The first room we entered had been redecorated as a play room. There were small chairs, rocking chairs, toys and books. There were colorful murals painted on the new walls. Tracy had set up a stand to hold the Christmas tree we brought with us.
“Tracy this is beautiful, I am sure the children will love it.”
“Wait there’s more.” She smiled as she led us down the south hall where two patient rooms had been converted to one larger bedroom. Inside the room was six brand new children’s beds, one small dresser and a floor mirror. “I know it seems a bit much but you really had me thinking when you were here last year. I really want the children of Waverly to be happy here, this is their home.”
We went back to the play room and Tracy and I watched as Amelia and Aaron carefully unpacked the toys and placed them under the tree. Amelia found her Katie doll. It had been her favorite, given to her as a birthday gift from her Uncle Aiden. He’s not really her uncle, he is my best friend, but he treats her like his own. Worse, he treats her like his niece and spoils her constantly. She hugged it tight then looked at me.
“This one is for Claire, which bed is hers?”
“Here I’ll show you” Tracy said as she led Amelia down to the children’s bedroom. On the wall over one bed, was small plaque with the name ‘Claire’ on it. Carefully Amelia gave Katie doll a kiss and sat her on Claire’s pillow. She looked up at me, she seemed quite proud of herself.
We finished walking the fifth floor, as Tracy proudly showed us the other renovations that were taking place, before we returned to the play room. Aaron, Tracy and I sat in the rocking chairs while Amelia played with the toys. She was talking and I am sure it was the children of Waverly that she was speaking to.
“Are you sure,” I heard her whisper. “Okay I will ask mommy.”
“Ask me what baby girl?”
“It’s Claire, she wants to talk to you but she wants to be alone.”
“Okay, is Claire in here or has she left?”
“She’s gone over to her bed. She’s waiting for you there.”
As I got up, Aaron reached for my hand.
“Do you want me to come with you babe?”
“No Aaron, it will be fine. I’ve spoken with Claire many times.” He nodded at me and I left the toy room.
As I entered the bedroom, I could see a figure on the last bed. It was a girl, about 12 years old, wearing a white dress, stockings and black shoes. She had long blond hair which was tied up in pony tails. It was Claire, wearing the exact same clothes as she has for the last five years. Actually I am sure she has been wearing those same clothes since the day she passed but she seemed different today. Then I noticed something odd; she was holding the doll Amelia gave her.
I sat on the foot of the bed and carefully reached up and touched her knee. “Claire how is this possible? How can I be touching you now?”
She smiled at me and then yawned.
“I’ve been working really hard on this. I knew you would come with Amelia and I really wanted to play with the toys she brought but it takes so much energy and I am very tired. I am going to have a nap with Katie doll. She’s cute isn’t she? Amelia is very lucky; she has a very nice mommy and daddy. You take good care of her and buy her things. Not like us; no one comes and brings us things except for Tracy and you and Amelia.” I could see sadness in her dark eyes.
“Don’t be upset with your parents. You must realize that they have probably passed themselves and, when you got sick, people did not believe in spirits or that we could talk to them like you and I do. I am sure if your mommy knew she could do that she would have.”
Claire nodded but I could tell she was not entirely convinced. I reached my arms out and she crawled down the bed and hugged me. It was an amazing feeling. It felt like energy running through my body from head to toe. She giggled, knowing it tickled me. I kissed her forehead and sat her back on the bed.
“Now Claire, sometimes children have more than one mommy or daddy. It’s very sad but your mommy and daddy have probably crossed over by now. I think as long as you stay here you should think of Tracy as your new mom. She takes care of you and you are both learning how to communicate with each other, it helps her better understand what you need. She loves you like you were her own child; she loves all the children here.”
Claire sat there, staring at me with wide eyes, almost like she didn’t quite understand what I was saying. Then a look of amazement filled her tiny face and her sadness seemed to disappear.
“If Tracy is my new mom, does that make you my aunt? I used to have an aunty as well, three of them actually. They were really nice to me until I came here, then I never saw them again.”
“Oh Claire I would like that very much.”
“Aunty Leigh?” She seemed to be testing how it sounded. Looking up at me she gave me a giant grin. “Merry Christmas, Aunty Leigh. Thank you for the presents. This is my favorite,” she said as she laid down, cradling Katie doll in her arms.
“Merry Christmas Claire.” I got up and gave her a kiss on the head, then she disappeared.
“Merry Christmas Claire,” I whispered again. I suddenly realized that this was the gift Claire truly wanted, a family of her own.
THE END
© 2013 Carolyn Bennett
On Christmas Day
By
Alan Hardy
Will had just come out of hospital. It had been something of a shock, feeling really, really old, maybe for the first time. He’d found it difficult to get dressed and undressed; his fingers had fumbled over slotting buttons into their elusive holes. The nurses had had to help him. Of course, when the chest infection had started to fade, things had got better. When he was discharged, and arrived home, for all intents and purposes he was back to normal. But he knew the episode was a sign of what was to come, the inexorable passing of the years.
He was thrilled to be back with Maria. Various relatives and friends had mucked in to look after her while he was away, but he had always worried about her. Perhaps that was why the infection had taken so long to clear. When he had walked into the living-room and seen her lying in her special reclining-armchair, infirm and frail, but still to him as beautiful as ever, the tears had welled up in his eyes. For a moment he had been rendered speechless, the words dying in his throat.
Once everybody had left, he sat by her in his chair, and sighed happily. Here they were again, side by side, the television flickering away in an unobserved corner, and her old family photos in their customary places on the mantelpiece; all was well with the world. Despite her ever-increasing dementia, her hand stirred shakily, searching for his hand. He took hold of it tenderly, happy to feel the softness of her flesh upon him. When in the hospital, he had feared that such a moment would never come again.
Now he was back with her, just in time for Christmas. Christmas Day was only Christmas Day when spent together with Maria. He turned to look into her blue eyes.
“Everything OK, old girl?”
She stared back at him, her face pinched and worn, but, to him, not so different from the cheeky, expressive features of the black-haired girl who had captivated him in Rome all those years ago. They’d married a few years after the end of the war and, once he’d got his demob papers, he brought her to England.
All those years ago! How the time had passed! Years of joy and, it must be said, moments of sadness and anguish, as occur in all lives, which they had survived together. They’d never had children—that had been the biggest chagrin of all—but the intensity of their love had made up for that. Even though for the last few years Maria had been slipping more and more into a voiceless blackness, Will still felt he had so much to live for. He was Maria’s voice, he was her sight, he was her hearing, he was the person who sat by her side and held her hand, and he would be there for her for as long as she needed him.
There were still a few weeks left to prepare for Christmas Day. He’d managed quite a lot before he fell ill, but there was more to be done. He had to fu
lfil the promise he had made to Maria. She had murmured her request to him months ago. Straining to hear her words as he bent his aching back low over her, he had nodded. He had granted her her wish.
“Will…please…I want to see my sisters one more time, this Christmas…”
“Of course, my dear…”
She still now spoke the occasional word, and clutches of words, but they were punctuated by long stretches of silence, and, occasionally, bouts of rambling incoherence. So, he felt, it was important to keep his promise. He’d made that promise when her mind still had a certain strength, and her words had real meaning. He knew she would hold him to it, and he wouldn’t let her down.
Maria was the eldest of the six sisters. Two of the others also lived in England. They’d come to visit Maria at different times, met their future husbands, and stayed. It wasn’t difficult to contact them. He had arranged for them to visit on Christmas Day. One was still in robust good health; he had to arrange a taxi for the other one, now a poorly widow in a residential care home, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t have that much money, but was happy to spend it to bring joy to his wife. Now back at home, he traced two of the others, who were still in Italy. He rang them up and explained in his faltering Italian what he wanted, or rather what Maria wanted. One of them immediately said she would fly over. The other one didn’t sound so keen, complaining about the distance and her aches and pains, but, when he said he would buy the ticket and send it to her, she said she would travel any number of kilometres to see her dear Maria one more time.
So, that much was settled and arranged. The last sister, though, Clarissa, presented the biggest problem. Maybe it was insurmountable. She was Maria’s favourite. Born just two years after her, they’d grown up together. Will remembered, when he had been courting Maria all those years ago, how she’d always brought Clarissa along as her chaperone. He’d got on famously with her. She was pretty, shorter than Maria, and always joking and laughing. She looked up to Will as the older brother she had never had. She learnt a lot from him, good things like how to behave properly, and which fork to use first, and also bad things like smoking. For those few years in Italy they had always been together, such that Will used to call them The Three Musketeers.
No, Maria would be very disappointed if Clarissa didn’t come. He knew that. But that presented him with the biggest problem of them all, and he didn’t know how he could possibly find an answer to it. You see, Clarissa had been dead for forty years. She’d died of leukaemia. He’d often wondered whether he had been to blame for that. She’d smoked like a trooper all her short life, and he’d been the one who introduced her to that. But then, those were different times, everybody smoked. But, if he could go back, he would undo what he had done. If only one could do that…undo what was done.
He thought and thought about it, but just couldn’t hit upon a solution. Dead was dead. He couldn’t bring someone back from the grave. It couldn’t be done.
In the end, he hit upon a deception. He didn’t like it, but he had to do something. He’d noticed, as Maria became more and more confused, and her memories sketchier and sketchier, that the collection of photographs around her seemed to acquire a life of their own for her. He had at first started to pick up the old black-and-white photos of her mother, father and sisters, and show them to her, holding them close to her face, as a means of aiding her memory, attempting to slow down the rate of its deterioration, and its eventual total loss. Then he’d noticed that at times Maria would confuse the photos with the real thing, and imagine the photo of her father, for example, in his First World War Italian Army uniform, youthful and upright, was in actual fact her father in person. She would talk to him. He didn’t like to deceive her but he decided that on Christmas Day he would place Clarissa’s smiling photo on the coffee-table in front of Maria and, hopefully, she would think that it was really Clarissa come to visit her after all these years. It was obvious, with Maria often speaking with her mother and father, or rather their photos, as if they were still alive, that she had forgotten they had died. Will felt that the Maria of old, the Maria he had run through the yellow corn-fields outside Rome with, laughing and joking, with the hot sun on their faces as if it would shine on them forever, until the end of the world, well, he felt that that Maria would have understood, and would have forgiven him for what he was going to do.
The days leading up to Christmas were not as enjoyable as other years. He normally found the meagre preparations his budget allowed him quite exciting, putting up sprigs of holly, spreading out the few Christmas cards they received on shelves and tables, putting up a few decorations, and, of course, their small, battered-looking tree. It wasn’t just that Maria couldn’t really share in the fun, it was more that Will dreaded the advent of Christmas Day because he felt he had failed her. She would be disappointed, not only because Clarissa wouldn’t be there, but because he would be deliberately tricking her. And, even if Maria herself didn’t manage to see through his ruse, he would know, and that awareness filled him with immense sadness. He felt he was letting her down for the first time in his life. It was like he was cheating on her.
On Christmas Day he got up with a heavy heart. While the carers were getting Maria ready, dressing her in her best clothes, he carefully placed Clarissa’s photo on the coffee-table in front of Maria’s reclining-chair. Images of the day of Clarissa’s funeral, the family grief, and in particular Maria’s distress, came to mind. Clarissa had been buried in the family tomb in the small mountain-village, just outside Rome, which Will had spent so much time in, and grown to love over the years. He remembered the heat of that day despite the touch of breeze which had stirred up the dust, blowing it into their eyes, as they trudged mournfully along the track toward the cemetery.
The two sisters still living in Italy had arrived the previous night, while the two living in England would be coming shortly.
* * *
Will sat in the room beside Maria. They were alone. The two sisters living in England had been and gone, while the two sisters from Italy were already in bed. Their return flight was early the next morning. The day had gone relatively well with lots of tears and hugs. The joy and sadness of reunion. All the sisters looked compassionately and tenderly upon the prone figure of Maria, at times shaking their heads. Will had cried with them. Every now and then he would nudge the photo on the coffee-table, even once or twice picked it up on an excuse, when reminiscing or pretending to scratch away a mark he’d spotted, in order to give the illusion of movement, or even life. He spoke about Clarissa, and manoeuvred the conversation to get the sisters to mention her also. Whether Maria was ever duped even for a moment into thinking Clarissa was there, he doubted. All the time he was aware of Maria casting him intent glances, raising her head from her prone position on her chair. What those glances meant, whether they were accusing him of betrayal, or were merely expressing her puzzlement as to why Clarissa hadn’t yet come, he didn’t know. For a rare moment in his life, he avoided meeting her eyes, the eyes whose gaze he had once so willingly met and wilted under.
He sat there quietly, looking away from Maria. His glance fell upon Clarissa’s photo. He swallowed hard. He felt sure Maria was about to ask him why Clarissa hadn’t come. He felt a great shame. His hand moved towards the photo. There was a knock on the front door. He went to answer it, glad to be able to run away. He answered the door unthinkingly.
“Hello, Clarissa,” he said.
Clarissa hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek, as she always used to, standing on tip-toe to stretch up to him, though not quite as much as before. Will was only too aware that he was beginning to droop more and more.
Maria’s eyes lit up as he led Clarissa into the room. She raised her hands, usually so limp, together in an excited, child-like clap.
Will left them alone most of the evening, only occasionally interrupting them to bring in cups of tea, mince pies and tangerines. Will felt a tug at his heart whenever he saw Maria’s excited expression an
d demeanour. Her eyes were aflame as she lay there listening to Clarissa reminiscing about old times. Years seemed to have fallen away from her. And Clarissa, well, Clarissa looked exactly the same as in his youth. Every now and then Maria would cast Will an appreciative glance, and Will, his heart bursting, felt that if he had to die, then now would not be a bad time.
He did have a quick, private word with Clarissa just as she was leaving.
“Everything’s OK where you are, is it, my dear?” he asked.
“It’s wonderful, Will. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you so much for coming. You’ve made Maria’s day.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
* * *
So, that was it, then. The terrible things that happen, or have happened, don’t need to, or can be remedied. Will knew that he had discovered something very important. It wasn’t so much that he could make Clarissa live again, or cancel out her death and bring her back to life, he knew that he wasn’t God or anything, but it was possible to do things for a while, maybe just a few hours, which had seemed impossible before. He suddenly had a glimpse in his mind of Maria and himself walking together hand in hand through the golden corn-fields of Italy on a blazing-hot day. That was it, moments and experiences which seemed now forever beyond their grasp were still attainable. What had seemed beyond reach was, for some reason, now within the orbit of Will and his beloved Maria.
It came into his head that he wanted, for one more time, to be a few hours with Maria when they were both still young and full of life, when Maria could jump and run and cover his face with her sweet kisses, when his body ached with boundless love, and Maria’s touch was like the caress of an angel on his skin.
How could he make that happen? How had he made Clarissa arrive? What was it which caused her miraculous appearance? He moved over to the window, feeling dizzy, an occurrence which had started to worry him over the last few months. He looked out at the charming street-scene, the street-lamps casting eerie glimmers and shadows over the blanket of virginal snow. He felt he would faint at the beauty of the street on this day.
Yuletide Tales A Festive Collective Page 8