

### A WORLD OF JOY

A COLLECTION OF

YULETIDE SHORT STORIES

by

ASMSG Authors

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This anthology is a collection of short Yuletide holiday stories. All works herein are included by the express permission of each author. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by: Grey Mouse Publishing

Written by: ASMSG Authors

Produced by: Christopher Shields, Publisher & Co-Administrator, ASMSG

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Art © 2013 by ASMSG

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Editors: ASMSG Authors

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**Table of Contents**

TIME—Andrew Lennon

ANGELS OF CHRISTMAS—Carole McKee

THE FIRST HOLIDAY—Claudia Burgoa

MASON AND BESS AT CHRISTMAS—Diane Major

WEEKEND WIFE—Elizabeth Rye (AKA Grace Rellie)

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...—Genevieve Dewey

SANTA'S CHRISTMAS SURPRISE—Ginny Bryce

CHRISTMAS COOKIES—Gwendolyn Michelle

TOMMY'S GIFT—James J. Murray

AXE MAN—Jessica Knauss

FROM SADNESS TO JOY—Joseph Ackerman

CHRISTMAS MEMORIES OF ROME—Judith Works

ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAROL—Juliet Kincaid

THE TICKING RING—K.N. Lee

SANTA'S VISIT—Kirstin Pulioff

THE SNOW PERSON—Lorna Dounaeva

ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS—Lucy Pireel

BLEAK CHRISTMAS—Marcy G. Dyer

CHRISTMAS ON CALL—Olga Núñez Miret

JOHNNY'S JOURNEY AND REUNION—Oscar Wager II

AN ANGEL FOR MAGGIE—Rebecca Vance

THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL—Susan Hawthorne

TIME

 Andrew Lennon

Part 1

Christmas was always a really busy time at work, but my mind had been drifting elsewhere all day. All I really wanted to do was get back to working on my Sci-Fi novel. It was a cool, yet cheesy story about aliens who come to earth to teach us the error of our ways. Of course, it would include the killing of anyone who didn't follow their lead, like humans do in such situations. It would most likely never be a best seller, but I enjoyed writing it, nonetheless.

At home, my wife Sadie waited at the table, dinner waiting in the kitchen to be served. Lighted candles on the table and wine on ice was a pleasant surprise. It didn't take a genius to figure out she had something important to tell me.

Sadie and I live in a small, comfortable house about five miles outside of the city centre. With two bedrooms, bath, kitchen and living room, it was what people called a two up, two down. With only the two of us living in the house, the second bedroom was used as a spare. We'd hoped that one day a child when a child came along, we would paint the room pink or blue. Put a crib in there and cover the walls with _Disney_ characters. We were only in our mid-twenties, so there was no rush.

"So," I asked, "what's the occasion?"

I knew it wasn't our anniversary, since that was last month.

"Sit down and you'll find out," She said.

I sat at the table and waited anxiously. I had no clue what she wanted to tell me. I couldn't even hazard a guess. After what seemed like forever, but was most likely only a few minutes, Sadie brought our dinner to the table. She had made roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and peas. One of my favorites. She sat down.

"Well?" I stood and poured the wine. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Not for me, thanks," She said.

I looked at her, blank.

"The wine." Sadie gestured toward the bottle. "None for me, thanks."

"Oh, um...okay, just for me then?"

She started to eat her meal and I could see she was building up to tell me something important. Finally, she spoke.

"I was thinking, maybe it's time we decorated that spare room"

"What were you planning on?" I asked, not really wanting to decorate the room. I was busy writing my novel, I didn't want to waste time painting or wallpapering a room that nobody ever even sees.

"Well that depends." Sadie replied.

"Depends on what? Haven't you got any ideas?" I asked. She still hadn't told me what the occasion was.

She looked at me and smiled. "It depends on whether it's a boy, or a girl."

I was confused, "What the hell do you mean if it's a boy or...."

Suddenly I realized what she was telling me.

"Wait! You mean...?" I stood up, my stomach somersaulting and my head spinning with excitement.

"You mean, we're gonna?"

"Yes," she said. "We're gonna have a baby!"

"YES!" I shouted.

I moved quickly around the table, grabbed her around the waist, pulled her towards me and kissed her. Stopped, then looked her straight in the eyes. I had never felt so much emotion before. I felt like I could cry.

"I'm gonna be a daddy."

"Yes, you're going to be the best daddy."

Forgetting the dinner entirely, we celebrated by doing the same activity that had created our new found news.

Afterwards, we cuddled and lay in the centre of the bed staring at each other. We didn't speak, we didn't need to. We just looked into each other's eyes. We had created life.

Sadie went for a soak in the tub, while I decided do some more work on my novel. I was going to be busy from then on, decorating rooms, baby shopping, preparing to be a daddy, so I had to make the most of it when I could. I sat at my desk and began to type. As always, I began to lose track of time. I let myself disappear into a trance, into my fictional world where I dictated what happens. I was on a roll tonight. I managed to get two and half thousand words down. I was so full of joy, words just spilled onto the pages effortlessly. I glanced at the clock. It was 10.30.

"Oh, God," I said to myself. "I've been writing for hours."

I assumed Sadie had fallen asleep in the bath. It wouldn't be the first time, and she was probably drained from the all the emotion. I decided to go and wake her to take her to bed.

I tried to stand, but I couldn't, my legs were too weak. I pushed as hard as I could, but I could only lift myself half an inch from the seat. My back was in agony.

"Sadie!" I shouted. "Sadie, come here, I can't get up!"

I was waiting for her to come into the room laughing at me. I probably gave myself dead legs from sitting at the desk for so long. I tried to stand again. Nothing.

"Sadie!" I shouted again.

I could hear her coming, she was almost running.

Slow down. You shouldn't be running in your condition.

"What's the matter?" A woman asked me.

"Sadie, I can't get..." I turned my head and looked at the stranger who stood behind me. "Who are you? Where is Sadie?"

The woman looked at me with a saddened and tired expression.

She sighed, "Come on Dad, we've been through this. Sadie isn't here anymore. She's gone."

She began wheeling my chair out of the room.

Why am I in a wheel chair?

She was wheeling me out of a room I didn't recognize. A man stood at the door. I didn't know him.

"He's having another bad day," the strange woman said.

Part 2

I was wheeled to another room that had a tall mirror on the wall. I sat staring into it. An old man was looking back at me. His hair was grey and thin. He didn't look to be in the best health, and he had an expression on his face of complete shock.

"Who the hell are you?" I shouted.

This had to be some kind of dream. I had fallen asleep at my desk. Any minute now, I was going to wake up. I was sitting in front of my computer staring at my novel. Yes, that was it, I remembered.

"Hey, you! Girl!" I shouted.

The woman walked in to the room.

"Girl? Well, that's not very nice, Dad? Girl? I don't know anyone by that name. My name is Hayley, thank you very much."

"Right, right, okay," I replied with a lack of patience. "Hayley, where is my novel?"

"What novel?" she asked.

"What the hell do you mean 'what novel'? My novel, you stupid girl! The one I was writing before I fell asleep."

Hayley sighed. She had a look of deep regret on her face. There was something familiar in her expression.

"Dad, listen, you haven't written anything for years. You stopped all that when mum got sick. Don't you remember?"

"Who the hell are you? Why do you keep calling me Dad? I'm not your father. Where is my wife?"

She ran out the room in tears. I heard her shout, "John, you're gonna have to see to him. I can't do this anymore."

A man entered the room.

"John, I presume?" I looked at him with a hardened stare.

"Come on, Bill," he said. "You can't keep shouting at her like that. It's not fair."

"Who the hell are you? How do you know my name? _Who_ are you people?"

He shook his head, his face a picture of disappointment, and sat on the bed next to my chair.

"We have been through this, Bill. I'm John, and that lovely woman through there is my wife, Hayley. You know, the woman who has been taking care of you for the last year? Your daughter?"

"Don't be so bloody stupid. I haven't got a daughter...not yet. Sadie told me she was pregnant, but only just. Baby's not due for at least seven months."

"No, Bill, you've had one of your dreams again. You _are_ a Dad. Hayley was born forty-five years ago. Your wife, Sadie..." He took a breath. "Sadie died two years ago, Bill."

I started to cry, what was going on? Had my life passed already and I'd forgotten the whole thing? No, it couldn't have, I would have remembered. It was only an hour ago I was writing my novel. It was only this afternoon that I was told I'm going to be a dad.

"No!" I shouted, "You're wrong. This is just a dream! It's just..."

My breath ran away from me, my chest felt as though it was closing in on itself. I felt a shooting pain down the side of my body, and I could feel myself going numb. The room became a blur. I heard something, I heard someone shouting.

"Bill! Bill! Oh God, Hayley quick, call an ambulance! He's having a stroke!"

Part 3

When I awoke, I was staring at a bright light. I turned my head to see a woman standing over me. It was Sadie, and she had been crying.

"What's the matter, love?" I asked her

"Oh Dad, it's just..." she sniffled through her tears.

Wait a minute? Dad? I blinked a few times to clear my vision. She wasn't Sadie. She wasn't my wife. It was that woman from before, that Hayley.

"Listen, ahem, Hayley, I'm sorry. I don't know if you're sick or confused, but I'm not your..."

She cut me off before I could finish. "Dad, you're sick. The doctor says it could be anytime now."

Her crying had gotten heavier, I was still very confused as to what was happening. I couldn't wake from this _dream_. Was this really happening? Was this woman I was looking at, my daughter?

"You're my daughter?" I asked. I didn't sound like me, my voice sounded, frail, old.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm your daughter, Hayley. You remember? Me, you and Mum, Sadie, we've been through a lot you know. You remember John, my husband? I'm just so sorry I never got to give you grandchildren. I just...Oh God, Dad, I'm so sorry."

Her crying became uncontrollable. I tried to sit up and do something, I didn't know what exactly I could have done. Give her a hug maybe? I don't know, it wasn't nice to see a young woman crying.

I started to feel tired, my vision was beginning to blur again.

"Sadie?" I asked.

"No," She blubbered. "Hayley."

"I love you."

Everything turned white. It was like a really bright light shining right in front of my eyes, it didn't hurt. It felt like I had just awakened from a dream. I could hear a voice.

"Bill," It said.

I turned to see a silhouette. It was growing, moving towards me.

"Bill." Again, in a soft voice.

_It's an angel,_ I thought.

"Bill." The voice again.

I looked up, the light began to fade away. My vision began to come clear again.

"Bill, wake up hon, you fell asleep at your desk."

It was Sadie. She was glowing, and looked more beautiful than ever.

"So then, Daddy," she smiled, "What are we going to call our newest arrival?"

I kissed her on the forehead, then stroked her tummy.

"Hayley. Let's call her Hayley," I whispered.

The End

# ANGELS OF CHRISTMAS

Carole McKee

It is the day before Christmas and I once again awaken with swollen eyes. Swollen eyes from crying. Crying because my two terrific children will have no Christmas. The year is 1981. When the stark realization of no Christmas hits me again I begin to cry. My kids deserve better! This is my fault. I should have listened to my gut; should have listened to my friends; should have listened to my parents. But I didn't. I married a drunk.

It started out fun. We dated, we laughed, we danced, and we drank. Well, he did anyway. I usually stopped at two because I was never fond of alcohol. John threw money down for drinks every night. When I asked how he could afford it, he told me he made really good money. A red flag popped up when he said it, because to me, it didn't make sense that he didn't own a car and he was behind on his rent. But I stuffed that red flag back deep in my brain, assuring myself that there was a reason. I always gave people the benefit of the doubt. When he asked me to marry him I said yes, even though my gut was telling me no. But John wanted to be a father to my kids. He said he loved the kids, and he seemed to enjoy having them around. Their own deadbeat father couldn't be bothered, so John's attention and affection toward my children was definitely a plus. In fact, it was the deciding factor in my resounding 'I do'.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for our marital heaven to take a turn down the road to hell. We were only married a month when John quit his job. To this day I believe that when he saw my paycheck he saw enough for all of us to live on. I really did make decent money, since I belonged to a union and enjoyed the high pay and many benefits that came along with the job. It was around that time that I learned that he had lied about how much money he made. According to him, he cleared $400 a week, which was not too bad for the late '70's. The truth of the matter was that he made $4.00 an hour, almost minimum wage. It was no wonder he was behind on his rent and didn't own a car. Everything he earned went to buying booze. Not only that, but he worked for his uncle and he borrowed money from him constantly. His uncle took what he owed him out of his weekly paycheck, so many times his check was less than $30 a week. So he had lied. It didn't take too long to find out that it wasn't the first time or the last that he didn't tell the truth. I soon realized that if my husband's mouth was moving he was lying, or at least grossly exaggerating the truth. It was time to leave.

I packed up my belongings and my two elementary school children and ran. I knew I could do better on my own and not be the chief supplier of food, clothing, shelter and alcohol to a pathological liar.

But then the bottom fell out. I lost the use of my right hand. With almost 15 years of experience as a keypunch operator, I suddenly found myself disabled for that field. Tests after tests were run, trying to find out what caused the disablement. Finally it was discovered that a nerve entrapment way up in my elbow was the culprit of my disability. Surgery was in order. Although the surgery was necessary to release the nerve, there was no guarantee that I would ever be able to work as a keypunch operator again. The job required accuracy and speed, and I might not be able to regain the latter.

On the day before the surgery, I heard from John. Ironically, he was still my husband because I couldn't afford to pay for a divorce. It was the first time I had heard from him in almost a month, so imagine my surprise when I answered the phone, and the even bigger surprise by his news.

"Honey," he started out. "Listen. I'm in North Carolina. I've changed, Honey. I think I got it all together now. I've been accepted into the police academy. It's what I've always wanted. I'm going to be a cop."

"Well, good for you. Hope it works out." was my response.

"I want you with me," John added. "Give me a chance to make everything up to you. Move down here. You and the kids. Sell the furniture and pack up the rest and just move here. We'll start fresh. New place, new city, everything new. I'll be making a good salary so you won't have to work. Please. Give me another chance."

Well, of course I needed proof. I had heard so many stories that I had no plans of falling into another one of his traps. He told me he was staying with a military paralegal on Fort Bragg, so I planned on doing some detective work before I made any decisions. My kids actually missed John. He wasn't much of a husband, or much of a father, but he was a great playmate for them. I called the number he gave me when I was sure the paralegal would be there. Luckily he answered when John was in the shower. Great.

Very nonchalantly, I asked the friendly person on the other end of the phone how John was getting to and from the academy training program.

"I let him use my car. He drops me off at 7:30 and then comes by to pick me up around 4:30. He goes to the academy every day, Monday through Friday," Rick informed me.

So that was that. He confirmed it. But did I want to move all the way from Pennsylvania to North Carolina? After a few more phone calls, with John pleading with me to pack up and leave Pennsylvania, pledging his love for me, I decided to go; especially because the kids seemed to be in favor of it.

And here I am today. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice shame on me. So shame on me, because he fooled me. He fooled Rick, too. There was no police academy, and there was no job as a policeman. It was all a lie. I have no idea what he had been using Rick's car for, but it certainly wasn't for work, or even looking for work.

I found work soon after I got here. I had to. I had come all this way, so now I had to come up with some way to make money. After I found a place to live, I paid the security deposit and the first month's rent, and got the utilities turned on. We began a new life in a new state, but with the same old lies and deceit I had in Pennsylvania. Once again we were surviving on my earnings. I came home every day to a drunk husband, but I know it was a lesson for me. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I've been told, and in this case, this leopard proved to have the very same spots as he always had. Everything was not fine, but I had to make the best of it. Then I lost my job. The thrift store where I had been hired as the manager was closing its doors. Halloween was my last day of work. There would be no unemployment, since none had been paid into that fund. Great.

Now in all the months I have been here, John has never once applied for a job.

All through November I frantically searched for a job. All the holiday help had been already hired and the list of candidates was endless. There was a lot of unemployment in the area, and a whole lot of people were searching for work. I was forced to apply for assistance and food stamps, but after everything was verified, it was determined that I was not eligible. Why? Because my husband had quit his last job--a job where he painted front doors on Fort Bragg and was paid a dollar a door. He brought home $24 dollars one week and then quit. So no assistance, no food stamps, no help at all for us. Two weeks prior to today I went back down to the Public Assistance Office and asked--no--begged for food stamps. And I prayed--a lot. We were starving. They sent me to the food bank but I am limited to how many times I can go there.

So here we are

The day before Christmas.

I slowly walk into the kitchen and open up the refrigerator. Nothing. It's completely empty. We ate mustard sandwiches last night and that was the end of the mustard and the bread. So no food fairy had shown up during the night? I open the cupboards and they are barren, too. Where are the Keebler Elves when you need them? Dairy fairy? Anybody?

I'm crying again. I can't even offer them breakfast. I look over at John, just hating the sight of him, but for once he's sober.

"Is there any gas in the car?" he asks

"Did you put any in?" I respond.

"No."

"Well, then I guess there isn't." _Oh, how I want to smash his face in._ John gets up, puts on his jacket and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

"Mom? Can we at least have a tree?" my sweet daughter asks.

"Honey, I don't have money for a tree."

"We can go and cut one down," Terra reasons.

"Yeah, Mom, we could. And then we could make ornaments for it from stuff around the house. Can we?" My son, Eric, pleads. "It'll be fun."

Why not? I wonder.

They deserve some happiness in their lives.

So the three of us, Terra, Eric, and me, dressed in jeans, jackets, and boots set off into the woods to find something resembling an evergreen tree. We find a green tree of some sort--I don't know what it is--but it's green, and easy to cut down. We only have a small saw with a very dull blade. We drag it home and set it up in an old coffee can, reinforcing it with old rags stuffed around the can to keep it standing straight. Eric's suggestion of soaking the rags made sense, since it would help the green stay green. We begin looking for items to create ornaments. Eric creates a couple silver stars from the foil in John's old cigarette packs and puts them on the tree. Terra contributes some hair ties and ribbons. I go to the sewing basket and find lots of things to use to make ornaments. There is lace, buttons, ribbons and sequins. We make several ornaments from what we find in there.

So the tree is decorated, and I must say, it is pathetic. But the kids are happy with it, and that's all that counts. As we sit staring at the pitiful tree, someone knocks on our door. It's the landlady. In my head, I groan. The rent is past due. But she isn't there to collect the rent. She hands Terra a foil-wrapped something and says, "Merry Christmas." Terra is all smiles as she holds it up for me to see.

"Food, Mom. Food!"

Eric starts to laugh. "We are so pathetic, aren't we? Sorry, Mom. Don't start crying."

We head to the kitchen and open the foil. _Oh, it smells delicious._ There are cranberries, pieces of apple, and nuts swirling through the cinnamon spiced bread, and my mouth is watering. I slice the bread and hand each of them a piece. I know it would be even better with butter on it, but we don't have any. But it's a gourmet delight to us. We each have another piece and then I carefully wrap it back up to save for later. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then Eric breaks the silence.

"It could be worse," he says. "I mean, the roof doesn't leak."

This sends Terra and me into fits of laughter. Eric can be so funny and kind of philosophical, too. Leave it to him to find something good in the situation. We immediately join him in coming up with other positive things we can be thankful for.

"No snow outside," I remind them.

"Yeah, and it's not as cold as in Pennsylvania," Terra continues. "And the lights are still on. For now."

We begin to get silly and laugh over some really ridiculous ideas, but it helps to lift our spirits.. It's funny how a little bit of food can make a person giddy.

Eric becomes serious again.

"Mom, we have each other even if we don't have anything else." His words quiet us. Terra and I nod and smile. I'm starting to cry again. These wonderful kids deserve so much more. I have failed them. These two kids, destined for great things, are deprived of food and a decent Christmas all because of my naïve stupidity.

Terra disappears into her room and comes back with a Yahtzee game.

"Let's play. Okay?" She smiles, and I know the smile is to keep me from crying again.

Eric and I nod and we take seats around the kitchen table as she sets up the game. Before we start, John comes through the door, he staggers past, goes directly into the bedroom, and shuts the door.

"Where does he get the money for booze?" Eric asks. I sigh and shrug.

"That's something I wonder about, too."

"Mom, tell him he can't have any of that bread unless he shares the booze with you."

Terra is joking, of course, and we chuckle. She rolls a Yahtzee. Someone knocks on the door and Eric gets up to see who it is. It's the neighbor from across the road.

Our Neighbor says, "Merry Christmas," and hands Eric a foil covered paper plate. Eric is grinning as he brings it to the kitchen.

"Cookies," he says.

"Well, uncover them and let's see what kind," Terra strongly suggests.

They are beautiful. There are some decorated sugar cookies, a couple of mince-filled ones, some mock cheesecakes, and some rum balls.

"I feel like we just hit the lottery," Eric quips as he reaches for a sugar cookie, then hands the plate to Terra. Her hand dives for one, and then she hands the plate to me. I decline, saving all of them for my two children. We resume the game, but we are interrupted again by quiet knocking at the door. Eric gets up again and opens the door. Terra and I can hear a woman's voice, and Eric turns to us.

"Mom", is all he says, but there is a light in his eyes that wasn't there earlier. He holds the door open as four women move past him into the living room. Each woman is loaded down with boxes and shopping bags full of things. Terra and I exchange glances, and then look quizzically toward Eric. He shrugs.

"What is all this?" I ask as they set the parcels down on the floor and the coffee table..

"Hi," Lady number one says. "My name is Joanne. This is Ellen, and Frieda, and Alice. We're from the Public Assistance Office. Each year we choose at least three families in need and try to help them out. We have a private fund and we all contribute to it every payday all year. It's usually one of the clients in the system, but this year we chose your name as one of our recipients. We know you need help, but our hands are tied. We have to follow the guidelines set up for us."

"We decided to make you one of our families this year, because we think you are a decent person who just needs a break." Ellen who said. I recognized her from the times I had been at the Public Assistance Office. She was the one who took my information.

"We felt terrible when we had to turn you down for assistance. It broke my heart to see how down trodden you were," she continued.

"We brought food and gifts for the kids, and there is a gift for you, too," Frieda added. She reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I told my husband about you, and he thinks he may be able to find you a position in his company. Here is the information. Call him the day after New Year's. The company is closed until then."

I am speechless. Everything in front of me has now blurred. I try to speak but only a sob escapes my lips. I nod to Frieda, indicating that I understood, and would definitely call on the second of January. I see the shine of tears in my children's eyes, and then I look at these four women--Angels. They have tears in their eyes, too.

"Well, we have to get going. We have another family to surprise," Alice says as she stands. "Merry Christmas to all of you," she adds with a smile.

We wish them a Merry Christmas and see them out. I notice the van they came in. There is an angel in a white dress attached to the grill. Eric and Terra carry the shopping bags into the kitchen as I put the wrapped gifts under our little tree.

The kids exclaim over the items they take out of the bags.

"Milk, cereal, bread, butter," Eric says.

"A ham!" Terra squeals. "And there's a bag of potatoes, a head of lettuce, tomatoes. Canned green beans, sugar, another loaf of bread, eggs. Yams...yuck."

"Mom, there are cans of soup and crackers, cans of tuna....Mom, we're going to eat all week." Eric is excited.

Terra tries to hide it, but I can tell she is excited, too.

"Pumpkin pie! And Cool Whip!" she exclaims.

I reach for them and hug them, silently thanking the Lord for sending those  
Angels of Christmas to us.

"Thank you, Lord," I say. "I promise I will give back when I can."

And I do. All three of us do. I got the job working for Frieda's husband, and we got on our feet. I left John on Valentine's Day and with the new job I was able to afford a divorce. Since that Christmas, I make it a point to give back every year. I donate toys, clothing, and food, and I work at the soup kitchen a few times a year. Terra donates as well, and Eric did up until the time he passed away.

I'll never forget that day, or those four women. It was a turning point in my life, and I will always be grateful to those ladies.

Those Angels of Christmas.

The End

# THE FIRST HOLIDAY

Claudia Burgoa

Garlands, Christmas trees, multiple bright decorations, and carols invaded every corner of the mall. The spicy aroma of cinnamon and pine from every store overtook the air, except for the ones that tried to sell colognes and perfumes. There's where I stood, at one of the biggest retailers, choosing a flowery perfume for my teenage sister. I doubted the girl would care for what she'd receive this year, but Mom would appreciate the gesture, wherever she was. And for Dad's gift: the classic Ralph Lauren cologne, with a Hallmark card wishing him a happy holiday—nothing specific, since he no longer celebrated.

Five years without Mom, and nothing had changed since her death. Dad forgot he had two children, and my sister believed every rule had to be broken before she reached adulthood. Last year, I dared to drive down to Connecticut in hopes to... get family time, but who had I been kidding. Not once did my sister stay in the house at night, Dad simply brushed me off, and the empty home begged for a piece of greenery to celebrate the season. If Mom had watched from above, she'd have cried at the realization of what her family had become. Then again, maybe not, since she had stopped caring and decided to leave us earlier than expected.

My grandparents—my mom's parents—reminded me that I wasn't my parents, and my future depended on me, not who my parents had been. The desire to be with my grandparents during the holidays had left, after they had decided to take a two-month cruise.

My roommate, Daniel—who was also my best friend—didn't do much these days. He only worked and planned for his future. He never talked about his family, had only mentioned that his parents died, and claimed that the fine state of Massachusetts had raised him the best they could. I believed they had done well, since the guy got a full-ride to Harvard, and had built an investment company within the last year. For the holidays this year, it would be Daniel and me eating pizza and drinking beer—if we could get some upperclassman to buy it. Though that might have been difficult, since everyone was leaving to spend the following weeks with their families.

From where I stood, I saw her. She was petite, with long honey-colored hair, and wore a long black coat that made her look like a child lost in the middle of campus. During the times we had interacted, she had talked to Daniel and ignored me. No one could blame her; he had the athletic build and pretty face girls loved. The only muscles I built were the ones in my hands from drawing. He hadn't given her a second glance. Actually, after dating Tessa a year ago, the man didn't date at all, shoving any girl who accosted him to the side. Meanwhile, I had trouble trying to say one word to any of them.

"Tyler," she said, while walking toward me, "I thought it was you. Ava swore you were a figment of my imagination, but I would recognize you anywhere."

"Ashley," I said. _Don't be dumb; play it cool_. "Came to buy some presents, you know... the holidays—"

"Got it." She smiled sweetly. "Are you going home for the holidays?" Then she hit her forehead with an open palm. "Dumb question; of course you are."

"Actually, my family doesn't celebrate. Since Mom died..." I didn't finish the sentence. She tilted her head and gave me an expectant gaze, waiting for me to continue. "Dad's not interested—he doesn't care much about me or my sister."

"Wouldn't you go for her?" she asked. But instead of pausing for me to answer, she talked about herself. "My two sisters can be a pain, but I love them. Being the oldest and all, you have to be—"

"Dad and I aren't on good terms," I said, cutting her off. What else could I say? The point she was trying to make would work for normal families, but mine had a dark side.

Mom had been bipolar, and during a guys' weekend, she committed suicide in front of my sister. Lying for more than twenty-four hours inside the tub, my nine-year-old sister watched our mother lose the biggest battle of her life. Dad blamed me, and decided to give my sister everything her heart desired. Everything but attention, counseling, and real love. Five years later, my lost teenage sister continued living her life without caring about anyone but herself. My hands had been tied, and Dad had forbidden me from intervening.

"Ava's outside waiting for you," I stated, changing the subject. That had been best thing I could do: steer the conversation in a different direction, before I could give away memories of my personal hell. Getting sympathy for the sob story had been my sister Lisa's thing, not mine.

"Will you be going to tonight's party?" she asked. I gave a sharp nod. "Is Dan going?"

"You deserve better than him," I blurted. My big mouth had done it again. I pursed my lips and ran a hand through my hair.

"Oh, I was asking for her." Ashley pointed at Ava. "He's not my type—Dan." Ashley gave me a coy smile that made me wonder if she'd be into a scrawny guy like me.

Maybe tomorrow I would take a run with Dan, and then lift some weights. Ava called out from the door of the store, and Ashley turned and indicated with her finger that she'd need another minute. "She can be too much. One day, I'll find a sucker to take her out of my hair. See you later, Ty." Ashley wiggled her fingers while waving and walked backwards to the door.

* * *

On my way to the coffee shop, I found Ashley hauling a large black suitcase, and gazing at the ground, her posture slumped. At least five pounds of sadness rested on her shoulders. Forgetting the loud noises coming from my stomach, I walked toward her. "Ash," I said, but there was no response. "Ashley." The second time I said her name, there was a better reception. She stopped and looked at me. "Why the long face?" I asked.

"Dad." She said one word, paused, made a small sigh, and then continued. "He messed up the reservations; my flight is for January, not December twenty-second. There's no way I'll be able to fly home. Today's the first day of Chanukah, and Christmas is in a couple of days. Mom's Jewish, and Dad's Catholic. We celebrate both... well not this year." Her lips quivered and the tears in her eyes began to roll down. While running a hand through my hair, I wondered what I could tell her to make things better, but not one answer came to mind. "This holiday season is ruined," she said between sniffles.

"Can you buy another ticket?"

"No." A sob followed the two-letter word. "They have too..." sob, "many expenses. Rose, and tuition, and Trish."

Her sad emotions were breaking my heart, so I took her in my arms and let her cry. Once she finished crying, Ashley's cute face gave me a quivery smile.

"You really want to go home?" I asked. She nodded quickly. "Well, then let's go back to my apartment and find a flight for you. No one should spend the holidays alone."

Pulling her luggage with one hand and holding her tiny hand with the other, we walked two blocks to the apartment I shared with Daniel. When we arrived, he was working at his computer. He gave me a glare when he saw Ashley, but didn't say anything. I went to my desk, and started my computer, waiting for the browser to open after the dial up finally connected us to the Internet. With a few clicks, a first-class ticket from Logan International Airport was purchased for her, ready to take her to San Francisco, where her family would celebrate the holidays for the next two weeks. Her vacation included the end-of-the-year party, where her mom invited the entire neighborhood and their families.

"Thank you," she said, before getting inside the cab. "You made everything better."

The smile she gave me, along with being able to take away all that sadness she carried earlier today, had reminded me of the meaning of this season. It wasn't the trees in every other store, or different clerks, teachers, or classmates wishing me a happy holiday. The power to draw a beautiful smile from the girl I wanted to get to know better someday gave me hope, and made me want to believe that family and other things would one day be possible.

"Call me when you arrive," I said, and gave her a peck on the cheek. "It would be nice to know you arrived safe, Sunshine."

"Why don't you come along?" Her question startled me. "My family won't mind if I bring a _friend_."

"Some other year—maybe next year, after I take you out on a date or two." I winked at her, and dared to give her a quick kiss on the lips. Afraid that she'd slap me, I moved back fast. "Have a safe trip," I said.

I helped her inside the cab, and I paid the driver a hundred to make sure the precious cargo got to the airport safely. I smiled and waved at Ashley, energized, and in hopes that one day, I'd accompany her to visit her family and celebrate a holiday, a birthday, or every day.

The memories of that time, years ago, filled my heart with joy. I smiled at my wife, who helped our son open the presents my step-sister and Dan—my best friend—gave him for Christmas. My hopes had been fulfilled: nine Christmases, ten birthdays, one wedding, and two precious children later.

The End

# MASON & BESS AT CHRISTMAS

 Diane Major

It was Christmas on Sanctea and there was a chill in the air. In this world, it was the only day of the year that it snowed.

Mason and Bess woke up with a start. The children could see the snowflakes dancing in the air as they fell outside of their bedroom windows. They both jumped from their beds and trembled with excitement.

The children couldn't help wondering what presents Father Christmas had left under their beautifully decorated tree. That great big Christmas tree always stood in the main hall of their home during the festive season. The huge conifer sat there waiting for the jolly man, who always dressed in red, to visit the Citadel. This was an annual event that the children always waited for with anticipation.

The two children left their bedrooms and galloped downstairs. They were buzzing with excitement and expectation.

When they reached the hall, Queen Anna, Mason's Mom, was waiting for them. She stood exactly where the decorated Christmas tree had stood the night before. The Queen was so distracted by the missing tree that she hadn't noticed the children walk in. Anna was standing with her hands on her hips, shaking her head in disbelief, with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What's happened to our tree?" Mason blurted out.

Bess looked incredibly sad. She had so looked forward to her presents and to the gala dinner organised for later that day.

"I have no idea," said the Queen. "It was here last night when I went to bed and now it has disappeared.

"Someone must have moved it!" exclaimed Bess. "We should search the Citadel."

Everyone in the Citadel was ordered to search for the tree. Even the blue, fluffy Elgaes with the huge eyes, flew around and joined in the hunt. After the building had been thoroughly explored, everyone gathered in the hall.

The Queen looked annoyed.

"Someone must know where the tree has gone. We should all put our winter coats on and see if it has been taken to the gardens."

Sure enough, the children and all the other people who lived in the Citadel wrapped up warm. They all walked out onto the bright white, fresh, crisp snow. The snow crunched under their feet as more great big fluffy snowflakes fell from the sky.

"Everyone, search the grounds," cried Mason. "If you see anything suspicious, please tell us at once."

It was time for the hunt to begin. The whole area was searched without success.

When the group was about to give up, and began to face the thought of having no Christmas, Bess yelled out, "Over here near the gates. Come here and take a look."

The Queen, Mason, and their people all hurried over to Bess. There on the ground was a pine needle that had once been attached to a conifer tree.

"It's difficult to be certain in all this snow, but I think the tree has been dragged out of the Citadel through the main gates," said Mason with a puzzled look on his face.

Queen Anna replied, "I think you might be right. Let's take a look outside."

They opened the gates to find a trail of pine needles. The group followed the needles away from the Citadel. They entered some nearby woods and walked through the mushroom-shaped trees that were covered in snow.

"It's a cold day to be travelling outside of the Citadel, my Queen," one tree said softly.

Mason looked and sighed, "Yes, but our Christmas tree has disappeared and we must find it. Father Christmas will have called during the night and left our presents under that tree. The problem is, we have no idea who took the tree, or where it has been taken."

The tree responded excitedly, "Oh, you are looking for a Christmas tree. Well, one was carried through the forest late last night. If you go to the clearing in the middle of the woods, I am sure you'll find it there."

Queen Anna, Mason, and Bess led the group towards the glade in the middle of the woods. To everyone's surprise, when they reached the clearing, there stood an igloo. It was the biggest igloo any of them had ever seen in their lives.

"What's going on?" whispered Bess.

"I have no idea," replied Mason.

The Queen looked around the little group, "I will go with Mason and Bess. We'll try to discover what's inside."

Anna and the children silently crept toward the igloo entrance. When they reached the opening and peaked inside, they were amazed. The Queen began to smile and beckoned all her people to follow them.

There, in the middle of the igloo, stood their Christmas tree. Under the dome-shaped house made of ice were numerous tables and chairs. The tables and chair had clearly been set up for Christmas dinner. On the tables were great tureens full of food, huge cakes, juice that came in many colours, crackers, and tiny wrapped presents. There appeared to be enough small gifts for everyone.

Mason and Bess were amazed when they scanned the room. A look of astonishment spread across their faces. Inside the igloo were lots of their friends who were sitting or standing at the tables.

The dragons, Shirker and Laird waved their wings. Sarette, Queen of the Fairies had brought some of her troop along with her. Lots of blue, fluffy Elgaes that they knew well hovered on the edge of a table. The two children recognised so many creatures at this Christmas celebration.

Suddenly, they noticed two human children waving at them. The children were making their way towards Mason and Bess. They recognised Katie and Bobbi. Mason couldn't help wondering how Father Christmas had managed to get the children from Earth to Sanctea, especially as it was Christmas Day.

It soon became obvious that the human children remembered the adventure they had all been on together. Bess assumed those memories about meeting the fairies had been given back to them temporarily. Katie and Bobbi weren't allowed to remember that adventure on a permanent basis. If human beings found out about the existence of other worlds, it could cause all sorts of problems.

Father Christmas now addressed the Queen, Mason, and Bess.

"Oh, I'm delighted you got my message and you could make it, especially as you are the guests of honour."

"Message, what message?" asked the Queen with a baffled expression on her face.

Father Christmas looked aghast.

"It's those elves. I should have known. They forgot to leave the note, didn't they?"

Mason and Bess smiled as Queen Anna replied, "No harm done. We're here, aren't we?"

Bess noticed two grand seats at the top of a long table. Father Christmas sat at one and he led Queen Anna to the other.

Father Christmas brushed his hand through the air and everyone sat down.

The jolly man, who was dressed in red, stood back up and proclaimed, "Welcome everyone. I thought we would do something a little different this year. Christmas isn't just about presents. Don't you think that it's a wonderful idea to spend time with your family and friends?"

Everyone clapped.

Father Christmas continued.

"But before we eat, would everyone open their tiny present, the special ones I left on the tables for each of you. I do hope they are something that will always remind you of today's celebration."

Mason and Bess were excited. They each took a little gift from the table and unwrapped it carefully. Inside the box was a small pendant on a chain. On the front of the pendant was a beautiful Christmas tree with presents underneath it and on the back was an inscription that said, ' _From Father Christmas._ '

Everyone's pendant was identical, but the length of the chain varied depending on the size of the guest.

All of Father Christmas's guests were delighted with their presents, knowing that the pendants were something that would remind them of this special day forever.

"Have a wonderful time," shouted Father Christmas and a band behind the Christmas tree began to play.

Everyone at the celebration had a brilliant time. After dinner there was an opportunity for family and friends to chat with one another. Later in the day, some of the guests formed a small choir to sing along with the band, while others chose to dance.

When it was time to leave the igloo, and return to their homes, the guests all looked a little sad.

When Father Christmas noticed the expressions on their faces, he cried out, "Maybe we could do this again next year."

The whole crowd cheered.

The End.

# WEEKEND WIFE

Elizabeth Rye

(AKA Grace Rellie)

Blair spent Thanksgiving Day slaving in a cramped stuffy kitchen for a dinner only she and her dog, Roquefort would eat. Five days later she was still eating the blasted bird. Now she hated turkey. The dog hated turkey. The whole turkey population might cease to exist as far as she was concerned.

The first year, she remembered working toe to toe with her handsome husband in a sunny kitchen. She'd stuffed the turkey rather clumsily while Derek had no problem making the mashed potatoes. "The white wine helps," he'd told her with a wink as he poured some into the creamy dish smelling of garlic and rosemary.

Returning to the present she felt a stab of loneliness. _"I miss my husband,"_ Blair thought. Ex-husband, she corrected herself. Looking back she could see that their arguments had become increasingly more common until it had broken them apart. If they'd gotten counseling maybe they'd have made it but they hadn't and she'd found herself single again.

She'd moved into a dingy drab apartment where the guy upstairs frequently pounded the floor as if he were jumping on a pogo stick and her other neighbor played the bagpipes at three in the morning like some ritualistic cult. Hours painting and redecorating had only made the space livable. The place wasn't a home.

Home was where you cuddled with your husband on winter nights, where holidays were spent with loved ones and families grew up. Blair wanted this and more, but she knew only Derek could restore her dream.

Christmas was coming and the last two had been abysmal failures without him. At least Roquefort had enjoyed one Christmas, she reflected. Too bad he'd had to smash her snowman jar to bits in order to eat her entire batch of oatmeal craisin cookies.

Still reminiscing of the past, she was shocked a few days later when she pressed the answering machine button. "Blair. It's Derek. We need to talk. I need your help."

Paralyzed she stared at the phone. He'd called. Panicked she reached for the phone. "Lisa. Pick up," she yelled.

"You've reached Lisa's phone. I'm not here right now or I'm busy or I just don't want to talk to you right now. If it's important leave a message after the beep. If I think it's important I might call you back." Blair glared at the phone. Normally her friend's quirky message made her smile. Right now all it did was aggravate her.

"Lisa. Derek just called. I don't know what to do. Call me back in a microsecond. Please...." She let the last word trail, in case her friend was listening and heard the anxiety in her voice and decided to pick up. She didn't.

Nervous, Blair paced while she waited for Lisa to return her call. When that didn't help she resorted to cleaning. First she washed the few dishes and put them away. She checked to make sure she'd set phone to ring and not vibrate. More pacing later, she rearranged her towels in the closet. Blair then straightened the vanity until she lined up the bottles from tallest to shortest. Her mind raced in a mixture of discombobulated emotions and ideas. Salt shaker refilled she reached for the phone and hit redial.

The woman sometimes called back in minutes, but she was also known for calling back days later. A free spirit, if she decided to live off the grid for a few days, she did. Other times nothing and no one got Lisa off the computer or away from the phone. Everything came down to her mood.

On the second ring, there was a click. "Look, I don't know what to do," Blair said not bothering to identify herself.

"About what?" Lisa questioned between obvious bites of an apple.

Blair grunted. "Derek called."

Lisa sighed. "What did he want?"

"I don't know."

"Huh? I don't get it. Didn't you talk to him?"

Blair shook her head. "No. He was on my answering machine."

"So call him and see what he wants."

"I don't know," Blair hedged. "I mean, I still love him but it's over between us."

Lisa grunted as she took another bite. "Nothing's over until the fat lady sings remember?"

"Yea."

"Well think about this," Lisa coaxed. "If your relationship had been ruined forever Derek wouldn't be calling two years later."

Blair closed her eyes and tried to focus. "I guess."

"You know I'm right," Lisa said with conviction. "Isn't this what you've been talking about ever since the divorce? Come on," she cajoled. "This is a start. That's all you need. Use his call to your advantage. Make him sorry he let you go. Promise me you'll call him as soon as you hang up."

Blair stared across the room at the picture of a younger version of her and Derek on the beach. The perky red headed woman in a ponytail and a sun-bleached blond man glared back at her with equally love-struck grins. She wanted those days back. "Okay," she promised. "I'll call." But first she'd eat a giant bowl of rocky road ice cream to settle her nerves.

Twenty minutes later she licked the spoon of the last drop of chocolate goodness. Holding the phone in her shaking hand, she put her left hand to her stomach to still the jitters. From memory she dialed Derek's number. What if he didn't answer? What if he did?

"Hello." She was amazed at how one word could send the jitters back into turbo. _So much for the ice cream_ , she thought.

"Derek," she croaked. "It's Blair..."

There was a breath of empty air. "I'm glad you called," he finally said.

"I'm glad too," she answered truthfully.

Derek didn't answer in kind; instead he got straight to the point. "Aunt Agnes is sick. Doctors say that she might not live past the holidays, some sort of rare cancer; and for some reason she's asked you and me to stay with her for Christmas. She's always liked you." He paused. "I never told Aunt Agnes about the divorce and I don't want to tell her now. I called because I was hoping you'd consider being my wife for the weekend. I'll sleep on a chair or the floor. I won't bother you."

Blair smiled, holding tears back. His voice no longer held the note of love she remembered. Instead, she heard a logical business mind working on an impending schedule. Maybe Lisa was wrong. Perhaps their love _was_ over. No. She refused to believe this.

Her voice wavered, "I've always liked her too." She sniffed. "I'll think about it. Can I call you in the morning?"

Derek's voice became clearer this time and she wondered if he was steeling himself against her. "I understand. Tomorrow then."

The line went dead, and Blair bit her lip. She realized then that if hope remained for them to be reunite she'd have to work extra hard.

Next morning, their conversation was quick and straightforward. He laid the rules down and stated clearly that he expected her to stick to them. They would play husband and wife in public for his aunt. In private they were strictly two individuals acting as roommates.

* * *

For the next three weeks Blair made plans like a well thought out game of chess, which sometimes involves sacrificing a piece in order to win. In this case, the sacrifice would be her pride, the prize, Derek. To that end she packed a black negligee, her favorite red dress and the fancy perfume he'd bought her on their second anniversary. Couldn't hurt.

When he showed up at Blair's door Friday afternoon he looked like an abominable snowman. White flakes clung to his eyebrows. She wanted to brush them away. Instead, she smiled and stepped into a wintry white world, coaxing a hesitant Roquefort out the door. Derek took the keys from her hand and deftly locked the door before stowing her suitcase in the trunk.

In silence they drove across town, dropped the dog off at Lisa's and amid smiles and tail wags backed out of her friend's driveway. The cold war of silence had begun.

During the hour drive, they barely spoke, a mundane word here, a meaningless sentence. At a stoplight he finally glanced her way. "If we're to act like a normal married couple we'll have to talk to each other this weekend. What's more, we'll have to make sense. Aunt Agnes can't ask a question and get two different answers. She may be dying but she isn't stupid," he said as he turned a corner.

Blair noticed the tiny glitter of a stayed tear. As much as he tried to hide his feelings she could see they were close to the surface. "I understand," she said reaching out to offer comfort. She stopped without making contact and withdrew her hand. "We'll need to know what the other has been doing so that she doesn't suspect anything," Blair's voice hitched, and she glanced away. "So what you have you done lately?" Blair asked wiping away a tear of her own.

Derek started slowly. He still worked at the bank. The year before he'd been made Vice-President and given the branch location to run on his own terms. As he spoke the words began to flow more naturally. Blair thought he was beginning to open up. Then he turned and stopped. He stared at her a blank look on his face. "What about you? What have you been doing?" he asked in a monotone voice.

The moment was over.

Blair tried to hide the hurt and looked away. Outside, the snow fell softly, but inside the car, the air was close and she found it hard to breathe. She ploughed through her ragged breath and dangling nerves. She explained how she'd gone to pick out a dog and been picked out by Roquefort. He'd come to the shelter with an odor uncontested, been dubbed an appropriate name and given a bath. His cuddle-some nature had won her over. This was when she'd been offered a job at the shelter. She wanted to say how lonely she'd been without him, and how this was the reason she had gone for a dog, but she didn't.

* * *

Aunt Agnes met them at the door with smiles and flour on her face. "I'd kiss you both but I've been baking and I don't want to cover you with the recipe," she said holding the door open. "I'm so glad you came."

A sparkle in her hazel eyes reminded Blair of an overjoyed Derek. Looking at her it was hard to realize that she was dying. She was so full of life.

"Now when I wake up Christmas morning I won't be alone. I just hope Santa knows you've switched addresses." She beamed. "I wouldn't want to open my gifts alone in the morning."

She led them down the hallway and opened a door near the back. "I'm sorry the room's crowded," she apologized. "I never seem to know when to stop buying things. Terrible habit I know but I love the hunt."

Blair gazed at her surroundings. She spotted objects from different countries, what appeared to be decades of amassed treasures. Nothing matched. The room should have looked like an antique shop explosion. Instead, she found the space beautiful. A painting on the wall picked up the lines of a crystal vase. The Never Ending Chain quilt on the bed mirrored the candleholders on the bureau. Quaint and charming, the room's décor reflected Aunt Agnes.

"I'll leave you two to get yourselves in order. When you want me, just follow your nose. The chocolate chip cookies will lead you."

***

"That was a great batch," Derek swallowed his last sip of milk.

"I'm glad you approve," Aunt Agnes said with a twinkle in her eye. "Now why don't you get the Christmas tree in the attic."

She turned to Blair as Derek's footsteps disappeared up the stairs. "What's the point of having a man around if you can't get him to do a little work," she said sipping peppermint tea. "Now." She took a breath. "Can you keep a secret?"

Blair nodded conspiratorially, wondering if the woman might blurt out what she'd gotten her nephew for Christmas.

Aunt Agnes took Blair's hand and waited a beat. "You might get mad but I hope you won't."

"Why would I get mad?" Blair asked.

Aunt Agnes shook her head making shushing noises. "I'm not sick. I don't have cancer," she said holding a finger to her lips. "I never did."

Blair couldn't help it. The words burst forth. "What? Why?"

"Because I am well aware you and Derek got a divorce, and I think you're both wrong."

"How did you find out? Derek said... I don't understand." Blair found herself sputtering.

Aunt Agnes looked her in the eye. "Your mother told me. She and I believe you two belong together, only you're both too stubborn to admit it."

Blair had forgotten how close the two women were. She shook her head, realizing she might have known Aunt Agnes would have found out. "I just want to help," she told the younger woman.

Blair squeezed her hands in her own. "I'm so glad you're okay. I was terrified at the thought of losing you, but I didn't know how to tell you without upsetting you." Eyeing the stairs she asked, "What's on your mind?" Together the two women hatched up a plan that would have made a hen proud.

* * *

"Boy that tree is unwieldy, Aunt Agnes." Derek huffed as he set the six-foot Christmas tree in front of the picture window. He ran his fingers threw his hair and sat down. "I'm sure glad there's only one."

Aunt Agnes gave a mischievous smile. "Actually I do have another project for you."

Derek took a deep breath. "Sure. What do you need?"

She only said, "Chestnuts." Derek stared at her blankly. "I used to have them as a girl and it'd be nice to have them again. You should be able to find some at the grocery store," she explained.

"Okay. I'm gonna get a cup of coffee, then I'll head out."

Fifteen minutes later the girls were alone. Knowing he could return any time, the two women got busy hanging mistletoe with green Christmas wire hooks. "Put some over the front door," Aunt Agnes instructed her. "You'll want some at the kitchen door and over your bedroom door too," she said with a wink, placing some over the hearth.

Stepping down from the ladder, Blair surveyed the room and smiled at the sight of the fragrant greenery. When he returned Derek would find himself in a tangled web of trickery.

Derek entered the house an hour later to find Blair and Aunt Agnes sitting on the couch sipping hot cocoa. "Great, you're back," his aunt announced. "I'm going to get dinner ready and you two can start decorating the tree." Aunt Agnes stood up and walked from the room, "Everything's in the box on the dining room table," she said over her shoulder.

Shedding his coat on the couch Derek picked up the box and opened it. "She has the same ornaments she had when I was a kid," he said in wonder.

"Here, hand me one." Blair climbed onto the ladder.

Working together, Blair and Derek hung ginger men, Santas, snowmen and glass globes made decades ago by nimble crafty fingers. "I made this one when I was seven," Derek said staring at a little paper house he'd cut out and stuck a hook in eons ago. "I can't believe she kept it."

Blair bit her bottom lip. "I kept our ornament that said, 'First Christmas,'" she confessed.

"I don't understand. Why would you keep that?" Derek questioned.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I never lost hope." She looked away and walked into the kitchen. Derek followed her and stopped in the doorway.

"Aha," Aunt Agnes crowed. "You're standing under the mistletoe. You know what this means."

With Aunt Agnes watching, their first kiss was barely a peck on the lips. "I can see the tree from here and it's not done. Shoo. Out of my kitchen. Finish up or there'll be no dinner for you two."

Blair picked up some tinsel and methodically began placing the silver threads. Accidentally she dropped some on him and he threw some at her. Laughing she retaliated.

"Do I need to separate you?" Aunt Agnes walked into the room, laughing as she menaced.

They only smiled.

An hour later Derek topped the tree with a star and together they stood back to admire their handiwork. "Looks beautiful," Blair remarked.

He agreed. "I guess we still have it."

"Definitely."

Derek put his hands to his hips, "I'm going to get some coffee. Want some?"

"Yea. That'd be nice."

While she waited, Blair realized their main problem had been their youth. In the two years, they'd been apart, they'd grown up a lot and she now saw their arguments as stupid and petty. A few times, she'd thought she'd seen a message in Derek's hazel eyes, a sort of understanding. Could it be he'd come to the same conclusion?

That night, Derek was caught by the holly over the bedroom door.

"Kiss your bride," Aunt Agnes instructed.

Derek looked at Blair and smiled. He drew her into his arms and held her tight letting the kiss linger.

"Ok, if you two want to get mushy that's fine but you might not want to do it in the hall," Aunt Agnes interrupted.

Nervously Blair laughed. It felt real. He felt real. They were back. Looking at him she saw moisture in his eyes, this time for lost time. "Merry Christmas darling," he said softly as he closed the door behind them in front of a smiling Aunt Agnes.

The End

# ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS MY TWO FRONT KNEES...

Genevieve Dewey

Dominic Valentini dropped his Steelers bag next to the front door inside his parents' house. He sucked in a deep breath, coughed a bit at the overwhelming scent of Christmas potpourri, then locked the door behind him. If he was lucky, he'd be able to catch a few hours of sleep on the couch before anyone woke up and wondered what he was doing in Nebraska instead of Pennsylvania.

After all, big shot pro-football players fly their parents over to see _them_ ; they don't slink home with their tail between their legs... even if they were legs with blown-out knees. One season as a fourth round draft pick and he was already on injured reserve. That was demoralizing on its own, but Dom suspected being on reserve was a mere courtesy on his way to 'released from contract'.

He grimaced, thinking about how he was going to break the news to his parents:

Hey, Mom, Dad, won't be getting you that fancy mansion I promised. I'm soon-to-be unemployed and I filed for divorce. Merry Christmas!

Dom wrinkled his nose as he stretched out on the couch. He cupped the back of his head and crossed his ankles.

_Nah, better to lead with worse news_.

The loss of a football career was nothing compared to the fact that Dominic would be the first person in his branch of the Valentini family to _ever_ get a divorce. To a Valentini, the 'D' word was _way_ worse than unemployment, back taxes, and a proctology exam combined.

"Yay, go me," Dom whispered at the ceiling.

He never should have married Isabel. She deserved better than a husband who was still hung up on his childhood crush. Even more ridiculous was the knowledge he and said unrequited love, Katelyn Anderson, had never been more than friends. Who left their wife for a friend and neighbor they had never actually been in a romantic relationship with? Especially one who seemed determinedly oblivious to his feelings?

Tap, tap, tap.

Dom crooked his head to look out the living room window. He could see movement, but the rainbow lights reflecting from the Christmas tree made it hard to distinguish what had made the noise. He looked around the room for a security bat then stopped and chuckled. What would be the point? This was Small Town, America. More than half this town never locked their doors, yet still left the living room drapes open so everyone could see their tree.

He got up from the couch and winced as his knees briefly buckled. He yanked the door open dramatically, expecting to shoo off some bored kids.

Except it was Katelyn Anderson, frozen mid-knock.

"Hey," she whispered, her breath caressing her face in the frigid air.

She smiled and rubbed her hands together. "Can I come in?"

When he continued to gape at her, she poked him on the chest, and nudged her head towards the house.

"Uh, what are—I mean, yeah," Dom replied and tugged her inside. "What are you doing here?"

"Saw you pull up and wondered why no one knew you were coming home for the holidays. Or is this a Christmas present for your folks? I mean, of course, it must be, no one in their right mind takes a flight in the middle of the night unless they want to surprise someone or there's an emergency. Wait," Katelyn paused.

Her eyebrows contracted and she suddenly grabbed his arms, "There's _not_ an emergency is there?"

He couldn't help but grin; he'd missed her tendency to babble.

Her worried frown deepened.

"Naw," Dom finally said and shrugged. "You were right the first time."

"Was I?" Kate asked in a concerned tone.

When he didn't answer, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

He sighed and walked back over to the couch. Knowing someone your entire life had its drawbacks; they tended to know when you were lying.

"Not that I mind visits from pretty women at three in the morning, but I could ask you the same question; what were you doing spying on the neighborhood in the middle of the night at your mother's house?" Dom deflected.

"You haven't heard?" Kate asked, her eyes suddenly alight with enthusiasm. "I bought the house from my parents after they retired! I'm moving back."

"Huh. There's a lot of that going around," he mumbled, enjoying the flush that excitement brought to her cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. Then she walked over to the couch, sat next to him, and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Spill," she coaxed.

Just rip the bandaid off, Valentini, so she can be disappointed in you, too...

"I'm getting a divorce," he replied, trying to sound cheerful about it.

She took a deep breath then patted his leg.

"I'm sorry..." she said with a long sigh. "I've been a terrible friend, so focused on my Thesis and school... I've barely kept in touch. I didn't even know you were having marital problems."

"We weren't really," he answered honestly.

It was the truth. He and Isabel got along great, but it was a hollow sort of rapport. He had never felt so empty in his life than when he was living his perfect life with her. There was no reason for it, except his heart seemed stubbornly addicted to the girl-next-door with wild curly hair and an unnatural fondness for libraries.

"I don't think you came home just because of that," Kate prodded. "Does this have to do with the game last month? You looked pretty hurt when they took you off the field. Are your knees starting to feel better? I thought for sure you'd play in the last game but..."

"Nope, that's the joy of being injured reserve on top of special teams."

"What does that mean?"

"It means... there's a very good chance I'll be released from contract."

"Oh, Dom... I'm so sorry. To have it end over a stupid torn ACL," Katelyn replied.

Her tone was certainly more genuine than her expression of sympathy regarding his divorce.

She rubbed his knee.

His brain jammed and his heart clutched. The rest of him tried desperately to remember she had friend-zoned him ages ago.

"I didn't realize you watched my games, or knew what an ACL is—"

Katelyn pulled away, raised her hand, and smacked him on the forehead.

"Ok, a), I'm an anthropologist; if I don't know human anatomy, I need a new career. And, b), I watch and record every single game of yours including the pre-season clips and the highlights on ESPN. That's what people do when they're proud of their loved ones."

She looked genuinely astonished and affronted that he could doubt her devotion.

Loved ones? How am I supposed to kill these feelings when she said stuff like that?

"All I want for Christmas is my two front knees," he sang, in an effort to cover his sudden confusion.

"As opposed to your two _back_ knees?" she countered sarcastically with an eye roll. "It'd be more like your middle knees, anyway. And please don't try to sing again. You seriously stink at it."

"Ok, a)," Dom mimicked her, "Why you gotta be such a know it all? And b), you seriously stink at football, yet you insist we play in the back yard every major holiday."

She scooted on the couch until she was fully facing him.

"That's for your sake!"

"My sake? You think I enjoy playing with amateurs who sulk when they lose?"

"Maybe if the _winner_ didn't enjoy rubbing it in..." she said with a glare.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, eyes so narrowed her lashes joined at the edges.

He chuckled. It was hard to take Kate seriously when she got upset. She looked like a freshly toweled kitten, more prone to eliciting a desire for kisses than ire.

He _loved_ getting her riled up.

"I guess playing with amateurs is something I'll have to get used to now," he conceded with a rueful smile.

Her face cleared. She tilted her head again and clicked her teeth in a sympathetic manner.

"Forget professional football. You have a degree in Physical Education, and a great family, and my huge family by extension. Not to mention, selfishly, I'd be glad if you chose to move back here. I've missed you... crazy lots."

Kate's voice broke a bit at the end and Dom's heart started galloping in response. He'd no idea she felt that way, even as just a friend. In truth, it was his fault they'd lost touch in the last few years. She thought it was her myopic tendency for studying, but he had made a concerted effort to create distance out of self-preservation.

"I've missed you too, Skate," he confessed.

"Ugh, that dumb nickname..." she responded.

She pushed her unruly hair behind her ears and rolled her eyes. Then she slapped him on his thigh in an impatient manner.

"Pittsburg and Isabel didn't deserve you anyway. If you move back here, you could consider it a public service. You'll be raising the Good Men per capita of Nebraska. It's our slogan and all."

"Huh," he managed to say around the growing lump in his throat. "And here I thought it was 'The Good Life'."

"Same difference," she said with a cheeky grin and a quick shrug.

He looked down at her hand still resting on his knee. She snatched her hand back with a quick, soft huff, like an unformed laugh. He looked back up. Her cheeks had flooded red but she didn't drop his gaze.

He deliberately turned his head and studied the Christmas tree; cheerful yet lonely with just a few presents underneath. There was something different in her eyes, and paired with her affectionate words, it gave him the stirrings of hope. Hope was something he hadn't allowed himself in years. And if he was being honest, he hadn't made it clear since they were teenagers that he wanted to be more than friends. Now that he thought about it, maybe moving back to Nebraska wouldn't be about hitting bottom. Maybe it could be about new beginnings.

He looked back at her and grinned, not one of his we've-known-each-other-for-years friendly grins, but one of his how-you-doin' grins. It always made the ones who were interested flustered, and the ones who weren't, at least snort in good humor. He had never actually tried it on Kate.

Her flush deepened and she sprang up from the couch. She rubbed her hands on her legs and laughed slightly. Then she looked around the room in an absentminded manner.

_Huh... how about that_ , he thought.

"I better get back next door before we get the local tongues wagging," Kate said breathlessly. "You coming over for Christmas dinner?"

His grin got wider and he nodded.

Her brows contracted briefly. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

He just shrugged, saying nothing. He was enjoying her discomfort. She looked not just flustered, but confused, and confused was something he could work with.

Yeah, there just might be reason to hope, after all...

He walked her to the door and indulged himself with an extra-long hug. Then he relaxed on the couch again and let his mind mull over Katelyn's tell-tale flush. Maybe she didn't think of him as boyfriend material yet, but there was definite potential to change her mind.

"So you're moving back home, huh?"

Dominic rolled over so quickly he fell off the couch.

"Fmpblllltsh!" The carpet muffled his curse; a good thing since his father didn't tolerate cursing in his home.

"Haaaah," Dom finished his moan of pain as he rolled over. "Hey, Dad. What, uh, what makes you say that?"

"Well, that's what the little Anderson girl was saying."

"Yeah, Dad, she hasn't been 'little' in quite some time," Dom countered.

"Ok, youngest of the gaggle. Whatever," Vincent Valentini waved a dismissive hand. "Guess if there's gonna be all this yakkin', might as well start the day."

He walked towards the kitchen, flipped the light on, and started brewing coffee. Dom limped after him.

"Hey, son, what a nice surprise. Good to see you," Dom muttered under his breath.

As soon as he sat at the kitchen table, he said a little louder, "I haven't actually decided to move back. Exactly how much did you hear?"

"Enough to offer my congratulations."

"Con—what?"

"I'm glad you finally saw the light. Would have preferred it to be before the wedding, but, hey, better late than never, eh?"

Vincent turned around and popped Dom on the shoulder.

"So... you're ok with it?" Dom wondered.

"I'm ok wit' it," Vincent said gruffly.

He handed Dom a coffee mug.

"I was thinking you and Mom were going to freak out about the divorce..."

"Oh, your nonna's gonna freak, sure, but me and your mother? Nah. You know what's disappointin', son? Watching you let your dreams slip away."

"What do you mean? I was playing for the Steelers! Most college players don't even make it to the Draft. I didn't choose to have a knee injury—"

"Don't be dense," Vincent interrupted. "I don't care about that. I'm talking about that girl who just left. The one you're never able to keep your eyes off of. I don't understand why you're content to moon after her like a martyr instead of just puttin' a ring on it already."

"Put a ring..." Dom paused, pinching his nose.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself his father was from a very different generation.

"Dad, Kate and I are _friends_. Even if I were to—"

"No, here's what you do," Vincent interrupted again. "You take this week to start laying the ground work with her and then you get your affairs in order, and move back home. It's not defeat if it's something you want anyway."

"Dad, I don't even have a job lined up..."

Vincent clapped Dominic on the shoulder and chuckled.

"Son, the world's full of signs if you're just open to them. This is a sign it's time to move back home and go for it with her, I'm telling you."

Dom opened his mouth, but his reply was cut short by the sound of his mother's voice.

"Vinnie? Who are you talking to?" Ramona shouted from down the hall. "Turn the oven on, would ya? I have to get started on the casserole I told Bridgette we'd bring for Christmas dinner."

Vincent and Dominic shared a grimace and got to work. Valentini-Anderson joint holiday dinners were a tradition of chaos, overeating, bickering and insanity—insanity because they all kept doing it year after year despite the first three components. Everyone by this point knew never to stand in the way of Ramona Valentini and Bridgette Anderson's deeply competitive friendship.

Dom managed to make it through his mother's fussing and nagging in the morning, and the crazy Christmas dinner next door, all on zero hours of sleep. Feeling punchy and mellow, Dominic ducked the rest of the guests and waited by Kate's back door for her to try sneaking out as she did every year.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, grinning at her guilty flush.

"Just to my office to take advantage of no one being there and fight through this stupor. I swear our mothers always feed us like they're going to eat us later."

"Yeah, nothing says 'tis the season' like gluttony," he agreed.

He grabbed a football from a box in the mud room, tossed it up briefly, then tucked it under his arm. He stepped so close she had to tilt her head up to keep his gaze.

"Wanna help me burn off those calories instead?" he asked with a suggestive tone.

She flushed and blinked. Then her eyes dropped to the football and she laughed.

"Dom, honestly... you're such a flirt. A girl might accidentally take you seriously," she replied with a finger waggle.

Dropping her satchel, she snatched the ball out of his arms, and walked out the door.

He shook his head at her back. It was looking like getting out of the friend zone was going to be harder than getting into the end zone.

She stopped abruptly and pivoted back around. "Are you sure? Are your knees up to it?"

"If not, you can always nurse me back to health..." he bantered.

She snorted and rolled her eyes before heading out into the yard.

As soon as he shut the door, his phone buzzed. He fished it out and saw a text from his old high school coach:

Hey Dom, heard from Mrs. D you were back in town. Can you come over later? Have a job opp. next fall here at the school I wanted to float by you. Before you say no, just hear me out, OK? Dave

Dom raised his eyes to look out across the yard at Kate, squinting from the glare of the snow reflecting the sun.

_The world's full of signs..._ he heard his father's voice whisper.

It would take him time to sell his place, but if he played it right, he could be here for the start of the school year. Then he could begin his campaign to win the Girl Next Door's heart.

"Ready for the sweet taste of defeat, Valentini?" Kate asked. She had an adorable and not at all intimidating sneer on her face.

He shook his head with a chuckle. "My first order of business when I move back will be teaching you how to talk smack properly."

Her face lit up. "So you're coming back for sure?"

"For sure," he answered softly.

"Eee!" she squealed, tackling him.

He deliberately let their bodies hit the ground, hugging her tight and enjoying the feel of her pressed against him.

"Best Christmas ever!" Katelyn continued breathlessly.

Snow speckled on her hair like tinsel in the bright sunshine. Her cheeks had a rosy glow against her porcelain skin.

He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Sweet taste of defeat, indeed.

"Merry Christmas, Skate," Dominic said. "You realize, of course, even without my two front knees, I'm going to kick your—"

He broke off as her delighted laughter filled the yard.

_No, the 'Best Christmas Ever' is yet to come, babe. I promise_ , he thought with a grin.

The End

# SANTA'S CHRISTMAS SURPRISE

Ginny Bryce

It is Saturday and the second Christmas Joe McGuire has taken the job of Santa Claus at Macy's. He is an electrician by trade. He enjoys little children, and the extra money goes into the bank for a trip to see his daughter Ashley in England.

The day has been long, and jostling Christmas shoppers jangled the electric nerves of the air-conditioning system, turning its cool breath into tropical warmth.

Santa's throne sits on a small stage, embellished with red and gold swags and covered with imitation snow. A tall, green Christmas tree, loaded with twinkling lights, multicolored bulbs, gold glitter and pretty angels, stands beside the stage. Beneath it are many brightly wrapped packages.

A miniature Swiss chalet occupies the left side of Santa's throne, hiding a camera. Another jolly helper, dressed in a green suit and a large pointed hat, stands inside the house to capture the event on film.

Two elves in green and brown costumes help the little children to and from their momentous meeting with Santa Claus.

"Merry Christmas, my little man, have you minded your mother all year?"

"Yes," he mumbles.

"That's a good boy." Santa strokes his large, white beard. "Now, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?"

"Oh, a bicycle, and...and... games."

"I will put those on my list." Joe McGuire hands the sandy-haired lad a lollipop and pats his head as the child wriggles off his lap. He readjusts his red Santa's suit before receiving the next child in line. He wishes he could mop his forehead that is hidden under a full white wig. Joe looks down the long line of children standing with their parents waiting their turn to see Santa. His eyes stop briefly on the back of a woman dressed in an elegant black wool suit, topped with a small fur collar. She stands tall and straight as a model, her dark hair swept up in a chignon.

A small girl stands beside her. Joe feels an agitation within from some past ignored memory. He meets the lively eyes of the little girl staring at him in awe. A pretty child, with long, blond hair curling to her shoulders; the large blue bow clipped to her shiny hair matches the blue of her expensive, well-cut coat. Her hands are clasped in excitement. Joe thought, she's just about Ashley's age.

His eyes take in the row of people: tiny ones in their parents' arms, toddlers clinging to their mothers, and preschool children dashing about. Here and there in line an older child waits whose belief in Santa had not yet been crushed by older children.

"Ho, ho, little lady. Have you been a good girl all year?"

"Yes, Santa."

"That's a good girl. What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

The girl's dark pony tail swings back and forth as she rattles off numerous toys she wants for Christmas.

"I'll stop by your house on Christmas Eve," he said and she slipped off his knee.

The next little boy in line appears about to cry as his mother tugs him up onto the stage.

"Come and see me, son," Joe coaxes and pats his knee. The boy buries his face in his mother's dress and peeks around a fold in the garment. Joe holds a lollipop just out of reach of the boy until he can't resist the familiar candy. He toddles toward Joe and unconsciously rests against his knee, his eyes still on the candy. Joe asks the mother his name, and then says in a soft voice, "How are you, Aiden?" Recognizing his name, the boy looks at Joe.

"What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

"Candy, candy," he replies.

"Well, all right," Joe chuckles, "Santa will bring you some candy for Christmas." He hands the lollipop to the boy who runs off to the safety of his mother.

He again scans the line. The well-dressed woman has turned and is bent over to talk to the little girl. The agitation returns. As he watches, the woman looks up. A cold shiver runs down his back. Francine! He almost shouts the name. With stunned expectation, his eyes dart to the child. Ashley, my baby, Ashley. A punctured sigh escapes from his lips. His heart seems to stop beating. The clock on the wall strikes three.

"Ho, ho, my little man, have you been a good boy all year?" The words flow without interruption from one child to the next. He counts the children before Ashley. Eight more! What will she say to me? But it isn't me, he thought, it's Santa. As he performs Santa's ritual, his mind flies to the past with laser swiftness. Memories cascade through his mind.

A Lieutenant in the Air Force, he was stationed in England when he met Francine. On several occasions, her wealthy father, Frank Baldwin, entertained Joe's group at his country estate. When he told her father he wished to marry Francine, Baldwin cautioned him about her.

"Raised without a mother, Francine is spoiled and selfish, Joe. Unless you can provide a similar life-style," her father warned him, "Francine is apt to become dissatisfied."

Baldwin was against the marriage. Joe overheard him say to a friend, "She is only marrying the uniform. A pleasant enough chap, but the boy has nothing."

However, Francine was determined to marry him and, with a willful shrug of her shoulders, decided that the future would take care of itself.

After they were married, Francine remained with her father, until his discharge from the Air Force. Then they settled in New York.

It was an adventure at first. New York fascinated Francine, and the small apartment was a challenge. But before long, the pleasures of being a housewife faded and Francine tired of her meager budget. Her friends were few in New York. When she found she was pregnant, her disenchantment grew.

For several days they quarreled. The electricians were on strike and no money was coming in. One evening, Francine announced she was going home to her father and taking one-year-old Ashley with her. He could not dissuade her. A year later she demanded a divorce and obtained it in England. Joe asked her to come back to the States so he could see Ashley, but her fleet of lawyers informed him that Francine and Ashley were remaining in England. He sent money regularly for the care of Ashley, but his letters were unanswered, his telephone calls ignored. Four years had passed since he had seen his daughter. Times had been tough. The economy was in recession and jobs were few.

I wonder why they're in New York, he thought. Are they looking for me? Maybe the Christmas spirit changed Francine. He wants to shout, "I'm here! I'm here!"

Ashley was next. When his eyes meet Francine's, she showed no recognition. Ashley is graceful as she walks up the stairs. It is evident she has received excellent training from Francine. Not shy, her eyes sparkle as she climbs readily into his lap.

"What would you like for Christmas, my dear?" Santa is as excited as the child. I'm your daddy, my darling, he wants to say.

Ashley looks up at him and smiles. "Please, Santa, will you bring me a Daddy?"

His heart blazes. It's true. She brought Ashley to see me! His smile widens beneath the white froth. "Where is your daddy, child?"

"My Daddy died a long time ago."

His breathing stops. For a moment he is speechless. Earnestly, he searches his child's face. Am I am dead to Ashley? Is there is no Joe McGuire in her life? Don't I exist outside of Santa's costume? I can tell her that I am her father, but that is absurd, she will not believe that Santa is her father.

Tears well in his eyes and he looks into her eager face. He sighs, "Santa will see what he can do." He was silent for a moment and then asks, "My dear, where are you staying in New York?"

"At the Carlyle."

A large smile fills Santa's face. "Yes. You shall have a Daddy before long." She hops off his knee, accepting the lollipop with a smile and a thank you, and runs to her mother.

Santa muses, Christmas will be happy. Ashley will know her father, Joe McGuire.

The End

# AXE MAN

Jessica Knauss

Alexa and Mark decided to go to the grocery store for milk together since he had the day off. They might as well spend every free moment with each other because they had no friends in the community and, this year, their families were thousands of miles away.

Already, at the beginning of November, the Christmas decorations festooned the entry and every aisle red, green, and white and the music crowded the air. They'd found the milk and were choosing among the pudding flavors when a man dressed in sweatpants with an empty basket appeared at the end of the aisle. Alexa gathered that Mark knew him because, typically friendly, Mark waved and said hello.

The man scowled, made an obscene gesture, and turned in the opposite direction.

Alexa had hardly ever met anyone Mark worked with, so it surprised her. She looked at her husband, but he laughed it off.

"I had to let him go last week," he said. For the first time, Alexa realized just how poorly Mark's job suited his personality.

Mark consulted businesses through their rough patches, and, more often than not, through bankruptcy proceedings. Firing employees who had never worked for him was a daily task. He and Alexa had never stayed in one place longer than six months since they'd been married, but it was only ever a few days before each group of employees would begin calling him the "axe man," believing they were the only ones clever enough to come up with it.

Alexa wondered what other names they thought up for her precious husband. They drove home in silence, but when Mark sat on the couch in front of the TV, she said, "Do you like your job?"

"What do you think?" he replied without malice. "Everybody hates me, every company I go to is fundamentally broken, and on top of it all, I've taken you away from your family and never give you enough time to get settled in before we move on to something else. Last winter we were in Miami, two years ago it was Oregon, this time it's Illinois."

"I had no idea," she said. Alexa could work from anywhere as a freelance writer and editor, and her earnings bridged the gaps between Mark's jobs, but, unless she had some in-person interviews to conduct, it was lonely in the house all day. When she thought her small measure of prosperity might come at the cost of noticing how miserable her husband was, she began to cry.

"I fell into this job and it keeps us in the black and allows you to pursue your writing passion, but I'd rather do something less destructive," he admitted.

They held each other awkwardly but sincerely amidst the cushions and murmured how they might finally start a family if they could just settle down for a while.

The next morning, after sending him off with a coffee, a kiss, and the feeling he was going to the executioner — possibly another name the other employees had for him — Alexa clicked on Mark's résumé and scanned all the job boards she could think of for matches.

* * *

On December twenty-first, Alexa fell flat on the couch and caught the scent of pine needles from a holiday candle on the coffee table. She turned her aching neck to stare at the plastic Christmas tree they'd set up this year with real candy canes and cheap lights. Her heirloom ornaments were in storage with her parents in Boston to protect them from the constant travel, but she missed them.

She had just completed the hundredth online job application since she'd started that day in November. On all of them, she'd signed her husband's name. The lights blurred with her weariness and she closed her burning eyes.

Coolness swept about her, strangely fragranced with berries and spices. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in a meadow surrounded by snow-laden evergreens. The only sound was the crystalline patter of snowflakes. Alexa felt revived, but soon wished she had sunglasses. The snowy field made her eyes ache more than staring at a computer screen all day.

The light changed, darkened, as if in answer to her thoughts. The snow kept falling at the same rate, with the same peaceful silence, but the sky became black, then changed again. In the flickering light, Alexa made out a shape in the clearing. It was about the size of a person, and when the light was strong enough, she could see that it wore a long red cloak. The light was gone before she could discern whether it was man or woman, black or white. The next dawning showed her a long, white beard. She took a few steps back in amazement. _It couldn't truly be..._

"Dear Santa," she said.

"That's how you started your letter to me," he answered.

The light was steady now, but as they moved closer to each other in the falling snow, all Alexa noticed was the kindness in his eyes.

"My letter to you? I've been writing job applications for a month now, nothing else."

"I got them, express delivery," he said. "You wrote them with so much faith and love that they became letters to me. You didn't write those cover letters and fill out those forms for yourself, but for the man you love most in all the world, to make his life better, to be closer to your family and to start your own. In your letters, you described the most deserving human being who ever tried to get a job, and there was no deception in your words. You believe in your husband above all others and your only self-interest lay in your desire for you both to be happy."

Alexa felt what he said to be true, but agreeing with such a flattering portrait of herself seemed impolite. They stood only inches apart now, and she felt waves of comforting warmth emanating from his cloak and his red cheeks. After a moment of knowing silence between them, Santa Claus continued.

"Because you've earned it, and for no other reason, I've decided to provide you with all the unspoken wishes on your unwritten list."

Could it be true? Could the years of travel and hard work end up with a stable job near family? She couldn't believe it.

Santa Claus smiled at her, then turned away. When he was nearly to the trees, he tossed something away from himself that Alexa hadn't noticed he'd been carrying. It nestled deep into the freezing snow to be covered where no one would find it again.

It was an axe.

Back on the couch, Alexa woke to the sound of jingling bells — the ones they hung on the door to make a festive sound with all their comings and goings. Along with a glacial draft, Mark came breezing in.

He had the air of contentment he usually wore when it was his last day of work at any given place, but there was something else, too. Alexa sat up to get a better look. His mouth was twisted into a bemused smile.

"I just got the strangest call," he said. "Someone wanted me to go for an interview in Boston right after the holiday. I haven't sent my résumé to anyone, and this company isn't even in trouble."

Alexa went to give him a hug and kiss. "But you said you'd go, right?"

"Of course. I know when to take an opportunity."

"That's my smart love." She kissed him again and he returned the love ten times. "Merry Christmas, darling," she said. "You can thank me and Santa after they offer you the job."

## The End

# TOMMY'S GIFT

James J. Murray

A hospital staff member brought Tommy up to the eighth floor from the daycare center. He asked to go to the bathroom but promised that he would go to his mom's room immediately after. The aide considered the six-year old's request, smiled and nodded, then let go of his hand. As the boy disappeared behind the door, the aide pressed the elevator button. When it arrived, she left the floor.

Tommy came out of the bathroom and rubbed wet hands on his pants. He rounded the corner to head down the hall when he heard his mom's name mentioned. He stopped and turned.

Although spoken in what his mom would call an indoor voice, the man's words bounced off the barren walls like radar off metal. Since Tommy was not as tall as the nursing station's countertop, no one noticed as he crept closer to hear why his mom was the topic of conversation.

In response to a muted question, the deep voice answered, "The latest scans show new growths. I don't see much hope."

A muted response and then the man said, "She's already called someone, supposed to arrive today."

Tommy heard the echo of footsteps on the hard floor behind the counter. He slid back until the footsteps faded, then continued on his journey to see his mom.

He pushed open the door to her room, careful to be quiet in case his mom was sleeping. She slept a lot since coming to the hospital.

She was awake, however. She was talking to the nun who often took him to the daycare center each morning.

When his mom saw him, she managed a weak smile. "Tommy, Sister Imelda tells me you're being a good boy, going to the center when asked and eating everything on your plate."

Sister Imelda looked from the hospital bed to the small cot next to it and added, "And he goes to bed without prompting. I know you're proud of him. We should tell—"

"Sister...not yet...tomorrow. There's always tomorrow."

The nun pursed her lips and folded her hands, one over the other. "I'm not sure it's wise to—"

"I'm not feeling wise today, and I'm very tired. Maybe later."

Sister Imelda looked to the side and Tommy noticed that her chin trembled slightly. He followed her gaze to a plant that one of his mom's friends had brought to the hospital the day before.

Her focus shifted from the plant to Tommy. "Your mom should rest now. I'm going to the chapel. Would you like to come with me?"

His mom gave Sister Imelda a worried look. "Tomorrow..."

"Yes, tomorrow. For today, we'll pray...and hope." Tommy noticed that Sister brushed a hand over his mom's cheek as she said, "Come, Tommy, let's talk to God."

Tommy never remembered talking to God. He didn't even know where God was. He had been to church once a few Christmases ago with his mother and the boyfriend she was dating at the time. That man said God lived in church, but Tommy never saw God, only another man dressed in a colorful robe. Tommy liked and trusted Sister Imelda. Maybe she would know where God lived.

The nun laced her fingers around his small hand and together they walked down the hall, into the elevator and down to the hospital's lobby. They crossed the space to heavy double doors. She pushed one open and gestured for him to enter. He followed as she led the way to the front pew.

She slowly bent down on one knee, brought a fisted hand to her chest and bowed her head. She then moved into the first pew and invited Tommy to sit next to her.

He noticed the slight tremble in her chin again and wondered if she was tired. His mother sometimes did that after a long day at the office when she helped her boss handle all the things that he didn't have time to do.

Finally, Sister Imelda said, "Since it's Christmas Eve, I have a story to tell you. It's about that beautiful plant your mom was given, the one from her friends at the office. It's called a poinsettia. It's a magical plant that blooms with lovely red leaves."

"Why is it magical?"

"There's a legend about it that originates in Mexico, where I come from. It's about a child named Pepita. She was so poor that she had no gift for the baby Jesus at her church on Christmas Eve. Her cousin Pedro tried to cheer her up by saying that no matter how small the gift, if it was given with love, Jesus would always accept it."

"My mom told me about baby Jesus. He came to save the world."

"And he continues to do that every day, Tommy, as Pepita found out. You see she could only find a few flowered weeds by the side of the road to make a small bouquet. Even though her gift was small, she laid the flowers next to the nativity scene in the church. Suddenly, the weeds burst into brilliant red leaves to the amazement and joy of all."

"Was Pepita surprised?"

"She was. And forever after, she and her beautiful plant became symbols of hope for that poor village. They even named the plant 'Flowers of the Holy Night'." Sister Imelda wrapped an arm around Tommy and added, "That plant symbolizes hope—hope that it will bloom each Christmas and bring joy and good fortune to all who look at its brilliant leaves. It's that sort of hope that we should focus on in life. Do you understand?"

When Tommy seemed confused, she added, "You must learn to see the good in your life and in the world. Bad things happen, but they often do so for a reason."

Still confused, but not wanting to show that he wasn't smart, he responded, "That's why I try to be good. Mommy has a big job that makes her sad sometimes. She says I'm the best thing in her life, so I always try to make her happy."

Satisfied with his answer, Sister Imelda stood abruptly, smiled and rubbed his head gently. "You'll make a fine young man. Now it's time for dinner. Go wash up and I'll bring in some food."

Tommy rushed back to his mom's room and noticed that she was still asleep. He silently entered the bath that connected to her room, washed up and then sat in a chair next to her bed to wait for dinner.

A gentle knock on the door signaled the arrival of their meals and Sister Imelda helped a food service aide bring in two trays. Sister gently shook his mother's shoulder. "Dinner is here. You must eat."

A weak nod showed that she understood and pushed herself up on the pillow slowly. She smiled at Tommy as he sat on the bed next to her, his food sharing the bed dolly that also held her tray of semi-solid nourishment. As they ate, Sister Imelda and the aide left.

After a few minutes, Tommy noticed that his mom had fallen asleep. She often did that during a meal, but he knew that she would awaken soon and take a few more bites.

He looked at the plant with the red leaves and remembered Sister Imelda's story of its magical power. He was surprised to see that many more leaves had turned a rich red color since he'd last seen it. He wondered if his being a good boy made the plant bloom.

He ran from the room to find Sister Imelda—to tell her about the miracle that was happening. He rushed up to the nurses' station but stopped when he heard angry words spoken.

"No, I want a real church to pray in, not some meditation room. God lives in a church, not in four walls carved from a hospital lobby. My husband's sick. I need to pray for his health. Where is the nearest church?"

Tommy listened to the words and the directions. It seemed that a church where God lived was just down the block. Maybe if he brought the magical plant to God as a gift, both his mom and that woman's husband would be well again.

He rushed back to his mom's room, gently opened the door and looked in. She was still asleep. He went to the nightstand and picked up the plant. It was small enough that he thought he could carry it down the block without much effort. He held the plant close to his chest and ran from the room.

Tommy took the elevator to the lobby. He walked out of the hospital and down the street toward the church. He didn't notice the woman walking past him into the hospital or the fact that she looked so much like his mother.

* * *

Margaret walked up to the nurses' station and asked, "Can you direct me to Madeline Morgan's room?"

"She's having dinner now. Are you a relative?"

"I'm Margaret Johnson, her sister. She called me yesterday, said she's very sick and needed me. I came as soon as I could."

"Yes, Dr. Lawrence said she'd called someone. Are you here to take care of the boy?"

"What boy? Madeline has a son?"

"You didn't know?"

A moment of indecision passed before she responded. "My sister left town long ago with someone our family didn't approve of. We'd lost touch. She apparently kept up with my life, however, because she called me yesterday out of the blue, said she was sick and needed her family, said she tried to call our parents." Margaret sighed before adding, "She didn't know."

"Know what?"

"That they both died last year. I didn't know how to contact her. I didn't realize she was only two hours away until yesterday."

"And she didn't tell you about her son?"

"When she called...well, I didn't give her a chance. I was so angry that she'd never let me know where she was. I yelled some, and she cried some. That's when I realized something was terribly wrong. She said she was sick and needed me." She frowned and then asked, "How sick is she?"

"The doctor will have to answer those questions, but it's serious."

"Serious enough to need help with her son...my nephew?"

"His name is Tommy, but...yes, she probably will need help with him. He's having dinner with her now. I could walk down with you, introduce you to him."

"No, but thank you. I'll be fine. What room is she in?"

Margaret walked down to the room and slowly opened the door. She walked softly over to the bed and was shocked to see what was left of her twin sister lying there. Strands of hair had fallen out onto the pillow and the dark circles around her eyes revealed the therapeutic abuse her body had taken.

She stood there silently for several moments studying her sister and then realized that Madeline was staring back at her. Margaret touched her throat as if startled, recovered and managed to say, "It's me. I came like you asked."

Madeline recognized her and smiled slightly. "Is that what I used to look like?" She let the smile fade. "I was hoping you would come. I'm so sorry for all those years—"

"That doesn't matter now. I'm here to help. I want to reconnect and to do whatever you need. What do the doctors say?"

"Cancer...stage four...little hope...maybe six months. I have something to ask you."

"I know, the boy...Tommy. I just heard about him. Why didn't you ever...?"

"Too ashamed. I left everyone behind for someone who finally left me behind. Now it's only Tommy and me."

Margaret looked around the room. "Where is Tommy now? I was told he was with you."

Madeline shrugged weakly and looked at the dishes on the tray. "Sister Imelda probably took him back to the care center. He's a regular there now since..."

"What type of cancer?"

"Breast cancer, but it's spreading. I hope I can count on you to—"

"Oh you can, but much more than you realize. Who's your doctor? I need to talk to him."

Margaret then hurried to the nurses' station and asked to see Dr. Lawrence. A nurse explained that he was down the hall consulting with a patient, but that she would let him know as soon as possible that a patient's relative wanted to speak with him.

* * *

Tommy found the church and brought the plant up the aisle to the nativity scene. He looked around and realized that the church was similar to the one he had seen several Christmases ago. He recognized the lady from the hospital, the one who wanted to pray for her husband, sitting in the second row. She was crying and wiping her eyes with a tissue.

His mom had been so sick lately that he had forgotten it was Christmas Eve, at least until Sister Imelda had reminded him. He didn't think people should be sad at Christmas. It made him feel bad that the lady was crying. His mom was sad too. He missed her smile, and the hugs. She seemed too tired to hug him lately.

He looked toward the statue of baby Jesus lying in the bed of straw. He placed the poinsettia plant next to it and said, "For you. It's all I have to give, but I need your help. Could you make my mom better? She's sad, been really sick lately. Can you make that go away?" He gestured over his shoulder. "And that lady over there is worried about her husband." He hesitated for a moment, as if embarrassed to continue. "He's sick and needs your help too. Can you make him better so she won't feel so bad on your birthday?"

He thought he saw movement. Had the face of the baby turned slightly to look at him? That seemed silly to him. He looked around the church. It looked pretty decorated for the holiday. He smiled and realized that he felt good all of a sudden. It had been a long time since he felt this happy.

* * *

After what seemed like hours, Dr. Lawrence strolled down the hall and the nurse introduced him to Margaret, said that she was Madeline Morgan's sister. He fielded some questions from Margaret regarding her sister's diagnosis and suggested that they walk down to her room.

They entered Madeline's room and Dr. Lawrence got permission to discuss her case with family. He then explained that the cancer had metastasized and that there was little more they could do other than keep her comfortable and as pain-free as possible. He brought up the subject of hospice.

"Not so fast, Dr. Lawrence," Margaret said. "I have another solution. I happen to be married to a doctor, a brilliant man who's involved in medical research, cancer research specifically. Currently, he's conducting a clinical trial with a new drug therapy to treat metastatic breast cancer. He says his results are amazing, a true breakthrough in cure rates."

"Will he be able to include your sister in his study?"

"While I was waiting to speak with you, I called him. He's agreed to include her. If you'll release Madeline, I'll bring her and Tommy home with me. They'll stay with us and my husband will treat her."

"It's pretty advanced," the doctor said. "Her chances for recovery are slim at best."

Margaret looked over at her sister, who seemed to be regarding her with familial pride. "I thought I'd lost her a long time ago," Margaret said, "but she's back in my life now. It's only been my husband and me. Then I find out I still have my sister, and a nephew." She turned back to the doctor. "I can't lose her all over again. I know the odds, but I feel sure we'll beat them."

At that point, Tommy gently opened the door and looked in. He seemed confused about the people in the room. "Mom, what's going on?"

Madeline smiled the best smile Tommy had seen in months and said, "I'd like you to meet your Aunt Margaret."

"I thought we were all alone, just us, with no other family in the world."

"I'll explain later, but for now you should know that we'll never be alone again. Aunt Margaret will take us home with her. She'll take care of you and her husband will work hard to make me well again."

Margaret walked over to her nephew. She looked at him and bent down so they were eye to eye. "I'm so glad to meet you, Tommy." She smiled the same way his mom used to. "I have a feeling you and I will have a great time taking care of your mother." She reached out and hugged him, a familiar hug like the kind he remembered from his mom.

Tommy looked at his mom. She was giving him her happy smile.

He thought maybe he should find out where he could get another poinsettia plant because he realized that his new aunt deserved a magical gift, too.

The End

# FROM SADNESS TO JOY

Joseph C. Ackerman

My name is Andrew Grecco. My wife, Martha and I have two teenage children. Kristi is fourteen and a freshman in high school. Tony is now a senior, ready to enter college on a scholarship in a nearby school next year.

We are a close family and love having family get-togethers for the holidays at our home. These gatherings begin with Thanksgiving dinner and end with Christmas supper. Martha's mother and her two sisters, with their husbands and children, all live close enough to share in the celebrations. And, as the saying goes, 'it wouldn't be the holidays without them.'

I was an only child and my parents have long since passed on. I consider myself fortunate to have such a loving extended family that these people have brought me. From Martha's mother, Greta, to her two sisters Joy and Mary Katherine, our happiest days are at this time of year when we're all together.

Last year, Tony learned to drive, with much coaching from me. He passed the driver's written test and got a perfect score on his driving test. I have to admit that he is a terrific driver and I thoroughly trust him with the family car.

On the Saturday night after Thanksgiving, we received the horrific phone call from the hospital, telling us that our son was in a severe accident and was in a deep coma. It was then, that our world turned upside down. Immediately, Martha and I headed to the hospital, not knowing what to expect. The trip was slow and painful. It was difficult to keep my thoughts on driving as I moved to my destination. Even though it was late at night, we barely noticed the bright festive lights in the city before we entered the long freeway drive to the hospital.

During the twenty minute ride, neither Martha nor I could utter a word. Our thoughts were deeply silent; no one dared to express the sadness with words. I did notice Martha's tears when I briefly looked at her, but my concentration now, needed to be on the road.

In what seemed like an hour of constant driving, we were there in the usual twenty minutes. Soon, we would find out all the details of the accident.

When we arrived on the third floor of the hospital, we found our son's room. Tony was lying there, hooked up to a machine, with a number of wires placed in his head. Naturally, he would not be able to speak to us; but in the far corner of the room, there was someone who could fill us in on what exactly happened.

Susan Grimes, Tony's date that night, was sitting there. She was shaken by the accident, yet appeared to be in pretty good shape, considering the severity of the wreck.

As we moved a little closer, we could see that she was hurt. Her left arm was in a sling and she had her head bandaged all around. We also noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were wet with dripping mascara.

She noticed we were in the room and started to rise to greet us, but fell back in her chair. She seemed a little dizzy. Martha and I quickly rushed to her, giving her a few words of encouragement. She was not thinking of herself, but had great concern for Tony's condition. She explained that on the way back home from the movie theater, Tony was safely driving up an incline at normal speed. Suddenly, a car crossed over to their lane and almost hit them head on. But, seconds before the crash, Tony had swerved to the right, so that the other car hit our son's car on the driver's side. This sent his car flying down an embankment and landing upside down. Susan was protected by her seatbelt, but Tony's belt broke from the impact of the other car. His injuries were much more serious and only time would tell if he would make it.

After she was given help and it was determined she was in pretty good shape, they allowed her to go up to Tony's room while she waited for her parents to pick her up.

Not long after we were there, an orderly came to take her to her parents. Martha and I helped her into a wheelchair the orderly brought with him. Slowly she moved into the hallway. I could see there was probably a lot of rehab ahead for her, but I thought it was fortunate that she could, at least, go home and not have to stay in the hospital. We wished her a speedy recovery and told her to keep us aware of how she was doing. But now, we had to face our son's situation and plan our future days as best we could.

That year, Christmas supper would not take place at our house, but at Martha's sister, Joy's house. The same Turkey dinner would be eaten, along with the dressing, vegetables and of course Pumpkin pie. Our time would be spent in caring for Tony.

We brought Kristi in to see her brother the following day. She proved to be quite a mature, young lady and such a comfort to us. As soon as she entered Tony's room, she went over to him, took his right hand and began talking to him.

"Tony, I miss you so much. You have helped me along, adjusting to my first year of high school. Now, I want you to know this before anything else. I've always loved you, but only, really appreciated you, as my brother, when I entered this freshman year. You have helped me so much by preparing me for my classes. I always hated math, but you taught me to enjoy learning it, with your explanations of the most difficult lessons."

"I want to thank you for being there when I needed help, and for just being you, my big brother. Deep, down inside, I know you can hear me. You'll get through this all right. I'll always be thinking of you. My thoughts and prayers are with you. Very soon, I want to see you up and about."

With those words, Kristi went back to her mother. They slowly hugged each other and silently wept.

The days passed without any change in Tony's condition. All of the relatives visited as often as they could. That Christmas was a most somber one. The festivities were low-keyed, because our minds were concentrating on our son's life. Was he going to recover or were we going to lose him? It was not a time for the Grecco Family to be rejoicing.

I kept working and would visit Tony every night. Needless to say, my mind wasn't there at the office. Everyone had, by now, heard of the accident and expressed positive thoughts for Tony's recovery. I appreciated their concern. My boss even allowed me to leave early so that I could spend extra time at the hospital.

Martha did not have a job outside the home. She was always there for the kids. She was a great mother, very dependable. With Kristi being on vacation, it was nice that she had her mother there, especially in this time of need. Martha's sisters were also there for great support. Joy and Mary Katherine were counted on, because of their love and understanding, to give Martha the courage to face this ordeal. My wife would always say how good it was to have sisters that she honestly enjoyed being around.

Day after day, night after night, there was no change. Tony was still in his coma. Soon, we'll be in another new year. What will that bring? How much longer can we go on like this?

It was soon December thirty-first, the last day of 2012. Another celebration was coming; another year to hope. In my visit that night, I spoke to Tony about the future.

"Seventeen years ago when your mother and I gave birth to you, it was the happiest day of my life. You were my pride and joy. Now, as I see you lying here, I'm so sad. I want to tell you to keep trying to reach us. I just know that you do have the will to come back. You know that all of us are sending positive thoughts your way."

"I'm not a religious man, so I leave the praying to the rest of the family. Your mother is so into holding onto her faith and is constantly praying that your recovery will be soon. Her sisters have joined with her in this time of need and have been a great comfort to her."

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I do know that you've had the best care from the doctors and nurses. Everyone has done the best they could, given the circumstances. Only time, now, can give us the answer."

"You've been such a kind and wonderful son, Tony. It's now up to you to return to us. Please, spend this New Year with us. Let us hear your voice once again. Bring joy back into our lives."

With these words I reached down and held my son with a big hug and I tearfully kissed him on the forehead. Afterwards, Martha and I, silently and slowly walked out of the room.

Tony continued to be on our minds. In the New Year, days passed with our same routine. He was still with us and best of all, we were with him.

On February 3 of this year, things improved. Tony came out of his coma. From then on, he could communicate with his family for the first time since his accident. It was so wonderful to hear him speak again. Though he spoke more slowly, we had all the time in the world to listen. We encouraged him to express himself vocally, no matter how difficult. Eventually, his speech improved and the clearness of his voice filled our hearts with joy.

It took him a few months of rehab to get back most of the physical strength he needed. This was done as an outpatient, so he was home at last. He caught up on his studies with the lessons the teachers gladly gave him so he wouldn't get behind in his school work. Tony was an A student and he kept that A with those assignments he did at home.

After Spring Break, Tony was able to return to school, full time. He was caught up in all his classes and didn't have to attend summer school. We had our son back. He was still the same great kid. For us, life was full of much joy and happiness. Kristi was right all along. She knew that Tony would fully recover.

Now was another Thanksgiving, almost a year since the life-changing accident. I was seated at the head of the table. Seeing that everyone was here, there was not a sad face in the crowd.

I stood and began to speak. "Thank you all for coming to our special Thanksgiving Dinner. Every one of you here, has known and felt the ordeal this family has gone through this past year. It's now time to thank you for your kind thoughts and the great help you all gave us."

"Kay, all your loving time and also the use of your house for the Christmas feast last year, was such a help in making that holiday seem 'normal.' It let us keep our family tradition going, with all the family together at such a trying time. Thank you, so much."

"Every one of you was able to visit Tony in the hospital. And Martha told me that you had your various places of worship send Tony their thoughts and prayers. Our whole family deeply appreciated this. We've all had our ups and downs. But this showed how family ties are important and can have positive outcomes even in the worst situations. Love does conquer all."

"I also want to give a special thanks to my daughter, Kristi. She calmly showed us how to communicate in a loving way. She has truly grown up and has become such a beautiful person. Her belief in her brother's strength gave us hope. Kristi, you are so special."

"My wife, Martha showed the endurance that was needed to get through this time. She never complained. Day in and day out, she was there for all of us. Martha, thank you for being a good mother, sister and wife."

"Last, but not least, is Tony. Thank you for coming through this ordeal and returning to us. You were in pretty bad shape, son. But now, you've recovered completely and even kept up with your school work. I'm so proud of you, Tony. You are a fine young man. We all love you."

"So today, the Grecco Family has a lot to be thankful for. _May these family traditions, which bring us so much joy, continue for many years to come!"_ Now, let's eat!"

The End

# CHRISTMAS MEMORIES OF ROME

Judith Works

When it's October here in the Pacific Northwest, the leaves are just beginning to turn. But in between the store shelves packed with skulls and ghouls for Halloween, I am confronted by red poinsettias, artificial pre-decorated Christmas trees, and wrapping paper emblazoned with snowflakes or toy soldiers. These products compete for space, overwhelming the few Thanksgiving decorations. The holiday shopping frenzy is already on red alert.

I prefer a slower pace – one more like the celebrations my husband and I enjoyed in Rome. When November rolls around I begin to check my gift list and think about sending cards to friends overseas. And I pause to remember our Roman-style celebrations that didn't begin until mid-December. No endless music loops of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or White Christmas to assault the ears. No Deck the Halls or God Rest Ye' Merry Gentlemen, and hardly any Christmas trees or cards with a snowy Santa or perky birds on berried branches. The Italian version of Christmas was so different from our family traditions with a big tree, loads of presents, Christmas crackers and plum pudding doused with brandy to be set alight and served while the blue flames still flickered.

Instead, I remember the delightful Christmas market filling the spacious Piazza Navona, with toys, candy and figures of wizened old grannies called befane who are said to fly through the air astride broomsticks. La Befana is the witch who brings Christmas treats to children if they are good and coal if they're not. She arrives on the night of January 5th to ensure that the gifts are ready on Epiphany morning in remembrance of the Gifts of the Magi. But no worries – the "coal" on display is really black candy, so bambini are never very worried.

When we strolled in the piazza, the sounds of happy children echoed off the magnificent buildings surrounding the area, and mixed with the one-sided conversations from their parents' cell phones and the sound of falling water from the three sparkling fountains.

Different sounds came from smaller piazzas where shepherds from the Abruzzi Mountains just east of Rome came to play their bagpipes, zampogna. The Zampogneri are traditionally dressed in knickers, cross-wrapped leggings and wool capes. We suspected that the outfits were only brought out during the holidays, and that, rather than returning to lonely flocks in the hills, the musicians tooled off in their Fiats to cozy homes and televisions to recuperate from their day collecting coins that we willingly donated after listening to their haunting music.

The life-sized Nativity scene by the obelisk in front of  St. Peters was always beautiful as it rested within the welcoming arms of Bernini's magnificent statue-topped colonnade. But the exhibition of about 200 presepi in Santa Maria del Popolo, famed for its two Caravaggio paintings, was more intimate and even sometimes amusing with little figurines dressed in native costumes from the world over. Nativity displays have been a tradition in Italy since at least the time of St. Francis in the 1200s. The best and most elaborate come from Via San Gregorio Armeno, a narrow street in the old section of Naples, Spaccanapoli, where artisans devote themselves to creating an amazing variety of theatrical characters – peasants in 18th Century dress with their carts and wheelbarrows, animals, cheeses, sausages, and baskets of fishes. They and their bounty surround the Holy Family who are sheltered under an elaborate lean-to and guarded by hovering angels wearing swirling Baroque robes.

The statuettes offering food in the Nativity scenes are emblematic of Christmas in Italy with its seasonal food traditions. Along the streets in the historic city center came a mouthwatering aroma from chestnuts roasting on charcoal braziers. Sold in paper cones, we found their taste irresistible on cold December days. The Christmas Song beginning with the immortal line, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire" always came to mind as we munched while window shopping along streets filled with luxuries from Gucci, Valentino and the like.

Piles of boxed panettone, the fruit-studded Christmas bread, filled supermarket aisles and were stacked in the windows of corner bars. There were so many brands and varieties that it was hard to choose. We joined others holding on to the ribbon handles of their boxed treats, toting them on the subway or bus – gifts to the hostess or nonna, or just for themselves. Other seasonal foods were also abundant: pandoro, a sweet bread enjoyed by both ancient and modern Romans; tooth-breaking torrone, the flat sticks of nougat and nuts; panforte, a dense, dark and chewy fruitcake from Siena; and zampone, sausage-stuffed pig's trotters often served with lentils.

We would set up a small and scraggly tree, the only kind available. It was decorated with crystal drops taken from old chandeliers. We found the crystals piled on the ground in the Sunday flea market at Porta Portese. As I hung the drops on the tree, I wondered who had danced under the glittering lights in the 18th and 19th Centuries, and what change of circumstances had caused their owners to sell them for a pittance.

Our table tops held figurines for our own presepe: the knife grinder, the fish monger, shepherds, the Wise Men, a camel and donkey, and of course the Holy Family. Some of the figures came from the Christmas market (unpainted terra cotta) and some from Standa, the local equivalent of a tiny Wal-Mart (cheap plastic, but hand painted in Italy), and a few from our trips to Naples. It was truly an eclectic collection.

Italians typically eat a large meal, usually fish or seafood, on Christmas Eve before attending midnight service. We reserved our holiday meal for Christmas Day. Butterball turkey showed up in our commissary, along with canned cranberry sauce. The sauce wasn't available in Italian grocery stores and turkey was not a common commodity. More important than cranberry sauce was champagne or festive Italian prosecco – no store ever lacked a supply. We stocked up just in case.

If we didn't have family or other visitors, we contributed to a potluck with friends. And no matter who we shared with, after the meal it was time for a walk. Our favorite route was along the Appian Way where towering umbrella pines and cypresses, dark against the blue sky, line the ancient road. The paving stones are grooved from chariots from the time of the Roman Empire. Romantic ruins are scattered along the route, like those of the mausoleum of Cecilia Metella. The remains always put me in awe of the power and skills of those who populated the Empire two thousand years before my footsteps.

When our ten-year stay came to its inevitable end, we wanted to add some of the Italian traditions to those of the Pacific Northwest. We couldn't bring home the bagpipers or the chestnut roasters, or the ancient stones of the Appian Way. It wasn't practical to bring home one of the hundred-piece sets of Neapolitan presepe. No problem. Panettone is available in most stores, and those shops that carry Italian foods have every other kind of holiday treat to tempt us.

The old crystal drops now grace our tall tree, reflecting the tiny lights strung on its ample branches, and a beautiful ceramic eight-piece Nativity set from an artisan in Tuscany adds an Italian note to our coffee table. These little items blend seamlessly with the pudding, the carols and the piles of cards to give meaning to the season and bring to mind our long sojourn in a place where other traditions brought happiness in a different way.

The End

# ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAROL

Juliet Kincaid

There stood Jen Shirey, thinking bloody murder and feeling absolutely no holiday joy at all.

Drab in dismal black, Jen gazed across the parlor crowded with people dressed like Victorian ladies and gentlemen. The object of Jen's anger, a pretty blonde, wore a pearly pink gown with ruffles on the shoulders and hem of its full skirt. She clung to the arm of a tall young man wearing gray trousers, a white shirt and a gray frock coat.

The blonde in pink rose up on tiptoes and whispered something in the young man's ear. When he smiled at the blonde, Jen ground her teeth together.

Jen didn't know the pretty blonde, but she knew the young man for sure. He was Eric Hubbard–Jen's date! Or so she'd thought. After all, in spite of living sixty miles apart, they'd managed to see each other every week since they'd met on a case in the fall. Jen had come up to the Catnap Inn Bed and Breakfast for the Charles Dickens Holiday Weekend at Eric's invitation. And now there he stood, hanging on the blonde's every word.

Turned mean by disappointment, Jen imagined all sorts of nasty outcomes for the little blonde.

Maybe the girl could get knocked down by a grocery cart in the Price Chopper parking lot and then run over by a near-sighted old lady.

Or, if Jen could find out where the blonde lived, she could sneak into her house and cross-wire her appliances. If the microwave didn't fry her insides, maybe the cable box would.

Or, maybe Jen could follow the blonde to the mall and rig the escalator to drag her under, starting with her itty-bitty feet. That would be gory but good.

Jen grinned, but her smile vanished when she scratched the back of her neck. Part of her costume was a wad of fake hair parked at the base of her skull like some hot, furry animal. Her costume also included a gown made of heavy black fabric and smelling faintly of mildew. It had long sleeves, a high neck, and a full skirt over a hoop. She'd broken into a sweat under the heavy clothes after only a minute in the warm, crowded parlor. Plus, when she sat down on one of the parlor chairs, the hoop had sprung up revealing very authentic white pantaloons. Jen blushed, jumped up, and wished she had gotten to the costume supply back home sooner than she had, so she would have had a better choice.

Now, disgusted at the sight of handsome Eric with that blonde, Jen turned her back and gazed at the pictures in heavy frames of the Hubbards' champion Maine Coon cats on the mantelpiece. Earlier Jen had helped Eric lug those very same cats, Ricky, Gonzo, Coonie Sue, and her most recent litter, up the hill to stay with the neighbors for the weekend. When she'd gotten back to the B & B and gone upstairs to dress for the party, she'd found her bag and her rumpled gown on the floor outside the Rose Room–her room, she'd thought! When she'd tapped on the door, though, a head dripping with blonde curls poked out. Baby blue eyes looked her up and down. Bee-sting lips lisped, "Oh Connie, I'm sure you won't mind," the blonde said, sounding like Scarlet O'Hara. "I took one look at this darling room and I knew I just had to have it. I adore the rose-covered wallpaper and pink is my color!"

"My name's not Connie," Jen had said to the closed door. "And yes, I do mind! Who are you anyway?"

Just then big handsome Eric had come down the hall. "I'm sorry, Jen. We're going to have to put you upstairs." He hadn't even looked embarrassed about it. He hadn't helped Jen carry her bags upstairs either. Instead, he'd rushed off toward the basement to have at the inn's cranky water heater with a wrench.

In the crowded parlor, Jen turned away from the pictures of the cats and stared again at those blond curls. Jen knew where she'd like to put that wrench, and it wasn't on a pipe.

"Oh Jen, there you are, honey," someone drawled. "Are you having fun? Did you get some punch? It's a special family recipe, you know."

Clenching her fists, Jen wished she could punch the blonde right in her little button nose. The girl had been all over Eric like a cheap suit all night, even when they had gone caroling. Jen sniffed indignantly like an angry cat when she recalled trailing Eric with his football player's shoulders as he escorted the blonde from quaint house to quaint house throughout the charming little town.

"Bah, humbug," Jen muttered.

"I beg your pardon, honey?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?" Jen turned toward Eric's grandmother, Mrs. Elvira Jones, well covered in lavender taffeta with a black crocheted shawl over her stooped shoulders and lacy, fingerless gloves on her gnarled hands. From her button shoes to the net on her white curls, all the details of her costume were perfect, except for her heavy-framed glasses.

"Would you like some punch, Jen?"

"Oh, no thanks," Jen said, wondering in passing if the punch bowl was filled deep enough to drown the blonde in it. "Hey, Mrs. Jones, who's the girl with Eric?"

The old woman craned her neck and looked around the crowded room. She squinted through the thick lenses of her glasses. "Where's Eric? I don't see him. Oh, there he is. Why that's little Missy. Such a sweet girl."

"Of course her name is Missy. Perfect," Jen said to the molded tin ceiling high above.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's nothing. Sorry."

"Missy's Eric's fiancée, don't you know?"

"Fiancée?" Jen said, heart sinking. "I didn't know Eric was engaged. He never even mentioned having a girlfriend."

"Well, I thought they'd broken it off, but I allow as how I was mistaken because there she stands, big as life."

Angry again, Jen wondered if little Missy might be persuaded to bungee jump. Jen could slip in with a sharp blade just at the right moment, cut the cords, and Missy would ram her darling curls right into the rocks below.

Across the room, Jen saw big Blanche Hubbard, her red hair dimmed a bit by black netting and her big body swathed in crisp, dark green satin. Accompanied by a tall, broad guy in a black frockcoat, Blanche lumbered up to her son and loomed over Missy leaning her head against one of Eric's broad shoulders.

Winsome was the word for Missy, Jen thought. Jen also realized that she couldn't do winsome to save her neck. "Listen, Mrs. Jones. I think I'll go upstairs and change into my jeans and shirt. Then maybe I'll go up the hill to see the cats."

"Oh, Jen, I do believe you're not having a good time. I'm so disappointed for you. Maybe I could–"

"Jen, there you are," Blanche called from across the room. "Come on over here. I want you to meet a little gal visiting us from back home."

Frankly, Jen would rather have been flayed than meet Missy. She eyed the nearest window and considered diving out of it. But then she wondered how she'd become such a wimp. Maybe it was the Victorian clothes getting to her. Resolved to be civil at least, Jen squared her shoulders, stepped out, promptly walked up inside her hoop, and stumbled forward.

"Oh my, I do believe somebody's had too much punch," Missy cooed.

Jen ripped her skirt out from under her feet and glanced at Eric. She was pleased to see him running a finger under the tight, high collar of his white boiled shirt. "Suffer, dude," she muttered to herself before she turned her attention to Missy, all feminine and frilly in her pink ruffled gown, with her bare arms and low neckline.

Jen looked closer and realized that Missy's arms weren't bare after all, but covered with sleeves the color of skin. The same cloth covered her shoulders and chest above a bouquet of flowers pinned to the bodice of the pink gown. The flowers weren't roses, as Jen would have expected, but some sort of pink, rose and deep mauve blossoms drooping on purplish stalks. She'd seen that kind of flower before, though she couldn't say what kind they were.

"Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you formally at last, Connie," breathed Missy in her Southern belle tones.

"Uh, Missy, her name's not Connie," Eric said. "It's Jen. Jen Shirey."

Missy leaned her charming curls close to Jen and whispered, "But I'm surprised that you're already out and about. And you got your figure back so soon."

"What are you talking about?" Jen said.

Missy pressed her gloved fingers to her cheek. "Oh but silly me, of course you don't it to be bruited about that you've given birth, seeing as how you and the father of the babies aren't married." Missy bared sharp little teeth.

"Babies?" Eric said. "What babies? Jen, do you have kids? Before we met maybe?"

"I don't have any kids."

Missy widened her baby blues. "Now tell me, how many babies did you have, twins, triplets? In his letter, Eric never did say how many. Don't tell me you had quadruplets, Connie."

"Huh?" Jen said.

"Oh my gosh," Eric said. "I know what happened. Come here, Missy. I need to talk to you."

The blonde looked startled as Eric grasped her firmly by one arm. "Don't go away, Jen. I'll be right back. Sorry, I've been neglecting you, Jen. But I'll make it up to you."

Jen grinned at the scowl on the winsome face. "Cool. I'll wait for you right here." She watched with satisfaction as Eric hustled Missy through the crowd and out of the parlor into the hall. He released the blonde's arm and wagged his finger at her.

Blanche leaned her red hair in between Jen and the view of Eric and Missy. "I was so surprised when she showed up. I didn't even know she knew Eric was here. He must've written to her on the inn stationary. And she must have looked it up on the website Eric set up for us and found out about the Dickens weekend."

"No, wait. Wait," Jen said. "Missy isn't Eric's fiancée?"

"He broke it off months ago. He didn't like the way she was always clinging to him, like a leech or a barnacle or something. Anyway, now I'm sure he'll straighten it out and send that little baggage packing."

A sharp scream came from the hall. "Somebody call 9-1-1!" a man shouted.

"What's that?" Blanche said. "Something's wrong with Eric, I know it." The big woman pushed her way through the crowd and Jen followed in her wake.

On his knees, Eric gasped for breath, his fingers clawing at his collar, his face red, his lips puffed.

"My baby!" Blanche howled. "What's wrong? What's wrong?"

Still wheezing, Eric toppled over on his side and Blanche thumped down beside him. As she ripped open Eric's shirt, a collar button popped into the air, hit the floor, and rolled away. "Come on, darling. Breathe for Mama."

"Send the EMT's right away," a Victorian gent said into the cell phone he held. "Somebody here had an allergic reaction to the flowers his girlfriend was wearing."

Jen followed the gent's gaze to Missy holding her pink and purple bouquet in both of her gloved hands.

Jen suddenly recognized the flowers. They were cyclamen. She also recalled something she'd read about them online. She pointed at the blonde. "You! You did that on purpose."

Missy's blue eyes widened. She put her hand to her brow. "Oh, I'm feeling faint," she said. Dropping the bouquet, she crumpled gracefully to the floor.

"Oops! There goes another one," the Victorian gent said into the cell phone. "Come quick."

Jen pulled off her fake chignon and picked the bouquet up with it. Then she reached down and shook Missy by the shoulder. "Get up."

Missy's eyes opened. "What do you think you're doing?" the blonde sputtered, all trace of Southern gone from her voice. Missy turned her head and looked at the people clumped in the doorways to the parlor and dining room. "I must've fainted," she said.

"You were shamming. Here let me help you up." Jen grabbed Missy's arm and hauled her to her feet.

"Let go of me. You're hurting me."

"Want to tell me about these flowers, Missy?" When Jen shook the bouquet, petals scattered. "What did you do? Get Eric to smell them?"

"What if I did? They're harmless. How would I know Eric would have some sort of allergic reaction to my posies?"

"Are they harmless? Let's see." Jen pushed the flowers toward the blonde and had the satisfaction of seeing the blonde recoil. "I see you know as well as I do that these are cyclamen and sometimes cyclamen can cause an allergic reaction. You planned this. That's why you're wearing gloves and your gown has long sleeves and a high neck, so the flowers wouldn't touch your skin. You wouldn't want to turn pink and swell up."

"That's not true."

"If Eric dies, I'll make sure you're tried for murder." Jen wasn't sure of it, but she wanted to torment little Missy. "And even if he's fine, you're going to jail."

Missy widened her baby blues. "You keep saying these horrid things about me." She turned in a circle, her hands lifted in darling appeal to the ladies and gents, white-faced and shaking with shock. "Why is she saying these horrible things about me? Particularly her, having my fiancé's babies out of wedlock." She shook a finger at Jen. "I suppose you're going to deny that, Connie."

"Connie? My name's not–"

"You'll never have him. You may have his babies, Connie Sue, but you'll never have him. I'll see him dead first." Missy clapped her hands over her bee-sting lips. "Oops."

"Connie Sue?" Jen said. "Oh, my gosh, I just figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Missy asked.

The next morning, still looking peaked, Eric lay propped up in the four-poster bed in the Rose Room. On the far side lay tawny and beautiful Coonie Sue, her kittens blissfully nursing. Jen sat on the other side of Eric and held his hand.

"I should have realized sooner that she misread my letter." Eric patted Jen's hand. "I never was a good speller, so she must have thought I meant to write Connie when I told her Coonie Sue had given birth."

His dark, intelligent eyes looked thoughtful behind his glasses. "I knew she was getting squirrelly. That's one reason why I decided to come up here and stay with Mama and Grandma for a while. But what I want to know is how she thought up such a weird scheme as trying to do me in with those flowers."

"She told the sheriff that she was at a party where a girl wore a cyclamen corsage. When her boyfriend took a whiff of it, he had an allergic reaction and went straight into anaphylactic shock, just like you did. She also told the sheriff that she just wanted to scare you. That's not what she told me though." Jen gazed thoughtfully at Eric. "But why did you smell those flowers anyway?"

"I didn't want to, but she reached up, grabbed me by the ear, and poked her bouquet in my face, so I had to."

"Oh, the little witch. She's dangerous."

"Yeah, I feel sorry for the sheriff." Eric shook his head. "He'll have his hands full with her. She might charm him into doing something foolish."

"He's a trained professional. He'll be fine."

"I guess you're right." Eric stared at Jen a moment before he whispered, "I'm sure glad you were here." He leaned forward and smooched Jen on the lips.

"Me, too. I have to give the girl credit though. Her plan really was ingenious," Jen said, realizing suddenly that she hadn't come up with any way to kill Missy half as clever as the little blonde's plot against Eric. "I'm glad it didn't work though. Having her succeed would have taken all the joy out of my holidays for sure. Maybe even the rest of my life."

Eric grinned. "Would have taken the fun out of my holidays, too." He tugged on Jen's hand. "Now come here. I really need some more of your kisses, so I can get better faster."

The End

# SANTA'S VISIT

Kirstin Pulioff

"Get away from that window!" Maria yelled, bursting into the room from the dim hallway. "What do you think you're doing? You could catch a cold, or worse." Her dark hair, fresh from the bath, froze above the lace collar of her nightgown as the wind struck her. Reaching behind her younger brother, she shivered as the heavy windows clicked into place.

Peter hung his head, hiding from her exaggerated scowl. "Worse?" his quiet voice peeped.

"Maybe," she said, softening at his trepidation. Knocking his elbow, she felt his cold skin beneath the worn edges of his flannel pajamas and pulled him close. "What do you think will happen if you get sick and Mom has to miss more work to stay home and take care of you?"

"I didn't think about that," he whispered. His breath warmed her arms.

"You never do, Peter. You never think beyond the immediate. When are you going to grow up and be more responsible?"

He squinted up at her. She felt him sizing her up, before he spoke. "I suppose when I'm eight, like you."

She met his smile with her own. "Then I guess you have a few more years to dream. What were you looking at, anyway?"

Pulling free, he leaned against the window. "I was looking for Santa. I thought if I stared real hard, I might find him flying toward us."

His breath clouded the window as he scoured the sky.

She sighed, seeing the hope sparkle in his wide eyes. She hated seeing him disappointed.

Leaning against the windowsill, she watched the stars twinkle in patterns. If there was ever a year they needed Santa or his miracles, this was it.

"Santa will come, he always does, but you know the rules. He won't come if we're watching. Peter, you really have to go to bed. Mom's already asleep, and we —"

"Mom's already in bed?" he interrupted. "Again?"

"Shhh, yes," she said, dragging him toward his bed. Grabbing the rough edges of the thick wool blankets, she pulled them down and settled onto the far edge of the bed. The bumpy springs gave way beneath her. "It's late. And besides, you know how it is. She's been working hard, she's not feeling well, and Dad's gone. She needs her rest. What she doesn't need is another reason to worry."

She watched his eyes puddle, and softened her voice. "Now, into bed so we can read our story, like we do every year. It's Christmas Eve."

Without waiting for a response, she shuffled up the bed and leaned back against the wall, resting the large leather-bound book against her knees. She drummed her fingers impatiently across the cover.

"I'm coming," he mumbled, climbing into bed beside her. After a glance back to the window, he cuddled close, sneaking underneath her arms.

Hunched over, they looked closely at the delicate designs illuminated by the small flashlight. A treasure, passed down through generations, this book held the memories and Christmas dreams of their family. Its torn leather binding felt smooth as she opened the book. A moment of awe fell over them as they looked at the pages in front of them. The flashlight highlighted the old, but still captivating, illustrations. Visions of Santa in his velvety suit, sugarplums laced with sparkly sugar, dolls crafted to life with golden hair, and trains that stretched across the bottom of every page. This book held more than a story: it overflowed with wishes and dreams.

Maria balanced the large book on her lap, cringing as the pages crinkled beneath her touch, a reminder of its age and fragility.

"' _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,_ " she whispered, trying to find a balance between theatrics and quiet.

Soon, all awareness disappeared into the wonder of words and faded designs. They held their breath, as if repeating the traditional words would conjure up the image of Santa. For a moment, the only sounds were the crinkling of pages and shuffling of sheets.

" _There arose such a clatter—_ " she stopped to glare at her brother. "Peter, if you're going to wiggle like that, I am going to stop. Mom would be furious if she knew we were still up. She would kill us, or worse."

"Worse?"

"What do you think she would do if we were bad on Christmas Eve? I bet she has a letter to Santa all ready to go in cases like this"

"You really think she would?" his soft voice quivered.

"Don't you?"

Peter's lips grew tight and his forehead wrinkled. She knew he was thinking back over the last few months, remembering the long workdays, shortened tempers, and sleepless nights.

"No, not this year, she needs this as much as we do." A flicker of doubt stayed in his voice.

"As long as we don't wake her," she warned. "You're right though, she needs tomorrow as much as we do, and I think she's going to be really surprised with our gifts."

A proud smile spread on her lips as she looked over at her bed. Neatly made against the far wall, the soft glow from the flashlight lit up her bed and the small treasures leaning against her bedside table. A carved branch that Peter had worked on and a new necklace she had made, pieced together with random beads she had found over the past months.

"I think she's going to love them. Now, back to the story, we're almost to my favorite spot," she yawned. The dark pages came to life again under the light.

Their eyes locked on the pages in delight as the eight reindeer flew under her beam. Soaring through the air with ease, they carried the ruby sleigh over-filled with toys and treasures. Page after page, they lost themselves in delight.

"... _that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly_. What was that?" she asked, jerking the light to the door.

Peter looked up at her in surprise. "It wasn't me, I promise."

"No, not you, listen." She held her fingers to her lips, waiting for the sounds again. After a moment, a soft shuffling started.

"That, did you hear it?" she asked. She dropped the book to the bed and pointed the flashlight to the door.

In the silence, the sound magnified. Peter grabbed at her arm, knocking the flashlight to the floor. The thread of light rolled away until it pointed against the far wall. They huddled close as the thump of the flashlight gave way to silence.

She held her breath, listening to the deafening beating of her heart. Out of the darkness, a rhythmic thump started.

Peter gripped her tighter, eyes pleading, as the sounds grew louder. _Thump, thump, thump._

"Wait here, I'm going to go look," she said, summoning up courage.

"You can't leave me in the dark," his soft voice quivered.

"I don't have a choice. With father gone, it's up to me to protect Mom." She retrieved the fallen light and headed to the door.

Swallowing her fear, she tiptoed over to the wooden door. She barely felt the chill of the floor as she held the brass handle. The loud clink of the door, combined with her brother pummeling into her, ruined her attempt at stealth.

Her fear disappeared under a wave of frustration. She didn't need the flashlight to see the sorrowful glance from her brother. His strong grip on her sleeve told her enough. He was scared.

"That's fine, but don't let go, and stay behind me at all times. We're just going to peek downstairs. It was probably just Sprinkles." She turned away quickly before he could see her face. The excuse sounded implausible, even to her.

Sprinkles, their gray cat, spent most of his days lounging in the windowsill in the front of the house. Old and fat, while he might make a thumping sound when he jumped, he didn't do that nearly enough to make the noise they heard.

Maria moved the flashlight, turning to the door, leaving Peter's frightened face in the darkness.

They crept slowly to the stairs and knelt down. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears, Maria leaned over the edge. Her stomach twisted with fear she waited for the sounds to return. A wave of emotion fluttered through her as she surveyed the living room.

In one corner, their tree stood. A banner for the season, the green limbs sagged under the weight of their ornaments. Hand-painted trinkets, golden bells, colorful trains, and her favorite, the antiqued lace stringers that her grandmother had made encircling it. In a place of honor at the top, leaned a golden star. Surrounded by frazzled strands of tinsel, the star's surface seemed dull. The only part resembling the intended shine was the flickering flame that reflected off its surface.

Every day since their dad's deployment, their mother faithfully lit the candle, praying for the day he would return. They had gone through more packages of candles than Maria could count. There were nights of missed homework, and lunches that were not made, but Mom never forgot to light that candle.

As if knowing they were looking for him, Sprinkles jumped off the couch and jingled past the tree, disappearing into the shadows of the kitchen. The soft ringing of her collar faded and the thumps began again. Maria held her breath.

"I don't like this." Her brother's grip tightened around her as she struggled to lean farther down without being seen.

"Hush. Do you want to see or not? Someone's coming."

A sharp intake of breath surprised her. She turned in time to see her brother's trembling hand pointing. "It's him."

"Him, who?" she asked, turning to where he pointed.

She watched thick, polished boots walk across the room. They stopped by the tree and the boughs shook and swayed as items were placed below. The shadow of an overstuffed bag leaned against the far wall. Lumpy and out of shape, the bag seemed to overflow.

"It's Santa," Peter whispered in awe.

"It can't be." Maria shook her head in disbelief, but even she had to admit it made sense. Everything added up in her mind — the bells, the boots, the shuffling, even his overstuffed bundle of toys. Was there anyone else it could be?

Her smile lit up her face. For the first time in a long time, excitement burst through her small body.

"See, Peter, we've been good. Now off to bed. We can't let him see us. I'll finish up that story now."

They ran back to their room, silent except for the soft pitter patter of their toes.

A smile played on Maria's lips as she excitedly finished their story. Guided by the narrow light, her eyes skipped over words, speeding the rhymes together.

" _Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night_. Good night Peter," she whispered.

With a sweet kiss, she tucked in her brother, amazed that he could sleep with the excitement of the moment. Cradling the treasured book in her arms, she traced the illustration of Santa, and let visions of sugar plums dance in her head. Magical images of the polished boots walking across the floor and the overstuffed bag kept her up longer than she intended. She could hardly tell the difference between her dreams and wakeful imagination. She heard the shuffling slowly shift into silence, and the dark sky start to brighten before her eyes finally shut.

* * *

When Maria awoke, she jumped out of bed with a flop. She gently shook her brother.

"Peter, it's time. Wake up. Let's go see what Santa brought us."

His groggy eyes shot open. Without a word he grabbed her hand and fell in line next to her. His eyes shone beneath his messy hair. "Do you think it was really him?" he yawned.

She raised her eyebrows. "We heard him, we _saw_ him. It was him, I'm sure of it."

"Right," he said, excitement building in his voice. "Who gets to wake mom?"

Sharing a smile, they dashed across the room to the stairs, each wanting to be the first. Their toes froze on the cold morning floors as they bounded down the stars.

"Mom, you'll never guess what we heard last night. Santa —" she yelled running down the stairs and stopped.

Entering the room, her words caught in her throat, and her gaze stopped on the couch. Huddled underneath thick wool blankets, she saw a familiar head of mopped curls and freckles. Next to him, leaning against the molted couch, his overstuffed bag threatened to fall over. And placed neatly by the door stood his brightly polished boots.

"Dad?" her voice trembled. "Dad!" she cried, running down the remainder of stairs and jumping into his arms.

"Santa was here last night," her brother whispered from behind her, struggling to find room to fit in his arms as well.

"Yes he was, Peter, and he brought us the best gift of all."

The End

# THE TICKING RING

K.N. Lee

Ella's breath escaped her lips in a puff of vapor. She licked her lips. The taste of her sweet mango lip gloss made her smile. Snow fell from the sky in steady sheets, covering everything in a thick layer of white. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and delighted in the way the thick liquid warmed her from the inside out. She sighed and snuggled into Jack's side.

Ella frowned to herself as she shivered. She wore two layers of clothing, a coat, gloves, a hat, and a scarf, and was still freezing. She couldn't understand how Jack could tolerate the cold with nothing but a thin jacket and scarf.

"How long are we supposed to wait out here?" Ella looked around at the quiet park. The trees swayed slightly with the cold wind. The stars above seemed to flicker around the pale moon.

Jack shrugged. He pulled her in closer and kissed her left cheek. "Maybe another five minutes, tops. You okay?"

Ella nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "Yeah. I'm just cold. I'm a southern girl. I'm not used to this Arctic chill."

Jack chuckled and wrapped her in his coat. "We're in Ireland, not Iceland! You mean to tell me they don't have winters in Savannah?"

Ella glanced up at him. A snowflake rested on her nose. She closed one eye and scrunched up her face as she looked at it. "Not like this. I'm sorry darling, but I've never been a fan of the cold."

"That's unfortunate," Jack said.

A hint of disappointment in his voice made her pause. She kissed him on the cheek and dusted more snow off her knees. "I just hope that whatever you have planned happens quickly. I'm getting buried in snow." Ella made a face. "I didn't even know Ireland got so much snow!"

Jack stood. He pulled her up to her feet. He winked at her. "It normally doesn't, sweetheart."

Ella heard a howling as the wind picked up. She looked around, startled. "What is it, Jack?" Her voice came out cracked. She clutched his arm and held on, expecting to be carried away as the wind blew fiercely at the both of them.

Ella saw a light in the distance. She squealed. "What is that?"

Jack turned to face her. He grinned as Ella covered her mouth. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle. She'd always loved his eyes. The day they met on her tour of Ireland exactly one year ago, she'd felt something almost magical whenever she looked into them.

Now, she was almost afraid. She started to take a step away, but Jack took her hands in his. Ella stood still. The wind wrapped around them, but she didn't care. Something in his eyes calmed her. He kissed the back of both her hands and fell to his knees.

Ella's jaw dropped as she realized what was happening. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a glittering box.

"Jack!" Ella's eyes widened. She looked around, there were people all around. Watching them. Smiling. Cheering her on in silence.

"Ella," Jack began. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

Ella shivered. "Who are all of these people?" They all wore blue, and had the same shade of white hair that Jack had, and the same glow in their blue eyes.

"They are my family. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be my queen."

Jack opened the box and the sound of a piccolo began to fill her ears.

Ella gasped at the large diamond set in a golden band. She froze as he took off her glove and slipped it onto her finger. The ring was light, but warmed her entire body. She felt a wave of joy flood her body. The joy was so euphoric that she almost lost herself in the sensation.

Her mind raced. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She had dreamed about being proposed to since she was a child, but she never imagined such an elaborate scene.

Ella bit her lip, and winced at the pain. She wasn't dreaming. Something fantastical was happening and she didn't know how to process it. All she could do was look around in awe, occasionally glancing back at Jack's smiling face to reassure herself this was real.

Jack's family continued cheering in silence. They were shouting, smiling, and clapping, but she could hear nothing.

Jack looked so happy and hopeful. His charming smile stretched from ear to ear. He nodded her on. "Will you, my love? Will you be my queen?"

"Queen?" Ella croaked. Her eyes widened even more as the diamond on her left ring finger began to glow and tick like a clock. The ticking grew so loud that the sound of the piccolo was drowned out by it.

Jack closed the ring box and the music abruptly stopped. He came to his feet, kissed her gently on the lips, and pulled her away at arm's length. "Yes, Ella. I'm asking you not only to marry me, but to be my queen."

Ella's brows furrowed. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Queen of what?"

Jack chuckled. "Your innocence and purity is what drew me to you."

Ella shook her head. "I don't understand, Jack."

Jack turned her toward the wall of wind that encircled them. The faces of his family began to swirl away and vanish. Their images were replaced by a castle made of ice. "Have you ever heard the name, Jack Frost?"

She shot a look at him. "No...you're not telling me you're _the_ Jack Frost?"

He nodded and pointed to the ice castle. "That is my home, where I rule over winter. I need a queen, someone to help me with that task and to watch over the children of the world."

Ella covered her mouth with her hands. The glow of the ring drew her attention again. It continued to tick. "Why is the ring ticking?"

Jack stroked her cheek. His smile faded. "It has a timer. You don't have much longer to make your choice."

Ella paled. She hated decisions. She hated pressure. But, she knew she loved Jack.

"Tell me, my love. Will you chose to go back to your life before me, where you'll forget you ever met me, or, will you join me in my kingdom? Together we can change the colors of the leaves in autumn, create art and wonder for people to enjoy. We can spread winter snow and joy to the people of the world. Doesn't that sound glorious?"

Ella glanced at him. Her eyes examined his face. His white skin was perfect. His white hair was soft and flew around his face as the wind continued to sweep around them. Ella couldn't help but smile. His happiness was infectious. Jack was as cheerful and happy as a little boy.

She couldn't remember seeing him that happy before. Not even she could make him as joyful as he was when he spoke of spreading winter and creating art with the seasons.

Ella pulled her hand from his and took a step toward the vision of his castle. It was a grand sight. The beauty of its towers and gardens of blue and white flowers captivated her. She touched the image before her.

She winced. The air stung her with its chill. Like water, it rippled. Ella yanked her hand back and put it in her pocket. She frowned at the vision. Its beauty somehow made her sad.

"Will I be able to see my family?"

Jack was silent.

Ella glanced back at him. He shook his head. Ella filled with sadness. She couldn't imagine a life without her mother, father, and two brothers. Then, she thought of being a queen.

She smiled. She'd be able to live with Jack in happiness.

_In a cold ice castle_ , Ella thought. Her smile faded and she looked down at the ring. The ticking made her shudder. Her time was running out. She could feel it.

Ella made her choice.

She took the ring off and handed it to Jack. Tears filled her eyes when she saw the hurt in his face. The look of devastation morphed his features. She was almost too afraid to look at him any longer. She put her glove back on and looked down at her feet.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I love you, but I could never leave my family."

Once again, Jack fell to his knees but this time he held his hands in prayer. His eyes were wide with hope. Tears froze on his cheeks. "But, Ella. What if I brought your family to my castle as well? There are many rooms. They'd be happy there. You'd be happy. Right?"

There was the slightest thud of snow as Ella knelt before him and took his hands in hers. She kissed them and used them to cup her face. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his palms on her cheeks and his fresh, evergreen smell for the last time. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Darling, you cannot bring my entire family. Even a life with them in your castle would be a lonely one. Take my brother, for example. You bring him along, but what about his wife's friends and family? Could you bring them too? Can you bring my entire family tree...and _their_ friends and extended family?"

Jack's shoulders slumped. "I suppose not."

She smiled sadly, and wiped a frozen tear from his cheek. "I love you, but I cannot live the life of a queen in your world."

He nodded. "I understand."

Ella kissed him. She held back a sob as she whispered in his ear. "I'll love you forever. And I will never forget you. I will remember you with each snowflake and winter wind. You'll be with me every time I jump in a pile of orange leaves with my nieces and nephews, or when I drink hot chocolate and watch as the kids in the neighborhood build snowmen."

Jack laughed softly. "You're right, Ella."

Ella gasped as he vanished.

She was all alone in the snow, confused unsure of what had happened. Was it real, or was it all just a dream? Then, she heard a soft voice on the wind.

" _I'll always be with you, Ella... Always..._."

The End

# THE SNOWPERSONS

Lorna Dounaeva

His body was much too tall and lean, and his head sat like a boulder on his shoulders. Sam tutted his disapproval as two twiggy arms appeared, followed by a carrot for a nose. These children had no common sense. If it were the other way round and snowmen built children, he was certain he'd make a better job of it. For a start, he'd give them legs.

"Tom! Sarah! Time for tea," the children's mother called from the doorway.

Sarah plonked a hat unceremoniously on his head and they ran inside, arguing noisily about whose turn it was to set the table.

"I'm glad they gave you a mouth," Sam called from the neighbouring garden, as the door slammed behind the children. "The poor chap across the road can't say a word. It'll be nice having another snowman to talk to."

"It's snow _person_ , actually," she said, removing her sunglasses to reveal long dark lashes.

Sam stood up a little straighter. "Beg your pardon, love, but I've got peas for eyes. What's your name? Mine's Sam."

"I'm Penelope," she said, surveying her surroundings. She shivered violently. "Is it always this cold?"

"Well, we _are_ made of snow," he reminded her.

Penelope wrapped her scarf a little tighter round her neck. "Can't we sneak inside for a little bit?"

"We'd melt!" he said in horror.

"Don't be so melodramatic!" she laughed. "Surely a few minutes wouldn't kill us?" And with that, she began hopping down the garden path.

"Careful!" he called after her, but it was too late. Her head disconnected from her body and fell to the ground with a thud.

"Don't worry, I'm coming!" he yelled and, checking there were no children looking, he vaulted over the fence.

Penelope felt around in the icy snow for her lost head, but her body was much too thin to bend properly and she couldn't see what she was doing.

"Here," he said, scooping it up in his hands. It felt heavy, so he patted it into a more manageable size before placing it back on her body.

"Thanks," she said, but instead of going back to her place, she ventured a little closer to the house.

"Hmm, what's that smell?"

Sam sniffed. The delicious scent of apple and cinnamon wafted out of the kitchen window. They peered inside. A steaming hot pie had been left out to cool.

Penelope licked her lips. "I wonder what it tastes like?"

"I don't know if snowmen can eat food," Sam said doubtfully.

"Why not?"

"Well, for a start, we don't have digestive systems."

"Oh don't be so silly." She reached in through the open window and broke a piece off. She brought it to her mouth and licked the hot, sticky substance with her tongue.

"It's delicious! You should try some."

Sam shook his head.

"I'm really thirsty now." She reached for the teapot and poured herself a generous cup.

"Penelope, I don't think you should..." he began, but she tilted her head back and drained the cup.

He watched nervously to see what would happen.

"Oh, that's better!" she cried "I feel lovely and warm now. Although..."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I feel a bit strange."

"You're not melting,are you?" he asked, anxiously.

"No, it's not that." She blushed slightly. "I think I need the loo."

"Snowpersons don't pee," Sam objected.

But from the way she was fidgeting, he knew she was right.

"I bet if I push this window open a little more, I could squeeze through," she said.

"I don't think that's a very good idea!" he protested.

But she was already inside.

"Penelope!"

He almost got wedged in the window as he climbed in after her. "Are you crazy?"

"I need to pee!"

"Can't you do it outside?"

"Outside?" Penelope looked horrified. "We're not savages, you know! They'll be a perfectly good lavatory in the house."

"But it's so warm inside! And they might see us."

"Don't be such a spoilsport."

There was no reasoning with her. "Oh, go on then," he sighed.

They bounded softly down the hall, leaving an icy trail behind them.The family were eating their tea in the living room. No one suspected the house had become overrun by snowpeople.

* * *

Penelope could hear Sam bouncing up and down on the spot waiting for her to come out of the bathroom.

He knocked on the door. "Are you ready?" he asked, anxiously.

"Nearly," she called back. She couldn't resist opening the bathroom cabinet and taking a peek inside. There were lotions and potions of all kinds. She picked up a jar of hand cream and examined the label. 'For very dry skin', it read.

She looked down at her twiggy fingers.

_Couldn't hurt_.

She massaged a glob into her hands and enjoyed the soothing sensation. They felt softer already.

Hey what's this?

_S_ he pounced on a tube of bright red lipstick and drew a big cupid's bow around her lips. She pouted at her reflection in the mirror. She was about to add blusher when Sam knocked urgently on the door.

"Quick! Someone's coming!" he hissed. "Let me in!"

Penelope opened the door, but the gap was too narrow for a snowperson of his stature.

"Help, I'm stuck!"

She clasped her spindly hands around his substantial waist and pulled.

He came free and crashed down on top of her.

"Pardon me," he said, clearly embarrassed as they struggled to their feet. Just in time, he pushed the bolt across the door.

The door handle rattled. Whoever it was muttered something and walked away.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here," he told her as the footsteps retreated.

Penelope ignored him.

"What's this?" she asked, reaching for a bottle of brightly coloured liquid. She gave it a squeeze and a few rainbow coloured bubbles floated out.

"Bubble bath," he said, sounding impatient. "Now come on, we've got to go."

"I've never had a bubble bath," she said, wistfully.

"Nor have I, being a snowman."

"Snowperson," she corrected him.

"Look, we have to go. You're melting."

"Don't be such a worry wart. I'll be as good as new once I've had a roll in the snow."

But she put down the bubble bath all the same.

* * *

Checking the coast was clear, they snuck out of the bathroom and hopped back to the kitchen. Sam was almost at the door when Penelope picked up a booklet lying on the table.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A bus timetable. Look, the number 88 goes to Westminster! We could go to Buckingham Palace and meet the Queen!"

"Meet the Queen? We're snowpersons. They won't even let us on the bus!"

But Penelope was not to be put off. "We just need disguises. No one will even know."

To Sam's horror, she turned back. He followed her as she hopped up the stairs to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. There were all sorts of clothes hanging there. She pulled out a black cocktail dress and held it against herself. Before Sam could stop her, she'd pulled it over her head.

"Penelope!"

But Penelope was too busy admiring herself in the mirror to notice the disapproval in his voice.

"Aren't you going to try anything on?" she asked.

"No."

But she pulled out a top hat and stuck it on his head. He moved to take it off but then he caught his reflection in the mirror. A smile crept onto his face. He looked rather dashing.

"Here, you'll need this too," she said, pulling a long winter coat around him. She wrapped a warm stole around her own shoulders and her smile widened.

"Come on," said Sam. "We have to leave before the family come up here."

He took off the splendid hat.

"No, leave it on," said Penelope. "It's part of your disguise."

"We can't take these clothes," objected Sam. Having been built by a policeman's daughter, he had a strong sense of right and wrong.

"We're just borrowing them," Penelope insisted. "We'll bring them back later, I promise."

"Well, I suppose..."

"Come on," she said, taking him by the arm. "We've a bus to catch."

* * *

Penelope found it hard hopping down the garden in clothes, but luckily the bus stop was just in front of the house. It was snowing again; fine glistening flakes fell from the sky and cleaved to their shoulders. Penelope stuck out her tongue. She loved the way the ice tasted.

"Here comes the bus!" she cried as a red double decker rounded the corner.

"It's never going to stop for us," Sam grumbled. As if to contradict him, the bus pulled to a halt right in front of them. Neither the bus driver, nor the passengers looked up as the two snowpersons jumped on. This was London after all. They'd probably seen everything.

"We haven't got any money for tickets," Sam worried as they sat down.

"Will you stop fussing?" Penelope said. "No one's even noticed us."

She watched in fascination as they passed a long row of shops. People walked quickly, last minute purchases tucked under their arms as they hurried home for Christmas.

"Do you even know what Buckingham Palace looks like?" Sam asked.

"It's a palace," Penelope said. "How hard can it be to find?"

"It's starting to get dark," he pointed out. "Maybe we should ask someone?"

He looked around the crowded bus, but no one would catch his eye.

"Look!" Penelope gasped. "That's it! That's the palace! Right in front of us."

* * *

Penelope was right. It was unmistakable. The palace was covered with a thick layer of snow that made it look just like a giant Christmas cake.

"Stop!" she called to the driver. "Stop, we need to get off!"

But either the driver didn't hear her, or he chose not to stop.

Sam pressed the bell, but to no avail. They were halfway up the road before the bus finally pulled to a halt and they could get out.

Sam looked down the tree lined mall in despair.

"We'll just have to hop all the way back."

The hop proved a hard slog. The snow was falling fast now, and it was difficult to see where they were going. More than once, Sam bumped into a tree.

"Here," Penelope took his twiggy hand in hers. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

"She might not even be in," he said. "Doesn't the Queen usually go away for Christmas?"

"She might not have left yet," Penelope said, hopefully.

But Sam couldn't help but wonder if they'd come all this way for nothing. They trudged on in silence.

"Look!" she suddenly cried.

"What?"

"Just look!"

Then Sam saw it too. "The flag! The flag's flying from the palace. That means the Queen's at home, doesn't it?"

"Only one way to find out," Penelope said as they reached the gate. "But how do we get in?"

"Why don't we just vault across?" Sam said with a smile. Now that they were so close, he was more than a little curious about meeting the Queen himself.

"Great idea," Penelope said, and the next moment she had landed neatly in the Queen's garden.

Sam hesitated.

"Come on! It's easy!"

He wasn't as agile as Penelope, but he took several hops backwards and gave it a running jump, landing on his head.

"Oh, Sam! Are you okay?"

"I think so," he said, stumbling to his feet. He patted down his stomach to make sure it was all still there. "Now what?"

"Now we meet the Queen."

And before he could stop her, Penelope had rung the doorbell.

* * *

To Sam's surprise, the Queen opened the door.

"Hello?" she said, gazing at Penelope through her thick glasses. Several small dogs yapped at her feet. "You must be Queen..."

"Penelope," Penelope said, extending a gloved hand.

The Queen frowned, as if trying to recall who she was. Then she turned to Sam. "I'm sorry, my dear. I meet so many people, I lose track. And you are?"

"Sam, Ma'am."

"Prince Sam," Penelope said quickly.

The Queen seemed satisfied with that. "Ah, well Gerald's just nipped out to get fish and chips," she said. "This is a little embarrassing, but we weren't expecting to be here tonight so we've no food in the house. Can I offer you both a cup of tea?"

"Er, not for us," Penelope said, as they followed her into the kitchen. "But maybe something cold?"

She walked over to the freezer and filled two glasses with ice cubes, then handed one to Sam. The Queen was too busy hunting for a tea strainer to notice what Penelope was doing. Sam suspected she made the tea so rarely, she had no idea where anything was kept.

"Everyone's in the banquet hall," she said, pointing to the room opposite. "Normally, we'd be off to Sandringham by now, but there's too much snow, so we've decided to spend Christmas here instead."

Sam and Penelope wandered into the banquet hall where there were lots of people singing and dancing. Small children chased each other around the room, the little dogs yapping joyously at their feet. Presently, Gerald the butler returned, laden with huge parcels of fish and chips and everybody sat around the table, enjoying the feast. Even Sam ate a few chips. They were amazing – so salty and delicious. He couldn't believe he'd never tried them before.

"What was that?" Penelope asked as she wiped ketchup off her chin with a silk napkin.

"What?"

"I heard something."

She turned her head. For someone with no ears, she had remarkable hearing.

It was coming from one of the upstairs bedrooms.

"You can't go up there," Sam warned.

But Penelope was already lumbering up the grand staircase.

With a sigh, he hopped after her. There were so many stairs, he had to stop on the landing to catch his breath.

"Where are you?" he gasped, once he could speak again.

"In here," she called.

At first, he thought it was a piglet she'd found, but on closer inspection, he saw it was a baby; his chubby little face shrivelled up in anguish. The covers had come loose and he was shivering. When Penelope reached down and tucked him in, the baby closed his eyes again and gave a contented little snore.

"Let's go back down to the party," Sam said. But Penelope couldn't take her eyes off the tiny baby.

All at once, there were footsteps on the stairs.

"Quick, hide!"

He prised open the toy cupboard and jumped in, pulling Penelope in with him.

The door wouldn't quite close and they both watched as the baby's mother walked in and stood over the child, looking puzzled.

"I could have sworn I heard crying," she murmured. "Maybe it was the wind."

She went over to the window and checked it was shut properly, before tip-toeing back downstairs.

"We'd better get going," Sam said, softly. "We need to be back in our gardens before the children wake up."

"Okay," Penelope agreed, "but can I just take one last look at the baby before we go?"

"Go on then." Sam tightened his belt another notch. "But better make it quick." The warmth of the palace was melting him inch by inch. He couldn't wait to get out into the cold air.

Penelope didn't hear a word he said.

"Isn't he tiny?" she cooed, peering into the little one's cot. "I wonder what it would feel like to hold him?"

"You'd wake him up." Sam told her, "And besides, your hands are freezing."

"I know," she sighed, giving him one last, longing look. "Okay, Iet's go."

She walked dejectedly towards the door.

"Leaving already?" asked the Queen, as they said goodbye.

"Thank you for the party," Penelope said, "But we've got a bus to catch."

"But there aren't any more buses running tonight," the Queen told her. "It's Christmas eve."

Penelope looked at Sam in dismay.

"But we have to get back home in time for Christmas!"

"Don't worry," the Queen said. "Gerald will run you home."

"Oh, that's very kind," said Penelope, managing a smile. "I've always fancied a ride in a posh car," she whispered to Sam.

* * *

Nobody noticed the Rolls Royce pull up in the little cul-de-sac. Everyone was too busy wrapping Christmas presents and shooing children back to bed.

"You wait here," Sam said, as they reached Penelope's garden. "I'll take the clothes we borrowed back to the house."

Penelope nodded. She was far too tired to argue.

Sam went into the house and put the clothes back in the wardrobe. He didn't have the dexterity to put them back on the hangers, but he folded them as best he could and placed them at the bottom of the wardrobe. That done, he tiptoed into the children's bedroom. They were both in bed now, and fast asleep, dreaming about Christmas. He knelt down and whispered something in the little girl's ear. Her mouth twitched a little, but she didn't open her eyes.

He hoped she'd got the message.

* * *

On Christmas morning, the children came running outside to play, pulling two brand new sledges behind them.

"Come on, let's race down the hill," Tom called.

"Just a moment," said Sarah. She crouched down in the snow, moulding something with her hands, then stood up and followed her brother out of the garden gate.

Penelope waited until the children were out of sight, then she hopped over to examine the little girl's handiwork; a tiny snowperson with short twiggy arms and a tiny button nose. The new arrival looked up at her with his big coal eyes and smiled. Penelope bent down and hugged him to her chest, then looked over at Sam in wonder.

The tiny snowbaby had made her Christmas wish come true.

The End

# ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

Lucy Pireel

The past couple of days Carol had tried to ignore the tree Paul got them this year. It stood in the corner of the living room, waiting for her, taunting her. It was the second Christmas tree in five years Paul had allowed in the house after the accident that had cost them their son, her little Jacob. The memory of her lost little one kept nagging her to do something about the thing. _I guess there's no escaping it._ She sighed and went to the attic to get the ornaments it needed. The ones that Paul insisted they kept, even after the incident.

Carol had blamed herself and had to be hospitalised for being too depressed to function. Only when John—their friend and her doctor—together with his colleague, had found she reacted well to Xanax, she had been allowed back home. But every now and then anxiety flared, leaving her nauseous, or even vomiting for no reason and no amount of medication seemed to help when that happened.

Every bloody year Christmas haunts me, and every year it falls upon me to sort decorations out. And this year Paul bought a tree again. It better not scratch me.

"You better not try anything, or I'll turn you into kindling. I know how to handle an axe, you know."

Of course the pine tree didn't answer her, but she swore its needles trembled ever so slightly. She blinked and took a step towards the tree. It slunk back, only minimal, but it did nevertheless.

"Hot dang! I knew it! If you're a good tree, I'll plant you in the back of the garden instead of throwing you on the bonfire New Year's Eve," she said while taking a bit of its foliage in her hand and shaking it. A shudder went through the tree and the needles became a bit softer.

"Do you really understand me?" Carol asked while pulling a needle from the tree. It creaked and the soft branch ending stiffened between her fingers. "I guess you do, and you know I mean what I said, don't you?"

The pricking needles softened again and Carol smiled. She hummed 'Santa Claus is coming to town' while opening the cardboard boxes that held the decorations.

"Candles?" She held up a small candle holder and half burnt red candle. The tree groaned as it trembled.

"Or lights?" Carol asked as a strand of candle shaped lamps caught her eye in the box. "I thought I threw those away last year. Oh well, you seem nice enough for electrical. Just remember the bonfire when you feel funny ideas coming up." And she untangled the wire. When all the light had a place Carol stepped back to assess whether or not the tree needed more lights.

"You look terrific already," she said. "Now, what colour balls would you like?" She opened the smaller boxes containing glass balls and held up two. "Gold, or blue?"

"Blue."

Startled by the voice Carol dropped the fragile decorations. They shattered on the marble floor.

"I came home early to help you decorate the tree. You shouldn't be doing it alone. I thought I'd better help you this time before you wrestle this tree too, like you did the one last year." He laughed out loud and said, "And remember how you insisted on wrapping all glass ornaments in bubble wrap before we hung them in the tree when I brought home a small one last year?"

"Paul! I didn't hear you come in," Carol said, while her cheeks burned, because she remembered all too well how silly that had looked. "And the bubble wrap was a stupid idea. I'm glad you made me take it all off again."

"Sorry baby, but the sight of you talking to a Christmas tree is something I just had to soak up." He chuckled, then repeated, "Sorry, baby."

"I wasn't wrestling a tree last year! It attacked me! Tried to kill me by stabbing me with its branches. Don't laugh!" She stomped her foot on the shards, angrily crushing them under the soles of her slippers, but then laughed with the man that could always diffuse her bad temper tantrums. "Oh, Paul. I believe I'm being silly, aren't I? Trees don't attack people, and this tree certainly won't, will it?"

He embraced her and kissed her neck, hitting the spot that never failed to make her knees go weak.

"No honey, they don't. Let's decorate this tree and not talk about bad things. I'm proud of you trying to start the decorating on your own," Paul said. He picked up a small cardboard box. "What's in this?" He opened it and nearly dropped the thing. "Oh, baby! You shouldn't have kept this in here." He lifted the small Christmas tree decoration out of its protective bubble wrap and looked at the picture of their little lost one painted on the glass ball. It had been delivered on the day of Jacob's death and never been used. "Do you really want to use it? Isn't it time to let go? It's been five years since we lost him, and we're not doing you any good by opening up the wound right before Christmas. You've done so good this past year, this just..." He shrugged and gently put the ball back in its little box. "I don't think this is helping you my love." He set the little box on the table and pulled her into his embrace.

She sighed and leaned into him. "Oh, Paul, I miss my boy. Why did he climb the stepladder to try and put the angel on top of the tree without waiting for me? Why did I leave him alone to answer the door? It couldn't have been longer than a minute, Paul. The moment I took the parcel from the postman.... The noise of the tree falling, breaking of glass, and then screams..." She sobbed and Paul held her while he tried to steady his breathing. When he opened his mouth to comfort Carol she continued. "I raced back to the living room, but I was too late, Paul. I can still see the blood on the floor, he lay there..." She intently looked at the corner opposite the new tree. "He lay there, pinned down by the tree and the ladder, Paul, and I couldn't get it off of him. His little body.... There was blood everywhere, soaking the carpet, draining away his life. That tree killed him!" She shouted the last words and pounded her fist against Paul's chest.

"Shhhh, honey. Trees don't kill little boys. It was an accident, it's.... It wasn't your fault, you aren't to blame." Tears streamed down his face as he remembered the broken and lifeless body of his son. "A freak accident, my love. At least the postman had gotten the tree, the ladder and most of the glass off our boy. He tried to help, to stop the bleeding, but our little boy just had too many deep cuts my love," he said while stroking Carol's head. "Trees don't kill people. It was an accident, honey, an accident."

"That one did," she sobbed. "And I killed it for it. Like I will any tree, anyone, trying to hurt a loved one of mine."

"Oh, baby," Paul said as he wiped her cheek with his thumb. "Please don't go down that path again. You know what happened last year. Let's try to get through this Christmas without any episodes, okay?" He held her tight and kissed the top of her head, while she sobbed against his chest. "There now, don't cry baby. I know, he was my son too."

They stood there until Carol's tears dried.

"I love you Paul," she said with a sad smile. "But I miss Jacob every day, and when decorating the tree it just all comes back again. I know trees don't kill people and it was a freak accident, but..." She sighed and wiped her nose on his shirt. "He would have been ten now. I wish we had chosen a smaller tree back then. I wish we could turn back time, I wish—"

Paul placed his index finger on her lips. "So do I, but we agreed to keep celebrating Christmas because our boy loved it. Besides, it is supposed to be a festive time, a time for us to remember him and all the good he brought to us in his short life. And to celebrate the fact that we are still together even after that tragedy. Nothing can replace him, Carol. We have to make the best of our life together since we can't have another child." Paul cupped Carol's chin and raised her lips to his. Gently he laid a kiss on her mouth before he said, "I love you, no matter what. Now up the stepladder wench and tie that angel to the top," he said, then playfully slapped her behind.

Carol laughed and said, "I'm so happy you stayed with me with all I put you through during my crazy periods."

"Baby, I love you, you are the angel that came down to earth to save me when I was down, how could I have ever left you when you needed me most?" Then he laughed and said, "Besides you were a looney back then. You probably would have tied me to the chair to keep me from going."

Carol smiled, waved the ribbon from the angel in front of Paul's face and said, "I still could you know." Then she turned and got up the ladder to tie the angel to the top of the tree.

Their banter continued until the entire tree had been covered in all sorts of decorations, varying from pieces made out of tinfoil to expensive crystal balls.

"Ready?" Paul asked.

"Wait," Carol said and unpacked that one, last ball, hung it in a prominent place, took a step back, and nodded. Paul flicked the switch and the entire tree came alive with glimmers and reflections.

"It's beautiful, Paul, Jacob would have loved it." Carol smiled and added, "I'm glad to see his sweet smile, even if it's only on a glass ball."

Together they stood and admired the tree until Paul said, "Let's get to bed early. I'm dead tired and have a busy day at the office tomorrow."

* * *

The next morning when the alarm sounded Carol turned her head to kiss Paul awake, he wasn't there. Startled, she sat up and called out, "Paul!"

"What is it hon?" He asked from the bathroom.

"Nothing, I thought you'd gone without saying goodbye."

"Never, my love, but you were so peacefully asleep, I didn't want to wake you just yet." He stuck his head around the door and said with a wink, "Besides it gave me the opportunity to admire you without you getting all self-conscious."

Carol swung her legs over the edge of the bed to get up, but as she did her head swam and that sickly feeling rose from her stomach. She had to dash to the bathroom not to spew the contents of her empty stomach over the bedroom carpet. Retching she hugged the cool ceramic of the toilet.

Paul dropped his shaving blade on the vanity and fell to his knees next to her. "What's the matter?" Worry tied a knot in his insides, a band closed around his chest. "Stay here, I'll call the clinic. It might be your medication that needs another adjustment."

Carol grabbed his arm when he rose. "No, please don't leave me," she managed to say between spitting more bile into the bowl. "I think I just have a stomach flu. I'll be fine, just don't go, please?"

"I have to go to work baby. It's the last days before Christmas and you know it's a madhouse at the store now." Paul stroked her back and reached up to get his wet washcloth. "Here, wipe your face. I'll get you a glass of water and put you back to bed. I'll come and check on you during my lunch break, okay?" he kissed her on the top of her head and rose helping Carol get up from the floor too. He lifted her in his arms as if she weighed not more than a feather. _She's lost so much weight these past few years. She can't afford to lose more. I can't afford to lose her too._ Paul carried his precious load to the bed and tucked her in. "There, you stay there. I'll get you a bucket and a glass of water. The phone is on the nightstand and if there's anything, anything at all, call me. I'm just around the corner and come flying home if you need me, okay?"

Carol nodded, suddenly too tired to speak or even keep her eyes open. _If I don't move I'll be fine. I just need some sleep._

* * *

After a few hours Carol woke up to the sound of Paul's voice coming from downstairs. "She just vomited... No... I will... Thank you, John."

Water ran, the kettle boiled, a spoon clinked in a mug. _He's such a sweet man._

Soft footfalls on the stair and then the door slowly opened. Paul put the tray on the nightstand and sat next to Carol on the bed. "Hi sweetpea, I asked John what this vomiting of yours could be. He didn't think it would be something serious. You've probably worked yourself up and had a bit of an anxiety attack. He said not to worry and didn't want to up your meds or anything. He told me to give you lots of love and a nice cup of tea. So here it is." He smiled and got in bed beside her, taking her in his arms. "All my love, and a nice cup of tea. How are you feeling?"

"Much better now, my love."

"Still nauseous?"

"No, I actually feel good. I have no idea what that was all about. I'll get up when you have to go back to work and do some Christmas shopping. I need to pick up the presents for the orphanage, fill my new prescription, and order the turkey."

Paul nuzzled her neck and said, "I wish we could stay in bed the rest of the day. Like we did last month."

Carol laughed and pressed herself closer to Paul's warm body. "We wouldn't get much rest, I can tell you that."

"You naughty woman!" He rolled her onto her back and caressed her body under the sheet. "But I can't, not now. Too much work today, but I'll be home early," he whispered in her ear, then kissed the pulse point in her neck and rose. Smiling, he looked down at Carol.

Looking up at Paul, Carol's cheeks heated as she said, "I'll be waiting for you, it's been at least two months since we've..." She batted her lashes and continued, "you know."

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad you're finally getting back to the old you again. I've missed this, us. Not to mention a regular roll in the hay." He smiled upon seeing her cheeks flush, leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll be home as soon as I can get away, baby." He gave her another kiss and left.

* * *

Carol stood at the counter, waiting for the pharmacist to return with her Xanax. _Should I tell John I really thought the tree lived?_ She shook her head. _He might up my medication and I don't want to turn into a mindless zombie again. Best not tell him I've been cutting down on the pills._

After she received her prescription Carol went to the butcher's to order the turkey, picked up the gifts she ordered for the orphans, and then made a stop at the lingerie department in Saks. She bought a new set, all black lace and silk. Panties, flimsy bra, and hold ups. Smiling she drove home and changed. Just in time before the door opened and Paul came up the stairs. She recognised his jumpy way of climbing the stairs. _He's not done that for too long, and that's all my fault. No more, it is time to move on._

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, slightly leaning back, with a small smile curling her lips and heated cheeks.

"Honey," Paul said when he entered and stopped mid-stride as he caught an eyeful of her breasts nearly spilling over the half cup of her new outfit. He softly whistled, then cleared his throat before continuing, "You look amazing."

Carol smiled and rose. "For you, my love, for being patient and for loving me even when I didn't deserve your love. For putting up with a crazy woman. For waiting when you could have demanded my attention." She sauntered to him, draped her arms around his neck and reached up to kiss him. Then she pressed herself into him and whispered, "But now that I lust after you again, what are you going to do about it?"

It was more than Paul could withstand. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to their bed. They made love like they'd done when they were newly weds and fell asleep in each other's arms afterwards.

* * *

The next morning Paul woke up from Carol retching in the bathroom. He rushed over and found her hugging the toilet bowl again.

"Honey, this isn't normal, I'm calling John. Stay here, I'll get you a glass of water." He wiped her face with a clean wash cloth he got from the shelf, then hurried downstairs to make the call. It took him only a few moments, then he held her hair from her face again saying, "John will be here soon. He still doesn't think it's anything serious, but he wants to see you anyway."

When the heaving stopped Carol just wanted to lie down on the cool bathroom floor, but Paul picked her up and carried her back to bed.

"You just lie there until John gets here. I'll call the office to let them know I won't be in today."

"But there's so much work right before Christmas, you can't just not go. I'm only puking, it's not like I'm going to die or anything."

"I know baby, but I'll just stay in until we're sure you don't need to go into hospital. I don't want to risk losing you too." He caressed her face and tucked her in. "Let me get downstairs to wait for John. He said he would come right over. The clinic can do without him he said, you more important." The moment Paul walked out of the bedroom, the doorbell rang. "See? He's here already." And he rushed down.

Paul welcomed their friend. "Hi John, come in. Sorry to drag you away from the clinic, but I'm really worried." The door closed and both men walked upstairs.

"Does she have any other symptoms? She is eating? Taking her medication?" John asked.

"Yeah, she eats normally after the vomiting stops. But she's been puking her guts out every morning now for the past days. But nothing else has changed," Paul said.

Carol rolled to her side, curling up into a little ball. _Maybe I should confess I've cut down on the Xanax._ But when the men entered the bedroom and John asked, "Hi, Carol, what's going on with you?" She sat up, shrugged, and said, "I don't know, I've been puking my guts out every morning now for at least a week. I think it's just anxiety for Christmas coming and having a tree in the house and stuff."

John shook his head. "You shouldn't be affected like that, not with the Xanax you're taking. You are taking the pills, are you?" He scrutinised her and waited for her to answer.

She nodded, unable to let the lie pass her lips, instead she asked, "Can it just be a stomach flu?"

"I don't think so, you'd be vomiting all day if that were the case, and you'd probably also have diarrhea." He shone a light in her eyes and pinched the skin on the back of her hand. "You're a bit dehydrated. I'd like to run some tests at the clinic and put you on a drip." When Carol opened her mouth to protest, he said, "Just one bag of fluid, nothing else. I don't think there's anything serious going on. I just want to be sure of something."

"What?" Paul asked. "Do you think she's sick? What?"

"Don't worry. I don't think it's deadly, but it will change your lives if it is what I think it is. However, to be sure I need to run those tests. So, put some clothes on and meet me downstairs." He patted her on the hand and smiled encouragingly before he turned and went down.

"I guess we're going to the clinic," Carol said to a stunned Paul. "Oh, don't be shocked. He just said it's nothing serious. He probably wants to run some standard tests to make sure he doesn't miss anything. You know John, he likes to be sure before he says anything." Carol swung her legs over the edge of the bed and ran to the bathroom, emptying her stomach once again.

* * *

At the clinic the nurse took a blood sample from Carol and she had to produce a urine sample while in bed, hooked up to a bag of IV fluid. Carol and Paul waited in silence, holding each other's hand.

Only half an hour later John came back with a radiant smile on his face. "I have good news, and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?"

"Give me the bad news first," Carol said while at the same time Paul uttered, "Good news first." They both burst out in a nervous giggle.

"Right," said John. "I'll give you the bad news first then, because it's Carol's body so she should decide." He looked at her with an encouraging smile. "You are going to have to stop the Xanax, Carol."

"What!" Paul cried out. "She can't, she'll risk having those episodes again."

"I don't think she will, because her blood work tells me she's been off the medication for a while already. Am I right, Carol? And am I also right that you might have small episodes but nothing you can't handle?"

Carol lowered her gaze and mumbled, "Yes, but I've not had any episodes at all." This time the lie came easy.

"Carol!" Paul said. "What about your conversation with the Christmas tree? Why have you quit taking your medication without telling me, without consulting John? He's your doctor, our friend!"

"I was sick of being a mindless zombie, Paul. I wanted to feel things again, live, be happy, love you. Please don't be mad at me." She looked at her hands, folded in her lap.

Paul sat on the edge of the bed next to her and drew her into his arms. "Of course I'm not mad at you, silly. I'm just worried. I don't want you to have a breakdown again. Without the medication to level you out, it all might come back at you and you might not be able to relive it again. The death of our boy, Christmas, not being able to have another child. You—"

At that moment John cleared his throat. "I'd like to say something about that. Remember I said I had good news and bad news? Well, with the bad news out of the way, this might be a good moment to give you the good news." With a radiant smile he looked at Carol. "Carol, you are pregnant."

Her jaw dropped, Paul's arms tightened around Carol's shoulders, and they looked at each other, then turned to gaze at their friend, the doctor who had just given them the Christmas present they could've only wished for.

The End

# BLEAK CHRISTMAS

Marcy G. Dyer

Strains of "Happy Holidays" drifted through the mall as I walked in. Whoever thought of the term "holiday" for such a bleak time of year? They should be shot on sight for torturing those with no reason for joy.

This was my first Christmas without Robert. How would I survive? All of the last-minute shoppers darted in and out of stores hoping to finish their shopping, and I had no one to shop for. All alone. I needed to get my glasses fixed, so I could burrow under the covers and read until the first of February.

I stepped into the festively decorated Eye Express. If they couldn't fix my glasses today, I would have to resort to a pair of readers, and I really hated pulling my glasses off and on. I wanted my bifocals.

"Excuse me," I said to the gum-popping teenager behind the counter.

She turned around, the phone cradled to her ear and whispered, "Just a minute."

I waited. How long would this child make me wait? I toyed with my glasses. My life resembled those twisted and broken frames. I had to have some semblance of control—even if was just getting a pair of glasses fixed. Growing impatient, I drummed my fingers on the counter and cleared my throat.

The teen continued to listen to someone on the other end of the phone line. Probably her boyfriend. She couldn't even be bothered to take the time to wait on a customer.

I cleared my throat again. "Excuse me." I pulled out my glasses and cleared my throat louder this time.

Holding up her index finger, she mouthed, "Just a minute, please."

_She did not just stick her finger up at me._ I gritted my teeth to keep from reaching across the counter and teaching the brat a few manners. The longer I lived on this miserable, despicable planet, the more I despised it. Teenagers with no respect or manners. Rude drivers.

Finally, she hung up. Shaking her head, she picked up my glasses. "Wow, I ain't never seen glasses that mangled."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at her. "And I've never heard language that mangled." The brat couldn't even speak English. Good grief how did she get this job?

Her face flushed. "Sorry."

I waved off her apology, "Never mind. Can you fix them?"

She nodded. "Our technician will be here next week."

"Next week!" I yelled. Why were they open if they couldn't do anything? "I need them _today_." I scowled.

Teeny Bopper exploded with laughter.

"Young lady, what is so funny?" My neck and face grew hot. Wasn't it enough that I had to deal with Christmas? Now must I put up with a giggling little imp?

"Sorry." She crinkled her eyebrows at me. "I thought you were joking. Do I look like I can fix them?"

My voice rose with each word. "I need my glasses. Why would I joke about it?" What good was this child if she couldn't even help? Why had customer service become a thing of the past? I hated reading glasses, but it looked like I didn't have much choice. At least I could hide out and read some thrillers or sci-fi books on my Kindle until the so-called joyous holiday passed.

The girl's eyes grew wide, and she turned her hands palm up. "Lady, it's Christmas Eve." She blinked a few times. "You can leave them, and I'll ask the tech to put a rush on them first thing Monday."

"I don't care what day it is. I. Need. To. See." Why didn't she understand?

She shrugged. "I'm the only one here . . ."

"Then by all means, why would they leave an incompetent, little twit like you in charge?"

Teeny Bopper looked at me, tears threatening to spill. Her bottom lip trembled, and she sucked in a couple of short breaths.

Great. I'd just been a royal butt to a teenager. I didn't mean to make her cry. It wasn't her fault I hated my life, and I really hated Christmas. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear.

I turned to leave before I said anything else I would regret. Once I got to the house—I refused to call it a home anymore—I'd go to bed and bury my head under the covers. Maybe, if I were lucky, I wouldn't wake up.

"Ma'am?"

I sighed as I turned back. "Yes?"

"Would you go to the evening church service with me?" The girl nibbled her lower lip and fidgeted.

Flabbergasted, I asked, "Why would you invite me to church?"

"I wasn't trying to offend you." She scuffed her shoe across the floor. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't"—Okay maybe you did—"but I don't know why you would invite me after the ugly things I said."

Teeny Bopper raised her eyebrows. "I dunno. You seem lonely, and I'd hate for you to spend Christmas Eve alone." She grabbed a pen and paper off the counter. "I'm Jenny. Here's the church address. If you decide to come."

"Thanks." My voice squeaked out over the lump in my throat. I stuck the paper in my coat and walked out. Remorse for my hateful words washed over me. What had gotten into me? I couldn't even act civil to a child.

At home Robert's empty recliner loomed before me, and fiery tears seared my eyelids. I crawled into his chair, my heart aching for him to hold me. As I snuggled under the soft throw that he kept draped over the back, the scent of his aftershave wafted up bringing memories of happier times with it.

My heart lurched. I couldn't do this. Life. It was too much without Robert. Grief tightened its grip on my chest making it difficult to breath. Why did everything have to remind me of our life together? And why did Robert leave me? This wasn't fair. I pummeled the arm of the recliner with my clenched fist.

Pain washed over me, and I let the tears flow. After a few minutes of self-pity, I dried my eyes and decided to take Jenny up on her offer. Anything would be better than wallowing in despair over something I couldn't change.

I arrived just before six and stood at the back of the church. This was the first time I had been in a church since Robert's funeral, and the memories flooded back. I turned to leave, when I felt a hand on my arm.

"Ma'am?

I turned back and saw Jenny. "Hi. Please call me Gabby," I said as I blinked the tears back. It was too late to leave, so I needed to suck it up, or I'd be a big blubbering mess by the time the service started.

"Yes, ma'am." She took my arm led me toward the front, where she introduced me to her parents, Jeff and Helen Cotheran.

After the service, Helen took my hand. "Gabby, we're so glad you came tonight. Please come to our home for dinner."

"I...thank you, but I really should get back to the house." Back to nothing but walls and anguish.

Helen stared at me for several seconds. "Please. We always have a crowd, but I know Jenny would love for you to come."

After blinking back tears, I nodded. "Thank you, Helen. I will." I couldn't believe Jenny's kindness when I'd been so hateful. My rude behavior embarrassed me. And to such sweet kid.

"Gabby, may I ride with you to show the way?" Jenny asked.

"Sure." I noticed her beauty for the first time, and a huge lump lodged in my heart. Robert and I had always wanted children. Her brown hair and blue eyes reminded of Robert. I always hoped our kids would have his coloring.

We walked out to the parking lot, and I clicked the lock on my car. Just looking at the beautiful red Porsche lodged a dagger into my heart.

As we slid into the sports car, Jenny smiled and her blue eyes danced. "Wow, what a cool car."

"Thank you." I swallowed and with a raspy voice replied, "It was an anniversary present from my husband."

"You're married?"

I took a deep breath. "I was." Now there's a gaping hole where my heart used to be.

"Divorce must be hard."

"He . . ." I blinked back tears. "He died," I whispered.

"I'm sorry. How?"

"On his way to a meeting, a drunk driver hit him." The newspaper photos of the accident flashed before my eyes. I could still see him laughing the day he gave me the keys to the car.

Jenny sucked in a breath. "When?"

Tears streamed down my face in full force now. "August."

Jenny pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to me. "I'm sorry."

By the time we arrived at the Cotheran home, I'd corralled my tears and dried my face. Hopefully I didn't look like Rudolf.

The Cotheran family spent most of the night laughing and telling jokes on one another. Being with them comforted me, and I found myself thinking how much Robert would have liked them. I felt cheated losing him at such a young age.

I sat by Helen and watched Jenny play with the younger kids. Her kind heart showed in her face. "Helen, Jenny is special. Christmas...it's hard, and I wasn't nice to her, but she still reached out to me."

Helen smiled. "Thank you. I think having dyslexia makes her more patient and forgiving."

My stomach plummeted. Wrapped up in my own pain, I said mean things to a sweet girl who had difficulties of her own.

Jenny walked up. "Gabby, will you come to church again?"

"Yes, thank you. Tonight was the first time I've been to church since Robert's funeral, and I realized how much I missed it."

She grinned. "Good."

I touched her arm. "Thank you. Robert and I always celebrated Christmas Eve together, and I've dreaded tonight for weeks, but you made it special."

She beamed. "You're welcome."

I took a deep breath. "Also, please forgive me for the awful things I said to you."

She hugged me. "We all say things we don't mean when we're hurting."

That night, I talked to God for the first time since my husband's accident and thanked him for sending Jenny to ease my pain. I never thought I'd enjoy Christmas without Robert, but Jenny gave me the gift of hope.

The End

# CHRISTMAS COOKIES

Gwendolyn Michelle

The inviting scent of sugar cookies and peppermint still lingered in the room. The cookies had been a favorite of her children for as long as she could remember, and it was the simplest of recipes. The tradition had begun with little boys standing in chairs, propping elbows on the kitchen table, rolling sugar cookie dough on to wax paper with a rolling pin and pressing cookie cutters with the eagerness of children's hands. Although more cookies came out looking as questionable half-stars and tops of trees, as opposed to the expected holiday cookies. It was a basic kid-friendly recipe, still easy for her to do at her advancing age; a sugar cookie sprinkled with green and red, baked in the oven, and then pressed in the middle with a chocolate peppermint candy.

The cookies were now boxed up tightly, ready to be delivered to smiling grandchildren as soon as the rising sun brought Christmas Day. She rested, her glasses slipping low on her slightly upturned nose, her feet curled underneath her, a blanket that was nearly worn thin on the corners from years of little hands carrying it everywhere covering her knees. For years, it had been her own children who grasped the blanket and dragged it everywhere behind their hurried footsteps, then it was the grandchildren when they visited her. Now she cherished the blanket for its many memories.

The tree that stood in the corner was not as grand as the ones that had stood in the same spot in years past. At one time, when the children lived at home, when her husband was still with her, there would have been a tree tall enough to touch the ceiling, with enough branches to hold every single ornament she possessed. She had boxes of ornaments that caused her grown, strong sons to complain because of the multiple trips to the attic to retrieve the boxes. Decorating the tree was a family event, even after the children were grown. They still came home to help her. She cooked a meal that rivaled any holiday dinner. After they ate and cleaned the dishes, with the aroma of hot chocolate and warm cookies, her children helped her decorate the family tree.

This year, she had decorated it alone, but it hadn't been so bad. Now it was a smaller tree, one she could manage herself, each ornament having a specific story, a magical memory, that added to the Christmas spirit in her quiet little home. The last couple of years, there had not been a tree at all. So this tree, though small, held significance for her. The soft glow of Christmas lights sparkled off her glasses, and her closed eyes twitched gently and she sighed, slipping into a gentle sleep.

It wasn't long before the quiet pitter patter of tiny feet hurried across the room, and her glasses were nearly knocked askew when pudgy toddler arms wrapped around her neck. The smell of baby powder assaulted her senses; a little blond-haired, green-eyed boy crawled unceremoniously into her lap and pulled the blanket to cover his legs.

She hesitated only briefly, as that beautiful smile radiating up at her, brighter than any light on her tree. Holding a shaky hand to her heart, she reminded herself to breathe.

Another quick hug around her neck, and that little bundle of joy had scooted from her lap, the blanket now nearly forgotten, trailing behind him on the floor, one corner still clinched tightly in his fingers, as though it belonged there. He stood at a window, his chin propped on the windowsill, just barely tall enough to see out. His fingers pressed against the window. She had yet to move. He turned to glance at her.

"Snow," he said, his voice like music to her ears, causing her eyes to briefly close in bliss.

"Snow," he said again, his eyes alight with wonder, a little more persistently, his little finger pointing out the window at the thick snow that covered the ground, turning the world outside into a winter wonderland. The air itself seemed to sparkle with the falling snow that fell silently from thick clouds in the night sky.

She adjusted her glasses, slowly rising and padding softly to the rocking chair by the window. On a clear summer day, she could see the ocean. When she and her husband had bought the place, she could see the lighthouse, now a dark reminder of times long gone. She sat in the old chair, pulling the boy into her lap. This rocking chair had rocked all of her children to sleep more times than she could count. She had rocked away the pain of scraped knees and bruised elbows. She had rocked away upset tummies and sleepless nights. She was unable to resist a quick squeeze of this little boy now, and she wrapped the blanket around them both.

The music from the Christmas lights on the tree began to play again, and she rocked him, her little boy, that she had not rocked in many, many years. She smelled the boyish scent of his hair, now mixed with the remnants of the cookies she had baked earlier. She had not gotten to bake cookies with this child, or decorate a Christmas tree, or play in the snow in such a long time. Sometimes, in her old age, she was sure she had forgotten things. There were times, when she was afraid she was forgetting him, which was absurd, and she knew it, but growing old does silly things to the mind.

She rested his body against the crook of her arm and memorized every little detail all over again; the shape of his eyes, the pout of his lips, the cute little upturn of his nose. All of these things she once knew, but time was a fickle, fickle thing. The feel of his heart beat beneath her hand. It beat so assuredly. The feel of his breath against her skin. If she closed her eyes, it was almost as if the past had vanished.

Her eyelids grew heavy, though she valiantly fought sleep. She kissed the top of his head, tears gathering in her eyes. "Don't wake me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. "If this is a dream, please don't wake me."

She glanced once more out the window beneath the silver moon, and her rocking stopped. Her toes rested against the hardwood floor, her own heartbeat stuttering. Up the pathway, hair dusted with falling snow, walked the husband she had not seen in almost three years. Her breath hitched in her throat. One hand still cradled the child but the other hand covered her mouth, either in disbelief or to keep herself from crying out and waking the slumbering boy.

She was too old now to go out in that weather, too weak to safely maneuver, so she sat in her chair and she watched him. Watched that familiar stride she had ached to see. The grace in the step that had captivated her for so many years, and she had missed so much.

Until finally the door opened and a gust of wind came through, blowing her hair away from her face, causing the sleeping boy to snuggle closer to her. She smiled briefly down at him, in awe at the feeling of holding him again.

There, in the doorway of the house they had built together and shared for more than forty years, and who had not graced it for three long years, stood the man she had married oh-so-long-ago. With the snow drifting in from behind him, his hands shook slightly as they reached up to remove his hat and brush it off.

He sighed, but there was relief in his eyes. "Still sitting there rocking, I see?"

Eyes shining with tears, reflecting the Christmas lights from the tree, she nodded.

"Always," she whispered, a slight laugh in her voice.

He studied her intently, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He crossed the room and sat again in his favorite chair, which still occupied the exact same spot as he had left it. "You baked the cookies." It wasn't a question.

"Every year." She couldn't help but smile at him. He looked so right sitting there, like he belonged, like he had always belonged. It made her heart swell. "You know that."

He nodded. "I do."

She glanced down at the child sleeping in her arms. "Is this real?" She was terrified of his answer, but she was terrified of not knowing, too.

He hooked his hat on one of his knees, his wrinkled fingers dancing across the fabric, fidgeting with it.

"I didn't want you to think I forgot you at Christmas." He glanced at the tree. "It's so small," he mumbled. "You deserve a tree as tall as the ceiling. You know that. It was hard as hell watching you decorate that thing by yourself." His eyes turned back to her, a storm cloud twisting within them. "I understand the boys are busy."

"They have children of their own," she said softly. "They need to start their own traditions."

"I know. It's just...I didn't want you to be alone."

She reached over, hesitantly, resting her hand gently on top of his, entwining her fingers with his.

"You were watching me?"

"Of course I was. What kind of husband do you take me for? Think I'd just go off and forget about you, do you?" He huffed, again, his hand searching for his hat.

She smiled, her hand reaching up to rest against the side of his face. It took her a moment before she answered. "Then I wasn't alone, was I?"

He leaned into her touch, his gray eyes still stormy, before resting his head against the back of his chair. He motioned toward the boy. "This was the best I could come up with for you, as a gift. I thought...I thought a visit...it's been so long."

She rested her cheek against the head of the slumbering boy. "Too long," she whispered, eyes closing briefly. She delighted in the moment. The boy in her arms, and her husband's hand in hers.

A hand against the side of her face, brushing through her hair, and a forehead resting momentarily against her and she couldn't breathe. Tears welled in her eyes and one escaped down her cheek. She inhaled deeply.

"I miss you," she managed to whisper.

"I know, sweetheart," he whispered in return, his lips closing against her forehead, "but I'm so proud of you. You have done so well. I just wish you were not so alone."

"I'm not alone." She gripped his hand, squeezing it. "I have the boys. They are here as much as possible, and you remember their wives. And oh, the grandkids. The stories I could tell you!"

"When we meet again, we'll have a cup of coffee and we can sit in rocking chairs by the bluest of blue lakes, and you can tell me all the stories you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

He slowly stood, helping her to stand too, then he pulled her to him, one arm slipping around her, in a long overdue hug. She rested her head against his chest.

* * *

"Don't wake me," she whispered, breathing in deeply. She could see the Christmas lights begin blinking in time with the music again. The scent of peppermint and sugar cookies hung heavy in the air. And the little old lady sat in her rocking chair, rocking slowly, one hand resting on the arm of the empty recliner beside her, the other entangled in the worn blanket that covered her bare feet.

The soft white walls were covered with pictures of the same smiling faces; little blond boys, three of which grew from frame to frame into adulthood, and one little boy who seemed to remain a toddler forever. Overlooking them were the pictures of a dark-haired man who aged into a gray-haired man, and a dark-haired woman who greatly resembled the little gray-haired woman now occupying the chair by the window. Christmas lights and a tinsel-garland decorated the border of the window and the opposing doorframe.

The room had a caring feel to it and yet was still sterile. The door slowly opened, and in walked a grown man, one of the men from the photos on the wall. On the table, he sat a tin. Behind him, holding hands, followed a little boy and two little girls, none older than 10. The last to enter the room was a nurse.

He turned to her as she briskly entered the room. "How is my mom?" His voice was soft, questioning.

The nurse smiled. "She's about the same. Did you bring her cookies?" She nodded toward the cookie tin on the table.

The youngest of the children, the little boy, spoke up. "We did. They're her favorite."

The nurse smiled at him. "I'll make sure she gets one with her lunch."

The man sat on the chair beside his mom and reached out to hold her hand. "She's doing well then?"

The nurse took the older woman's vitals. "She is. She's lucid sometimes, but not often. She has more good days than bad. She's living in a happy place somewhere in here." She touched his mother's hair softly with one hand.

"She's still talking to my little brother?"

The nurse nodded, writing in a chart. "And your dad."

The man chuckled softly. "I wouldn't mind talking to him sometimes."

The nurse smiled at him sadly. "I think most of us would like to have a conversation like that with a loved one."

One of the little girls opened the cookie tin, and the scent of peppermint permeated the small room. The little old lady stirred in her chair. She looked around the room, her gaze seeing but not quite seeing.

The little girl, in all of her childlike wonder, walked across the room, holding out a cookie. "Want a cookie, grandma?"

The little old lady nodded, her weathered hand slipping from beneath the blanket to take the cookie. "Chocolate peppermint sugar cookies," she asked, looking at her son. And for a moment, just a moment, her eyes cleared and he thought, just for a moment, he saw his mom in there. "Yes, mom."

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she whispered, "They're my favorite."

He squeezed her hand tightly. "I know."

"They're my favorite too," announced the little boy, and he crawled carefully into his grandma's chair, and with a cookie in each hand, he smiled up at her, and they ate their favorite holiday cookies together.

The End

# CHRISTMAS ON-CALL.

 Olga Núñez Miret

"What now?" Carmen looked at her cell with murderous intent. It did not work. The mobile kept ringing. She sighed and answered the call.

Carmen wasn't particularly fond of Christmas. She didn't hate it as such, but she couldn't stand all the fuss and the pressure to be happy, merry, and have a great time. Her approach to the season of goodwill was pretending that it was not happening. She made excuses if she was invited to relatives or friends for the day, and tried to do non-Christmassy things: going for a long-walk, cleaning, engaging on some overdue DIY project... When she lived in the UK any Christmas managing to dodge Christmas pudding she considered a success. Here...

Last year's events didn't help her change her opinion of Christmas. She had been visiting Washington DC, and as not many things were open on Christmas day, she'd decided to go and pay her respects at Arlington Cemetery. On her way out she was jumped on the back, punched in the face and badly assaulted. Luckily, the park police came to the rescue and her injuries were not too bad. But, it had added insult to injury on the joyful season issue. Being the psychiatrist on call on Christmas day this year was a step up from that. Yes, she was in a hospital also, but at least she was not the one receiving treatment.

The call was from A&E.

"Hi. I'm Dr Jones, from A&E. Sorry to bother you, but we have somebody for you to see. Ah, Merry Christmas."

"Ho, Ho, Ho to you too. I'm Dr Graham, psych on-call. So, what's the story?"

"You'll love this one. We have a young guy who tells us he's Father Christmas. The police brought him handcuffed. It seems he started arguing with somebody about the meaning of Christmas and they ended up fighting. The other guy got the worst of it. Missing several teeth, broken nose, and two black-eyes. When they tried to interview him, he started telling them how that guy had disrespected him, because he was Father Christmas and he would not tolerate anybody badmouthing Christmas and the festive season."

"This should be fun...I'll be there in a bit."

During her career she'd treated several Jesus Christs, angels, a St Peter, Mohammed, Neo (from the _Matrix_ ), and people with special powers in general. She could not recall any Father Christmas, but if there had to be one, this was the right day.

She walked across the car park from her accommodation to the main hospital building, and made her way to the A&E department. There, she was greeted by much merriment and a number of doctors and nurses all making jokes about her patient.

"He's mad as a hatter!" said one of the young nurses, all giggles and bounce.

"I think you're not qualified to make such diagnosis. What's his name?"

A young doctor, dark-haired, deep green eyes, sporting a friendly smile, approached her offering her his hand.

"I'm Dr Jones...It gets better. His name is Nicholas Klaus. Or Santa."

The whole floor roared with laughter. Carmen sighed. It was 11 pm. This could take a while. Dr Jones pointed, still shaking with laughter, to a side-cubicle. One of the advantages (there weren't that many) of being a psychiatrist was that staff in A&E always tried to find you a separate room rather than the main ward, in the face of it to give you and your patient more privacy, but Carmen had always suspected that they feared the possible disturbance.

Carmen tried to compose a professional and circumspect smile. The young man in the cubicle was fairly non-descript. Tall and thin, pale, mousy hair, sitting handcuffed to the bed, wearing bright red (glowing) Santa attire. The corresponding hat, white beard and belly filling were by his side on top of the bed. A uniformed policeman, in his fifties, greying hair, short and robust, was sitting on a chair by the side of the bed, and looking bored.

"Hi...I'm Dr Graham. Psychiatrist."

"Can I leave him with you? He's pretty calm now and I must return to the precinct. This is my badge number and mobile if you need to contact me, but the staff has all the details."

The policeman ripped a piece of paper from his notebook and handed it to her as he left. She didn't even have time to react. Yes, Nicholas Klaus appeared pretty calm, but...appearances could indeed be deceptive, as she knew.

"Mr Klaus. Can I call you Nicholas, or Nic?"

"I prefer Santa, but Nic will do."

OK, straight on. Not one of those cases where you needed to go fishing for symptoms.

"How long have you believed that you're Santa Claus for?"

"I don't _believe_ I'm Santa Claus. I _am_ Santa Claus."

Bad approach.

"When did you realise you were Santa Claus? Have you known it all your life?"

"I always felt I was destined for something special, but until this year I didn't realise what it was."

"What made you realise?"

"I was transported to Lapland and shown the warehouse where all the presents are stored, and the workshop where the elves make them. Strange creatures, but very hard-working. A bit bad-tempered, though."

Carmen could not help herself and started looking (she hoped discretely) around. Was there a camera somewhere? Was this a seasonal prank that would end up on You Tube? She couldn't see anything evident, and Nic was keeping a very straight face. Buster Keaton couldn't have done a better job.

"What do you mean by _transported_?"

"I was in my bedroom, watching the telly and suddenly, everything went dark around me, like if I were in a tunnel, and next thing, there I was!"

"It must have been cold." Silly thing to say, but she never stopped herself from asking self-evident questions. The answers weren't always that self-evident.

"Well, obviously I wasn't really there. It was an out-of-body experience; my astral body was tele-transported. It was a mental thing." Nic seemed to mix and match all kinds of concepts randomly, but Carmen decided to let him carry on.

"You said you were _shown_ the warehouse and the workshop. Who showed them to you?"

"Didn't I say? Father Christmas. He explained to me that his time for retirement had arrived and I had been chosen as his substitute."

Carmen grabbed the observations chart. Everything seemed normal. They had done a urine drug test that was negative. It wasn't drugs. Breathalyser was also negative and he did not appear drunk. And physical examination and blood tests were also normal. Nothing organic.

"Has anything else slightly out of the ordinary happened to you? Like hearing voices when there is nobody around, or seeing things that other people don't seem to be able to see?"

"Well, since I met the old Father Christmas, I've been hearing his voice telling me what to do. He told me he would be with me and he has. And he guided me through the whole process yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Yes, yesterday evening I went distributing presents to all the children in the world!"

Carmen had always thought that one of the tricky parts of her job was to keep a straight face when patients told you fairly bizarre things with total conviction. Sometimes it was difficult. This was one of those times. She thought that if she asked any more questions about that right then, she might start laughing, so she tried to change the subject slightly.

"You must be feeling tired. Are you sleeping well?"

"I didn't have time to sleep last night but usually..." He stopped himself to think. "Maybe I haven't been sleeping quite as well as I used to."

"And your appetite?"

"I've lost some weight, but nothing major. I preferred my mother's cooking to mine. That's all."

"It's quite usual. Did you move out of your parents' house recently? You're very young."

"I'm 20. My parents and my younger brother, Callum, died in an RTA last Christmas Eve. I still live in the family home, but it's not the same."

Nic was looking down now and Carmen suspected he might be trying to hold back the tears.

"This must be a really hard time for you. The first anniversary. Were you very close to your family?"

"We were OK. We had our arguments like everybody else, but...we got on well." He looked up. His eyes were bright, but no tears. Carmen felt sorry for him.

"Do you have any help? Did you get some bereavement counselling?"

"I'm sad still, evidently, but I'm not depressed, or hallucinating or mad. This is not grief. I've read about it. I don't hear my parents' voice or see ghosts or anything like that..."

He had done his research, so he must have had some doubts about his sanity at least.

"Is this the first time you've seen a psychiatrist?"

"Yes. Strange way to spend Christmas."

"I agree."

"I don't have any mental health problems. And before you ask, I'm not aware that anybody in my family has ever had any either."

"Have you lost interest in things you used to enjoy?"

Nic looked at her with a glint of suspicion.

"My sexual life is fine."

"OK. I meant hobbies, work, studies, sport..."

"I've taken some time off from my studies. I've found it difficult to concentrate since the accident."

Carmen looked at him, without saying anything. He sighed.

"I feel low sometimes. Not terrible, but...a bit sad. And tired. I used to play football but now...it's too much of an effort. And to tell you the truth...I'm not that bothered about girls."

"When people feel low sometimes they feel life is not worth living...Has that ever happened to you?"

Nic was trembling slightly and his voice was only a whisper.

"Some...sometimes. I thought about...You know...But now, all is different! I'm Santa and have such a great mission in life. I'm the happiest man alive! Yesterday night was the most amazing I've ever lived. Swishing around, dropping presents everywhere...Elves could hardly keep up! You wouldn't believe how fast those reindeers are!"

Carmen let him talk. It seemed to soothe him and it was quite an entertaining account of a fantasy that made him feel better. He eventually stopped talking and looked at her, beaming.

"If I could I'd take you with me next year. You'd love it! But there are very strict rules. I shouldn't be talking about this, but that guy bad-mouthing Christmas and talking about Santa saying it was an invention of Coca-cola and all about advertising and greed... He drove me mad! I could not put up with such insults."

Carmen looked at Nic. She asked a few more questions to clarify the details of his symptoms. No, he did not think his actions or thoughts were being controlled or implanted. No, he did not think he could read other people's thoughts or his thoughts were being broadcast to others.

"The old Santa's voice, Nic, is it coming from outside of your head? Do you hear him like you hear me, or is it inside?"

"Well...I guess both...What I mean is...do you know when you're listening to some external noise for a long time, or like in an airport, to the announcements, so long that eventually you're not sure if you're actually hearing it or it is inside of your head?" She nodded. "Well, it's like that now. It seems to be everywhere."

"I think I know the answer to this one, but have to ask... Are you distressed by the voice? Do you want it to go away?"

"It was a bit surprising to begin with but no...no. It's very useful to be guided and he's good company. Has a wicked sense of humour too!"

"I have to go and check something, Nic, but I'll be back with you very shortly."

Carmen left the cubicle and sighed. He was a nice guy. But right at that moment he needed a bit of help. If he had been with his family she would have sent him home and organised an appointment with a psychiatrist after the holiday period. He wasn't a danger to himself, and if his family had kept an eye on him he would have been unlikely to end up in another dangerous situation, but being alone...The last thing he needed was to land in jail, or hurt somebody badly and have to live with it. She made a few phone calls to check and managed to locate a free bed for him. She prepared a smile and went back into the cubicle.

"Nic..."

"Yes?" He looked expectant. Let's see if she could sell him this.

"Nic, you've got into a bit of trouble assaulting that guy. I think you're overtired, a bit emotional, and you've been a bit low. In my opinion you need rest, somebody to look after you for a few days, and someone to talk to about the things that have happened to you and your sad losses. I've found a bed in a hospital for you. It is a psychiatric unit, but this would be a voluntary admission, just until you get back on your feet, and nobody will force you to do anything you don't want to. I'd sleep better tonight if I knew you were in a safe place with someone keeping an eye on you."

Emotional blackmail was not her style but if it worked...

Nic looked at her and sighed. He looked relieved.

"If you think it would be good for me..."

She nodded.

"All right. I guess you're right. I'm exhausted."

"I'll organise everything. You don't need to worry."

A few hours later Carmen left the hospital. It was the end of the on-call and she was finally on her way home. After picking up her handbag she walked across the deserted car-park towards her car.

"Finally alone."

She turned to look but could not see where the voice might be coming from. It was a male voice she'd never heard before. Deep in tone. She must have been more tired than she realised. As she opened the door, the same voice said:

"No, it's not tiredness. I'm real."

She looked around...Still nobody. She could not avoid looking inside of her car and under it, whilst thinking that anybody looking at her would be having a good laugh at her expense. Still nothing.

She entered the car, sat down; left her handbag on the passenger seat and closing her eyes rested her head on the steering wheel.

"You're not mad either. I'm real."

OK, if he was going to play games...

"OK, then...who are you?"

"Oh, they know me by many names. Santa Claus, Father Christmas, St Nicholas..."

"If this is a very elaborate prank..."

"No, no. You've met Nic...He told you about me and my retirement. He did well but... No, he's not the one for the job. He doesn't have it in him."

This was really weird. Nic hadn't given details of his story to other people, so nobody else could be in on the joke. And she'd left him in an ambulance driving towards a neighbouring psychiatric unit. It had to be her own mind.

"Gosh, you're hard. That's the problem with scientists and medics. Evidence..." And there he was, sitting next to her on the passenger seat. Father Christmas. Yes, fat, booming voice, red suit, white hair and beard, pointy hat. The full compliment. "Call me Santa."

Her heart was beating very fast and she could hardly breathe. Santa put a hand, that did not feel solid, more like energy, on her arm, and she felt suddenly calm and relaxed.

"Now, Carmen, I can see you don't do nonsense. I need somebody like that. Practical, but with a heart. It's time diversity and equal opportunities make it into the World of Christmas employment policy. I'm convinced you've got what it takes to become the first Mother Christmas. What do you say? Would you like to come for a visit?"

Carmen thought for a few seconds and then, mad as it sounded, she nodded. After all, she had no better offers to spend her day off. It should be much better than trying to avoid all the Christmas commercials. And maybe, if she asked nicely, they'd let her redesign the suit!

The End

# JOHNNY'S JOURNEY AND REUNION

 Oscar Wager II

It was a few days before Christmas, and Johnny's parents were at it again, they were having an argument, and he didn't want it to begin. Whenever they argued, the yelling would follow, and then the apologies, but they always seemed hollow. This time, as it seemed to be more often, the fight was about money, and they wouldn't soften.

"Keep your voice down," his mom said in a hushed voice, "Johnny is here, and Christmas is a time to rejoice. He doesn't need to know the problems we face."

But Johnny had heard the words of disgrace. He went to his hiding place as he did in these times where he had a music box, and he enjoyed the chimes. So, he wound up the gears, and listened, content, but all of this tension caused resentment. He wanted to get out of this house, and to do it, he would be as quiet as a mouse.

He took out a suitcase, and packed what he needed, he would need food and clothes, if his plan succeeded. His parents came into his room to say good night, but his thoughts were only of fleeing this site.

So, Johnny waited until his parents were asleep, and he grabbed his suitcase and started to creep down the hallway to the front door, and he tiptoed on the wooden floor. He closed the door slowly, not making a sound, and he stepped off of the porch onto the snow-covered ground. He walked as far as he could, until he could walk no more, so he stopped because he was tired, cold and sore. He hunkered down and sheltered himself from the wind, just as he'd been taught in the scouts, with his friend. But eight years old is too young to be alone, out in the elements where he was chilled to the bone.

Johnny awoke as the sun began to rise, and he was feeling good as he rubbed his eyes. He started again on his long trek from above he was just a little speck. The early morning had brought a dusting of snow, and the sun was causing the powder to glow. The fresh snow had covered his track; it would be harder now to follow from the back.

He was on a mission to reach his goal, and then he stepped into a ground hole. He pulled his foot out of the ground and checked himself out, and his leg was sound. So he once again was walking onto his ending point, and he hoped he would find this funky joint.

He checked his compass to stay on the right path. Although he didn't like them, he could use a hot bath. It was getting colder the further he walked, so to keep his mind off it, he walked and talked. About nothing in particular, just things that he knew.

If he could see his own lips, he would see they were blue. But he must keep going, it was deep in his soul, his trek would only end at the North Pole. Johnny finally collapsed after walking all day, and he couldn't go on, so here he would rest and stay.

As Johnny's parents awoke that morning, they found a letter from Johnny giving a warning. _I am going to find Santa Claus,_ read the note, _Don't try to find me_ , was what else he wrote.

"Oh my God," cried Johnny's mother, and his father held her tight, trying to calm her.

"He couldn't have gotten far," Johnny's father said, and Johnny's mother dropped the note on the bed.

The police told the father they would be out right away, but it did not relieve the mother's cries, that day. They sat and waited for a few long moments until the police showed up to take their statements. The officer who took the initial report, he knew to what they had to resort.

They must pull together a search team before it's too late, and they run out of steam. The first forty-eight hours are crucial at times like these. Hopefully the good Lord above will hear their pleas. So, they started to search for the missing boy, and, hopefully soon, they would feel joy. They called out his name as they went deeper in the woods, while Johnny's mother lagged behind carrying baked goods.

She knew that little Johnny would be starved, so she carried a cake which she had carved. It was in the shape of ol' St. Nick himself, a recipe she got from a book on her shelf. If Johnny wanted to see Santa Claus, this might be a boost to his cause.

They found Johnny while he was out cold, so they picked him up and got a good hold. They carried him back to a place that was warm to keep him safe and out of the storm.

It took another two hours before Johnny awoke and another thirty minutes before he spoke. No one was around as he looked about, and he called and then began to shout.

How did he get to this warm abode? He wanted answers, and so he bellowed. If his parents had found him, why wasn't he home?

This place was built small, as if for a gnome. And then what he saw as he began to arise, caused him not to believe his eyes. Next to a corner bookshelf, stood a tiny Christmas elf. She wore a green cap and green and white socks. Her outfit was red and what caused more shocks, she wore a name tag and it read _My Name is: Bella_ , and as she stepped backed, she tripped on an umbrella.

Bella said, "Take it easy, young man. You are a guest in my home," is how she began. "You were in the woods, passed out by a stump, heaped up in a pile like a little lump. I brought you here, to warm your soul, you need your rest; the weather has taken a toll."

Johnny looked at Bella, and began to speak, "I am on a mission, and it is Santa Claus that I seek. I want to add something to my Christmas list, an item, that before, I didn't know I wished. I can only tell him, and I am quite hurried. It is important, and I am worried. Can you show me the way to the North Pole? He is the only one who can make my life whole."

"I can show you the house where the old man lives. He is in the business where he gives and gives. I will take you there, later, when you are rested and fed," were the next words that Bella said.

The searchers laid out a pattern, a widespread grid with each volunteer calling out for the kid. Where could he be? He could not have walked this far, his father thought, as he saw the night's first star. He made a simple wish, "Please bring him home, unharmed," which he whispered, so his wife would not be alarmed.

A deputy called out, "Lieutenant, come quick," and what they saw hit them like a brick. There was the suitcase that Johnny had taken, of that the parents were not mistaken.

There was a disturbance nearby in the snow, where a small child could have lain, as the wind did blow. So this impression was not disturbed by the storm. How could someone so small, still be warm? But he must have moved on from his resting place, and his mother imagined his beautiful face. So angelic were his features and so frail. How could he have withstood last night's gale?

Bella was true to the words she had spoken; her vow to lead the boy would not be broken. So, they bundled up to be protected from the cold, and Johnny knew his wish would be quite bold. The two of them walked out into the snow, and that is when the wind started to blow. Even though the two were bundled up tight, the cold went through them, like a darkness cut by light.

As they approached the home where St. Nick resides, Johnny caught glimpses of the insides. And then there was the big man himself, and Johnny froze in his tracks behind the elf.

"I can't believe I am going to talk to Santa Claus," it was too much, and it made him pause. "What if he doesn't grant my request," and this caused him to be quite distressed. But, Johnny shook off the ill feeling, so he could concentrate on his dealing. With the big guy in the red fuzzy suit, and this was very important, to boot.

So, Bella took Johnny into the abode, and here was Johnny, as the wind outside bellowed. Another elf, showed them into a fancy sitting room where there were several poinsettia plants in bloom. There they were seated and asked to wait, and were promised it would not be too late. After only five minutes, Mister Claus walked in, and he let out a trio of Ho's before he would begin.

"Bella, it is good to see you, my old friend. We must catch up, and you tell me how you have been."

"Please Santa, we will get to that in just a tad, but first we have something to discuss, with this lad."

Johnny's mother's concern grew more by the minute; it seemed the snow piling up would be infinite. The wind blew harder, than it had last night, and it only grew stronger, covering everything in white. For, it was blowing snow that was still falling, but still the search team kept on calling.

"Johnny, if you can hear us, please reply. We want you to come home, so our lives don't go awry. We could not live without you in our lives," but all this worry was giving his mother hives.

She knew worrying would not help their cause, if only she could get help from Santa Claus. She said a prayer to the good Lord above, pleading on his good graces, and his love. After all, it was his birthday they would celebrate, if they found Johnny before it was too late. But she had to shake off the negative thinking, and then the sight she saw set her to blinking.

Santa waved Johnny over to sit on his lap, and as Johnny settled in Santa gave his back a tap. "Please tell me why you have come to my home; it can't be as measly as a car made out of chrome. You have braved the elements to reach out to me, what is it that you have come to me, to plea?"

Johnny's reply was quiet and cautious, for he was starting to feel a little nauseous. It seems that being this close to the big man had caused him to feel sick and might spoil his plan. But he kept it together long enough to speak, and when he finished he was feeling weak. But he was happy to have the request off his chest, and he knew with this talk he would be blessed.

Santa's reply was short, sweet, and direct, and it caused Johnny to sit and reflect.

Bella took Johnny and swept him away back to the forest where Johnny had lay. There with his back to the stump where he had lain as a bump.

Johnny began the trek once again looking to find where all this did begin. Back to his house with his mom and dad, and he hoped that they would not be too mad. And then over the wind, he heard his name called, and he began to run and would not be stalled.

He spotted a figure trudging through the snow and another as he heard them bellow. They were still calling his name and had not seen him yet, so he started waving his arms; their attention he would get.

Finally they saw him, his mom and pop, and they ran toward him and didn't stop. As Johnny and his parents stood crying in the woods, his mother was standing there, with her baked goods.

Then they all hugged as a family together, and it was decided they should get out of the weather.

They sent word out to the entire search party, they would head back to the house, and the celebration would be hearty. So, the search team headed back, happy but weary. They had searched all day, and their eyes were bleary. The party broke up, and they were finally alone, and they took Johnny to bed where their answers would be known.

"Why did you leave," they asked Johnny, quite blunt. "That was a really stupid thing, not a smart stunt."

Johnny answered, "As I said in my note, I needed to see Santa. Remember what I wrote?"

"But what was so important that you had to go through the cold and wintry blizzard like snow?"

"Well, now, that I can't tell you, Mom and Dad. Me and Santa have a pact, and it must go unsaid."

"Well, we are just happy to have you back home with us,"

And they left him alone, with no more of a fuss. Over the next few days, up until Christmas day, Johnny sat back and observed, and had nothing to say.

Christmas Day

After watching his folks the last few days, he knew he had to give Santa praise. Santa had come through on his promise to Johnny, he had brought them closer, him, Paul, and Bonnie.

Johnny had wanted his parents to stop fighting, so they would be happy again, a reuniting. So that was what Johnny had asked Santa for when he had left that day and walked out the door.

The End

# AN ANGEL FOR MAGGIE

Rebecca Vance

My name is Jenny and I'm an angel. Really, I am. I finished my training recently, and I have just been promoted to my first post as a guardian angel. I was made in Heaven. Some angels were once human and after death became angels. Since I had never experienced it personally, it was interesting to see what they acted like. So far, I was not impressed. I am about to be briefed on my assignment so I am currently viewing a scene from my charge's life. She doesn't appear very happy.

"She's my mother, Vanessa! Can't you be a little understanding?, the man pleads.

"Understanding? What I understand is that I am left here all day to play babysitter while you go to work without a care in the world and sometimes come home late. It wouldn't be so bad if the perfume and whiskey didn't give you away!" Vanessa starts to sob and a door slams in another room. The old woman looks upset and confused at the same time. She looks around as if she has lost something.

I look down upon the unfolding scene in wonder. I glance up and ask, "But how can I help them? Why does the old woman look lost?"

Sarah, the senior angel and my advisor, sits on a cloud directly above me. Cloud and all, she floats down beside me. "You are going to be earthbound until tomorrow. You will appear to be human and befriend the old one. Her name is Margaret, but all those close to her call her Maggie."

I am shocked at the news and quite curious. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'? Today is Christmas Eve. You will be back for the festivities tomorrow. I have never known you to question decisions before."

"No, I am a bit surprised that I am to be allowed to go to Earth so soon, but that isn't what I meant. Why do her friends call her Maggie, if her name is Margaret?"

Sarah laughs her special laugh, a melodious sound, but I barely notice as I wait for her reply.

"Jenny, humans that are familiar with one another, such as friends or family members, refer to one another with what is called a 'nickname'. A nickname is a shortened form of the full name. It is meant to be affectionate. Do you understand now?"

"I'm not really sure, Sarah. If it is meant to be affectionate, and we believe that all humans should love one another, then why bother with the name Margaret at all? Why isn't her name simply Maggie?"

Sarah seems exasperated with me. "It just is not, that is all! Anyway, that is not the important thing here! Pay attention, Jenny. You have never been to Earth before. Although your training covered the attitudes and customs, I still need to prepare you. You need to be there for Maggie. Now since you will be a stranger to her, let her tell you what to call her. She will introduce herself as either Margaret or Maggie. You will call her what she indicates. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes. Will everyone be able to see me, or only Maggie?"

"Finally, a sensible question! Yes, everyone will be able to see you. You will appear to be another human to them. That is why it is important for you to remember their customs. You will be among them and you must not reveal yourself until the right time. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. Will I be departing now?"

"It is important for you to arrive on Earth as soon as possible. So let me begin your final briefing.

The training is interesting. Humans are complex creatures, with much angst and emotions. I wonder if I can ever truly understand their motivations and how and why they act upon them. I've never wondered about time before. It doesn't matter in Heaven. But, how much time has elapsed on Earth? What is going on with the family now? Will I get the chance to see before I have to descend? As always, Sarah can understand my curiosity without words between us.

"Yes, you can see one last time", she answers the questions in my thoughts. "Then you will depart. You will be as a human until the time is right to reveal yourself. You must say nothing about it until it is time."

I nod in agreement. How many times has she told me this? The scene I viewed before continues with Vanessa still crying. She is back in the living room and there is no sign of Vanessa's husband, Eric. I want to check on Maggie. I think of her as Maggie, not Margaret. She isn't in her bed! Where is she? I look at Sarah.

"This is exactly why you are needed", she confirms." Maggie has left the house. The arguing scared her. She heard herself being referred to in anger, so she went for a walk. That used to be what she did to think. Now it is more dangerous. Maggie is sick. She is old and she has what is called Alzheimer's disease. Her memory fades in and out. This is a head sickness and affects memory and how a person reacts to stimuli. She is out in the night and it is very dangerous for her. She may not know how to get home."

"That explains why she seems so lost, like she is searching for something. So, I am to go there and take her home?" I think that seems easy enough.

"No. There is more to it than that. You have to befriend her and get her to open up and talk to you. Other angels will be working on each family member. You must stay with Maggie. She cannot be alone."

In an instant, or in the blink of an angel's eye, as we say, I go from a cloud in Heaven to the city streets where Maggie is. How will I ever find her? As it happens, I don't need to find her. There she is, right in front of me. She is sitting on a park bench looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. She appears sad. I sit down beside her and she gives me a side glance, and turns to look at me.

"Hi", I say, "My name is Jenny." I wait for her to introduce herself. She is silent. I decide to be direct. "What is your name?"

"I don't remember. Can you believe that? I can't remember my own name!" She jumps up and paces around the bench. "I need to find the man! He can tell me!"

"What man? A family member? Or your husband?

"Yes, my husband! His name is Ben. That's right, Ben!"

I try a different approach. "Do you know where Ben is? I'll go with you to find him."

"Yes, I know. He isn't far from here. Let's go. It's over that way." Maggie points straight ahead.

We walk for a few blocks, and we come upon a gate. Above the gate is a sign _. Coventry_ _Cemetery_. So she is aware that he is dead. Confused myself, I follow her through the gate.

Maggie leads the way to a grave with a tall marble headstone. It reads: _Benjamin Harper 1920-2000_ _Loving husband and father waiting on the other side_. Maggie runs her fingers over each letter as if caressing a cheek.

"I can't believe I couldn't remember his name! I lived with this man and loved him, for over 50 years! How could I forget his name?"

Tears flow down her cheeks, and make her face red. I admit it. I am curious. I reach out with a finger to wipe her tears. I nearly gasp aloud! They are hot! No wonder her face is red! It isn't true when humans say that angels don't cry. Oh yes, we do, but not in the same way. It is more inward than outward. She looks at me. She is so sad. I want to stop her pain.

"You didn't forget Ben. You may have forgotten his name for a moment, but you remembered that you lived with him, and loved him for over 50 years. You knew where to find him."

"I come here every day that I remember. I talk with him and tell him I miss him. I want to be with him. I just don't want to be on this earth without him. If he really is on the other side, I want to go there. I am tired of being in a world that no longer wants me."

I am about to respond, when singing voices ring out. They don't sound like the voices of angels, but it is a glorious sound, nonetheless. They are singing carols. It is Christmas Eve and they are celebrating !

"Listen! It is Christmas Eve! Do you hear the beautiful voices, Maggie?" Now I've done it! She can't remember her name, and I have just supplied it for her. I wonder whether she will notice.

"Yes, that's it! Maggie is my name! How did you know?"

Struggling for an answer, I feel the glow. It starts from my head and spreads to my toes. This is it! It is time to reveal my purpose for being here.

Maggie stares at me in amazement. "You are glowing! The light is so bright!"

"Maggie, I am an angel, sent by God. He wants you to know that He understands your pain. He knows that you want to be with your Ben, and He understands that your family is having problems. He wants to help all of you. You only need to ask Him. This memory loss is only temporary. I know it is confusing. When you meet Ben on the other side, you will never forget anything again, I promise you."

"You are an angel? Am I dead? she asks me.

"No Maggie. You are very much alive. It is cold out here. Maybe we should go home now?" I encourage.

"I can't go home. I no longer have a home! My son's house is not a home. They fight. All the time, they fight. Mostly about me and what a burden I am to them. Eric only has me with him because I am his mother and he has no other choice. Vanessa doesn't like me. I frustrate her. She would like to put me in one of those old folk's' homes and be done with me. I wouldn't like that. I want my old home back. That will never happen though, will it? Jenny, can you take me to be with Ben? Ben was always my home. Wherever he was, home was there. Can I go to Ben?"

"I understand that you want to be with Ben, Maggie, but it isn't your time to go yet. You still have work to do here."

"What work? I can no longer---"

Her words are cut off with the arrival of Eric and Vanessa. They are both crying. Eric runs up to Maggie and hugs her.

"Mama! I'm so glad we found you! We were both so worried! We love you and want you to come home! I promise, it will be better!, he vows.

"Is there a home to go to? I overheard Vanessa. She said that you've been drinking and had the scent of another woman on you. If you are cheating on your wife, that is not a home, son!" Maggie chastises.

"I would never cheat on Vanessa! I was working late on a special project. When it was completed, my boss and his secretary congratulated me. We toasted with a drink and his secretary hugged me. It meant a promotion for me, and an extra-large bonus and a new account for the company. That's all it was. It was innocent." He looks at Vanessa with love that glows almost as bright as I had earlier.

It is Vanessa's turn. She hugs Maggie too. "I love you too, Mama. I'm so sorry for making you feel unwanted. I was taking my frustrations out on you, and that wasn't fair. Please, come home with us now. It is freezing out here!"

Maggie loos at them both and asks, "So I don't have to go to the old folk's' home? I really couldn't handle that you know. I couldn't be away from Ben. Until we meet again, I must visit him. Did you know that Jenny, here, is an angel? She's been taking care of me until you came."

"Yes, Mama, we heard every word and saw the beautiful glow. Besides that, we met a couple of angels, too. Thank you, Jenny! I never really believed in angels before. I am so glad that you were here!" Eric says to me before looking back at Maggie. "Of course you will not go to an old folk's' home", he promises her. . Your home is with us. You are my mother. I love you! Will you come home now?"

Maggie says that she will and looks back at me. "Jenny, will you come home with us and have some warm cocoa? I have a special cocoa that I make for special occasions!" Maggie smiles for the first time. It lights up her face.

"I believe I will for a little while." I accept, not wanting this time to end.

We all go back to Eric and Vanessa's home. The cocoa is so good! I've never understood the human obsession with chocolate. Now I understand. I wonder if we can have cocoa in Heaven? I laughed out loud at the thought of Sarah's reaction to that. We drink cocoa and sing Christmas carols until midnight, when it was time for me to go. I know that Maggie will be with her Ben soon. They will be spending the next Christmas together. Of course, I couldn't tell them that. They would enjoy one last Christmas as a family-together-the way that families should be. As I leave, they are reminiscing about previous Christmases and the tree is so beautiful and sparkly. It fades as I ascend home to Heaven.

Sarah meets me at the gate, anxious to get my report. She could have just kept watch, but she would never know what it is like to be human. She is curious. "So, what is it like to be human, Jenny? What did you learn?" she asks.

"I learned how to make the most delicious hot drink, called cocoa. Would you like some?"

"Don't be silly, Jenny! Angels can't drink cocoa!" she replied.

"I was granted a wish. I wished for us to be able to have one drink of cocoa together."

Sarah is surprised, but agrees to try it. Back on our clouds now, side by side, we raise the steaming mugs in a toast.

"Isn't this heavenly?" I inquire.

Sarah agrees that it smells wonderful. As we clink our mugs to complete the toast, we had to agree that maybe there was hope for humankind after all.

The End

# THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

Susan Hawthorne

Three days before Christmas and music filled the mall. Julie put her earmuffs on to try to keep it out of her head.

Tina, her sister, gave her a little shove and smiled. "Hey, you're frowning. It's almost Christmas, time to be jolly!"

Julie shook her head and looked away. Christmas would never be the same for her again, not after the wreck that took her parents and brother away.

Tina picked up an X-Box game and waved it at her with a grin. "Here's that game Paige wants so much. I told her it cost too much." She laughed. "I can't wait to see her face when she opens it Christmas morning."

Nodding, Julie flipped through the games and picked one out. She held it up to Tina. "For Kenny?"

"Oh, he'd love that game. He has the first one in that series."

They checked out and headed to the car.

On the way home, Tina glanced at Julie from the driver's seat. With a deep breath, she began, "Julie, I know it's hard, but it's been a year..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you don't, but I think we have to." She softened her voice, "Look, it's been hard for me too. You've been away at school most of that time. I'd hoped that would help put some distance between... all this... But now, I really think it's time to talk."

"Yeah? Will talking about it change anything? Our whole family was wiped out, Tina. THAT is not going to change. Not ever!" She turned away and looked out the window.

"Julie, I'm still here and so are you. We're our family now! And Tommy and our kids – you know they all love you. You still have a family, Julie."

Julie slid down in the seat and sighed. "I know, and I love you too, but it's not the same. Christmas sure isn't the same." She looked down at her hands in her lap and twisted her fingers. "I miss them, Tina. It's not right to feel happy about Christmas when they're not here anymore."

They pulled into the driveway and Tina turned toward Julie. "Do you think that's what (they'd) want? Think about that, ok? Tommy and the kids bought the tree tonight and put it up in the living room. We're going to decorate it tomorrow... Help make it happy... for the kids, Julie. Ok?"

Julie nodded, jumped out of the car and ran inside. She continued up to her room and shut the door. Tossing the bag on the window seat, she threw her coat on the chair and slumped on the bed. She knew Tina was right, but she just couldn't feel happy. She wished she could, but she couldn't. She'd try to act happy for the kids, but she'd find a way to slip away while they decorated the tree.

About an hour later, Tina tapped at her door and peeked in. Julie pretended to be sleeping. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. Once Tina shut the door, she opened her eyes. Moonlight filtered in the window and allowed her to see the shapes of objects around the room. Everything showed as grey or black in the darkness.

Tossing and turning, she couldn't sleep. Finally she decided some warm milk might help.

Padding barefoot down to the kitchen, she thought about the box. On impulse, she moved to the door that led to the attic. Placing her hand on the doorknob, her heart gave a flutter of anxiety. She almost walked away, but something urged her to open the door. Tiptoeing, she went up the stairs to the door at the top, opened it and peered in.

There it was. A big wrapped box with a huge red bow on top, sitting there patiently waiting for her as it had for over a year. The gift that mom had wrapped for her last year, the last gift ever from her. She never got to give it to her and by the time Julie got home from the hospital, she hadn't wanted to open it. She couldn't stand the thought of touching it.

She sat on the floor beside the gaily wrapped box and placed a hand on it. Her thoughts raced back to the wreck. She had gone with Mom and Dad to see her brother's Christmas Play. They were on the way home. Jason was still dressed in his Wise Man outfit. She remembered the sudden slam of the brakes, the screeching of metal and the smell of fuel and smoke. Struggling to get out of the seat belt. Seeing blood on her hands. Then, someone tugging at her door. Voices. Hands pulling at her. Murmurs of 'you're ok, relax, we've got you.'

She struggled to ask about her parents, her brother, but nothing would come out. They put her in an ambulance and she heard the siren, then it all faded away. She woke up later in a room that smelled of antiseptics with machines whooshing and squealing around her.

Tina sat waiting in a chair by her bed, her eyes red and puffy. She clutched a wad of tissue in her hand.

Julie floated in a fog. She remembered Tina jumping to the bedside and grabbing her hand, clinging to her. She tried to speak but the fog covered everything again.

She awakened later to an empty room. Tina's jacket and purse were on the chair. An IV line went into her arm and there was a little clip on her finger with a red light at its tip. Starting to sit up, she saw her left arm swathed in bandages. She moved her right hand to her face and felt bandages on her forehead as well. The door opened and Tina walked in with a man wearing a white jacket.

"Hi, Julie, I'm Dr. Jackson. You're looking much better today. You had a concussion so you've been out of it for a while." He listened to her heart and probed around her stomach. Her left side hurt, but there was no bandage there.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"We... we were in the car, coming home from Jason's show at school. I was listening to my iPod, I don't know... Something hit us! There was blood... What happened? Where's Mom and Dad?"  
She looked from the doctor's face to Tina's and started to cry. "I remember feeling the car braking hard... it slammed my head into the window and there was a big bang, I couldn't get my seat belt off. Then someone got me out of the car... and there was an ambulance. Where's Jason?"

Tina wiped her eyes with a tissue and clutched her hand.

"They're gone, Julie. They tried to save them, but they couldn't. They're gone. Thank God we still have you!"

Dr Jackson patted her leg. "You're awake, that's good. We're going to move you out of ICU into a regular room. You can go home in a day or two."

Julie left the hospital the day before the funeral. Friends and neighbors filled the house along with food, flowers, and cards. Despite all the people, the house felt empty to Julie.  
After the funeral they learned that Mom and Dad had left the house and everything to Tina and Julie. Tina and Tommy moved in with their kids. It was good that they could all live in the house that Tina and Julie had grown up in. Even though Julie was heading off to college in August, her room would still be here waiting for her.

Her thoughts leaped back to the present and Julie shook her head, looked at the gift and sighed. Last year, at Christmas, she couldn't bear to open this. She didn't even want to touch it. That happened a year ago and people thought she should be over it. She didn't know how to be over it.

The card on top of the gift had "JULIE" written on it with a little heart at the end. Mom always did that, drew little hearts on cards. She ran her fingers over the writing then pulled it off the box and held it in her hands.

She considered it for a moment, her finger resting on the heart, then opened the flap and pulled out the card. It had an angel on the front with "Merry Christmas" written in big curly letters over the angel's head.

Inside the verse read:

" _A Christmas Angel Just for You_

To Let You Know it's All So True

Christmas is for Hope and Love

Sent Down to You from Up Above."

It was signed: _"Merry Christmas with all our Love, Mom and Dad"_

A slip of paper fell from the card into her lap. Julie picked it up and slowly unfolded it.

" _Dearest Julie,"_ it read, _"You're going off to college this summer, how did you grow up so fast? I can't imagine you being away from home without me there to love and protect you! Oh, I know you're all grown up and don't need me anymore, but to me, you'll always be my little girl."_

Julie closed the note and looked up at the ceiling. She missed her mother so very much. Composing herself, she looked back at the note and opened it again.

" _I'm sure you'll be home for Christmas, but I wanted you to have something special for your dorm room for the season. I hope this will remind you of the special connection we have, at Christmas and all year too. No matter what, I love you and I'm so proud of you and all you've accomplished. Always hold your head up high and remember that._

Be Happy!

Love to you always, Mom."

Julie dropped the note and grabbed the box. She got up on her knees and tore the paper off in a frenzy, then ripped the tape away from the top of the box. It was filled with balls of tissue that she yanked out and threw on the floor. Finally, there it was. A tall beautiful Christmas Angel for the top of a tree. This was no plastic baby-doll angel. The wings were made from layers and layers of lace, delicately flared into many points with hundreds of tiny seed pearls sewn on. The dress was Victorian, modestly covering the angel's neck, form fitting to her small waist, then flaring, bell-like, into a beautiful white and cream skirt with many more tiny seed pearls sewn over it. The angel's ceramic face tilted slightly up with an expression of delight as if she saw something amazing. Her light brown hair fell in ringlets to her shoulders. Her countenance embodied pure love.  
As Julie held the angel in her hands, a deep awareness of her mother filled her heart. She heard her voice say, 'Julie, we'll always be with you, your Dad and I and Jason. You don't have to feel sad anymore! I know you love us, as we love you, so let that bring you joy!'

A mysterious warmth filled her body and her sadness lifted away.

Early the next morning, Tina came downstairs to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying.

"Good morning!" Julie smiled.

"Julie? What are you doing up so early?"

"We're decorating the tree today, aren't we? I wanted to get some breakfast going for everyone. I made chocolate chip muffins, fried some bacon and made coffee. I thought I'd wait to start the eggs, so they wouldn't get cold."

"Well... Wow!" Tina laughed. "I'm glad to see you looking so happy. And thank you for breakfast."

Julie grabbed her hand. "Before the kids get up, come in here, I want to show you something." She pulled Julie to the living room.

All the Christmas ornament boxes were in the room waiting to be emptied. Candles glowed on the mantel and the sweet aromas of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with the pine scent from the tree. The lights were on the tree and, at the top, the beautiful angel beamed down at them.

Tina looked at Julie with a puzzled expression. "You have everything ready for decorating. Where did that lovely angel come from?"

Laughing, Julie gave Tina's shoulder a little shove and said, "Tina, it's Christmas! Where's your joyful spirit?"

Tina threw her arms around Julie with a huge smile and hugged her tight.

The warmth of Christmas filled the room and the angel smiled with satisfaction.

The End

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