CHRISTMAS EVE

It’s quiet tonight. Nils had to leave for New York for a big showing of his work and he can’t get home because of the weather. All of the flights from there have been cancelled or delayed until the weather improves. It isn’t even snow, just a lot of thunderstorms. Strange weather there for Christmas Eve.

Nils called me to tell me about the delay. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to talk too long because his cell phone was running low. He said he’d forgotten to charge it while he slept. The phone call didn’t really help; between his short phone call and the snow, I was feeling very isolated and all alone.

I got up after Nils called and looked out the window. Amber and Thomas got up and followed me. Sometimes they’re like my shadow, always with me. As I gazed out the window, I gently rubbed my tummy. It sticks out a bit because I’m pregnant. Nils rubs a special lotion on it and my breasts every night before we go to sleep so that I don’t get stretch marks. I love his touch and I miss him. I am struck, remembering my friend, Faith, and how she felt before her child was born, how anxious she was. Of course, Logan was away, just like Nils is gone now. I think I understand her angst a lot better, now.

The glow from the lights on the trees didn’t interfere with me looking out to see the snow falling so gently. The street lights shimmered as the flakes drifted past, casting a soft light. I could see tire tracks out on the street, but there weren’t many and it was still pretty.

I’m lonely, even with my furry shadows trailing my every move. It seems like ages since Nils left, even though it was only last week. I looked down at Amber and decided that we needed a walk, then I could come back and finish trimming the tree. It has some ornaments, but not yet the special ones, the ones from my childhood. I’ve been putting that off, for some reason. I was kind of hoping that Nils could help me and I could tell him what each one meant. Oh, well...

I sat down in the mud room and put on my long black boots over my thigh-high stockings. They have heels that probably aren’t appropriate for the snow, but I like them and I feel so tall when I wear them. It’s a bit more difficult to get them on because of the baby, but I manage. I shrugged into a long coat with fur at the collar and the cuffs, and even though it is heavier than what I usually wear, you can still tell I’m pregnant by the way my tummy pushes the coat away from me. It has a plush lining that I love to feel against my skin. I pulled down a knitted cap my friend Irma made for me. It fits so nicely and is so snug. That’s all I had on: my stockings, my boots, my coat, and my cap. I don’t like to wear much else and I’ll be warm enough for a short walk. I grabbed Amber’s lead, clipped it onto her collar and we’re out of the house, walking down the drive. I thought, ‘I may have to get the neighbor boy to shovel it before Nils gets home. Whenever Nils gets home.’

The air was brisk, but not too sharp, and Amber seemed to be content to walk closely with me and I didn’t walk too quickly. Everything is so quiet when it snows like this. The air was cold enough and the snow was dry enough that it wasn’t slippery under my feet.

I wasn’t really paying that much attention to where I was going when I turned the corner and saw the church. Now, I’ve been by that church I don’t know how many times, but this time it startled me. There were cars in the parking lot, and a couple with small children were going in, and for some reason, I was drawn to follow them. Amber followed me, wondering what I was doing, but happy to be with me. I went through the doors and walked into the sanctuary. Amber sniffed, then sat at my feet. I don’t think anyone saw us come in. At least no one said anything if they did see me and my dog come in and sit down.

I sat on the outside chair of the row in the back of the church. A little down my row there was an older lady sitting, her hands clasped together in her lap, her head bowed. She looked over at me and smiled and I felt a warmth I was not expecting. She mouthed, “Welcome,” and I know I was smiling at her; not a big smile, but a little one, and I mouthed back, “thank you,” and she nodded. The lights dimmed and she faced forward. I turned my attention to the front to see what was going to happen.

There, on the altar, was a wall, a scenery prop and I heard voices somewhere off-stage, but coming in over the speakers. It was a chant, and I could make out the words, strange to my ears, being melodiously sung: “Veni, Veni, Emmanuel/Captivum solve, Israel.” ‘How strange,’ I thought.

There appeared, as the chant continued, a man and a young boy, walking beside the wall. The boy looked up at the man and said, “What are they singing, Daddy, and what does it mean?”

The father stopped and knelt down by the boy and said, “It’s a song about waiting. It’s in Latin, an old language and only spoken in churches these days.”

“But, what are they saying? What does it mean?”

“They’re saying, ‘O come, O come, Emmanuel/and ransom captive Israel.’ They’re asking God to rescue them from their captivity.”

“Does he? Does God rescue them?” asked the boy.

“Why don’t we go inside and find out,” said the man. He opened a door in the wall and they both stepped through.

A moment later, a door in the middle of the back of the church opened, and the man and the boy stepped into the church. They wandered down the center aisle until they came to a couple seats obviously left vacant for them. The lights up front had dimmed, but then came up again on a choir, all in white, looking like angels. Then a deep, bass voice came over the speakers, sounding like the voice of God:

“The angel said to the shepherds, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good tidings, that a savior, the son of God, is born today in Bethlehem. Go and see for yourselves!’

“The glory of God shone around them and a choir of angels sang.”

The choir started singing, and above them the words they sang appeared on a wall, and the people in the church joined them. The words and the tunes were familiar, so I joined in with the rest and sang. We sang a couple of carols, then a man came out and stood in front of them.

“Oh, happy day,” he said, “that we can celebrate the birth of the one who would save us. All we have to do is believe in him, that whatever our sins may be or may have been, he will save us all.”

He stepped back and the choir started singing another carol and I did my best to follow along. I hadn’t been to church in a long, long time and I was trying hard to fit in, which is not like me at all. I like to be different. But, it was warm in the church and I could feel the love there. Don’t ask me how I could feel it, but I could.

The man, who I assumed was the minister, came out again a few more times, in between the carols, and spoke about a loving God and how his son was there for everyone, not just one people. Soon, the lights dimmed again, almost to darkness, and the minister came out for the last time, giving everyone instructions on how to light the candles so that they wouldn’t drip wax. I realized I didn’t have a candle, and started to rise when the woman seated down the way, slid over next to me.

“Here,” she said. “for some reason, I couldn’t understand, I took two candles. Take this one,” as she held one out to me, “and share with me, please.” I took it. By that time, the usher had reached the other end of our row and was lighting the candle the person there held. The light was passed from one person to another until it came to the woman and me. She lit her candle from the person beside her, then held out her candle to me. I lighted my candle as I sat back down.

A sweet, clear voice sang, “Silent Night/Holy Night,” and the congregation joined in. On the last verse, the minister raised his candle as high as he could, and the congregation stood and followed his lead, as did I. The glow from the candles transformed the cold, plastered walls of the church into the warmth of a country church, cares and squabbles dissipating in the glow.

We came to the end of the carol and we lowered our candles. The lights in the sanctuary came up, but only about half-way, keeping the warmth as the candles went out. The minister once again came to the altar, and facing the congregation said, “May the peace of God go with you. And have a Happy Christmas.”

The congregation started filing out, muting their voices as they left. You could hear children singing out their good-byes to their friends, ‘Merry Christmas’ echoing off the walls. I started to turn, when the woman touched my arm.

“Thank you for taking the candle,” she said. “It was meant for my husband, but I forgot he couldn’t be here.”

“My boyfriend couldn’t make it, either,” I said. Amber whined softly as people stepped around her. She loves people, but too many make her nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope he just missed his flight or something like that.”

“He’s in New York. You know how the weather can be at this time of the year. Did your husband miss his flight, too?”

I could see her eyes well up with tears. “No,” she said. “He made his connection. He’s with God, waiting for me.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry,” I said. “When did he pass?”

“Last month. I feel so alone right now.”

I reached out my arms and she slid into them, crying. I held her like that for a few moments and something made me say, “My house is kind of empty right now. Would you like to join me for some dinner? We can have someone at least.” I surprised myself. I didn’t even know this woman’s name, or if she had family waiting for her.

“Of course, if you’ve got family coming over, I’d understand,” I said, kind of hoping she’d take that as an out.

“No, no one’s there. I didn’t even put up a tree,” she responded. My heart took another reach for her.

“Come. I have a tree, and I need some help trimming it. I hope you’re not allergic to dogs or cats.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do you live very far away?”

I told her I had walked over, and her eyes got big. “You mean you walked in this weather? In those boots?”

I laughed and she laughed, too. The next thing I knew, Amber and I were in the queue to see the minister and shake his hand.

“You know,” he said as he took my hand, “we don’t usually allow dogs in here, but the usher saw you come in at the last minute and didn’t have the heart to tell you to leave. I’m glad you stayed. You are welcome here.”

“Thank you,” I said. “The service was lovely and I’m glad no one said anything.”

“I am, too,” he replied as he let go of my hand. He reached behind me to the woman who was so kind to me. “Gwen, I’m so glad to see you. We didn’t know if you would be coming this year. Janice and I know how difficult the last month has been for you.”

“Thank you, Pastor Bob. It has been difficult, but tonight I think I see some light shining. This lovely young lady has asked me to come to her house for dinner. What do you think?” she asked, her eyebrows lifted in question.

Pastor Bob looked me up and down, eyed Amber who was sitting there, perfectly willing to wait and see what happened. He knelt down and reached his hand to Amber, who sniffed it and wagged her tail. Bob scratched her behind her ears and she whined a little, enjoying the touch so much.

“I think,” said Bob, “that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He looked at both of us. “Take care of each other tonight. Happy Christmas.”

Gwen reached out and took my arm and we left the church, walking carefully down the stairs. “What about your car?” I asked.

“Well, if you live as close-by as you say, I’ll just leave it here. I’ve got my walking boots on, so that won’t be a problem.”

I took a small step away from her and looked her over. She was dressed much like me, a long overcoat, boots and a cap that kept her auburn hair in place. As I looked at her, I got the feeling that she and I were very much alike, that she could have been my much-older sister. I shook my head of that thought, and reached out my hand to her.

“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Naomi. What’s yours?”

She laughed, and the music of it filled me up. She took my hand. “I’m Guinevere Adams, but most people just call me Gwen. I’m starving. Which way?”

I laughed, put her hand under my arm, and led the way back to the house, the snow still falling softly. We went around to the back where the mud room was, and Gwen remarked on the neatness of our garden. It wasn’t very pretty, but I had managed to clean it up in preparation for next year’s planting. I told her I grew lots of veggies there, and the fruit trees gave us plenty of fruit. I offered to give her some of the surplus in the next season.

“Only if I can help with the weeding,” she said as I opened the back door.

I stepped into the mud room and suddenly I realized that I didn’t have anything on under my coat. “Oh, Gwen,” I said as I unclipped Amber from her lead. “I just realized that I’m not appropriately dressed! I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid I’ll embarrass you and you’ll leave.”

“Ohhh,” she said, seeming to understand what I meant. “To tell you the truth, I was going to leave my coat on during dinner. I’m not appropriately dressed, either!” She proceeded to unbutton her long cloak and as I watched, I realized what she meant. As she shrugged out of the heavy thing, it was apparent that the only thing she wore besides the coat, boots, and cap was a light slip that reached only to mid-thigh. “If the pastor only knew what I had on, or rather didn’t have on, he’d be shocked!” and she laughed again, her sudden joy filling the room.

I was shocked, then, when she came to me and started unbuttoning my coat, quickly revealing my nakedness. Once the coat was off, she gently pushed me down onto the bench, squatted in front of me, and began to unzip my boots.

I came out of my trance and said, “I can do that,” and reached for the zipper, but it seemed like such a long way away.

“Nonsense,” she said. “You baby is in the way and I can do it so much more easily.” She continued to unzip the sides of the boots and drew them off my feet. She rubbed my feet, gently massaging each foot for a moment as it came clear of the boot. I hadn’t realized how sore my feet were until she rubbed them, and her touch was heavenly.

“I’ll give you an hour to stop that,” I said breathlessly.

“I know just how painful the feet can get when you’re pregnant,” she said. “Henry would rub my feet once-in-a-while when I had my children.” She sighed heavily. “Now they’re scattered, and since the funeral was just last month, no one can afford to come back for Christmas.” She sighed again and stood up, holding out her hand. I took it, and she pulled me up. She sat down and took off her boots, then stood back up and followed as I led her into the kitchen.

I pulled out a chair at the table for her and she sat down. “I have some home-made beef soup. I hope that’s OK. I made it from my grandmother’s secret recipe. I also have some snackies that I’ll pop into oven, little mini-quiches. Is that all right with you?”

“Actually, it sounds lovely, just about what I might have had with Henry.” I heard a catch in her voice.

“OK,” I said as I reached into the fridge and pulled out the pot of soup. I placed it on the burner on medium, set the heat for the oven, and pulled out the mini-quiches.

“Anything I can do to help?” Gwen asked. I considered the request as Thomas sauntered into the room.

“Actually,” I said, “If you could reach into that drawer and get the silverware out of this drawer, that would be helpful.”

She arranged the silverware, then sat back down. Thomas jumped up into her lap. She said, “Oh, what a pretty kitty,” and started petting him. Thomas, for his part, knew a good thing and started purring loudly, loud enough I could hear him as I stood by the stove.

“He’s a bit of an attention hog,” I said. “But, then, so is Amber.” Amber looked up at hearing her name, saw that Thomas was getting pets, and came over to Gwen and put her nose on Gwen’s leg.

“OK, Amber,” she said, “I’ll pet you, too!” Thomas put his nose against Amber’s, then pushed his head up against Gwen’s hand. “And, I won’t forget you either, handsome.” She proceeded to pet both animals as they got goofy looks on their faces. They were happy for the attention.

Gwen was a very beautiful woman with auburn hair, the waves of her tresses reaching below her shoulders. Her face was flawless, her eyes a flashing green. Her eyebrows were nearly the color of her hair, their shape natural. She wore very little makeup, but what there was accentuated her cheeks. Her lips were painted a natural red, and her teeth were even, only a little stained from life.

Her breasts, from what I could see beneath her slip, were not nearly as small as mine were before I got pregnant, but not so large as my friend, Jamie’s. Her hips were well-proportioned, her waist fairly narrow. Her legs were long and smooth, and the nails on her feet were manicured. Despite the recent death of her husband, she looked as if she had put out some real effort to not look down-trodden for the evening.

“Well,” I said as I stirred the pot, “you certainly have a way with them. Would you like some wine?” I pulled out a bottle of a nice red wine that was in the cupboard.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said. She looked up at me as I placed a single glass before her. “You’re not having one, too?”

I patted my bare tummy. “Doctor’s orders: no alcohol inside of me until Junior here is born!”

She laughed and said, “I forgot. I’ll drink for both of us!” We both laughed at that, but I wondered if, in her grief, she might indulge a little too much. Just then, the oven dinged, letting me know that the pre-heat was done and the quiches could go in. I set the little bite-sized bits on a cookie sheet and place them in the oven. As I was setting the timer, I turned the soup on low and sat down with Gwen. I would have held her hands, but they were still busy petting my critters.