Unexpected Gifts
(an old-fashioned Christmas story)
Part 1
Valorie Bender Quesenberry
The snowflakes looked like a feather storm. Janie thought
about the day old Blue pulled Granny’s feather tick off the line and tore a
hole in it. Feathers were everywhere then, swirling through the air. Granny had
been so mad at the old dog; she’d chased him out of the yard, waving her broom.
Then she and Janie tried to pick up as many feathers as they could, but of
course, they couldn’t get all of them.
Janie wondered what it would be like to catch the snow
falling down now. She put out a hand, feeling the wispy coldness as the flakes
brushed against her palm. If Joe David were here, he’d try to catch them in his
mouth, laughing all the while. But Joe David didn’t know any better cause he
wasn’t grown-up yet.
Janie stuck her hand back in her coat pocket and turned
toward Mr. Haskill’s store window. It was still there, even more beautiful than
she remembered. The dress was all lace and ruffles, the hat had a big rosette
on the side, just like the one Mother wore to work in the newspaper office. The
shoes were black Mary Janes and the face had pretty pink, porcelain cheeks and
a tiny red mouth turned in a demure smile. What fascinated Janie the most
though were the long golden ringlets clustered on the doll’s shoulders. Never
had she seen such beautiful hair. Not even Susan Marie Downing at school had
hair like that! Maybe, thought Janie softly, if she’d had pretty hair like that
she could have sent a lock of it to Daddy when she wrote him.
It was too late now, though. He wasn’t coming back. Now
Mother worked in the newspaper office, typing all day long and she and Mother
and Joe David lived with Gramps and Granny on the farm. Not that she minded the
farm; it was kind–of nice and safe-feeling there. But deep down, she’d have
traded that feeling if Daddy could live with them again in their little house
in Prattville. To hear Daddy’s laugh and have him pull her braids, even if they
were a muddy brown color and not golden, would be all the Christmas she’d need.
But Daddy wasn’t here. All they had of him was a flag the
soldiers gave to Mother and the letters that he’d sent them. Sometimes, Janie
still got hers out and read them to herself. But it mostly made her cry and so
she didn’t do that too much.
Mother needed her to be strong and helpful; that’s what
she’d said. It was Janie’s job to do all she could to help Granny in the house
while Mother was away, working in town. And then there was Joe David. He was
only three. Mother said his job was to be sunshine for them all. And he did
that. His smile made everyone feel better.
Janie knew she needed to go. Gramps had let her tag along
since he was coming to town to buy feed; he understood that she needed to look
at something different. Daddy had said that she and Gramps were alike; they
were dreamers. It wasn’t that they couldn’t put in a hard day’s work. It was
just that they needed a little inspiration to make the day more livable. Every
once in a while, Gramps would crook his finger at Janie and whisper in her ear,
“Want to go to town?” And then he’d wink at her like they had a great secret.
And Janie always wanted to go. Granny would roll her eyes at
Gramps like she knew he was up to something, but she’d let Janie go, finding
some small item for her to get at Haskill’s Dry Goods store. And most days,
like today, Janie would get what Granny needed and then go outside and look in
the store windows, wishing and hoping.
Across the street, Janie spied Gramps putting sacks of feed
into the back of his pickup. She stepped into the street and walked over to
him.
“Is it time to go?”
“Almost, young’un. You through with your window shoppin’?”
He tweaked her nose.
“I guess.” Janie said. “Do I have time to wave at Mother?”
“Go ahead; I’ll pick you up at the newspaper office.”
“Thank you, Gramps!” Janie looked for cars in the street
before she dashed off.
Mother worked for Mr. Jerome Townsend at the County Herald
and Reporter office. Janie had heard folks say that she was the best typist the
newspaper ever had. That was a good thing since they needed the money. She’d
also heard people say that Mr. Jerome was “sweet” on Mother. Janie thought she
knew what they meant, and that was something she didn’t like. Mr. Jerome was
nice enough, but he didn’t laugh like Daddy. And even if he had a new
Oldsmobile and a big house on the hill, Janie wasn’t at all interested. And she
hoped Mother wasn’t.
The part of the building where Mother worked had a window
and sometimes Janie could catch a glimpse of her and wave to her. She always
came by whenever she and Gramps came into town, just in case.
Janie was panting a little from her run into town as she
came to the office of the County Herald and Reporter. A wreath with a big red
bow was hanging on the door and as always, people were coming in and out. Janie
thought that when she grew up, she might become a newspaper reporter. It would
be a fine thing, she decided, to write stories about faraway places.
But for now, she stopped by the plate glass window and
looked for Mother. There toward the back of the office, she sat. Her eyebrows
were pushed together while she concentrated on a paper she was reading while
she typed. Her fingers were flying so fast on the keys that Janie could see only
a blur of movement. But there was no mistaking Mother’s piled up curls and
pretty skin. Janie watched her for a couple minutes, hoping she’d look up and
see her.
She heard Gramps’ truck come whining up the street and knew
it was time to go. And just at that minute, Mother leaned back to rub her neck
and looked right into her eyes. She smiled and waved. And Janie waved back.
Then Mr. Jerome came over and said something to Mother. She
looked up at him and got all serious. Janie backed away from the window,
wishing she could hear what they were saying. She climbed into Gramps’ truck,
shutting the door hard so it would stay closed. And she didn’t say anything for
a long while.
Gramps just drove in silence until they made the turn off
the main highway. Then he squinted up at the sky and said, “I think we’re gonna
have a Christmas storm, Janie-girl.”
Janie was more worried about Mr. Jerome than the weather,
but she asked anyway.”How do you know?”
“All the signs are there, Janie. When you’re as old as your
Gramps, you learn to read nature. Why even the animals talk to me.”
She giggled. “Oh, Gramps. You’re so silly.”
“Well, maybe they don’t exactly talk.” He winked. “But I
know what they mean!”
“Could Daddy read the signs?” Janie blurted.
Gramps was silent for a minute. When he talked, his voice
was soft and sounded lumpy. “Yes, he could, Janie-girl. Your daddy would have
been a first-rate farmer.”
Janie knew the story of her Daddy and mother’s meeting at a
high school party and how they’d fallen in love and gotten married. Then they
lived in Prattville where Daddy worked at the air field and Mother took care of
her and Joe David. And they had been making plans to move out to the farm and
take over since Gramps was getting older and the work was hard for him. But
when the war came, Daddy became a soldier. Janie would never forget that night
when he packed and left his bag sitting by the front door, waiting to take to
the bus station the next day. Mother had cried, and Janie sat close to Joe
David’s bed and promised herself that she would look out for them all. It
seemed so very long ago now.
Gramps cleared his throat and patted Janie’s hand. “How
about we hurry and put these sacks in the barn and then surprise your Granny by
being on time for dinner?” And he tweaked her nose again.
-------------------------------------------
Sergeant Frank Lewis of the Prattville Police Force was worried. If
ever there was a setup for disaster, it was in the making now. He’d not seen a
Christmas Eve like it ever. First of all, the department was way behind in the
Christmas toy delivery so he and the other officers were going to be pulling
long hours today to get it done. And on top of that, the radio forecaster was
blasting out the news of a late storm, set to cover the county with whiteout
conditions. Terrific. At this rate, he’d be spending Christmas on the side of
the road, cuddling up to a teddy bear to keep warm.
The police car he was driving had a cantankerous heater; it
decided to work sometimes and at other times, it decided not to. So, he kept an
extra coat, gloves and quilt in the back. If he landed up somewhere in a snow
drift, at least he’d have enough warmth to survive.
But the plan was not to pile up; the plan was to deliver the
gifts and get back to Prattville as soon as possible. Maybe with some luck,
he’d make the officer’s Christmas party tonight.
Turning down a bumpy gravel road, he shook his head. The
roads were terrible, even without a snow storm. When would the county decide to
fix them? But he already knew the answer to that. Every bit of material
available was going into the war effort. The least the folks back home could do
was put up with some potholes in the road.
That’s about as far as he let his thoughts go with the war.
Sure, he was patriotic and all, but since Sammy had joined up and come home in
a box, he’d didn’t feel like discussing it with anyone. It had about killed his
folks and Sammy’s girlfriend had to be hospitalized; it wasn’t gonna be a fun
Christmas. Sammy had been the life of any gathering anyway. Frank was a poor
stand-in for his energetic younger brother; he didn’t think he’d even try.
Sergeant Lewis stopped at the first house on the list. It
was a bedraggled white frame building, which in more prosperous times might
have been used as a chicken coop. But beside the door leaned a sled and a
spiral of smoke rose from the chimney so he knew a human family must inhabit
the place.
He pulled three gifts from the load in his back seat and
trudged through the slush to the door, banging his knuckles lightly on the
frame. He heard running feet and a door opened, revealing a tired-looking woman
with a baby on her hip. A little girl and boy hung onto her skirts from behind,
eyes wide, faces lean.
He extended the gifts. “Ma’am, I’m Sergeant Lewis from the
State Police. We’re delivering gifts to the children in the county.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but my husband wouldn’t
approve.”
“Please, ma’am, for the children’s sake.” He said it softly.
She looked around, seeming to search the landscape. “What’ll
I tell him?”
“Tell him to make a donation to the Policemen’s Benefit Fund
when he can.”
A tear dropped onto her apron. “I’ll tell him. Thank
you.” She took the bag, her weary face
relaxing a little. “God bless you.”
‘You too, Ma’am. Merry Christmas.” Lewis touched his hat
briefly, turned and walked back to his car.
He had to admit he admired the pride of the American spirit.
It was something he himself had heard all his life. Work for what you get; save
all you can, never use credit. He supposed others like him had a similar
upbringing. When he and his fellow officers brought gifts to the door, it was
hard for folks to accept them. Times were hard, but folks were determined to
pull their weight. Many times, he carried the toys right back to the patrol
car. Balancing tokens of others’ goodwill with the desire to provide was a
struggle for most of the county families.
In previous years, Sammy had gone along to help with the
Christmas giving. His good-natured smile had a way of opening hearts and doors.
But this year, Sammy couldn’t help; he’d never deliver Christmas joy again.
Clenching
his teeth, Sergeant Frank Lewis climbed into his cold police car and started down
the road to his next stop.
To be continued next week . . .
