The Christmas Box (6 page)

She went back to the kitchen an
d f illed the sink with hot, soapy wate r a nd began to wash the dishes. After a f ew minutes she toweled off her hand s a nd walked back to the dining room t o s ee if Mary needed anything. The foo d w as untouched. Keri explored the de n b ut the Bible lay untouched on it s s helf. She checked the hall tree an d f ound Mary's coat hanging in its usua l p lace. She walked down to the bedroom and rapped lightly on the door.

"Mary, your brunch is ready."

There came no reply.

Keri slowly turned the handle an
d o pened the door. The drapes were stil l d rawn closed and the room lay still an d d ark. In the bed she could see th e f orm lying motionless beneath the covers. Fear seized her. "Mary! Mary!"

She ran to her side. "Mary!" She pu
t h er hand against the woman's cheek.

Mary was warm and damp an
d b reathing shallowly. Keri grabbed th e t elephone and called the hospital fo r a n ambulance. She looked out th e w indow. Steve's car was still in th e d riveway. She ran across the stree t a nd pounded on the door. Stev e o pened it, instantly seeing the urgenc y o n Keri's face.

"Keri, what's wrong?"

"Steve! Come quick. Something i
s t erribly wrong with Mary!"

Steve followed Keri back to th
e h ouse and into the room where Mar y l ay delirious on the bed. Steve too k h er hand. "Mary, can you hear me?"

Mary raised a tired eyelid, but sai
d n othing. Keri breathed a slight sigh o f r elief.

Outside, an ambulance sire
n w ound down. Keri ran out to meet i t a nd led the attendants down the dar k h all to Mary's room. They lifted Mar y i nto a gurney and carried her to th e b ack of the vehicle. Keri grabbed Jenna and followed the ambulance t o t he hospital in Mary's car.

I met Keri and the doctor outside of
Mary's hospital room. Keri had calle d m e at work and I had rushed down a s s oon as I could.

"This is to be expected," the docto
r s aid clinically. "She has been prett y f ortunate up until today, but now th e t umor has started to put pressure o n v ital parts of the brain. All we can d o i s try to keep her as comfortable a s p ossible. I know that's not very reassuring, but it's reality."

I put my arm around Keri.

"Is she in much pain?" Keri asked.

"Surprisingly not. I would hav
e e xpected more severe headaches.

She has headaches, but not as acut
e a s most. The headaches will continu e t o come and go, gradually becomin g m ore constant. Coherency is abou t t he same. She was talking this afternoon but there's no way of telling ho w l ong she'll remain coherent."

"How is she right now?" I asked.

"She's asleep. I gave her a sedative. The rush to the hospital wa s q uite a strain on her."

"May I see her?" I asked.

"No, it's best that she sleep."

That night the mansion seemed
a v acuum without Mary's presence and , for the first time, we felt like stranger s i n somebody else's home. We ate a s imple dinner, with little conversation , and then retired early, hoping t o e scape the strange atmosphere tha t h ad surrounded us. But even m y s trange dreams, to which I had grown accustomed, seemed to be affected.

The music played for me again, bu
t i ts tone had changed to a poignan t n ew strain. Whether it had actuall y c hanged, or I, affected by the day'
s e vents, just perceived the alteration, I don't know, but like the siren's song , again it drew me to the Christmas Bo x a nd the next letter.

December 6, 1916

My Beloved One.

Another Christmas season ha
s c ome. The time of joy and peace. Ye t h ow great a void still remains in m y h eart. They say that time heals al l w ounds. But even as wounds heal the y l eave scars, token reminders of th e p ain. Remember me, my love. Remember my love.

Sunday morning, Christmas Eve, th
e s now fell wet and heavy and ha d a lready piled up nearly four inches b y a fternoon when Steve met me nea r t he mansion's front porch.

"How's Mary today?" he asked.

"About the same. She had a ba
d b out of nausea this morning but otherwise was in pretty good spirits. Ker i a nd Jenna are still at the hospital wit h h er now."

He nodded in genuine concern.

"Well, let's go," he said sadly. "It will b e g ood for you to see this."

We crossed the street and togethe
r c limbed the steep drive to his home.

Still unaware of our destination, I followed him around to his backyard.

The yard was filled with large cottonwood trees and overgrown eucalyptus shrubs. It was well secluded by a h igh stone wall that concealed th e c emetery I knew to be behind it.

"There's a wrought-iron gate behind those bushes over there," Stev e s aid, motioning to a hedge near th e w all. "About forty years ago the owne r h ere planted that hedge to concea l t he access to the cemetery. He wa s a n older man and didn't like the ide a o f looking out into it each day. M
y f amily moved here when I was twelv e y ears old. It didn't take us boys lon g t o discover the secret gate. We hollowed out the hedge so that we coul d e asily slip into the cemetery from it.

We were frequently warned by th
e s exton never to play in the cemetery , but we did, every chance we got.

We'd spend hours there," Steve confided. "It was the ideal place for hideand-seek."

We reached the gate. The pain
t h ad chipped and cracked from th e c old, rusted steel, but the gat e r emained strong and well secured. A padlock held it shut. Steve produce d a key and unlocked the gate. I t s creeched as it swung open. W
e e ntered the cemetery.

"One winter day we were playin
g h ide-and-seek about here. I was hiding from my friend when he saw m e a nd started to chase. I ran though th e s now up to the east end of the cemetery; it was an area where we neve r p layed. One of our friends swore h e h ad heard the wailing of a ghost u p t here and we decided the place wa s h aunted. You know how kids are."

I nodded knowingly as we trudge
d o n through the deepening snow.

"I ran up through there," he sai
d p ointing to a clump of thick-stumpe d e vergreens, "then up behind the mausoleum. There, as I crouched behin d a tombstone, I heard the wailing.

Even muffled in the snow it wa
s h eart-wrenching. I looked up over th e s tone. There was a statue of an ange l a bout three feet high with out-

stretched wings. It was new at th
e t ime and freshly whitewashed. On the ground before it knelt a woman, he
r f ace buried in the snow. She was sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

She clawed at the frozen ground as i
f i t held her from something sh e w anted desperately--more than anything. It was snowing that day and m y f riend, following my tracks, soo n c aught up to me. I motioned to him t o b e quiet. For more than a half hour w e s at there shivering and watching i n s ilence as the snow completel y e nveloped her. Finally she was silent , stood up, and walked away. I'll neve r f orget the pain in her face."

Just then I stopped abruptly. Fro
m a distance I could see the outsprea d w ings of the weather-worn statue o f a n angel. "My angel," I muttered audibly. "My stone angel."

Steve glanced at me.

"Who was buried there?" I asked.

"Come see," he said, motioning m
e o ver.

I followed him over to the statue. W
e s quatted down and I brushed th e s now away from the base of the monument. Etched in the marble pedestal , above the birth and death dates, wer e j ust three words:

I studied the dates. "The child wa
s o nly three years old," I said sadly.
I closed my eyes and imagined th e s cene. I could see the woman, we t a nd cold, her hands red and snow bitten. And then I understood. "It was Mary, wasn't it?"

His response was slow and melancholy. "Yes. It was Mary."

The falling snow painted a dream-

like backdrop of solitude around us.

It seemed a long while before Stev
e b roke the silence. "That night I told m y m other what I had seen. I thought that I would probably get in trouble. Instea d s he pulled me close and kissed me.

She said that I should never go back
, that we should leave the woma n a lone. Until now, I never did go back.

At least not to the grave. I did com
e c lose enough to hear her crying , though. It would tear me up inside. Fo r o ver two years she came here ever y d ay, even in spring when the pourin g r ain turned the ground to mud."

I turned away from the angel, thrus
t m y hands in my coat pockets, an d s tarted back in silence. We walke d t he entire distance to the hous e b efore either one of us spoke. Stev e s topped at his back porch.

"The child was a little girl. He
r n ame was Andrea. For many years Mary placed a wooden box on th e g rave. It resembles the boxes th e w ise men carry in Nativity scenes. M
y g uess is it's the box you found wit h t he letters."

I mumbled a thank you and heade
d f or home alone. I unlocked the heavy THE CHRISTMAS B o x f ront door and pushed it open. A dar k s ilence permeated the mansion.
I climbed the stairs to our quarters an d t hen the attic, and for the first time I brought the Christmas Box out int o t he light. I set it on the hall floor an d s at down beside it. In the light, I coul d s ee the truly exquisite craftsmanshi p o f the box. The high polish reflecte d o ur surroundings and distorted th e i mages, giving a graceful halo to th e r eflected objects. I removed the las t l etter.

December 6, 1920

My
Beloved One.

How I wish that I might say these things to your gentle face and that this box might be found empty. Even as the mother of our Lord found the tomb they placed him in empty. And in this there i s h ope, my love. Hope of embracing yo u a gain and holding you to my breast. An d t his because of the great gift of Christmas. Because He came. The first Christmas offering from a parent to Hi s c hildren, because He loved them an d w anted them back. I understand that i n w ays I never understood before, as m y l ove for you has not waned with time , but has grown brighter with each Christmas season. How I look forward to tha t g lorious day that I hold you again.
I lov e y ou, my little angel.

Mother

Chapter
VI

I set the lette
r b ack in the box and pulled my knee s i nto my chest, burying my head int o m y thighs. My mind reeled as if in a d ream, where pieces of the day's puzzle are unraveled and rewoven into a n ew mosaic, defying the improbabilit y o f the cut edges fitting. Yet they did fit.

The meaning of Mary's question wa
s n ow clear to me. The first gift of Christmas. The true meaning of Christmas.

My body and mind tingled with the revelations of the day. Downstairs I hear d t he rustling of Keri's return. I walke d d own and helped her in.

"I came back to get Jenna som
e d inner," she said, falling into my arms.

"I am so exhausted," she cried. "An
d s o sad."

I held her tightly. "How is she?"

"Not very good."

"Why don't you lie down, I'll put o
n s ome soup and get Jenna ready fo r b ed."

Keri stretched out on the sofa while
I dressed Jenna, fed her, then carrie d h er downstairs to the den.

It was dark outside, and in absenc
e o f a fire, the room was bathed by th e p eaceful illumination of the Christma s t ree lights. Strands flashed on and of f i n syncopation, casting shadows of different shapes and hues. I held Jenn a i n silence.

"Dad, is Mary coming home for
Christmas?" she asked.

I ran a hand through my hair. "No,
I don't think so. Mary is very sick."

"Is she going to die?"

I wondered what that meant to m
y l ittle girl.

"Yes, honey. I think she will die."

"If she is going to die, I want to giv e h er my present first."

She ran over to the tree and lifted
a s mall, inexpertly wrapped package. "I made her an angel." With excitemen t s he unveiled a petite cardboard ange l c onstructed with tape, glue, and pape r c lips.

"Dad, I think Mary likes angels."

I started to sob quietly. "Yeah, I thin k s he likes angels, too."

In the silence of the lights we face
d t he death of a friend.

In the outer hall I could hear th
e r inging of the telephone. Ker i a nswered it, then found us downstairs.