Christmas of 1910

“Yes, Lizzie? What was that, dear?” Lizzie’s ninety-two old grandmother, Sarah Lois, looked up at her granddaughter and asked as she sat rocking before the warmth of the fire. Her gnarled, arthritic hands were busily at work on an afghan that was to be a wedding present for Lizzie’s older sister, Suzanne, who was to be married in the spring.

“Please, Grandmomma, tell us the story. You know how much we love to hear it!” Lizzie begged, her blue eyes full of anticipation.

Her grandmother smiled and quietly placed the crochet needles and afghan on which she’d been working in the bag beside her chair. She pulled her shawl more closely about her to ward off the chill of the evening. It seemed to be an annual event, this relaying of one of the fondest memories of her childhood and father, to her many grandchildren and family. And they seemed to love it as much as she did.

Tonight was Christmas Eve, and the family had only recently returned from Christmas Eve services. They had all helped themselves to the dining room table laden with an overwhelming assortment of special treats and eggnog to celebrate the special night, and their hearts and stomachs were full and contented. After eating, Lizzie and her three cousins had taken seats expectantly on the colorful hearth rug. The fire blazed beautifully in the stone fireplace, creating an alluring and warming image as it reflected off the lit candles scattered about the room as well as the huge Christmas tree situated in the corner of the room. Lights twinkled and dazzled, creating a vortex of colors between the many colorful lights and ornaments that hung on the beautifully decorated tree.

From the dining room, Lizzie’s sister, Suzanne, although nearly eight years older than fourteen-year old Lizzie, seeing that her grandmother was about to start the story, grabbed her fiancé’s hand and quickly walked in to take a seat on the couch close to everyone else. Suzanne might be an adult on the verge of marriage, but when it came to hearing her grandmother tell this beloved story, she was very much like a young child. And she was determined that one day, her children would hear the story as well, although it seemed unlikely that they would ever hear it from her grandmother’s lips. Perhaps, after tonight, she would take a pen and paper and script this fond memory so that it became a story that would live for years beyond her grandmother – or even beyond her own years.

Each year, as her grandmother retold it, the story had evolved into something a bit different to represent the wonder and possibilities that come with Christmas. All of her grandchildren were now old enough to know the truth about Santa Claus, but her grandmother’s additions and revisions to this enchanting story certainly kept each of them wondering as to the real truth of a man loved by so many children throughout the world. The story was an annual Christmas gift and would be an even greater one to honor both her grandmother and her great-grandparents if Suzanne brought it to life with pen and paper. One day she would write it all down, of this she was certain.

As children and adults settled comfortably about the fire and rocking chair, Suzanne’s grandmother looked at the tree, spying one of her oldest ornaments taking firm precedence as it hung front and center. It was a pink mercury glass ball and had the image of Santa and his reindeer in snow white painted upon it. Sarah Lois smiled. The ornament and the memories it evoked were the perfect catalyst. She turned and looked lovingly at her grandchildren before she began to tell the story she’d told so many times before, tweaking it a bit each and every time to add a measure of unexpected surprise to the pervading truth of her father’s annual ritual each Christmastime.

“The year was 1910, and it was a bitter, cold winter’s night. My daddy, Arthur, sat before the cozy fire….” And thus, the story began.

The year was 1910, and it was a bitter, cold winter’s night. Arthur sat before the cozy, blazing fire, slowly rocking in his wooden chair and quietly smoking his pipe as he listened to the giggles of excitement that issued forth from the next room where eight of his ten children slept. The youngest two, twins, were already asleep in a bed in he and his wife’s bedroom. His wife, Anna, was in the next room with the eight older children attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to settle them down a bit so that he could begin his annual Santa Claus masquerade. He shook his head. She certainly had her work cut out for her. What child wouldn’t be filled with excitement on Christmas Eve? She might have to threaten them within an inch of their lives to achieve such an endeavor. Arthur laughed softly under his breath at the thought.

The farmhouse was not a large one, but it was comfortable and charming in its simplicity. Candles burned all about, flickering throughout the room as they created dancing shadows on the four walls. In the far corner was a small pine tree covered in homemade paper ornaments and decorated with strands of berries and popcorn. It was a simple tree but quite charming nonetheless due to the creative attentions of so many children’s hands. There were ten stockings hung from the rugged mantle, one for each child. A hand sewn quilt lay draped across the back of his wife’s matching rocking chair across from him, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she joined him and helped to set tonight’s plan in motion. His two oldest children had grown suspicious, but the younger ones were still quite eager to believe in the magic of Santa Claus and the possibility of real reindeer.

Arthur heard the pitter patter of small feet approaching and looked up to find Sarah Lois with her little sister by her side, her tiny hand firmly encased in her older sister’s larger one as she stopped just short of the rug that lay before the hearth. He could see small, wiggling toes peeking from beneath the hemlines of the girls’ nightgowns. Sarah Lois was nearly eleven, but she often thought she was as mature as her two older siblings. Still, it was Christmas, and she was willing to be the little girl for a while longer, especially if it meant getting presents. Her younger sister, Maybelle, was just shy of three years, and her eyes were large round saucers as she expectantly looked around the room, unsure as to what or who she might see besides her daddy.

“Daddy,” Sarah Lois began. “Bertie says there is no Santa and that we are all being silly. Is that true, Daddy? Is there really no Santa?”

Arthur pushed his spectacles more firmly in place on his nose as he looked at the two girls and rose from his rocking chair. He walked to the far side of the room and removed a small black notebook from a locked cabinet.

Before opening the black book, he looked at the two girls and shook his head as he said, “Well, now, I don’t know – maybe Bertie’s right and maybe Bertie’s wrong. I guess the only thing we can do is to look and see what this special book says about it all.”

The two girls inched closer to their Daddy as he pretended to read from the book. Ignoring the detailing of numbers on the pages therein, he read from it as if it was rich in text and wisdom.

“It says in this here book that you two girls have been pretty good this year, listening to your Momma and doing your chores. Is that right, Sarah Lois? Maybelle?” He eyed the two girls questioningly. They responded by eagerly shaking their heads affirmatively. Arthur continued. “And your brothers and sisters, well, it says they’ve been good, too. So it looks like Santa might be on his way after all, and that Bertie is dead wrong.”

He glanced up to see the surprise etched across the two girls’ faces. Smiling to himself, he continued, “But it also says that Santa won’t likely be stopping by our house to visit if all of you children don’t hurry up and get to sleep.”

Not waiting another moment, Maybelle took off, running back to the bed in the next room, climbing on it, and then crawling between her other two sisters as she pulled up the covers all the way to her chin as she squeezed her little blue eyes shut. She was determined to go to sleep so that Santa would not miss her house. She was looking forward to an orange and whatever other present he saw fit to leave in her stocking that hung on the mantle.

Sarah Lois, a bit more reluctant, but a firm believer that anything her Daddy said was true, nodded and followed more slowly behind her little sister to head back to the crowded bed. “Move over, Levy. You, too, Bertie,” she said, pushing her way under the covers and seeking a bit of extra blanket to ward off the chill of the night.

“Sarah Lois, what did Daddy say?” a little voice whispered excitedly from the corner. “Did he say there really was a Santa Claus?” It was Albert, who was all of five years old. He desperately wanted to believe that what Bertie had told them was not true and that there was a Santa Claus.

“Daddy says you better get to sleep or Santa won’t be stopping here,” Sarah Lois retorted in quick measure.

“Well, I don’t believe it,” piped Jack from where he lay next to Albert. He was ten, but since he was the eldest boy of the family, he thought that his opinion counted. “I believe Bertie.”

“Oh shush up, Jack! Or Santa will bring everyone but you and Bertie something in those stockings,” Sarah Lois quipped back. “And you should know by now that if Daddy says it’s true, it’s true,” she added with conviction.

Sarah Lois smiled to herself as she deliberately elbowed Levy to make more room in the bed. She liked to think that she was her Daddy’s favorite, so she was absolutely, positively sure that he would never, ever lie about something as important as Santa.

From the doorway, although extremely tired from the long day of preparations, their mother smiled. “Sarah Lois is right, so go to sleep children. Santa will not come if you’re awake.” She turned and headed into the other room where she sat down at long last in her rocking chair, sighing as she did so.

Looking up at her husband, Anna smiled said, “It won’t be long now. Do you have everything ready outside in the barn?”

Arthur nodded. “Santa is primed and ready to fly like always!”

A short while later, Arthur quietly rose and winked at his wife. “I’ll be back shortly, dear,” he said as she helped him don his winter coat and heavy boots. He’d best do this thing before the littler ones were fast asleep and missed all the fun.

Heading out to the barn, he picked up a ladder and carried it to the far side of the house, the one furthest away and opposite from the children’s bedroom window. Returning to the barn, he walked to the back of it, opening an old trunk, where he removed a rope with several bells attached to it. Carefully, lest he make a sound, he made his way back to the ladder and slowly climbed to the top of the roof. Once on the rooftop, he began to walk across the length of it, deliberately and with force, ensuring every booted step came down with a huge thud. As he did so, he shook the belled rope he carried, the light sound of tinkling bells ringing in the still of the cold winter’s night. Beneath him, he could hear the shrills and laughter of his many children. He knew that they were crowding and peering out of their bedroom window in hopes of seeing Santa and his nine reindeer. He laughed to himself, thoroughly enjoying the night’s annual masquerade and delighted by the laughter of his children coming from below. It would be something he knew his children would fondly remember and talk about for years to come. He smiled even larger as he continued to walk repeatedly across the small farmhouse’s rooftop.

After a brief time of retracing his footsteps and ringing the bells, Arthur hurriedly climbed down the ladder, picked it up, and made his way back to the barn, intending to return the rope to where it was hidden in the depths of the trunk. As he did so, however, his hand brushed against a somewhat small, weathered wooden box that he was sure had not been there only minutes earlier when he’d retrieved the rope. Where had it come from?

Looking about but seeing no one, Arthur was curious, so he picked up the box and quickly walked back toward the house. He’d have to wait to open it to see what it was after he was back inside. He wanted to see his children first so that he could assure them he’d heard the same proof of Santa on their rooftop.

As he quietly entered the farmhouse, he discarded his boots and coat, leaving them by the door as he placed the old, wooden box on the kitchen table and then quickly made his way to the children’s room. They were all pushing against each other repeatedly in an attempt to better see out the window to catch sight of Santa or his reindeer.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice full of pretend surprise and make believe as he walked into the room. “I’m pretty sure that I just heard Santa and his reindeer on our roof! Quick now! You had best get back into bed before he leaves!”

The children shrieked and giggled as they eagerly climbed over one another, seeking the warmth of their beds.

Arthur turned to leave, a huge smile on his face. “Momma and I are headed to bed, too, so that Santa doesn’t miss our house. Goodnight kids. We love you. Merry Christmas!” he said as he turned to leave.

“Night, Daddy!” they all screamed in unison. “Merry Christmas!”

Heading back into the next room, Arthur found his wife still seated in her rocking chair, a contented smile upon her tired face. “The children get so excited every year, Arthur. It’s such a special thing that you do each Christmas Eve,” she said.

“I love doing it and surprising them,” he said before he walked over to the table and reached to take up the old brown box he’d found outside in the trunk. He took his seat across from his wife. The fire felt good after the cold, brutal wind outside.

“What’s that?” Anna asked, looking at what he held.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur answered as he slowly lifted the lid of the weathered, brown box, explaining to Anna that he’d found it in the trunk but didn’t remember putting it there or seeing it earlier.

Nestled inside the old box, he found a black bag tied shut with a piece of string and a note lying on top of it. He picked up the note and handed it to his wife to read as he started to unknot the string. “Looks like we have a present, too,” he said.

Anna took the note and squinted in concentration as she read it. Her blue eyes widened as she looked at her husband. “What in the world!” she exclaimed.

Arthur had been about to open the bag, but one glance at his wife’s expression stopped him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, a bit alarmed.

Anna just stared at him, amazement clearly evident on her face. “Well, dear. I’m a bit confused,” she said, her voice nearly trembling with apparent excitement.

“Anna? What’s wrong?” Arthur repeated and pressed her for an answer. “What does the note say?”

Anna looked at him, not sure how to proceed. Finally, she cleared her throat and began to read the note aloud: “To Arthur and Anna. Thank you for keeping me alive in the hearts of children. Merry Christmas!”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, confusion crossing his face. “What? Who’s that note from?” he asked, more confused than before.

“Well, it’s signed ‘Santa Claus’,” Anna said, laughing as she ignored Arthur’s snort of disbelief. “Open the bag, Arthur. Let’s see what Santa Claus brought us,” she teased.

“What in tarnation….” Arthur said as he unwrapped the string. As he did so, several pieces of currency spilled out. Speechless for a short while, he regained his senses and then quickly counted the money. There were forty $5.00 bills. He needed his wife’s help to make sure he had counted correctly, but if he had, there was a total of $200.00 in the black bag.

He held up a few of the bills for Anna to see. “Santa Claus?” he asked incredulously, his voice raspy and only above a whisper. Two hundred dollars was no small amount.

Anna’s disbelief and surprise were clearly evident as well. But then she suddenly broke into a smile that was the biggest and most beautiful smile Arthur had ever seen. “And you thought Santa Claus didn’t exist,” she chided her husband.

Despite his confusion and surprise, Arthur returned Anna’s smile with an even larger one of his own. “Who me? Not believe in Santa Claus? Never!” he said. “Well you can bet that I’ll be a believer until I’m planted in the ground – and then some for sure!”