Carol Ritten Smith

by Stubborn Hearts

  It was the third week in November when Beth decided it was time to begin preparations for the Christmas concert. She wanted every student to partake in the program.

  Of course, there would have to be a reenactment of Christ’s birth. That was expected. She mentally assigned her older students the major speaking roles. The youngest children could be the animals who would happily “baa” or “moo” on cue. She wondered if Mrs. Young had had her baby yet. Wouldn’t a real baby in the manger be wonderful!

  From the bookshelf she withdrew a book, Plays, Poetry, and Prose for Children. No doubt parents with children in the older grades had watched most of the plays in the book, but she hoped something would inspire her to write something original. A few of her students were exceptional poets. She’d pick the best poems and have the authors recite them.

  Ideas were coming so quickly, she went to her desk and jotted notes to remember them all. After vowing she was a great teacher, Beth was adamant that this concert be the talk of the town for years to come.

  When Beth announced her ideas to the children that morning, they were so excited they couldn’t sit still. She had to remind them that no Christmas preparations would happen unless they got all their work done and it wasn’t long before they all buckled down to their assignments.

  Inga’s mother kindly donated the use of her piano, so Beth felt obliged to allow Inga, who said she had taken lessons, to be the pianist. But upon hearing her play, Beth had her doubts. She prayed the girl would improve with extra practice.

  For the next month, every available moment was devoted to memorizing poems and lines, perfecting piano solos and duets, practicing Christmas carols and rehearsing the pageant. Notes were sent home with the children as to what props and costumes were needed, and Beth marveled daily at how the ingenuous mothers could fashion something out of nothing.

  The concert was scheduled for the Friday before Christmas Day. As a reward for her students’ diligence, Beth suspended afternoon classes on the Wednesday and Thursday preceding the big event. The time was spent making Christmas decorations. The youngest children crafted paper chains and strung popcorn and cranberries on thread; the older boys, with stronger, more calloused hands, used tin snips to cut stars from flattened cans; and the older girls’ nimble fingers fashioned angels out of lacy remnants. Each child decorated a large envelope to hold samples of his best penmanship and poetry.

  The evening before the concert, several men in the community, including Tom, built a stage at the front of the classroom to enable all to see the program.

  When the big day arrived, the little schoolhouse was charged with excitement and the students spent the entire day putting up their decorations. Yards of paper chains draped back and forth across the room and angels hung in all the windows. Around the top of the blackboards, winter scenes were stenciled with chalk, while a large “Merry Christmas” was attractively written across the side blackboard. The piano, decorated with spruce boughs and ribbons, was pulled away from the wall and a blanket hung between it and the front blackboard, creating a backstage. The older boys were assigned the task of pushing desks into the back corner, and bringing in extra benches from the shed outside. The small, but stately Christmas tree, cut by one of the fathers, stood proudly on a table in the front corner. Soon it was decorated with the tin stars and popcorn strings.

  Beth dismissed the children early in the afternoon so they could rush home, do their chores and have a quick bite to eat. They were to return at six-thirty sharp, half an hour before the concert was to begin. She sent Davy home ahead of her, which allowed her time to secretly place the treat bags under the tree. Everything was double checked, pictures straightened, bits of paper picked up, benches lined up evenly, heater stoked. With a final glance to verify all was perfect, Beth went home to prepare some supper for Bill, knowing that both she and Davy would be too excited to eat.

  Chapter 8

  Beth and Davy headed for the school, while Bill went to pick up Annaleese, who he’d been seeing regularly since the box social. Even in the brief time since Beth had last stoked the fire, the temperature in the school had dropped considerably. She threw a large bucketful of coal in the heater before preparing the coffee. By six-thirty, the students had arrived and they crowded “backstage” to don their costumes while their parents took their seats.

  It seemed as though the entire community had turned out for the evening. The benches quickly filled. Men propped themselves against the walls and soon the schoolhouse reverberated with the din of neighborly conversation and laughter. A few women fanned themselves with the hand-printed programs, which caused Beth to worry that she had added too much coal.

  Behind the curtain, the girls giggled nervously, and the boys pushed and shoved, while last minute butterflies stampeded in everyone stomachs. Beth’s included.

  “Did you see my parents, Miss Patterson?”

  “Are my grandparents, here?”

  “Mr. Percy from the Tannerville Chronicle is here.”

  “My angel wings keep slipping.”

  “I forget my lines.”

  Words rained down on Beth. “You will all do just fine,” she reassured.

  At seven sharp, she turned to her students and pressed a finger to her lips. Immediately they silenced. The moment they practiced so arduously for had arrived.

  “I want you to know I’m proud of each and every one of you. You’ve worked hard, very hard, and I know this will be a concert to top all concerts. Everyone ready?” Heads nodded.

  Beth stepped out from behind the curtain and pounded on middle “C” to draw everyone’s attention. When the friendly conversations ceased and the room was hushed, the children filed onto the stage to form three tidy rows, positioning themselves evenly.

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” Beth began. “Please rise to sing our national anthem.” As everyone stood, Inga took her place at the piano, and soon the small schoolhouse expanded with pride as voices rose in unison, drowning out the wrong notes from the piano.

  Following the anthem, the stage cleared. Beth squeezed in along the sidewall to watch the proceedings. This came as quite a surprise to most since it was customary for the teacher to remain backstage to ensure things went smoothly. But Beth thought it would be more impressive if the children ran the entire show by themselves. She had great faith in her students, but still she caught herself holding her breath.

  Presently the youngest student, little Peter Brown, dressed in his Sunday best and his hair plastered down with grease, strolled out from behind the blanket and stood upon the mark that had been chalked on the stage. With his high-pitched voice he recited:

  “Please don’t judge me by my size,

  Although I’m mighty small.

  I have a most important task

  To bid a welcome to you all.”

  He bowed solemnly, chanced a shy wave at his beaming parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and then exited backstage while the audience clapped exuberantly.

  Following the welcome was a piano duet and after that a poem recitation. As efficiently as clockwork, one student followed another, and halfway through the hour-long program, Beth began to breathe easier.

  Tom’s aunt, Mary Betner, maneuvered her way over to Beth and squeezed her hand. “My dear,” she whispered, “this is the best concert I’ve ever attended. You should be very proud.”

  Beth’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, Mary. I am. The children have worked very hard.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I used to be a teacher. I know how much work is involved.” Mary leaned closer. “Tell me, I’m dying to know. Who did you get to be Santa?”

  Mary’s question hit Beth like a hard-packed snowball in the stomach. “Santa?” she whispered weakly. “I don’t understand. I thought the men decided among themselves.”

  Mary stared wide-eyed at Beth. “Didn’t you see the Santa suit in the cellar?”

  The truth was Beth had never ventured into the cellar. Ther
e had simply been no need and, besides, the place was too dark and creepy to encourage exploration.

  “Listen dear,” Mary advised, “you’d better find someone quick, or there’s going to be some very disappointed children.”

  Beth desperately wanted to sit down and bawl. A Christmas concert with no Santa! What could be worse! But she had no time for self-pity. She had to find a willing Santa and fast! She scoured the room for a likely volunteer.

  Bill, maybe he’d do it, but then she thought, who was she kidding? He’d never agree.

  Lars Anderstom? She could just imagine it. Have ew been a gewd little boy? His accent would immediately reveal his identity and negate any beliefs of Santa’s existence.

  “How about Earl, would he do it?” she asked Mary.

  “My Earl? Not a chance. He did it one year and he said never again. He does the auction at the box social and figures that’s plenty.”

  Beth spotted Tom. Now, he might do it. After all, he was fond of Davy. And he was on the school board. One didn’t take on a position like that if he didn’t care for the welfare of children. There was only one way to find out and that was to ask him, and if he refused, then she was prepared to beg. The concert’s success and, more importantly, her job, were at stake. She wouldn’t let pride stand in her way.

  Resolutely she edged between the bench seats, apologizing to those she disturbed. Finally she reached Tom.

  “Tom, I need to speak with you,” she whispered.

  Tom frowned. “Now?” he whispered back. “Can’t it wait until the concert is over?”

  “No, I’m sorry it can’t. Please.” Conscious of the disapproving looks cast upon her, she quietly slipped to the back of the room to wait.

  She watched Tom excuse himself. As soon as he drew closer, Beth pulled him into the cloakroom and closed the door behind them.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Beth wrung her hands, not certain which would be the best way to approach this. Finally, she just blurted it out. “Tom, I need you to be Santa.”

  “What?”

  “I never realized it was up to me to find someone. I thought — well, never mind, it doesn’t matter now what I thought. Oh Tom, please just say you’ll do it. Otherwise the children will be devastated and the concert will be ruined and it will all be my fault.” She reached out and grasped his forearms. Realizing she was squeezing them a bit too much, she released her grip, and clasped her hands nervously between her breasts.

  “But I don’t know anything about kids.”

  “You’re good with Davy.”

  “You think so?” Tom smiled. Suddenly, he shook his head. “I can’t be Santa. What if Davy recognizes me?”

  Beth shook her head. “He won’t. He’s so wound up, he wouldn’t even recognize me if I were Santa.”

  “Good. Then you do it,” he said, taking a step toward the door.

  Beth grabbed his arm again. “Please.” Her bottom lip began to tremble. “I’m begging you.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll do it. Where’s the suit?”

  “In the cellar, but I’m too afraid to go down there to get it.” She handed him a wall lantern.

  • • •

  Tom lifted the trap door in the floor and grimaced. He could understand why she didn’t want to go down there herself; the place had always given him the willies. Lantern in hand, he proceeded down the stairs into the dank smelling cellar. Above his head, the schoolroom’s floor reverberated from activity and dust from the floor joists sifted down onto his shoulders. He looked around, and sure enough, he found a large box marked “Santa Suit.” He set the lantern down and carried the box awkwardly up to the cloakroom, and then went back to retrieve the lantern. When he returned, Beth was shaking the creases out of the suit.

  She held the pants for him. “Hurry, we haven’t much time.” While he stepped into them, draping the loose suspenders over his shoulders, she delved into the box and came out with a silky white wig and beard. She slipped the beard over his head, unmindful of the stinging snap she gave his chin with the elastic, then slapped the wig on his head and topped it off with the red stocking cap.

  “I’ll need a pillow or something,” Tom said, holding the red pant’s expansive girth away from his body.

  “Here,” She grabbed a couple of coats off the stack on the table and stuffed them down inside.

  Tom grinned lasciviously from ear to ear behind the beard. Who’d have thought the prim little schoolteacher would be shoving her hand where she definitely had no business shoving it. When he felt himself becoming aroused, Tom grabbed the coats from her. “I’ll do it. Get the jacket.”

  She held it while he shoved his arms into the sleeves, and then came around front of him and buttoned it over his lumpy girth. As if he were a helpless child, Tom held his arms out as she wrapped the wide black Santa belt around his waist and cinched it tight to hold the “belly” from slipping down a pant leg. She stood back to scrutinize the Santa before her.

  “How do I look?”

  “Passable, but your suit’s all creased.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” he retorted. “I’ve come all the way from the North Pole in a sleigh.” His eyes twinkled behind the beard, like the jolly old man himself.

  Beth laughed in relief, hugged him around the neck and kissed his bearded cheek in gratitude. Then embarrassed, almost mortified — her cheeks flaming nearly as deep red as the flannel suit — she shoved the empty box under the table.

  “The class is going to recite ‘A Visit from Saint Nick.’ Come in anytime near the end.” She slipped back into the classroom and Tom hoped no one would speculate about the schoolteacher’s heightened color.

  He stood listening at the door for his cue, unable to ignore the sweet familiar scent of her hair lingering in his silky beard nor the memory of her arms around him. He’d been as surprised as she was by the impulsive hug and kiss. He wished he hadn’t been wearing the beard. Then he would have felt her lips upon … Stop it! He was beginning to be aroused again. Wouldn’t that make a great entrance? Santa walking in with an erection. He forced himself to think of the children and what he should do when he got inside.

  “ … and laying his finger aside of his nose.” Oh hell, that was his cue. Taking a deep breath and nearly choking on a bit of beard fluff, he opened the door.

  No one, other than Santa, could get away with interrupting a group recitation. With a hearty “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas,” Tom ran down the center aisle to the front of the classroom, ringing a large circle of sleigh bells and causing quite a commotion. Babies began to cry in fright, but the toddlers and older children crowded around him, while the oldest ones, wise to the Santa sham, stood back lest someone think they still believed in such nonsense.

  Tom was rather surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Under the guise of Santa, he felt completely at ease with the children.

  “All right, boys and girls,” his voice boomed above the din, “who’d like to help me hand out these presents I see here under the tree?” After a plethora of “me, me, me’s,” he realized he couldn’t very well choose one student over another without playing favorites, something the true Santa would never do. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Your teacher can be my helper. What’s her name?”

  A chorus of children chimed, “Miss Patterson.”

  Beth was shaking her head in refusal even before Santa motioned her to come forward. “All right, Miss Patterson, come give me a hand.” When he saw her hesitate, he hooked his thumbs into his belt and ordered, “Hurry up now. I can’t keep those reindeer waiting all night.”

  Beth was pushed to the front while Santa plunked his bulky body down upon the piano stool, playfully spinning around and around. When he stopped, Beth was standing before him, arms akimbo, green eyes sparkling. “No spinning on the piano stool, please.”

  “Right. Sorry, Miss Patterson.”

  The children giggled, delighted to see Santa reprimanded by their teacher.

  B
eth handed Tom the first treat bag. “This one is for Peter Brown, Santa.”

  “Ho, Ho, Ho. Peter Brown, come on up here and sit on my knee for a bit. We need to talk.” The boy climbed up on Tom’s knee and Tom proceeded to question him. “So Peter, have you been a good boy this year?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Helping with the chores?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Do you want anything special for Christmas?”

  “Uh huh,” he answered again, leaning in so close to inspect Santa’s beard that Tom had to set him upright.

  “And what would that be. Speak nice and loud, ’cause Santa can’t hear too well.”

  “I want a baby brother.”

  Tom chuckled while Peter’s parents shrank in their seats.

  “A baby brother. Well, only God gives out babies. But I’ll bring you something else. How would that be?”

  “Okay, I guess.” He slid off Santa’s knee and took his treat bag to show his parents.

  • • •

  If ever Beth wanted to say a prayer of gratitude, it was now. Tom was a spectacular Santa. He hugged and ho ho ho’ed, handed out candy bags, and entertained parent and child alike. When he finally raced out the school, everyone applauded enthusiastically. As far as she was concerned, his actions tonight canceled any offensive or embarrassing comment that he had previously made to her.

  While the children opened their treat bags to find candies and oranges and little toys, the women set out the lunch. There wasn’t a mother there who didn’t congratulate Beth on the best Christmas concert Whistle Creek had ever had. Beth merely smiled her thanks, humbled by the fact it had very nearly been the worst Christmas concert in the history of Whistle Creek.

  Tom returned a few minutes later, the back of his shirt damp, and the dark hair at the nape of his neck curled with perspiration. He stopped at the copper boiler for a coffee, proceeded to the lunch table, and piled a serviette high with goodies. As he made his way to sit with Mary and Earl, he received several hearty back slaps and secretive congratulations on a job well done. He barely seated himself before Davy came over to show him what he’d received from Santa.