Then Frank and I discussed our Christmas plans. He was going to help me with the livestock, then hit the sack, wake up early, and call his daughter and granddaughter in North Carolina.
“You could be down there by midnight if you left now,” I said. “The roads are clear. Why not go be with your family?”
“They didn’t invite me. Besides, they’re leaving for vacation to Florida on Christmas afternoon. Plus, who’d help you with the livestock?”
“There’s not much livestock left,” I said. “Barbara loaded the pigs in the car and took them back to Ellis and Miriam’s. She said Jewish people wouldn’t have had pigs anyway. I guess Dale hadn’t thought of that. Now we’re down to a cow, a sheep, and a goose.”
“Do you know none of the Gospels mention any animals at the birth of Jesus?”
“I know that, and you know that, but don’t tell Dale. He’ll get all worked up.”
“And according to the Gospel of Matthew, the wise men didn’t show up until two years later,” Frank observed. “Did you know that?”
“Yes, but don’t say anything to Bea. She’s been sewing wise men costumes all week.”
“Did you know Mark’s Gospel doesn’t even mention Jesus’ birth, and that most scholars consider it the most accurate Gospel?” he asked.
I looked at him. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Frank, have you been reading my Progressive Christianity magazine again?”
“It was on top of your desk. Besides, if you don’t want people knowing you read those kind of magazines, you need to hide them under your mattress.”
Penny came to take our dishes away. “Not meaning to be rude, but it is Christmas Eve and some people would like to get home early. Like me, for instance, so could you two move along, for crying out loud?”
We settled up our bill, then went our separate ways, Frank to his house and me to mine. I kept our sons occupied while Barbara hid out in the bedroom wrapping Christmas presents. Even though we were down to three animals, it took several hours to groom them. Except for the goose, who was opposed to grooming, and pecked me on the head when I tried to brush him. That was fine with me. If he wanted to go out in public looking like a mess, that was his business.
Frank came for supper, then we herded our menagerie out to the front yard for the livestock portion of the progressive Nativity scene. It was already dark. We’d no sooner staked out the animals than Bob Miles from the Herald stopped to take a picture. “You’re the second stop. I just came from Dale’s. Boy, he’s got some setup over there. Signs and lights and Clevis Nagle running the sound system. How Dale ever got his wife up in that tree, I’ll never know.”
“His wife?”
“Yep, she’s supposed to be the angel of the Lord. But I think they’ve had a fight. He told her she needed to look more joyful, and she told him, well, maybe I better not say what she told him. Anyway, she didn’t look too happy.”
He pulled his camera from his bag. “Sam, if you could, why don’t you stand next to the animals so I can get your picture. I’ll make sure you get some extra copies to send to your relatives out of town.”
“No thank you, Bob. I’d rather they never found out about this.”
He snapped a dozen pictures before moving on to Asa and Jessie Peacock’s house to view the Holy Family.
By now I was anxious to visit the other stops. I asked Frank to hold down the fort while I traveled the progressive Nativity circuit. Dale’s house was closest, so I went there first. I wasn’t expecting much, so I was surprised to see cars lining both sides of the street for several blocks in each direction. It looked as though everyone in town was there. I had to park three blocks away. I hung back from the crowd, not wanting to be publicly identified with this event, trying to appear as if I were from out of town and had wandered past by accident.
The sound of static filled the air, then the clearing of a throat, and Clevis Nagle came on the sound system. “Welcome to the Progressive Nativity Scene of Harmony Friends Meeting, sound system compliments of Clevis Nagle and the Royal Theater. We’ll be closed this week, but will reopen the day after Christmas with a showing of Santa Claws! See what happens when an escaped grizzly dismembers a mid-Western family on Christmas Eve! As usual, family discounts are available. So bring the kids for an unforgettable evening of holiday fun!”
Dale stood off to the side, beaming.
I had seen enough. I walked back to my car, then drove out to the country to Asa and Jessie’s house to see the Holy Family. There was no one there, except for Asa and Jessie in bathrobes, who looked a little long in the tooth to be with child. They were clustered around the Baby Jesus, compliments of Kivett’s Five and Dime. Behind them, in the barnyard, I could see the blackened husk of Asa’s truck.
I climbed from the car. We exchanged pleasantries. “Been busy?” I asked.
“Not a soul’s been by,” Asa said.
“Everyone’s over at Dale’s,” I said. “They’ll be by before long.”
We visited for a while, but still no one came, so I left for Bea’s house. No one was there either, except for three wise men—Ellis Hodge, Fern’s nephew Ervin, and the radio man from WEAK, who appeared to be giving serious thought to finding another line of work. They were huddled around a small fire, rubbing their hands briskly, while also trying to look reverent as they worshiped the Baby Jesus, which was no small trick since he was three miles away in Asa’s front yard.
I asked if anyone had stopped by.
“Not a soul,” they reported.
This was worse than the Christmas the year of Pastor Taylor’s midlife crisis, when he’d read from the California Bible.
I pushed on to Fern’s house, not looking forward to facing thirty irate Friendly Women. But, to my surprise, it was packed. The cookie sales were brisk, Fern reported happily. Apparently, people had decided to skip Jesus and go straight to the refreshments. Not an altogether uncommon occurrence.
I visited briefly with the ladies of the Circle, drank some hot chocolate, then took half a dozen cookies back to Frank. No one had stopped by. “I don’t think they’re getting it,” he said. “I don’t think people understood they were supposed to come by here next.”
“They’re over at Fern’s eating cookies,” I explained. “Asa and Jessie didn’t have anyone stop by either.”
“Mind if I go home?” he asked.
“No, go ahead. And thanks for your help, Frank. I appreciate it.”
“Need some help getting the animals in?”
“No, I can handle it.”
We waved good-bye, and then I led the animals back to the garage.
My boys were still up, but in their pajamas, so I read them a story, answered their barrage of questions, then tucked them in. Barbara was downstairs arranging their presents under the tree. I was too preoccupied to sleep, so I decided to go for a walk.
I headed toward town, past Dale’s house. The people were gone, and Dale was taking down the sound system. I hoped in the dark he wouldn’t notice me, but he did. “What a night that was,” he said. “Wasn’t that something?”
“It certainly was something,” I agreed.
“Did you get by the Peacocks’ house?” he asked.
“Yes, I did.”
Dale paused for a moment, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. Never having seen Dale look thoughtful, I was caught off guard.
“You know, Sam, having the Nativity scene spread out like that kinda reminded me how we never really see the full picture. We think we do, but mostly we’re just lookin’ at bits and pieces, thinkin’ we’re seeing the whole thing.”
I was utterly stunned at his insight.
“Say,” Dale said, “this was such a hit, why don’t we be thinkin’ about doing something like this for Easter? Maybe have a Crucifixion in my yard and the Resurrection in your yard. Wouldn’t that be something?”
It appeared Dale’s detour into wisdom would be a brief one.
“I guess it’s something to think about,” I sa
id. “Well, Dale, you take care. Safe travels to your sister-in-law’s.”
I continued walking toward town. Before long, I could see the Christmas lights the Odd Fellows had strung across Main Street. It was late and still, except for an occasional car driving by. I walked past the meetinghouse and noticed Frank had left a light on, so I went in to turn it off. Frank was there, seated by himself in the third pew, right-hand side.
I wasn’t going to disturb him, but he looked up, noticed me, and motioned for me to sit beside him.
“Hey, Frank.”
“Hey, Sam.”
“Everything all right?”
“Oh, sure. I don’t know. I was just walking past and thought I’d sit for a while. It’s nice in here.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “Very peaceful.”
“So I’m sitting here thinking old-man thoughts.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet.
“Mostly remembering when my daughter was little and we’d sit here on Christmas Eve. She’d be in her pajamas. Right here.” He patted his lap. “Now she’s in North Carolina. I wonder how she is.”
“I’m sure she’s just fine,” I said.
He didn’t speak for several moments. “I missed this tonight. I missed the Gospel of Luke and going to the basement for cookies.”
“I did, too, Frank. I missed it, too.”
We grew quiet, remembering. Frank with his Yule thoughts, and me with mine. Sitting at the dining-room table writing out Christmas cards with my wife. Walking the aisles of the Five and Dime searching for the perfect gift, my sons in tow. Finding that exquisite tree at Grant’s Hardware, eight feet tall with vertical integrity, a tree among trees. Watching Clarence the angel rescue George Bailey on a Friday night at the Royal. My boys sitting on Santa’s lap—one a skeptic, the other a true believer. Tucking them in bed not an hour before, their little bodies squirming with excitement. Still little, and still with me, and not in North Carolina. Not even the prospect of Dale’s progressive Easter could dampen that.
I heard a slight sniff and came out of my reverie. “Uh, Sam, I was wondering if you could maybe do me a favor?”
“Sure, Frank, what is it?”
“I was hoping maybe you could you read the second chapter of Luke for me. Not the whole thing, just the birth part.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” I reached for a pew Bible.
“No, Sam, not here. Could you read it from the pulpit, like we’ve always done?”
I walked up to the pulpit, opened the pulpit Bible to the Gospel of Luke, and began to read. Frank closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the words wash over him. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed…. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn…Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.”
I closed the Bible and sat back down next to Frank. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out the cookies I had given him earlier. “Care for a cookie?” he asked.
“Thank you, Frank. Don’t mind if I do.”
We sat like that until the Frieda Hampton memorial clock bonged midnight.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas to you, Frank.”
The stream of some forty Christmas Eves in that place now blend into one, except for that year, which I’ve never told anyone about until now, trusting you will not think me foolish for believing it to be perhaps my finest Christmas Eve ever.
If you would like to correspond directly with Philip Gulley, please send mail to:
Philip Gulley
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About the Author
PHILIP GULLEY is a Quaker minister and the bestselling author of Front Porch Tales, Home to Harmony, and Just Shy of Harmony. He and his wife, Joan, live in Danville, Indiana, with their sons, Spencer and Sam.
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ALSO BY PHILIP GULLEY
Nonfiction
Hometown Tales
Front Porch Tales
For Everything a Season
Fiction
Home to Harmony
Just Shy of Harmony
Coming Soon
Signs and Wonders: A Harmony Novel
Copyright
CHRISTMAS IN HARMONY. Copyright © 2002 by Philip Gulley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition September 2007 ISBN 9780061741302
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