Carol of the Bells

“You will be going nowhere today,” He leans against her door as the heavy snow covers the brown of his uniform, “the snow will be good for the festivities though.”

She lets out a long sigh. The festivities are what she is trying to escape. “The highway should be clear.”

“I reckon it is. The problem is that the mountain pass isn't. It is completely snow bound. Heck, not even the snow plows can get through.” He spits out a wad of tobacco. The broi stain mars the purity of the snow. 

She sighs. There is nothing to do but return home. “Thanks anyway, Leroy.” he tips his snow covered hat and the snow falls off covering the brown mark. That is something, anyway.

As she slowly works her way home, she passed all the lights of her neighbors house. It increases her depression. Her home is the only one so unadorned. 

She is unloading her trunk when her neighbor steps out. The older woman ‘s face is alight with excitement. “How wonderful is this!” She is enthused about the still falling snow.  She turns her face up to it like a child. “We never get snow.”

“I know. It is one reason I moved here “

“It is a Christmas miracle.”

“It is a freak storm that messed up my plans.” she counters.

“You don't find it delightful?”

“No.” She enters her house. It hasn't a spring of holly to fight the winter's chill. Hers is the only home so bare. Even the Greene’s the Jewish family has a menorah to fight the winter darkness. Her window alone is unlit.

Something they will realize, she thinks. Every other year, she has been away. They would assume that she doesn't decorate because she does elsewhere. Oh well. There is nothing to be done.

She sighs as she remembers that first year, eleven years ago. It was Black Friday and she had innocently walked out her front door and into a parade route. 

“Aren't we blessed!” Doris, her neighbor had squealed, “to be on the parade route. We just need to step out our door.” 

That is when she knew this town was Christmas crazy. Great. She hurried back inside and shut herself away until it was safe to be outside again. The next day when a necessary trip downtown has her in the middle of a concert, held in the town commons, she decides to escape. It is a practice she kept up every year until this one.

As she expected, her neighbors soon realize that her house is different. It starts with Beth and Andrew from across the street. They arrive with a wreath.

“Mary, with the snow keeping you here and away from your regular holiday home, we wanted to gift you a wreath for your door. “ Beth holds it out.

It is a real pine one with a red bow on top. It is encircled with bells and smaller red bows. A very lovely gift.

“Thank you but I don't celebrate Christmas.”

From their reactions you would think she had confessed to not liking puppies.

“You don't celebrate Christmas! How can you not celebrate Christmas?” Beth exclaims.

Andrew sooths. “Now Beth, maybe she is a Jehovah's witness. They don't celebrate any holidays.”

“Oh, is that it.”

“No, I am not. I just don't celebrate Christmas.”

This news is quickly passed along, through the phone lines, over snow covered fences, in barber shops and beauty salons. Everyone is discussing Mary and her strange declaration.

“Can you imagine?”

“No she isn't.  The Douglas ‘ asked.”

“No one knows.”

“The Greene’s haven't seen them in the temple either.”

It is decided that the mayor will make a good emissary and he is sent to her home.

“Miss Jones.”

“Mayor Richardson, what do I owe the pleasure?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” She leads him in. They take seats in her bare living room.

“I hear you don't celebrate Christmas?”

“This brings the mayor out. Have I broken some law?” She is smiling outside but inside she is fuming. Why can't they leave her alone?

“No, it is just a curiosity. Most folks around her…”

“I know. I am the exception that proves the rule. I know it is strange.”

“May I ask why?”

She shrugs. “You may ask.”

He grins. “But you don't have to answer. I understand. So, you won't be my date for the concert tonight?” he teases. She knows he will be taking his wife and children.

“Afraid not.” 

After seeing him out, she sits back down, helpless against the memories all the talk of Christmas brought up.

It was about this time of year, eleven years previous. She can hear the doctor's words.

“It is stage four metastasized to her brain. I am sorry.”

“How long?”

“It will surprise me if she sees the New Year.”

She doesn't. As gifts are unwrapped, she holds her dying mom’s hand. The next day, she breathes her last.

At five that evening, there was another knock on the door. She turns on the porch light. Doris stands there. Her sweet face is framed by a fur hood. 

“I came with a special invitation from Jillian. She asks you to come to hear her sing her special tonight.”

Jillian is one of Doris ‘ grandchildren. The other, the infant, Danny, will be playing the Christ Child in the living nativity. Mary adores both children. Doris is hitting below the belt using her granddaughter. She might be able to resist her and the mayor but that sweet girl…

“Hold on. I will get my coat. I guess a concert won't hurt me.”

“That is the spirit.”

It might not have. There is no doubt Jillian is happy to see her. Her face lights up as the children step on stage. Yes maybe she could have got through it had they stuck with children's songs.

The opening notes have her gripping the seat, her fingers pale as the children start singing, ‘Carol of the Bells.’

She stumbled up, her face as white as the falling snow. She tries hard to get through the crowd without disturbing others. Her goal is to reach safety, a place where the music can't teach her. 

The town commons has great acoustics and the song echoes around her. She feels herself going insane.

“Mary?” His touch stops and steadies her, “are you alright. You're as pale as the snow.”

“No,” she answers the mayor, “Need away from the…” she gestures to the commons.

He helps her to a bench in the small park. The music is just a faint noise. The snow is cold on her bum but helps to ground her.

“I should have never come. If Jillian hadn't asked me. I thought they would sing children ‘s songs, Frosty and the like…”

“I’m listening.”

“It was the song playing when the doctor came out to officially tell me my mom was dead. It was obscene, the combination of Christmas lights, decorations, and music with the death of my mom. Eleven Christmases ago.”

“Jesus wept.” He whispers, unheard.

“It was her favorite time of year. Until… no, she still tried to remain jolly. Even with everything. She always tried to keep a smile on her face.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me about her.”

As the snow continues to fall, she does. She tells him about her hard life, her overcoming, her diagnosis and death.

“Are you honoring her by rejecting her favorite time of year?”

She glares at him. “You wouldn't understand.”

“I lost my dad on Father's Day. For the next few years, I didn't want to celebrate. I asked my kids to give me nothing. Then my wife told me I was harming them, denying them the chance to honor me and his memory. After that, we made a tradition of going out to dinner and then visiting his grave.”

“I apologize. You had a family for support. I had her. That is all.”

He nods. “Now you have us, if you wish, to lean on. We can help you find the joy of this season and honor her memory.”

She thinks about it. It is what she would want. Her daughter is tired of hurting. “Thank you. I would like that.”

He escorts her back to the concert.