by Janet Spaeth
“I’d better go in and see what I can do,” Tess said. She didn’t look forward to it. Katie Tyler was a beautiful but spoiled child and as stubborn as a cat.
“I told her I didn’t need her raggedy old doll. I’d just wad up a bunch of towels and use those instead,” Lena continued.
“Oh no!” Tess groaned.
“And then she said, ‘Where are you going to get towels, Miss Smarty Pants?’ Can you believe it? She actually called me Miss Smarty Pants! So I told her I’d use her coat when she changed into her costume for the kids’ play, and now she won’t take off her coat, and her costume won’t fit, but she won’t take off her coat, and she’s the star so she has to be in the show, and the choir director’s about ready to kill both her and you!” Lena’s exciting narrative came to a triumphant and breathless finish.
“And a merry Christmas to you, too,” Tess said under her breath as she mentally girded her loins to go into the church and do battle with one Katie Tyler over Baby Snoozie’s missing snore box.
Katie took one look at Tess’s face and, without a word, stuck her arms behind her parka-covered back, protecting Baby Snoozie from the marauding clutches of Tess.
Tess motioned for Katie to follow her, and Katie did, mesmerized by Tess’s silence. Neither one of them spoke as they went into the Sunday school room and sat in the minuscule chairs.
It was Katie who broke the wordless standoff. “You killed Baby Snoozie.”
Tess pondered how to rectify the situation and do it quickly. She sent up a quick prayer for help and began.
“Katie, I’m sorry I took the battery pack out without telling you. I did it simply because I didn’t want the doll to start snoring during the show. Just like you’re pretending to be a star tonight, Baby Snoozie is pretending to be Baby Jesus. Think of it, Katie. Your doll is an actor, just like you!”
Tess was sure she saw the girl soften.
“I’ll replace the battery pack as soon as the show is over. I promise.” Tess leaned forward earnestly. “I promise.”
The girl narrowed her eyes and studied Tess. “Okay,” she said, shoving the doll into Tess’s arms.
“Now please scurry into your star costume.”
“Okay.”
“Wow, that was fast,” Jake said when Tess emerged with Baby Snoozie in tow. “How did you do that?”
“I tried something unheard of today. I told her the truth.” Tess grinned at him. “Now I have to return this doll to Lena before she rips Katie’s coat off her. Go ahead and find a seat and save one for me. I’ll only be a minute.”
Lena had calmed down considerably, enough to manage one last sarcastic comment about the doll’s face: “If I have to look at the grotesque doll all evening long, I’m going to turn it upside down so I’ll be looking at its feet instead.”
The tableau was scheduled to be the last presentation of the show. Tess made a mental note to slip out a few minutes before its start.
She had just eased into the seat Jake had saved for her, ignoring the fond glances the rest of the congregation gave them, when Mrs. Smalley switched from the meditative introductory music. The organ notes swelled into the magnificent opening chords of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”
Everyone stood and joined in, most singing the words from memory. It was one of her favorite Christmas carols, so exuberant that it brought the wild joy of Jesus’ birth even closer.
Reverend Barnes began straight-out with the reading from Luke: “ ‘And it came to pass in those days….’ ” As many times as she heard it and read it, Tess could never tire of the words. So simple, so meaningful.
As he read through the story, he paused while the children presented a skit or sang a song. Katie Tyler, Tess saw with satisfaction, portrayed the Christmas star with a brilliance.
She couldn’t help stealing a glance at Jake during Katie’s play—was he, too, thinking back to their discussion on the way to church?
The stars moved offstage to allow the next heavenly host: the angels. The youngest children looked beatific in their short white robes that belled around them. Someone had gone to great lengths with their costumes. The wings were snowy puffs of feathers that made them look as if they could truly take off and return to heaven at any moment.
Tess almost missed her cue so enraptured was she with the little ones. But she slipped off just in time to corral the teenagers and hustle them behind the curtain, with Baby Snoozie in an upright position.
As she pulled the cords opening the curtain and revealing the sheet, she flipped on the lights. The congregation voiced a unison “Ooooh.” Even from the side of the stage it looked impressive. Lena apparently was moved to new thespian heights and gazed at Baby Snoozie with rapture as the children around her sang “Away in a Manger.”
Tess stole back to her seat by Jake in time to watch the angels flock to the front of the sheet. One of them kicked a light on the floor, but miraculously it didn’t tip over. The angels fluttered around the silhouetted scene as the congregation joined them in “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”
Then the lights were dimmed, and ushers distributed candles. One by one, the light was passed from person to person while they sang “Silent Night.”
The sanctuary at Nativity was small, but in the light of all the candles it looked endless, like a scene of eternity.
Reverend Barnes invited them to keep the light of Jesus burning in their hearts throughout the year and to remember that one little candle can light a world of darkness. As the candles were extinguished and the lights brought up, he smiled at them. “He is born!”
Mrs. Smalley launched into “Joy to the World!” and the churchgoers sang with gusto.
Tess felt tears of happiness and renewal spring to her eyes. As she dug her handkerchief out of her coat pocket, she noticed Jake smiling at her through eyes that were a bit bright, too.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to her as the last notes of the organ sounded.
“And to you,” she responded.
She saw Lena signaling madly to her. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said to Jake. “I promised Katie I’d reinstall the battery pack on her doll.”
“Take this ugly thing away from me,” Lena said, her stage piety totally evaporated. She pressed the doll into Tess’s hands. “I don’t even want to be in the same room with it anymore. It gives me the creeps.”
She spun around on her heel and was several feet away before she stopped and called, “And Merry Christmas, Tess!”
“Merry Christmas, Lena,” she answered back. “You were a splendid Mary.”
Katie was surrounded by doting relatives, and from the way she was smirking and simpering Tess was fairly sure she’d forgotten about Baby Snoozie. She slipped back into the Sunday school room and reinstalled the doll’s battery pack.
Immediately the doll began a chorus of snores that would have made Tess’s grandfather proud. A small sound at the door turned her head.
“What on earth is that?” Jake asked.
“This is Baby Snoozie, the source of the earlier battle,” she explained. “She belongs to Katie Tyler, the star of the program, no pun intended.”
He picked it up and held it at arm’s length. “This is possibly the ugliest doll I’ve ever seen. What’s the big deal with her, other than that obnoxious snore?”
“This, my friend, was the best actor of the evening. You hold in your hand tonight’s Baby Jesus.”
“This thing? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. Baby Snoozie played Baby Jesus. I took her battery pack out in advance, and she did just fine.”
Katie arrived with relatives in tow to claim her doll, and Tess was more than glad to hand it over.
As they left the room, Jake bent close to Tess’s ear and murmured, “Next time I start to get too mouthy, like tonight, just take out my battery pack, okay?”
Chapter 14
Cora met them impatiently at the door, letting them know that once again they had inconvenienced her. Her pla
te was nearly empty, and she led them to it. Their arrival had once more narrowly averted the near-catastrophe of her starvation.
“That cat is obsessed with food,” Jake marveled as Tess put more Meow Meals on Cora’s plate. “She can’t possibly be this hungry all the time.”
Tess cooed to Cora and stood up. “Cats overeat for a lot of reasons. Frequently it’s because they’re bored, which is a major problem with people who overeat, too. With Cora, though, I think it’s something else.”
He watched Cora as she hunched over her dish and ate. “Why do you think she chows down so much?”
“I think something happened to her before she got here. Maybe she was abandoned or a street cat or whatever. The way she acts, sometimes I think her life before she arrived here wasn’t good. Remember—I’ve only had her three years, and she’s much older than that. How old, I don’t know. I’m guessing she must be around eight or nine, and the vet agrees.”
The kinds of things Cora must have experienced always bothered her. Would it be better to know what her earlier life had been like? Or would that be too much to bear, if it were bad?
“Well, she is a precious cat, whatever. When you told me the story about her being here when you moved in, and your grandmother saying there’d be a cat the color of pussy willows waiting for her in heaven, well, I have to confess, I got goose bumps.” He rubbed his arms as if experiencing them again.
“Tell me about it. I nearly passed out when I walked in and saw her. I thought for sure it was a sign that Grandma was in heaven. It was definitely a sign that God recognized I needed a little comfort.” She smiled at the cat, who was chasing a last nugget of Meow Meals around the plate. “And what a comfort she has been. She is like a rock. A complaining, domineering rock, but a rock just the same.”
“I need to run out to my car and get the Rock’s presents. I’ll be right back.”
Cora had captured the last bit of food and watched him leave, too full to be more than vaguely curious. Tess picked her up and fondly buried her face in the soft gray fur. The cat’s side vibrated as her purrs reached full throttle.
“Are you going to speak at midnight, Cora?” Tess asked, reminded suddenly of the legend Jake had referred to earlier. “And what would you say?”
Jake was back in before she could finish.
“Wow, that was quick!” she said as he dropped a large sack on the floor beside him.
“It’s way too cold to dawdle. I ran,” he panted, clutching his chest. “I hope you know CPR—or at least mouth-to-mouth.” He leered at her teasingly.
“Cora does the mouth-to-mouth around here,” Tess said, “but only after she’s had a bag or two of Giblet Niblets. If that won’t put air back in your lungs, I don’t know what will.”
“Ha! It’d probably kill me. So did I interrupt a conversation between you and Cora?”
“We were just discussing if she was going to speak at midnight and what she would say.”
“Interesting concept.” He shed his mittens and coat and tried to keep Cora away from the bag as he balanced on one leg and then the other, while pulling off his snow boots. “And what did she say?”
“Nothing, silly. It’s not midnight.”
“Oh well, of course.”
“Although,” Tess conceded, “this is a fascinating theory. If you could speak only once a year, what would you say?”
He looked at Cora thoughtfully. “I don’t know. How long do I get to speak?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s say you have five minutes.”
“Five minutes for a whole year? Hmm. Let me think.”
“I’ll bet all the petty, whiny things wouldn’t make it. Like who forgot to buy milk or who left the cap off the toothpaste or even carping about the guy at work who borrows your pens and never returns them. Things we spend so much time going on and on about and which are really nothing of importance.”
He nodded. “You’ve got a point. So what would you say?”
“Point of clarification, please,” she said. “Who am I talking to?”
“Oh, me, I suppose. And Cora. Yes, let’s include Cora.”
“And I haven’t spoken all year, right?”
“Right.”
“This is hard,” she protested. “You and I have known each other for only a month.”
“Try it.”
“You know, if I were an animal, I’d have a whole year to think about it before my big moment came. It’s not quite fair to put me on the spot like this.” She smiled at him.
“I agree. This would take more consideration than we’ve given it. Let’s come back to it later, okay?”
They moved into the living room where the tree stood. The blue spruce was large and full, and it filled most of one corner.
He crossed to examine the ornaments. “I’m surprised this isn’t decorated in angels,” he said as he touched a small red knit stocking.
“Decorated by angels,” she said. “Most of these ornaments were made by my grandmother and grandfather, and the others came from my parents’ collection. Grandma knit that stocking, for example. Grandpa carved that woodcut stable scene. And the blown-glass bulbs, like that one, are from a collection my parents started when they were first married.”
He walked around the tree, examining each decoration.
“The tree topper was a difficult decision for me. Star or angel? My parents had an exquisite golden star, and my grandparents had a porcelain angel.”
He looked up to see her choice and laughed.
At the top of the tree, an angel triumphantly held a star aloft.
Cora, who had followed them into the living room, plopped down under the tree, as if proclaiming herself the best present of all.
He opened the bag he’d brought and spread the colorfully gift-wrapped contents out under the lower boughs. Then, in silent accord, he and Tess waited and watched.
Cora’s nose twitched once. Then twice. She rose, her nose now in constant use, and ambled over to the nearest package.
She eyed it from all angles. With a furry paw she batted it tentatively, then with more assurance. Finally she grabbed it with her teeth and front paws and tore at it madly with her hind legs, shredding the paper and most of the container with her powerful claws.
Cora rolled over and over with the catnip mouse, chewing and kicking the toy.
“So much for my cat’s snooty decorum,” Tess said. “She’s absolutely nuts!”
One by one, Cora opened her packages with increasing fervor, until at last she collapsed in a satisfied heap with her catnip mouse tucked in her paws.
“For all the world she looks like a little kid holding a teddy bear,” Tess said fondly.
“I think she enjoyed it.”
“I’m ready for the movie now,” Tess said. “Shall I make popcorn?”
“But I have a present for you,” he objected.
“And I have one for you. But right now I want to revel in the memory of Cora’s unbridled happiness and get good and teary with It’s a Wonderful Life.”
As she popped the popcorn, she reviewed the gift she’d chosen for him. Was it appropriate? Would he think it was silly?
“Mmm.” Jake tasted the top kernels from the bowl. “This is great popcorn!”
“I made it the old-fashioned way, with a popper and melted butter and loads of salt.” She sat down beside him, balancing the bowl in her lap.
Cora’s nose snuffled her awake from sleep, and she sprang from her spot in the middle of the floor, abandoned her catnip mouse, and leaped up onto the couch beside Tess. Tess offered a few of the popped kernels, and Cora sniffed at them.
Apparently even Cora had her food limits. She licked the butter from the kernels and gave up, curling herself into a warm ball beside Tess.
Tess clicked the remote control and started the video. Within minutes she was in Bedford Falls, and the dissension between downtown and the End, faith and proof, and anything else evaporated as she lost herself in the classic movie.
By the end of the video she was leaning against Jake, sniffling openly.
“I love this movie!” she exclaimed. “Love it, love it, love it!”
He agreed with her. “It’s timeless. No matter how often I watch it, I still enjoy it. And it doesn’t seem to age, either. I’m sure I’ll never see this movie as old-fashioned or out-of-date.”
She sighed. “Well, we’re out of popcorn. I can’t believe we ate that whole bowl by ourselves. And we can’t blame any of it on Cora. She must be totally wiped out—she not only slept through the movie, but she was too tuckered to do more than lick the popcorn.”
“She did make a valiant effort, though,” he pointed out.
“True.”
After putting the empty popcorn bowl in the kitchen, they returned to the living room. Cora had sprawled even more across the couch, her body occupying one entire cushion and her outstretched feet and head encroaching upon the others.
“I think we’ve been bumped,” Jake said to her, his arm sliding around her shoulder. “Shall we sit in front of the tree instead to open our presents to each other?”
They hadn’t turned the lights back on after the movie, and the living room was lit with only the glow of the bulbs on the Christmas tree.
“Christmas music?” he asked, motioning toward the stereo.
“Lovely.”
He turned the stereo on, and soon mellow carols filled the air. “I love the music of Christmas,” he said as he joined her in front of the tree. “It’s hard to decide which carol is my favorite. I’ll think I know, and then I’ll hear another one, and I’ll tell myself, ‘Oh no, that one is my favorite,’ and it is—until I hear the next one. And so it goes, on and on.”
“I know what you mean. I have never been able to decide, although I like ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful.’ And ‘He Is Born.’ And, oh yeah, ‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.’ And that one about the rose. And …” She caught his expression and laughed. “I should quit before I run through the list of every carol I’ve ever heard. Maybe it’d be quicker to list the ones we don’t like.”
“Can’t. I love them all.”
“Me, too,” she agreed. “Oh, listen! It’s ‘The Little Drummer Boy.’ ”