Christmas Day

Fiction by Leo Lawton

She slowly methodically swayed across the floor to the music coming from the set of musical bells that thirteen-year-old Meg had given her.  She pushed the switch on again to hear once more their tinny rendition of White Christmas, before slowly removing them from the nails pounded into the casing above the door.  She held them closely to her breast as she remembered the smiling face beaming at her as she slowly unwrapped them so many Christmas’ ago.

            Meg had always been the willful child, with not much thought for others as she had grown up, but on that Christmas she had either made or bought presents for everyone in the family.  Beth smiled wistfully as she remembered Billy’s awe struck face when he opened up the Red Ryder BB gun.  Beth didn’t think he ought to have it, but how could she say no when Meg stood there with a smile from ear to ear, basking in her newly found heroism.  Beth started to say, “Megan, you shouldn’t ha….,” but the words trailed off into nothingness as radiance turned his boyish freckles into warm little spots of joy.

            Then Beth had opened the little package so tenderly wrapped that had “To my dearest mother, from Meg” on it.  As the little red bells spilled out one by one onto her lap, they began to jingle the little tune, all by themselves.  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and dropped one by one onto the tiny bells as she remembered how she had been telling Meg for weeks she was spending her hard earned babysitting money foolishly, as it seemed she never had any left over at the end of the week.

Meg always flippantly said, “There’s lots more where that came from.”

The little tear-stained spots were still visible if you held them up to the light at just the right angle.

            Beth had cried a thousand times since that day, but seldom in happiness again.  It was later that Christmas Day that Meg and Billy had both dressed in their warmest clothes and went on the hay ride with Mr. Jenkins from down the road.  Every year old Tom harnessed his horses, loaded some baled hay on his wagon, and drove the neighborhood children over hill and dale, through the woods, and across the meadows.  Laughter and talk could be heard from long distances as they traveled in the frosty evening air under the bright light of a full moon.  The hoof beats were muffled in the soft snow, but the harness’ jingle was music to the ears.

            They started across the road heading toward Hank and Hilda Barnes’ place for warm cider and hot molasses cookies when the happy, celebrating, drunken driver crashed into the wagon.  Thankfully all of the children survived with only minor injuries, except one.

Once more Beth held the tiny bells to her breast as she touched the tiny switch again.  Somehow it almost seemed as if Meg was back with her.