One Cold Night

The Stranger walked the fog-covered streets of the town. Orbs of fire grew and sharpened into street lamps and The Stranger’s breath billowed out to join the fog. From another street, the night watchman called the hour and rang his bell.

No other soul traversed the cobbled lanes and only a cat might’ve heard The Stranger’s cane tapping its even rhythm. The Stranger had no destination, no set path. But the warmth of happiness pouring from the homes to either side of The Stranger would entice any traveler into tarrying a little longer.

One such house—its front covered in ivy that still held some of autumn’s vivid coloring—presented a delightful picture to the late evening. A large window looked in upon a table full of festive treats. Meat pies, potatoes in their jackets, roasted carrots and turnips, crusty bread, a glistening ham studded with cloves, stewed pears, and bottles of wine and pitchers of cider. In an instant the whole table was surrounded by a family, their joyous cries discernible to The Stranger.

“Look at that pie!” a small boy with neatly trimmed hair licked his lips as he sat directly across from the encrusted perfection.

“And you shall have a large slice after you eat your vegetables,” a matronly woman said from beside him, adjusting her white cap as she settled into her chair.

The boy scrunched up his face and darted a hand out to pry a leaf-shaped crust piece off the pie’s top. He popped it into his mouth and sat chewing it, watching the other adults for any reprisal.

“Might I have some wine tonight, Father?” A primly dressed older girl sat at her father’s left hand. She carefully poured a glass of wine for him and he hesitated only a moment before giving her a brief nod. She eagerly switched the bottle to her own glass and had only filled it a quarter way when her father plucked the bottle from her and set it out of reach.

The mother bustled in and she and the father each lit one of the elegant tapers on the table and joined hands with the rest of the family.

The Stranger drifted on, passing a public house from which issued boisterous voices and scratchy fiddle music.

“It is good to be alive, lads! Have another round on me!” a reveler called and everyone cheered. “To bright eyes and long nights!”

The liveliness dulled and became a serene quietude as The Stranger came upon a stone church. Its doors stood open and at the alter stood a group of young boys, their voices uplifted in praise and joy, their white robes glowing from the multitudinous of flickering candles. The Stranger smiled and placed some coins in the collection vessel.

A smaller thatched house sat across from the church and inside stood two children and their parents, the family decorating a spindly tree with ropes of dried orange slices and a single frayed blue ribbon. Behind them on a table sat a pot of soup, a loaf of dark bread, an unassuming roast chicken, and a bowl of quartered apples. The mother gathered an assortment of mugs and filled them with a steaming drink.

“May this year be as merry as the last,” the father raised his mug and smiled at his family.

A thick cough drew The Stranger’s attention to a bent figure walking down the street toward the darker side of town. The person passed under a street lamp and The Stranger saw a haggard man’s face sunken by hunger and illness. The man pulled his thin coat tighter about him and continued shuffling along, oblivious to everything around him.

The Stranger followed and the two left the brighter areas until they reached the poor hovels on the town’s outskirts where only a few braziers of embers stood along the dirt road. The cries of babies and barks of dogs competed for the attention of all those near.

“‘E needs to find work,” one woman said to her man as the two stood outside their lopsided home passing an earthenware jug between them. “I can’t ‘ave ‘im sitting in the corner every day leering at me.”

“And wot ya me to do about it?” the man pulled the jug close.

“‘E’s your brother. Tell ‘im to pull ‘is weight or else I’ll kick it right out our door,” she pointed in The Stranger’s direction but neither one noticed the figure or sought the source of the tapping cane.

The Stranger looked after the lonely man still on his way through the detritus of the small community and the tap-tapping increased its tempo to catch the man. One final brazier stood at the end of the string of decaying houses and beyond it, another little abode, this one so decrepit as to almost be a part of the dark woods behind it.

“Daddy! Daddy’s home!” a child in an oversized shirt came running out of the house and barreled into the man and almost knocked both to the ground. “Did you get it? Did you?” the boy bounced on his feet and held his arms up.

The dad slowly lifted his son into his arms and walked toward his front door. “Send your mother out, Ned, there’s a good boy.” He set his child down and the boy scampered back inside.

A moment later and a young woman, her hair secured by a kerchief, stepped outside, a sleeping baby in her arms.

The husband kissed his wife’s forehead and placed a gentle hand on his baby’s head. “I couldn’t get it,” his voiced sounded more tired than he looked.

The wife bowed her head and The Stranger heard her sniffle. “It’s just…this will be the first Christmas Eve Ned remembers and I wanted it to be…” her head fell back and she stared up at the dark sky. “I wanted it to be nice for him.”

“I know, love. I know. But we aren’t getting paid until after Christmas and I couldn’t get any extra work. We’ll make do with what we have.”

His wife barked a laugh. “Broth and stale bread? Our Ned deserves better than that.”

“And next year we’ll be down south, where Ned and I will go fishing…”

“And we’ll watch the sun set each day,” his wife finished. “I know. I just hope that’s enough for Ned,” she snuggled the baby and stepped back in the house.

The man coughed heavily and leaned against his house for support. “Lord help us,” he said to the quiet night and ducked into the rickety house.

The Stranger stooped to better see between the warped shutters and into the dimly lit house. The young family sat on the floor around their wooden table, a puddle of wax set in the middle, its wick flickering its last minutes away.

“Did you get the ham, Daddy?” Ned stared hopefully up at his dad.

The parents shared a look and the dad shook his head. “No, son. Next year, though, I promise.”

Ned’s shoulders slumped but he nodded.

“Will you say the blessing?” the wife asked her husband.

He cleared his throat several times and took a drink. “Lord, we thank you this Christmas Eve for…”

The Stranger knocked loudly on the door.

The man’s voice stopped. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No, but it might be those neighbors asking for a spare drink.”

“Uh-huh,” the man slapped the table as he rose and went to the door. “We’ll be having none of your…” he pulled the door open and blinked out at the empty air before him.

Well, not quite empty.

A large basket sat on the ground before the man, its wicker lid barely covering the contents. Sprigs of holly were tied to a note and the man hesitantly took it.

A very Merry Christmas to you all, it read.

“Love, come here,” his voice shook a little and he gazed out at the deserted lane.

“What is it?” she pulled the door open wider and gasped at the present.

“Ned, come help me bring this in,” the dad beamed at Ned as the boy rushed from his place at the table.

The dad and son hauled the basket before the small fireplace and the family exclaimed over each new treat they pulled from it. Pies, cheese, sausages, jellies, candles, dried fruits, loaves of bread, spiced cakes, a jar of preserved plums…goodness! it didn’t seem to end. At the bottom sat a plump, warm ham wrapped in paper. And beside it, a small pouch which clinked when the dad lifted it.

The parents gaped at one another even as their son laughed and carried the ham to the table.

“Maybe we won’t have to wait to go south,” he whispered, wiping a stray tear from his wife’s cheek.

She nodded and hurried to clear the table for their new meal.

The man opened his front door and stepped out to breathe the cold air. “Thank you,” he said, laughing for the first time in a long while.

Off in the winter night, The Stranger continued on, the cane tapping the frosted earth.