Christmas Blessings

The Christmas lights could be seen all along Lewis and Clark Street. Fresh snow coated the ground. Twas the night before Christmas and everyone was inside their house. Everyone except Mrs. Whitman who scattered the fresh snow as she ambled down the street with her head down. She didn’t look at the Christmas lights. She didn’t marvel at the fresh snow. And she wasn’t in any hurry to be all snug in her bed. She held a package under her arm but it wasn’t a Christmas present, for Mrs. Whitman did not have anyone to give Christmas presents to. It was information and Mrs. Whitman was a vital source of information for those who knew her well. 

She set the package down carefully once she got to her gate. Mrs. Whitman’s house was no different from any other but not by any effort on her part. The neighborhood kids had gotten up the courage one day to ring her doorbell and ask if they could put up Christmas lights. She waved them off but they took that to be permission. She didn’t bother shooing them away. They made a good cover. She couldn’t remember the last time she had Christmas lights up.

As she pulled keys out of her coat, a figure stepped from the shadows of a nearby tree and made to grab her package and run. Now Mrs. Whitman was nowhere near her prime but the muscle memory never really goes away and her mind was still sharp enough to respond. She kicked out her leg and tripped the assailant, at the same time using his own momentum to push him off the sidewalk. The crack of his skull on the road was the only sound in the still night. Mrs. Whitman appraised the body then, satisfied, walked over to retrieve her package. On the way to bend down, her foot slipped on the edge of the sidewalk and she fell onto her back, her head only slightly more cushioned by the fresh snow and grass. It still knocked her out cold.

When Mrs. Whitman came to, she was still on the street, well half on the street and half on the sidewalk. A voice was soothing her but she wasn’t panicking. She was laying motionless. She tried to look up at the person but her neck wouldn’t move. 

“I’m going to give this to you before we move you.” She heard that and felt a poke in her arm before she drifted off again. She was pretty sure a kid just shot her up.

She woke up inside of a house this time with sheets underneath her and the ability to use her neck. She sat up as if in danger. No one else was in the room. She was on a plush couch. There was a fireplace going.There was nothing personal on the mantle or the end tables. This could be anyone’s house. 

“Hello,” She called out?

“Hello”, a voice answered behind her. “Please don’t overexert yourself. Physically you are healed but your brain still needs time to process.”

That made sense. A man came around into her view and sat on the opposite sofa. He smiled and handed her a bowl of soup. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose.

“Apologies, you weren’t in a state to tell me your favorite kind of soup.”

“Well let me enlighten you. No one’s favorite soup is pea.”

He chuckled and for some reason that was jarring to her. The kid from the street lurked in the doorway from where the man came from but as soon as she caught his eye in the reflection of a mirror on the wall, he scurried away.

“Where am I? Why can’t I remember anything?” 

“Like I said, the brain needs time to process.”

“My brain got so scrambled I can’t even remember who I am?”

The man looked unsettled at that. “You don’t remember anything?”

The woman shook her head. “I remember your son-”

“He’s not my son,” he said abruptly.

She eyed him but continued. “I remember waking up on the ground, getting a shot and then passing out again. That’s it.”

“But you remembered not liking pea soup.” It sounded like he was trying to prove her wrong.

She rolled her eyes. “No one likes pea soup.”

The man huffed at her and sat back seeming perplexed. “Most unfortunate,” he mumbled to himself then stood and began pacing, realized he was pacing and left the room.

The woman took that as her que to get up and walk around the room. She was unsteady but she felt like she had been unsteady before the accident. Maybe she had a cane. She looked for exits and found only one other door besides the hall the man came from. It opened and she stepped through into the darkness. Feeling for a light switch, she felt a prickle along her spine. She flicked the lights on and saw another kind of den area with couches and a big tree in the center. The tree was decorated with lights and presents lay beneath.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” It was the kid.

She supposed he wasn’t that much of a kid, probably 15, but he had that awkward stance like he didn’t quite know what to do with his body yet. “Just looking for the bathroom, dear.” 

“It’s back this way.” He held open the door for her.

“What’s with the tree if you don’t mind me asking?”

He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “It’s Christmas Eve. Everyone knows that.”

She forced a smile. “Bonked me head remember?” She made a gesture like she was smacking her head even though she wasn’t sure she even knew about Christmas and lighted trees before.

“Right.” His smile was just as stiff as hers.

They walked back through the room and down the hallway. All the doors were open and the woman peered into each room. Two bedrooms and an office. The hallway split at the end and the kid pointed to the left and another open door. “Bathroom.” Then he pointed left. “The kitchen is that way. Come meet us when you’re done.”

The woman didn’t like being told what to do but she didn’t really have a choice. The kitchen was warm and smelled like cookies. Both man and boy sat at a table in the dining room with glasses of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies between them. Another mug sat beside the boy.

“Come sit with us. We were just about to pray.”

The woman sat down and sipped her hot cocoa. It was good. The boy gestured to the cookies and dunked his own into the hot chocolate. She followed and was overwhelmed with sweetness. She thought she would melt.

The man looked between the two of us. “I’m Cal. That’s Henry and you’re Mrs. Whitman. I’m not quite sure what your first name is but you’ve lived down the lane from us since I can remember. You keep to yourself and don’t talk to anyone, especially this time of year. I know you do something with the partisans but I don’t belong to either side and I’m no snitch.”

Mrs. Whitman mulled over the information as she ate his cookie. One phrase kept snagging her attention and she decided to ask about it first. “What did you mean ‘especially this time of year’?”

Cal smiled at her then like he was trying not to laugh. “You’re not a very festive lady and from what I can tell you’ve never celebrated a holiday. No one visits you at normal hours. This is the first year I’ve seen lights on your roof in my entire life. You’re, to be blunt, a bit of a grouch.”

She frowned and glanced out the window at the lights on the house across the street. They were quite bright but in a cute way. They made her feel warm inside like the hot cocoa.

“What’s the tree about then?”

Henry answered this time. “It’s a Christmas tradition, ma’am. You put presents under the tree for those you love and if you’re good all year then Saint Nicholas comes down your chimney and brings you presents.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mrs. Whitman said.

Henry smiled a real smile at her. “Would you like to join us for Christmas, Mrs. Whitman?”

She still could not remember a thing about what she was doing before she got knocked out. It felt important but she supposed it could wait another day. “If it is like you say, Cal, then I don’t have anywhere else to be tonight. I’d love to spend Christmas with you two.”

And so it went. Mrs. Whitman ate cookies and drank hot chocolate with Cal and Henry. They listened to Cal read the Night Before Christmas with all the voices and all the actions acted out. Mrs. Whitman was charmed by the pair of them. They acted like a father and son. Cal offered Mrs. Whitman his bed but she insisted on sleeping on the couch. 

In the morning, Henry shook her awake. For a 15 year old, he still had all the boyish wonder of a child. Mrs. Whitman couldn’t help but be infected by his excitement. They went into the room with the Christmas tree and Henry gasped. There were double the presents under the tree now. He looked at her with a grin. “I was extra good this year.”

Cal came into the room and Henry handed him a present. “That’s from me.”

Mrs. Whitman sat on the couch and watched them open up all their presents. Henry seemed to get everything he had asked for and even Cal smiled at every gift he opened. Wrapping paper was everywhere within five minutes. Mrs. Whitman was about to get up and start gathering it when Henry pulled a plain looking package out from under the tree.

“Saint Nick sure works fast. This one’s for you.”

Mrs. Whitman stared at the box. It was familiar to her. And important, she felt. As she unwrapped it, her memories came back to her in flashes. She remembered her cause and inside the box lay a contraption on top of the map she had carefully placed herself. She picked up the note attached and read it:

I’ve been trying to reach you for some time but you’ve never been near a tree at Christmas. I admire your actions Mrs. Whitman and they have swayed me to your cause. Take this Omni Tool and use it well. I will be keeping a special eye on you from now on.

Your Friend,

Saint Nick

Mrs. Whitman smiled and closed the box. She’d have to remember to get a tree next year.