The
little girl only knew of Christmas as a picture in a magazine. She’d found a
tattered old copy of LIFE magazine in the gutter near the shelter where she’d
been taken and the color pictures inside thrilled her no end. She held on to
that old copy of LIFE for as long as she could, looking at the pictures over
and over again and daring to dream of another life is some faraway place,
someplace warm and not cold, someplace with new clothes and not old, someplace
with food to eat every day and especially someplace where adults smiled at her
and loved her and hugged her instead of hurting her.
She really liked the picture of a large
family sitting around a long table laden with so much food that she thought it couldn’t
be real. She didn’t even know what the food was, she didn’t know what a turkey
was, she didn’t know what cranberries were; a fire crackled merrily in the
background. Christmas stockings loaded with goodies hung from the mantle.
Decorations dangled from the ceiling and from hooks on the walls but most of
all, she noticed, everyone looked so happy! From the smallest child to the
oldest – all had big smiles with eyes that shone with an inner joy she’d never
known.
She was an orphan, one of many in her
war torn town. No one knew where she’d come from, no one knew who her parents
were. She’d simply shown up one rainy day on the steps of a local orphanage
already too full of unloved children just like her.
The staff of the orphanage were under
staffed and overwhelmed by the sheer number of children needing their care and
attention…..it was all they could do to put bread in their mouths and give them
a cold shower once a week.
No, the reason she ran away wasn’t the
staff, it was the other children. Even in a poor, run down orphanage, there was
a pecking order and she was always at the bottom. It wasn’t because she was
ugly that the other children made fun of her, stealing her food and even her
pillow and few meager possessions she had, an old teddy bear (more like a “shreddy
bear” at this point), a rusted tin whistle and a colorful candy wrapper that
had wrapped the only candy she’d ever had – an everlasting gob stopper. Only
for her it didn’t last forever, just about two hours.
The reason they hated her was because of
how beautiful she was. Even covered in dirt, unwashed hair, grimy fingernails
and bare foot; she was strikingly beautiful. You’d think someone would adopt
her quickly because she stood out in the crowd but very few in that war torn
city could afford another mouth to feed and those that could had their own
families to attend to.
Except for one lonely old widow. She’d
lost her husband twenty years past, had no children of her own and spent her
days and nights waiting to die. Her life had no meaning or purpose and though
she had every creature comfort anyone could possibly want, she lacked the one
thing every human heart needs – someone to love and love her in return. Even
her dog Pinkie, a French poodle, had died years ago. She had no family (she’d
out lived them all) and no heir and she lived alone in a mansion on a hill,
surrounded by lilacs and willow trees, two ponds and a meandering stream that
led to a river, a well-manicured garden and no one to share it with. Books and
magazines were her only escape from the lonely drudgery that was her life. She
especially loved LIFE magazine for it took her, week after week, far beyond the
walls of her prison and let her imagine deep inside her boarded up heart what
it would be like to dine with Clark Gable or dance with Fred Astaire, to travel
to exotic locales and eat magnificent meals with interesting people.
The fateful day started like all the
others. It was late December, just three days till Christmas, cold and dreary.
A light snowfall had dusted the ground with a thin veneer of white powder. She
mustered the energy to make the long walk to her mailbox on her own instead of
having her man-servant Clapton do it. “The
fresh air will do me some good” she thought to herself. Plus, she was
eagerly anticipating the latest issue of LIFE due to arrive with the morning’s
mail. Only it was not to be, for when she reached the end of the long, winding
drive – the coveted new copy of LIFE was missing and in it’s place was a
battered old worn out copy of LIFE, five years old! My was she angry! She stood
and fumed for a full minute, staring at the empty mail box, clenching her fists
and gritting her teeth. “This is one of
the few pleasures I have left in life and now someone’s played a joke on me.”
“Well I won’t stand for it!”
“I’m marching right back home and I’m calling the police! And I’ll have
Clapton search the grounds in case the thief has a mind to steal more than my
LIFE!”
With
that said she hobbled back home as fast as her three legs would carry her.
“Clapton!
I say Clapton! There’s been a crime! Come quickly!”
She
rang the servants bell vigorously. Clapton came running for he couldn’t
remember the last time he’d heard such urgency in her voice.
“Ma’am!
Yes, ma’am! What seems to be the problem?”
“Someone’s stolen my latest copy of
LIFE, right out of my mailbox and I won’t stand for it! I want it back! Go and
search the grounds and then the house immediately in case the vile thief is
still around while I call the police right away!”
“Yes ma’am! At once ma’am!”
“And
bring Harry’s old musket with you in case the thief is dangerous.”
“Yes ma’am! At once ma’am!”
Clapton set out to fulfill his masters
wishes, thinking to himself “All this
fuss over a magazine! It’s a good thing they didn’t steal her teeth! She’d call
the local army brigade for that!”
Meanwhile,
the old widow made her way to the second floor den where her one and only
working phone was kept. Clearing away the cob webs, she dialed the phone with
trembling fingers. “Now what is that
number for the police? 991, that’s it!” She dialed it, waiting
breathlessly. Nothing. Just a dial tone.
“Dad
blast it! Can’t even trust the police these days, with a dangerous thief on the
loose! They won’t even answer the phone!”
She
glanced out the window and saw Clapton snaking his way through the south
garden, musket in hand, ready to blast the indecent thief, to defend the faith
and honor of the lady of the house. She hobbled over to the window, lifting it
open with a grunt and burst of energy she hadn’t felt in years and shouted at
Clapton –
“What’s
the number for the police? Is it 991?”
“You’re thinking of 911 ma’m but…” his remaining words
went unheard as she slammed the window shut and hurried back over to the phone,
snatching it up and dialing without even bothering to sit down.
“Hello,
please state your emergency.”
"Someone’s stolen something valuable to me and they could still be on my
property!”
“Ma’am, are you in any immediate danger?”
“I could be!”
“Are you hurt in any way?”
“Just my feelings!”
“What is your address?’
“5292 Sycamore lane. I’m the only resident, you can’t miss me – the
house on the hill at the end of the lane.”
"Ma’am, we’ll have an officer come out to take a report as soon as one is
available.”
“As
soon as! As soon as! I need someone out here right now, before the brigand gets
away!”
“Ma’am, what was stolen?”
“My new copy of LIFE magazine! Right out of my mailbox!”
Stifling
a laugh, the operator asked “Ma’am, is
that all that was taken?”
“Is that all? IS THAT ALL? That’s enough, don’t you think? Now quit
dilly dallying and send a detective here immediately!”
“Ma’am, we’ll do our best” she said with a grin. “Do you have anything else to report?”
“Nothing at all – just that you sound too happy for my taste at all.
This is an emergency and I expect you to act like it, young lady!”
“Yes ma’am, an officer will be reporting to you momentarily.”
“He’d better! I don’t pay my taxes to have my police sleep on the job! Why,
in my day…” but the operator had hung up.
“Well
I never! The nerve of some people these days! Humph!” She was so upset you might have heard a “Bah
Humbug!” escape her lips but instead she just kept repeating “Well I never!”
In
the meantime, Clapton had made his way down to the boat shed by the river,
where to his lasting surprise he found a little girl curled up under some life
vests in the bow of the boat, fast asleep, her tiny fingers tightly clutching
the missing copy of LIFE magazine, even in sleep not daring to let go of her
dream.
“Well,
well, what have we here?” he exclaimed as he lowered the musket. “I won’t be needing this” he muttered.
He lifted the life vests off her and gently lifting her, he carried her back to
the house, sleeping all the way.
“Poor
dears exhausted” he thought to himself, “And
wasting away. Why she’s as light as a bag of crisps. One gust of wind and she’ll
float away.”
As
he reached the house he thought about his strategy. How should he break the
news to Missus? Best to do it slowly, like when Jacob met Esau. So he took her
upstairs to one of the eleven guest rooms, that hadn’t seen a soul in years,
and laid her gently in the warmest room he could find- the one above the
kitchen. He tucked her in and decided on his next move. He snuck downstairs and
laid the coveted LIFE magazine on the coffee table next to the Missus’ favorite
reading chair, nearest to the hearth, where a blazing fire was always kept
stoked and hot, night and day. Older people, you see, get cold very easily in
the winter time because their skin is thinner.
After preparing the Missus’ favorite cup
of tea, he set it beside the magazine and called out to Missus – “Ma’am, I’ve found your magazine!” He
heard a shriek of delight from the front parlor, where Missus had been
impatiently staring out the large French windows, wondering why the delinquent
policeman had yet to arrive. She hobbled as quickly as she could back to the
reading room and smiled broadly when she saw the magazine with her favorite
tea; for a moment she forgot all about the deadly thief she just knew was
lurking somewhere nearby just waiting to steal again. She sat down and snapped
up the magazine, savoring the cover picture. “They always pick the best pictures for the cover” she thought. She
sometimes wondered if she should take some of the wonderful cover photos she’d
enjoyed over the years and have them framed and hung on the walls of her lonely
mansion.
After a moments reverie, she glanced at
Clapton and asked “Why wherever did you
find it?”
“Well, that’s the strangest thing, ma’am. I found it right there on that
table, neat as you please as if the thief was really just wanting to save you
the long walk to the mailbox.”
“You mean to tell me you found it here in my reading room while you were
OUTSIDE looking for the thief?”
“Well ma’am, truth be told, I
got a bit cold out there and thought I’d warm meself by the fire for a bit,
just a blink mind you and it’s well I did.”
“I suppose the thief made me this fine cup of tea while he was busy
returning my magazine?”
“No ma’am, that was entirely my
fault.”
“Well, thief’s intentions good or bad, he still took it without my
permission and if he put it here, inside the house, he could still be here,
sleeping in a guest room upstairs for all we know! So search the house,
basement to attic, at once!”
“Yes ma’am, as you wish. At once.” With that he scampered off,
pretending to search for the “thief”.
The little girl was dreaming. In her
dream, an Angel came and lifted her tired, cold body from the boat house and
flew her to a grand mansion like she’d never seen before except in her dreams. The
Angel smiled at her as he flew right through a bedroom wall and laid her on the
warmest, softest bed she’d ever known. It even had two pillows! “This must be the mansion Jesus promised me”
she thought. “Only Jesus would care
enough to make me a mansion as lovely as this one. I hope it’s from Jesus
because I don’t ever want to leave. Please God, don’t make me leave my mansion.
It’s really lovely and I really love it.” With a heart as content as she’d
ever had, she dreamt on.
Clapton knew he was running out of time. How
best to break the news to the Missus? How would she react? He’d known her a
long time and while she’d always been fair to him, even generous at times, she
was also set in her ways and didn’t like change. Surprises just were not her
cup of tea. Yet, she had a big one heading her way (or a little one, he
chuckled to himself). And soon. Surely the holiday season, with Christmas just
three days away, is the best time to wring some love out of the Missus cold
heart? Yes, he decided. I’ll appeal to her humanity, if she has any left.
So he made his way back down to the
reading room. She looked at him expectantly. “Well? Any sign of the thief?”
“As a matter of fact, ma’am, there is.”
“Really?” She was on her feet in an instant. “Where?” She demanded to know. “Show
me at once!”
“That I shall, ma’am, that I shall.” He led her upstairs to the bedroom
above the kitchen. As he did so he said “Ma’am,
the thief’s appearance may shock you, so please prepare yourself.”
“What’s the tramp look like? Is he unshaved? Is he dirty? I bet he
smells! How dare he stay in my home, in one of my bedrooms! Where’s that
policeman? I’ll have him arrested at once!”
The
door was swung open. The old widow hobbled into the room and her eyes saw…..nothing!
Just a few strands of dirty blond hair poking out from under the covers of the
four-post canopied bed. With a theatrical flourish, Clapton declared “Madam, I present to you – our thief!”
With that, he threw back the covers to
reveal the little orphan girl, curled up around one of the pillows, sound
asleep with a slight smile curling the corners of her tiny mouth.
The old woman was too stunned to speak. Now
it is a well-known fact that the sight of a sleeping child, peacefully resting,
safe and sound in the knowledge that their parents love them, will warm even
the coldest heart. And though the orphan girl had no parents to love her, she
slept as though she did. For the first time in her life she was truly happy and
content, for she knew the Angel was sent from God to care for her when no one
else would and she knew the mansion had been built by Jesus just for her and
she knew that when she woke up she would find Jesus standing over her saying “Welcome home.”
As
the old woman gazed upon the sleeping child, something deep inside her began to
hurt. It was the wound of loneliness being touched by the sight of the dirty
orphan girl. As she stood by the bed she saw the child she’d never had and an
old ache, a dream she’d buried deep inside her soul, long ago, woke up and
began living again. The old woman found herself doing something she hadn’t done
since her husband died twenty years ago- she found herself crying.
Clapton stood silently by, for he knew
the secret all good servants know – when not to speak. After a while, she
looked at him through tear soaked eyes and whispered “Clapton, prepare a bath. A nice hot bubble bath. And tonight – nothing
but the best for our little guest here. Spare no expense. We must hurry, for we’ve
only three days till Christmas. We’ll need all the decorations put up, we’ll
need to go to town to buy toys and we’ll need to prepare the best Christmas
dinner ever, with all the trimmings.”
“Yes ma’am. At once ma’am” he said with a smile, thinking to himself – “These past twenty years of attending to the
Missus have all been worth it to arrive at this very moment. This will indeed
be the best Christmas ever!”
Just
as he stepped out the little girl’s bedroom door he heard the front door bell
chime. “Who could that be at this hour?” he
thought as he hurried to open the front door.
Standing there looking bemused and a bit
impatient was the long awaited for policeman! “Evening to you sir!”
“May I ask if the lady of the house is home? She’s reported a thievery
of the most despicable kind – that of her newest issue of LIFE magazine! Now
were it my issue and someone stole it from me, I’d a done the same, I’d a
called me very own self to come and arrest the culprit, post haste!” He said all this with a
grin as wide as the brim of his policeman’s hat.
“Yes
sir! Do come in sir. The lady will be with you shortly. Won’t you wait in the
reading room by the fire? Would you like a brandy or coffee or a cup of tea to
take the chill out?”
“A shot of brandy IN my coffee would suit me just fine, kind fellow!”
“Clapton, who is it?”
“It’s the policeman you called for just arriving, ma’am.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there” “Yes
ma’am.”
The
old woman took another look at the little girl and tucked the covers gently
back around her and went to meet the policeman. The policeman rose as she
entered and doffing his hat said “Madam, I
am officer Rogers and may I say what a lovely home you have.”
“Thank you officer Rogers, for your kind words and for responding to my
call so promptly. We see too few guests here, you are most welcome.”
Clapton
could hardly believe his ears! He had never heard such high falutin’ talk come
out of the old woman’s mouth! It was one of many changes he’d notice in the old
woman in the coming weeks and months. Officer Rogers responded –
“It’s
my duty and pleasure to be of service to you, madam. May I ask a question of
you?”
“It seems you just did. But go ahead, ask another.”
“Would that happen to be the missing magazine, lying right here in this
very room on that very coffee table?” You see, officer Rogers was a
particularly clever and observant policeman, not much escaped his notice.
“Why
yes it is, officer!” “We found it after we called for you and I confess I
forgot to call back and report it found. I’m sorry if you wasted a trip out
here.”
“Tis no waste when I get to gaze upon a home as lovely as yours and
drink coffee from China as fine as this.” “Do you wish to press charges against
the thief, should he be caught?’
“Why no, officer. In the true spirit of Christmas I wish to drop all
charges, trespassing or otherwise. I intend to forgive the thief and indeed, if
he is caught, invite him over for Christmas dinner!”
“Well by my uncle O’Malley’s starched suspenders, that’s a fine attitude
you’ve got there, Madam! If only more people had your attitude, I might be out
of a job! Are you sure you’re the same person that called my dispatcher earlier
today? With an attitude like that, I just may come to your Christmas dinner
myself!”
“You’d be welcome officer Rogers and bring your wife too!”
“Oh the chance to not cook on Christmas? My wife will think she’s died
and gone to Heaven! Could my three wee ones come too?”
“But of course, Officer Rogers! We’d be delighted if your whole family
came, aunts and uncles too! Our dining hall seats 23, if you must know!’
“Twenty-three? Well ma’am, I do believe the Rogers clan could fill it
up! Perhaps my wife could come by and help prepare the feast. She does make a
fine sweet potato casserole, I must confess!”
“Officer Rogers, I’d love the help, in fact, we could use some help
cleaning and decorating this old house for Christmas. Perhaps the young ones in
your family would enjoy helping me decorate? There’s a candy cane in it for each
of them, if they’ll help me out!”
“Well madam, this is the best house call I’ve made all year! I believe I’ve
witnessed a Christmas miracle! I happen to know my young un’s and their cousins
would love to join you in decorating such a fine house for Christmas! Would tomorrow
morning be ok?”
“That will be fine, Officer Rogers, looking forward to it. Thank you for
joining us for Christmas!”
And
so it came to pass that the little girls dream of eating a Christmas feast at a
long table surrounded by a loving family, just like the picture in the LIFE
magazine she’d so often dreamt about, came true one magical Christmas. The girl
was adopted by the old widow and she provided the old woman many tears of
laughter and joy before she went home to her second mansion in Heaven, where
Jesus greeted her at the door with a smile, a hug and the words “Welcome home”, the very words she’d
said to the little girl every day when she got home from school.
The end.
I asked the Lord for a Christmas classic. He immediately sat me down with a pen and paper and this story resulted.....I wrote it in an hour and a half...Thank You Lord. Merry Christmas everyone!
