The Christmas Women

by Elyse Douglas

“I can do it,” Hugh said, with a firm nod, as he paced the stage, taking in the auditorium. “But it won’t be cheap.”

  Liz Tyree was standing nearby, touchy and tense, watching Hugh with wary suspicion. She’d been calling out light cues, cursing her partner, Kelly Stokes, for missing two in a row. By profession, Kelly was a very successful marketing manager for an ad agency in Chicago.

  “Come on, Kelly, it’s not that late,” Liz called. “Maybe you need a double espresso or a swift kick.”

  Kelly hollered back. “Liz, you should have had a personality lobotomy back in high school.”

  Hugh saw them, but ignored them. “We’ll have to hang lots of ceiling mics. Sensitive ones. We may have to use racks of power amplifiers and four to six monitors. Watts... 500 to 1000. I’ll be at the mixing board. We can set that up in the back of the house, out of the way. No problem. And my guys will be walking around making sure everything works. The outside speakers are no problem. We’ll hang six. We’ll have to work most of the night and into tomorrow morning. I’ll need 3 guys and my brother, Larry.”

  Trudie braced for the estimate. “How much?”

  Hugh touched some figures into his tablet and quoted his fee. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Hey, I’ll tell you what. The show is for your old teacher, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That’s cool. I’ll take 10% off.”

  Trudie had to make the decision on the spot, with no time to consult the others. Kristen had disappeared with Cole, and Mary Ann had gone to see Mrs. Childs. It was still pricy, but Trudie was certain that Hugh would do the job right.

  After Hugh left, Trudie wandered the stage. She was achingly curious as to why Mrs. Childs had wanted to see Mary Ann alone. Was Mary Ann truly her favorite?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Julie was wordless as she accompanied Mary Ann to her mother’s bedroom. She lingered for a moment, patting her mother’s pillows, rearranging the flowers and then finally, at her mother’s urging, she left them alone. It was obvious that Julie still wasn’t comfortable with Mary Ann’s “New Age” healing approach.

  When Mary Ann first entered, Mrs. Childs was lying in bed, reading Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield. After Julie exited, she laid the book aside and her soft, drowsy face became alert. She smiled warmly.

  “Hello, Mary Ann. You look a little flushed.”

  “Yes, well... I’ve been exercising today. I’m a little out of shape.”

  “Sit down, please. I want to talk to you.”

  Mary Ann did so, folding her hands in her lap. “You look healthier,” Mary Ann said. “You have some color. That’s good.”

  “I do feel better today. Christmas has cheered me up. It always did. I suppose it cheers most people up, unless they’re alone or they’ve lost a loved one.”

  “It is a happy time,” Mary Ann said. “I’ve had to squeeze in some Christmas shopping in the last few days. I was way behind. My daughters want clothes and new phones. When I was their age, it was clothes and a Mariah Carey album.”

  “I’d love to meet your daughters. You should bring them to see me. I’d love to meet them.”

  “And you will, I promise.”

  Mrs. Childs settled back into the pillows and closed her eyes.

  “It’s getting late, Mrs. Childs. You must be tired.”

  “No... I was just thinking.”

  Mrs. Childs opened her eyes and tilted her head. “Mary Ann... the last time you were with me, something rather strange happened to me.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was extraordinary. I was aware of you standing above me, with your eyes closed, and you were whispering something.”

  “Yes. I was saying a prayer for you.”

  Mrs. Childs smiled. “How nice. How nice to know that one is remembered in someone else’s prayers.”

  Mrs. Childs shut her eyes again, as if to summon the memory. “Do you know that as you were praying, in an instant, I saw my whole life play out before me, just as if I were watching it unfold on a stage? Just like it was all a great drama, a play. I saw my childhood, roaming around my father’s old drugstore, and I heard him say things I’d long forgotten. I saw my mother shouting at me because I had never become the actress she wanted me to be. I saw my husband’s kind face, my kids playing in sparkling green grass on a warm summer day, and I saw so clearly my teaching career. I saw every student’s face. Every one of them—even the jocks who hated coming to my class, and who didn’t particularly like me.”

  She opened her eyes. She looked enquiringly at Mary Ann. “I saw you, Mary Ann, when you were 18 years old. You were standing downstage center and I was seated in the Deer Lake auditorium, front row center. And then you spoke to me as if you were repeating a monologue you’d memorized. But it was authentic. It wasn’t stiff or contrived.”

  Mary Ann leaned forward. “What did I say?”

  Mrs. Childs became emotional. “Oh, my, tears again. I’m afraid I have grown old and silly. I never used to cry.”

  Mary Ann reached for a tissue and handed it to her. She waited for the emotion to run its course.

  Mrs. Childs tried again. “Mary Ann... you said, ‘Mrs. Childs, you have truly made a difference in all our lives, and we love you.’”

  Mrs. Childs’ voice thickened. “I heard you say, ‘Mrs. Childs, the love you feel while watching your life unfold will nourish you, bless you, and heal you. Just relax into that love and be healed by it. That is the power of true love.’”

  Mary Ann was still, listening, smiling.

  Mrs. Childs took a little breath. “Well... Do you know that the doctors have changed their minds about giving me more chemo? Did Julie tell you that?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Well, she was surprised. She kept asking them questions. Anyway, I have felt so much better since your prayer, Mary Ann. Truly better. Oh, I’m not ready to get up and dance a jig or anything, but I do feel stronger and I don’t have the heavy fatigue and pain I used to have. I even got out of bed and walked around my room for a few minutes this morning. It felt so good to be up and moving again.”

  “I’m so glad, Mrs. Childs.”

  Mrs. Childs met Mary Ann’s calm, unblinking eyes and she searched them, trying to read them. “Do you have a gift for this, Mary Ann? A gift for healing?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Childs. If it is a gift, it is a gift I try to pass along and give to others. I keep practicing.”

  Mrs. Childs nodded, not really understanding. “I’m going to die soon, aren’t I, Mary Ann?

  “We’re all going to die, Mrs. Childs.”

  “Yes, of course, but I saw my death. While you were praying for me, just before I fell into a deep sleep, I saw a very bright light coming toward me. It was a calm and comforting light. I wasn’t the least bit afraid. I saw my father, and he called to me. I saw my mother, too, and you should have seen her. She was wearing the prettiest red dress and dark patent leather shoes, and she had her hair all done up in curls on top of her head, in that 1940’s style she loved so much. Then she did something I don’t remember her ever doing: she reached out to me. She reached out with both hands, smiled warmly and said, ‘Myrna...you were the bright star of my life. I love you so much.’”

  Mrs. Childs sighed and lay back, soothed by the memory. “Such a nice experience, Mary Ann. It didn’t seem like a dream. It felt real. Well, anyway, I felt so much better.”

  Mary Ann touched her arm. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Mary Ann stood. “I should go now. You probably need to rest.”

  Mrs. Childs’ tranquil eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Mary Ann. Thank you for easing my pain.”

  Mary Ann reached for her teacher’s hand. “Before I go, I’m going to whisper another prayer, Mrs. Childs. A simple one. Is that okay?”

  “You know, I’ve never believed in this kind of thing—the occult and New Age this and that. But I’m pleased I can let myself go along with it. Maybe I’ve grown a littl
e in my old age. Maybe I’m not as stubborn as I used to be. There was a time, you know, when I would have not so politely asked you to leave.”

  Mary Ann laughed. “Yes, I know.”

  They grew quiet and then they closed their eyes. The air became charged with tenderness, as currents of serenity washed over them. And by the time Mary Ann left the room, closing the door softly behind her, Mrs. Childs had drifted off to sleep.

  At the front door, Mary Ann was working into her coat as Julie stood tentative and awkward.

  “She says you’ve helped her,” Julie said.

  “If whatever I did helped ease her pain, I’m glad,” Mary Ann said, buttoning her coat. “Will you bring her for the 8 o’clock show?”

  Julie glanced back at the bedroom. “She says she’s going to die soon, but she seems stronger. I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

  Mary Ann stared down.

  Julie licked her lips, trying to find the right words. “Mary Ann, can you tell if she’s going to die soon?”

  “No. My feeling is... and you’ll excuse me for saying this, but I feel, intuitively, that she’s ready to go, or at least preparing to go. But... I don’t know.”

  Julie’s lower lip quivered. “Well, thank you for all you’ve done. If she feels as well as she does tonight, I’ll try to take her to the show. I wouldn’t want her to miss it, and she’d never forgive me if she learned about it afterward.” Julie wiped her wet eyes and made a brave little smile. “I don’t want to miss it either.”

  Mary Ann lingered for a moment. She touched Julie’s arm, affectionately, and left.

  The traffic was heavy as Mary Ann drove back to the high school. She’d never seen so many cars or so many people packed into all the fast food restaurants; never heard the impatient blaring horns at red lights, or the blue sweeping dome lights from police cars, as deputies directed traffic at Rusty’s and the mall entrance.

  Many, no doubt, had come to see Jon Ketch, or at least to try to get a look at him, because he was “their” home town boy, but many others came because they remembered the Christmas shows, and those shows had somehow enhanced their Christmas season experience.

  Many others came to honor Mrs. Childs, and they had contributed to her scholarship fund. The word had spread quickly, thanks to Ray, Connie and Don Rawlings. She smiled to herself as she thought about her good and loving friend, Trudie. Would her frightened and reclusive friend reach out to Don Rawlings? Or would she and Jon try to make a go of it? There was no question that Jon loved her, in his own nutty way. Trudie was not an easy person to read, but Mary Ann sensed that Trudie was ready to take a leap—maybe even a radical leap—and run off with Jon. But, would she?

  Mary Ann crept toward the high school, feeling uneasy about her visit with Mrs. Childs. Mary Ann was not the master healer her healing/meditation teacher had been. Not by a long shot. But Mary Ann had felt an energy—Mrs. Childs’ energy—seeping away. There was simply more mass than life force. Would she last the night?

  Mary Ann was recognized by security and waved into the parking lot.

  She parked, unfastened her seatbelt and saw a text from Trudie.

  “Had to make a big decision. Jon sent the girls home with Ray. How’s Mrs. Childs?”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The next morning, Kristen noticed a bottle of Advil on the dining room table, undoubtedly placed there by Trudie late last night before she’d staggered off to bed, racked by pain and fatigue.

  It was December 24th, and the first Christmas show was scheduled for 5 o’clock that afternoon. Kristen was up first, as usual. Grateful for Trudie’s thoughtfulness, she picked up the bottle, popped the cap, shook out two and swallowed them down with orange juice. Texts and emails were still flowing in. She ignored them, placing an elbow on the table, dropping her aching head to rest in her hand. She felt worst than if she’d had a hangover.

  Trudie emerged from the kitchen to the dining room a half hour later, limping, coffee cup in hand. She saw Kristen. Kristen lifted a weak hand of hello. Trudie grunted. It didn’t sound like hello. Her gaze took in the Advil and her eyes widened with sudden interest. She reached, shook one out and swallowed it down. She sat, grimacing, her back in knots.

  “What time is it?” Trudie asked.

  “Six forty-five,” Kristen mumbled.

  Trudie reached for her phone and checked messages. She scrolled, ignoring most, searching for Julie or Hugh Watson. None from Julie: Good? One from Hugh. He’d sent it at 5:54 a.m.

  “On schedule. Some problems hanging two speakers outside. We’ll solve it. Can u tell your stage manager to get off my ass?!”

  Trudie sighed.

  “Problems,” Kristen asked, half-heartedly.

  “Always. Liz, of course.”

  “Why did we let her stage manage? She’s such a bitch.”

  “Yeah, and she’s the best. She knows it, and we know it. There will be no mistakes. She and Jon make a great team. They’re both wacky perfectionists.”

  “What time did you get in?” Kristen asked.

  “A little after three. You?”

  Kristen stared into her empty juice glass. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was in bed by two, but I don’t think I slept more than an hour.”

  Trudie wrapped both hands around the large white mug, enjoying the warmth. She sipped her coffee. “Do tell why... if you want.”

  “I don’t want, but I made a big decision at 4:42 this morning.”

  Trudie pinched her cotton robe at the neck. “It’s cold in here. I should turn the thermostat up, but I just can’t move right now.”

  “It’s cold outside, 28 degrees. And guess what? It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

  Trudie grunted. “How much?”

  “Two-to-three inches.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. A white Christmas Eve. Perfect.”

  “Just for Jon. Just like in a movie. Snow for the Christmas show,” Kristen said, grinning at her clever little rhyme. “Did he go back to his hotel last night?”

  “I doubt it. He was still rehearsing when I left. I couldn’t believe it. He’d sent everybody else home and he stayed on that stage by himself, with Liz at the light board. He was trying out voices, movement and dialogue and she was right there with him, creating lighting effects. He was still going at three, and when I asked him if he was leaving, he said he was going to sleep in the theatre.”

  A little bell “dinged” and Kristen got up and went into the kitchen. “My bagel’s ready.” She returned with a cup of coffee and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel. She sat down with a wince. “Damn, every part of my body hurts and my feet are killing me, and I’m in good shape! How are we going to dance two shows?”

  Trudie’s forehead lifted. She closed her eyes in resignation and shook her head. “God help us all, everyone,” she said parodying Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol.

  Kristen spread butter on one half of the bagel and grape jelly on the other. She didn’t look up. “When this is all over, what are you going to do about Jon?”

  “I can’t even think about Jon right now. Thank God he hasn’t mentioned it. He is completely absorbed in the show.”

  Kristen persisted. “When Don showed up to rehearse, I was sitting in the back of the auditorium. I saw he brought you flowers.”

  “Yes, they were lovely. A dozen red roses. I found a vase and left them in the dressing room.”

  Kristen licked the jelly from the bagel. “Interesting. Two men. Two possibilities.”

  Trudie looked away. “Two more problems I don’t want to deal with right now.”

  Mary Ann descended the stairs, bypassed the kitchen and padded into the dining room. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red. She walked unsteadily to a chair and dropped down with a heavy sigh. “I’m 38 years old and I feel 78. Pass the Advil, please.”

  Trudie did. Mary Ann held it tightly in her hand, but she didn’t open it.

  “Are the girls still sleeping?” Trudie asked.

  “
Yes, Carly will sleep till noon if I let her.”

  “So let her,” Kristen said.

  “Jon wants the entire cast at the theatre by 10 a.m. He wants to do a full run through, twice.”

  “He’s going to wear everybody out before the shows begin,” Trudie said.

  “He said he does not want to incur the wrath of Mrs. Childs. He pointed out, rightly, that she’ll be studying every detail, and she’ll let him have it if she sees anything that’s not perfect.”

  “You didn’t talk much about her last night,” Kristen said, taking a nibble at the buttered half of her bagel. “Does that mean you’re not sure she’s going to make it to the show?”

  Mary Ann got up and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water. After she swallowed an Advil, she looked pointedly at her two friends. “Julie is going to bring her unless, of course, Mrs. Childs takes a turn for the worst.”

  Trudie massaged her stiff neck. “Do you foresee a turn for the worst?”

  Mary Ann stared down at the table. “Last night I thought I did. This morning... I don’t know. Has Julie texted any of you?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Then I guess she’s doing fine,” Mary Ann said, with a feeble smile.

  Trudie looked at her two friends. “Before we go to the theatre today, I have a request.”

  Mary Ann and Kristen looked up.

  “You remember the old ice skating rink out on Highway 11?”

  “Out near Grove Point?” Kristen asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t do it,” Mary Ann said, anticipating what Trudie was about to say. “There’s no way these feet and this body are going to be able to get up on the ice and skate. It just ain’t gonna happen.”

  “I’m with you,” Kristen said. “No way, Trudie.”

  “Then let’s not skate. But let’s go, just for the memories. We can sit and talk and spend time together. We’ll just get away from it all for awhile—before everything ends and you both go away again. Remember how much fun we used to have ice skating together?”

  Mary Ann nodded. “It was fun, even if I was the klutz and you two just went gliding along like something from a dream.”