Merry Christmas

A Holiday Journey 19

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Chris pushed as fast as he could through the brambles and bushes at ground level. He could hardly see where to place his feet, but Lilly was in trouble.  The sky remained storm dark, and it seemed doubly dark under the trees.  The only grace seemed most of the snow got caught in the branches above.

“Lilly,” Chris called.  He heard a deep, guttural growl off to his right, and headed toward it instead of away from it.  “Lilly.” Suddenly, he imagined that maybe the missing reindeer was all part of the game.  He tried again. “Roy.  Plum. Merry.”  He stopped just inside a small clearing.  Something like a street light, or the moon come down through the clouds could be seen overhead.  A creature, or person that looked too much like Courtney for comfort, stood on the edge of the trees, ten feet off.  She had Lilly, with a hand or claw over Lilly’s mouth.  Her other claw held a knife pointed at Lilly’s throat, and she spoke in a harsh, chilling version of Courtney’s voice.

“Your elf maid has deserted you.”

“Hardly,” Chris responded, pulling up all the courage he had. “She has gone to help save the animals, and I support her in doing good for others.”  He dared not move closer for fear of what might happen to Lilly.

Courtney turned down her blood-red lips, not liking that answer.  She showed her fangs.  “Making love to an elf is a disgusting idea.”  Courtney shivered, like one repulsed by the idea of so much as touching such a person.

Chris laughed, a real “Ha, ha, ha,” and only a small bit of nervousness could be heard in the laugh.  Most of it sounded genuinely amused.  “But Courtney, I thought you were into all that social justice stuff.  Origin, skin color, even species should not matter. You know, love wins.”

“Are you prepared to have pointy-eared freaks for children?”

“I have found the world full of every kind of people, and many of them try to be good, even if they often fail.  True, there are some bad ones, and that is sad, but we pray for them.”

“A pointless exercise, praying to some sky-god.”  Courtney shuffled what looked like cloven hooves in the snow.

“But this is Christmas Eve,” Chris continued.  “Far from being pointless, this is the night the promise of love became real in a baby.  Love won on this night, and you lost.  You have no power here.”

“No.” Courtney grabbed Lilly more securely and scratched her cheek.

“Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, gentle-kindness, faithfulness, humility, and self-control.  All these things are real.  They are not only real, but on this night, they came to live in the heart of all who believe.  You have no place in such a heart.”

“No.”

“Lights,” Chris called.  He figured out what those moving lights were.  “Lights, I need you.”

One by one, the fairies of light abandoned the great tree in the wilderness and attended to Chris.  It miraculously stopped snowing in the little clearing, and the Courtney-beast looked up and around, dread written across her face.  As the fairies arrived, the light in the clearing increased until it became almot too bright to see.

“I will pray for you,” Chris said, as he closed his eyes.

“No,” Courtney screamed and vanished with Lilly still struggling against the claw.

Chris lay down in the snow, not sure if what he saw had been real or a dream.  He felt his head spin.  He spent all week worried about Lilly, and now he could not be sure what just happened.  He felt exhausted, and did not pay close attention to what he was doing.  He knew the devil was real, but had no power over the people of faith.  Faith, hope, and love, he thought.  But the greatest of these is love.  He fell asleep, and the fairies kept careful watch in the night.

 

Cue: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies from “The Nutcracker”

A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra

conducted by Don Jackson.  Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001

 

When Chris woke, the sun just began to brighten the horizon.  He found a blanket beneath him, and another on top of him.  He felt warm enough, glad the snow did not fall on his face all night.  He figured the others must have returned and found him in the night.

“Merry?”

She did not answer, so he sat up and found himself alone on the edge of a clearing. He stood, picked up both blankets, and draped them around his shoulders.  He looked around, in every direction, twice.  He must have gotten turned around in the dark.  He looked as hard as he could through the trees, but saw no sign of the others, and no sign of the big Christmas tree.  He thought to wait.  As a child, he got told he should stay where he was until the others found him. He folded a blanket and set it on the ground beneath a tree so he could sit and watch the sun rise.

“Today is Sunday,” he said to himself.  “It is the real Christmas Eve back home.”  He did not want to think of home.  Without Lilly, he had no home.

“Eighteen-eleven,” he said out loud.  “From 2017, that makes two hundred and six years.”  He did not understand.  Why did they have to travel into the past?  Why did they move fifty-plus years at a time?  Was there some significance to those times?  He could only remember the Christmas villages his grandmother used to collect.  He remembered the Yuletide diner from the nineteen-sixties village.  He recalled some of the eighteen-sixties dickens village. London Towne, if he recalled correctly. World War I in the trenches made no connection, however, and eighteen-eleven in the wilderness of Indiana territory with a giant Christmas tree in the middle of nowhere made even less sense.

“Merry,” Chris tried one more time before he got up.  It started getting too cold to continue to sit.  He had to start walking to warm up.  He considered walking the edge of the clearing, to stay where he was, but he decided that would be stupid, and boring.  He opted to pick a direction and see what he could find. He had thought through his movement through the trees in the night, and tried to pick a way that would lead him back to the great tree, but he had little hope that he might choose the right way.

“Merry.” He called now and then as he pushed through the undergrowth and occasionally growled at the thorns and burrs. “Plum.  Roy.” he sometimes added, and sometimes he walked in silence.  He was not sure what sort of Indians inhabited Indiana territory, but it would not be good to run into a hunting party, or worse, a war party of some sort.  One more push, and he came out on a two-rut road, a wagon trail of some sort that vanished quickly among the trees behind him, but cut well through the trees ahead. The snow looked thick on the road, but it would do, if his toes did not freeze off.

“Merry,” he called one more time before he started off down the road.  He hummed and whistled some Christmas songs, to occupy his thoughts, it being Christmas Eve for real, back home.  He remembered it was Sunday, so he changed his humming to his favorite Christmas carols, including O Little Town of Bethlehem, as he climbed a small hill where the trees finally gave out.

On top of the hill, he saw a village up ahead—a small town at the bottom of the hill. It looked to be built mostly of log cabins, though he did see a few slat-wood houses.  He did not see any people there, but he figured about ten o’clock on Sunday, and they all might be in church.  After all, 1811 in pioneer territory, he thought.  He saw a steeple in the distance, and headed for it.

Chris whistled Silent Night as he wound through what looked like a deserted town and came at last to the steps of the church.  He did not hear anything inside or outside the church, and found that curious. He looked up at the great circular stained glass window, but could not make out exactly what it was supposed to depict.  He tried the front door, and found it unlocked.

“At last,” he whispered to himself.  “A church that doesn’t lock its doors on the Sunday before Christmas.”

The church had a small altar with candles burning in front, two steps up, and a single small pulpit, more of a podium off to the side.  It had a center aisle between a mere dozen pews—half-a-dozen on each side.  All were empty except for the very front pew, where a very old man with a long white beard appeared to be praying, with his hands clasped, and his head lowered.

Chris did not want to interrupt, so he looked quietly around the room where there was little to see, and at last, raised his head to look at the circle of stained glass from the inside.  It looked like a clock, with twelve spaces.  He imagined the twelve days of Christmas, but the eleventh and twelfth spaces appeared empty, being plain glass.  The other ten spaces had pictures of people.  He recognized the ten o’clock space being Santa and Missus Claus.  He spun around to look again at the old man in the front pew.  That man lifted his head and began to stand, moaning a little as he had to make his knees work.

“You made it,” the old man said.

“Santa?”

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A Holiday Journey 18

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“This tree is more than two hundred years old,” Plum said, as he walked up from where the cowboys built a fire and got out what they had for supper.  One cowboy kept an eye on the reindeer to make sure they did not wander off into the forest that began a hundred yards off to the right.  The forest looked dark under the storm clouds, like a place even the Christmas lights could not brighten.

“It is tall enough, and bright enough with all the lights,” Merry said.

“It is very Christmas-like,” Chris agreed, but hesitated, before he added, “But something seems to be holding back the joy—the merry and bright—the Christmas Spirit.”

Merry took Chris’ arm and let out a small sound that suggested her heart might have broken.  “Missus Claus passed away a few years ago,” she confessed.  “And Santa has gotten very old.  It is not the same, but we try not to notice.”  She sniffed, and Chris slipped his arm around her to pull her in close.  Chris imagined one of the lights moved.  His mind said the wind, but there was no wind to speak of at the moment, like the calm before the storm.  Before he could look closer, someone called.

“Over here,” Roy’s voice sounded out in the snow.  “Mister Shepherd.  Merry.” Chris and Merry went to see.  Roy and two of the cowboys had gotten the evergreen out of the wagon and stuck it in a hole that Chris had not noticed.  They had spades to cover the roots, and Plum stood there admiring the tree.

“Looks nice,” Chris thought a compliment was in order.  “Looks bigger than I thought.”

“It is as old as you are,” Plum responded.  “It is your tree.”

“My tree?” Chris asked.

Roy nodded, and Plum spoke again.  “You need to touch it to bring it to life.”

“I what?”

“Go on,” Merry said, and held his arm out toward the tree.  “Think of your Christmas tree at home.  Think of both trees, and all the love that went into them.”

Chris hesitated, but trusted Merry. He reached out and touched a branch of the tree, and at once the tree became strung with lights and ornaments.  The lights stayed lit, even though they had no place to plug them in.  The ornaments, he recognized.  His mother loved to decorate, and she kept those ornaments as well as she could through the years.  They looked worn, but lovingly clean, and… yes, he saw the ornaments he bought over the last ten years for his artificial tree. Chris dropped his face into his hands and held back his tears.  He mumbled for Merry.

 “Lilly would love this tree.”

He decided this game had gone on long enough.  He needed to find Lilly.  He needed to know she was all right.  He turned on Merry, took her by her shoulders, and said, “Tell me about Lilly.”

A dark wind blew through the camp.  The wagon shook.  The horses neighed.  The fire flickered, and the cowboy by the cooking pot yelled.

“They are stealing the reindeer.”

“All hands-on deck,” Plum yelled, and people rushed for their horses.

“Stay here,” Merry told Chris.  “You will be safe here, and I promise to tell you everything when I get back.”

Roy came up, trailing Merry’s horse.  She mounted and they rode in the direction the wind had gone, soon disappearing in the darkness beyond the lights of the trees.

Chris did not know what to do.  He sat down by the fire, left alone in the wilderness.  He stood and retrieved a blanket from the wagon and went to sit again, pausing only to assure the two big draught horses that they were not forgotten.  He poked at the beans that were cooking.  He sighed and felt grateful for the light from the tree behind him.  He refused to look at his own, personal tree.  There were too many memories there, and not all happy ones.  He supposed he felt grateful for the light from that tree as well.  Being alone, in the wilderness, at night, in a storm would be spooky, no, it would be frightening in the dark.

It began to snow great flakes of white, and soon, it began to snow hard.  The wind picked up, and Chris found his mind taken by the wind.  He remembered a day he did not want to remember.  Ricky was there.  He looked young.  Mama was there, too, weeping.  It was the day his father got buried.  They were at the graveside.

Chris sniffed.  He hugged his Mama and wept with her.  He tried to hug Ricky, but Ricky did not want to be hugged.  He looked out over the graves, and saw an angel there, in the snow. It did not appear a clear image; just an outline.  But Chris felt comforted.  He knew his father would be all right.  It was the promise of Christmas.

But it did not snow at his father’s funeral.  That happened in the summer.

Chris paused to gather his thoughts.  He looked again, but saw no image of an angel.  He stirred the beans in the pot and tried to wait patiently for the others to return. He looked at the fire and saw something he did not want to see.

He saw Ricky in full battle gear, carefully and quietly climbing the steps to the roof, clutching tight to his rifle.  The village was on fire, but sniper shot continued to come from the roof.  They could not call in air or artillery against innocent civilians.  They could not complete their mission under fire.  He came around a corner in the staircase. He faced a boy—barely a teenager holding an AK-47.  Ricky hesitated to kill a child. Triggers got pulled at the same time.  The boy collapsed.  Ricky got riddled full of bullets.

“No,” Chris yelled and covered his eyes.  He prayed for Ricky.  He prayed for Lilly, and Serissa, whom he never met.  He prayed for that boy, and wept some more.  He wiped his eyes, stirred the beans once, and stood.  It started getting too cold to just sit and wait. He put another log on the fire, and dreaded what was to come.

Chris turned to stare at the big Christmas tree set out in the middle of nowhere.  Indiana Territory, 1812, or actually, 1811, Christmas eve.  He imagined the lights were moving again.  It had to be a trick of the wind, the snowfall, and the ice in the branches.  The moving lights looked hypnotic.  He began to cry before he saw.

He held his mother’s hand when she died.  He wept then.  He wept again in the face of the tree.  He heard a voice then, or perhaps now.  It may have been the nurse.  He always thought it was an angel.

“She is in a better place now.  There is no more pain and no more suffering.”  Poor Chris went out the door to Lilly.  He held her and wept all over the little girl, and she wept with him.  They were all that remained, but at least they had each other. They had each other, Chris thought. He needed to blow his nose, but he heard something that took all of his attention.

“Uncle Chris…”  Chris turned toward the dark woods.  He thought the call came from there.  “Uncle Chris. Help me.”

Chris ran across the field and entered the woods without a second thought.

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MONDAY, Tuesday and Wednesday, the final chapter in A Holiday Journey:  Chris confronts the real Santa Claus, but it does not turn out the way he expects.

Until Then, Happy Reading

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A Holiday Journey 17

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

When Chris got up in the morning, he found himself dressed in his clothes from home. He recognized the little hole in his jeans and the stain at the bottom of his flannel shirt.  His down jacket was not from 1812, but he assumed the hay and the barn he sat in were, so he figured he did not go home in the night. Besides, back home, Merry would be in her own apartment, and not laying comfortably beside him.

“So, this has not all been just a dream,” he mumbled.

“Like a dream come true,” Merry whispered before she opened her eyes and said, “Good morning.”

Chris leaned over and gave her a small peck on her lips before he said, “Morning. Plum said Lilly was in this place. Stick close, I have a feeling things may get weird before we get there…weirder.”

Plum came from the fire.  “We got bacon, eggs, and whiskey soaked beans for breakfast,” he said, and let out a big smile.  “We got a long way to go to reach the tree, so eat up.”

“Weirder,” Chris repeated.

Merry took him by the arm.  “I have no intention of leaving your side.  Not ever, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Chris said, and let out a little smile.  “But you could wait until I ask.”

“Yes…” Merry said, and added, “Just practicing.”

Chris nodded, dropped her arm, and got a plate of breakfast.  Roy found some real coffee, and Chris blessed him before he thought to put Plum on the spot.

“She is still in this time zone, near as I can tell,” Plum said.

“Near as you can tell?”

“She is. She certainly is.  I would know if she was not in this zone.  The thing is, she is at the far end, and she might slip away at any time.  That is a long way to go.  We should get moving.”  Plum did not want to say any more.  He appeared afraid of once again saying too much.  Chris did not push the issue, as long as they had a chance of catching up with Lilly by nightfall.

Merry came up, riding on the back of a horse.  She looked like she knew what she was doing, while Chris never rode a horse before.  Chris quickly looked around.  He figured he might manage a motorcycle, but he felt unsure about going on horseback. Fortunately, Roy got his attention and pointed.  They had a wagon pulled by two of the largest horses Chris ever imagined.  A mount appeared tied to the back of the wagon. Chris assumed that was Roy’s horse, in case he needed it.  He took a deep breath and climbed aboard, and slid down to let Roy get up.

Chris looked in the back of the wagon, and along with all of his things—their things, he saw plenty of blankets, pots and pans, and another bag of beans beside a slab of bacon.  He shrugged. He imagined there were not many options for food they could carry across country.  The curious thing was the evergreen.  They carried a young tree, its roots tied up neatly in burlap.  Chris wondered what it might be for, when Roy shouted, and the horses began to strain.  The wagon jerked, before it settled into a slowly increasing pace.  Chris figured they would never go fast.  He imagined most of the day would be spent going across country.  Still, he would not have minded a seatbelt, and maybe a cushion for his seat.

Chris noticed they picked up a few fellow travelers.  Three men on horseback drove a dozen cows into the wilderness.  He looked close.  One looked like the German officer from the World War One time period. The other two looked like the British soldiers that followed him out of the trench; though one might have been the sergeant.  Chris shook his head.  No matter what they looked like, he imagined they were Christmas elves of some kind. No doubt there to give some colorful backdrop to his journey.

Chris turned to Roy, who seemed to concentrate wholly on driving the team of horses.  He felt glad Plum did not drive the rig.  Plum would have talked his ear off all day and not said anything worth hearing. Roy, by contrast, seemed a man of few words.  Chris feared it might be hard to get the man to talk at all.

“So, where exactly are we headed?” Chris asked.

“The Clausen Christmas tree,” Roy answered readily enough.

“Clausen? Santa Claus?”

“Clausen,” Roy nodded.  “Old Dutch family out of New York.  They first settled in New Amsterdam around 1660.  They remembered Sinterklaas, though Kris Kringle carried the Spirit of Christmas in those days.  Since 1600, I believe.  I was rather young at the time.”

Chris had to think about that before he asked, “What happened?”

“After the French and Indian War, when things settled down on the frontier, the family emigrated to Pennsylvania.  Then came the Revolutionary War, and in 1811, when it looked like another war on the horizon, Mister and Missus Clausen emigrated down into Indiana Territory. They thought to escape the war. They did not count on all the trouble with the Shawnee Confederation.”

Chris shook his head.  “Why can’t people live in peace?”

Roy shrugged.  “The Clausens went west, and on Christmas eve, 1811, they ran into a massive snow storm. That should happen tonight…” Roy shrugged again.

Chris asked no more.  He did not dare.  He got down when they stopped for lunch, and tried to smile for Merry while he rubbed his sore bottom.  Merry, at least, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself.

“You could ride with me,” she offered, but Chris shook his head.  He would only get hurt trying to ride a horse.

“You enjoy yourself,” he said.  “Just say a prayer for my bruised backside.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she said, honestly enough.  She returned his kiss from earlier before she let go and got them some lunch.

Chris spent the afternoon looking for the Clausen Christmas tree, not having the least idea what that might look like.  The temperature dropped, and he saw the clouds pull in overhead.  Then he saw something that surprised him for all of a second.  He decided he really should not have been surprised.  The cattle being driven by the three cowboys were not cattle at all. They were reindeer, and Chris wondered why there were twelve and not eight, and they did not look too tiny.

Chris looked at Roy and saw the slightest grin on Roy’s face.  “You should see the tree soon, if the clouds give a break,” Roy said.  “No sunset tonight behind the clouds, but the tree should brighten things up nice until the snow starts to get thick.”

Chris nodded.  Nothing should surprise him at this point.  He was going to find Lilly, safe in the hands of Santa Claus—Clausen.  He fell madly in love with an elf—a Christmas elf. And there were three elf cowboys presently herding a dozen reindeer.  “Seven of us,” he said to Roy.  “There are seven of us on this journey.”  Roy nodded, and Chris continued.  “The magnificent seven,” he said, and squinted.  There appeared to be a light in the distance.  He expected it would be the most magnificent Christmas tree ever, and somehow, he knew he would not be disappointed.

 

Cue: O Christmas Tree

A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra

conducted by Don Jackson.  Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001

 

When Chris got down from the wagon and stretched his back, Merry dismounted and ran to him.  She threw her arms around him and spouted, “It is beautiful.  It is so beautiful.”  The tree certainly was, with all the lights and ornaments up to the star and angel on the very top.  Chris could not exactly see the top from where he stood, being up close, but that did not matter.  He looked at Merry, and thought she was beautiful.

A Holiday Journey 16

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The next day was Christmas day, even if it was only Friday back home, and Christmas there would not arrive until Monday.  Chris and Merry walked, side by side, and felt a bit like they were on a date, walking through the street faire.  They bought each other little Christmas pins—Christmas wreaths, and Chris only fumbled a little when he pinned his gift on Merry.  They had sweets, roasted chestnuts, and hot tea against the cold.  More than once, they were mistaken for a married couple, and neither denied it.

“This is how Christmas ought to be celebrated,” Chris decided.  “People should share the love and joy with friends, neighbors, even strangers in the streets.  It should be a day of fun, with plays and puppets, games and contests, and all sorts of treats and little things to buy and share, and all in the public square.  Back home, Christmas has become a time of isolation.  Families might visit, but basically people hide in their homes.  Nothing is open.  Nothing moves in the streets.  People avoid their neighbors.  How did we turn this great celebration into a time of seclusion and loneliness?  It is sad, to think of it.”

“It is sad,” Merry agreed.

“Plum?” Chris called.

“We are on the right road,” Plum said.  “I believe we are catching up.”

Chris nodded.  He prayed for Lily, that she be all right.  He really had no other choice but to trust Plum and Roy.  He blew up once in the morning, and yelled, which was not his style.  Merry also spent about five minutes before noon giving poor Plum a tongue lashing.

“How much longer?” she said, and, “This has gone on long enough.”

Roy stayed stoic, but Plum wilted a little.  All he could say was, “We are on the right road, and catching up.”

After lunch in a small cafe, they headed into more residential streets, and away from the faire.  The buildings stayed between three to five stories tall, but the lovely townhouses in the city became tenements for the poor.  They passed warehouses and offices for lawyers and money lenders that showed their signs down narrow side streets.  The white snow quickly turned yellow and brown where the mules, horses, and other animals trod.  They still saw children in the streets, and grown-ups, but the children looked unwashed, and the adults looked to be in clothes that might barely keep them warm in the winter.  Chris’ heart went out to the people who struggled so hard to keep those children fed and make ends meet.  And around each corner, conditions appeared worse.  Finally, they turned into an alleyway.

This was the worst, most decrepit neighborhood they found so far.  It made Chris think of the bombed-out places Ricky used to describe, like something from the middle of a war zone.

Down a short alley, they found a building that appeared to be on fire.

Chris dropped Merry’s hand with a word.  “Get the fire department.”  He ran toward the few elderly people that started to gather outside.  He figured this might be an apartment building of sorts, or a dirty tenement that probably ought to be an abandoned building.  He raised his voice.  “Did everyone get out?”

One elderly people began to nod when a woman came from the door, coughing from the smoke.  “The children are playing in the basement.”

“The basement,” one of the old men said, and looked back, fear in his eyes.

Chris did not hesitate.  He covered his mouth with his own sleeve and ran in the door.  The stairs were right there, and he raced down to the bottom level. He thought the fire mostly burned above him, but he had no way of knowing when the building might collapse. The fire looked well along by the time he arrived.

Chris burst through a door to a room full of coal and coal dust, with a ratty old furnace that appeared to be smoking.  He imagined the fire above might be backing down into the pipes.  He heard the coughing, and knew he had to move fast. He found six children, all Lilly’s age, in the five to seven-year-old range.  They huddled in a corner of the room, behind an old curtain. They stared at him, suddenly afraid he might yell at them for starting the fire, or some such thing.

Chris just smiled and picked up the smallest little girl.  “Hold hands and follow me,” he said in his kind and comforting voice.  He reached for a hand of one of the bigger kids while he shifted the little one to his hip.  “Hold hands. Let’s go,” he said, never ceasing to smile.  “Make sure the little ones keep up,” he added, and the children looked at each other and grabbed hands as he started walking.

The door to the room opened easily enough.  The stairs were not far, and shortly, the children dropped each other’s hands and raced out the door to where the adults—mostly grandparents gathered. Chris went to set down the little one, but she had a question.

“Are you Father Christmas?” she asked, as one of the older adults came up to take her hand.

Chris shook his head.  “I’m just a Shepherd,” he said.  “You can call me the Christmas Shepherd.”  He smiled and added, “Christopher,” for the adult, before he turned to look for Merry.

By then, people hauling buckets had come up the alley, and some people from other, nearby buildings, who wanted to help, crowded the area.  The men looked concerned to keep the fire from spreading to the next building, and two, with scarves over their faces, went into the building, having talked to the older people.

Chris wanted to help, but Merry took his hand and led him to a door in the warehouse, opposite the burning building.  Roy held the door open and Plum encouraged them to hurry.

“You have done all you can,” Merry told him, and they passed the threshold into a small room that smelled of pine, apples, and cinnamon.

“How far back are we going?” Chris asked.  He figured the door on the other side of the small room would let them out in a new time.

“Eighteen-eleven,” Roy said, as they came out in a big barn full of horses and hay.

“While you were playing with the fire, I popped ahead and made arrangements with the stable master,” Plum said.  “We got bread, cheese, potatoes, carrots, and a bit of beef boiling in the pot.  I’m not much of a cook, but it will do.  We got bunks in the barn.  Roy will show you where we will be sleeping.  Tomorrow, we wagon into the west, into the Ohio Valley, down into Indiana territory.  Not much we can do about that.”

Chris gave the man a hard look.  He said one word.  “Lilly.”

Plum looked down at his feet.  “She is in this time zone, for sure.”

“Time zone?”

“This place, only she is at the other side.  She is safe, for the present.  You can trust me on that.  I’m sorry, I can’t say more.”

Chris turned his eyes on Merry, but she put her hands up in surrender.  “I have never been here.  I don’t even know where we are.   It is well before my time.  You know what I know.”

“Obviously, you know nothing.  Which is fine because I know nothing.”

“We could maybe know nothing together?” she asked.

Chris and Merry stared at one another for a long time.  Merry became anxious.  Chris did not move a muscle, and his expression appeared equally unmoving, like a marble statue.  Merry felt the tears coming, but fought it.  Finally, Chris spoke.

“I would like that,” he said, and a radiant smile broke out on Merry’s face. “I would like that very much.” Merry stepped up for a kiss.  Plum went to fiddle with the cooking.  Roy turned around and went back to the bunks.

When they finished their supper, Chris avoided the bunks and went to sit on the pile of hay in the doorway. Merry followed and sat beside him.

“I’m not going to undress,” he declared.  “Whoever keeps taking my clothes and giving me new ones is going to have to do it while I am still wearing them.”

Merry just smiled at him, like she did not hear a word he said.  When he laid back on the hay, he slipped his arm around her. She snuggled up to him, laid her head gently on his shoulder, and promptly fell asleep, still smiling.  He looked down at her, and loved her.  He looked some at the moon and stars out the barn door.

 

Cue: The First Noel

A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra

conducted by Don Jackson.  Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001

 

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A Holiday Journey 14

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Over here,” Roy said, and the four of them piled into an ambulance.  They headed out toward the front, and Chris had yet to say a word.  Mary sniffed, but pulled a cap from her backpack.  It had a big red cross on it.  She had two arm bands that also showed a red cross.  Without being asked, Chris helped tie the arm bands around her upper arms. Then they sat, like a couple of rag dolls, tossed by every bump in the road, but never opening their mouths.

When the ambulance came to a stop, as the sun started to set, they came to the trenches. Plum, Roy, and Chris got escorted one way, and belatedly, Chris noticed Merry got taken off in a different direction.

“I don’t want to lose her,” Chris said.

“Good to hear you say,” Plum spoke right up.  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“No. Yes.  You know what I meant.”

“Yes I do,” Plum said, though Chris could not be sure if the man, or elf really knew.

“Welcome to the front lines,” a sergeant said, in a heavy cockney accent.  “I am Sergeant Digby.”  He showed them first where they could relieve themselves. Then he brought them into a dugout bunker where some cots lined the wall.  “You’ll be resting here tonight.”  He put four trays of some kind of food on the table that had six seats around it.  The table also had four cups, but nothing to fill them.  “Keep the lights in the bunker so some German sniper doesn’t see and draw a bead on your head.  We are not expecting a blow tomorrow, but you never know what the Germans might have in mind, even if it is Christmas Day.  Sorry the accommodations aren’t better.  We haven’t had many newspaper people up here.  Colonel says we need to treat you as well as we can, but let you get a real look at life in these god-awful trenches.”  The Sergeant quickly came to attention, and saluted when another man entered the dugout.

“At ease Sergeant,” the man said, as he dropped a pack on one of the cots.

“This here is Lieutenant Smith,” the sergeant introduced the new man.  “He’s been assigned to act as your liaison for tonight and tomorrow.”

“I was wondering who the other meal was for,” Chris said.  “Lieutenant,” He reached to shake the man’s hand.

“Lef-tenant,” the man responded.

“Christopher Shepherd, American,” Plum said, with a thumb point at Chris.

“Oh,” the lieutenant and sergeant both sounded like that explained everything.

“One question,” Chris needed to ask.  “Where is Merry?  The red cross worker that came with us?”

“The woman?” the Sergeant asked for clarification.

“She is at the little hospital bunker we set up at the rear of the line, I am sure,” the lieutenant said.  “They do what they can for the wounded to comfort and prepare them for transport to the rear and real medical facilities.  Don’t worry.  She will be fine.”

“His fiancé,” Plum said, with another thumb jerk in Chris’ direction.

“Is not,” Chris protested, and paused a second before he added, “I haven’t asked her yet.”

The sergeant, lieutenant, and Roy all smiled for him, and the lieutenant spoke. “She will be well taken care of, no worries, Mister Shepherd.”

“I must go, get back up to the line, and all that,” Sergeant Digby told his commanding officer.

“Merry Christmas,” Chris said, wanting to distract himself from his thoughts about Merry.

“Happy Christmas to you,” the sergeant said, smiled, saluted, and left.  The others sat and had a fine supper.  Then, no one stayed up late.

In the morning before dawn, Chris went to relieve himself, and he heard what sounded like singing in the dark.  Drawn to the sound, he wound through the trenches until he reached the most forward position.  The soldiers there were singing Silent Night, and the Germans across the way were echoing with Stille Nacht.

Despite the warning, Chris poked his head above the edge of the trench.  The soldiers did not know what to do.  Being a civilian, they could not exactly order him to keep his head down.

Chris squinted in the dim light before dawn.  He saw a small group of men standing in the field that served as no-man’s land between the trenches.  They appeared to be talking.  He thought he recognized Sergeant Digby in that group.  One private poked his head up beside Chris and commented.

“Maybe we will have a temporary truce, it being Christmas and all.  Whad’ja think?”

As the sunlight cracked the sky, Chris, grabbed the tin of cookies the soldier was enjoying, slipped the white handkerchief out of the pocket of the soldier on the other side, and climbed out of the trench altogether before anyone could stop him.  To be honest, he acted out of ignorance of war and killing more than inspiration and courage.  But he did think that men should not kill each other, at least, and especially on Christmas day.

The two privates followed him, concerned about their stuff.  One said no guns, so they both laid down their rifles while Chris raised his hands, waved his white flag, and tried singing.

“O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,

Wei grun sind deine Blatter!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,

Wei grun sind deine Blatter!

“Nein, nein,” Chris heard the response right away from the German line, and a big German corporal climbed his own ladder, put his hands up, and corrected the only line in German Chris knew.  “Wei Treu sind deine Blatter!”

“You sing it,” Chris said quickly, as two more Germans crawled out of the trench, and laid their rifles down in imitation of the British.  “Please.  Bitte.”

The man sang, a clean and fine baritone, while Chris at first, and then the corporal, walked toward each other.  He just about finished the song when Chris and the corporal met in the middle. Chris held out the tin.

“Christmas Cookie?”

The corporal smiled broadly.  “Danke.”

“Merry Christmas,” Chris said, and he said the same as he gave cookies to the two soldiers that followed their corporal out of the trench.  Then he turned and walked boldly up to the group in the center, his two privates following him like faithful puppy dogs. The men there had long since stopped talking in order to stare.  Chris did not hesitate.

“Christmas cookie,” he offered to the German soldier who smiled and said thank you is reasonable English.  He turned to the German sergeant, and the man looked ready to grab a handful when his Captain interrupted.

“Ein.”

The sergeant took one.  When Chris turned to the captain, he said, “Got any schnapps?”  The captain slowly smiled, and the British captain turned immediately to his trench and shouted.

“Willoughby.”

“Sir.”

“Fetch the brandy.  The good one I keep hidden in my duffle.”

“Sir?”

“And no weapons,” Chris said.

The captain did not hesitate.  “And no weapons,” he shouted.

The German captain said “Brandy,” but it sounded like he was not impressed.  He turned to his own line and shouted a series of instructions to his men.  Chris could not follow all that German, but he did hear the word schnapps several times. It seemed a prominent part of whatever the officer said.  When the man turned back to face the group, he found the British captain holding out his hand.

“Merry Christmas,” the captain said.

The German captain shook that hand, and responded in English, “Merry Christmas.”

“And a Happy New Year,” Chris said.  Both captains looked at him, so he felt it necessary to explain.  “I have no vested interest.  I am an American.”

Both captains mouthed “Oh,” as if that explained it all.

It did not take long for soldiers on both sides to start coming out, unarmed.  By noon, people all up and down the line were exchanging presents, sharing food and smokes, sharing letters from home, playing games, and generally enjoying the Christmas spirit.  Chris had no idea how long the truce might last, but he felt glad that at least on one day, they had Peace on Earth.

Plum and Roy found Chris early in the morning.  They kept up their disguise of being newspaper reporters, and Roy took plenty of pictures.  Merry found her way to the field by lunchtime, bringing tea and biscuits, as she called them, for all.  It felt like a good day, but there was one sour note.

One German, apparently egged on by one of his own red cross workers, produced a handgun. He pointed it at some British soldiers and made threatening noises.  Merry saw and shouted.  Chris ran up and stepped into the middle.

“No, no, no,” he said, in as soft and calm voice as he could muster.  “Nein.”

“Weihnachtstag,” Merry said, as she arrived to stand with Chris.  “Frieden heute.”

The man began to cry.  He dropped the gun and Merry hugged him.  Chris looked at the German Red Cross worker, but she turned to walk off.  Apparently, she laughed, and in that sound, and from her appearance, Chris could only imagine Courtney.”

Before sundown, Chris, Plum, Roy, and Merry made their way to well behind the British lines.  A food truck there just dropped off Christmas dinners for the troops.  It headed back to the train depot where it dropped off the foursome and picked up another load for the front.  Plum led them to a hotel in the town.  Plum checked them into rooms while Roy got them a table in the restaurant.  Over a fine meal, they discussed things they saw that day.  They laughed plenty, and cried a little over the whole idea of war.

Finally, Plum said they had a train to catch early in the morning.  “Just what they call a continental breakfast tomorrow, on the way back to the station.”

“Fine,” Chris said, and added the only anxious note of the day.  “Tomorrow is Thursday back home.  Maybe we can catch Lilly tomorrow, or, at least…are we getting close?”

Roy spoke before Plum could come up with an encouraging lie.  “She is more than a day away, but we have caught up some.”  He turned his head away from the table.  He did not want to look Merry or Plum in the eye.

Plum finally said, “We should go up.”  He stood, so they all stood.  Chris, who had not said anything directly to Merry all day, did not walk beside her to the elevator, and did not look at her in the elevator, though she looked only at him.

Chris gave a general “Good-night,” and went directly into his room.

Merry went into her room and spent the night weeping.

A Holiday Journey 12

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Chris nodded.  “To be honest, I am afraid if I question too much, I may wake up back in my apartment, Lilly still gone, and me with no way of ever finding her as you all vanish.”

“I won’t desert you,” Mary said abruptly, and Chris took and held her hand beneath the table, which made her smile, the tears long forgotten.

“You say it is 1965.  That makes no sense whatsoever, but okay.  Where do we go from here?  I hope we don’t have to go all the way back to a manger in Bethlehem, because that might take longer than a week.”

“No,” Plum said between scoops of pudding.  “Not nearly that far.”

Roy nudged Plum, but Plum took a moment to lick his pudding bowl before he moved. “We need to find which route they have taken,” Roy said.

“That’s right,” Plum agreed.  “We will cover the bill, so no worries on that score.  Your money wouldn’t work here, anyway, unless you have some really old bills.  We will catch you up in the morning.  I recommend some good sleep.  We may have a long day of travel tomorrow.”

As they headed off, Mary fidgeted in her seat, like one looking for a comfortable spot on the booth bench.  Chris pushed in so their sides touched and he pushed Mary right up to the window.  She could not escape.  She looked at him, and the anxiety returned to her face.  This time, she did not look surprised by what he asked.

“Are they human?”  Chris had begun to let his imagination run wild.  He thought maybe Lily got abducted by time traveling aliens, and he…and Mary…got lucky to find a couple of aliens that did not approve of kidnaping.

Mary sat silently staring up at Chris for what seemed like an eternity.  Chris stared back and revised things in his mind. He decided she might be as old as twenty-three, and not the eighteen he first thought.  Twenty-three would be a reasonable age for someone who was twenty-eight.  He shouldn’t feel like he was robbing the cradle.

Finally, Mary shook her head, but said nothing.  She turned her eyes to her coffee and worried her cup.

“So, they are aliens?” Chris said, with a straight face.

Mary let out a laugh, and a touch of spit which she just caught with her finger, and then her napkin.  “No,” she said, and once again turned her smiling face to look at him.  He looked curious.  She told him.  “They are elves.  They are Christmas elves, which is why I believe they can take us to Lilly, if anyone can.”  Mary watched Chris’ curious eyebrows go up.  “And clearly, they are morons, too,” she added.

“No,” Chris countered.  “Roy seems to have a brain.”

“Yes,” Mary said.  “But he mostly doesn’t use it.  He just goes along with whatever Plum says, and Plum says too much.”

“He does like to talk,” Chris said.

Mary laughed and nodded.  Chris decided he was not ready to ask Mary how she knew Plum and Roy were Christmas elves. He did not want to consider asking about herself for fear of the answers, so instead, he took her hand and pulled her from the booth.

“We need to rest, as Plum said.”  He took her outside, and she did not resist him.  They got to the sidewalk, Mary holding tight to his hand.  Chris did not want to let go of her hand.  He distracted himself as an elderly black woman walked by on the sidewalk.  She looked about fifty, in a thin winter coat and wearing a plain hat, and she carried several Christmas presents in her hands as she headed toward the parking lot. He said, “Merry Christmas.”

The woman looked startled, but only for a moment.  She turned her head, and the serious and sad look left her face and got replaced by a smile.  “Merry Christmas,” she returned, and kept walking.

Mary tugged on Chris’ sleeve to regain his attention.  “You have questions?”  Her voice sounded flat, like she knew he had questions, and she was prepared to answer whatever he asked.

Chris looked at her and nodded.  “How old are you?”

For the third time, Mary did not expect that question.  “How old do you want me to be?” she answered, and grinned on the inside.  The grin nearly burst out of her, but they got interrupted.  The old woman got stopped at the edge of the parking lot by bikers.  Two blocked her way and the gothic looking girl behind them laughed to watch.  When one of the bikers knocked the Christmas packages out of the old woman’s hand, Chris ran to them.  Mary followed.

“Hey,” Chris yelled to get their attention.  “Come on, guys.  It’s Christmas,” he said.  He bent down to pick up one of the packages, so Mary helped.  ‘Give it a break for one day a year at least.  Okay?”  Chris looked over the lot and saw a policeman by his car, just three cars in.  The policeman watched, but did not appear inclined to do anything, so Chris shouted to him, “It’s Christmas.”

“Who the hell are you?” one of the bikers asked.

“She’s a negro,” the other said, as if that justified anything, and the gothic girl, who looked remarkably like a gothic version of Courtney, looked angry.

“She is a human being,” Chris responded.  “She is a good Christian woman who deserves better than hassles on Christmas Eve.”

One of the bikers looked ready to raise a fist, but the policeman decided to come over. “Okay boys,” the policeman said. “Move along.  You need to take your fun somewhere else.”

The biker fist unclenched, and they did not argue.  They got on their bikes.  The gothic Courtney still looked angry as she sat behind the big one, and they roared off. Mary handed the last package to the woman.

“Thank you,” the woman said, and smiled.  “Merry Christmas,” she said again, before she glanced at the policeman and hurried to her car.

“Merry Christmas,” Mary responded.

“And a very merry Christmas to you, too, officer,” Chris said, as he caught Mary’s hand and walked her toward the motel.

The policeman’s annoyed face softened, and he responded with the same before returning to his patrol car.

Mary got serious when they came to the motel doors.  They had rooms beside each other, but despite the long day, Mary did not appear ready to go to bed.  “You have questions?”  She tried again.

Chris hesitated, but only for a moment as he put his hands to Mary’s shoulders and looked into her eyes.  “Nothing that can’t wait” he said, leaned down, and kissed her.  He went in his room right away, and left her outside her own door, in the cold, where she looked up at the stars with those big eyes and gently touched her own lips.

************************

MONDAY

A Holiday Journey:  1965, and the journey has just begun.

Until next time, I hope you get in some Happy Reading

 

*

A Holiday Journey 9

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Monday morning, Chris got up to the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen. “Lilly?”  He called out of reflex, before he shook his head.  It could not have been Lilly.  It had to be Mary.  He remembered kissing her.  He felt confused.  He was not certain what he felt, but she kissed him back, young as she seemed.  He did not know how to process that.

“Mary. Mary who?”  He spoke out loud, but paused when he realized he did not even know her last name.

“What?” Mary stood there in all her youth, big eyes, bright cheeks, ears open to the sound of his voice, and skinny, though with plenty of bumps and curves where she needed them.  In fact…  He shook his head.  He did not need to think that way.  Mary licked her fingers before she wiped them on the apron she wore.  “What?” she repeated in her most innocent voice, like everything was perfectly normal.

Chris laughed at the thought of life being normal.  He sat at the table.

“Good,” she said.  “I made an omelet.  I hope it is okay.  I don’t cook much.  I’m sorry.”

“I am sure it will be fine,” he said, as she came to the table.  She brought him a cup of coffee and set it down.

“Let me know if I put too much milk in your coffee,” she said, with a big grin. He frowned, and she spouted an explanation.  “I am Lilly’s babysitter.  I know some. Sometimes I asked, some…  I hope you don’t mind.”

Chris took her hand, paused, looked at his own hand holding on to Mary’s hand, and then spoke his heart.  “I don’t know what I mind.  I’m too busy being worried about Lilly.”

“Of course,” Mary turned from a happy young woman to serious in a second.  “I am sure she is fine… Oh!” she slipped out of his hand and raced to the stove.  She got the omelet in time, grabbed the toast, and joined him at the table.

The omelet tasted very good.  Chris smiled for her and said how good it was. She returned his smile and said thank you. He said, “No, thank you,” and then he stopped speaking for a minute and ate.  He also watched her eat, and realized she must have gone home in the night and changed her clothes.  She looked closer to his age for some reason, so he thought maybe she changed some makeup stuff, too.  Still, she remained the same person he got to know when she first moved in.  She remained Lilly’s babysitter, and that triggered the question.

“Tell me about Lilly.” He could not get over the feeling that Mary knew more than she was saying.

“I can’t. You know what I know.  But you must believe that she is all right and in no danger.  More than that, I cannot say.”  Mary looked sad.  Chris picked up his plate, and hers.  He gave her a kiss on the top of her head and took the plates to the kitchen.  He decided, if she wanted to be with him, who was he to argue?

“I’m ready,” he said as he loaded the dishwasher.  “When do we leave?”  He looked at Mary.  She touched her head where he kissed her, and looked frozen with her mouth open in a smile of sorts.  “When do we leave?” he repeated.

Mary shook herself back to the topic.  “As soon as Plum and Roy get here.”  She put one hand to her ear and leaned toward the front door.  “I’m surprised.  I usually show uncanny timing.”  She paused to think.  “I don’t believe I have forgotten to tell you anything.”

“Like where we are going?”  He trusted Mary, and chided himself for thinking she knew something she might not be telling him.

“Ah,” Mary smiled.  “But I know what you know.”

Someone knocked on the door.

Mary rushed to answer it.  “You were not my choice,” she whispered to the two, as she ushered in two people who looked like men, in an odd sort of way.  Chris had to squint a little.  Their odd appearance was not helped by their sizes and shapes.  Mister Plum looked short and stout, like the proverbial teapot. Roy stood tall, taller than Chris, but he appeared terminally skinny.  Mutt and Jeff, Chris thought.  Abbot and Costello.

“Mister Christopher,” the short one spoke.

“Christopher Shepherd, or Mister Shepherd, or just Chris,” Chris corrected, but the short one waved him off like Chris was confusing the issue.

“Name’s Plum.  Not Mister Plum.  Just Plum will do.  My partner is Roy.  Private eyes. We have a long journey ahead of us. I hope you are ready.”

Chris paused, but only for a second as he decided which question to ask first. “You know where Lilly is?”

Plum nodded.  “Roy followed them right up to the door.”  Roy nodded, but said nothing.

“What door?” Chris asked.  “Why did you say a week-long journey?”

“Middleton,” Roy said, without explaining.

“The door to Middleton,” Plum said.  “That is the door we need to go through.”

“Middleton?”

“A lovely community, full of good souls.  That is why I know your Lilly is all right,” Plum said, and Roy nodded again.

“But, why a week?  You said no passport, but I can get to anywhere in this country in a day; three or four at most if I sight-see along the way.  Why a week?”

Roy looked at Plum, and Plum thought before he responded.

“It’s like this.  I am sure they have moved on from Middleton.  That is where we will pick-up their trail, but we will have to travel across country from there, you see?”

Chris shook his head.  “I don’t see. And I don’t see how you can be so sure Lilly is not in danger.”

“Sometimes, you have to believe,” Roy said.

Plum looked at Roy like Roy just gave a long-winded speech.  “Trust is the word I would use,” he said.  “You got a trust she is all right.  No one captures children without some purpose.  You might get a ransom note, but for now, you gotta believe she is okay.”

Chris slowly nodded.  Mary looked like she watched the exchange and managed to keep herself from biting her nails. She thought to interrupt.

“Take the truck?” she asked.  “Do you have a car?”

“No, no,” Plum responded.  “The door is a good walk from here, but nowhere to park on either side.  No suitcase.  You got a backpack?”

Chris looked at Mary.  Mary said, “I can use Lilly’s school pack.”  She added for the two men, “It’s pink.”

“Did you see who decorated my apartment?” Chris asked, ignoring Mary for the moment.

Plum and Roy eyed each other before Plum spoke.  “Yes, we did.  And Lilly went with them, willingly, as far as we could tell, but there were too many of them to stop.  So that is why we followed them to the door.  But they seemed like very nice people, and that is why we figure she is okay. Now, let’s get going.”

Chris looked at Mary again.  She said, “I don’t see that we have any choice.  These two are the only lead we have.”

Chris nodded and turned to his room to empty his suitcase and repack his things. Roy followed him into the room, but Chris ignored the man.  He had Ricky’s old army pack.  He had Ricky’s gun as well.  He got it out from the little safe and looked at it, to think.  He glanced at Roy, and saw Roy shake his head and hands.  Chris did not know if that meant he felt Chris would not need the weapon, or if he generally did not like guns.  Chris put it away.  He did not like guns either.

It did not take long to transfer what he could from his suitcase to the backpack. He put on his hiking boots, and followed Roy back to the main room.  Mary stood there, ready.  Chris felt a little surprised.  He figured she would have to go back to her apartment to get her things, but it seemed she already had her things in Lilly’s school backpack.

“Speedy,” he told her.

“I like to travel light,” she said.

Chris nodded before he smiled.  “A woman who travel’s light,” he laughed.  “Hardly makes you feel human.”

Mary frowned and pushed Plum out the door.  She was not ready to go there.

The sun came out that day, and it helped Chris’ mood.  The snow did not really melt, but it glistened in the sun.  Roy walked out front, and kindly said things like, “This way,” and “Over here” to keep them walking where they needed to go. Mary stayed beside Chris all morning, but mostly looked at her feet, like one deep in thought.  Chris walked, head up, and tried to think about the twists and turns of his life.  He found he could not concentrate for worry.  His mind felt like it was in a fog.  Plum talking the whole time did not help.  The man pointed out things as they went, and Chris wondered if the man doubled for a tour guide.  He politely looked at everything as Plum pointed, but it did distract him.

Cue: Here We Come a Wassailing

London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus

 

Chris tried to keep track of the route they followed, but it felt like his life. He could not concentrate.  He felt surprised at how quickly they came to an area of the city he did not know.  After that, he got completely lost.  He might have panicked, but Plum pointed out and named a few tourist-type things that he heard about but never went to see.  Still, it felt strange to know there were so many businesses, streets, back alleys, shopping centers, neighborhoods and all that he did not know. His little city also seemed much bigger than he imagined.

************************

MONDAY

A Holiday Journey: The journey begins in earnest, and doesn’t get too strange, at first.

Until then, Happy Reading

*

A Holiday Journey 8

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“So how can I help you?” the priest asked.

Chris wiped his eyes.  “My little girl.  She has disappeared, and I fear the worst may have happened to her.”

“Your daughter?”

“My niece.  But I have full custody and full responsibility for her.  My brother died in the war, overseas, and her mother is also presumed dead.  I promised to watch over her and take care of her, and I failed her.  We are the only family either of us has.”

“Your niece,” the priest voice sounded curious, but intended to comfort Chris.

“You may know her,” Chris just realized.  “When I used to work on Sundays, Missus Minelli, my neighbor, used to bring her here to church.”

The priest had to think for a minute before he came out with it.  “Lilly.”

Chris nodded.  “I’m the Christopher you may have heard about.”

“Uncle Chris,” the priest nodded, and smiled, but Chris could not smile.  “She disappeared?”

“In the middle of the night,” Chris confessed.  “I woke up and she was gone.”

The priest paused to look toward Mary.  He seemed to see something.  “Do not be afraid,” he said.  “You found no sign of violence.  You must believe Lilly is fine, and I have a feeling that you will find her, safe and sound.”

Chris tried to nod.  “I am glad someone feels that way.”  He sniffed to control his emotions.  “I have not done her much good.  I have a college degree, but I haven’t been able to find a job worth much, and even those I found, I haven’t been able to keep.  Maybe if she is safe and sound, maybe she is better off without me.”

“We are always better off with each other.”

“Maybe,” Chris shrugged.  “After these few years with Lilly, I don’t much like the prospect of being alone.” He tried hard to avoid crying again.

The priest pointed to Mary.  “But you do not appear to be alone.  You have one who cares about you.  I believe she may help you find the way you need to go.  I have seen that look before, you know.”

Chris shook his head.  He did not understand what the priest was talking about.  He also stared at Mary for a minute.  The angel could not be seen.

###

“Please,” Mary begged, though only the angel heard her.  “Please, most holy one.”  The angel let out the smallest sliver of a smile.

“You said your heart belonged to the one who bears the Spirit of Christmas.” the angel said.

“It does…I…”  Mary had to pause and think about that.  “I love the dear old man.  And I cried when his Missus went over to the other side.  I cried every day when he sat by her bedside and held her hand.  I cried when he said good-bye.  I cry, still.  Oh, but he is so old now, and sad.  Surely his time is ending.”  Mary wiped a small tear from her eye.  “Oh, but Chris makes me feel all the love, joy, and peace of Christmas, just to look at him…” Mary had to pause again to think about what her heart wanted to propose. It would be asking a lot.  “Maybe Chris could come to Christmas Town and share the burden, to give the dear old man a rest.”  She fell silent, and prepared for whatever answer she might receive.

“He may be the one, I cannot say, but he will have to come the long way around.”

“We will,” Mary said, with some hope in her voice.

“He will have to find out about Lilly on his own.  You cannot tell him about her.”

“I won’t,” Mary said, with determination.

“He will be tested.  He will be tested in the heart where no words can go.  If he fails a test or turns back at any time, he will find himself home, alone, with no memory of you or that he ever started the journey.”

Mary dropped her eyes once again.  “I understand,” she said.  The angel offered her a gift of hope.  It would not do to argue.

“You will have to tell him who you really are, and show him.”

“Right now?”

“No. It needn’t be now.  But it must be soon.  It will also be a test.”

Mary began to cry for fear that he might not like her the way she really was. Some humans seemed thrilled to find their fantasies come to life, but most refused to believe it, and some feared it and accused anything non-human as being demonic and of the devil.  It would be a great risk to reveal herself, but the angel was right again.  Chris would have to know long before he got anywhere near the Christmas village.

“I will do it,” she said, with determination creeping back into her voice.

“Good,” the angel responded, and nearly let out the full smile.  “Plum and Roy will come in the morning to help guide him in the way you need to go.”

“Plum and Roy?” Mary suddenly sounded uncertain again.  “Must it be them?”  Mary’s phone got a text message.

“They were charged to watch the apartment, and watch Chris and Lilly over these many months.  Plum and Roy are the ones to guide him.  That is how it must be,” the angel said, and vanished utterly from that place.

Mary looked up at a sound.  Chris left off his cry and looked up at the same sound.  A couple of men came in a side door, carrying statues of two wise men. One looked like a priest, and he spoke to the other.

“George. Did you forget to relock the side door?”

“I must have,” George admitted.

“The church is closed right now,” the priest said, nice and loud.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Father?” Chris said, and turned around, but the older priest he had been speaking with disappeared as surely as Lilly disappeared.

“We were just looking for a place to pray,” Mary said, nice and loud in response, as she walked over to stand beside Chris.  “Thank you, but we have what we need.”  She put out her hand.  Chris took it without hesitation, and stood, but he looked at her with curiosity and some concern.

“George, would you let them out,” the priest said, and George pulled out some keys and stood to wait for them to move.

“It’s all right,” Mary encouraged Chris.  “I know what we need to do to find Lilly.”  She gently drew him toward the door.

“What? You had a vision of some kind?”

Mary shook her head.  “I got a text,” she said, and paused to smile for George as they squeezed out the door and heard it lock behind them.  “We need to start by going home.”

Chris dropped Mary’s hand, but he did start to walk slowly toward the apartments. He could not think of what else to do. It started getting late, and he felt emotionally worn out.  “Will she be home?” he asked.

Mary shook her head, and handed her phone to him.  He read the text out loud.

“From Plum and Roy?  We were contracted to watch the apartment over the weekend and saw the ones who took Lilly.  Lilly is fine, but Roy followed them and we know where she is being taken.  We will come around on Monday morning and take you to her.  Be prepared for a week-long journey.  No passport needed.  Roy says sorry.  No charge for our service, but donations accepted.”

They walked the whole way without a word, Mary’s face scrunched-up in deep thought. She could not imagine telling Chris that she was in fact a Christmas elf.  She worried about how he might react.  She worried that he might not like her anymore.

They checked with Missus Minelli, found Lilly had not returned, and went into Chris’ apartment to sit and wait.

“Nothing will happen until tomorrow,” Mary said.  “Monday morning.”

Chris sat on the couch and Mary sat beside him.  She took his hand again, with the idea that she would offer whatever comfort she could muster, but her nervousness came out instead.  She began to worry his hand.  She kept looking up into his stone-like face.  She decided she could not imagine what he might be thinking.  He surprised her.  He bent toward her and kissed her smack on the lips, and she kissed him back with her whole heart.  They separated slowly.

Chris and Mary sat, staring at each other for several more minutes, not moving, and not making a sound.  Finally, Mary thought to say something.

“I think we finished the macaroni and cheese.  I could scramble some eggs.”

Chris laughed.  He laughed so hard, he fell off the couch.  It sounded like a kind of nervous laugh, but Mary laughed as well, empathic elf that she was.  Chris laughed himself to tears, before he finally stood and calmed enough to speak.

“I’m not really hungry.  I think I need to go lie down.”  He went to his room.

Mary curled up on the couch and cried a little.  “Please don’t let this be the end of it,” she thought out loud.  She seemed to feel like it might work out.  At least she did not disappear from the room, as the angel said, if he failed a test.  So, when the sun set, she slept, with only a brief prayer for happy dreams.

A Holiday Journey 7

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Chris put a note on the door.  It had instructions directing Lilly to stay with Missus Minelli, if she should come back. He got Missus Minelli from next door to watch for Lilly.  Missus Minelli, an older widow, had children and grandchildren who lived some distance away. She did not get visited very often by her own family.  She loved Lilly, and watched her from time to time before these last few months, when Mary moved in.  Chris said nothing about Lilly being missing, though Missus Minelli might have guessed something was up.  Hers had been the very first door they knocked on when they started knocking on doors.  Still, Chris let the assumption stand that Lilly had gone out, perhaps with friends, though he did not say exactly where she might have gone.

“Lilly knows, if I am not home, to stay with you until I get home.”

“I remember,” Missus Minelli said.  “Lilly is such a nice, polite child.  But where should I tell her you are going?”

“Mary and I are going to church,” Chris said.  “And thank you for being there for me, and for Lilly.”

“Happy to do it,” Missus Minelli said.  Her old, craggy face wrinkled up in a big smile as she eyed Chris and Mary. “You two make a lovely couple.”

“Oh, we’re not…” Chris started to say something, but looked at Mary, who looked back at him with those big, puppy-dog eyes, wondering what he would say, and how he might feel about that idea.  Chris let his voice drop and said, “Thank you,” to Missus Minelli.  “We won’t be long.”

He walked beside Mary to the elevator.  She dropped her eyes to the floor.  He never stopped staring at her, even on the elevator; but she never looked up at him.  At last, they stepped outside, and Chris took Mary’s hand; and then he would not look at her. But Mary looked at him and smiled with all her might, and her heart danced the three blocks to the church.

 

Cue: Angels We Have Heard on High

A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra

conducted by Don Jackson.  Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001

 

Chris, like so many his age, made it through church confirmation, and did not go much after that.  He was not sure what he believed, exactly, but he knew he believed in love, and so did God, apparently.  That seemed to be what the church believed in, even if most Christians did not live or act that way.   He believed in love, joy, peace, goodness, kindness, and all that God supposedly taught, even if most people did not live it or really believe it for themselves. He tried to do these things in his life, and he tried go to church since he and Lilly got left on their own.  He felt it was important for Lilly to hear and learn about God—about love, joy and peace.  She certainly would hot hear about such things on the street.

He found his Episcopal church closed and locked up tight.  He took Mary slowly down the street, and mumbled something about it being a week before Christmas, and Sunday no less, and the church had no business being closed and locked. They tried several other mainline churches in town before they got to the Catholic church at the end of the street. Chris never stopped holding Mary’s hand, and Mary never stopped smiling.  Chris did not smile at the thought of the churches being closed the Sunday before Christmas.  It irked him.

They found a small side door open at the Catholic church.  It let them into the sanctuary.  They found a very old priest there, setting up the nativity scene for next Sunday.  It would be Christmas Eve, with Christmas Day on the following Monday.  The priest noticed as they came in.  He waved, but kept to his task, while Mary genuflected briefly at the altar and Chris went to sit in a pew and cry. He wanted to cry out to God for help, but he did not know how.  He could only hope God could read what sat so heavily in his heart.

Mary wandered to an alcove where there appeared to be a statue of a saint.  It might have been Nicholas.  She was not sure, but in any case, her heart and prayers went out to the one above all the saints.  Her tears were large, but quiet.  Her words got whispered.

“He is broken.  How can I abandon him?  He is such a good and wonderful man.  I cannot leave him alone to suffer.”

“And you love him,” the words came to her, as a tall, thin blonde, with the lightest eyes, that sparkled with specks of gold, appeared before her.  It was the Christmas angel.  Mary trembled in the presence of the angel, and a holy fear gripped her heart.

“Merry.” The angel called her by her name.  “Do not be afraid.”

“Holy one,” Mary responded, and found herself opening-up, almost like her heart could not keep quiet.  “I do love him.  He is my heart,” she used the well-known fairy phrase.  “I know the little spirits are not supposed to form attachments with mortal humans, but I would become human in a heartbeat, give up all the glories of the second heavens, and never return to the land of Christmas, if only I could be with him for the rest of our days.”

“And Lilly”

“That was…I…” she could not say the angel was wrong.  Such words were unthinkable.  Clearly, the angel allowed Lilly to be taken quietly in the night. Lilly belonged with her mother, and generally, it was better if humans did not know about such things; but Mary had to express her feeling.  Neither would the angel accept anything less than the truth.  “He deserves to know what happened to her.”

“No one deserves,” the angel said.  “What humanity deserves for sin and rebellion is horrible beyond imagining.  Instead, what they got was a baby in a manger, who grew and died so they would not have to get what they deserved.”

Mary lowered her head.  She knew, and above all honored the story of how the source chose to deal with humanity on that most basic and deep rooted level.  The trouble was, as a non-human, her place was to be obedient to the source as represented in the form of the angel that stood before her.  She was to do her work in the world, and could only hope that she might be included in the miracle of grace.  Mary said no more.  She could not argue with such a statement.  All she could do was turn her head and look longingly at Chris, and maybe pray for him.

“Two brothers,” the angel spoke over her shoulder.  “The older brother, the most fortunate of men, both loved and was loved in return by a fairy for however brief a time.  Now, the younger brother has captured the heart of a young elf maiden.”

“Now and forever,” Mary said, and watched as the old priest finally stepped over to talk to Chris.

A Holiday Journey 6

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Someone knocked on the door.

Mister Banks came in, followed by a police officer.  Chris went for the police officer, not that he meant to snub his landlord.

“Good. You are here about Lilly?”  He assumed as much, but the police officer looked at Mister Banks, and the landlord spoke.

“I brought the police.  I wanted a witness in case you go mad or something.  I want that offensive sign off my building immediately.  You are defacing my property in violation of your lease.  It is offensive.”

“What sign, Oh…”

“I just got out of church, and looked up and see this offensive sign, on my building. My building.”  Mister Banks turned to underline his ownership with the police officer.

“But Christmas is on Monday this year, a week from tomorrow.  It is a national holiday, on the calendar, banks are closed and everything.  What is offensive?  Are you objecting to the national holiday, or the fact that I hope everyone has a happy holiday?  I didn’t know joy was offensive.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Mister Banks yelled.  “You are defacing my property in clear violation of your lease.  I am giving you thirty-days-notice.  I want you out by the first of the year.”

“Today’s the seventeenth,” the police officer said.  “Thirty-days would be January seventeenth.”

Mister Banks pointed a finger in the police officer’s face, and continued to yell. “Now, don’t you start quibbling. Get out,” he yelled at Chris and stomped out.

“Merry Christmas,” Chris shouted after the man.

“Merry Christmas,” the police officer said quietly in return, smiled, and gently closed the door.  Chris turned around, but Mary went to the kitchen area to make another pot of coffee.

Someone knocked on the door, again.

Mary came back from the coffee pot to find a sheriff explaining the paper. “The subpoena is an order for a court appearance for Wednesday, January third, after the New Year.”

“All fine and well, but Lilly’s not here.”

“The little girl?”

“If she was here,” Mary said.  “Why couldn’t she stay here at least through Christmas?”

The sheriff shrugged.  “I got a court order to pick her up and take her to a foster home.”

“Well, I already filed a missing person report with the police.  I’m expecting someone to come from the police department to take a statement,” Chris said.  “She is just six-years-old.  I am terribly worried about her.”

“We already checked all of her friend’s apartments,” Mary said.

“And out front, in the basement and on the roof,” Chris added.  “I was about to start calling her school friends, though she did not take her coat.  Come to think of it, her pajamas are on the bed, but her clothes look undisturbed. For all I know, she is walking around naked somewhere.”

“She disappeared?”  The Sheriff wanted to be sure.

“I put her to bed last night.  I went to bed, and when I woke up, she was gone.”

“Excuse me,” the sheriff said, and stepped aside to get on his radio.  After that, he left, and Chris checked Lilly’s clothes, commented again about her walking around naked, and got on the phone. Mary kept him supplied with coffee, and every chance she had, she encouraged him, that everything would work out for the best.

Finally, someone knocked on the door…again.

The policeman arrived to take a statement, at last.  Chris told him everything, honestly; including the part about waking up in the morning and discovering the apartment decorated with decorations he did not buy.

“Someone broke into your apartment in the middle of the night and put up all these Christmas decorations.”

“Yes,” Chris said.

“Yes,” Mary echoed.

That was the only question the officer asked, before he stood.  “I think I have everything I need.  I gotta go type this up.  If you think of anything else, call the station.  You got my card.  Otherwise, we will be in touch.”

“When?” Chris asked the inevitable question.

The officer shrugged.  “We will keep our eyes and ears open.”  He held a photo of Lilly, and slipped it in his jacket pocket as he left.

Mary stepped up with another cup of coffee, and Chris asked.  “Do we have anything else to eat?”

Mary looked up at him with big, sad, puppy-dog eyes.  “I got left-over macaroni and cheese.  I’m sorry, I don’t cook much.  Back home, we have great cooks, so I never get a chance…”

He cut her off by hugging her, but before he could shut the apartment door, someone else appeared.  Courtney looked dressed to kill, her face painted to perfection.  She stood, one hand near the end of her dyed hair, which made her a red head, though she should have been blonde in the worst sense of the word.  As Chris studied the woman seriously, and for the first time, he noticed everything appeared artificial or enhanced in some way.  In fact, he could not find one thing off hand that said, “This is the way God made me”.  He felt both sorry for her and terribly repulsed by that revelation at the same time

Mary let out a little shriek.  She saw devil horns, the red painted nails as bloody claws, and the heels as cloven hooves. She shut her eyes and buried her face in Chris’ shoulder.

“And who is this?” Courtney asked in a voice that suggested ownership.

“Mary, from across the hall.  She has been helping me since Lilly went missing.”

“Missing?” Courtney did not know, which saddened Chris a little, because she seemed the only one he could think of to blame for Lilly’s disappearance.  “I heard the sheriff came and took her away.”

“And how did you hear that?” Chris asked, before he had a thought.  “You have a friend that works at the courthouse? Maybe another friend works for 9-1-1?”

“What are you implying?”  Courtney stood tall on her heels, but all Chris saw was one big heel.  He wondered why he ever cared for her.

“Not implying,” Chris said.  “You got me laid off.  You got the court to review custody.  You got the sheriff to pick her up, and right before Christmas.  I got evicted.  Is this your new sport?  Finding ways to torment me?”

“I had nothing to do with you being evicted,” Courtney defended herself, while her wide-open mouth and eyes betrayed her true intentions.

“You did not plan on Lilly disappearing,” Mary said, without lifting her head from Chris’ chest.

“Right, and God willing, she is well beyond your reach.”

“How dare you—” Courtney got that much out before Chris interrupted.

“Mary and I are going to church.  You should consider it.  I understand Father Stephano hears a great confession.”  Chris slammed the door in Courtney’s face

“Church?” Mary looked up into Chris’ face, but did not want to let go.

“Right after macaroni and cheese,” he said, and he let go.

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MONDAY

A Holiday Journey: Chris and Mary seek some advice and get some unexpected help.

Until Monday, Happy Reading

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