Half a Rose

A forlorn and withered face peered through the frosted flake design on the only unbroken window of the chapel. His breath painted a new design on the inside, which never matched the design on the outside. Our voices rang through the night, and we strolled from door to door, hoping someone would place a shilling or two in our cup. 

We were nearing the local pub. Customers were celebrating in style. They just received their Christmas bonuses. It was time to party. It was a nightmare every year when we came to this door. Some in the pub sang and danced, while others were passed out with their heads on the tables. I extended our worn tin cup in the hope of a donation. The first gift was a cup of Black Velvet. The stench nearly knocked me off my feet. My stomach churned like a rock rolling down a steep cliff. Every year, that smell would take me back to the most horrible night of my life. I wanted to sing, but I was slumped in the snow, too afraid to move.

I was just a young girl when it happened. I was so afraid. Mother needed some medicine, but the doctor could not come out. His horse was lame. I donned my warmest clothes and my knee-high galoshes and then began to trudge through the snow. I had to walk three miles to get to the pharmacy. The man behind the counter was just getting ready to close. I showed him the bottle and explained how my mother had to have these pills tonight, or she might die. "Please, sir, do you have any of these? Just a few that I could take home to mother?" The white-coated man rubbed his brow and agreed to give me a few pills, which he said should last several days. He would not take my money; that was his Christmas gift to me and my mother. I wished him a Merry Christmas and thanked him, and then I went back into the cold, cold night to return home. 

It was much darker on my journey home. No moon was shining. The sky was covered with clouds. As I passed by the pub, I heard two men fighting. I tried to run through the snow, but it was almost knee-high. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man flying out the pub door. He was chased by a man with a big knife. I hid by the side of the building a few feet from the street. I could hear one man yelling and another man crying. I peeked around the corner, and the snow in front of the pub was all red. When I pulled back from peeking, there was a big, tall man behind me. I was afraid he might have a knife. I was afraid someone from the pub might see me. I was afraid they might kill me. The tall man was wearing a black coat. He sat down and tilted his head over his knees. He covered me with his coat. Just after that, the angry man with a knife, peered around the corner and called out, "Anybody there?" He thought we were just a pile of trash. The angry man went back into the pub.

It seemed like hours before the tall man finally lifted his head and saw that it was safe to get up. The horse that was always by the pub was gone. That meant the pub was closed, and the owner was gone, too. I was so tired I could hardly walk. The tall man picked me up and said, "I will carry you home. Tell me the way to your house." His steps were so much longer than mine. I got home much faster with him carrying me. I knocked on the door because mother had locked it after I left. She was surprised to see me at the top of the door instead of the bottom. She invited the man in and offered him money for helping me. He said, "No. but I will take a cup of coffee." He took a few sips and smiled. "Best coffee I've ever tasted, let me pay you," and then he handed her a ten-pound note. She was so surprised. They chatted for a bit; he drank the coffee, and then he left. On his way out, he said, "Merry Christmas until we meet another day." I told mother about what happened at the pub and how scared I was. I told her how the nice man saved me. I was never sure where he came from, and I don't know where he went.

My friends were very worried about me. I was squeezing the tin cup so hard that my hand started to bleed. Then I heard a man say, "Here's a ten-pound note, and now be on your way." It was getting dark, and our candles were growing dim. We stopped in front of the chapel to sing one last song. This time, you could see smoke curling from the chimney, and the frost was melting from the chapel panes. A withered hand extended from the groaning chapel door, and I heard a voice that reminded me of the nice man from that frightening night. "Here's a ten-pound note. Merry Christmas until we meet another day."

We divided the money evenly. On my way home, I stopped at the drugstore. The white-coated man was just getting ready to close for the day. I gave him a two-pound round and said, "Merry Christmas until we meet another day." It was a yearly gift to the white-coated man, a thank you for saving my mother's life. 

My mother passed away about ten years ago, I was almost twenty-one when she died. Each year since, I've found a red rose near the pharmacy. Each year, I take that rose to my mother's grave. Each year, I think about that night and wonder what happened to that man who lay crying and bleeding in the street. Each year, as I turn to wish my mother a Merry Christmas, only half a rose remains on her grave. I blow her a kiss and say, "Until we meet another day." 

I don't know where the rose came from, but only half of it stayed on Mother's grave.