An Angel for Christmas

 This one is brain-on-paper style. Start to finish, minimal editing, straight from the heart.

Ready?

Here we go...

The phone rang, for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. I was almost late for work at Dayson's department store, but I sighed and answered, in case it was my husband with a problem.

Instead, it was my boss. "Lucia, I know you're probably headed out the door, I promise not to ding you for being late. I need to ask you something."

I was instantly curious. Why not just wait until I got to the store? "Sure, what's up, Larry?"

"I'm heading out as soon as you get here, my truck blew a tire and I need to get to the shop before they close. But there's a chance that I may not make it in time. I was wondering if you had your tree yet?"

"Actually, no, we were going up to the mountain tomorrow to get it."

"Great, while you are there, can you pick up a couple others for the Santa scene? Just smallish ones, nothing big enough to overwhelm your truck."

I thought about it. "Well, we can always take the trailer as well. We're taking the children up to play in the snow, so I can get decent ones. It would look ridiculous to have small trees next to Luke Johansen."

"Luke isn't doing Santa this year, Lucia. He died two days ago. Didn't you hear?"

I hadn't heard, and my heart dropped. Luke Johansen was a widower of fifteen years, had no children of his own, and was the gruffest old man you'd ever meet. He was the typical "sit on the porch and snap at kids to stay off the lawn" type, yet every year he played the sweetest, kindest, most perfect Santa Claus. He had a round belly, a big white beard, and could belt out "ho-ho-ho" in his baritone like no one's business. And now, our perfect Santa was gone.

"So who's doing it?" I asked.

"Tom Wilson."

I nearly dropped the phone. "Tom? The town drunk? Larry, he hates Christmas, and for good reason!"

"I know. It was the oddest thing, but after Luke passed, Tom came to me and asked to do Santa. He gave me his word of honor not to drink a drop. He needs the work, so I said yes. He's the only other guy I know that has a Santa-like beard. He'll fit the suit okay, though I've got our tailor hemming the pants. He'll be fine if we just keep an eye on him."

I pressed a hand to my head. "Let's hope this doesn't end in a disaster. If the parents find out-"

"I know, I'm not courting a lawsuit. I'm going to have his wife sitting near, so he has ample reason to behave."

Well, that was that. Larry had made up his mind, and he had a good point that Tom was physically right for the job. But still... Tom Wilson made the term "town drunk" look tame. Three years previous, on Christmas Eve, a tipsy partier had skidded on ice, right into the side of Tom's car. His wife had been paralyzed, and his only child, Tommy Junior, had died on the scene.

The irony made me just sick. But... who knew? Maybe this was the beginning of some serious rehabilitation for old Tom.

"I'll get the trees. Anything else?"

"Yeah... pray for Maria Wilson."

"I always do."

He sighed. "Me too. And pray for us, that this goes off smoothly. I'll see you later."

*     *     *

For three kids anxious to get up to the mountain to have a snowball fight, they were obstinate about putting on snow clothes. But I'm just as stubborn, and after a threat to leave them at Aunt Lacy's butcher shop to help pluck turkeys, they caved. Chalk one up to Mom-thinking.

We weren't the only ones after a good Christmas tree, and James drove much further afield than usual. "I don't want to get in an argument like last year," he told me firmly. "When I find a tree, it's my tree, and that's that."

I grinned behind my glove. He usually won the "I saw it first!" arguments, given that he was one of the strongest guys in town, but he was also very passive and hated arguments. "I understand, honey," was all I said.

We parked the truck and started looking. He found the perfect tree for our house right away, but I wasn't satisfied with the other offerings. Even if it was just a simple Santa setup for Christmas eve, lasting all of two hours, I still wanted to get nice trees. They were always donated to the poorhouse after the visits with Santa, and I didn't want them to think they were getting the "leftovers".

I charged my two boys to look after their six-year-old sister, then roamed into the forest, always making sure I could see our orange truck. After about half an hour, I finally found a perfect matching pair of spruces, calling James to come and cut them. He was equally pleased, congratulating me on my excellent sense for Christmas decor.

We pulled them back down the mountain to the truck and got them secured. That done, I called to the children. Our twins, Jimmy and John, came immediately.

Emmaline did not.

"Where is she?" I asked. "You were supposed to be watching her!"

"We did!" John insisted. "We were playing hide and seek, and we can't find her."

 My heart froze in my chest. It was a typical frigid day on the mountain, and I knew that even in snow clothing, my tiny little girl wouldn't last long in this weather. I started screaming her name, followed by my husband and boys, and soon, other tree hunters switched to searchers. Word travels fast in a small town, and it seemed like everyone we knew was looking for her.

After an hour, I was seriously worried. How could she have gone so far in just an hour? The sheriff had called out deputies on horses, and a bloodhound, but in the snow, I had no idea how much use they would be.

He came to my side. "I'm calling in a professional mountain team from the ski resort," he told me quietly. "I heard this morning that we've had a few small avalanches... I don't want to borrow trouble, but... just be ready for the worst."

I didn't want to hear that. I really, really didn't want to hear that. I leaned against the side of the truck, sobbing into my hands. My precious girl... where in the world had she gone? "Lord, you can see her, I can't. We could really use a miracle or an angel right about now. Please bring her back to me!"

No sooner had I finished my little prayer than I heard the most beautiful sound ever. "Hi, Mommy!"

I whipped around to see her coming through the snow, slipping and sliding over drifts. As the searchers hurried over to us with cheers, James burst past me and swept up our daughter in his arms, tears freezing on his face. "Emmy! Where in the world have you been?"

"I was playing with the boys, and I saw a bunny. I wanted to pet her, so I followed her, and got lost. But the nice Santa man brought me back."

The gathering of searchers fell quiet. "What Santa man?" I asked.

"You know, Mommy. The big man that plays Santa at your store. He brought me back here."

I stared in utter disbelief. "Emmy... that's impossible. Mr. Johansen died."

She shrugged, laying her head on her father's shoulder. "I know it was him. It was his voice, and his big white beard. You told me not to talk to strangers, and he's not a stranger, so I knew he would help me."

That was true. We'd had a talk about stranger danger, and after that, she'd turned shy around anyone we didn't know well. There was no way she would have followed some stranger, lost or not.

"Emmy, from now on, you stay with Mommy or the boys when we go places like this," James told her. "No chasing bunnies, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

I looked at the sheriff, who just shrugged. "No idea," he said. "I haven't seen anyone else that looks like Luke all day. Well... ever, actually."

After heartfelt thanks from our family to the searchers, the search broke up and returned to tree hunting. In gratitude for their assistance, my husband helped four less-experienced tree hunters find great trees, then we drove our family down the road into town.

We first stopped at the store to deliver the two trees. "These are beautiful!" Larry said admiringly. "Thanks for bringing them down. I hope it wasn't much trouble?"

I exchanged tired looks with James. "Um... not really," he muttered.

Larry frowned. "Did I miss something?"

"I'll tell you later," I promised. "Right now, I need to get the kids home with our tree. I'll be back after noon to help set up."

"Right," Larry said hesitantly. "Look, I'm sorry if it was a problem-"

"No, it's nothing like that," I assured him. "It has nothing to do with the trees, I promise. But I need to get Emmy home."

"Okay, then."

*     *     *

That afternoon, as we worked to put up the Santa's Workshop display for that evening, I talked to Larry and told him what had happened. He wasn't a Christian man, but he did believe there was some kind of higher power, and he looked very thoughtful after my explanation. "Interesting... you know Emmy wasn't the only one, right?"

I stared at him in shock. "I take it that's a no?" he chuckled.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been hearing it all day from shoppers. I heard about Emmy's rescue, of course, from Lacy and Bob. But I heard other moms talking. Apparently, Luke's ghost was hanging around the tree grounds. A few kids swore they saw him. When they got too far from their cars, he showed up and ordered them back toward the road. And lest you think it's just them looking to ride the fame from Emmy's story, the mothers swore that the kids told them about him before Emmy went missing."

Unbelievable. And yet... was it really so impossible? Luke Johansen didn't seem to like kids, except at Christmas. Maybe he really was still around. "I wish I'd made it to his funeral," I commented. "I feel bad now, hearing everything he has done."

"Oh, there hasn't been a funeral yet," Larry told me while stringing lights over Santa's chair. "The gravedigger sprained a wrist and the substitute is out of town until after Christmas. They're keeping his body at the hospital. It didn't seem like much of a bother to bury him sooner, since he has no family around. I was going to attend the burial since I was sort of like his boss, but other than that, I doubt anyone would have come."

In that instant, I made a decision. Luke Johansen would have mourners at his funeral, even if it was just Larry and my family. "Let me know when they decide, will you?"

"Sure, Pastor Wallace said he'd let me know."

When six o'clock chimed, Tom Wilson took his place on the throne-like Santa chair, belting out his best ho-ho-ho. It was a pale imitation of Luke's, but he did his best, and he wasn't weaving around and banging into things. The children were excited in any case, lining up like ducklings following their mother. One after the other they sat on Santa's lap, told him the innermost desires of their darling hearts, got a candy cane from his elf helper- which was me- then scampered off to rejoin their smiling parents. I felt a certain sense of loss as I watched, not having the Santa that had served our community so well for years, but I was proud of how well Tom did. I was equally surprised that he seemed to really enjoy it.

Eight o'clock came, and there was still a line. Tom didn't bat an eye. He just shrugged and kept visiting with the children, one after another. No rush, no fuss. I wondered how Larry would appreciate having to work later on Christmas Eve, and I went to ask him if he wanted to go home while I closed, since my children were happily playing in the fake snow behind the Santa scene. I spotted him talking to Margaret Easton, the director of the poorhouse. He handed her several large shopping bags, stuffed to the top. She smiled tearfully, thanking him. "When we lost our usual donor, I just didn't know what to do!"

"Not a problem," Larry told her. "These would just be written off as losses anyway, someone might as well get some use out of them. You're sure you can get it all done tonight?"

"Oh yes, my sister's sewing group is coming to help, and my husband recruited some men to help with the wood and metal toys."

"Great. Well, I hope you have a Merry Christmas!"

"I'm sure we will now. Goodbye!"

I waited until Margaret had left, then walked over to Larry. He spotted me and turned red, looking a little embarrassed. "Uh... hi. Um... how much did you overhear?"

"Just about all of it, I think," I said. "But I'm confused... what was that?"

"It's... uh, just a little donation."

A lightbulb flicked on. "Wait... that was from the Damaged Merchandise box, wasn't it?"

He sighed. "Yes, it was. Please don't tell corporate. We'd just be writing it off and throwing it in the trash anyway!"

I laughed. "I know, and I promise, I won't say a word. What did she mean by her usual donor?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable still, then shrugged. "Well, he's gone, so you might as well know. Luke Johansen worked as Santa so he could buy stuff for the poorhouse. I gave him great prices, I promise. But this year... of course he's not around, and Tom's family needs the money as much as anyone. I thought, and I decided that instead of wasting all that from the Damaged box, it might as well go out the door to someone who can use it."

He grinned sheepishly. "I also tossed in some bags of candy. The good stuff. So don't think that I'm some Scrooge dumping trash on poor folks."

"I'd never think that of you, Larry," I assured him. "That was a wonderful thing to do."

Finally, the line ebbed, and the clock struck nine. Closing time. We saw our last few customers safely out to their cars, locked the door, then set about cleaning up. My boys were extra helpful, sweeping the floors without even having to be asked, then Larry gave us a bag with some goodies and sent us home. "The rest of the cleaning can wait," he said firmly. "Go enjoy Christmas. I've got to get to my cousin's house, she's saving a plate for me."

"Of course. Merry Christmas... and don't forget about the funeral!"

"I won't."

*     *     *

That Christmas was one of the best we'd ever had. We enjoyed a lovely day with family, then hurried to the church that evening to hear the choir sing. I was amazed to see Larry there, sitting with his cousin's family. Never in his life had he willingly set foot inside of a church. It would seem that Luke's angel was having more of an effect than anyone would have guessed.

At the end of the service, Pastor Wallace announced that Luke Johansen's graveside service would be the following morning at ten o'clock. He invited any friends or family to attend and said there would be a luncheon provided afterward by the ladies of the church. Given the copious amounts of leftovers from Christmas, I had no doubt the luncheon would be epic.

Early the next morning I drove to the store but found the doors still locked. I frowned, puzzled, and looked around. All the stores downtown were still closed, with signs saying "closed for funeral, opening at one". 

"Luke's funeral?" I wondered under my breath. "The entire town is closing down? Luke, just what else have you been up to?"

I returned home earlier than I had planned and gathered the family. We drove to the cemetery but had a hard time finding parking. It seemed that the entire town was indeed there, all standing around either the coffin- a beautiful mahogany one- or were lined up at the far side of the gravesite. There was a book on a podium, and they were taking turns writing in it.

Larry appeared at my side. "Hi. Have you had a chance yet?"

I shook my head. "We just got here. What is this?"

"It's a memory book. With all the stories I've been hearing, I wanted the town to remember Luke, so I got one of the fancy wedding guest books and brought it for people to write memories of Luke. I'll bring it to the luncheon too, so people have time. I asked the library if they could take care of it, and Leanna said she'd be happy to. She'll keep it in Reference so no one loses it."

I smiled. "You never cease to surprise me, Larry Evans."

He ducked his head. "Well... I've got a lot to make up for," he said cryptically. "Excuse me, there's Tom... I promised I would help with the wheelchair."

He walked away, and I watched him in puzzlement. It seemed there were a lot more secrets than I was aware of in this town. Small wonder, I'd only lived here since I married James. "What could he have meant?" I commented quietly to my husband.

"I think I know, but if he didn't tell you, it's none of my business," he said just as quietly. "All I'll say is that Larry had a kind of... well... a bit of a wild youth."

That was just as surprising. Larry was a good guy, but when it came to rules, he was by-the-book. 

The funeral was beautiful. Only a few people spoke. People that knew Luke better than I did, like the Pastor. And, to my surprise, Larry. The mystery was solved as he got up and spoke, sharing a story that was apparently no surprise to most of the older folk in the town, but it was a shock to me.

"Most of you remember what I was like as a kid. No dad around, my mother was always working... I had no one to make sure that I grew up right. No one that cared, or so I thought. I got into some bad habits. Shoplifting, that kind of thing. I swore that I would get out of this dead-end town one way or another, and I chose a lot of bad ways to do it. I hurt a lot of people, but at the time, I couldn't have cared less.

"Christmas came around, in my seventeenth year. I would be eighteen soon, and able to make my own way in life. I was still in school, barely, but I was determined that the second I turned eighteen, I would go and join the army. Anything to get away from my miserable life. You may remember that was the year that all Dayson's stores were collecting money for the new children's hospital in the city. At that time, the store was run by Luke's brother Pete. I watched that box fill up with cash, and I swore it would be mine. The hospital folk had plenty of donors, or so I reasoned. I needed the money more than they did.

"Christmas Eve night, I broke into the store. I was just loading up a bag with the cash when I heard the angriest yell I've ever heard in my life. Pete stood there, and I could tell from his red eyes that he'd already had one too many at his family party. He was pointing a rifle at me. I was sure, as sure as I've ever been in my life, that he was going to shoot me dead right then and there."

"Luke had come with him. Probably to drive, since Luke never drank. He commented to me once that he was allergic to alcohol; it made him break out in a bad attitude. He stopped Pete from killing me and suggested that he make me work to make up for what I had done. I was... shocked. I had applied for jobs all over town, but no one had ever hired me because I was such a troublemaker. Pete didn't like the idea, but Luke talked him into it. Luke was a part-time maintenance guy for the store, and he said he'd train me and make sure I stayed out of trouble."

"I worked there from that day on. For the first few months I only got half of my pay, since the other half went to pay for the window I'd broken getting in. I saved every penny I could, still thinking I needed to get out of there. But it never happened. My mother got sick, and I used the money to get her a good doctor. Then Luke suggested that I get a better education, and I used one of those correspondence schools to get an Associates' degree in business. I got a promotion at the store, which was Luke's doing. Then another one. I was actually making decent money, staying out of trouble, and people had stopped glaring at me every time they saw me.

"When Mother died, Luke helped me through the funeral. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to face. Then, Pete had his heart attack and died, and I was sure I was done at the store. Corporate wanted to send one of their own guys to take over, and I knew that if he found my record, and people told him what I'd done, I was finished there. I was manager over the men's department, and the other employees liked me, but... still, I was branded a crook for life. Luke talked to them and got them to agree to at least interview the employees before deciding.

"I felt the interview went well, but I still didn't have much hope. To my utter shock, they made me store manager. I met with the corporate guy, and he showed me a letter of recommendation from Pete's files, praising my attitude, my work ethic, and my integrity. It was signed by "Mr. Johansen". To this day he never admitted it, but I'm pretty sure the 'Mr. Johansen' was actually Luke. Whatever the case, it got me the job that I have now, and kept me in the town that I have come to love.

He dropped his head, tears in his eyes, and I felt my heart melt a little. I'd never seen Larry look so utterly vulnerable, and I couldn't imagine what courage it had taken to share this.

"I don't know what I would have done without Luke," he continued. "In some ways, he was the father I'd never had. I wouldn't call him fatherly, but he filled that role just the same. He was my Christmas Angel, and he not only saved me from a bitter life, he literally saved me. I'm going to miss him so very much. 

"I hope you will all make use of the memory book. I think the people of this town need to know the real Luke Johansen. Everyone has always thought that he didn't like kids, right? Well, that's not strictly true. He loved kids, but he never had any of his own, and it hurt him deeply. It made him a little... I wouldn't say bitter, but very sad. He did what he could for the kids of the town, but just seeing them, watching them... it was hard for him to be happy around them. But he loved them so much, and I think we all should know that."

I knew it, now. I could feel it, every time I looked at my little Emmy and thought of how Luke's ghost had saved her life. And I felt hot shame at how badly I had misjudged him. I could see similar looks on other faces. This funeral had opened so many eyes... yes, we would remember Luke.

*     *     *

At the end of the luncheon, I got my chance to write in the book. I told the story of Emmy's rescue, how an angel had saved our daughter. I closed the book and turned, nearly running into Tom. "Oh... sorry, I didn't hear you! How are you?"

He smiled. "Doing better. Much better than I have been in years. Can I ask you for a favor?"

I nodded. "Of course."

He sighed. "I... I wanted to write something in Luke's book. But I lost my glasses years ago, and I can't read up close. Can you write for me?"

I hadn't known that. Maybe that was one reason he had such a hard time keeping a job. "Sure, Tom. What do you want me to say?"

"I'll let you figure out the wording, but, it's just... you know I've been angry every Christmas, and why, right?"

"Yes."

"So... you might be wondering why I agreed to do the part of Santa for Dayson's."

I gave him a sheepish look. "Well, yeah. It seemed a bit strange."

"It was because of Luke. I was one of the first that saw him fall. Larry drove him to the hospital after he collapsed, and I sat in back with him, trying to keep him awake and talking. I'll never forget what he said. He looked right at me and said 'Tom, you know it's not really Christmas you hate. You need to let it go. Stop making your poor wife miserable, and face your pain, before it destroys you'."

Tom dropped his head for a minute, clearing his throat a few times. I just waited. There was no way I was going to press him. Finally, he looked up and continued. "I knew he was right. But then he died, just after they had brought the gurney out to take him in. He stopped breathing... how could I find peace with Christmas after it had cost me so much? I went back home with Larry, and after he dropped me off, I went into the house, grabbed a bottle, and went for a walk."

"On that walk... I know I was drunk, and I could have been seeing things, but... I saw Luke. And Tommy was standing with him. Tommy told me what Luke had, that I needed to stop hating Christmas. It was his favorite time of year, and his mother's too, and he said I wasn't thinking of how much pain I was costing his mother, by not having Christmas in our house. The look on his face just broke my heart. The next thing he said... he looked at the bottle and reminded me that it was a drunk that had killed him, and by being a drunk, I was just compounding the hurt. I had destroyed something he loved, and embraced something he hated. The second he said that, I threw what was left of that bottle in a trash can, and promised I would never drink again. I begged his forgiveness, and he told me that of course he could forgive me, on two conditions. One, I needed to learn to respect and honor Christmas, and let my wife have the joy of the season. The second condition came from Luke. He told me that since he couldn't be Santa anymore, it was my turn. I needed to bring joy to the little ones, since my own little one was lost to me.

"It was hard, Lucia. It was the hardest thing... but I did what they asked. I walked home that night, and with my wife watching, I threw every last bottle I had in the garbage. I swore to her on my life that I was done drinking. I went out and got a Christmas tree, one of the little fake ones so she could set it up easily even if I wasn't around. And I took the Santa job so I could have money to buy her a good Christmas."

At that point, I looked down, and realized that Maria was beside us, with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wore a new coat, and for the first time in years, she had done her hair up nicely and put on makeup. She wore a necklace that looked like a locket, and seeing my interest, she opened it to show me pictures of Tommy and Tom before the crash. I hadn't realized until then just how much they looked alike.

"Amazing," I murmured. "I promise I'll add your story to the book. It's pretty personal, though. Are you sure?"

He nodded. "If Larry can bare his soul, then so can I. Folks need to know that there's always hope, no matter how low you think you've sunk."

They walked away, with Larry pushing the wheelchair. He led them out to his car and drove off to take them home. I gathered up my family and got in the car, tears pouring down my face the whole way.

James called me on it. "I just... I never knew. So many people in this town with such incredible stories. I read a few of these. Some of them are simple, like times Luke stopped to help them pull a car out of the snow, or change a tire, or help chop wood when someone was sick. How did I never notice? I feel like I've been selfish. That I've been so busy with my own life, I never bothered to look at anyone else."

James put a hand over mine. "Sweetheart, you are a wife, a mother, and a dedicated employee. You aren't selfish. You're busy, like anyone else. And you are amazing, I've seen you work on food drives and all kinds of stuff. You are my Christmas Angel."

I smiled. "Thank you. But I want to do more. And I think I know how to start."

*     *     *

When we got home, I quickly penned the story as Tom had told it to me. Then, I dug into a memory chest, pulling out something I hadn't looked at in years. I drove over to Tom's house and knocked. When he answered, he looked surprised.

"Lucia, come on in." He led me inside. I had been there a few times before, and it was a night-and-day difference. No liquor bottles, no sour smell. He had scoured the house from top to bottom, a small tree in one corner, twinkling with lights, and I could smell ham baking in the oven.

"I won't stay long, I need to get this to the library, but I wanted you to read it over before I do."

He frowned. "Lucia... I told you-"

"I know. Here. I want you to try these." I reached into my purse and pulled out a case. It held my father's glasses. The last pair he'd worn before he died of cancer. They had been nearly new, and it seemed a shame to just throw them out. Mother had asked me to see that they got to someone who could use them. There were occasional drives for glasses for poor countries, and I thought I'd donate them someday, but they'd been put in the chest and forgotten. They were bifocals, and I figured that one or the other part of the lenses had to work.

He hesitated, then slid them on. I could see that the nosepiece was a bit tight and would need to be adjusted, but otherwise they were a good fit. He looked up, then down, looked around, looked at his wife's face, and smiled. "They're... perfect! Well, nearly. The nose is a little tight, but I can get that adjusted."

"Bring them by the store and I'll ask the optometry department to fix them for you," I promised.

"I will." 

He glanced at the book in my hand, and I gave it to him. I waited quietly while he read over what I had written, nodding with a misty smile when I was done. "Perfect, Lucia. Thank you so much for your help."

"And thanks for yours," I told him. "Without your Santa, I think Christmas would have been ruined for my kids. Will you keep doing Santa for us?"

"Yes, of course. And now that I can actually see where I'm going... do you have any other openings?"

*     *     *

I'll never forget that year. Tom was our store Santa for over twenty years, in addition to his job as a cashier. By the time he passed away, Larry had retired, and had deliberately grown a long beard so that he could take up the torch. 

Whenever my family gets together for the holidays, we share memories of Christmas. One by one we reminisce about presents, sledding trips, caroling, and Santa.

Our favorite memory? Every year, always, it is our Christmas Angel. And every year, I could swear I could see just a hint of a big, tall shadow in the corner, with a big white beard, and the biggest smile you can imagine.