“Where is she?” said Edith, feeling a bit lost.
“Where are her things?” asked Charles as he continued looking around the orderly room as if he expected to find a clue.
Edith didn’t know what to think. “I have no idea.”
“Look,” said Charles, pointing at something on the bureau.
Edith came over to see that it was her porcelain angel. “My angel!” she exclaimed. “What is it – ”
“There’s something underneath it,” said Charles as he carefully lifted the angel and picked up the small white envelope with the picture of a shepherd and lamb on one side, stationery provided by their inn.
“To the innkeepers.” Edith read the front of the envelope as Charles handed it to her. She slowly opened it, and the first thing she noticed was the money inside. “What is this?” She handed the bills to Charles, then proceeded to read the juvenile-looking handwriting out loud.
“Thanks for your hospitality. You got a nice place here. Sorry I couldn’t stick around to say good-bye, but it’s time for me to go. Collin and Amy can use my room now that I’m gone. I have one more week paid up, and the money enclosed is for any extra days or in case they need gas money. I know you’ll take care of it for me. Sincerely, Myrtle.”
“So she’s really gone.” Edith looked around the room one more time, almost in disbelief. “I was prepared to have her around for another week.”
Charles just shook his head. “But how did she leave? She had no car. Did you see anyone coming to pick her up yesterday?”
“No . . .”
“Do you think someone might’ve picked her up on Friday night, during the Christmas pageant? There were so many people there, it’s possible that she arranged to be quietly picked up and we just didn’t notice.”
“I suppose . . .” Still, Edith thought it was odd. “But I don’t know why she would be so secretive. Myrtle wasn’t exactly a private person, you know. She didn’t really seem to care what people thought of her. Why would she leave so quietly?”
“I don’t know.” Charles frowned. “I hope I didn’t offend her when I told her and Olive to stop arguing. But I didn’t single her out. I addressed Olive in the same manner.”
“Oh, I don’t think Myrtle was easily offended,” said Edith, even though she’d had a similar concern earlier. She just didn’t want Charles to feel guilty.
“You don’t think she would’ve tried to make it out of here on foot, do you?” said Charles uncertainly.
“Oh, I don’t think so . . .”
“Just the same, maybe I should drive around a bit, check around town, just in case. I’d feel horrible to think that old woman is out on the road, in the snow, and on Christmas.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I know I’d appreciate it. But before you leave, let me go take a look at her registration form. Maybe I can give her home a call and see if she’s arrived safely.”
“Yes. That’s a good plan.”
They hurried downstairs, and Edith searched in her file until she found Myrtle’s registration form. But other than her name, the form was blank. “I thought you said she filled this out,” she said to Charles.
He adjusted his glasses to look at it. “Well, I thought she did.” He scratched his head now. “But then I remember she wanted to pay in cash, and so I was more focused on doing the math and making her change, and I suppose I just dropped the form into your file and never really looked at it.”
“This is very weird, Charles. Someone drops this eccentric woman off, she pays for two weeks’ lodging in cash, and then she disappears after one week. It could almost make someone think that she’s some deranged patient who escaped from some institution.”
“Or an angel.”
She turned and looked at Charles. “You don’t really think?”
He kind of laughed. “Well, certainly an odd angel.”
“Very odd.”
“Edith?”
She turned to see Collin, and his face looked frightened. “What is it?” she asked.
“Amy!” he exclaimed. “She’s in labor. What should I do?”
By now several of the guests had gathered around, witnessing this little spectacle.
“Oh!” Edith looked at Charles. “Should we drive them to the hospital?”
“No,” said Collin. “Amy refuses to go to the hospital. I already asked her, and she got really mad at me. I promised her that she wouldn’t have to go, but now I’m not so sure. What should I do?”
“Can you get her into the house?” asked Edith. “Can she make it up the stairs?”
“Up the stairs?” Collin looked confused now.
“Myrtle left. She wanted you kids to have her room.”
Collin brightened a bit. “Really?”
“Yeah, but can Amy get in here okay?”
“I’ll go see.”
“I’ll come help,” said Charles.
Then Edith got on the phone. She hated to disturb Helen on Christmas Day, but Helen had made her promise. And as it turned out, Helen sounded quite pleased. “No, it’s not a problem, Edith. We’re not really doing anything at all. It’s just Clarence and me. I’ll have him drive me right over, well, as soon as I get some things together first.”
It was quite amazing how the other guests stepped in to help. Leslie, the person who had most recently given birth, took it on herself to help coach Amy through labor. Meanwhile Lauren and Michael entertained little Megan with games and books. Edith, distracted in trying to help Helen and Leslie and making sure they had what they needed for Amy, was forced to let her regular chores go, but Carmen and Jim Fields jumped right in, actually putting away all the breakfast things and cleaning the kitchen. And Mr. Benson and Helen’s husband, Clarence, enjoyed several games of chess.
During this hectic time at the bed and breakfast, Charles was out scouring the town of Christmas Valley. He even called Peter and asked him to look around a bit too. But finally the two of them met on a deserted Main Street and, certain that Myrtle wasn’t out shivering in an alley somewhere, decided to return to the inn.
Amy’s labor intensified in the afternoon, and everyone continued to pitch in to help, taking turns running things upstairs and helping to get Christmas dinner ready in the kitchen. All the guests offered to straighten their own rooms and replenish their own linens. Edith was actually able to sit down and put her feet up for a few minutes.
Angela Myrtle was born at 3:45 p.m. After helping Helen to clean off the squirming wet infant and wrapping her into a snug flannel blanket, Edith went down to fetch her kitchen scales. Little Angela weighed in at seven pounds and four ounces.
“Angela Myrtle?” Edith queried as she adjusted the pillow beneath the tired mother’s head.
Amy smiled. “Angela is for Collin’s grandmother. Myrtle is for the kind woman who allowed us to stay in this amazing room.” She looked around the room, with its soothing green colors and peaceful pastoral pictures adorning the walls, and smiled. “I feel like I’m in heaven right now. I never dreamed I’d have my baby in such a beautiful place.”
“Myrtle’s timing couldn’t have been better,” said Edith as she gathered up some linens.
“Where did she go, anyway?” asked Collin. He was sitting at the end of Amy’s bed now, cradling his brand-new daughter in his arms.
“We don’t really know,” admitted Edith. “But it seemed her mission here was done.”
“Mission?”
Edith smiled. “I think God gives us all some kind of mission.”
Somehow the turkey and dressing and all the rest of the Christmas dinner made its way to the big dining room table on time. And as Charles and Edith and all their houseguests, minus the new little family upstairs and plus Helen and Clarence and Peter, gathered together, Charles invited them to all bow their heads in a Christmas blessing. Before Charles said “amen,” he specifically thanked God for sending them Myrtle.
“So, do you really believe that God sent Myrtle?” queried Mr. Benson with a som
ewhat skeptical expression across his brow.
Charles nodded solemnly. “Yes, I do. I’m just sorry that I didn’t notice sooner.”
That’s when everyone at the table began to share their own personal experiences and exchanges with the peculiar woman. And most had to agree that Myrtle had indeed rubbed them wrongly, at least to begin with, but at the same time she had touched them at some level – some deep level where they all needed a touch.
Certainly, not everyone was convinced that Myrtle had literally been sent by God via a direct route from heaven. But some weren’t so sure she hadn’t.
“Perhaps it’s not so important that we know where Myrtle came from for certain,” Charles finally said. “As long as we believe that God can use someone as unexpected and unconventional as Myrtle to touch our lives. Maybe that’s what really matters.”
But Edith felt certain that Myrtle was indeed an angel. Only, like her husband, she wished that she’d come to this realization sooner. She also wished that she’d treated Myrtle with a bit more love and respect. Although that might’ve spoiled things for the strange old woman, blowing her cover, so to speak – because, Edith suspected, Myrtle’s mission may not have been accomplished if she hadn’t performed it incognito.
The GIFT of
CHRISTMAS
PRESENT
Christmas Past: the gift we keep with us forever
Christmas Future: the gift that is yet to come
Christmas Present: the gift we open today
1
Christine studied the tall brick house from the sidewalk. Not unlike the other prestigious homes in this dignified university neighborhood, and yet somehow this one seemed different. She glanced down the tree-lined street to survey the other houses. Obviously, these were old and established residences, not anything like the houses in the neighborhood she’d grown up in, where houses popped up almost overnight, like mushrooms, her father liked to say, and where landscaping was minimal and trees were immature and spindly at best. No, this influential neighborhood appeared well established in both history and wealth. And for some reason that irked her.
But why did this house feel different than the others that lined the street? Was it an aura of heaviness? A feeling of sadness? Or perhaps it was simply the lack of Christmas decorations. No bright evergreen wreath hung on its stark black door. And no cheerful lights helped to relieve the foggy gloom of the late afternoon dusk. She walked up the neat brick walk and rang the doorbell, afraid that to hesitate one more moment might compel her to turn back and abandon this crazy stunt altogether.
After what seemed several minutes, the door slowly opened and the face of an older woman with steely blue eyes and silver hair peered through the slit of the open door.
“Yes?” Her voice had the sound of gravel in it, like someone who had smoked for many years.
“Hello . . . Mrs. Daniels? I’m . . . I’m Christine Bradley – ”
“You’re late,” the woman snapped as she leaned forward on an aluminum crutch to see Christine better. Then she opened the door a little wider to reveal a foot wrapped in elastic bandage. She glared at the girl. “And you may as well know right from the start that I absolutely will not tolerate lateness.”
“Late?” Christine said, feeling slightly off balance but curious just the same.
“Yes, the agency said you’d be here an hour ago. And I was just about ready to give up on you completely.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Christine tried her best to smile, deciding to go along with this strange woman’s charade, for the moment anyway. At least it delayed the inevitable, which suddenly seemed a good thing, especially since Mrs. Daniels appeared rather abrupt and foreboding, not to mention rude.
“Well, come in here, and close that dang door behind you. I can’t afford to heat the entire neighborhood. Despite what some people may think, I have to live within my means.”
Christine quickly shut the door, careful not to slam it lest she be chided for that as well. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Daniels, but I have to explain – ”
“Look, don’t waste my time on apologies or explanations, you’re probably not right for the job anyway. Just hang your coat there and then come into the living room and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.” Mrs. Daniels hobbled on her crutches toward a leather club chair, then eased herself down with a loud sigh. “This ankle! I don’t know how I could’ve been so clumsy as to sprain it.”
“How did you – ”
“Never mind that! I’m the one asking the questions here.” She stared openly at Christine as if she were summing her up and finding her lacking. Then she waved her hand as if to dismiss her altogether. “First of all, you’re much too young. How old are you, anyway? Sixteen?”
“I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”
Mrs. Daniels shook her head. “Well, I wanted an older woman. Someone more responsible. You do understand this is a full-time position, don’t you? And it’s going to include some evenings as well. I don’t want some flighty young thing who thinks she can come and go as she pleases or take off early just because she has a date. I simply won’t tolerate it.”
You don’t tolerate much, Christine thought, but instead she said, “To be honest, I really don’t go out much. The Wednesday night worship service, occasionally. But that’s about it.”
“You’re a church girl, then?” Mrs. Daniels’s brows lifted with a faint flicker of interest, but her cold blue eyes still looked at Christine as if she could see right through this impromptu deception.
Christine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. What in the world was she doing here? And why on earth had she allowed their conversation to reach this weird place. “Uh, Mrs. Daniels, I need to tell – ”
“Just where are your references?” It sounded like an accusation.
“References?” Christine studied this woman’s soured expression and decided to continue with the charade.
Mrs. Daniels ran her hand through her short-cropped hair and rolled her eyes in irritation. “Don’t they teach you young people anything these days? When you come for a job interview, you’re supposed to bring references. I suppose you don’t have any. Have you ever held a job before?”
“Actually, I did work at McDonald’s during high school, for nearly two years.”
Mrs. Daniels laughed but with no mirth. “Now, that’s real handy. Maybe you could go into the kitchen there and whip me up a Big Mac for dinner. Good grief, girl, do you know anything about housekeeping?”
“Housekeeping?”
“Oh, I don’t know why I’m even bothering with you, Miss . . . Miss – what was your name again?”
“Christine. Christine Bradley.”
“Right.” Her eyes narrowed. “Well, Miss Bradley, tell me, do you even know the difference between a mop and a broom?”
Christine nodded slowly. “I did keep house for my father during the last six years.” A lump grew in her throat as she suddenly realized how much she missed him as well as the familiarity of her previous home.
Mrs. Daniels looked skeptical. “And what did your mother do?”
“My mother died,” Christine said quietly. Twice, she thought.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad.” Mrs. Daniels seemed to soften just a little. “But at least it seems you do know how to keep house, then?”
Christine nodded again, ready to end this ludicrous interview, but not quite ready to divulge her true identity to this antagonistic woman. How could someone this cold, this calculating, actually be her genetic grandmother? Perhaps she’d made a mistake somewhere, gotten it all wrong. But she knew that was impossible. Without a doubt this must be the right woman. It was the right address, the right town, the right name. But just the same it was all wrong. Terribly wrong!
“Mrs. Daniels,” Christine began again. “I really need to – ”
“Well, I really need you to write down those references for me, and if they meet my satisfaction, and if no one better shows up, well, then you can sta
rt work right away. My daughter-in-law is wearing on my nerves these days. And she said just today that she can’t keep this up forever, especially during the holidays, which is perfectly fine by me. The less I see of that woman, the happier I’ll be. For the life of me, I still can’t see why my stepson ever married someone like her to begin with.”
That must be my uncle, Christine thought. Although her father had never mentioned anything about Lenore’s other siblings. But then maybe he was a stepuncle. She wasn’t sure. And her father hadn’t really known much about her birth family in the first place, other than the name and the town, and that had been discovered only recently and quite by coincidence.
“And those grandkids aren’t anything to brag about either. A couple of spoiled brats, if you ask me, always whining and complaining and getting underfoot.”
“But how fortunate you are to have family that – ”
“Fortunate?” Mrs. Daniels scowled. “Why, they’re just waiting for me to croak so they can inherit all this.” She waved her hand around, then laughed in a sharp, cynical way. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. And, just so you’ll know, Miss Bradley, just in case you’re thinking you can sneak in here and steal from the old broad, well, you’d better think again. I may be pushing eighty, but I’ve still got all my marbles up here.” She pointed to her head. “Not that my family thinks so. I’m sure they’d love to declare me senile and have me committed to some old folks home to whither away and die.” She leaned forward and peered at Christine. “Felicity didn’t send you here, did she?”
“Felicity?” Christine said, feeling more and more like she’d just stepped into the twilight zone.
“My daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Daniels said with a frown. “That girl is out to get me. I just know it.”
The Treasure of Christmas Page 14