The Nazarene?” he called to the guard.  “Do you mean Jesus?”

“None other,” the guard shouted back.

Not long after the gate opened again and guards grabbed Caleb and another prisoner.  He, too, had been accused of theft.  Shackled and humiliated, both men stood before Pontius Pilate as their accusers testified of their crimes.

As they spoke, Pilate barely seemed to be listening.  He wiped his hands over and over on a towel.

One of Caleb's captors turned to Pilate and said, “What punishment do you decree for this man?”

Pilate started and stared at the man.  “What is his crime?”

The accuser spat on the floor.  “Horse theft, as I told you  before!”  He paused and then added, “Aren't your hands dry yet?”

“Yes.  No, no they aren't,” Pilate replied as he wiped his hands again and again on the towel.

“I demand death – for both of them!” the accuser cried.

“So be it,” Pilate decreed.  “Take them to Golgotha – and, guards, don't bring me any more prisoners today!”  Pilate threw the towel on the floor and stormed from the judgment room.

Caleb fell to his knees before his captors.  “Please, I beg for mercy!  I merely borrowed the horse and planned to return it in a few days.  I do not deserve death for that!”

“You heard the sentence from Pilate,” a burly guard sneered at Caleb.  Then, motioning to some guards by the gate, he shouted, “Take these infidels to Golgotha!”

“No!” Caleb cried weakly, as the soldiers held him fast.

The other prisoner saw his chance and broke away from the guards.  His brief flight towards freedom resulted in a blunt hit on the back of his head by another soldier standing guard.

Thunder rolled in the distance as the guards pushed Caleb and the other thief on their death march towards Golgotha, the place of the skull.

“I do not deserve death!” Caleb cried, but no one listened to his sorrowful lament.  Several women huddled together weeping, too concerned about their own grief to worry about his.  Men stood by them, equally sorrowful and downcast.

Caleb pulled fiercely against the soldiers, hoping only to escape his unjust death sentence.  As his eyes darted around the gruesome scene on Golgotha's gloomy face, he spied a bright patch of crimson cloth lying at the feet of several soldiers.  The color and texture of the fabric seemed all too familiar.  Suddenly he recognized the cloth: his crimson robe! --  the one he'd given the Babe in the manger and the one worn by the man on the white colt.

“Oh, no!” Caleb cried in dismay as he cast his eyes at the crosses on Golgotha's hill.  There on the middle cross, hung the Man Jesus – nailed to the cruel cross.

“You can't do this!” Caleb cried, and with a burst of strength, he pulled away from his captors and ran to the cross of Jesus.  He knelt before the Master, and cried out, “This man is the Messiah – the Son of God!  You cannot crucify him!  Let him go!”

Several soldiers grabbed Caleb and held him fast.  One of them struck him with the handle of his sword and knocked him to the ground.

“Let Jesus go!” Caleb shouted as he rose up on his knees.  Looking up into the pained face of Jesus, Caleb said firmly, “Let him go and I will die in his place.”

Though in agony of body and spirit, Jesus looked down at Caleb and a faint smile graced his face.

A brawny soldier pulled Caleb up and away from Jesus' cross and snarled, “You will die, but not for him!”

The soldiers dragged Caleb over to a rough hewn cross and tied him to it.  Several husky soldiers raised the cross up with ropes and then let it fall into a hole which had been dug next to the cross of Jesus.  Caleb cried out in pain.  He felt like his shoulders had been wrenched from their sockets and he found that he couldn't breathe.

With great effort he pulled his body up by standing on a narrow piece of wood nailed into the cross.  Splinters dug into his bare feet as he stood on it, and then he slumped down again for he could not stand long on the narrow, jagged board.

And so began the slow, agonizing pain of death on the cross.  Caleb knew that it might take days for him to die in this manner.

Caleb looked down as a priest walked over to a soldier who stood by his cross.  He told the soldier that Pontius Pilate had given the order to break the legs of those who were being crucified before sundown.  According to Jewish law, prisoners were not to be on the cross on the Sabbath day.

Caleb knew that when the soldiers broke his legs he would no longer be able to stand on the narrow board to draw breath.  He would die within minutes.

He looked over at Jesus, whose pain and suffering exceeded his own, for he was nailed to his  cross, not tied to it.  Yet Jesus did not curse nor swear as did the other wretched prisoners who hung on various crosses that day.

Jesus' eyes were closed and his lips moved as if in prayer.

Caleb strained to hear the words.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,”  Jesus said in earnest prayer.

Tears welled in Caleb's eyes.  How could Jesus forgive those who so cruelly tortured him on the cross?  They spat on him.  They gave him vinegar to drink instead of water.  They placed a crown of plaited thorns on his head which dug into his tender flesh.  The mocking continued with a sign nailed to his cross -- the King of the Jews.  What kind of people would crucify their king, even their God, Caleb wondered with amazement.

And even as Jesus forgave them, mocking soldiers gambled for his one earthly possession – the crimson robe.

Caleb craned his neck and searched the face of Jesus for answers.  No bitterness, nor hatred lined his face – only sadness mingled with love.

What manner of man is this? Caleb thought to himself, and then he spoke his answer.  “Jesus, Savior and King, my Lord and my God!  I have found thee at last!”

The pitiful thief on the other side of Jesus cried out, “If thou be the Christ, save thyself and us!”

Caleb chided the man and told him be still.  “We are here, punished for our evil acts, but this man has done nothing wrong.”  He then turned to the Savior and said, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”

Jesus turned to him and said, “Today though shalt be with me in paradise.”

Caleb pondered on those words of hope and asked, “Lord, how can this be?  I am a sinner.”

Jesus looked at him and said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brother, ye have done it unto me.”

Caleb glanced down at the crimson robe and remembered the tiny babe in the manger so many years ago – and his selfless gift of giving his robe to the Christ Child and his poor, shivering mother.

And he smiled.

Caleb then looked over at Jesus, but his head hung down.

Just then soldiers walked over to the other side of Jesus and broke the legs of the other thief, and then he walked over to Caleb's cross.

“No!” Caleb cried, but the soldier cruelly smote his legs, and Caleb slumped down in anguished pain.

He heard the soldier shout to the Priest, “Your king is dead!  Shall I break his legs as well?”

“He's not my king,” the Priest muttered, and then added, “Do not break his legs, but pierce his side to make sure he is dead.”

Caleb struggled to speak, “Lord, remember me. . .” but no more words would come, and then everything grew dark and silent.

Suddenly, Caleb became aware of a brilliant light just ahead of him.  He no longer felt the searing pain in his legs, and he realized that he stood easily, no longer tied to the cruel cross.  He walked, no, he leaped and ran towards the beautiful, glowing light.  As he drew closer, he saw a man standing within the light – yes, yes!  It was Him!  It was Jesus!

Eagerly, Caleb ran towards Him and Jesus opened his arms wide to receive him.  As they  embraced, Caleb's heart filled with sublime peace, joy and perfect love.

Jesus held him tenderly and patiently as Caleb sobbed in his arms.  At last Jesus spoke, “Walk  with me, dear brother.  We are going home.”

LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL,

ACTS LIKE AN ANGEL --MUST BE AN ANGEL

Laughing and shoving each other good naturedly, Jeni and Kara walked up Jeni's driveway.

“Call me tonight,” Jeni pleaded.. “I'm dying to hear about your shopping trip with your sister-in-law!”

“I will, Jeni,” Kara promised.  “She's so cool to take me shopping, especially since she and my brother will only be in town for a few days.”

“You're so lucky!”  Giving her friend a quick hug, Jeni then turned towards her house and Kara ran the next block to her own.

Just as Jeni threw down her backpack and headed for the fridge, her mother rounded the corner.  She held her hand over the phone receiver – which was never a good sign.

“Jeni, its Mrs. Walters.  She's wondering if. . .”

Jeni shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “No-o-o, Mom.  Tell her I'm not home.”

“But she really needs you to babysit tonight, dear.”

“It's a school night, Mom.  I have homework, and besides, Kara is going to call.”

Her mother gave her one of those looks – the kind of look that only a mother who is trained as a Black Belt Guilt Master can give.

“It will just be for a few hours, dear.  What with her husband at work all day and at school all night, she needs a chance to get away, too.”

“Like I don't need a chance to get away?  I've got a life, Mom.  I'm not her slave!”

“Of course you're not, sweetheart.  Slaves don't get paid.  At least she pays you something.”

“For all the work I do, it is slave labor!  Please, Mom – not tonight.  I really want to talk to Kara.  Her sister-in-law is in town, and . . .”

“Shush about that now.  Mrs. Walters is on the phone.  Will you babysit for her tonight or not?”

“No.”

“Kara!”  He mother shot her a guilt blast that hit her right between the eyes.

“What time does she need me?”

“7:00 o'clock.  You'll have time to do some homework and the dishes before you have to go.”

“Will she pick me up?”

“You know she can't do that with all her babies.  It's only three blocks away.”

Jeni sighed and picked up her backpack while her mother talked with Mrs. Walters.

“Do you want a snack, dear?” her mother called to her as she walked up the stairs.

“I lost my appetite.  I'll get started on my homework.”

“Thanks, dear.  You're an angel.”

Jeni turned and looked down at her mom.  “I sure don't feel like one.”

After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters, Jeni grabbed her backpack.  “I don't know why I even bother bringing my homework,” she muttered.  “There's never any time to do it at the Walters'.”

Jeni's mother entered the hallway and opened the door for her.  “Thanks for helping out Mrs. Walters,” she beamed.  “I know she appreciates it.”

“I don't think she does, Mom.  I mean, if you appreciated someone watching your kids, wouldn't you show it by paying them the going rate?”

“You know they don't have much money, Jeni.  She pays you what she can.”

“It's not just that, Mom.  Her house is always a mess, the dishes are piled high in the sink and she doesn't even have a dishwasher.  By the time I get the kids bathed, read to and tucked into bed, it's time to start the dishes and pick up the living room.  I feel like her slave!”

Her mother smiled and lightly brushed Jeni's long bangs away from her eyes.  “There's a special place in heaven for angels like you, dear.”

“Yeah?  Well, if I keep babysitting for Mrs. Walters I'll get there really quick.  My history teacher will kill me if I don't pass this next exam.”

Her mother laughed.  “Bye, dear.  See you about ten-thirty.”

As Jeni walked towards Mrs. Walters' home, a group of her friends passed by in a car.  They stopped when they saw her.  “Hey, Jeni!  We're going to DQ.   Wanna come?”

“Can't.  I'm babysitting tonight.”

“Who for?”

“Oh, just somebody,” Jeni mumbled.

“Are you babysitting for Mrs. Walters again?” one of the girls asked.

“Maybe.”

“I can't believe you're still doing that.  She asked me once, but her house was such a mess I couldn't stand it and I never went back.”

“Didn't you do her dishes?” Jeni asked.

“Are you kidding?  I don't get paid for that!  Watching her four brats is hard enough work.  Nah, I don't do babysitting anymore.  My dad gives me money when I need it.”

“Wish my dad would,” Jeni muttered.

“Sure you don't want to come?” her friend urged.

“No.  You go on.  I'll see you tomorrow at school.”

“Bye, Jeni!” the girls called to her and drove off.

Shaking her head and kicking at a rock on the sidewalk, Jeni muttered, “Why do I have to do this?  Why can't I have rich parents who take me to Dairy Queen and buy me stuff, or a sister-in-law to take me shopping?  It's not fair.  I'm only thirteen.  Life shouldn't be this tough.”

Jeni walked the rest of the way to the Walters home, feeling very sorry for herself.

As she rounded the corner and saw their home in the middle of the block, she knew she needed to change her attitude.  The Walters kids were really cute and smart.  They got so excited when she came over to babysit them.  They loved to play with her and to hear her read stories.  They didn't own a TV, which is probably why they were so smart, Jeni mused.

Mrs. Walters greeted her at the door, and apologized for the messy house, which she always did, and then she hurried to get into their old car.  None of the kids cried when their mother left, not even the baby.  They grabbed Jeni's hands and pulled her into the house and showed her the forts they'd built out of their bedding.  Jeni smiled and said, “Wow.  Forts.  Now I get to make all of your beds before I can put you in them tonight.”

The baby crawled over to her and lifted up her arms.  As Jeni picked her up, one whiff told her it was time for a change.  Mrs. Walters didn't use disposable diapers and there were only two clean diapers left.  After changing the baby, Jeni threw a batch of diapers into the old washing machine and turned it on.

“Can we make popcorn?” the oldest boy, age seven, asked.

“Sure, why not?” Jeni smiled.  She walked to the cupboard and looked in.  “Where's the microwave popcorn?” she asked.

“We don't have any.  We use the real stuff and the air popper.”

Jeni nodded.  “Well, Travis, do you know how to do this, because I honestly didn't know popcorn came anywhere but from an Orville Reddinbacher package.”

The boy laughed and his sisters giggled.  “It's down here, in this cupboard,” Travis explained.  He pulled out numerous pots, pans, mixing bowls, muffin tins and cake pans before he finally found the old air popper.

Jeni looked at him.  “This pops popcorn?” she asked.

“Sure!  You pour the kernels into this part,” he explained, and then you turn it on.”

“I'll get the popcorn!” Krista shouted.  She pulled a chair over to the fridge and opened the freezer.  As she did so, packages of frozen peas and corn fell out and the pea package split open.  Frozen green peas spilled all over the floor.

“Oh, Krista!” Jeni cried.  “Look what you've done!”

Krista looked like she was ready to cry.

Jeni walked over to her and lifted her off the chair.  “It's okay.  I know you were just trying to help.”

“Look!  It's like green hail!” Travis laughed as he picked up a scoop of green peas and threw them over his head.

Krista laughed, too, and she and Maggie, the three year old, followed his lead and started throwing peas around in an all-out pea fight.  The baby, Jessie, crawled over and stuffed peas in her mouth.

“Jessie, no!” Jeni cried.  “Ka-ka!  Don't eat that!  The floor is dirty!”

She scooped up the baby, squishing frozen peas under her feet.  Travis, Krista and Maggie laughed as they threw peas wildly at each other.

“Hey, let's open the bag of corn, too!” Travis yelled as he picked up the bag of corn on the floor.

“No, Travis!” Jeni yelled, grabbing the bag away from him.  “This isn't a game, kids.  This is food you're wasting!”  She shoved the corn back into the freezer and a can of frozen orange juice fell out and split open.

“Orange snow!” Travis shouted, as he reached for the can.  Jeni grabbed it seconds before he got to it.

“No snow, Travis!  This is your breakfast tomorrow!”

“Hey, let's take off our shoes and squish peas through our toes!” Travis shouted to his sisters.

Krista and Maggie plopped down on the floor, mashing peas beneath them as they pulled off their shoes and socks.

“No squishing!” Jeni shouted, and pulled Maggie up onto her feet.  “Krista, you get up, too, and march into the bathroom!”

“Ah, Jeni, we were just having fun,” Travis explained.  “Our mom never lets us do fun stuff like this.”

“Good!” Jeni cried.  “I don't either – not if I can help it.”  As she marshaled the girls towards the bathtub she ordered Travis to get the broom and start cleaning up the mess.

“Do I have to?” Travis moaned.

“You do if you want popcorn tonight,” Jeni explained.

“You're gonna make popcorn with us – after this mess?” Travis asked.

“Sure.  After the mess is cleaned up – and all of you are bathed and in pj's.”

“Awesome!” Travis grinned as he ran for the broom.

One hour later, the kids were bathed, the peas were mostly swept up, and they sat on a blanket in the living room watching the air popper shoot puffy white popcorn into a large bowl.  The kids giggled, and Jeni said, “Let me tell you a story all together tonight, and then it will be off to bed with you.”

“Will you still rub our toes?” Travis asked, a worried look on his face.

“Yes.”

The worried look faded and he asked, “And sing us our favorite songs?”

“Of course, but only one.  The green pea hail storm used up a lot of time tonight.  I still have to do dishes and scrub the kitchen floor.”

“You could save it for Mama,” Krista offered.

Jeni looked at her and shook her head.

“No, she can't,” Travis explained.  “You know how tired Mama is.  That's the only reason she has Jeni come over – to help her out with the housework and stuff.”

Jeni turned and studied Travis' face, a new awareness filled her mind.

“I know, but I want Jeni to play with us.  Mama doesn't ever have time.”

“Hey, how about I start that story, now,” Jeni offered.  She pulled Jessie on her lap and let her eat popcorn out of her hand.  “What story will it be tonight?”

“The Princess and the Pea!” shouted Krista.

Jeni shook her head.  “I think I've had enough with peas tonight.”

Krista and Maggie giggled.

“How about a story when you were a little girl?” Travis asked.  “That would be different.”

“Okay, let me think.  Ah, I've got one.  This is a story that happened when I was about Travis's age.  Before we moved to this city, we lived out in the country in an old farm house.  One day my little brother and I were riding our bikes and we rode out by the irrigation ditch.”

“What's an irrigation ditch?” Krista asked.

“It's like a river, but with steep cement sides.  It has water in it for the farmers to irrigate – or water their fields.  We were told never to go over by the ditch, but we wanted to throw rocks in it.”

“Did you fall in?” Maggie asked, wide-eyed.

“No, but my brother got too close to the ditch and his shoe slipped off and fell into the water.”

“What did you do?” Krista asked.

“Well, we got a stick and tried to reach the shoe – because it was floating on top of the water.  We got really close to the edge and my brother told me to hold into his arm while he reached for his shoe.”

“What happened?” the children cried together.

“We heard someone say, 'Get away from that ditch now!'”

“We were so surprised, that we scrambled up away from the ditch and looked around. No one was there.  My brother started to cry because his shoe was now floating away.  He wanted to go get it.  I told him that it was too dangerous to go near the ditch and that we'd have to go home without it.”

“Who told you to get away from the ditch?” Krista asked.

Jeni shook her head.  “I don't know.  There was no one around at all.  When we told our mama about it, she said that she thought it was an angel.”

“An angel?!” the children cried.  “A real angel?  Did  you see it?”

“No, but I heard it.  It was there protecting us.”

The children fell quiet.  Finally, Travis asked, “Do you believe in angels, Jeni?”

She nodded.  “I do.  I think angels are all around us, watching over us and keeping us safe and happy.”

“Like you, Jeni?” Krista asked.  “Are you an angel?  You watch over us and keep us safe and happy.”

“And you help Mama be happy – by helping her with dishes and watching us,” Travis added.

“And you tell us stories and sing to us,” Maggie offered.

Jeni smiled.  “But I don't have any wings.”

“Maybe you wear your wings on the inside,” Krista remarked.

Travis nodded as he looked intently at Jeni.  “Looks like an angel.  Sounds like an angel.  Must be an angel.”

Jeni grinned and laughed.  “Then this must be heaven – mashed peas and all!”  She reached out her arms and they all hugged in one big, loving bear hug.

Later that night, after Jeni sang the Walters children to sleep, scrubbed the floor and washed and put away the dishes, she thought about what Travis, Krista and Maggie had said.   Maybe she was an angel – or at least an angel-in-training.  She breathed out a contented sigh and smiled.  Not a bad place for a thirteen year old, she mused.  It's not Dairy Queen, mind you, but it is a happy, good  place to be.

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

Elle awoke with a start as a warm and wonderful idea filled her mind.  The idea, though not original, gave her peace -- and Elle needed peace this Christmas season more than anything else.

Elle felt like Della, the poor wife in O. Henry's Christmas story, The Gift of the Magi, who had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy a Christmas present for her husband.  Elle had more than $1.87 – but she had a husband and nine children to buy for – not just a husband.

Due to the circumstances in their family, Elle needed to work outside the home and shared the burden of caring for their large family with her husband.  The money they earned paid the bills and debt. Together they decided to get out of debt in one year.  That meant very little could be spent on Christmas presents – one hundred dollars to be exact.

As Elle climbed out of bed, she mused over the thought which awakened her:  Simply do what you can do.

“But what I can do with only one hundred dollars?” Elle asked aloud.   That money had to go for the children still living at home as well as their married children and grandchildren.

Elle sat on the edge of her bed  thinking through what she could do with the limited money.  She loved Christmas.  Although she knew that Christmas was more about love and good feelings than presents, she also realized that it would be a pretty dreary Christmas without them.

As she brushed her hair, another thought struck her.  She put down the hairbrush and picked up her journal.  On a blank sheet of paper she wrote:  Creativity leads to fun and fulfillment.

“Okay, so what can I do that is both creative and fun – and not cost a lot of money?” she mused.

Elle pored over the possibilities.  “Home made gifts,” she said aloud, and then added with a shake of her head,  “No time.  No talent.  No way.”

Try as she might in the past to learn knitting, crocheting and sewing, Elle always ended up pulling out more stitches than she put in – or so it seemed to her mother and sister and the ladies at church who tried patiently to teach her.

She thought about writing a letter to each of her children and grandchildren.  Although it was a nice thought and something she might do, Elle realized that a letter simply wasn't much of a present, at least not to teenagers, and certainly not to her little grandchildren.

“No,” Elle said aloud, “the gift must be something of substance, something you could see, feel, touch – and taste.”  The idea seemed workable, but what could she do more than make her famous fruitcake -- which none of her children, and not even her husband, would eat.  Perhaps she could send a can of popcorn or a plate of Christmas cookies or candies, but that lacked originality.  How many of those did she receive – and give away each year?

Then the idea hit her – like a whack from a candy cane straight from St. Nicholas' goody bag.   She laughed, she cried, and then she laughed again.  The idea filled her with joy, wonder, and breathless anticipation.  She would send her children a gift for each of the twelve days of Christmas.  The idea sounded perfect, but could she do it for the one hundred dollars she allotted for Christmas this year?

Elle jotted notes and did the math on the margin of her journal paper.  “Let's see, we have four married children, one daughter living on her own, and four kids still at home.  That would be six total boxes of gifts.”  Elle realized that she'd have to buy, wrap and send the gifts in one big package early in December or the plan would never work.

Elle's husband, Trent, came into the bedroom after shaving.

“Honey,” Elle said, “I bet I can buy gifts for our five kids plus the kids still at home for one hundred dollars.”

Her husband frowned.  “One hundred each?”

“No,” Elle replied.  “One hundred total.  Gifts for the kids living away from home, and some for the kids still here.”

Trent laughed.  “That's impossible,” he said as he dressed for work.

“I bet I can do it,” Elle insisted.

“You're on,” her husband replied with a grin.  “Dairy Queen?”

Elle nodded.  “Dairy Queen it is.  If I make it, you pay; if I don't, I pay.”

“I'm looking forward to a free Peanut Buster Parfait,” Trent remarked as he pulled on his shoes.

“Yes, I'd like that – having you buy me a Peanut Buster Parfait,” Elle smiled back.

Her husband kissed her on the forehead and said, “Have fun shopping.  Call me when you're done and I'll meet you at Dairy Queen.”

“Make sure you bring your money, honey,” Elle smiled as she walked into the kitchen to make breakfast.

After Trent left for work, Elle sat down to the table to think and write down some figures.

“First of all I'd better find the music to The Twelve Days of Christmas – to jog my memory as to what the gifts actually are.”

After listening to the CD,  and jotting down the gifts from the classic Christmas carol, Elle began the task of figuring out an inexpensive gift for each of the twelve days of Christmas.  “First of all there's the Partridge in the pear tree,” Elle began. . .

A Partridge in a Pear Tree.   “That should be fairly easy,” Elle decided.  Somehow she'd figure out how to make an origami bird, and then tape it to a can of pears.  “No problem.  Next.”

Two Turtle Doves.  Ella thought for a minute over possibilities.  She came up with the idea of  buying a box of turtle chocolates, a box of Turtle Brownie mix, or carving two bars of Dove soap into turtles.  “Though the carving experience sounds intriguing – and the kids might like bathing with turtle-shaped soap, I think I'll opt  for the Turtle Brownie mix.”

Three French Hens.  What could she use to inexpensively portray three French hens?  Elle thought about sending three eggs wearing French berets – but mailing eggs could be a messy proposition.  After some deliberation, she decided on a box of Chicken in a Biscuit crackers – with a French beret drawn on the chicken.  “Oui oui, mademoiselle,” Elle said in her best high school French, and then concentrated on the next gift.

Four Calling Birds.  Elle mused over this one.  Calling birds reminded her of making phone calls – and, briefly, she considered mailing a phone card to each of her kids.  However, all of her kids had cell phones – and had no use for phone cards.  What should she do?  At last Elle decided to make a decorative phone list for her kids, with a boarder made of hand-drawn, ornate Calling Birds.  The list would contain family numbers plus a fill-in-the-blank place for emergency numbers as well as for the doctor, dentist, pharmacy and frequently called friends.

Five Golden Rings.  “Hey, that's an easy one,” Elle quickly surmised.  “Where could you find rings more golden than egg bagels -- especially when smothered with rich golden honey?”  She wrote down Egg Bagels and Honey Bears on her list of things to purchase.

Six Geese a' Laying.  “Okay,” Elle remarked aloud,  “this might be a little more difficult.”  She puzzled for a few minutes and then she grinned happily when she hit upon the solution.  “If I can find those plastic colored eggs from last Easter, I'm set.  I'll find six per family and fill them with jelly beans, and, voile! The gift will be complete.  Six geese just laid six brightly colored, jelly bean-filled eggs, perfect for the sixth day of Christmas.”

Seven Swans a' Swimming.  Elle jotted down some ideas for the seventh day:  “Schwann's ice cream.  Swim night at a local pool.  Music to Swan Lake.   Sugar cookies baked in the shape of swans. A recording of her voice singing Way Down Upon the Swanny River.  Video of "The Swan Princess.”  Elle perused her list, trying to decide which gift would be best, but her frugal budget won out.  She decided to send homemade cookies shaped like swans.

Eight Maids a' Milking.  Elle checked this one off easily.  She'd buy a bag of Brach's Milk Maid  caramels and enclose a note encouraging each family to make caramel apples for a treat that night.

Nine Ladies Dancing.  Elle wondered what she might do to make this gift both fun and affordable.  If she'd had more money, it would have been fun to send her family tickets to the Nutcracker – or even to buy a video of Barbie in the Nutcracker.  But neither of these options fit into her budget.  At last Elle decided to buy some ladybug stickers and bags of microwave popcorn.  She would then send those items along with nine index cards, some nylon cord, a metal coat hanger and instructions on how to make a Ladybug Mobile.  After completing the mobile, each family could pop the popcorn and eat it as they watched the Nine Ladybug-Ladies dancing to the floating rhythm of the ceiling fan.  “Brilliant, if I do say so myself,” Elle remarked with a smile.

Ten Lords a' Leaping.  “What to do for this one?”  Elle wondered aloud.  She drew a slow breath and then turned over her piece of paper.  “Okay, what leaps-- besides lords, I mean?”  She began her list:  “Frogs, kangaroos, Mexican Jumping Beans, grasshoppers, lice.”  Elle put down her pencil.  “This is getting gross,” she said with disgust.  “What can I send my family that leaps – and that won't make them ill?”

Elle shook her head.  “Let's see,” she mused again.  “How about a leap of faith?”  She paused and then thought about what might depict a leap of faith.  “If ye have the faith of a grain of mustard,” she began, and then added, “shall I send a jar of Dijon Mustard?”  She shook her head again.  “There has to be something better than that.”  She took a slow, deep breath and then said, “Fire leaps.  How about a lit candle?  That's it!  I'll send a wonderful Bayberry scented candle – and after it's lit, they can turn off the lights in their living rooms and share stories of faith as they watch the tiny flame glow and send leaping shadows around the room.  That will be perfect – much better than sending lice or grasshoppers!”

Eleven Pipers Piping.  “This one will be inexpensive – and easy to do,” Elle commented as she jotted a note on her paper.  “Eleven pipers piping make quite a symphony.  I'll send them a huge Symphony candy bar for all of them to share.”

Twelve Drummers Drumming.  Elle paused as she reflected on the last of the twelve gifts.  She wanted it to be special, something her children and grandchildren could open and share together on Christmas Eve.  “Drummers drumming,” she mused again.  “Why do drummers drum?” she asked aloud, and then, answering her own question, she said, “they drum partly to get the attention of others – as in when they do a drum roll.”  She paused, and then said excitedly, “That's it!  I'll make a fancy drum out of an oatmeal box and two drum sticks out of dowels painted bright red.  Inside the drum I'll place small envelopes – one for each member of the family.  I'll write down the special qualities of each person and seal it inside the envelopes.  When each family opens the gift on Christmas Eve, they can take turns playing the drum roll – and then, one by one, read  the special qualities of each person for all to hear.”

Elle paused and smiled warmly.  “That should be a very heart-warming experience, hearing wonderful things about themselves – and how special they are to their dad and me.”  With a knowing smile, Elle added,  “And the grandkids will love hearing just how much grandpa and I love them – and why.”

Elle breathed a happy sigh of relief.  She knew it would be a memorable, wonderful Christmas for her family – and something she could do on a shoe string budget.

As Elle looked over her list, a sly twinkle glinted in her eye.  “I need one last gift for Christmas morning, one that will make this Christmas even more unforgettable.  And I know just what it will be:   fruitcake!”

Elle hurriedly dressed for shopping.  She visited several stores to get the best prices, and four hours later she called Trent on the phone.  “Honey,” she said sweetly, “how does a Peanut Butter Parfait sound?”

“Great!” Trent answered.

“Good.  Meet me at Dairy Queen and bring your money, 'cause you're buying!”

The End

Epilogue

In 2007 the author put this story to the test and gave her children – five living away from home and four at home – the Twelve Presents of Christmas.  Here is the dollars and cents rundown of what it cost her:

Day 1:  Canned Pears:  1.18 each; total:  $7.08  Origami birds-- too difficult to make.  Clip art Partridge printed on green paper:  free.

Day 2:  Turtle Brownie Mix:  $1.98 each; total:  $11.88

Day 3:  Chicken in a Biscuit crackers:  $2.18 each; total: 13.08

Day 4:  Phone list printed on Christmas paper already on hand:  free.

Day 5:  Bagels and honey:  way over budget.  Toilet paper rolls saved over several weeks and cut up to make five gold-sprayed napkin rings.  Cost:  free.  However, the idea was discarded and the tube rings were thrown away.  Other ideas were considered:  canned pineapple ($1.04 each); Butter rum LifeSavers ($.99 each); Donuts: ($1.50 each, but they would be dry and crumbly by the time they were received).  Final decision:  Package of Peachy-O's gummy candies: $.78 each total:  $4.68

Day 6:  Old plastic Easter eggs nowhere to be found.  Jelly Belly beans way over budget.  Ah-ha!  M&M peanut candies (14 oz size) on sale in Christmas red and green colors for $2.50 each!  Total:  $15.00

Day 7:  Okay, let's think this through:  Christmas swan cookies baked the end of November, mailed and then eaten on December 20th?  They'd be a mass of stale crumbs and dry frosting.  Idea rethought:  An old canning jar with layered ingredients for fudgy brownies made an attractive jar of SandArt Brownies.  All of the ingredients on hand.  Cost:  free.

Day 8:  Brach's MilkMaid caramels.  What a deal!  Regularly $1.99 each; on special for $.75 each. Total:  $4.50.

Day 9:  lady bug stickers – six sets of 9 lady bugs for $1.25 total price.

Day 10:  Candles:  4 at $4.00 each; 2 at $5.00 each; total: $26.00

Day 11:  Symphony candy bars - $1.25 each; total: $7.50

Day 12:  Drum:  tin can covered in bright, shiny red paper and two dowels (on hand):  free.  No fruitcake given.  It would have arrived stale.  Whether fresh or stale, it wouldn't have been eaten  anyway.

Total cost:  $90.97 + tax =  $97.34

The author called her husband and told him the results of the test.  He gladly took her to Dairy Queen and paid for two peanut buster parfaits.  Nice.

STRANDED FOR CHRISTMAS

Flashing yellow lights signaled the closed pass.  Trucks and cars lined the sides of the road and filled the parking lot of the gas station outside Socorro, New Mexico.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” wailed Lani, a young single mother traveling with her one year old daughter.  “I have to get to El Paso!  My family’s waiting for me!”

No one heard her plaintive cry as she sat inside her small Volkswagen.   Outside the storm raged, pelting her car and windshield with ice and snow.  A state trooper walked towards her car, holding a large flashlight; he motioned for her to roll down her window.

“Officer, I have to get to El Paso tonight!”  Lani explained.  “My family’s waiting for me.  I’m sure I can make it if you’ll just let me through.”

“Nobody’s going over that pass tonight, Miss,” the officer replied.  “Do you have enough blankets to stay warm?  With the wind chill factor, it’s fifteen below.”

“Can I turn around then and go back to Albuquerque?” Lani begged.

“Nope.  Nobody’s traveling this road tonight, forward or backwards.  It’s just too dangerous.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” Lani cried.  “It’s my baby’s first Christmas!  I don’t want to spend it at a convenience store.”

“Nobody does, Miss.  Move your car off the road, please – and roll up your window so you don’t freeze.”  The officer walked off and tapped on the window of the car behind Lani.

Tears poured down Lani’s face as she maneuvered her car off the road and parked behind a huge rig.  She looked at her little daughter bundled in her car seat.  “I’ve got to call Grandma,” she said.  I don’t know if it’s worse to leave you in the car alone, sweetie, or to take you with me.”  She paused for full minute, pondering the situation, then at last picked up her baby and covered her with the pink blanket.  Zipping up her own coat, she opened the door to the blast of the weather.

“Zowie, it’s fr-fr-freezing out here!” Lani shivered as she picked her way through the storm, holding her baby as tightly as she could.  “I hope Mom will accept a collect call!”

Dialing with frozen fingers, Lani waited for the operator to connect the call.  “Please answer!” she prayed.  At last she heard her mother’s voice.  Yes, she would accept the call.

“Lani, where are you?” her mother asked with a worried voice.

“In Socorro, Mom.  The pass is closed and they won’t let me through!  Mom, I’m cold and I don’t have enough money for food and I wish I were with you!”  The tears poured down Lani’s face.  “I should have stayed in Albuquerque.”

Her mom was silent for a moment.  “It’s okay, honey.  Can you stay inside anywhere?” she asked.

“I’m parked at a convenience store, Mom. There are some people inside, but it looks really scary in there.  Mom, I’m frightened.  It’s Christmas Eve!  I want to be with you!” she bawled again.

Her mom spoke firmly, “Lani, you’re going to be okay.  I’ll say a prayer that special angels will watch over you.  You and little Starr will be okay.  Stay calm, okay?”

“I’ll try, Mom,” Lani cried.  “I wish you and Dad could come for me!”

“We would if we could, honey, but we couldn’t get through the storm either.  You’ll be  fine, dear, and we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  She paused and then added, “Okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” Lani sobbed.  “I gotta go.  Starr’s crying.”

Lani hung up the phone and looked into the convenience store and then out at the fierce storm.  “What’s worse?” she mumbled, “getting mugged inside or freezing in my car?”  She started when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

An older man, wearing a ski parka and covered with snow yelled above the storm.  “My wife sent me to get you and your baby, Miss.  We own the rig parked in front of you.  It’s warm inside.  We have some milk for the baby, too.”

Lani stared at the man, not sure if she should follow him or run and then she saw a woman waving from the rig.  “Come on in, honey, before you freeze!” she yelled through the storm.

Lani nodded and allowed the man to take her elbow to steady her as they walked through the storm across the icy parking lot of the store.

When they reached the rig, the man yelled above the wind, “Do you mind if we hand the baby up to my wife?  It’ll be easier for you to get in if your hands are free.”

Lani looked up at a woman who was about her mother’s age.  The woman smiled kindly at her, with the most peaceful angelic look on her face.  The fear melted from Lani’s heart and she handed the woman her baby.  The man then helped her up into the rig.

Lani felt the warmth of the rig as the man helped her back into the living compartment of the rig.  “It’s like a house in here!” she spoke with surprise.

The man chuckled as he took off his heavy coat.  “It is our house.  We live on the road.  We’re both truckers.”

The angelic woman smiled at Lani as she handed the baby back to her.  “It’s unusual for you to understand, I’m sure, but it works for us.  Gideon and I have been doing this for a long time now.  We’re used to closed passes and helping strangers.  It’s what we do best.”  She paused then asked, “Dear, what is your name?”

“Lani, and this is my baby girl, Starr.”

“What beautiful names,” the woman replied as she touched the infant’s soft curls.

Lani smiled, and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for these kindly people.

Starr whimpered and then cried.

“Your baby sounds hungry.  Will she drink regular milk?” the woman asked.

Lani nodded and then added, “And I drink it, too.”

The man and woman laughed.  “We’re sure you do.  You’re barely a child yourself.  How old are you, dear?”

“Twenty, but people think I look a lot younger,” Lani replied.

“Where you heading?” Gideon asked.

“El Paso.  My folks live there.  I’ve been living and working in Albuquerque since before Starr was born.  I wanted to go home for Christmas, but it doesn’t look like I’ll make it.”

“Sure you will,” Gideon replied, “if we have to tow your car and take you there ourselves.  We have a load to take to Las Cruces, and it wouldn’t be too far to go over the boarder to El Paso if you’d like us to take you there.”

“Tonight?” Lani asked hopefully.

Gideon laughed.  “No, not tonight.  Tomorrow maybe, when the pass reopens.”

Lani looked down, dejected.  “It doesn’t feel much like Christmas Eve.”

The woman smiled kindly.  “Oh, it feels very much like Christmas Eve to me,” she answered soothingly.  “You’re alone in a new place.  No place to sleep – all the motels are full.  There’s no one to take you in.  You’re cold, tired and hungry.  Sounds a lot like the first Christmas Eve to me, Lani.”

“Who do you suppose helped out Mary and Joseph that first Christmas night?” Gideon asked kindly.

“Shepherds?” Lani asked.

Gideon nodded.  “Yep, that’s right, but who told the shepherds about the Christ child?”

Lani thought.  It had been a long time since she’d been in a Sunday school class.  “Angels?” she ventured to guess.

The woman clapped her hands in delight.  “Yes, Lani, angels --  like us.”

Lani smiled warily and looked behind the woman, half expecting to see wings protruding out of the back of her bright red sweater.

Gideon laughed heartily, too.  “No, Lani, we don’t have wings.  We’re not that kind of angels.  We’re people angels.  We’re just common folks who like to do a good deed now and then when we see the opportunity come up.”  He paused and then added, “Are you hungry?  Would you like a sandwich?”

Lani nodded and eagerly took the sandwich offered by Gideon’s wife.

After taking a big bite and swallowing it, Lani asked the woman her name.

“What do you think it is?” the woman asked.

“My first guess would be Mary,” Lani answered.

The woman laughed so gaily that Lani couldn't help but laugh, too.

“No, it’s not Mary.  I’m not that holy, dear.  My name is Angela.”

“Like angel!” Lani blurted.  “You are an angel!  My mom said she’d pray for angels to help me, and here you are!”

Gideon and Angela smiled warmly.

“Lani,” Gideon asked softly as Lani eagerly ate more of her sandwich, “would you like to play the angel game with us?”

“Excuse me?” Lani asked.  “Just what is the angel game?”

Angela smiled at her husband.  “I’ll explain it to her, dear.  Lani, you feel all alone and frustrated that you can’t be with your family for Christmas.  How many other people in that convenience store feel the same way?”

Lani shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, think about it, dear.  I’d guess every single one of them wishes they were someplace else tonight – mostly home with family, with a warm fire blazing and presents pushed tightly beneath the tree, waiting breathlessly for morning to come.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lani answered.  “I mean, I sure wish I were someplace else.”

“Us, too,” Gideon replied.  “That’s why Angela and I play the angel game – to get folks thinking more of others than themselves. After all, isn’t that what Christmas is all about – thinking of others?”

Lani nodded in agreement, so Gideon continued.  “What gift do you have to offer someone else tonight, Lani?  We offered you a warm place to sleep, a sandwich, and milk for your baby.  What gift do you have to offer to others?”

“I don’t have anything to offer,” Lani explained.  “I didn’t even have money for food.  I don’t have presents or anything.  I don’t know what you mean, Gideon.  What do I have to offer somebody else?”

“Let’s go see,” he said kindly.  “Finish your sandwich and then we’ll all go over to the convenience store and see what gift you can offer to the other weary, tired travelers who have no place to go for Christmas Eve.”

Lani slowly finished her sandwich, hoping that if she took long enough, Gideon would change his mind.  Gideon smiled patiently at her and chuckled softly to himself.

Lani shook her head and looked at Angela for support.

As if reading her thoughts, Angela offered consolingly, “I’m sure you have a wonderful gift to share, Lani.  God gives everyone at least one gift, and He expects us to share it – especially on His birthday.”

Lani sighed deeply.  “But Starr finally fell asleep.  I can’t wake her up,” she argued weakly.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Lani!  Do you think your daughter would ever forgive you for not letting her participate in this wondrous Christmas Eve in Socorro, New Mexico?”

“I’ll take that chance,” Lani mumbled to herself as she reached back for her coat and pulled it on.

“That’s the spirit, Lani,” Gideon remarked heartily.  “Believe me, this will be a Christmas you’ll never forget!”

“If I try really hard, I think I’ll be able to manage it,” Lani whispered under her breath.

“I heard that, Lani,” Gideon replied as he helped her out of the rig and into the biting cold storm.

“Zowie!” Lani shivered, and pulled the blankets tightly around Starr’s little body.

Gideon held onto both Lani and Angela as they carefully picked there way across the snow covered pavement.  Once at the store, he opened the door and let them into the warmth within.

Filling the aisles and lining the counter were coat-laden men, women and children.  No one spoke.  A few of them looked up as they walked in.

“Close the door!” someone muttered.  “It’s cold enough without you letting the snow in!”

“Gideon, let’s go back to your rig,” Lani pleaded.  “These people don’t need our help to make them more miserable and colder than they already are.”

“Nonsense, girl!  Of course they need us – because we’re going to fill them with the warmth of the Christmas spirit!  They just don’t know it yet.”

“It’ll take a miracle,” Lani whispered.

“Yes, it will,” Gideon replied happily. “And that’s what Christmas is all about.”

Angela patted Lani’s hand.  “Gideon is right, dear.  Most people don’t realize how much they need angels – and sometimes they don’t realize that angels have visited them until after they’ve gone again.”

“You and Gideon may be angels, Angela, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not an angel.  I don’t look like one, I don’t act like one, and I’m not one.”

“They don’t know that, dear,” Angela smiled reassuringly.  “Besides, you look like an angel to me, and you’ve brought the Christmas Starr with you.”

Lani smiled at the pun and shook her head.  “I did, didn’t I?” she answered and gave her baby a little squeeze.

Gideon, who was a large man, stood by the counter and addressed the weary travelers in the store, “God bless you, merry Gentlemen – and women and children!” he called out cheerily.  “It’s Christmas Eve!  It’s a time to be joyous and to share our gifts with one another!”

The travelers looked warily at one another and pulled their coats and scanty belongings closer to them.

“Who has a gift that he or she would like to share?” Gideon asked as he looked hopefully at the forlorn strangers.   Some of the travelers looked at him like he was crazy, others looked away and whispered among themselves.

Gideon looked over at Lani.  She shook her head and whispered, “Please, no!”

“Angela?” Gideon asked.  “Shall we start with you?”

Angela curtsied graciously.  “I’d love to start, dear.  Gather around so all can hear.  I want to sing you a little song – a carol of sorts, though some of you may not have heard it before.”   With clear, warm, alto tones, Angela sang a song about the little donkey that carried Mary to Bethlehem.

The weary travelers warmed up to the song, and seemed to relax somewhat.

“Who will be next?” Gideon asked with a deep, resonating voice.

“I will!” a young man called out.  “I’m a student at the university and haven’t much money, but my father taught me that I should never be without my . . .”   He paused for effect, as he fished inside his coat pocket, “. . . harmonica!”

Everyone laughed gaily, as he waved the silver instrument in the air.  “How about a stirring Irish tune called “Come, Landlord, Fill the Flowing Bowl!”  The bright tune put everyone in festive spirits.

“Play another one!” a voice called from the back of the room.

“I will!” the young student called back cheerfully, then he proceeded to play the Chicken Polka.

Everyone laughed, and then a young couple started to dance the Chicken Polka.   “Come join us!” they called out happily.

Some of the braver ones joined in the circle.

“Go join them,” Angela urged Lani.

“This is too embarrassing,” Lani whispered.

“Why embarrassing?” Gideon asked as he took her by the arm.  “It’s good fun – and it’s Christmas Eve!”

“Besides, I have to hold Starr or she’ll cry,” Lani explained weakly.

“I’ll hold her,” Angela offered.  “I’m used to holding babies.”

Reluctantly, Lani handed Starr to Angela.  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mumbled as Gideon led her into the circle of dancers.

The university student’s eyes sparkled as he played the lively tune.  Lani slowly worked into the crazy moves of the Chicken Polka.  She grinned and then started to laugh.  She hadn’t had this much fun since she was in grade school.

Everyone clapped when the dance was over.  Someone called for another song, but Gideon said, “Let’s let others share their gifts first.  We’ll have our young university friend play for us later, if that is all right with him.”  He looked at the young student, who nodded amiably in agreement.

Lani walked over to Angela and took Starr in her arms.   As she held her tightly she whispered, “Starr, you have one crazy mama.  Did you see me out there?” she asked as she kissed her baby on the forehead.

The student moved over by Lani.  “Hi, I’m Ian,” he said cautiously.

Lani smiled at him.  “I’m Lani and this is Starr, my baby.”

“Is your husband with you?” Ian asked, looking around.

Lani smiled, but did not answer.  She looked over at Gideon who was asking for the next volunteer.

“We’ll go next,” a young woman offered, as she and another young woman moved closer to the counter.  “We’re clog dancers,” she stated as she pulled a pair of clogs from her backpack.  “We just finished a concert in Belen and would be delighted to perform for you.”

The crowd moved back as the two young women donned their clogs, then, in perfect unison, performed a flawless, resounding clog dance.  The crowd cheered after they finished and begged for an encore.

They looked at Gideon for permission.  He nodded in agreement.  “We have time,” he said simply.

The young women performed another number to the enthusiastic applause of the crowd.

“That was terrific!” Lani said to the young ladies.  “I’d love to learn to clog dance!”

“You can,” one of the young women replied.  “Where do you live?”

“Albuquerque,” Lani answered.

“I live in Rio Rancho,” the first clog dancer answered as she wrote her number on a slip of paper.  “After the holidays, look me up.”

“What part of Albuquerque do you live in?” Ian asked Lani.

“Southwest part -- off of Coors.”

“I still haven’t seen that husband of yours,” Ian answered, looking around.

“Neither have I,” Lani answered quietly.  “Not since Starr was born.”

Ian smiled and seemed to relax a little when he realized some hunk of a man wasn’t going to muscle his way in and shove his harmonica down his throat.  “What’s your gift tonight, Lani?” he asked.

“I do a silly magic trick, but, hey, I can’t do it ‘cause I’m all out of quarters,” Lani answered with a welcome sigh.

Within seconds, ten people held out quarters to Lani, including Ian and Gideon.

“Guess you don’t have any excuses now, do you?” Ian asked cheerfully.

Lani groaned and took the proffered quarters from the travelers.  “Maybe I should just use these on the pay phone and call for a taxi,” she quipped.

“You’ll do fine,” Gideon said encouragingly.

“I can’t do it holding Starr, so I’ll just pass,” Lani said.  “Besides, she might cry.”

“She didn’t cry before,” Angela remarked as she reached out for the baby. “I’ll hold her.”

Lani handed Starr to Angela who gently cradled her as if she’d been tending babies for many, many years.  Starr looked up at Angela with big, curious eyes then contentedly nestled up against her.

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” Lani whispered to Angela.

Angela smiled and nudged her gently.  “Go share you gift, Lani.  Starr will be fine.”

Lani drew a slow deep breath.

Ian held up his harmonica.  “Do you want an intro?”

“A what?” Lani asked.

“An intro.”  With that, Ian played a few bars on his harmonica to get everyone’s attention.  “And now we have the inimitable Lani, the celebrated magician from Albuquerque!”  He applauded enthusiastically, and everyone else followed suit.  Gideon grinned, and Angela winked at her.

Lani bowed deeply, and then walked over to a three year old standing by his mother.  “Why, son, I didn’t know you had a quarter in your ear!” she said with mock surprise.  With sleight of hand, she deftly pulled a quarter from his ear and handed it to him.

The crowd laughed and everyone applauded.

Lani then proceeded to pull quarters out of knitted caps, mittens, scarves and one youngster’s nose until all of the quarters were gone.

“More!  More!” the crowd shouted as men and women held out quarters to her.

Gideon came to her rescue.  “Perhaps we’ll have time for more magic tricks later, but let’s next hear from this fine gentleman who has his trombone already out of its case.”

The man grinned widely, and then admitted, “I don’t play this very well, but I always wanted to learn to play a trombone, so my wife got this at a garage sale and gave it to me for my birthday.  I taught myself how to play it.”

A man from the back of the store groaned loudly and several people laughed good naturedly.

“He’ll do splendidly,” Gideon said encouragingly.  Patting the man on the back, he said, “Play like the angels.”

“I thought they played harps,” someone quipped with a hearty laugh.

“While that's true,” Gideon offered, “I have it on good authority that sometimes they play trombones -- and sometimes they play harmonicas.” He paused, and then added, “Begin, my friend.  Play for the Christ child and play for us.”

The man lifted the trombone to his lips and played Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.  Everyone listened intently as the man played the carol flawlessly.

“I never played so good before,” the man whispered to Gideon.

Gideon nodded knowingly and thanked him genuinely for his contribution.

A woman from the back waved her hand wildly.  “I have Clement C. Moore's poem The Night Before Christmas memorized!  Can I share that for my gift?” she asked.

“Yes, please come forward,” Gideon motioned with wide, gracious gestures.

As she moved closer to the counter, which acted as center stage, Ian put his arm around Lani and asked, “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?”

Lani looked over at Angela who whispered, “Starr is asleep.  You go ahead, dear.”

Ian and Lani walked over to the hot chocolate machine and he prepared two cups of hot cocoa for them.

“This is the most unusual Christmas Eve I’ve ever spent,” he said as they sipped their cocoa.

“Yeah, isn’t it cool?” Lani answered. “I was totally bummed out not to go home for Christmas, but this is really amazing.”

Ian nodded in agreement.  “So, who are those two people, the ones who walked in with you?”

“You were watching?” Lani asked with a coy smile.

Ian blushed.  “Yes, I was watching.  Even with frozen, icy cheeks, you looked like a girl I wanted to meet.”

“Thanks,” Lani answered.  She paused and then said, “The man is named Gideon and his wife is Angela.  Personally, I think they’re angels.”

“Hm-m-m,” Ian answered thoughtfully, and then asked, “Are they related to you?”

Lani laughed and asked, “Ate you asking if I'm an angel, too?”

“You look like you could be one,” Ian answered.

Lani shook her head.  “I don’t think angels pull quarters out of little kids’ noses.”

“But they care about people, and are kind.”

Lani looked at Ian and smiled.  “Yeah,” she replied.

“And they see good in people, too.”

“Yeah,” Lani nodded in agreement, and continued sipping her cocoa.

“I could use an angel in my life,” Ian added softly.

“Yeah?” Lani asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too,” Lani replied.

Ian smiled warmly at her and gently took her hand.  “Maybe after the holidays I could look you up.”

“I’d like that,” Lani answered.  She paused then said, “Listen.  The trombone man is playing Silent Night.”

Ian led Lani over to Gideon and Angela.  Together they sang with the other joyous travelers, “Silent night, holy night.  All is calm, all is bright.”

Gideon and Angela smiled happily at Lani and Ian, who returned their happy smiles.

Tomorrow Lani would be in her parents’ cozy living room, cuddled on the couch with Starr and both of her parents.  But tonight, Lani thought with a warm feeling she hadn’t felt in years, tonight it really feels like Christmas.  She squeezed Ian’s hand and smiled up at him.

ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

But first, an introduction --

A Brief History of St. Nicholas

Tales of St. Nicholas date back to the third century A.D. -- for that is when he was born to his aged parents.  The couple prayed for thirty years to have a child.  At last their prayers were answered and they were blessed with a little son.  They lived in Lycia, which is located in present day Turkey by the Mediterranean Sea.

When Nicholas was nine years old he was orphaned and raised by guardians.  He never forgot the teachings of his parents.  He gave generously to the poor and was beloved by all.

Many tales have been told about St. Nicholas, but none is better known or more beloved than the one about the three penniless sisters who had no money for a dowry.  Legend has it that St. Nicholas threw a bag of gold down the chimney and it landed in the oldest girl's stocking as it lay drying by the hearth.  He gave gold two more times to the other sisters, allowing each of the girls to marry.  Many scholars feel that the tradition of putting stockings on the hearth on Christmas Eve stemmed from this legend, additionally, the orange in the toe of each stocking represents the gold St. Nicholas gave each of the three girls.

One Golden Christmas is a retelling of that cherished legend of so many years ago --  when St. Nicholas was a young man.   Names and details have been added to enrich the tale, but the story remains as it has for centuries  – a timeless tale of hopes and dreams fulfilled.

ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

“What hopes do we have to ever marry?” Berenice wailed as she threw herself melodramatically upon the worn couch.

Sophronia, her older sister, paced the floor in front of her.  She worked her hands anxiously and occasionally ran slender fingers through her long, dark hair.  Though immersed in fretful thought, she did not speak.

“I daresay I do not know the answer to that question,” their father said at last.  He wore the robes of a nobleman, but it had been years since a tailor had been summoned to fashion new clothes for him.

Charissa jumped up from the small hassock by the hearth and ran to her father.  Embracing him warmly she said, “Our life situation will improve, Papa.  I feel it in my heart.”

Sebastian hugged his youngest daughter.  “I only hope you're right, little one.”

Berenice leaned up on one elbow and glared at her little sister. “It's all fine and well for you to be cheery and starry-eyed, Charissa.  You're just now at the age to be a-marrying, whilst Sophie and I have been there for awhile – with no suitors lining up on our doorstep!”

“It's true, Papa,” Sophronia remarked as she continued her pacing.  “All of our friends are married and have children.  There are not many eligible young men left in our village – none that I want for a husband anyway.”

“That's not true,” Charissa said with a mischievous smile.  “I've seen the way Andrew looks at you in the market place, and  I know he fancies you.”

“But what good does it do me without a dowry?” Sophronia snapped back.

“Oh, the dowry!” Berenice wailed as she lay back on the couch.  “It's a ridiculous law, and how I detest it.”  She punctuated her words with a long, dramatic sigh.

Charissa shook her head and her long locks swayed to the gentle motion.  “I don't understand why women have to provide the dowry for a marriage anyway.  Why can't a man give the dowry once in a while?”

Sophronia stopped pacing and addressed her little sister.  “A dowry is payment made by a girl's father – so that a young man will be willing to take her off his hands.”  She glared at Berenice as she said it.

“What?” Charissa asked with surprise.  “A man must be paid to marry us?  That is ridiculous!  There never were three prettier girls than we three – and everyone knows it!  And, Papa, you know it, too!”

Sebastian smiled wanly.  “Tis true, Charissa, but that doesn't change the law – nor my obligation to provide you with dowries.”  He sighed deeply as his shoulders drooped.  “But I haven't a dowry – not for even one of you girls.  I barely have money enough for food and to keep our humble home.”

“Well, something must be done about this,” Charissa remarked.  “Perhaps I'll have a talk with Andrew when I go to the market.”

“No, you shan't!” Sophronia warned her as she grabbed her arm.  “You won't mention this to anyone, least of all to Andrew!”

Charissa pulled away.  “Well, then what shall we do?”

“I'm thinking,” Sophronia replied.  “I'll come up with something.”

Sebastian sunk down on a wooden chair and covered his face with his hands.  “I am so ashamed,” he groaned.  “If only your mother were still alive.”

Charissa moved closer to her father again and placed her delicate hands on his shoulders.  “I miss her, too, Papa, but how could she have helped with our dowries?”

“She'd have kept you from gambling them away,” Berenice snapped as she glared at her father.

“Hush, Bernie!” Sophronia scolded.

Sebastian sobbed uncontrollably as Sophronia walked over to Berenice and pulled her up off the couch.

“Will you never learn to control your tongue?” Sophronia  chided her.

Charissa watched as her older sisters left the room.  She alone  remained behind to comfort their father.

In another part of the village a young man named Nicholas strolled into the market place.  Seeing his good friend, Andrew, he walked up to him and greeted him heartily.  “How is life treating you?”

Andrew grasped his arm in warm salutation.  “Good, good, my dear friend, but I must admit that it could be better.”

“How better?” Nicholas asked.  “You have a fine fruit and vegetable stand filled with the plumpest figs, the sweetest nuts and most delectable corn!  What could you want more?”

“A wife to share my bounteous life with me,” Andrew replied.

Nicholas laughed heartily.  “That should not be a problem, my friend.  You are handsome, honest and hard working.  You certainly can have your pick of all the beautiful women in Lycia!”

“But it is a problem, my friend.  The girl I fancy is poor.  She hasn't a dowry.”

Nicholas frowned.  “The dowry,” he muttered.  “Whoever invented such a terrible law?  Certainly it was not a man of character, but I think one filled with greed.  Andrew, ponder on this and tell me what you think.  A woman comes to a marriage filled with grace, beauty and a willingness to be a help meet for her husband and to bear him children.  Why must she also come bearing a bag of gold?  It is sacrilege, I tell you!”

“Nicholas, you must not say such things!” Andrew chided.  “It is our law!”

“And why should I not say these things, and even question them?” he asked.  “Do you think God condones such a law?  I daresay He does not.  He values all of his children – and I think his daughters most of all.  Was it not a beautiful daughter of God who gave birth to His Holy Child?”  He paused and then added, “Andrew, do you think Mary paid Joseph a dowry to marry her?”

“I-I don't know, Nicholas.”

Nicholas smiled.  “Of course she did not. Joseph married her willingly -- to be obedient to the Angel of the Lord.  Mary was given to him by God to love and to care for – both her and the Holy Child.”

“How do you know these things, Nicholas?” Andrew asked with awe.

Nicholas smiled again.  “I was taught well by my angel mother before she went back to heaven.”

“How can you even remember her?  You were so young when she – she left you.”

Nicholas breathed deeply and slowly.  “Yes, I was young.  I was only nine years old.  My father passed away the year before that.”  Looking deeply into the eyes of  his friend, he added, “I don't think there has been a child born on this earth who was more loved or more wanted than I was, Andrew – except maybe Abraham's son, Isaac, or the prophet Samuel.  Do you remember to have read that Hannah prayed for years to have a child and when her baby Samuel was born she turned him over to the Lord?  The prophet Eli raised him in the temple.”

Andrew shook his head.  “I guess I never spent much time learning about the ancient writings like you, Nicholas.  I spend my time learning to work the earth and to prune fruit and nut trees.”

“Yes, my friend, our lives have taken different paths.  Perhaps my path was paved by my angel parents.”  Nicholas paused and then added, “Did you know, Andrew, that my mother and father prayed for thirty years to be given a child?  I suppose when they finally got me they treated me like I was a precious angel sent straight from heaven – much like Samuel.  However, they didn't turn me over to High Priest in Jerusalem to be raised.  They taught me themselves the words of God – as taught by Paul.”

“You're a good man, Nicholas,” Andrew remarked.  “I count it one of my greatest blessings to be your friend.”

“The greater blessing is mine, Andrew,” Nicholas said as he laid his hand warmly on his shoulder.

Both men remained silent for a few moments, looking deeply into the eyes of true friendship.  At last Nicholas broke the silence.

“Tell me, Andrew, who is this maiden who has stolen your heart?”

“I don't know that she's stolen my heart, Nicholas,” Andrew began.

Nicholas looked at him and winked.  “No?” he asked.

“Oh, all right, the truth is, she has stolen my heart, and that is why I am so miserable.  Her father is penniless and cannot afford a dowry.  I haven't even told her of my affections, lest it be too painful for both of us.”

“And her name is . . .?” Nicholas urged.

“Sophronia.”

“Sophronia,” Nicholas said thoughtfully.  “Doesn't she have two sisters – a volatile and rather selfish one . . .”

“That would be Berenice,” Andrew added.

“And a younger one – a beautiful angelic child who makes you think that heaven is not so very far away?”

Andrew smiled.  “Yes, and that would be Charissa.”

“Charissa,” Nicholas repeated to himself.  “Yes, I've seen them in the market place a few times,” he mused.  His gaze held a faraway, dreamy look.

After a few moments Nicholas started from his reverie and turned back to his friend.  “Forgive me, Andrew.  My thoughts wandered momentarily.  Now what were you saying?”

“Sophronia.  I fancy Sophronia.”

“Ah, yes, Sophronia – but not Charissa?”

“That is correct.  She's too young for me,” Andrew remarked.

“Good,” Nicholas replied, and then added, “I mean, it's good that you care for Sophronia so much.  Tell me, my friend, why is she without a dowry?”

“Her father, Sebastian --” Andrew began.

“The nobleman?” Nicholas asked with surprise. “He cannot provide a dowry for his daughters?”

Andrew nodded.  “Yes, and it is shameful, Nicholas.  He lost his wealth playing backgammon with evil, conniving men from Thrace and Macedonia.”

“The sins of the fathers should not be visited on the fair heads of their children, least of all, their daughters,” Nicholas lamented.

“But it is so, my friend, and I am helpless to do anything about it.  Even now I am feeling pressured to accept the dowries of Cora or Aspasia, but, Nicholas, I do not love them.  I want to marry Sophronia.”  He stifled a sob and asked, “What am I to do?”

“Let me see what I can do to help you, Andrew,” Nicholas offered.  “But for now, work your farm and sell your fruits -- and save your lira for your wedding feast!”

As Nicholas walked away from Andrew, he spied a widow sitting on the far edge of the market selling beads.  Two young children huddled next to her wearing rags for clothes.

Nicholas walked up to her and smiled warmly.  “Ah, my good woman, I see that you are selling beads.  I have looked all over the market today and have not found beads as fine as yours.  Would you mind selling me your basket full?”

The woman gasped and pulled the basket close to her.  “Surely you jest and really mean to steal my beads!”

Nicholas knelt down on the ground beside her.  “Why is it so hard to believe that I want to buy all of your wares?  If I buy only a few beads, then you will have just enough kurus to buy a crust of bread for your children and nothing more.  If I buy all of your beads, you can buy the things your family really needs -- and a few more beads to sell at the market tomorrow.”

He reached inside his robe and pulled out a small pouch.  Opening the bag he counted out twelve lira and handed them to the woman.  He then handed a few kurus to each of the children.

“But why do you need my beads?” the grateful woman asked as she poured the beads onto a piece of parchment and carefully folded it to keep the beads in place.

“I need them to make a woman very happy,” Nicholas replied.

“Is that woman me?” the widow asked.

“Perhaps,” Nicholas replied with a wink.  He turned and walked away with the parchment under his arm.  He smiled as he heard the children and their mother laugh.  He fancied them holding hands and dancing around, but he did not turn to look.  Another woman holding a small crying baby caught his attention.

“Good woman, is your child hungry?” Nicholas asked as he hurried over to her.

The gaunt woman nodded.  “Yes, he is hungry and ill.  I have not been able to weave my rugs since my child grew sick a week ago.  We have no money to pay a physician and I am in despair.  I came to the market to beg.  A few lira is all I need.”

Nicholas reached inside his robe and pulled out his leather bag.  “Then a few lira is what you shall receive.”  He placed ten lira in her trembling hand.

“Five for the physician, and five for food.  That should see you through until your little one heals and you can get back to your weaving,” he said.

“Who are you, and why are you so kind to a stranger?” the woman asked.

“Is that not what the Master taught us to do?” Nicholas asked.  “I am merely a humble follower of Him who walked in Nazareth many years ago.”

“Are you a follower of Paul, also?” she asked.

“Paul and I walk the same path.  We both follow the Holy One,” he said.   He paused and then added, “As to my name, good woman,  I am simply a fellow pilgrim on the path of life.”  He nodded to her and walked on, but then he turned back and said, “Go to the physician Dimitrios and tell him that a young stranger in the market place sent you to see him.  Dimitrios is Greek and is very skilled as a physician.  He will give your child excellent care.”

“Thank you!” the woman called after him.

Nicholas raised his hand to bid her farewell.

As Sophronia, Berenice and Charissa cleared away the supper dishes, Sophronia whispered, “Sisters, I have a plan.  We will talk of it after Papa goes out to sit among the elders tonight.”

“I can hardly wait to hear it!” Berenice whispered excitedly.  “Does it have to do with us getting a dowry?”

Sophronia nodded.  “Now shush about it!”

Berenice grinned happily and squeezed her sister's hands.  “You sweep, Sophie, and I'll finish drying the dishes.  Charissa, wipe down the table, dear!”

Turning to her father, Berenice asked, “Will you be going out with the elders tonight, Papa?”

Sebastian nodded.  “There is nothing to do here but look at you poor, dowerless girls – and feel like a miserable failure.”

“You're not a failure,” Charissa comforted him.  “It must be hard having only daughters and no son to work with you.”

“What work?” Berenice muttered under her breath.

“Shush!” Sophronia chided her.  “Be respectful!”

After Sebastian left their humble home, Sophronia gathered her sisters close to her.

“What is your plan?” Berenice asked excitedly.  “Please tell us, for I can barely stand the suspense!”

“I have been thinking,” Sophronia began, “as the oldest daughter, I have an obligation to both of you.   It is my duty to take care of you.”

“That's Papa's duty,” Berenice interjected.

“Be it his duty or not, I cannot let you go without dowries any longer.  I have devised a way so that both of you can marry – with full dowries -- to see that you marry well and not poorly.”

“How will you manage that?” Charissa asked.

Sophronia drew a deep, slow breath.  “I will sell myself into slavery.”

“No!” Charissa and Berenice cried at once.  “You cannot do that!”

“Yes, I can – and I will,” Sophronia said firmly.  “It has already been arranged.  Tomorrow I go to my new masters and collect the money.  I want you to go with me, Berenice.  It would be too hard for Charissa to see me do it.”

“It would be hard for me, too, Sophie,” Berenice said.

“So hard that you wouldn't take the money?” Sophronia asked.

Berenice fell silent with shame.  At last she said, “I do want to marry and get out of this dreary old house, Sophie, and you know how fond I am of Jason.”

She sighed and then added, “But Ambrose said the sweetest thing to me the other day, and I simply melt when I look into his deep brown eyes.  You know that, don't you, Sophie?  And then there is Hermes.  Oh, why does my heart flutter so when I'm around him?”  Berenice paused briefly and then said, “Why I'd just die if I didn't have the chance to marry just because of a silly old dowry!”

She then looked over at Sophronia's pained face and looked down at the floor, almost ashamed of herself for carrying on about the young men she fancied.   But the cloud that darkened her face passed by quickly, and she said cheerfully, “Dear sister, after I am married for awhile I will send for you.  My husband and I, whoever he is, will buy you back and you shall be free!”

Charissa stood with tears streaming down her face as she listened to Berenice prattle on like a silly goose.

At last Charissa spoke up.  “No, Sophie, I won't let you sell yourself into slavery.  I will go instead of you.   I have no prospects for marriage like you and Berenice.  You have Andrew.  I know he cares for you, dear Sophie.  Surely, he will help us.  He must be told about our piteous situation.”

“Charissa, no!” Sophronia said firmly. “He must never, never  be told and you must promise me that you will not speak to him about it.”

“But why, Sophie?  I don't understand!” Charissa cried.

“Because I cannot bear his pity,” she answered solemnly as she looked away.

Tears continued to fall from Charissa's deep brown eyes.  She could not stop crying even as she prepared herself for bed.  She pulled off her woolen socks and walked over to the ceramic basin to wash them.

“Please don't cry, little one,” Sophronia said soothingly.  “I know what I am doing.  It is my duty to take care of you now that mama is gone.”

“But we should stay together, Sophie,” Charissa cried.  “I don't want you to leave us!”

Sophronia took the socks out of Charissa's hands.  “Are you going to wash these old socks with your tears or with water?” she asked lovingly.  “I think you've cried enough to tears to fill the whole basin.”

As tenderly as a mother might do, Sophronia cradled Charissa in her arms and smoothed her long hair.  “There, there, dearest.  Do not cry.  I know this is difficult, but it is best for all of us.  I am a grown woman now and I can take care of myself.  You are young, Charissa.  You need to be home with Papa and Berenice.”

“I need to be with you!  You are like a mother to me,” Charissa sobbed.

“I know,” Sophronia said as tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face.  “I don't want to do this, but there is no other way.  Believe me, I've tried to think of everything I can.   This is the right thing to do.”

“No, it isn't, Sophie!”  Charissa cried.

“Shush, now and go to bed.  I'll wash out your socks and hang them by the hearth to dry.”

“Maybe a miracle will happen by morning,” Charissa said through her tears.

“Yes, little one, maybe a miracle will happen.”

“I'll pray for one.”

“Me, too.”

“Me, three,” Berenice chimed in.

“Give me your socks, Bernie,” Sophronia said.  “I just as well wash all three pairs while I'm at it.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” Berenice said quietly.  “You are like a mother to us and I shall miss you desperately.”

“And I, you,” Sophie answered quietly.

She hung the two pair of stockings over a wooden chair close by the embers and laid her own pair flat on the hearth stones to dry as there was no more room on the small chair.  Fearing that they might not dry by morning, she took two small pieces of kindling wood and propped up the opening of her stockings to let in more heat and air.

She then blew out the small candle and crawled into bed with her sisters.

“Will you hold me tight tonight, Sophie?” Charissa asked.  “Please, just this one last time.”

“Of course, my little one,” Sophronia said as she wiped away her own tears.

“I love you, Sophie,” Charissa whispered.

Sophronia nodded, but she could not speak.  She sobbed and held her little sister tightly in her embrace  – too tightly perhaps.  At last the three sisters fell asleep.

As Sebastian staggered home that night after drinking too much wine, he stumbled and fell.  A man stepped out of the shadows and reached down with a strong arm to pull him up.

Sebastian looked up, startled.  “What the . . ?  Who are you?” he asked with blurry eyes.  Then he said, “Nicholas?  Is that you?  What're you doin' out so late?”

“The question is, what are you doing out so late?  Don't your daughters need you at home?”

Sebastian shook his head.  “They don't need me; nobody needs me,” he said with slurred words.

“Oh, I think they do, Sebastian.  I think you need to get some good sleep – and then you need to open your eyes wide and see what you can do to help those three beautiful daughters of yours.”

“I can't do nothin', Nicholas.  I'm all used up.”

“You're used up – or your late wife's dowry is all used up?” Nicholas asked.

“How'd you know that?” he slurred as he hung his head in shame.

“Just a guess, I suppose,” Nicholas replied with a shrug.  “You know, Sebastian, I have recently become aware of a young farmer named Andrew who could use some help trimming his trees and working the land.  I hear that work as a nobleman doesn't pay very well these days – not if you're selling off your land just to stay alive.  How about if you get some sleep tonight and we'll talk in the morning?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Let me help you home,” Nicholas offered.  Placing a strong arm around his shoulders to steady him, Nicholas helped Sebastian walk the rest of the way.

Nicholas helped him inside the house and then turned and walked outside.  Once the front door closed behind him, Nicholas stood in the darkness and quietly surveyed the situation.  Smoke no longer wafted from the chimney.   He pulled his coin bag from inside his robe and noted that it still bulged with lira and gold pieces.

He mused at the miracle of this small bag.  It seemed that the more lira he gave away, the more that came back to him – from the good physician Dimitrios, from the baker, from the tailor – and so many others.  They found joy in giving their wealth to him, knowing that he would find just the right person to give it to.

Nicholas waited long enough for Sebastian to find his bed and collapse into it, then he deftly climbed onto the roof.  As he stood next to the chimney he said a silent prayer that the little bag of gold would be found by Sophronia in the morning – and not Sebastian.  With a gentle toss, the bag went down the chimney.  He heard a small thud, and then he scampered across the roof  and jumped down to the ground.

Hurriedly, he ran home and got into his own bed.  As he lay there, hands laced behind his head, he mused, “Who could have a better life than me?  I have good friends, my health, and the love and faith of my goodly parents in my heart.   And I carry the love of the Christ Child with me always.  I am blessed indeed.”  In moments he fell asleep, for there were no regrets or misgivings to keep him awake.

Charissa awoke in the cold room and shivered.  She crept out of bed and over to the hearth to make a fire.  The cold tiles beneath her feet sent chills all through her.  Quickly she sat on the small chair and  pulled on her dry woolen socks.  Reaching for Berenice's socks, she folded them together and tossed them onto their bed.

She then reached for Sophronia's stockings and started with surprise to feel that one of them was lumpy.  Fearing that it might be a mouse, she dropped the sock and muffled a small cry.  But the lump did not move and scamper away as a mouse would have done, so she pulled the sock towards her and looked inside.  There lay a small leather bag drawn shut with a cord.

Pulling at the cord, Charissa gasped as she looked inside the bag.  Golden lira glistened in the early morning light.  “It's a miracle!” she whispered excitedly and hurried over to the bed.

“Sophie!” she cried, shaking her sister awake.  “Look!”

Sophronia opened her eyes as Charissa poured golden coins on the patched quilt covering her and Berenice.

“Charissa!” she shouted.  “What is this?  Where did you get it?”

“In your stocking, Sophie!  It's the miracle we prayed for!”

“It can't be!” Sophronia said with disbelief.  “Surely, we're dreaming!”

“What are you saying?” Berenice asked as she rubbed her eyes.  She then reached out and held a coin in her fingers. “Lira?!”

“Yes!” Charissa cried.  “It's more than lira!   It's Sophie's  dowry!”

Sophronia stood wide eyed and grasped Charissa's hands.  “My dowry!  Charissa, do you think. . ?”

“Yes, yes!  Now you can marry Andrew!” Charissa shouted.

“Oh, blessed day!” Sophronia cried as tears welled in her eyes. “And after I am married, Andrew and I will save lira to see that you and Berenice have a proper dowry as well!”

“Now you don't have to be a slave, dear sister!” Charissa cried as tears streamed down her face.  “Our prayers have been answered.”

“Surely it was God who gave us this gold,” Berenice said as she fingered the lira and gold pieces.

“Or one of his angels,” Sophronia replied, as she scooped the gold into her hands and placed it back into the bag.

“What are you going to do now, Sophie?” Charissa asked.

“I'm going to pay a visit to Andrew this morning, and then we'll see what we shall see,” she answered with a glowing smile.

Charissa hugged her tightly.  “Do you want me to go with you?”

Sophronia shook her head.  “No, you and Bernie stay here and make breakfast for Papa.  I'll see you later on today.”

Sophronia dressed and hurried out of the house.

As Charissa stirred porridge for breakfast, Berenice dressed in one of her nicest dresses and headed for the door.

“Bernie, where are you going?” Charissa asked.

“To see Jason and Ambrose -- and Hermes.  I want to see which of them suits my fancy as a future husband.  I hope to be married very soon myself.”

“Well, I'm happy for you, Bernie,” Charissa said.  “I don't mind living here with Papa alone – as long as I know that you and Sophie are safe and happily married.”

Berenice walked over and hugged her.  “You are so sweet, Charissa.  We are so fortunate to have you as a sister.”  She gently kissed her on the cheek and walked out the door.

After finishing the porridge, Charissa dished it up into two bowls and awoke her father.

“Breakfast is ready, Papa,” she said kindly.  “Were you out late last night?”

Sebastian rubbed his head.  “Oh, my head hurts,” he moaned.  “I don't know how I got such a headache.”

Charissa sniffed his clothes.  “Perhaps you bumped into a wine cask, Papa, and took a bad bump on your head.”

Sebastian looked up at her with one eye cocked open.  “Yes, yes, that's what happened, Charissa.”

“Well, I'm glad you made it home safely, Papa.  That's all that matters.”

“I had a little help, Charissa,” her father replied.  “Seems like I stumbled and fell, and that nice young man, Nicholas, helped me up and walked me home.”

“Nicholas?” Charissa asked with surprise.  “Andrew's friend – the handsome one?”

Sebastian shook his head.  “Is he Andrew's friend?  I don't know.  Maybe.  Do you know him, child?”

Charissa nodded.  “Yes, I've seen him at the market place – talking to Andrew – and to others.  I've seen him about the village.”  She took a slow breath and said, “I wonder. . . .”

“You wonder what, Charissa?” Sebastian asked.

Catching herself she asked, “I wonder if the porridge needs more salt.”

Sophronia came home that afternoon with Andrew and they announced the happy news.  She and Andrew were going to marry.  Sebastian pulled Sophronia aside and asked, “How can you marry without a dowry?”

“God provided a dowry, Papa,” she said, and she showed him the bag of gold.

“Let me see it,” he asked as he reached for the bag.

“No, Papa,  it belongs to Andrew now,” and she handed the bag of gold and lira to Andrew.

“Sebastian, I would like permission to marry your daughter,” Andrew said, as he firmly grasped the bag of gold.

Sebastian rubbed his fingers together, “Without a proper dowry, I don't see how that would be possible,” he remarked.

“This gold is sufficient for a dowry, Sebastian,” Andrew replied.  He paused and then added, “Sir, I could use your work on my farm -- trimming the fruit trees and tending to the produce.  It is good work, steady work.”

“Take it, Papa!” Charissa urged him.

“It doesn't sound very easy,” Sebastian complained.

“It's better than starving, Papa,” Sophronia explained.

“I'll think about it,” Sebastian replied.

A month later Andrew and Sophronia married.  It was a wonderful ceremony, complete with a sumptuous feast.  Nicholas came to congratulate the happy couple, and Andrew insisted that he sit at the family table with his family and Sophronia's family.

Nicholas walked over to an empty chair by Charissa, and asked,

“Is this chair taken?”

“No,” Charissa answered and blushed as she said it.  “I would be delighted to have you sit by me.”

“Your sister is very beautiful,” Nicholas said with admiration.  “She and Andrew look so happy.”

Charissa nodded.  “Today is a miracle for us,” she whispered to him.

“It is?” Nicholas asked.  “I like miracles.  Won't you tell me about it?”

“The dowry money,” she began.  “We didn't have it, and, well, it came to us. . . just like that,” she said as she snapped her fingers.   “It was a miracle.”

“Just like that?” Nicholas asked, snapping his fingers.  He winked and smiled at her.

Charissa smiled back and blushed.  “Well, maybe not quite just like that,” she replied as she snapped her fingers.  “You see, Nicholas, we prayed for a miracle – all three of us sisters -- and I think I prayed hardest of all  because my dear Sophie was going to sell herself into slavery --”

“What?!” Nicholas asked with shock and surprise.

“Yes, slavery,” Charissa continued, taken aback by his changed countenance, “to provide dowries for Bernie and myself.”

Nicholas' hand gripped the wooden chair and his knuckles turned white.  “Go on, Charissa, you were saying . . .” he said, struggling to control the tone of his voice.

“But I begged her not to do it, that I would sell myself into slavery instead. . .”

Nicholas reached over and grabbed her hand.  “Sweet Charissa, no!   Don't ever think of that as a solution!  Come and see me if you have worries about – about anything -- please.”

Charissa blushed and looked down at his large hand holding her own.

“I'm sorry for acting so rashly, Charissa,” he said, as he pulled his hand away from hers.  “Please forgive me, but I beg of you to continue with your story.”

“I - I was saying,” she stammered, “that God answered our prayers, and provided Sophie with a dowry.  And now she and Andrew are married – and Papa is working for Andrew.  So we have really been blessed with two miracles, not just one.”

Nicholas smiled warmly.

“Does that make you happy, Nicholas?” Charissa asked.

“Yes, it does,” he replied.  “I'm so thankful that I – that you shared the news of your miracle with me.  It makes me very, very happy, Charissa.”

Not long after the wedding, Berenice and Charissa went to the market to buy vegetables.  They saw Sophronia helping Andrew with his fruit stand and hurried over to them.  Taking her by the arm, Berenice pulled Sophronia aside.

“Dear sister,” Berenice began, “I have decided that Jason is the one I want to marry.  Can you and Andrew see your way clear to give me a dowry now?” she asked.

Sophronia shook her head.  “It will be soon, dear sister, but not just yet,” Sophronia replied.  “I promise, we will get you the lira just as soon as we can.”

Berenice's face clouded over with disappointment.  “But I want to marry Jason now,” she pouted.

“I know, I know, Bernie, but we just don't have the extra lira.  There are so many expenses – and now we have to pay Papa a wage as well.”

Berenice pulled away from her and frowned.  “So, this is how it is, Sophie.  You're happily married and that's all you care about!  You don't even care about me – or, or Charissa anymore!”

Sophronia touched Berenice on the arm.  “Of course I care about you and Charissa.  I just don't have the means to help you right now.”

“You're just being selfish!” Berenice shouted and stormed off.

Charissa walked over and hugged Sophronia.  “I'm so sorry, dear sister.  Bernie just hasn't been herself since you got married.  She has to do a lot more work around the house and I'm afraid she doesn't like it very much.”

Sophronia nodded, but tears clouded her eyes.

“Good bye, Sophie,” Charissa said as she kissed her on the cheek.  “Come by for supper when you can.”  Hurriedly, she ran to catch up with Berenice.

From across the way, and unnoticed by all, Nicholas watched the exchange between the three sisters.  He said not a word, but his hand moved to touch the pouch just inside his robe.

That night as Berenice and Charissa washed out their stockings and lay them by the hearth, Charissa said another little prayer -- and asked God for another miracle.

“Everything will work out for the best, Bernie,” Charissa said cheerfully.  “You just wait and see.”

Tears flowed down Berenice's cheeks.  “I don't want to sound selfish, Charissa, but I do so want to be married and to get away from this old house.  Can you understand that?”

Charissa nodded.  “Yes, Bernie, I do.”

“I don't think you do,” she retorted.  “You're just a child, but I am to be twenty next month.  I am so old!”

“No, dearest, you're not old, but you are beautiful – and Jason is a fortunate man to marry you,” Charissa said soothingly.

“Not without a dowry!” Berenice wailed and threw herself onto the bed, crying hot, angry tears.

Charissa shook her head and walked over to the small candle.  “It is time to sleep, Bernie,” she said.  “Tomorrow will be a better day.”  She looked up to heaven and whispered another prayer then blew out the candle.

In the morning Charissa awoke at the first ray of dawn.  She peered over at the flat stockings lying on the hearth.

“I had so hoped for a miracle,” she sighed as she walked across the floor to pull on her woolen stockings.  And then she saw it – a small leather bag lying on the floor by the hearth.

She held her breath and prayed silently, “Oh, please, dear Lord, let it be Bernie's dowry!”

She bent down to pick up the bag.  As soon as she touched it she knew that it was filled with gold.  She fell to her knees and gave a prayer of thanks for one more miracle in their lives.

As she arose, Berenice awoke and looked at her.  “What is in your hands, Charissa?” she asked with a trembling voice.

“Your dowry, dear sister,” Charissa whispered reverently and walked over to the bed, holding the bag out to her.

“It's a miracle!” Berenice cried happily as she grabbed the bag and hastily opened it.  “Oh, Charissa, just look at this gold!  Now Jason and I can marry!”

Just then Sebastian awoke and walked over to his girls.

“What's this I hear about gold?” he asked.

“It's mine, Papa,” Berenice answered firmly as she held the small bag to her breast.  “Charissa and I prayed for it.  It's my dowry.”

“I think I ought to have some say about how that bag of gold is used,” Sebastian muttered as he reached for the bag of gold.

“Indeed, you should,” Berenice said firmly.  “Say yes when Jason asks for my hand in marriage.”

Sebastian frowned, but Charissa and Berenice burst into laughter and hugged each other.

“Next, it will be your turn, little one!” Berenice said warmly.  “Whoever our angel is knows that you, too, need a dowry.”

Jason proposed to Berenice that very afternoon, and, Sebastian, the poor man, said yes and gave his blessing to the marriage.  What else could he do?  Berenice held the small bag so close to her heart that he couldn't even catch a glimpse of the gold inside.  She only parted with the bag once it found a new home, safely within Jason's firm grasp.

Sebastian worked hard on Andrew's farm during the day, and Charissa kept a lovely home for both of them.  Each night when he returned from work, she had a warm supper waiting on the table.    Soon he felt life changing for him – and prosperity returning.  He did not drink wine anymore – not even at Berenice's and Jason's wedding.  He stayed at home after work and fixed the leaking roof and mended the broken dish cupboard.  Sebastian and his three daughters were genuinely happy for the first time since the girls' mother passed away.

One day, not long after Berenice's wedding, Charissa walked through the market place to buy fruits and vegetables for supper.  She spied Nicholas as he spoke with some young children wearing tattered clothing.  She watched with a smile as he reached into his robe and pulled out something to give to each eager little child.

Charissa walked over to him with her basket of vegetables on her arm.

“Greetings to you, Nicholas,” she said with a bright smile and a courteous bow.

“What a pleasure it is to speak to such a lovely young lady on such a fine day,” Nicholas said as he bowed to her.

“Thank you,” Charissa replied.   She paused and then asked, “I wonder, Nicholas, if we might walk together for a few minutes as we look at the wares in the market place.”

“Certainly,” Nicholas said with an obvious grin.  “It is always a delight to be with you, Charissa.”

As they walked along, Nicholas asked, “Would you like my help with choosing the best figs in the market place?  I know a fellow whose figs exceed all the others.”

“Would those be Andrew's figs?” Charissa asked with a smile.

“They would be,” Nicholas replied.

Charissa smiled and lightly touched his arm.  “I'm sure Andrew and Sophie appreciate your support in buying their fruits and vegetables,” she said.

Nicholas glanced down at her hand touching his arm.

Charissa quickly moved her hand away and grasped her vegetable basket with both hands.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Charissa said, “Nicholas, I want to talk with you about something.  Can we sit over by that tree?”

Nicholas nodded as they walked over to the place.  He took off his cloak and laid it on the ground for her to sit on.

Charissa smiled her appreciation and sat down.  Taking a slow breath, she then began.  “Nicholas, an angel visited our home not too long ago.  Actually, he visited us twice.”

“An angel visited you? -- Twice, you say?  Well, that is wonderful news, Charissa,” Nicholas answered warmly.  “You must feel very blessed indeed.”

“Indeed, we do,” Charissa replied.

Silence passed between them again as Nicholas gazed at the people milling around the market  place.  At length he turned to her  and asked, “I am curious, Charissa, how do you know it was an angel that visited you, and not just an intruder – or a helpful neighbor?”

“Because he flew up to our roof top and tossed a bag of gold down our  chimney,” Charissa answered matter-of-factly.  “I think only an angel could do that, Nicholas.  Don't you?”

Nicholas slowly nodded his head.  “Yes, yes, I see what you are saying, Charissa.  That does sound like something an angel would do – and not just a kindly neighbor, and definitely not an intruder.”  He paused and asked, “By the way, did you happen to see this angel?”

“No,” Charissa said with a shake of her pretty head, which set her long curls swaying.  “I don't think he wanted to be seen.”

“He?” Nicholas asked with mock surprise.  “Well, if you didn't actually see the angel, how do you know it was a boy angel?  It could just as easily have been a girl angel, I would think.  In fact, I hear that girl angels are even busier doing good deeds than are boy angels.”

Charissa laughed with delight.  “Oh, Nicholas, I'm pretty sure it was a boy angel.  A very handsome boy angel.”

“Ah,” Nicholas remarked.  “You sound very confident in your opinions for such a young person.  How old are you, Charissa?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, are you?  Does that mean that you'll be getting married soon – like your sisters?”

Charissa paused and looked over at him.  The laughter faded from her eyes and she looked very serious, almost sad as she shook her head.  “No, Nicholas, I don't have plans to marry.”

“And why not?  You're certainly pretty enough to marry any man of your choosing – here in Lycia or Macedonia or even Thrace.”

“Thank you, Nicholas,” Charissa answered.  She paused before continuing and then she said, “I don't think I'll be getting married anytime soon because the one I desire to marry may not want to marry me.”

“Is that so?”  Nicholas remarked.  “Tell me who he is and I'll speak with him.”

“Well, you might have a difficult time talking with him about this situation, Nicholas.  You see, he's an angel.”

Nicholas started with surprise.  “An angel?” he asked.

Charissa nodded.  “Yes.  He's the one who flies up to our roof top and drops gold down our chimney, and makes my sisters happier than they've ever been in their lives.  I don't think I could ever get married, Nicholas, unless it were to that angel.”

Nicholas drew a slow breath and looked away from her.  “I don't know if that angel is ready to get married, Charissa,” he answered quietly.

Charissa nodded.  “I thought so, and that's why I'm not ready to get married, Nicholas.  I think I'd rather wait and see if that angel ever decides to marry – and if he does, to see if he'd choose me for his bride.”

Nicholas smiled and turned to gaze at her again. “You know, Charissa, I think if that angel ever does decide to get married, he would most definitely choose you to be his bride.”

“You think so?” Charissa asked as a smile graced her face.

“Yes, I think so,” Nicholas replied, and he leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead.  “I definitely think so.”

“Then I'll wait for him,” she answered.

“You may not have to wait very long, my dear Charissa,” Nicholas said as he winked at her.  “Not very long at all.”

PACKAGE TIED UP WITH A BEAU

Glancing up at the Christmas catalog, I gazed over at Kat, my big sister.  She was beautiful – tall, slender and sophisticated – too much so in fact for our small rural town.  Now, if she lived in New York, Chicago, or LA, she'd probably be happily married by now, and not single and working as a sales associate for a department store.

I loved Kat and wanted her to be happy more than anything else in the world.  And all sixteen years of me knew that if she had a boyfriend, a special beau, that she'd be happy.  Unfortunately, when   girl is 5'11” tall and the average height for a man in your town is 5'8” then there's a problem.  Daily she endured comments at work like, “You sure are tall,” and “Are your parents basketball players?”  The worst was, “Do you drink a lot of milk?”

Pure model material, Kat looked as out of place in our rural town as Cordon Bleu and rice pilaf on an Idaho farmer's dinner plate.  For a brief time Kat lived in LA, but the fast pace and lifestyle proved unsettling.  She came back home.  In her heart, she loved baking cookies, sewing and refinishing furniture.  She adored children and wanted to marry, but the pickings were slim in our town.

As I thumbed through the catalog, I searched for a special Christmas present for Kat.  Pausing to gaze at a male model in his velour bathrobe, I wondered if he was for sale.

“Hey, Callie,” Kat asked as she walked into the living room, “I was just wondering, what do you want for Christmas?”

I shrugged.  “I dunno.  I haven't really thought much about it.”

“The way you're ogling over that catalog, you must have found something pretty special,” she said as she walked over to me.

Glancing over my shoulder, she asked, “You want a guy's bathrobe?”

“No, I want the guy,” I answered.

“Wouldn't Brian be jealous?”

“Brian wouldn't be jealous if I showed up wearing an engagement ring from another guy,” I answered.  “How about you?  Does this guy look interesting?”

Kat slowly scrutinized the man from his suave facial expression to his bare toes and then she shook her head.  “Nah,  He's too short, too arrogant and too rich.”

“How can you tell that simply by looking at this picture?” I asked.

“I can tell,” she answered simply.

Shaking my head, I turned the page.

Kat sat down on the couch. “If you think of anything you want, let me know.”.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.  “Whatever you choose will be terrific, Kat.”

That evening when Brian came over I asked him how many tall guys he knew.

“Only me,” Brian answered.  At 5'9” he was the tallest single guy either of us knew.

I told him that I wanted to find a tall, reasonably handsome man for Kat to date.

“Shouldn't you let Kat find her own boyfriend,” Brian asked.

“If Kat could find a tall, handsome guy to date, she would have done so by now,” I answered.  “As her little sister, it is my duty to help her find happiness and bliss by lining her up with the perfect guy for Christmas.”

Brian rolled his eyes and muttered, “Oh, brother,” and reached for a handful of popcorn from the bowl I held on my lap.

I munched on some popcorn, deep in thought.  Finally, I said, “There has to be somebody in this town who is perfect for Kat.”

“If there is,” Brian replied, “trust me,  Kat will find him.”

Over the next few days, I developed a plan for finding a beau for Kat.  It was now the first of December and my goal was to find “Mr. Right” by Christmas Eve.  With no time to waste, I needed some bait.   “What do all guys have in common?” I asked Brian on the phone.

“Food.”

“Perfect!” I crooned.  “What kind of food?”

“Junk food – sweet, salty, greasy.  Like that.”

“Not so perfect, but honest,” I replied.

Looking through our cupboards and fridge, I called Brian back.  “Pick your poison,” I asked.  “Processed cheese, popcorn or soda pop?”

Brian paused and then said, “If those are my only choices, I'd go for popcorn,” he said, “but I'd rather have pizza.”

“Popcorn it is!” I shouted and slammed down the phone.

I then went to my computer and created a questionnaire.  The top line read:  ATTENTION:  POPCORN LOVERS!  It then asked for a person's name, age, height, marital status and phone number.  I called Brian and asked him to come over.  As he looked over the questionnaire, he asked, “What does this questionnaire have to do with popcorn?”

“Nothing,” I answered, “but it has everything to do with finding a boyfriend for Kat.   If a guy writes that he's younger than twenty-four, shorter than 5'11” or married, or if I can't pronounce his name, then I throw out his questionnaire.”

“Do the guys get free popcorn for filling out the questionnaire?” he asked.

“Of course not, but they do get a chance to meet Kat.”

“What if they don't want to meet Kat, but they just want free popcorn?” Brian wondered.

“They can't have it.  There is no free popcorn, Brian.”

“Then why do you have attention popcorn lovers on the top of the questionnaire?”

“To get their attention, silly,” I replied, feeling more than a little irritated at his line of questioning.

“Isn't that false advertising, Callie?” Brian asked.

“Of course not.  I mean, I'll be standing by the popcorn machine at a video store, and it will seem like they'll be getting free popcorn, but that's not the point.”

“What is the point, Callie?”

“TO MEET KAT!” I screamed.

“Callie, I gotta go.  Thanks for. . . .  Never mind.  Bye.”  And Brian walked out the door.

“What a goof ball!” I muttered as I walked back to my computer to print the questionnaire in a large size font.  I also added the words at the bottom:  FREE POPCORN.

The next day I went to The Groovie Movie store in the mall and stood by the popcorn machine.  As  I started to hand out my questionnaires, the manager came over and asked what I was doing.  I told him I was handing out a questionnaire for a special project I was involved in.  The manager looked over the questionnaire and asked where the free popcorn was.  I told him it was an advertising gimmick and he said, “Not in my store.  This popcorn is not free.”  Then he asked me to leave.  Some managers just have no imagination.

After I tried several other video stores with the same results, I decided I'd better actually have popcorn to hand out.  I ended up spending my precious Christmas savings on a box of microwave popcorn and standing outside in the freezing cold at our local Wal-Mart store.  I stood close by the Salvation Army Santa Claus, hoping to attract more people that way.  The Santa was not very jolly and  told me to go get my own beat if I wanted to sell popcorn for the Girl Scouts.

I told him that not only was I not a Girl Scout, but that my popcorn was not for sale.  It was a gift if people would fill out my questionnaire.  He looked at my paper and suggested that I sell cookies instead.  I moved ten feet away from him.

After an hour, I'd convinced three guys to fill out my form.  Sneaking a peek at their answers, I knew I needed a different approach.  One guy called himself Mickey Mouse, another said his name was John Doe and listed his marital status as Sometimes; a third guy left the name blank, but put his age as 6 and his phone number as 911.  I packed up and went home.

As I drove home, I called Brian on my cell phone and told him that all the guys in this town were jerks.  He said that he knew it and that I was lucky to find the one guy  who wasn't – and that if I wanted him to date Kat instead of me that he was willing.  I hung up on him.

The next day I tried to return the box of microwave popcorn to the grocery store, but they wouldn't take it back.  I told the guy at the service desk that he wasn't providing very good service to me because the box was still in very good condition and that I had only used three of the twenty four boxes.  I patiently explained that they could sell the popcorn at a discount and that I was willing to take three bucks less than what I had paid for it.  He simply looked past me and said, “Next.”

I had no choice but to take my box of popcorn home and wrap it up as my present to Kat.  I had no more money and no more time.  And, sadly, I had no boyfriend for my dear sister.  And I wasn't even sure that Brian would come around for awhile.  I resigned myself to the fact that it was going to be a blue Christmas for both Kat and I.  I dug through my old CDs and found a copy of Elvis singing “Blue Christmas” to console us through the holidays.

On Christmas Eve Kat and I baked cookies for a special program with our parents that night.  Sprinkling red crystals on the cookies I confessed to Kat that I hadn't been able to find her the perfect gift I'd wanted – and that the gift I did have could not be returned.

“Whatever you give me will be wonderful,” Kat replied with a loving smile.

That made me feel even worse because I really wanted to give her a fabulous gift – and not a partially used box of microwave popcorn.  And to top it off, Brian came back – which was good for me, but poor Kat still didn't have a boyfriend.  Life just wasn't fair.

As I switched the red sprinkles to green ones, Kat said, “Callie, I placed a special order on a gift for you, but it's Christmas Eve and it still hasn't come.  I'm so sorry.  I don't have anything else to give you for your present tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, Kat!” I cried, and hurried over to hug her.  “You don't have to give me a thing!  You are such a special sister that just having you around is more than I could ever ask for!  You help me with my makeup and my hair -- and you get the stains out of my clothes and fix my ripped shirts.  I'm the one who should have special ordered a fantabulous gift for you – not the other way around!”

Just then a knock sounded at the door.  Kat smiled at me and said, “Thanks, Callie.  I'll get the door while you finishing sprinkling the cookies.”

When Kat opened the door, she found a shivering, snow-covered delivery man holding a small cardboard box and a clipboard out to her.  “K-Katherine B-Brown?” he asked with chattering teeth.

“You must be freezing!” Kat exclaimed as she signed the clipboard.

“Al-m-most,” he replied with a teeth-chattering grin.

“Come in, won't you – and warm up for a minute or two?  I can get you a warm cup of cocoa.”

“Th-thanks, but I c-can't,” the man replied.  “It's C-Christmas Eve and I still have a truck half full of packages to deliver.”

I stood by the kitchen doorway and watched Kat and the man talking.  He was at least six feet tall, and even though his nose was a red as Rudolph's, his face was pleasant and he smiled even though he was obviously very cold.

“Well, here's your package, Miss,” the man said as he held out the box to her.

As Kat reached for the package, his glove stuck to it, and she pulled it off his hand.  Both she and the man stared at the glove frozen to the box and then they both burst out laughing.

“I'd say it's too cold to keep working,” Kat remarked.  “Please come in for some hot cocoa – at least until your glove thaws off my package.”

The man smiled warmly and nodded.  “Okay, but just for a few minutes.”

As he followed Kat into the kitchen, he remarked.  “It smells like Christmas cookies baking!  I haven't had fresh cookies since I went home for Christmas break last year!”

“Where's home?” Kat asked.

“Kansas.  I'm going to school here and  working as an express delivery man between semesters.”

Kat handed him some hot cocoa after he'd sat down at the snack counter.  As he sipped it, he smiled gratefully.  “I think you just saved my life, Miss Brown.”  He paused and then asked, “It is Miss, isn't it?”

Kat nodded.

“Hi, I'm Dan, and this is the best cocoa I've ever tasted in my life.”

“Try dunking a cookie in it,” Kat suggested.  “It's even better that way.”

Dan nodded, and dipped a fresh cookie into the steaming mug.  As he bit off the moist cookie he grinned.  “You're right.  I could get used to this.”

He finished the cookie and then stood up.  “I really have to get going on my route.  Do you think my glove has thawed yet?”

Kat smiled and walked over to the table where the package and glove lay.  “Not quite.  Can you stay a little longer and I'll toss your glove in the dryer?”

“Don't I wish!” Dan grinned.  “Thanks, but I really do have to go.”

Kat nodded and handed him his glove.  “Well, thanks for the package.”

“Thanks for the cookies and cocoa.”

Dan took the glove and replaced it on his hand.  “Well, I should be going.”

“Yes.  I'm sure you have to get those packages out – and then you probably have a party or something to go to tonight,” Kat said, pausing for a response.

“No, actually, I don't have any plans for tonight.  I mean, I have my dog to feed – and, of course I have to put a plate of cookies out for Santa and carrots for his reindeer, but other than that, no, I don't have any plans.”  He paused and gazed at her pretty face.

“You could come back here if you wanted,” Kat offered.  “We're getting together, that is Callie and me and our parents.  We're singing some carols – and reading the Christmas story and stuff like that.  And, of course, we have to fill up Santa's plate with cookies, too.  We leave celery, not carrots, for the reindeer.  It's not very exciting, but we do have plenty of cocoa and cookies to share.”

“I'd love to come,” Dan quickly replied.  “Let me finish my deliveries, go home and shower, and then I'll be back.  Sure it's no trouble?”

“I'm sure,” Kat replied warmly, and then with a sudden thought, she turned and opened a cupboard.  She reached in and brought out a thermos jug.  “Let me give you some hot cocoa for the rest of your deliveries.  That way you won't freeze to death before you make it  back.”

She poured cocoa into the thermos and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said warmly as he placed his hands over hers before he took the thermos.  “I look forward to seeing you again tonight.”

Kat walked him to the door and stood by it as he hurried through the storm and climbed into his truck.  He waved heartily to her as he drove off.

Slowly, Kat closed the door, still glowing and smiling.

I walked up to her and said, “Kat, my present to you just came.”

“What?” Kat asked with surprise.  “That package was for you, not for me.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but it looks like it a package tied up with a beau.”

Kat looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then she laughed.  “So it was, Callie, so it was.”

“And that's the present I most wanted to give you this Christmas, Kat,” I replied.

Kat nodded  and said, “Thank you, Callie.”  As she headed upstairs, she remarked, “I think I'll just go freshen up a bit – and maybe try on that new outfit I've been saving for a special occasion.”

I grinned and answered, “Go right ahead.  I think I'll call Brian and pop some popcorn for tonight.  We have plenty.”

ON CHRIST’S ERRAND

Sarah parted the drapes in her living room and looked out at the bleak, snow-covered fields at her neighbor’s farm.  “December,” she clucked “and almost Christmas, too.”

She sighed and slumped down onto the worn couch.  “Last year Katie lived nearby with her husband and kids.  Now she's moved to New York – and Harold, rest his soul, is gone, too.”

She pulled at a loose thread on a throw pillow as she continued to gaze out the window.  “It's not so bad, I suppose.  The minister looks in on me now and then, and so do the Snyders and the Browns.  It's a fine arrangement for eleven months out of the year, but during December,” she sighed, “well, I just miss children around at Christmas time.”

The phone rang and startled  Sarah.  Slowly, she rose from the couch and  walked into the kitchen.  She answered the phone on the seventh ring.

“Hello?” Sarah answered, pausing to catch her breath.

“Mom, are you all right?” the caller asked.  “I was afraid you’d fallen or something.  It took so long for you to answer.”

“Katie, is that you?” Sarah asked brightly.  “Calling all the way from New York?”

“Yes, it’s me.  Mom, I’m worried about you.  Rob is, too.  We’ve been talking about it and we want you to come to New York for Christmas -- and for a few weeks after, too.”

Sarah sat down on padded kitchen chair by the phone.  “That’s awfully nice of you, sweetie, but New York is so far away.  I don’t think I could travel that far alone.  Besides, I don’t want to interrupt your Christmas.  You need to spend time with Rob and the kids.  You don’t need an old lady interrupting your festivities.”

“Mom, we want you to come.  It’s not safe for you to be in that old place alone.”

“What’s not safe about it, dear?   It’s been safe enough for forty-two years.  What makes it not safe now, Katie?”

“You’re older now, Mom.  Please say you’ll come.”

Sarah moved the receiver away from her face and cradled it in her lap.  Tears welled in her eyes.

“Mom?”  A voice called from the phone.  “Mom, are you all right?”

Sarah slowly moved the receiver back to her ear.  “Yes, dear, I'm fine.  It’s just such a sudden idea.  I need to think about it.”

“Well, don’t think too long about it.  We’ve ordered the tickets already.  We want you to fly out on Saturday.”

“No, Katie,” Sarah cried.  “I don’t – I mean, thank you, but, it’s all so sudden.  Let me think about it some and I’ll call you back, dear.”

“Mom?” Katie called to her as Sarah hung up the phone.

Sarah slowly walked to the coat closet and took out her long, gray army coat.  Harold bought it for her years ago, but she’d never much cared for it.  He insisted that warmth and comfort trumped beauty and that she ought to wear it regardless of what it looked like.  Right now Sarah found great comfort in wrapping the old, worn coat around her thin body.

She reached for her knit cap and gloves then moved towards the front door.  “A walk right now seems like a good idea,” she mused aloud.  “Maybe the chilled air will clear my thinking.”

The phone rang and Sarah gazed briefly at it as she pulled on her hat.  “Whoever it is will call back,” she mused and closed the front door behind her.

With no specific plans in mind, Sarah headed out to the old county road in front of her place.  Heavy now drifts line the road and blocked her house from view.  That suited her just fine.  She simply needed to get out of the house and away from all of the haunting memories of Christmases past -- Christmases that would never return.

Slowly, she made her way down the road, barely aware of her surroundings.  Onward she trudged as time and the snow drifts seemed to blend together into one unrecognizable blur.              Suddenly, the shouting of children’s voices broke into her reverie.  She started with surprise when she realized that she’d walked to the elementary school three miles down the road.

Not daring to turn around and walk back home without first  warming herself inside the building, she headed for the school.  Just as she turned into the school yard, a young boy ran towards her.  He looked down as he ran away from a group of boys, shouting, “I hate you!  I hate you!”

Before Sarah could move out of his way, he plowed into her, knocking her into the snow and landed on top of her.  The startled boy stared into her shocked face.  For a moment neither could speak, then Sarah started laughing.  “Fancy running into you, my boy – or was it the other way around?”

“I-I didn’t see you,” the boy stammered as he rolled off her and stood up.  “Can I help you up?” he asked, as he held out a red, half-frozen hand to her.

“I hope so,” Sarah said with a chuckle.  “If you can’t, just cover with me snow and pretend I’m a snow woman.”  She reached her hand out and, with him pulling and her pushing, she managed to stand up.  “My, that was invigorating,” she said to him.  “I haven’t played in the snows for years – not since my kiddies were your age.”

“Did I hurt you?” the boy asked.

“No, I don’t think so, except for my pride.  Women my age don't usually play in the snow.”  She glanced around and said, “I hope my neighbors didn't see me.”  She brushed the snow off her old army coat and looked down at the small boy shivering at her side.  “My  goodness, young man, where are your mittens and boots?  Do you want to catch your death of cold?”

The boy looked down.  “I don’t got any,” he mumbled, kicking at the snow.

“I don’t have any,” Sarah corrected him.

“You don't got none either?” he asked.  Then carefully looking her over, he said, “Sure you do.  And you got a warm coat, too.  Wish my mama had one.”  He paused, then added, “I gotta go.  The bell's gonna ring.”

“Wait,” Sarah said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.  “What room is your classroom?”

“Room Seventeen.  Miss Barton’s class.  Why?”

“Why?  Because I was just on my way there to help listen to students read.  Would you mind showing me the way?”

“I didn’t know we had people come help us read,” the boy said.  “When did that start?”

“Just today.  Right now,” Sarah added.  “What is your name?”

“Guillermo,” the boy answered.  “It’s Spanish.  Nobody can say it right.”

“It’s a fine name,” Sarah answered.  “I’m sure your mother and father love you very much to give you such a fine Spanish name.”

“Yeah?” Guillermo asked happily.  “You think so?”

“Certainly,” Sarah replied as she took his cold hand into her own.  “Mothers are very careful as to what they name their children, especially when they love them so much.”

“Yeah,” the boy beamed.  “Especially then.”

Proudly Guillermo walked with Sarah into his classroom.

“Miss Barton,” he announced proudly, “our new reading teacher is here.  Can I be first?”

Miss Barton looked over her glasses at Sarah.  “Excuse me?” she asked curtly.

Sarah looked directly at Miss Barton and smiled.  “Yes, I’m here to help with reading twice a week.  Didn’t the  principal let you know?  I was told everything was arranged.  Well, here I am, so why don't go to the corner with Guillermo and read for a few minutes, and then I can help the next student.  Would that be all right with you, Miss Barton?”

Miss Barton smiled awkwardly, “Certainly.  Uh, I didn’t catch your name, Mrs. --”

“White.  Sarah White.”

“Come on!” Guillermo cried as he pulled Sarah to his desk.  “Let’s start with this book, okay?”  Guillermo pulled out the book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

“Can you read this book, Guillermo?” she asked with surprise.

“Not very well, but if you help me, I know I can learn to read it real good,” he grinned.

He then carried his chair over to the corner while all of the children watched with surprise and envy.  Guillermo then brought over another chair for Sarah.

“Why thank you, Guillermo,” Sarah said loudly enough for the whole class to hear.  “You are such a thoughtful gentleman.”  Guillermo beamed at the compliment.

Suddenly all of the hands of the children shot into the air, “Miss Barton, can I be next?” each child called out eagerly.

“You’ll have to take turns, children,” Miss Barton responded.  “Now open your workbooks while Mrs. White reads with Guillermo.”

As Guillermo painstakingly read the words of the book, Sarah placed her hand on his shoulder and gently corrected him only when he needed it.  He beamed up at her when he finished each page.

“You’re reading very well, Guillermo,” she said kindly when he finished the chapter.

“Can I read another chapter?” he pleaded.

“The other children need a turn too,” she replied,  “but maybe you and I could read during the  next recess.  It’s much too cold to be outside without gloves.”

Guillermo nodded eagerly, and said, “Yes, it’s much too cold.  Reading inside will be much better for my hands.”

Sarah smiled at him and patted him on the back.  “Go to your seat now, dear.”  In an instant, another child pulled her chair next to Sarah.  “I’m Amber and I love to read.”

“Well, Amber, I’d love to hear you read.  Start when you’re ready.”  Sarah looked over at Guillermo who stared longingly back at her.  “I’ll see you at recess,” she whispered to him.

By the time the lunch bell rang, more than half the class read to Sarah.  Guillermo pushed past his classmates to the back of the room as they hurried off to the lunchroom.  Miss Barton followed behind him.

“Can we keep reading, Mrs. White?” Guillermo asked eagerly.

“I’m sure Mrs. White is tired, Guillermo,” Miss Barton replied.  “Besides, she needs to have lunch now.  Go on to the lunchroom,” she ordered.

Guillermo looked at Mrs. White, crestfallen.

“I told Guillermo I’d read with him during recess, Miss Barton – that is, if you don’t mind,” Sarah said kindly.

Guillermo looked hopefully at his teacher and pleaded, “Please don’t mind, Miss Barton.  I really want to read with Mrs. White.  I’d rather read with her than do anything!”

Miss Barton sighed.  “Very well.  I need to go to the office and check on your credentials, Mrs. White.  I’ll see you after lunch.”

Sarah smiled, feeling very much like a guilty, truant school girl.  She knew that no credentials or records awaited Miss Barton at the principal's office.  Soon Miss Barton would return to the room, scornful and frowning, and then she, Sarah White, would get -- oh, what did her grandchildren say?  Ah yes,   busted.  That's what she would get.  Busted.  But until then she would listen to Guillermo read and enjoy every minute it.

The recess bell rang and the school children bustled back into Room Seventeen following lunch.  Sarah and Guillermo not only read three chapters of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but they enjoyed a  delightful lunch of peanut butter crackers which Sarah found stashed in the pocket of her old army coat.

Miss Barton addressed Sarah from the front of the classroom.  “Mrs. White, may I please  have a word with you?” She paused and then added,  “Guillermo, please return to your seat.”

Busted, Sarah thought as she patted Guillermo on the arm and moved slowly to the front of the class.

“Class, get out your reading  books,” Miss Barton ordered the students.  Turning to Sarah, she said, .  Mrs. White, I'd like to speak with you in the hall if I may.”

“Certainly,” Sarah replied as she smiled reassuringly at Guillermo.

Once in the hall, Miss Barton got straight to the point.  “Mrs. White, there were no credentials in the office, and no one has heard of you.  Just what, exactly, are you doing in my classroom?”

“Listening to your students read, Miss Barton, and giving a healthy dose of self esteem to Guillermo and your other students.  Is that so bad?”

Miss Barton drew a quick breath and asked, “But why?  Why did you come?”

“It’s Christmas, Miss Barton.  My own children and grandchildren live very far away, and  I miss them.”  Sarah paused and then added, “I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided that I’d like to adopt your class for Christmas – Guillermo especially.  May I?  May I come every day and listen to your children read?  It will be my gift to them.”

“This is most irregular,” Miss Barton protested.  “No one has ever asked to do this before.”

“No, I suppose no one has, but I'd like to do it.  May I please?”

Miss Barton fussed and looked away.  “It's not that I mind so much – and I've never seen Guillermo so happy. . .”

“But?” Sarah pressed.

“But you don't have any credentials.”

“No, unless a good, grandmotherly listening ear  counts as credentials.”

Miss Barton laughed.  “Well, if it doesn't, it should.”

“May I come then?  May I do this for your class, Miss Barton?”

“Yes, of course, you may, but you have to fill out the  paperwork in the office first.”  She paused, and then added, “We have to make sure you’re not a criminal or something like that.  You know, mandatory regulations.”

“I know, Miss Barton.  I promise I won’t kidnap anybody, but I might show up at Guillermo's house on Christmas morning with a pile of presents – and some warm mittens for him and his family.”

“I’ll drive you there myself, Mrs. White,” Miss Barton said kindly.  She paused and added, “Can you find your way to the office?”

Sarah nodded, and Miss Barton returned to her classroom.

The paperwork took longer than she had expected, so Sarah didn't return to the classroom until school dismissed for the day.

As she walked into Room Seventeen to retrieve her coat, Guillermo met her at the door.

“Are you in big trouble, Mrs. White?” he asked.

Sarah laughed.  “No, Guillermo, I am not.”

“Will you be back tomorrow so we can read to you?”

“Yes, I will.  The principal has given me permission to come everyday if I want to.”

“Do you want to?” Guillermo asked hopefully.

“Yes, very much, Guillermo, but sometimes it’s hard to get this old body moving in the morning.  Sometimes I might be too tired to come to school.  I might just want to roll over in bed and go back to sleep.”

“But you can’t go back to sleep, Mrs. White!” Guillermo cried.  “You have to come to school.  If you don’t, we won’t learn to read so good.  Miss Barton doesn’t have time to listen to us read the way you do.  Please come everyday!”

“I’ll try, Guillermo,” Sarah replied as she put her hands into the pockets of her coat.  Inside she felt her warm gloves.

She smiled as a thought came to her.  “Okay, Guillermo, I’ll make you a deal.  You wear these gloves now and to school every day, even though they’re too big for you, and I’ll come back to school each day to listen to you and the other children read.  Is it a deal?”

Guillermo smiled.  “It’s a deal.  And if the guys tease me, I’ll just tell ‘em it’s a deal we made so you’ll come back to read with us.”

“That’s right, Guillermo.  Let’s shake on it,” she said firmly as she extended her hand.

Guillermo eagerly shook it.

“Deal,” he grinned.

“Now, you go tell ‘em, sport,” Sarah said encouragingly.

She smiled and waved as Guillermo walked proudly over to the boys his age and talked to them.  Sarah watched as the boys patted him on the back, praising him for the great heroic deed  he’d accomplished by ensuring that the new reading teacher would come back every day.

Smiling to herself, Sarah pulled up the woolen collar of her old army coat, and stuffed her bare hands deep into her pockets.  Harold would be proud of her for wearing the old coat – and for giving her gloves away.  She hoped Katie would understand why she couldn’t come to New York this year.  She simply couldn’t disappoint Guillermo and the other children.

Strangely enough,  the biting wind and sleet did not seem cold to Sarah as she trudged through the snow banks, and walked the three miles back home.

She looked forward to a wonderful Christmas this year as she surrounded herself with laughing, beautiful children.  Yes, it would be her best Christmas ever.

KRISTAL’S GIFT

Snow swirled outside the window as ice crystals formed on the plated glass.  The cold, wintry day chilled Kristal’s heart.  She hated winter, not so much because of the cold, but more because of the memories -- and Christmas.

Kristal no longer celebrated Christmas.  She hadn’t done so since she’d become an adult and realized she could celebrate it not.  She chose not to do so.  Her children, now grown, attended college out of state and she lived alone.  And today, on this cold, wintry day, Kristal felt very much alone.

The ringing of the telephone jarred her from her thoughts.  The caller ID showed the number at the hospital.  Kristal hoped they needed her to work extra.  Eagerly, she answered the phone..

“Hey, Kristal, it’s me, Elle,” the caller said cheerily.

“What’s up?  Do you need me to come into work?” Kristal asked hopefully.

“No.  They’re sending me home early due to low census.  They’re discharging a bunch of patients this afternoon, so I volunteered to go home early.  I thought maybe we could do lunch if you’re not busy.”

“Sure.  It’s not like I have any presents to wrap or anything,” Kristal replied.

“Speaking of presents, Kristal,” Elle interjected, “I have a Christmas gift for you.”

Kristal fell silent.  At last she said, “Elle, you know I don’t do Christmas.”

“I know that, and that’s why this gift is so important for you.”

“Look, Elle,” Kristal replied.  “I gotta go.  I hear the cat meowing.  She’s probably hungry or something.”

“You don’t own a cat.”

“I might.  Maybe I got one – for Christmas – ha, ha.”

“Meet me at Rubio’s for lunch in half an hour,” Elle stated in a tone which sounded more like an order than an invitation.

“Don’t bring a gift for me, Elle,” Kristal said firmly.  “I hate unwrapping presents.  It’s such a waste of trees.”

“It’s not that kind of present, Kristal,” Elle replied.  “See you in half an hour.”

Kristal hung up the phone and walked to her bedroom to change.  Elle could be so exasperating at times, what with her ultra-cheerful attitude and her undying belief that people were basically good. Elle didn’t even mind taking the most difficult, trying patients – the ones who snapped at you if you brought the meds fifteen minutes late or if the ice had melted in their water pitcher at the bedside.  She tended the sick and needy with a tenderness that Kristal simply could not understand.

Once they’d worked on a shift together where one of her patients spoke Spanish only.  There was no one to interpret, so Elle did the best she could to speak to the patient in broken Spanish she’d learned in high school years before.  Because of religious reasons, the patient would not accept a blood transfusion after surgery.  To complicate matters, the patient had received a rapid infusion of TPN and suffered from a dangerously high blood pressure and pulse rate.  Prescribed medications weren’t bringing it down and the doctors puzzled over  what to do to help her.

“She’s hypovolemic and needs to drink more water,” Elle explained to Kristal.  “The doctors won’t increase her IV fluids, so we’ve got to get her to drink as much as she can to get her pulse and blood pressure down to normal limits.”

Kristal shook her head.  “How do you know this?” she asked.  “The doctors don’t seem to think that’s her problem.”

“But it is,” Elle insisted.  So, with her broken Spanish, she encouraged the woman to drink and explained how it would help her heart to not work so hard and help her to get better.

And it worked.  The monitor showed her pulse decreasing steadily from the 160’s down to the 150’s, 140’s, 130’s and so forth.  By the time the shift ended, her pulse rate was 102, and still going down.  This young woman, a mother of four, would live.

“How did you know to do that?” Kristal asked Elle as they walked to their lockers.

Elle smiled.  “I prayed, and the Spirit told me.”

“You mean God?” Kristal asked.

Elle nodded.

Kristal drew a slow breath.  She could not deny that what Elle had done was nothing less than a miracle, but still she couldn’t believe that a being such as God had told her what to do.  If there was a God in heaven, why hadn’t He been there when she needed him?

Kristal pulled on her boots and grabbed her coat.  “Why am I going out into this storm?” she muttered as she headed out to her car.

As she drove to Rubio’s, Kristal thought about Elle.  She was so different from the other nurses at the hospital.  Even though she had a large family to care for, she never grew weary of tending to her patients.  She never complained of taking a heavy load, and always had something funny to say.  Her quotes on the white board in the break room were legendary.  Even though she never signed her name, her handwriting was unmistakable, and everyone knew that the cheery thoughts came from her.

As Kristal drove through the storm, she wondered what gift her friend had for her.  Maybe she was going to offer to work for her on New Year’s Eve.  Kristal always enjoyed that holiday.  It was one holiday that wasn’t linked to religion or patriotism or anything else.  It was only about having fun.  If she drank too much or got too loud and obnoxious, who would notice?  Everyone else was doing the same thing.  Everyone, that is, except Elle.  She never went out on New Year’s Eve.  Her idea of a fun party was to drink Kool-aid mixed with 7-Up and eat chocolate chip cookies with her husband and kids as they watched the silver ball at Times Square on TV and counted down with the cheering crowd.

Kristal found a parking place on the street and walked into the small Mexican restaurant.  She loved Rubio’s.  It had the best Mexican food in the whole state – including anything she tried in Santa Fe or Albuquerque.

Elle stood at the booth as she walked in and waved to her.  The hostess let her pass by the patrons waiting to be seated.

“I already ordered for you,” Elle remarked with a smile.  “I knew you’d want the chicken Chimichangas with green chili on the side.”

Kristal smiled.  “Thank you, my dear.  You know me far too well I’m afraid.”

Elle shrugged. “I’m getting there.  After five years, I’ve learned a few things about you, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Kristal replied with a smile as she dipped a tortilla chip into the red sauce.  As she munched the tasty chip, she commented, “I just love the food here.”

Elle nodded in agreement.  They munched and dipped in silence for a few minutes, and then Elle said quietly, “I want to give you your gift, Kristal.  I just hope that you will accept it.”

Kristal felt the muscles in her neck and back tighten.  “Let’s not ruin a nice lunch, Elle,” she said firmly.

Elle shifted in her seat.  “My intention is not to ruin your lunch – or our friendship, Kristal.  I want to give you a gift.  Actually, you already own part of it.  You just don’t understand what it is that you already possess  – and how you can make it better.  That is my gift to you, dear friend  – understanding.”

The waiter walked up with their food, and Kristal quickly said, “Hey, our food is here!  Yum!  Looks good, don’t you think?”  She poured some green chili on part of her Chimichangas and started to eat.

Elle smiled and took a bite of her shredded beef taco.

“Kristal,” she began after a few bites, “let’s talk, please.”

Kristal shook her head.  “Elle, if you’re going to talk religion to me, save your breath.  You know I don’t believe in God.”

“But He believes in you, Kristal,” Elle said quietly.

Kristal smiled.  “That’s a unique concept,” she replied.  “I don’t believe it, but it is unique.”

“Well, you should believe it, because it’s true.”  Elle put down her taco and looked into her friend’s eyes.  “Kristal, I know you had it rough growing up.  Just because your mother--”

“Stop right there, Elle,” Kristal said firmly.  “I do not want to talk about my mother!”

“But it’s part of your story, part of who and what you are!” Elle insisted.

“No, it isn’t.  I am who I am because of me and the choices I made!  She had nothing to do with it.  Period.”

“She had everything to do with it, Kristal,” Elle persisted.  “Just look at you.  You’re the best charge nurse we have on the surgical floor.  You’re fair.  You take great care of your patients --  you take great care of your nurses!  You don’t let the Nurse Managers overload us when we’ve had too many admits in one day!  You stand up for us!  Why do you suppose you do that, girl?”

“Somebody has to stand up for you guys,” Kristal answered brusquely.

“And you do!  That’s who you are!”

“But I chose to do that.  My mother had nothing to do with it.  She never took care of me or my brother or sisters.  I had to do it!”

“And you did, Kristal,” Elle remarked, “because your mom couldn’t do it.”

“You mean she wouldn’t do it!” Kristal retorted.

“No, I mean she couldn’t do it.  You’ve told me yourself that she had mental problems.”

“She was crazy,” Kristal said bitterly.  Tears formed in her eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to blink them away.  “She’d go outside in her underwear looking for the dog – and we didn’t even have a dog.   The neighbor kids all saw her – kids I went to school with.  I’d have to go outside and throw her robe on her and bring her back in.  The kids at school all laughed at me, and taunted me, telling me my mom was crazy.  Do you know how much that hurt, Elle?”

Elle nodded, tears forming in her own eyes.

“She wasn’t the mom, I was,” Kristal said bitterly.  “I was only nine and I had to be the mother of her and my younger siblings!  I was too young!  I shouldn’t have had to do that!”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Elle replied, “but you did.”

“But it wasn’t right!  I don’t blame my dad for leaving.  I wish I could have left with him!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Who would have taken care of the kids – and the baby?” Kristal asked plaintively.

Elle shook her head as she watched the tears flow down her friend’s face.  She thought she looked more like a confused nine year old than a forty-five year old seasoned nurse.

“It wasn’t fair,” Kristal said again as she dabbed her eyes with a napkin.  “I shouldn’t have had so much responsibility as a child.  It was too hard.”

Elle nodded.  She allowed her friend to cry silently for a minute before speaking.  Finally, she said, “The shadow pushed you towards the light.”

Kristal looked at her bewildered.  “What did you say?”

“The shadow – your story, pushed you towards the light.  Because of what you went through as a child, you are a wonderful caretaker of others.  You took care of your siblings.  You made sure all of them graduated from high school, and then you helped them get scholarships to go on to college.  You still take care of your mother and help her out both financially and emotionally.  And you take wonderfully good care of your patients and your co-workers.”

“I think they call that being co-dependent,” Kristal sneered.

“Hogwash!” Elle said firmly.  “That is called being a responsible, wonderful human being who is living in the light – not the shadows!”

Kristal shook her head.  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Elle.”

“Your story, being a caretaker for your mother and your siblings, has pushed you to care for others.  Because of who you are, you chose to seek the light, rather than wallow in the shadows.  You could have just as easily chosen to drown your sadness with alcohol or get high on drugs.  Instead, you chose to live in the light and become a nurse.  Your life has been – and is,  a gift to others.”

Kristal sat quietly and stared at Elle in disbelief.  Finally, she said, “I never thought about it that way before.”  She then added, “But sometimes it makes me mad when I think about having to take care of my mom.  I wonder why she can’t grow up and take care of me – or even herself for once!”

Elle nodded, as Kristal continued.  “And then one of my siblings will call and ask for a loan or advice, but they never pay me back and they don’t listen to what I tell them to do.  It happens again, and again, Elle, and I’m sick of it!  I’m tired of taking care of everybody else!  I just want to be left alone.”

Elle nodded again, and then added, “And so you say, ‘See?  See?  It’s happening again!  Everybody depends on me and nobody ever says thank you.’  Right?”

“Right!” Kristal agreed.

“And there you are again, right in the middle of your story,” Elle commented.

Kristal shook her head.   “What did you say?”

“You’re in your story – in the shadow, complaining about how rotten your life is and wanting everybody else to feel your pain.  You want them to know how much you have suffered.  Am I right?” Ella asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Kristal conceded.

“But then you shake yourself out of it, and go on being a caretaker, doing what you do best, but not necessarily doing what you want to do with your life.”

Kristal nodded, “Yeah, so -- what do you suggest?”

“I suggest that you face your story, that you go back to your earliest memory of neglect by your mother.  I want you go back and see yourself as a little child, and to weep with and for that tiny, bewildered little child.”

“I can’t,” Kristal whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, you can,” Elle encouraged.  “You need to go there.  Your inner child needs your help – and you need her help.  Together, you will heal.”

“I can’t do this, Elle,” Kristal pleaded.  “It hurts too much.”

“I know, Kristal,” Elle explained.  “I’ve been there.  My  story is different from yours, but it was as painful.  I met my little child within, and I cried with her, and then I prayed for understanding and for help.

“I can’t pray, Elle.  I can’t and I won’t,” Kristal replied.

“It is a necessary step towards healing,” Elle said quietly.  “Do you really believe that God would create a world, and fill it full of people and problems and pain without also creating a way out -- without providing a way to be healed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do know, and the answer is no.  Without hope and without a way out, life would be totally unfair – and that’s why God gave us the Savior.  He is the one who makes life fair – by paying the price for all of us.  He takes the pain, and we get to have peace of mind.  It’s amazing when you think about it.  And, all He asks in return is that we give two things:  a broken heart, which, by the way, you already have, Kristal, and the other thing is a contrite spirit.  What that means, is that you are willing to trust Him, to give up your pain.  You have to turn your story over to Him – and in return He will give you peace and understanding.”

“It can’t be that simple and easy, Elle,” Kristal remarked.

“It is that simple – but it isn’t easy.  You see, we have to give up our story, which is really our pride.  We have to be willing to say, Help me, because I can’t do it myself.  That’s the hard part.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Kristal mumbled.

“Then you can’t heal,” Elle replied.

Kristal stared at her friend, struggling to understand.  Finally, she whispered, “I don’t want to hurt anymore.  I don’t want to be bitter and angry.”

“Then give your bitterness and anger to the Savior.  He’s man enough for the job.  That’s why He came to earth in the first place.  He came to earth in the humblest of circumstances – His bed was a feeding trough for animals; His mattress was made of straw.   His life was one of service, teaching, caring, and never wavering.  Yet He suffered hunger, fatigue and loneliness.  Some of those He healed never turned again to say thanks; those whom He trusted betrayed Him.  He has experienced everything a human being could experience – and yet He rose above it.  He knows how we feel.  He, alone, can lift us up.  It is His God-given right to succor us, to heal us, to make us whole.  And it is a slap in His face when we stubbornly say, I’ll do it myself!”

Kristal nodded, trying desperately to understand her friend’s words.  “If I do this, if I face my inner child and give my pain to the Lord, what will I get in return?  Will I be free from the slavery of having to meet everyone else’s needs?”

Elle shook her head.  “I don’t know.  What I do know is what happened to me.  My story is one of betrayal.  Constantly, I felt others betrayed me.  When I finally faced my story and met my inner child, I was able to let it go.  I realized why I felt a burning need to protect little children.  It was because I wasn’t protected as a child.  I now serve and love little children as I did before, but with a different attitude.  I don’t feel obligated and begrudge my service.  I do it with a loving heart; I do it because I want to.  It is the same service, but with a completely different attitude.  I have peace.  At last I am happy.  And finally, finally, I have grown up.  I am no longer an emotionally needy two year old.  I am a grown woman who is capable of giving selflessly – not selfishly.  I no longer beg for praise for my efforts.”

Kristal shook her head in disbelief.  “Who would have thought?  Is that why you care for your patients so lovingly and tenderly and without complaint?”

Elle nodded.  “And that is the gift I want for you.  It isn’t a gift from me, but from the Savior.  He wants to heal you; He wants you to be whole – and happy at last.”

“How can I do this?” Kristal asked.

“You start with prayer, and let His spirit guide you.  You have to forgive your mother.”

“I can’t do that,” Kristal interjected, “not until she apologizes to me, which she will never do.”

“Yes, she will – in a letter written by you.  You simply write yourself a note, telling yourself exactly what you need to hear from her – and sign her name to it,” Elle explained.

“But I’ll know she didn’t write it.”

“That’s the odd part about this,” Elle explained.  “Your inner child will not know who wrote the letter – you or her.  All it will know is that an apology was given, and that it can move on.  It works.  I know.  I did just that.”

“This is craziness,” Kristal replied, shaking her head.

“I know, but the crazy thing is that it works.  Write the letter, Kristal.  Do it now, on that napkin on the table.  The letter doesn’t have to be long.  It just has to be what your heart needs to hear.”

Kristal shook her head, but she pulled out a pen from her purse and started to write on the napkin.  Tears poured down her face as she did so.  When she finished, she asked, “Do you need to read this, Elle?”

Elle shook her head.  “No.  It is for you, and for your inner child.  Tell me, how does that letter make you feel?”

“Surprisingly better,” Kristal remarked.  “It’s like my mother actually realized what she was doing to me, and that she felt badly about it.  She said I’m sorry to me.”

Elle smiled and said, “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Kristal nodded.

“Now that your mother has apologized, can you forgive her?” Elle asked.

“But she didn’t really apologize.”

Elle held up her hand to stop Kristal's words.  “But your inner child doesn’t know who wrote the letter.  The point is, you are holding a piece of paper with a letter of apology from your mother.  She wants you to forgive her.  Can you do that, Kristal?”

Kristal nodded.  “Yes.”

“Good.  Next, I want you to close your eyes and silently ask God to take your pain away.  Give it to Him.  Turn it all over to the Savior.  Will you do that?”

Kristal nodded.  “I’ll try.”  She closed her eyes and her lips moved in silent prayer.

The waiter walked up to the table with the bill.  Elle stood and took it from him.  “I’ll pay for this up front,” she replied.  “My friend needs a few minutes alone.”

When she returned to the booth, Kristal sat in silence, tears streaming down her face, but she wore a big smile.

Elle slid into the booth across from her and nodded encouragement for her to speak if she wanted to.

Kristal shook her head and said, “It’s amazing, Elle.  He took it from me.  He just took it – all of the pain, the bitterness, the anger.  It’s simply gone.”

Elle smiled knowingly and reached for her friend’s hand.  “I know.  It’s quite the gift, isn’t it, Kristal?  Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

THE LEGEND OF THE SILVER BELL

A Christmas Story

Many years ago a young bell maker named Jozsef lived with his wife Anna in a small Hungarian village.  After the shop closed for the day, he sat alone on a small wooden stool close to the glowing embers of the fire.  His nimble fingers slowly carved at a block of clay and he hummed a little song as he worked.

Anna hurried through the door and shut it quickly behind her.  She gazed at her husband and smiled.  The glowing embers cast a golden glow on her young face.  “Is it finished, Jozsef?”

“Not yet,” he replied warmly and tenderly caressed her hand.  “I will finish it when we have our first child.”

Anna reached out for the clay block and carefully felt each carved indentation.  “It will be a lovely bell when it is finished,” she said with a smile and handed it back to him.  “Will you overlay it with shining brass like the church bells?”

“No,” Jozsef answered.  “It will be made of finest silver.”  He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a small leather bag.  Opening it, he poured many silver coins into his wife’s open hands.  “I have been saving these coins for the bell.  When they are melted down, they will make the most beautiful bell I have ever created.  I want only the best for our child.”

Anna kissed her husband lovingly then asked, “Are you hungry?  I can bring you some soup and black bread to your workshop if you wish.”

“No, thank you most kindly, dear wife.  Leave the soup on the fire and go to bed.   I will eat when I come into the house.”

Anna left the bell maker to his work, as she had on so many times.  Once again he worked long into the night, struggling to create a perfect mold for the precious bell.

Several years passed, but the much hoped for child for Jozsef and Anna never came.  Sadly, the finished block of clay lay on a shelf in the shop, but fine silver never touched the mold.  Well meaning relatives and friends tried to convince the bell maker to finish the bell, but he refused.

“No,” Jozsef replied, “the silver bell is for our child.  I will complete it when the child is born, but not before.”

Many years passed and heavy dust covered the mold.  Anna seldom came to the shop to dust it.  The mere sight of the empty bell mold filled her heart with longing and her eyes with silent tears.

Jozsef continued to save coins for the bell, and when the leather pouch filled to the top, he poured the coins into a larger bag, and started saving again.  Once day, as he poured the coins into the larger bag, he paused.  Gazing at the silver coins, he smiled and stuffed his pockets with them instead of pouring them into the bag.  He then walked over to Anna as she sat knitting by the fireplace.

“Dear wife,” he said tenderly, “let's take these silver coins and give them to the children in our village.”

Tears filled Anna's eyes, but she blinked them away and forced a smile to her face.  “Yes, dear husband, that is a good idea.”  She wrapped her woolen shall around her thin shoulders.  “Let us go see the children.”

Together they walked arm in arm down the cobblestone streets of the village, looking for poor children who often played there.  It didn't take long to find a home for each silver coin, and the bell maker and his wife returned home warmed by  happiness they saw reflected in each child's face.

The bell maker and his wife loved the village children and they, in turn, loved them.  Often children came to Jozsef's shop to watch him carve the great bell molds or polish the shiny brass of the finished bells.  Anna brought freshly baked buns, steaming from the oven, for the children to eat as they watched her husband at work.

One night as Jozsef finished up his work in the shop, Anna walked out to meet him.

“Dear husband,” she spoke softly, “Please finish the silver bell.”

Jozsef started with surprise.  “Why are you asking me to finish it, dear wife?” he asked.  “We have not yet been blessed with our precious child.”

“That is true, my dear Jozsef,” she replied, “but we have been blessed with the love of the precious children of the village.  They need to hear the clear, tinkling chimes of our silver bell.  A clay mold, no matter how beautifully carved, can never ring of joy, peace and love.  This beautiful work of your heart, dear husband, must be finished before your hands grow cold.”

Because the bell maker loved Anna with all of his heart, and because he loved the children of the village, he agreed to finish the little silver bell.  When completed, he called to his wife and together they walked, arm in arm, down the cobblestone streets of the village, ringing the precious little silver bell.  As Jozsef rang the silver bell, the children came running to them.  They did not come for silver coins.  Instead they came to see the beautiful silver bell and to hear the sweet melodic sounds it made.  Lovingly, the bell maker allowed each child to ring the bell.  Pure joy filled their bright eyes and lit up their small faces as they rang it.

Often the children came to the bell maker’s workshop just to ring the silver bell.  When the tinkling bell sounded, Anna knew that children gathered in the shop, so she came with warm bread and soup to share.  The bell maker and his wife found great joy at last, basking in the love of a hundred village children, and that joy eased the pain of not having a child of their own.

Then one joyous day Anna learned that she was going to have a baby!   Their long-awaited, precious child would be with then at last!  The whole village rejoiced with the bell maker and his wife.  Each night before they went to sleep, Jozsef and Anna rang the small silver bell to show their joy and thanks to God for His great blessing upon them.

One cold wintry night the miracle happened.  Anna gave birth to a beautiful little baby boy.  To add to the joyous occasion, the tiny infant was born on the most blessed of days – Christmas day!  How the church bells chimed as the villagers rejoiced at the birth of two special babes – the Holy Christ Child and Tomasi, the faithful bell maker’s son.

Jozsef shook his head in wonder at the miracle of his tiny little son – and also in disbelief at just how much noise a crying, red-faced infant could make.   Though the sounds of his crying baby were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard, still Jozsef worried that something was wrong.  Cooing and rocking the infant did not seem to quiet him.  Acting on impulse, Jozsef reached for the silver bell and gently rang it close to Tomasi's little ear.  At the first sounds of the tinkling silver bell, Tomasi quit crying.  Jozsef placed the handle of the silver bells in the infant's tiny hands.  The little fingers of course could not hold onto the bell, but Jozsef placed his large hands around those of little Tomasi, and together they gently rang the silver bell.  The delicate sounds he had heard so often from his mother’s womb comforted him and little Tomasi closed his eyes in peaceful sleep.

Jozsef and Anna and the people of the village could not have been happier.  In the spring, when warm gentle winds blew, Jozsef, Anna and Tomasi, held tightly in his mother's arms, walked together to give silver coins to the children of the village.  Little Tomasi rang the silver bell to call the children and each child took a turn ringing the silver bell.

Four years old later, great sorrow came to the village.  Gypsies crept into their homes by night and stole some of the children!  Jozsef and Anna were among the grief-stricken parents who a child.  Men gathered in the village square and set out in search of the missing children, but the Gypsies swiftly fled.   The search parties returned bearing no children in their arms.

The church bells tolled mournfully that day and for many days after as the village wept for their precious, lost children.  Poor Jozsef and Anna sobbed as if their hearts would break.  Neither partook of food and only a little water for days on end.

One day as Jozsef labored to make a new bell for the church, his eyes caught sight of the little silver bell lying on the shelf.  The bell brought an aching pain to his heart, knowing that his little son would never ring it again.  Jozsef knew he had to get rid of  it.   He grabbed a polishing cloth from the workbench and quickly wrapped it around the silver bell.  His eyes searched for a small wooden box  which he found in the corner filled with carving tools.  He could not bear to see the silver bell again and vowed he would bury it in the garden.  As he turned to leave the shop, he saw his wife standing in the doorway.  Silently, she watched his actions.

“Husband,” she said, holding out her hand. “Give me the silver bell.”

“No!” Jozsef cried.  “I cannot bear to see it again!  And I know that you cannot bear the sight of it either.  Our precious son is gone and so are the other children.  The tinkling sounds of the silver bell reminds me of their laughter – which we will never hear again.  I must bury it, dear wife, because our dear children are surely buried to us.”

Anna reached for the box and uncovered the silver bell.  Gently she lifted it up and rang it.  The tinkling, melodic sounds brought fresh tears to the bell maker’s eyes.

“Dear wife,” he cried, “I beg of you!  Put the silver bell away!”

“Jozsef,” Anna softly answered, “Our strongest men could not find our little  children, nor could we, but perhaps the little silver bell can.”

The bell maker shook his head.  “I do not understand, Anna, if the men of our village could not . . .”

Anna interrupted him. “The children know the sound of the bell.  When they hear it – and sooner or later they surely will hear it – they will recognize the sound and know that they are home.  We may not be able to find them, but they will find us.  The silver bell will bring them home.”

Jozsef dried his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.  “Then I must make many bells – just like our precious silver bell.  The children must know that we still love them and want them home again!”

“Yes,” Anna cried. “Our children must know that we have not forgotten them – that we will never forget them.”

She walked to the shelf where the clay mold lay covered with dust.  Gently, she wiped it clean with her apron and handed it to her husband.

Though night  approached, the bell maker took the bellows from their place against the wall and blew the dying embers into hot coals once again.  Tears still stained his cheeks, but he smiled as he worked.  “Yes, dear wife,” he said with renewed hope, “The silver bells will ring out to our children and bring them home again!”

Anna reached for the small leather bag lying on the work bench and emptied the silver coins into her hand.  “Jozsef, we have given away so many silver coins – and there are so few left. How will you ever make the silver bells?”

“The coins will come,” the bell maker replied.  “It will be part of the miracle of finding our missing children.”

Once their friends and neighbors heard about Jozsef making more the silver bells, they came running with silver coins.  The remaining village children also brought silver coins, hidden under pillows and behind boxes; the butcher and the baker brought coins after each day's labor; the priest from the church and the milkmaid on her way to the village brought silver coins.

Soon silver bells rang on every corner of the small village – ringing, calling to the precious children who were lost.  Not a day passed that the silver bells did not ring throughout the village.

The children who had been taken away grew up in strange places, but never felt at home in those distant lands.  One by one, as they escaped from the Gypsies and their hard life.  As they passed by the village and heard the sweet, wonderfully familiar sounds of the ringing bells, they knew they were home at last!  Each child returned – the farmer’s daughter, the baker’s son. . . and, yes!, even precious little Tomasi found his way back home again to the waiting arms of Jozsef and Anna.  The children all found their way home again – thanks to God in Heaven and the tinkling, silver bells.

The tradition of that quaint, old village continues today.  On every street corner and by many stores, silver bells ring out at Christmas time, calling and reaching out to the children of all ages who are lost – lost in a dark forest of confusion and disillusionment, and pain and frustration.

“Come home!” the bells cry.  “Come home, you who are lost!”

We can all be a part of the miracle of the silver bells as we give hope and love -- and silver coins -- to find the lost children of the world.  They need to know that they are not forgotten, and that they can find their way home again – through the miracle of love as symbolized by the little silver bell.

Last Word

I hope you enjoyed reading these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.  If you haven’t seen my other books on Christmas I would encourage you to search them out and add them to your library.  The other Christmas books include a collection of stories for younger children and a book of traditions that you can follow on a daily basis to maximize your holiday fun.

In the future I will be adding fairy tale books so watch out for them.

Until next time…

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2012

Eileen Telford

Table of Contents

Copyright

About The Author

Dedication

ANGEL IN THE RED SCARF

THE MUSIC BOX

MAIL-ORDER MOMMA

THE PRODIGAL’S GIFT

LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

STRANDED FOR CHRISTMAS

ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

PACKAGE TIED UP WITH A BEAU

ON CHRIST’S ERRAND

KRISTAL’S GIFT

THE LEGEND OF THE SILVER

Table of Contents

Copyright

About The Author

Dedication

ANGEL IN THE RED SCARF

THE MUSIC BOX

MAIL-ORDER MOMMA

THE PRODIGAL’S GIFT

LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

STRANDED FOR CHRISTMAS

ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

PACKAGE TIED UP WITH A BEAU

ON CHRIST’S ERRAND

KRISTAL’S GIFT

THE LEGEND OF THE SILVER