A Christmas Story written by this blog's author...

What the Angel Said

Christmas shopping is something I’ve always tried to get done early to avoid the last minute rush and crush of too many people all pushing and elbowing and grabbing for the same things at the same time from the picked over items still left on the shelves of over crowded stores. I do most of my shopping on-line at a variety of carefully chosen Web sites just to avoid going out in downtown Boston’s grid locked traffic. But this year just like every other year, it seems, my best laid plans were foiled yet again. I still needed to pick up one or two items, get them wrapped and carefully placed under the tree that graces the elegant parlor of our recently remodeled Brownstone home that faces on the famous Boston Common. My husband’s widowed mother called just last night announcing that her plans to be on a Christmas Cruise in the Carribean with one of her old college chums, Jennifer Jones, had fallen through due to that chum having the sniffles and a cough forcing her to back out at the last moment. Finding no one else whom she could persuade to accompany her she therefore decided to cancel her own reservations and bestow upon her only son, his wife and their three children her otherwise unoccupied self for the Christmas Holiday. And furthermore she would arrive by taxicab on the morrow, the 24th of December at 7:30PM.
Now I suppose some mother-in-law, daughter-in-law relationships are quite amicable but mine is–well–a bit less than wonderful. She likes to run things you see and especially, it seems, she likes to run my house. She bosses her son around as well as our children. She’s always calling Billy who’s 8 and Susie who’s 6 and little Maggie who’s only 5 by their proper given names which all three of them seem to despise at this stage in their young lives. It’s always William do this or Susan do that or Margaret do stop this or that. It drives them crazy and me bonkers. I think she would boss even Marmalade our fuzzy orange calm well behaved household cat if Marmalade lacked the wisdom to promptly depart the room at a fast trot when ever the proper Mrs. Alberta Louise Chalmers appeared. My husband Graham William Chalmers III a successful Architect and partner in the prominent firm Ambercrombe, Chalmers & Smith with offices downtown near the financial district usually just meekly does what ever Mom commands him to do and as soon as possible beats a hasty retreat to his den. Firmly shutting the door, he plants himself in front of his computer screen on the pretense of attending to some urgent bit of business that mustn’t be kept waiting a moment longer. And there he stays until bedtime! She even dares to boss ME around. What stings most is her complete lack of acknowledgment of the fact that I myself hold two graduate degrees one in Graphic Arts and the other in English and I run my own very successful Advertising Agency BESIDES managing my own house hold. Perhaps she’s just miffed because her son married a lowly mid-western girl who graduated from a small state college instead of her beloved Wellsley College. In any case I am Queen of my house and woe betide anyone who messes with my little fiefdom. I like being my own boss and I don’t like being bossed. I sense here that I am trying with only limited success to keep from melting down into a fuming fit of frustration. What a state to find myself in—able to run a business and my home with aplomb but doing a near melt down at the prospect of a little visit from my mother-in-law.
So here I am going from shop to shop in downtown Boston on what may well be the busiest shopping day of the entire year looking for just the right scarf or pair of gloves to serve as a Christmas present for my dear mother-in-law. It would be nice to find something that would really please the older Mrs. Chalmers for once, I mutter under my breath.
At last I find just what I’m looking for in a small Ladies Apparel and Accessories shop on
South Market Street. The shopkeeper even was able to take time to wrap them for me. I paid the bill with my credit card and headed for the door. Stepping outside where it was quite dark being a few minutes past 7PM, I pulled my scarf tighter around my face against the chilly night air and I began searching for a cab to hail. My eyes squinting against the flood of headlights to my left I tried to spot through the glare one of the tell tale lighted top knots that indicate there is a cab beneath. I don’t see one and that all too familiar sense of frustration sweeps over me again— where’s a Cabbie when you need one, I grumble to myself. I really need to get home and finish cooking supper. Here it is Christmas Eve and we always have Graham’s favorite meal—Baked Beans and Brown Bread. Now Don’t you folks go to laughing too much—I know it’s kind of a cliche having Baked Beans and Brown Bread in Bean Town on Christmas Eve, but WE just happen to like it. We like it a lot! Even the kids like it! And if both my husband and the kids like something—That’s a good thing! Especially if it means we can have a bit of peace and harmony in the midst of our hectic lives.
Suddenly I see a sight I never expected to see—not this time of year anyway—an open carriage and team of four beautiful matching Chestnut horses standing in the street at the curb right in front of me!
"Where did you come from?!" I exclaimed to the elegantly dressed coachman. He was immaculate in his attire all in white from top hat to boots except for the bright red cravat at his throat. His eyes seeming to twinkle with the light of at least a dozen stars were set just above a most amazing grey handlebar mustache extending fully three inches beyond his ears and looping upward and back on itself on its ends. He stood there his hand extended toward me with a slight bow.
" Mrs. Elizabeth Chalmers, Please step aboard," he spoke in a slight Irish brogue.
Astonished, I stepped into the carriage and allowed the coachman to tuck the soft warm lap rug snugly around me. In just seconds we were off, silver bells on the horse’s harness jingled merrily as down the busy street we sailed moving in and out of the heavy traffic almost as if it weren’t even there—all before I had the chance to collect my poor scattered thoughts enough to utter a word.
"How did you know my name?" I suddenly blurted out as my wits began re-gathering themselves.
"Oh, I know a great many things, Mrs. Chalmers" he replied without turning his head, "For instance, I know right where you live across from the Boston Common in that newly remodeled Brownstone. I know you grew up on your family’s farm just outside of a small town in Iowa called Green Mountain. I know as a young girl you loved fishing along side your grandpa on warm summer afternoons or riding upon the tractor seat beside your daddy as he worked the fields or playing with your kitten named Peachy. You named her that because your favorite fruit is the Peach and she had coloring just like a Peach. I also know as you grew older you decided you wanted to live in a big city—and now you do. What I liked the most about you was the way you and your family always remembered whose birthday you were celebrating at Christmas time... ...Oh yes, I know a lot about you Elizabeth—now you just sit back and enjoy the ride and have a good look at all the lovely Christmas lights and decorations and such—and close your mouth!", he added without turning around. He was right! My mouth was agape. I was filled with amazement at what he seemed to know about me. I quickly snapped my jaw shut putting my hand over my mouth not wanting to appear addled. I slowly resigned myself to be still and settle in for the ride. After all—how often does a girl get to ride in an elegant carriage and besides, the Christmas lights were quite beautiful this year—I might as well enjoy them and the gently falling snow that just began floating down in large fluffy flakes.
Soon the carriage rolled to a stop at the coachman’s gentle "whoa-up-there" and the next thing I knew he was helping me out of the carriage right at my door step. His hand deftly supported my elbow as he walked me the few steps to my door. He handed me my parcel containing the gifts for my mother-in-law.
"Elizabeth, Be sure you always remember who’s birthday it is you celebrate at Christmas time," he said, tipping his elegant white top hat.
Suddenly I realized with shame how swallowed up I had become in the constant busyness of life to the point of becoming forgetful of what Christmas is all about. Nearly in tears I grasped at my door latch and pushed open the door. Remembering suddenly I hadn’t paid the man I turned, "How much do I owe---" I stopped speaking abruptly. Where had he gone? The carriage, the team and coachman were nowhere to be seen. Stepping quickly to the curb I looked each way and saw only the usual headlights and tail lights of passing cars on the congested street. There was no sign of a carriage and team. How had they disappeared so quickly? Who was that coachman? How did he know so much about me? How very mysterious.
Slowly I turned back toward my familiar home and went inside. Removing my hat and scarf I slid out of my coat and hung them in their usual places. I took the recently purchased gifts and placed them with the others under the Christmas tree in the parlor and headed for the kitchen. As I attended to the Baked Beans and Brown Bread, I decided to add Plum Pudding with hot Lemon sauce for dessert to complete our meal.
At the supper table that Christmas Eve I recounted my tale of the mysterious coachman, his carriage and team. My husband Graham, Billy, Susie, Maggie and even Mrs. Alberta Louise Chalmers all paused in their eating and usual chit-chat. Each of them looked at me with a rather odd stare peculiar to each their own faces. They turned and looked at each the other and turned back again to stare at me. I was beginning to feel that odd uncomfortable sort of feeling you get sometimes when you are just realizing no one believes you. Then my dear sweet little Maggie, who’s only 5 as you may recall, said in a soft awe filled voice all could hear,
"Maybe the coachman was really an Angel, mom."
Slowly one and then another each in turn their heads began to nod up and down. Even Mrs. Alberta Louise Chalmers’ head nodded slowly up and down. All were in agreement with Maggie’s conclusion.
Our family Christmas went off much better than I had anticipated. Mrs. Alberta Louise Chalmers liked very much the scarf and gloves she said. She was somewhat less bossy and even used Billy’s, Susie’s and Maggie’s nicknames from time to time although not always but the children all seemed peaceful about it and I didn’t go bonkers. My husband didn’t evaporate into his den even once. Instead he became a rather jovial leader of games and such. He helped wash dishes in the kitchen once and even succeeded in persuading the children and his mother to help dry and put them away. Even Marmalade didn’t disappear when Mrs. Alberta Louise Chalmers was in the same room. Once he actually hopped up into her lap and curled up his purring furry self there quite comfortably. The poor lady was beside herself at first but managed to bring herself to scratch his head in the way Maggie showed her how to do and Marmalade actually seemed to like it.
In the days since then I still find myself pausing often in my active life with the memory of that coach ride, the Christmas lights, the decorations, the big fluffy snowflakes, the nicer than expected visit from my mother-in-law and most especially the words the coachman spoke. I have resolved ever since then: I shall never again forget whose birthday it is we celebrate at Christmas time.

Fiction: Written for Open Door Chapel McDonough, GA Christmas program Sunday 12/23/07