A Special Gift

By Jane Marie

From a suggestion by Leo Harkins

It was a very harsh winter that year of 1954.  The week leading up to Christmas seemed extra cold and extra gray with extra snow clinging inches deep to the barren tree limbs that bowed in deference to the white weight.  Added to that, it had been so long since the last positive entry was written in the bankbook of the young Mr. and Mrs. Charles Driver, the ink was beginning to fade, just as their funds had.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Rebecca Driver told her husband of four years.  “Betsy will have a gift to open.”  She pulled a small handmade white dress from behind her back.  “See, this is for her dolly.  It’s a bridal gown.”

His face frowned in sad suspicion. 

Her face mimicked his.  “What’s the matter, Charles?  Don’t you think she’ll like it?”

Instantly, he replied.  “Of course she will.  I’m sorry.  Tell me, where did you get that pretty material?” 

Rebecca swallowed hard once.  “It’s my turn to be sorry, darling.  I cut off the hem of my wedding gown to make it for our little girl.”

Charles turned away so she couldn’t see the pain in his eyes, but she knew what he was feeling. 

In three quick steps, she was at his back, her hands on his wide shoulders, her lips on his neck, trying to sooth him.  “It’s alright.  Really it is.  I still have my gown.  It’s just shorter, that’s all.  Now I’ll be able to wear it for fancy occasions like when we chaperone your students at the prom.  You tell me how many women can wear their wedding dress more than once in their lives.  I’ll still be able to pass it down to the Betsy.  And she can wear it to parties as well.  Why, if she wants it long again for her wedding day, we’ll just fashion a new hem for her.  It’s alright, darling.”

Facing her, “You’re such a perfect wife.  You’re patient and have never asked me to take a job that pays better than my teaching position.”

“And I never will," Rebecca replied.  "You became a teacher for the same reasons I did.  I know for certain I have positively influenced the children in my classes.  You have done the same and will continue to do so.  If you feel the need to occasionally moonlight to earn extra money, that’s fine, too.  The only thing Betsy and I ask is you spend some of your time off with us.  We love you so much.”

“And I love you.  I feel guilty when I’m at work and away from my girls.  But I’m glad you understand I have to take those second jobs whenever I can," Charles told her.  "Being with you and Betsy is what matters most.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

She kissed his lips with a smile.  “Well maybe you couldn’t, but I sure could.  I hope my check comes soon.”

“I want you to spend that money on something you want, honey. You earned it, and now that you’ve quit work to stay home with Betsy full time, you deserve to pamper yourself with it.”

“Hey, it’s our money.  Remember?” Rebecca asked.  “We’re married.  What’s mine is yours.  If the check comes in time, we can put more than one present beneath the tree.  If not, we’ll be just fine.”  

And they spoke no more about money the rest of that night. 

The snow grew deeper and the wind more frigid with each day that passed.  As was often his habit when glacial weather spewed its worst, Charles was in the basement tending the old coal furnace.  Hearing the doorbell ring, he dashed up the stairs.  He passed Rebecca in the hall, almost knocking her aside.  “Sorry, darling!  It might be the mailman with the check.”

Her fingers crossed behind her back so he wouldn’t see, she picked up little Betsy and took her into the parlor away from the draft of the opened door.  Cradling her daughter, she listened.

“Sorry Charles.  Nothing today.  Only a Christmas card from your aunt downstate, I believe.”

Charles took the greeting card.  “Thanks Erwin,” he offered, his voice thickly covered in disappointment.  “See you tomorrow.  Try and stay warm.”

The mailman doffed his cap and, with his chin lowered, headed back out into the dim afternoon’s snow flurries.

Charles returned to the basement.  Rebecca could hear his hammering as he chipped the clinkers from the furnace grate with a ferocity she’d never before witnessed.  Maybe some music would help.  It would help her and Betsy always enjoyed it so.  “How about a little Hark the Harold Angels, baby girl?”

Betsy clapped her hands in anticipation of her mother’s playing the heirloom pump organ.  When the notes sounded, Betsy began singing, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle hall the wave.” 

The lyrics might not have matched the tune, but when Rebecca began laughing, Betsy joined her.  They continued on until Rebecca’s ankles were tired from pumping.

As the sweet notes and pure joy wafted down upon him, Charles reminded himself of what was important.  Still, still, he wished that check would come.

Being off work during Christmas vacation, Charles shoveled driveways and salted steps to bring home extra cash to stash in the Betty Boop cookie jar.  The day before the holiday, he crept down the stairs, into the kitchen and went straight to that cookie jar in the shadows of the early morning light.  Lifting the lid, he reached inside and pulled out a thin stack of folded bills.  

Where was all the money?  “Rebecca!  Rebecca!” he shouted.  “We’ve been robbed!”  Charles ran up the steps to the bedroom, threw open the door and flipped on the wall switch.  “We’ve been robbed!” 

He hadn’t taken the time to count the money, but now he did.  As his sleepy wife’s eyes fluttered opened, he said, “Look here.  One, two, three.  Three dollars!  Who would rob us and leave only three dollars behind?  Why not take it all?”

“Hush!  You’ll wake Betsy.”

Paying her no mind, “Why are you so calm?  We’ve been robbed!”

“Would you quit saying that?  We haven’t been robbed.  I took the money.”

“What for?"

"That’s a silly question this time of year.  Well, if you must know, I spent it on flour, sugar, eggs, yams and a turkey for our Christmas day meal.”

He sighed.  “I hadn’t thought about Christmas dinner.”

“I’ve invited Mrs. Wilkinson from down the block.  You remember her.  Her husband passed away last spring and she has no children.  And Erwin and Father Kelly.  I don’t know if Father will make it because he gets so many invitations.  In any case, I thought we could also share the leftovers with the soup kitchen since I expect we'll have a lot.”

His voice calm now, Charles said, “You make me feel ashamed of myself.”

Shocked, she asked, “What on earth about?”

“Here you are thinking about those less fortunate, and all I wanted to do was buy you and Betsy presents for under the tree.”

“Charles Driver.  There’s not the first thing wrong with wanting to buy gifts for the people you love.  It’s just another way of sharing.”  She hugged him hard, then added, “Now if you want to really do something for me for Christmas, you can go to the Honey-Do Jar, pull out a chore and complete it.  I have to warn you, though, I’ve stacked the deck.  I put about ten slips of paper in the can that say: 'Replace washer in kitchen faucet.'  The drip is driving me crazy!”

Charles laughed at her, pushed her down in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.  “Get some more sleep.  I’ll listen for Betsy and give her breakfast.”

“What a bargain.  Good looking and he can make cold cereal, too!  He’s a keeper for sure,” she teased.

As he watched his wife curl into a ball beneath the blankets, Charles felt better about things and headed toward the kitchen in search of that infamous jar of chores.

Rebecca might have rolled over and gone back to sleep had she not remembered it was the day before Christmas.  In short order, she was out of bed and dressed, anxious to bake the pies, chop the celery and onions for the stuffing, and make the cranberry relish from her mother’s recipe.  A myriad of chores needed to be completed in preparation for a holiday meal, and Rebecca loved every moment of it.  While she cooked, Charles vacuumed and dusted and generally did what his wife asked of him, including replacing the washer in the kitchen sink because they both were very proud of their little house.

With wonderful cooking smells emanating throughout the place, a wooden cutout of Santa and his reindeer sufficiently secured and illuminated on the roof and all the final decorative touches complete, it was nearly time for the last mail drop late that Christmas Eve afternoon.  Charles couldn’t help himself.  He watched out the window, peering as far down the street as the heavy falling snow would allow.

“What’s outside, Daddy,” asked Betsy, her little nose pressed to the cold glass and her warm breath steaming the window.  She pulled back and with a tiny finger began drawing criss-crosses for snowflakes the way her father had taught her.

“I’m just looking for Santa Claus, baby.”

“Me, too!  Me, too!”  Again she pressed her nose to the glass.  The clock struck four and, being so intent on their mission, the observers were startled.  After five minutes, Betsy said, “My nose is cold, Daddy.  Hold me.”

“Sure thing, honey.  Come here.”  She crawled onto his lap, and he pulled his argyle sweater around his daughter to warm her.  In short order, she was asleep.  Not wanting to disturb his child, Charles sat hypnotized by the color wheel that splashed a revolving rainbow over their Christmas tree.  Soon he drifted off as well.

When the doorbell rang and woke him, he was disoriented for a moment.  Quickly recovering, Charles glanced at the clock to realize it had to be the Erwin with the mail.  He laid a sleeping Betsy gently on the couch and met his wife at the door.  This time Rebecca crossed her fingers out in front of her husband so he could see.  He did the same, kissed her cheek and opened the door.

“Merry Christmas, Rebecca, Charles.  I believe this is what you’ve been waiting for.”  The bundled mailman held up a white envelope with an official looking seal on it.  Erwin couldn’t tell whose grin was the bigger between the young Mr. and Mrs.  “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Erwin,” Rebecca and Charles called.  “See you tomorrow around noon for dinner,” she added.

Charles closed the door and forced himself to control his excitement as he stuffed his hands down into his pockets.  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“No,” she calmly replied.  “You are.

“But it’s your money.”

His wife held up a warning finger.  “Uh, uh.”

Charles bowed in acknowledgement of her correction and took the envelope Rebecca offered.  Carefully tearing the end off so as not to mar the contents in any way, he blew on the jagged opening to separate it and pulled out a check.  Whistling, he announced, “Three hundred dollars!”  He gathered her to him with one arm and lifted her off the floor in a whirling spin.

Laughing, she called out, “Hey, buster.  Take it easy.  You don’t want to make the new baby dizzy, do you?”

Charles froze, her words sinking into his soul.  Setting her down carefully, “New baby?”

Rebecca nodded and his kiss held the soft passion of a proud father to be.

He felt a pat on his leg and looked down to see a sleepy Betsy.

“Has Santa Claus come yet?”

Charles picked her up, “Yes, honey, but don’t worry.  You must have been the very best of little girls because he left the most wonderful present of all."

There, in the cozy of their home, in the percolating glow of the Christmas tree’s bubble lights, the little family roosted on the sofa and began ruminating on the special gift the new year would bring them all.

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