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 Christmas Spirit

Chelsey drove up the winding mountain road through the accumulated snow. “Looks like there hasn’t been a plow through here in a while,” she muttered as she gripped the steering wheel tighter making her hands turn white. “This is some shortcut, Dad,” she added. “The navigation system even stopped working.”

The thermometer on her console changed to ten degrees. She shuddered. She took a chance to shove a cd into the player when she could no longer stand the silence of no radio stations in range. The snow was coming down harder. She closed her eyes a second to say a prayer for safety. Suddenly her car shut off and after a brief moment of panic she shoved the gear shifter into neutral like her father had told her so she could steer, albeit with difficulty, to the side of the road. The car coasted to a stop.

“Aw crap!” she sighed. “Now what?” She tried many times to restart the car, but it wouldn’t turn over. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, it’s freezing outside, and the car won’t run,” she said to herself, assessing the situation. She rested her head on the steering wheel as she thought about what to do – walk or stay put. 

At last she grabbed the emergency kit from the trunk. It had been a gift from her mother last Christmas. She opened it to see what exactly was inside. She laughed. “Thanks, Mom,” she said pulling out a white towel emblazoned with the word HELP in red. She tossed aside a granola bar of questionable expiration, stuffed a bottle of water and a package of peanuts in her pockets and checked the flashlight to assure it worked. Grabbing her purse, she placed the towel over the door and closed it to hold it in place and then set out on foot to find help.

After an hour of walking against the cold wind and driving snow she stopped under a tree for a rest, mentally kicking herself for not grabbing the blanket from the kit as well. She shivered so hard she nearly lost her footing. A branch swayed back and forth in front of her and she thought she saw a light in the darkness when she grabbed the limb to stop its shaking snow on her head. 

Chelsey made her way through the trees toward the light and found a cabin. She couldn’t see it, but she smelled the smoke as it puffed from the chimney. “Yes!” she said, “A person…with heat.” She knocked on the door. 

The door opened and a man stuck his head out cautiously. “Oh, Lord!” he said, “Get in here before you freeze to death.” He pulled her inside by the sleeve of her coat and almost dragged her to the fireplace and sat her beside the hearth. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders and arms. “There,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I didn’t think; I just reacted. Are you alright?”

‘I will be,” Chelsey said. She held out a still shaking hand. “I’m Chelsey. My car broke down on the road. I’ve been walking for an hour.”

“I’m Terry,” he said returning the handshake. He put her hand gently back under the blanket. “I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some? It might warm you up.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Man, you’re lucky. I’m the only one out here for many miles. The road truck won’t even be out until sometime tomorrow. You could have frozen to death before someone found you.”

Chelsey shook her head in agreement. “May I borrow your phone to call someone for help?”

“Cell phones don’t work out here and I don’t have a landline here. I wouldn’t have electricity if it weren’t for the generator. They’ll find your car and come looking here first. Their radios carry pretty far. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“Black is fine,” she said, when he indicated sugar and creamer. “I’m so sorry to put you out like this,” she said, taking the steaming cup of coffee.”

“Well, it’s hardly your fault the car broke down. Where were you headed in this weather anyway?”

“Nowhere apparently, my navigation system couldn’t even tell me where I am. My dad gave me a so-called shortcut to follow to get to their new home in Rikesburg.”

Terry laughed. “Well, don’t be too hard on him. It is a shortcut in the summertime; not in the winter though. 

Chelsey sighed. “Oh.” She glanced around. “You have a computer but I’m guessing no internet.”

“That’s right. I’m a writer. I come out here to write once I have all my research done.”

“Wow. That’s cool.”

“Hey, I’ll bet you could use some hot soup or something. I have some in a crock pot. I know there’s enough for two.” He went to the kitchen area and brought Chelsey a steaming mug and some crackers. He sat opposite her at the fire with one for himself.

“That was great,” Chelsey said. “Thanks.” An old grandfather clock chimed and Chelsey counted the chimes. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“That’s okay, but you’re probably tired,” Terry told her. He pointed to the corner. “You take the bed over there; I’ll take the sofa.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said.

“I’ve spent many a night on that sofa. I rather like it better than the bed,” he assured her. “The bathroom is over there if you want to freshen up.”

Chelsey awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and stretched and then remembered where she was.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Terry said. “And merry Christmas!”

“Right! It is Christmas; isn’t it?” she replied. “To you too.”

“Come sit down. Breakfast is ready. That plow truck will be coming by soon. Do you know how to get back to the highway?”

“No,” Chelsey said. “It was dark.”

“Oh, well, I can walk you there. It isn’t really that far. I’m afraid my old car won’t go through this snow until I dig it out and by then the truck will have passed and the driver won’t find you.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. She made a quick stop in the bathroom and sat down to eat. She savored the coffee and maple wood smoked bacon and eggs. “I haven’t had a breakfast this good in a long time. I usually just grab something from the golden arches on my way by.”

Terry smiled and stuffed a forkful into his own mouth. The clock chimed. “Are you about done? That truck will be here in about twenty minutes. He’s always right on time.”

“Sure,” Chelsey said, swigging the last dredges of her coffee down. She pulled her boots back on and secured her coat around her scarf and snugged up her gloves. “I’m ready.”

Terry handed her the flashlight and her handbag. “Don’t want to forget this,” he said. “Never knew a woman who wasn’t miserable if they lost their handbag.”

Chelsey laughed. “I’m no different. In case I forget; thanks for everything, Terry. It was really great to meet you.”

“Same here,” he replied. He held open the door for her and they walked out into the bright morning. The snow had stopped but it was still bone chilling cold. 

Chelsey followed Terry closely back through the trees to the highway. She could hear the road plow coming slowly up the hill.

“That should be him,” Terry said. “You’ll be alright now.”

Chelsey turned to thank him again, but he was gone. A sudden sharp wind gust hit and even their tracks were erased into the woods. Just as suddenly as it started; the wind stopped. Chelsey shivered.

The plow struck stopped and a burly man dressed in bright orange winter gear emblazoned with the letters DOT jumped out. “Oh, thank God!” he said. “Is that your car back there a ways?”

“Yes,” Chelsey answered. “I’d be grateful if you could call a tow truck in the next town.”

“Sure, but you might as well climb in the truck. It’s forty five miles and they can’t come until I clear this road. You’d freeze to death before it got here.”

Chelsey climbed up inside. Reading his name on the tag on his jacket, she said, “Thanks, Bill. I’m sure my parents will be worried. I was due last night in Rikesburg.”

“Oh, well, that’s where we’re headed. You can call them and they can come pick you up at the gas station, he said, shifting the plow into gear and setting the plow back onto the pavement. “Buckle up! The ride can get rough,” he chuckled. 

Chelsey cinched the seat belt and smiled as she found out just what he meant.

“Say, how did you make it out here last night anyhow? I couldn’t see any tracks so you had to have broken down a while ago.”

“It was about eight last night. I walked a while and then I stumbled onto a cabin back there. The man gave me a warm place to stay and brought me back to the road just in time to meet you.”

Bill’s face blanched. “Ma’am, there hasn’t been anyone in that old cabin in going on ten years, actually, exactly ten years. The guy that owned it was in an accident and he would have survived except that I had too much Christmas Eve cheer and I was late clearing the roads. He froze to death. I have never been late since. It has haunted me.”

Chelsey looked at him incredulously. “What was his name?”

“Oh, let me think,” Bill said. “He was a writer, Terry something. I don’t know that I ever did get his last name.” He looked at her. “It’s a miracle you survived last night.”

Chelsey smiled. “I think it was more like a Christmas spirit.”