The Christmas Tattle Tale

I don't know about you, but when I was a youngster I was devastated to learn there really wasn't a Santa Clause putting those presents under the tree. My sister gave it away. I guess I was lucky in that we actually got Christmas gifts. There are many children (and adults) who for economic or other reasons get no gifts and then when they go to school and hear about all the stuff other kids got it makes them sad and the other children are usually so excited they fail to notice that someone isn't sharing their Christmas experience.

Remember when you are out shopping to pick out a tag on a giving tree and fill the need, or donate to the Toys for Tots program or put something in the Salvation Army red kettles. Donating time at a homeless shelter or soup kitchen is also a good way of giving to those who have little or nothing during the holidays.

For a good historical account of Santa Clause across the globe, I found this site interesting:  http://www.lone-star.net/mall/main-areas/xmas-santa-origin2.htm 

THE CHRISTMAS TATTLE TALE

Pauley stared out the window of the bedroom he shared with his older brother Ted. The snow was falling lightly and the full moon peeked out from behind the clouds as they passed by. 

“Do you think Santa will be able to come through the snow?” Pauley asked Ted.

“Don’t be such a dork, Pauley.” Ted patted his back. “You’re seven now, it’s time you knew.”

Pauley turned to face his brother. “It’s Christmas Eve. Don’t call me names or you won’t get anything.”

“Pauley, there is no Santa Claus,” Ted told him.

“Is too!” Pauley said raising his little voice. “If there is no Santa, then where do the presents come from?”

“Mom and Dad,” Ted answered. I saw them putting them out last year. They didn’t know I was up.”

Pauley stuck his lower lip out and started to cry. “It’s not so. You take it back.”

“Little brother, you had to find out sometime. I can prove it. I know you won’t stay awake, but I can and I’ll wake you up when they put them under the tree.”

Pauley shook his head. “It’ll be Santa,” he said defiantly. He crawled into bed and rolled over towards the wall as his brother turned off the overhead light and did the same.

Ted woke Pauley as promised a little while later. “They’re putting out the presents,” he whispered.”

Pauley reluctantly climbed out of his bed and padded across the room in his slippers. They slowly opened the door and went to the stair railing that overlooked their living room and Christmas tree. 

“Now look carefully at the wrapping paper,” Ted whispered. “In the morning they’ll have tags from Santa on them.”

Pauley scowled at his brother and went back to bed. He slept fitfully and got up early. He sat quietly in his bed until Ted woke up too. “Can we go down now?”

Ted checked the Mickey Mouse clock next to the bed. “It’s six-thirty. I guess so. We usually do get up early on Christmas.”

“Why doesn’t it bother you that the presents are not from Santa?”

“Why should it? I got them anyway,” Ted answered.

The boys went to their parents’ room and tapped on the door and waited patiently for them to answer with a, ‘Come in,” or “Just a minute.” 

Their mom was smiling as she opened the door. “Are you boys ready to see what Santa brought you?” 

The boys went as fast as they could without getting scolded to be careful down the stairs and to the tree. Pauley started to cry as he picked up the first one he remembered from the night before and it was from Santa Claus.

“What’s wrong, Pauley?” his mother asked him. She looked at their father and shrugged.

“Ted is right,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “There is no Santa Claus. We watched you put these under here last night.”

Their mother looked sternly at Ted. “Does someone need coal in his stocking?”

Ted looked down. “He needed to know,” he explained.

Their mom sat down next to them on the floor. She patted the floor for Ted to sit down, then she pulled Pauley into her lap. “Pauley, once upon a time there really was a Saint Nicolas. We call him Santa Claus. There is a long history of the story of Santa’s origins from different countries and their traditions are different, but here it is the giving spirit that endures. The story goes back to giving good children presents of toys and sweets, maybe some articles of clothing, or something useful to them, and the naughty children get switches or coal. Parents carry on that tradition to their children.”

She gave the boy a hug and dried his tears. Reaching behind her on the coffee table, she grabbed a tissue and handed it to him to wipe his nose. 

“Do you boys remember the reason we taught you for Christmas gifts? Santa is just a fun part of it,” their father asked.

Ted spoke up. “We give the gifts as a reminder of the gifts the three kings, or wisemen, gave Christ.”

“Good,” their father replied. “Now, no more peeking on Christmas Eve,” he directed. “And Ted, tattling is not nice, especially at Christmas,” he emphasized. “Now, I expect to see paper flying!”

The boys grinned and tore into their packages.

The Vet

“Fred, I’m sorry,” Blake, his supervisor told him. “You’re just too volatile. We have a lot of alarms on the machines in this plant and they go off frequently. You freak out every time, and then you start throwing things when someone says something about it. Ed had to restrain you today to keep you from hitting a fellow employee. We’re going to have to let you go.” Blake spun a piece of paper around in Fred’s direction and laid a pen across the pink sheet.

Fred sat, stone-faced, showing no emotion at all, as Blake stared at him expectantly. At last, he reached out, took the pen and signed the separation paper. He spun it back around to Blake so he could sign as witness and then stood up, shoulders back, chest out, chin up slightly, as he had for years when at attention in the marines, with his eyes straight ahead.

Blake stood up and motioned to the security guard in the outer office who had been watching through the window to come in. “Tom is going to go with you to your locker to make sure you clear everything out. Take everything with you, Fred. Because of your violent outbursts, you are no longer allowed on company property; not even to pick someone up. Do you understand?”

Fred gave a quick nod and turned to leave. He opened the door and waited for Tom, but Tom just pointed for Fred to go first. The lockers were near the employee entrance and the time clock. “Do I punch out before or after I get my stuff?”

“After,” Tom answered. “Leave the gear.”

Fred removed his wrist guards, hard hat, and safety glasses and placed them on the table. He pulled out his overcoat, ball cap, sunglasses, and lunch box. The locker being empty, he clocked out and was escorted to the parking lot. 

Fred climbed in his truck and started the engine. As he was about to back out he saw Tom step back and salute. Tom mouthed, ‘Good luck soldier’. He nodded and drove away.

Fred sat at his kitchen table with his head in his hands. He looked around the empty room that had once been filled with his wife cooking dinner while his boys did their homework. She helped them with it between stirring pots and flipping meat in the skillet. He studied the photograph of his wedding day, him in his dress uniform and her in that fabulous lacey white dress that came off so easily later that night. Fred closed his eyes as tears filled them and spilled down his face.

“I should just go on and get it over with. They’d be better off without me,” he said. “Where did she hide that gun?”

Fred heard a knock at his door. He sat there ignoring the knock, until it got more insistent. He pushed his chair over as he stood up. He stared down at it and then starting kicking it until it turned to splinters. He never heard the door open.

“Corporal!” he heard a voice shout. “Stand down!”

Fred stopped stomping what was left of the chair and spun toward the voice. He recognized the lieutenant from when he went to the base for reserve maneuvers. He stood at attention.

“At ease,” the voice said calmly. “Fred,” he said casually. “I got a call from someone named Tom Epps. He told me you have been having violent outbursts at work and today you lost your job. He was very concerned.”

“Yeah, well, did he tell you my wife left and took the kids with her too? It’s just a matter of time until the divorce papers show up,” Fred said angrily.

“No, but I’m not surprised. Didn’t you just get back from your fourth tour in Afghanistan?”

Fred nodded. “Yes, sir. They’re talking about sending us back in six months. I don’t blame Leslie for going. I’ve been sulking and angry. I break things. I yell and swear at the boys. I’ve broken dishes. The bedroom door is off the hinges. I think I’ll have to replace the frame to fix it.”

“Fred, I want to you check into the V.A.” Lieutenant Brown patted him on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit on the sofa. “Have you been having bad dreams? Do they wake you up? I understand the alarms at the factory spook you pretty good. You take cover and shiver in the corner. It sounds like you have PTSD.”

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?” Fred asked.

Lieutenant Brown shook his head. “Have you thought about killing yourself? Do you do it often?”

“Every day,” Fred admitted.

“Go pack a bag, son, before this gets any worse. I’ll go with you and make sure you get checked in.”

“Why are you so concerned, lieutenant?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been in your shoes. I’ve done seminars for company executives all the way to the security sector so they know what to look for. I’ve left my card around town. That’s how Mr. Epps got my number. He was worried you’d hurt yourself or your family.”

“I don’t know about PTSD, but I’ll go with you. It might show Leslie I’m willing to try to get help. Even if she doesn’t come back, maybe she’ll let me visit with the boys. Right now I’m not allowed to be with them unsupervised.”

“That is rough. They offer family therapy too so they can understand what’s going on with you.”

Fred let out a deep sigh and nodded. “Give me a minute.” He stood and went to pack a bag.

                                                            ***********

22 veteran’s commit suicide each day. Stop the cycle! Please visit these websites for further assistance in helping veterans.

Stop 22:  www.stop22.org

Veteran’s Administration Veteran’s Crisis Line: 1-800-273-82550(press1)

www.stopsoldiersuicide.org

Follow Me

"Jessica," said Drake, "Are you sure you want to move into that old place?" He looked at her, waiting for an answer, then added, "I know your great aunt kept it for you all these years, but she’s dead. She won't care if you don't move there."

"I know that. I've always wanted to live there," answered Jessica. "Besides, I've already hired a staff to clean it."

"It's been un-lived in for fifty years, Jessica. The only people that ever tried to lease it didn't last a week. They said it was haunted!" Drake argued.

"Now let's not get carried away, Drake." Jessica tapped her foot. "They said there was something strange about it; not that it was haunted," she said tersely.

Jessica rode quietly the rest of the trip thinking of what her great aunt, Pauline, had told her about her family.

"…Lord James Errol Winfield, your grandfather, disappeared many years ago. His only son, Brian, your father, had to take over the business that his father began. As the years passed, without clear ownership, Brian could not borrow the money he needed to keep the business going. He had to have his father declared legally dead. With this, the title to the business and to Winfield Manor went to Brian. He and your mother were killed in an automobile accident a few years later shortly after you were born, dear child. I took charge of you and a trust fund they had set up for you. You will receive the properties in the trust after you marry or in the event of my death."

Jessica and Drake drove passed the main gate of Winfield Manor. The old mansion was covered with brown and green ivy. Neither a window nor barely a door could be seen. The rose hedge that led to the house scattered in every direction. The grass was the only thing outside the house that had been attended to.

"Welcome Ma'am," said Lilith, the head of housekeeping. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"I guess it could have been better," Jessica said, glancing in the direction of her fiancée. "I see Joseph has the grass clipped at last. Tell him to start on clearing the windows and doors of all that ivy before he does the rose hedges.

"Yes Ma'am, right away," said Lilith.

Jessica walked into the study. "Drake, that is a portrait of my grandfather," she said pointing at the painting hanging over the mantle. "I think it will look better in the hallway along the staircase," she said, gently lifting the painting from his its hook. "I'll just go get something to hand it with," she added, setting the painting gently on the floor at the foot of the stairs. "I want to eventually line the stairway with all the family portraits."

"Where's the painting?" Jessica asked when she returned.

"I don't know," Drake answered with a shrug. "I went up stairs to look around and when I came back it was gone."

They went back into the study. There was the painting right back where it had been before. Underneath it was silver bowl filled with red roses.

"Lilith," Jessica called, when she saw her come into the house.

"Yes Ma'am?" she inquired. "What can I get for you?"

"Nothing. Did you move this painting from the stairs back to here?"

"No ma'am. I've been out trying to find Joseph. He was locking up his tools in the gardener's shed," she answered. "All the other servants have gone."

"Gone! Why?" Jessica asked.

"Oh, they won't stay here at night," she added. "They think the house is haunted."

Drake snorted.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Thank you Lilith," she said. "That's all for now. Oh, by the way, thank you for the roses. They're lovely."

"But, ma'am, I didn't bring those in. That is the kind that grows on your hedges, but they aren't in bloom. And that bowl," she said looking closer, "I never got the chance to polish it. It was all green with tarnish just a few hours ago."

Jessica motioned for Lilith to go back to her duties. She turned to look at Drake, who was trying not to smile. She had had about all she could take for the day. "I think I'll go up and get a bath before we eat. Do you think you could build a fire? It's getting chilly in here."

Jessica was calmer after her bath. She walked into the study where Drake was sitting near the fire. "The fire is burning nicely," she said sitting down next to him. "Thank you for building it for me. Drake, I'm sorry for being such a tyrant today."

"That's all right," he said. "It has been a long day and I should not have teased you the whole trip." Drake put his arm around Jessica and they sat, silent, watching the flames flicker in the dimly lit room.

Suddenly the flames shot higher. Jessica jumped in her surprise and slipped off the sofa.

"Are you all right?" Drake asked her.

"I think so," she said reaching for his hand to help her back onto the sofa. Something caught her eye and she stopped where she sat, staring at the ceiling.

Drake looked up to what held her attention.

"Would you look at that?" Jessica said. "It looks like to people quarreling."

They watched the strange shadow show on the ceiling. The two figures raised their arms and pointed at one another. Suddenly, one stabbed at the other with some dark object. The one who had been stabbed fell, holding his middle. The flames died down as quickly as they had risen. The shadows disappeared.

Jessica gasped. A chill ran down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

"You look frightened," Drake said staring into her face. "Would you like me to have Lilith bring you some tea?"

"Yes, I think I would. But I think I'll have it up stairs in the bedroom," she said.

"I'll help you up before I get Lilith," he said. He helped her to stand then put his arm around her shoulder and helped her up the stairs. "I'll bring you something to eat too."

Jessica inspected the grounds. The gardener walked by carrying a large pair of pruning shears.

"Joseph," said Jessica, "You must be a very quick worker."

"Why is that ma'am?" he asked.

"Well, you got that bottom row of windows cleared of that ivy and still had time to do the cellar door."

"Aye, I did do the windows," he said with his Irish brogue. "But, I did not do the cellar door. I was just about to start on the top row of windows and then the tower."

"But, if you didn't, then who did?" Jessica stared after his shrugging figure, as confused as he was. He inspected the door, scratched his head a second and shrugged again.

Jessica stared at the house for a moment, arms crossed, thinking. Who could have cleared that door? She took a deep breath and shook her head. There certainly was something strange about this place, she thought and wandered her way back into the house.

She decided to check out the study for anything that could have caused those shadows the night before. There was a shallow figure of a man standing in front of the fireplace looking up at the paining of Lord Winfield.

"Excuse me," she said. "Who are you?" she asked.

The man turned around. He was dressed exactly as the man in the painting. Jessica looked closer. He looked just like her grandfather. He said nothing.

"Drake!" she screamed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Drake ran into the room and started to say something but stopped when he saw the man.

The man motioned for Jessica to follow him.

"He wants us to follow him," said Jessica. "I think we should."

"If you insist, Jessica, but I don't think it's a good idea," replied Drake.

"Then you can stay here. I'm going with him."

The man started toward the French doors that led out onto a terrace.

"Please wait," said Jessica. "Those doors aren't cleared yet, so I'll have to go around the house."

He motioned for her to stay and then waved at the doors. He walked through them as though they weren't there. Then the doors opened. The ivy was cleared.

Jessica started through them, glancing around the cleared opening.

"I'd better go with you," said Drake, walking quickly after her. "You might get hurt."

The man led them to the cellar door and again went through it as if it weren't there.

Jessica and drake pulled hard to get the old door to open and then stepped inside. It was dark and musty after being closed u for so long. Drake struck a match and brushing away the cob webs all the way down, they found a candle on the a table near the bottom stair.

The man was still turning occasionally, motioning for them to follow him. He led them to the wine cellar and then disappeared into one of the casks.

"Do you know how old this wine is?" asked Drake, blowing the dust off of one of the bottles.

"At least fifty years," said Jessica. "We can study quality later. Right now we have to get into that wine cask."

Drake tapped on the surrounding casks and then the one the man had disappeared into. He tested the spigot to see if anything came out. "It's hollow," he said.

"You expected it to be full?" Jessica said, while she tried to open the rusted lock on the side of the cask with a hair pin. At last it popped open.

"That only happens in novels," said Drake.

"It looks like it happened to me," Jessica said sarcastically.

Jessica opened the cask. It was dark and dusty. They found several doors. All were locked except one. Once inside the room they could make out a desk and a chair and what appeared to be an old settee.  Drake noticed something on the floor and lowered the candle to get a better look at it. It was a skeleton. It was dressed just the same as the man they had been following. Jessica opened her mouth to scream, but nothing would come out.

Drake said after a few moments, "Whoever, or whatever, we were following wanted us to find this."

"I know," Jessica said. "Grandfather's been trying to get someone to follow him here for years. Until now, no one would."

The next day the police were still going over the room. They thought that it was Lord Winfield's skeleton that had been found, but they had no clue as to who had killed him or why.

Jessica grew impatient with the constable's questions and started wandering around the room. She sat down on the settee. "Ouch!" she said. "What was that?"

She felt the cushion. There seemed to be something under the lining. Jessica opened the cushion revealing the stuffing inside. There was a book between the stuffing and the lining. On the book was printed in gold letters the name LORD JAMES ERROL WINFIELD.

The book was opened. It was a private journal. Two sheets of old yellowed ledger paper marked a page in the journal.  The page read:

           

"I fear now that my partner, Geoffrey Ames, knows I have found his secret ledger that my life is in danger. Geoffrey called a meeting for tonight. He wants to meet me in my secret office. I wish he didn't know about this place; no one else knows about it. I have taken two of his ledger sheets and I am putting them in this book for safe keeping, although I shall hide the journal where Geoffrey won't find it…right under his nose."

The ledger sheets were used as evidence, along with his journal, in the arrest of Geoffrey Ames for the murder Lord James Errol Winfield. Geoffrey Ames, who was still quite a sturdy man to be well into his eighties, gave up without a fight. He cried when they came to his door. He told them the money wasn't worth the agony of living with what he'd done.