by Anne Dublin
I’m the first one through the back door. I can almost taste those tourtières, which Maman had left on top of the wood-burning stove to warm up. But just inside the back door, I freeze, then let out a little yelp of surprise. Yvette pushes in behind me, and she shrieks too, then runs across the kitchen floor in her wet boots to kneel on a chair and stare at what’s in the middle of the table. The rest of the family crowds in behind us, and everyone begins talking at once.
Our Christmas fruit bowl! It’s heaped with oranges, bananas, grapes, and pears. And tucked among all the fruit are shining chocolates, some of them wrapped in gold.
Before even asking, Yvette reaches for the closest one and pops it into her mouth.
0
It’s past three a.m. before our réveillon, our family Christmas party, has ended. We’re all stuffed with the good things that Maman has been preparing over the past week as well as with fruit and chocolate from the Colemans. Tonight, the first banana I ever ate was utterly delicious. My stomach isn’t grumbling anymore, either. And we’ve saved plenty for tomorrow. Then Maman tells us that we’d all better hurry and get to bed before le père Noël shows up and catches us still awake. And she warns us not to forget to hang our stockings on our bedposts.
Bernard and Yvette start jumping and chattering, and Maman tells them “calmez-vous” or they’ll awaken the tenants. Then they disappear down the hallway, followed by Arthur, who walks more slowly, pretending that he’s too old to care anymore. Papa is down in the cellar, adding more wood to the furnace so that the house will be warm for the Colemans, who will probably awaken before us. I’m alone with Maman in the kitchen, so I ask her.
“Le père Noël is really coming tonight?” I ask.
She looks at me with a sly smile. “It’s a secret, Aline,” she tells me. “You’ll have to wait until morning to find out.”
“But Maman, you told me…”
Maman squeezes my shoulders. “Remember how I told you I sold some pies and buns?”
I nod, understanding now. “And the fruit bowl too. But we have it back now!”
“Because of you, I’m sure, ma belle,” Maman tells me. “Only because of you!”
0
I tell myself to keep my eyes open until Maman and Papa have fallen asleep. There’s still one more thing that I have left to do tonight. But it’s hard because it’s so late and I’m so very tired. But I’m happy too, so happy that I’m practically hugging myself. Because after all the not-so-happy things that have been happening lately, this Christmas has been bursting with moments that I won’t soon forget.
I can’t help but wonder about the Dionne quintuplets. How are they spending their Christmas Eve? Did they have a réveillon like we did? I know they didn’t get a Saint Vincent box stuffed with good things for their family. Are they allowed to spend Christmas with their family, or do they have to stay at the special house that was built just for them? Yes, some people think that they’re such lucky girls, with all their wonderful things, their teacher, maids, and housekeepers, their lovely dresses and bounty of toys, and a grand choice of food all the time, I suppose. But they have to live behind a barbwire fence. Without any friends. So tonight, I know I’m luckier. Maybe even luckier than the two princesses who live in a palace in England.
All too soon, I lose my fight to stay awake. The next time I open my eyes, the room is filled with the dim gray light of dawn. Everyone is still snoring, though. I can hear them. I take my four little packages and place one in each stocking that hangs from the bedposts. And I’m shocked to discover that they’re already bulging with gifts from le père Noël. Maman was right. He really did come last night. There’s even an orange in the toe of every stocking. And now I’m adding one more present for each of us.
At last, all that candy is finally gone from my hiding spot inside the little dresser. I snuggle up under the quilt beside Yvette and fall right back to sleep with a happy heart.
The next time I open my eyes, the room is morning-bright. Maman clatters in the kitchen while Papa and the boys talk away. And on the bed beside me, Yvette has started to empty her stocking. Already, her mouth is stuffed with candies, and her face is one wide smile.
Later in the day, we’re all outside skating on the rink in the yard. It’s something that we’ve always done on Christmas day in our family, as far back as I can remember. But this time someone else is with us—Carolyn Coleman! And she’s wearing her first pair of skates ever, left last night by le père Noël, who is called Saint Nicholas in England. They’re dainty white ones, girls’ skates, not boys’ skates like ours, and they have little picks on the blades that keep making her fall down. She cried only the first time, then started to laugh when the rest of us did.
Carolyn’s face is rosy with the cold. She wears stockings and her pretty plaid coat because that’s all she has. Yvette and I are bundled up in our brothers’ too-small breeches and coats. Nothing is ever wasted in our family! After, we will go upstairs for tea and cookies with our parents and the Colemans.
Arthur gives Carolyn a hockey stick, and that seems to help her stay on her feet. My sister and brothers and I start to shoot a horse ball around on the ice, and Carolyn won’t stop laughing because she can’t believe what we use for a hockey puck. A few minutes later, the backyard gate opens. It’s Lucille and her brothers, who have crossed the road in their skates. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a face in the kitchen window.
It’s Papa looking out, watching us.
FIN
About
Deb Loughead is the author of more than 40 books for children and young adults, ranging from poetry and plays to picture books and novels, many of them in translation. Her Creative Non-Fiction essay, ‘The Dirty Blonde in the Yellow Pajamas’ appeared in Untying the Apron: Daughters Remember Mothers of the 1950s.
Deb’s poetry and adult fiction have appeared in a variety of Canadian publications. (Her biggest thrill came when one of her award-winning short stories was compared to the writing style of Margaret Lawrence.) Deb has conducted writing workshops and held readings for children and adults at schools, festivals and conferences across the country.
Deb is also the author of the popular children’s poetry book, All I Need and Other Poems for Kids, and the co-editor of a collection of YA body image stories entitled Cleavage: Breakaway Fiction for Real Girls, (Sumach Press, 2008). She lives with her husband Dan in Toronto. Her three adult sons have long flown the coop. For more information visit www.debloughead.ca