Christmas Story

“STARS, AND NO FOOTPRINTS”
DOLLY’S CHRISTMAS REMINISCENCE
    

When I was turning 13 years, and becoming aware of changes, Dad left us - he went away with another woman - leaving Mom, me, Paul, aged 10, and David the youngest, aged eight, to fend for ourselves. We never imagined Dad would do that to Mom and us, and though we were very sad, we still loved him. Mom put a brave face on it. The neighbours exchanged glances and whispered suspicions as she went shopping or to church. Dad had left us a few coins, the small house and the furniture. Mom made money the old fashioned way - earning it by knitting cardigans with the wool supplied by her customers.  Paul ran errands after school, and I would baby-sit for newly married couples. That was how we managed the “bare necessities.” That year’s winter was going to be harsh, and the skies were dark, made the more opaque by Dad’s desertion and the prospect of a cheerless Christmas. But Mom would have none of it. She kept her sorrow to herself and forced us to sing our Christmas songs as before and join the festivities in our local church, even as she kept her needles clicking away to keep the season’s deadline of cardigans and jumpers. We kids knew, though, that we’d have just enough to put together for an austere Christmas dinner, and go without gifts that year.
 Christmas Eve, and the skies had cleared in patches of its vast expanse. After a frugal supper of bread, fruit, and nuts, we sang “Silent Night”, holding each other in a warm embrace. Before we could loosen our hold on each other, Mom said, “Guys, have you forgotten that other beautiful one, ‘O Holy Night’?” We hadn’t, we said, and began singing it. We’d hardly finished the second line, “The stars are brightly shining,” when Mom ran out the door and ran in again, excitedly calling, “Come on out, you guys, I’ve got your gifts for you. The best you’ll ever have!” We went into the snow-covered yard outside, and Mom pointed us above to the clear patches in the sky, each one packed with stars, crystal in their purity. “There are your Christmas gifts. Each one grab a patch of sky, it’s yours. And whenever you look up at the sky, you must believe that there’s a large slice of blue for you; and even if the nights are dark, there is a special bright star only for you.” We kissed and held Mom for her “thoughtful gift” until we almost froze out there in the yard.
 It snowed again through our sleep that night, and even though Christmas morning was bright and clear, there was a fresh carpet of white crystal on the ground. We came prancing and dancing back from church, prepared to face the prospect of a frugal dinner, put together by baby-sitting, errands, and knitting, when the doorbell rang. It was a middle-aged man, with chubby red cheeks, smiling and getting redder all the time with each puff of breath, since he was carrying a large hamper. “A Merry Christmas to you all. I was sent to give you this,” he chirped, as he pompously placed the hamper on the table, and then straightened his dark blue coat and mistletoe tie. “Don’t look at me like that. Go on, open it, take them all out, and have a splendid Christmas dinner,” he indicated emphatically as we stood transfixed by the puffing dapper stranger in the dark blue suit and mistletoe tie. Paul, our little errand brother, ran forward, followed by Mom, then David and me. We opened the hamper, cautiously at first, then excitedly, as we took out the neatly arranged goodies that anyone’s heart would desire on Christmas Day. Every item was extracted with a scream of delight, and placed on the table: the still steaming turkey, baked potatoes and currant bread, Christmas pudding, sausages and savouries, the wines and candles and crackers, and gifts for the three children, and a big snowball of wool for Mom. “It’s unbelievable,” we shrieked, laughed, and danced around. Then suddenly we remembered. We had not thanked the dear dapper who brought it all. We looked up and around in embarrassment. He was gone!  He had gone without a sound, stepped into the snow, and disappeared into the bright sunlight. We ran through the door and into the street, shouting, “Please, sir, come back, sir. Let us thank you. So sorry.” We looked up and down and across the street. Not a sign of him. Literally. Not even his footprints on the fresh snow. And no answer to our “Hey, Mister, hey Mister.” He had just vanished into the crisp clear wintry air!   Period.
 We are happily married now, all three of us, and have our own children. We never saw Dad again. When Mom was dying, we travelled across the country to be by her side, and press her to our hearts. She didn’t need our encouragement, but we held her tight, anyway, and said, “Mom, like you told us that Christmas night, there’s a slice of blue only for you, and there’s going to be one more bright star added to the sky.” She smiled at us, and with her dying lips, she said, “I’m going, and I won’t leave a footprint on the snow. Goodbye. Don’t look for me, you guys.”
DOLLY