The Gift of Christmas Present

by Melody Carlson

  Oh, she knew she shouldn’t take out her anger on poor Felicity. Why, that was like kicking the puppy who’d just chewed up your three-hundred-dollar shoes. What was the point? But Hattie had confessed to Esther during breakfast that morning that she felt fairly certain that Christine had overheard some of Felicity’s thoughtless remarks the previous day. And now Esther felt certain that if Felicity had only possessed a little more sense and had treated Christine just a little better, well, maybe Christine would still be here with them today. And she’d told Jimmy as much that morning when he’d delivered the “special” load of firewood—special because it was birch and supposed to be “white and pretty.” Pretty, my foot, she’d thought. It’s only firewood, for Pete’s sake!

  “Christine is a sensible girl,” Jimmy had reassured her. “I don’t think she’d let something Felicity said upset her. Everyone knows that Felicity sometimes speaks without thinking.”

  “Sometimes?” Esther felt her left brow arch.

  “Oh, Mom, Felicity may have her faults, but she’s really not trying to hurt anyone intentionally. And, if it makes you feel any better, she was really very sorry by the time we got home last night. She almost called you, but it was getting pretty late by the time we got the kids to bed.”

  Be that as it may, Felicity had still done little besides the stilted apology to convince Esther of her contrition. And Esther felt seriously fed up with her daughter-in-law as she sank down into the big leather chair behind James’s old desk. She leaned back and looked around her. Hattie had done a good job of cleaning up. And the den actually looked much better with all of James’s ridiculous paraphernalia removed. Much more calming and peaceful. She should’ve done it years ago.

  Esther looked at the black desk phone and even picked up the receiver. But then she’d already called that number several times and left at least two, maybe three, messages. Still, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try again. But she was answered by the same old thing; after four rings the blasted machine came on again.

  “You’ve reached the number of Christine Bradley and Brianna Taylor. Please—” Esther put the receiver back in the cradle with a thud. Where could that girl be? As far as Esther knew she didn’t have any relatives nearby and all her friends had gone home for the holidays. Perhaps she’d called one of them up, desperate to escape the insanity of the Daniels family, and begged to be included in some festivity. Maybe she was off at some ski lodge, having a good time with friends and drinking hot toddies right now. That’s what Esther would’ve been doing at the same age. Goodness, how many times had she opted for some expensive and scintillating outing with friends over going home to spend time with family? And did she regret it now? Well, of course she did. But not completely.

  “Oh, who can figure such things out?” she said to herself. She felt exasperated and agitated and suddenly longed for a cigarette like she hadn’t done in years. Oh, she knew it was perfectly ridiculous and would probably make her sick, but she simply felt the need for something to calm her nerves. She began jerking open the drawers to James’s desk. Surely, he must’ve left something behind, since he’d smoked right up to the day he died. Naturally, the drawers were full of all sorts of odd things, and she wished she’d taken the time to dump their contents onto the floor yesterday. Perhaps Hattie would’ve gotten rid of all that junk too. Not that she wished to turn Hattie into her personal maid. Actually, she was becoming rather fond of her previously estranged sister-in-law. But right now Hattie was having a little nap, refreshing herself before the guests started to arrive, and all Esther wanted was a stupid cigarette!

  Of course, Esther knew she might’ve been wise to have followed Hattie’s lead and taken a nap. After all, she had every reason to excuse herself from all of Felicity’s hubbub. She could’ve said, “I’m so sorry, but I’m recovering from a bad sprain and really need my rest.” She’d be sorry once the party really got going. The extra people in her home had begun to wear her already frazzled nerves thin.

  Good-night, why couldn’t she find any darn cigarettes?

  “Voila!” she said triumphantly when she finally unearthed a sleek silver case with the initials JD on it. She’d gotten him this for their fifteenth anniversary, shortly before he became ill and was told to give up smoking, which he did not.

  The case felt light, and she expected it to be empty as she popped it open, but there, as if appointed by fate, lay one lonely cigarette.

  “Ahhh.” She picked it up and smelled the pungent, earthy smell of stale tobacco. Then she put it to her lips before she looked around and realized she needed a light. After more digging and hunting, she finally discovered a dusty old book of matches. She blew off the dust and examined the faded photo on the front. Something about that large pink building and palm trees seemed vaguely familiar. Without her reading glasses, she was forced to hold it at arm’s length, squinting to read the fine print. The Hotel Marquise. Ah, yes, it was where she and James had stayed during their honeymoon in the Bahamas—about twenty-three years ago now. She set the cigarette and matchbook on the surface of the desk, then pulled back her hand as if these items were hot coals. Then, as if mesmerized, she just stared at them.

  Is this what life eventually boils down to? A stale cigarette and a dusty book of matches? Two seemingly innocent items that burn you clear to your soul? She pushed herself up from the chair and limped painfully over to the leather sofa. She fell down onto it in a broken heap, clutched a tapestry-covered cushion, and began to sob. “I am nothing but a useless old woman,” she moaned. “I have led a foolish and shallow life with nothing to show for it but ashes and dust . . . ashes and dust. Nothing left . . . but ashes and dust.”

  Christine had managed to maintain a brave front for the whole day as she poured all her energy into the homeless shelter. But by that evening, she felt worn and weary, and just slightly beaten. It wasn’t the work so much, although she couldn’t remember having labored so long or so hard in her life. Being young and healthy, she’d stepped up and volunteered for the hardest task of all, kitchen crew. And not just for a one-meal shift or cleanup or setup; no, she’d stuck her foot in her mouth and volunteered to help out with everything for the entire day. And, naturally, they were happy to have her.

  Still, it wasn’t the work that had eventually worn her down, but rather her surrounding circumstances. Seeing and interacting with all those homeless families, those children who seemed hungry for not only food but also the slightest speck of attention, those young single mothers with worn-out shoes and empty eyes.

  Well, it had finally managed to wear her down, and now that the day was over, her cheeks were tired from smiling and she felt seriously depressed. But perhaps the most shameful part of all this was that she wasn’t just depressed over their sad lots in life and how they had nothing, no homes, no money, no means. No, that might actually seem noble or admirable, expected even.

  If the truth were told, and she hoped it never would be, Christine was feeling sorry for herself because at least those poor homeless people had fragments of their families around them during Christmas, whereas she felt entirely cut off and alone. And to realize that she was actually feeling jealous of homeless families—now, really, how pathetic was that?

  If she hadn’t been so tired, so thoroughly down and out, she might’ve found her situation to be somewhat humorous. She might’ve imagined herself talking to her dad on the phone after the New Year and telling him the whole embarrassing story, and then they would both laugh and he would promise that they would have a grand Christmas after he came home in two years, or better yet, maybe they could figure out a way to fly her down there for Christmas next year.

  But as she slipped into the back pew of the packed church, she felt no joy, no mirth, no Christmas cheer. In fact, she wondered why she’d even bothered to come to the candlelight service at all. Chances were it would only depress her more as she saw families clustered together, sharing candles and smiles and warm embraces. The old man beside her smiled and
nodded, then turned his attention back to the pulpit. She didn’t recognize him, but she’d been attending this church only a few months and hadn’t had a chance to meet everyone.

  She tried to pay attention as Pastor Reinhart spoke of the first Christmas, but she found herself drifting in and out. Of course, she’d heard the Christmas message so many times that she knew it by heart. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she should just go home before she nodded off to sleep and really embarrassed herself.

  She stood up and slipped unnoticed out the back of the church and then out the door to the street. But before she turned to walk back to her dorm, she paused to look at the nativity scene that was set up in front of the church. Oh, she’d seen it before and had even admired the painted life-size plywood figures of Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and angels and animals, all propped up beneath the straw-covered roof of a “stable.” And they almost looked real in the soft spotlights tonight. Christine studied Mary and the way her sad eyes seemed to gaze fondly at the baby in the manger. Mary had been even younger than Christine when she’d been chosen to bear God’s child. A teen mother. Not so unlike Lenore, Christine thought. It couldn’t have been easy for either of them. Surely, Mary must’ve had times when she wondered what God was up to. It would’ve been a challenge to be the mother of God’s son, and although she was called “blessed,” she certainly must’ve suffered some too.

  Christine knew that Lenore had suffered dearly for the baby she carried as well. To be only eighteen and to stand against her parents, fighting to protect her baby’s life—Christine’s life. She shuddered. Not so different from Mary in some ways.

  Christine pulled on her gloves and began walking toward her dorm. But as she walked she considered her birth mother’s life and how it was similar to Mary’s. Surely, God’s hand had been on Lenore during those hard times. How else would she have been befriended by Christine’s loving parents? Oh, Christine knew that God hadn’t willed for Lenore to be raped. No, that was just one of those unfortunate circumstances where sin got in the way. But, ultimately, according to Christine’s father, Lenore had been happy to give birth, and she’d been pleased and proud of her baby daughter. And although it wasn’t easy to give her up, Lenore had entrusted Christine to this kind and generous couple. And Christine’s parents had been overjoyed at Lenore’s incredible gift of love.

  Christine stopped on a corner and looked up at the dark sky. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, finally believing that perhaps her life wasn’t a mistake after all, that perhaps God was still in control, that he still loved her and wanted the best for her.

  She continued to walk, still thinking about young Lenore and her brave decision to keep her baby despite the circumstances. Christine wasn’t sure she would be as brave under similar conditions. Suddenly she was flooded with gratitude and respect for her birth mother. Suddenly she wished there was a way she could tell her. She stopped again. “Please, God,” she whispered to the night. “Please, tell my mother Lenore I want to say thank you to her too.” Christine realized it was probably a foolish prayer, but she meant it with her whole heart. She stood there for a long moment, just silently staring into the almost-black sky, when suddenly she noticed a star breaking through the clouds, as if it was peering down at her, as if it was winking. Oh, she knew it was silly and probably her imagination, but it seemed like a sign. As if Lenore was trying to reassure her that all was well in heaven. “Thank you,” Christine breathed.

  And then she saw another star, just as bright as the first, popping out right next to the other one. The only two stars she could see in the entire night sky. Suddenly Christine laughed as she imagined her two mothers holding hands in heaven. “And tell my mother Marie I said thank you too,” she whispered. She stood there just staring at the pair of twinkling stars, and then suddenly she saw a third star, directly across from the other two, making a perfect triangle. “And, while you’re at it, please tell Jesus’s mother Mary I said thank you too.”

  Then, with a lighter heart than she’d had in weeks, Christine walked back to the dorm. She knew that not everything was resolved, and she knew she still had to figure out what her role would be with the Daniels family. But she also knew that things had changed between her and Lenore. She knew that she’d be forever grateful for her birth mother, forever thankful that she’d saved Christine’s life. And she owed it to Lenore to do whatever she could for her surviving family.

  Christine had barely closed the door to her room before she saw the message light flashing on her answering machine. Hoping it was her dad, she turned it on. “You have seven messages,” the electronic voice said. Surprised at the number, she played them all to discover that none were from her dad. But she was relieved, since the only reason she’d hear from him right now would probably be due to an emergency. Besides, three of the messages were from her grandmother, all urging her to come over to the house, to bring her things, and to stay until New Year’s. And one message was from Aunt Hattie, saying how much she missed her little niece and to please come back by the house before she had to return home. And two were from Jimmy, saying that he was so happy to learn that she was his half sister and would she please give them a call as soon as she got in. And one was actually from Felicity, an apology of sorts, saying that she hoped Christine hadn’t misunderstood her, but that that sometimes happened, and how much the children would love to see her for Christmas.

  “Well.” Christine picked up the phone and quickly dialed. She waited through several rings until she heard Jimmy’s voice over what sounded like a houseful of others.

  “Christine!” he boomed. “Merry Christmas! Are you coming over?”

  “I could,” she began. “If it’s not too late.”

  “Never too late for you. Are you at your dorm right now? How about I pop over and pick you up? I don’t like the idea of my little sister walking by herself at night.”

  So it was settled. Christine hurried to change her clothes. No sense showing up in her soiled kitchen clothes that smelled like green beans and turkey gravy. Then she grabbed the photo album she’d assembled for Grandmother. She wished she’d taken time to do something for the others. Oh well, maybe next year.

  Jimmy cheerfully filled her in on all the happenings of the day and the party as they drove. “A lot of Felicity’s family and friends are there. And as you can imagine, Mom’s been lying low for most of the evening. I think she’s been worried about you.” He parked the car in the spot still left in the driveway. But the side streets were filled with cars.

  “I’m sorry,” Christine said. “I’ve been helping at my church, but I should’ve called.”

  “Hey, I don’t blame you,” he said as they reached the front door. Then suddenly he hugged her. “And just so you know, I’m really glad that you’re my sister, Christine. Welcome to the family. Really.” Then they walked inside, and he took her coat and nudged her down the hallway. “Your grandmother is in the den,” he whispered.

  Before anyone noticed her arrival, Christine slipped off to find her. She tapped lightly on the den door, but due to the noise from the party—a boisterous group was attempting to sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” around the piano—she decided to simply let herself in. And there, sitting behind the big mahogany desk, was her grandmother, head bent down as she held a match in a somewhat shaky hand to light a rather bent cigarette.

  “Grandmother?”

  She looked up at Christine, her face an odd mixture of simultaneous embarrassment and pleasure. “Oh! You’re here,” she sputtered through the smoke.

  “Yeah.” Christine smiled. “Merry Christmas, Grandmother.”

  She sheepishly held out the cigarette. “I thought I needed this, but . . . ”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Christine said as she sat down in the chair across from the desk, placing the photo album in her lap.

  “Do you think smoking is a sin?” her grandmother asked, still holding the cigarette at a distance as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with
it.

  “I think God’s the only one who can determine that,” Christine said with a smile.

  “Really?” Esther looked at her cigarette with curiosity, then took a tentative puff followed by a short fit of coughing. “Hand me that ashtray, will you?”

  Christine reached for the brass dish on the coffee table and set it on the desk, watching as her grandmother snuffed the cigarette out and sighed.

  “It was just for old times’ sake,” Grandmother said, still sputtering. “But I guess my lungs weren’t ready for it.”

  “I have something for you,” Christine said. “For old times’ sake.”

  “Really?” Grandmother leaned forward with interest, and Christine slid the photo album across the smooth surface of the desk.

  “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

  Esther slowly opened the album, then just stared at the array of photos before her. It was only the first page, and only shots of Christine as a newborn, a rather red and wrinkly looking baby. After what seemed several minutes her grandmother turned to the next page, staring again with equal fascination.

  Christine leaned over the desk to see the album more clearly. She wondered if there was something more fascinating than she’d realized. “That was my first birthday,” Christine said, pointing to the redheaded infant dressed like an elf in green velvet.

  Esther nodded without speaking, and Christine wondered if perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But she sat, waiting patiently while her grandmother slowly worked her way through the book. The last pictures had been taken at Christine’s high school graduation, and then there was one of her and her father shortly before he left for Brazil.