Christmas 1925

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id49.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Jennys Story"><U><B>Jenny's Story</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id50.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Angel of Eagle Hill"><U><B>The Angel of Eagle Hill</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>Christmas 1925</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id107.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Alternate Destiny"><U><B>Alternate Destiny</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>Christmas 1925</B></div> <div> <B>This story is going to end up being part of the sequel to Taking Wooden Nickels.  I'm still working on the rest of it ... </B></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      The snow began falling softly early Christmas Eve morning.  It wasn't the first snow of the season, Quentin thought, watching the feathery flakes float to the ground, but it was the most magical.  He lay on his back, arms crossed under his head and watched out the window as the flakes came down slowly.  The sky was slate gray-it's going to snow a lot, he thought.  Beth stirred a little and sighed.  He thought about waking her so she could see the snow but decided against it.  She'd get to see it snowing all day.</div> <div>      Someone walked by the window, dragging something.  Startled, he sat up.  It was a man, bundled up and wearing a heavy muffler.  A neighbor?  He got up out of bed and went to the window to look.  There was no one there.  No tracks in the few inches of snow that had fallen, either.  Was I imagining things? He wondered.</div> <div>      "Quentin?" Beth asked sleepily.</div> <div>      He turned and came back to the bed, crawling in under the covers and snuggling up next to her.  "It's snowing," he told her.  He decided not to mention the man he thought he saw.  He wasn't sure it was for real anyway.  "Are you awake or asleep?"</div> <div>      "Mmmmm," Beth considered, a smile on her face as she opened her eyes to look at him.  "Why?"</div> <div>      "Because I wanted to know if I could do this," he answered, moving so that he could kiss her throat just below her chin.</div> <div>      "Just that?"</div> <div>      "This," he continued, moving to the soft spot at the base of her throat, just above her collarbone.  He felt her hands moving into his hair, and looked up.</div> <div>      "Oh, don't stop," she said teasingly, "I'll fall asleep again."</div> <div>      He looked at the door.  "Be right back."  He hopped out of the bed and went to the door to latch in before climbing back.  He wanted to make sure Peter didn't surprise them again.  This time, when he got under the covers, he climbed on top of her.  "Did you fall asleep?"  Her eyes were shut.</div> <div>      "I guess you'll have to wake me up again," she said, laughing now.  He didn't mind at all.  The falling snow added a measure of enchantment to their lovemaking.  They tried to be as quiet as the snowflakes that were falling not so much out of deference to the day but because of the other family members in the house.  They clung to each other, and Beth pressed her face into Quentin's shoulder so that she wouldn't squeal.  Although he liked to hear her, she clearly was embarrassed by it when other people were around.</div> <div>      Quentin kissed her gently, and she stroked his cheek tenderly.  Then she said, "I hear people getting up.  We should get up, too."</div> <div>      He stretched.  "Yes, we should.  But this is so much nicer, isn't it?  It's warm in here.  It's cold out there."</div> <div>      "You'd better stoke the fire, sweetheart."</div> <div>      He looked at her a little sadly.  "Don't think Nora'd do it for me, huh?"  Beth laughed.</div> <div>      Quentin couldn't remember when he'd been with so much family at Christmas time.  It had been years and years.  Even last Christmas, he'd been alone most of the time.  He'd spent a few hours with Dave and Cholly, but he hadn't seen Jamison or Ruth because Edward was at home.  He felt a deep pang of regret at all the Christmases he'd missed with Edward, Jamison and Ruth.  Well, this year can be a new beginning, he resolved, as he and Beth both got up to get dressed.  Petofi flickered into his mind briefly and he quickly pushed the thought away.  He didn't want to think about him.</div> <div>      All week more family members were expected to arrive for Beth and Quentin's wedding.  They'd decided to get married in a beautiful Presbyterian Church in Milford, Pennsylvania, about ten miles from Port Jervis.  Quentin looked out at the snow again and wondered if everyone would make it.  </div> <div> They were expecting Beth's family today-her parents, her brother Eric and sister-in-law Annie and all their children, and her sister Norma and husband Joe and their children.  The roads weren't in great shape at this time of the year so they were all travelling by train and were due in around noon.  Beth was excited.  She hadn't seen any of them since Thanksgiving.  She'd had a hard time choosing between Annie and Norma to be her matron of honor.  She'd really wanted to ask Norma, but her sister declined.  "I won't know how to help you-I won't know what's going on," Norma had signed to Beth.  "Better to ask Annie.  My feelings aren't hurt.  I know you love me."</div> <div> Quentin had a similar difficulty with his best man.  He felt obligated to ask Jamison but didn't really want to.  He preferred Dave, who refused. "Son, I done been your best man one time already," Dave said.  "Besides, I don't know that the churches in Pennsylvania hold with a colored man standing up for a white man."  Quentin felt it shouldn't matter, but Dave laughed at him.  "Why doncha ask your nephew like you're s'posed to?  Or Cholly?  He'd do it!"  So Quentin had asked Jamison and the two had quarreled again, so he hung up and called Cholly.  Cholly, unaware he was the third choice, was honored.  </div> <div> Thinking about Jamison irritated him.  He went into the living room and began stoking up the fire.  "It's about time someone got up!" Nora complained from one of the stuffed chairs.  She was wrapped in a blanket and glowered at Quentin resentfully.</div> <div> "Nora, this isn't that hard to do, you know," Quentin replied irritably.  He'd long ago resigned himself to the fact that she would never forgive him for favoring Jamison over her.</div> <div> "That's not woman's work!" Nora informed him loftily.  "You shouldn't sleep so late.  It's inconsiderate."</div> <div> He looked at her over his shoulder in disbelief.  She really was amazing, with her high handed attitudes.  "Did it occur to you that your complaining is inconsiderate?"</div> <div> "Well if you'd take our comfort into consideration, maybe I wouldn't complain so much!"</div> <div> "I doubt that," he said dryly.  Nora slammed the book she held in her hands shut and stood up, ready to stalk out of the room.</div> <div> "Listen, Nora, I just want to warn you that we're probably going to pile some of the kids in the rooms with Mary Jane and Katie, and Peter."</div> <div> Nora stopped.  "You're <I>not</I> serious!  How could you possibly fit any more people into this house?"</div> <div> "It'll work," he explained, relieved to see Beth come into the living room.  Whenever he and Nora began shouting at each other, he could depend on Beth to settle things peacefully.  "We're going to put Beth's parents in a cabin.  We're going to put Eric and Annie and their two oldest in one cabin, and Joe and Norma and their two in another.  The other three older ones we'll split up between the kids here."</div> <div> "You must be joking!" Nora said even louder.  "Six children in two rooms on either side of <I>my </I>room?"  She was outraged.  "I don't know all those people anyway!  Where is Jamison staying?"</div> <div> "In town at the inn-if he comes."</div> <div> "Well, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't.  This is neither the time of year to get married nor the way to have a wedding, either!"</div> <div> "It's not your wedding, Nora, so you don't have anything to say about it!"</div> <div> At that point, Beth intervened.  "I'm hungry, and whatever Mrs. Cleary is making smells really good."</div> <div> "I've lost my appetite!" Nora turned and left the room, stalking down the hall at the opposite end of the house and slamming the door.  The doors to the children's rooms popped open, and the three children spilled out.</div> <div> The came running (they never seemed to walk) into the living room to jump onto Quentin and Beth.  "How long have you been up?"  Beth asked, looking at wide-eyed Katie.</div> <div> "We were waiting for Mommy to have her fit and go back to bed," Mary Jane said matter-of-factly.</div> <div> "She didn't have a fit, Mary Jane," Quentin began, exasperated.  He thought Nora was making a poor example of herself for her daughter.  The problem was that Nora continued to ignore her child.  It didn't seem to bother the lively, bubbly little girl-she seemed used to it.  It bothered Quentin, though, to see the child so neglected by her own mother.  Beth was more a mother to Mary Jane than Nora was, he thought, a little bitterly.  He knew Nora needed help, but she steadfastly refused to talk to anyone.</div> <div> "What did she have then?" Mary Jane asked.</div> <div> "A tantrum," Peter said.</div> <div> "Come on, let's go eat," Beth urged, to change the subject.</div> <div> "So, an good mornin to yez all," Mrs. Cleary greeted them pleasantly.  "An a fine morning it `tis, with the beautiful snow an all. "  She addressed herself to the children now.  "Are ye good and hungry, then? `Tis hotcakes I've made for ye!"  After she served everyone, she said to Quentin, "I'll be makin sure there's blankets enough in all the cabins, Whosis.  I know ye wouldn't want the family comin to be cold, then."</div> <div> "Are you cold?"  Quentin asked, concerned.  There was a pot-bellied stove in each cabin now, and it really should be sufficient to keep everyone warm.</div> <div> "Sure an I feel like I'm in a boiler now," Mrs. Cleary assured him.  "But tis warm I am all the time since the change, y'see," she continued.  At the expression on his face, she said hastily, "Never you mind, now.  `Tis warm enough in the cabins all right!"</div> <div> "I don't want them to be cold," he mumbled.  Of all people, not Beth's family!  Eric barely tolerated him, although the rest of the family seemed to accept him.  He got along fine with Norma and Joe, probably because Beth had taught him enough rudimentary sign language that he could communicate with them-and no one else bothered.  "Oh, did you pull something around the house this morning?"</div> <div> "Me?" Mrs. Cleary sounded surprised.  "Not atall.  Why d'ye ask me that?"</div> <div> "Oh, nothing."  Beth looked at him curiously, but he pretended to be very interested in his hotcakes and the subject was dropped.  "I wonder how I'm going to squeeze everyone into the car," he said to make absolutely sure Beth was distracted.</div> <div> "I thought you said you were going to rent a car for Eric to drive," Beth said, surprised.</div> <div> "Oh, that's right, I did," he agreed.  Personally, he thought it might have been wiser to get a horse and a sleigh.  Although Cuddeback had originally been designed to be a summer home, it hadn't been too hard to convert it over to a year-round home.  He didn't know how much snow to expect during a typical winter.  He did know, however, that his neighbor down the road had a horse and a sleigh so he had made sure to get himself on friendly terms with the family.</div> <div>      "Santa is coming tonight-after church," Peter said with some enthusiasm.</div> <div>      "No, he's not," Mary Jane said in a superior tone.</div> <div>      "Why not?"</div> <div>      "Because there isn't any."</div> <div>      "Mary Jane-" Quentin began in a warning tone.</div> <div>      "Oh, yes there is!" Peter argued.</div> <div>      "No, there's not!"</div> <div>      "Says who?"</div> <div>      "My brother Eddie told me!"</div> <div>      "Well Eddie doesn't know <I>everything</I>, does he?" Quentin managed to interrupt before Mary Jane caused any further damage.  "He's just a kid, Mary Jane.  You shouldn't listen to him."</div> <div>      Mary Jane looked at him.  "You're not going to fib to me, are you?"</div> <div>      Quentin and Beth exchanged looks.   "Here, now, sure an they wouldn't be doin that then," Mrs. Cleary assured her, coming to the rescue.</div> <div>      "Does that mean there <I>is</I> a Santa Claus?" Mary Jane demanded.</div> <div>      "Yes," Quentin lied immediately.  Peter and Katie looked instantly reassured, but Beth looked troubled.  Quentin looked at her and raised his brows.  What did she expect him to say?  Mrs. Cleary had turned back to the sink and had become very busy.  He wasn't going to get any more help from her.</div> <div>      Mary Jane wrinkled her nose.  "But-"</div> <div>      "Come on, eat so you can go out and make a snowman," Quentin interrupted again.  He felt foolish, as if the eight-year-old was outwitting him.</div> <div>      "I can do it," Katie declared.  "I can make the head.  I'm big."</div> <div>      "No, you're not big like me, but I'll help you," Peter said.  Then he turned to Mary Jane and made a face at her.  "I <I>told</I> you!"</div> <div>      Mary Jane stuck her tongue out at Peter.</div> <div>      "That's not polite, Mary Jane," Beth chided.  </div> <div>      "I know," Mary Jane said good naturedly, dropping her fork.  "I'm done! Excuse me!" She jumped up and fled the table.</div> <div>      "That child doesn't eat enough to keep a bird alive," Mrs. Cleary complained.  Beth busied herself with helping Katie eat her hotcakes with a fork.</div> <div> "Your chilthern, then, Missus Whosis, they've got grand appetites, they do.  But Mary Jane will be as thin as a stick she doesn't start eating proper."  Her voice had a tinge of disapproval to it, which was secretly directed against Nora.</div> <div>      "You want to come with me to the train station to get your grandmother and grandfather, Peter?" Quentin offered.  He'd learned to stop calling the boy Pete.  Peter had made it very clear that he didn't want any nicknames.  He was as much a strong willed child as Mary Jane, and the two often argued with each other.</div> <div>      Peter debated and then shook his head, no.  "I want to make a snowman.  Quentin, can you prove to Mary Jane that there is too a Santa Claus?"</div> <div>      "Uh-" Quentin began, uncomfortably.  How am I supposed to do that? He wondered.  He looked at Beth who raised her eyebrows at him as if to say: how am I supposed to know?  He suddenly remembered something.  "Maybe I can-I'll see," he said.  Peter looked at him a little doubtfully at first, and then nodded.  </div> <div>      "May I be excused?" he asked.</div> <div>      "Yes, Peter," said Beth, noting that he'd eaten everything.  Mrs. Cleary brought her a washcloth so that she could wipe Katie's hands and face.</div> <div>      "D'ye think ye might be able to give me a ride to the church tonight, then?" Mrs. Cleary asked.  "On your way to your own, I'm meanin'.</div> <div>      "Sure," Quentin said, getting up.  He wanted to see if he could track down something he remembered from the newspaper years and years and years ago.  He was pretty sure he remembered Jamison telling him that he'd shown it to Ruth, so it must be in the bedroom somewhere.  He went into the bedroom to start searching and looked out the window again at the snow.</div> <div>      It wasn't falling hard-yet.  He wouldn't have any trouble getting into Port Jervis.  He'd already put chains on the tires from the last snow they'd had.  He stopped short and looked again.  He did see someone out there-a man standing in the woods, looking toward the house.  He went back out into the living room, looking for his coat.  Beth was just coming out of the kitchen with Katie.  "Quentin-" she began.</div> <div>      "In a minute," he said abruptly, pulling his coat on and going out the door.  He walked around the side of the house, looking toward the woods.  The man was still standing there.  He wore a long coat and was still bundled in the muffler and a hat so that Quentin couldn't see his face.  Could it be Petofi?  He thought, feeling some real fear for the first time.  The figure didn't move, although the man had to see Quentin coming.  "Hey!"  he called when he felt he was within shouting distance.  The man turned and began to walk away slowly.  "Wait!"  Quentin called.  The man didn't stop.  He took two or three more steps and then vanished.  Quentin stopped short.  He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.  <I>A ghost?</I></div> <div> <I>     </I>It didn't matter.  Whoever-or whatever it was-was now gone.  He turned and went back to the house.  Beth was waiting for him on the porch, hugging herself against the cold.  "You shouldn't be out here without a coat," he scolded, but with a smile.</div> <div>      "What made you leave so fast?" Beth asked.</div> <div>      "I thought I saw something."  That was the truth, not a lie, not exactly specific, but not a lie.  At her curious look he added, "I'm really not sure what I thought I saw.  I didn't find anything, though.  I ought to get started for the train station."</div> <div>      "Quentin, about Santa Claus-" Beth began.</div> <div>      "Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering what he wanted.  "Can you help me look for something?"  When she frowned, he added hastily, "It's got to do with Santa Claus."  They went back to the bedroom.  "Jamison told me he and Ruth accidentally left some newspaper clipping here.  They wanted to read it to Elizabeth and Roger.  I don't know if he ever came back and got it because he left it last spring…" He broke off and stopped.  It still hurt to think about the car accident that had killed Jamison's wife, Ruth.</div> <div>      Beth understood the pain he was feeling, stroking his arm to comfort him.  Jamison had changed drastically, drinking heavily and becoming withdrawn and bitter toward his once beloved uncle.  "What does it look like, this article?"</div> <div>      Quentin sighed, trying to remember what Jamison had said.  "Maybe it's not an article.  It might be a letter to the editor-from some kid."  It seemed to him that he should remember it-that it might have been something he himself had seen once.   They searched the room for awhile before he had to stop to leave for the train station.  He felt frustrated.  He had no idea how he could `prove' Santa Claus really existed.</div> <div>      Sensing his frustration, Beth said, "I'll keep looking, darling."</div> <div>      "Yeah, well, what if you don't find it?"</div> <div>      "Well," Beth replied, thinking, "there's enough German stories about St. Nicholas that Papa or Eric could tell-"</div> <div>      "Yes, but Peter asked <I>me</I>," Quentin answered irritably.</div> <div>      "I know," Beth agreed seriously.  "Ask Papa to tell you some of the stories, Quentin.  He can ride in the car with you."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded reluctantly.  As he drove off for the train station, he saw the three children busily trying to make a snowman.  He smiled at their efforts-the snow was too powdery for making snowmen.  He thought he would be able to drag out a makeshift toboggan Dave helped him make a few weeks ago, just before Thanksgiving.  They would have a lot more success sledding.</div> <div>      There weren't many people out on the road, so Quentin was glad he'd put the chains on the tires.  The rented car was parked at the train station, and the keys had been left for him with the ticket agent.  He paced back and forth restlessly, wishing he had a drink.  "Hey, Mac, you nervous?  Want a smoke?" the ticket agent asked, watching him pace.</div> <div>      "Sure," Quentin said.  He'd smoked them before once in awhile, more often if they were made from marijuana and not tobacco.  The agent had rolled them by hand.  Quentin almost asked if there was any tea in the cigarette but thought better of it.  The man looked like he was about seventy; he probably wouldn't have any idea what Quentin was talking about.  "Is the train delayed?" he asked.</div> <div>      The man looked at him impassively.  "Train's always a little delayed when it snows, sonny," he answered.</div> <div>      "How long a delay?"</div> <div>      "It'll get here when it gets here," the man answered.  "Who you waitin for? Your wife?"</div> <div>      "No, her family."</div> <div>      "Whatcher rush then?"  The man spat into a spittoon.</div> <div>      "Merry Christmas."  The man looked up to see if Quentin was joking.  He smiled and tipped his hat, and Quentin went back to pacing.  The train was almost an hour late, and he realized that all those people getting off here at this little stop were all coming home with him.  There was a small mob of them, almost all speaking in a polyglot of German, Norwegian and English.</div> <div>      "They're all yours?" the ticket agent exclaimed, thunderstruck, as Quentin threw his cigarette to the floor and squashed it with his foot.  "No wonder you was so nervous!"</div> <div>      Quentin wasn't listening.  He went out onto the platform to greet his in-laws.  Beth had been teaching him German and a few Norwegian phrases so he greeted her parents first.  "Guten Tag," he said to them, wishing he could remember how to say good day in Norwegian.  "Uh-willkommen."</div> <div>      His father-in-law, Bjorn Jannsen turned to his wife, suitably impressed, and rattled off a stream of German and Norwegian.  He turned back to Quentin, shook his hand firmly, and said, "Ach, gut! Sprechen sie Deutsch?"</div> <div>      "Ein bisschen," Quentin replied nervously.  "Wie geht es Ihnen?"</div> <div>      Bjorn didn't seem to hear that Quentin could only speak a little German.  As soon as he was asked how he was, he rattled off a long speech in either German or Norwegian.  Eric laughed at the expression on his brother-in-law's face, and Quentin glared at him resentfully.  He was trying, wasn't he?  "Bitte?" Bjorn asked, noticing the exchange between the two.  Beth's mother, Petra, put her hand on her husband's arm and shook her head.</div> <div>      Embarrassed, Quentin said,  "Es tut mir leid, Ich verstehe nicht."  I'm sorry, I don't understand.  It was the very first sentence Beth taught him to say.</div> <div>      "Ein bisschen, Bjorn," Petra said slowly.</div> <div>      "Ach, so," Bjorn looked at Quentin and smiled reassuringly.  "Es ist nichts!" He turned to Eric and rattled off another few sentences.</div> <div>      "He is grateful that you are trying," Eric translated grudgingly.  "We had a long trip, but it was pleasant."</div> <div>      Norma threw her arms around Quentin and gave him a loud kiss.  Annie hugged him next and then Petra.  Eric shook hands with him and then Joe stepped forward with another man and thumped Quentin on the shoulder affectionately.  Quentin's eyes popped, surprised.  It was Pastor Brumbaugh.  He shook hands with the pastor and signed, "Surprised to see you!"</div> <div>      "Yes, las' min-it," the pastor answered with his voice, arching his brows at Quentin.  Quentin cursed himself.  He kept forgetting he wasn't supposed to sign in front of the other relatives.</div> <div>      The children had begun tearing around the station as the train pulled away.  Quentin looked at the luggage, the number of people, and realized he had a logistics problem.  "I have to call a cab for the luggage," he explained to Eric.  "I guess we better go inside."  </div> <div>      Everyone piled into the station, and the agent called, "Here, all you children, better sit down-now!" Seven kids, Quentin thought, shaking his head.  He tried to remember all their names.  Heidi-that was Eric and Annie's eldest.  It was easy to remember Joe and Norma's two-Joey and Kristin.  The other four were a mystery to him still.  He called for the cab.</div> <div>      While they waited, Eric asked, "You get the tree yet, Quentin?"</div> <div>      "No, I thought it would be fun to do that this afternoon," Quentin answered, and Eric smiled for the first time in a long time.</div> <div>      "Ach, ja," he exclaimed.  "That's good.  I cut down nice big tree."</div> <div>      "Ach, ya, <I>we</I> will," Quentin agreed, and Eric gave him a slightly condescending look. Quentin had a feeling he was always going to be at odds with this brother-in-law.  The cab driver arrived and began loading the luggage into the car.  Quentin gave the set of rental car keys to Eric.  The Brougham wasn't as large as his new Essex.  He had an idea and said, "Look, Eric, why don't you take all the kids together in the car and follow me?"  Eric's smile froze on his face, and he nodded agreeably.  Quentin was secretly pleased.  He was sure Eric didn't relish taking seven excited, restless children all in the same car with him.</div> <div> All the adults managed to fit snugly into Quentin's car, and he was glad he'd gotten another Essex.  They weren't the prettiest cars, but they were sturdy and very roomy.  With Bjorn sitting next to him and Annie squeezed in near the window, Quentin brought up the subject of Santa Claus.  He explained what happened between Mary Jane and Peter.  "Beth said you'd know some stories about St. Nicholas."  Annie translated, and Bjorn laughed.</div> <div>      "Ach!  It's not St. Nicholas you want to ask me about, Quentin," he answered as Annie translated back.  "Let me tell you about St. Nicholas, and then I will tell you about Santa Claus.  St. Nicholas has been the patron saint of children, it is true, but it's also so that he was an eccentric wanderer.  He gave odd gifts to <I>good</I> children only.  He also carried whips as a warning to the children who were not good-and he was to discipline them for being naughty.  Ja, it is so!"  Bjorn saw the look on Quentin's face and laughed.  "Ja!  Imagine whipping a naughty child!"  Edward certainly didn't have any trouble with the concept, Quentin thought, but then he hadn't been Santa Claus, either.</div> <div>      "All right, so now you wonder where did the benevolent and kindly Santa Claus come from?  In Germany, there was the Protestant Reformation.  Saint Nicholas fell into disfavor with the people and with the new Lutheran church, you see.  When the people broke from the Catholic Church, they determined that the holiday would focus on the baby, and so then there was <I>Kris Kringle.</I>"</div> <div>      "I've heard of <I>Kris Kringle</I>-Santa Claus?"</div> <div>      "Ach, no.  <I>Kris Kringle </I>was actually a young girl who wore a golden crown.  She was a messenger from the Christ child, and it was she who gave gifts away to everyone.  Your Santa Claus is actually Dutch.  The Dutch brought <I>Sinte Klaas</I> here perhaps two hundred years ago.  This is the man you are thinking of, Quentin, and he was very Dutch to begin with-he wore knickerbockers and a fur trimmed hat and smoked a long Dutch pipe.  You have heard of Clement Moore's poem, ja?"</div> <div>      "Yes, my brother used to read it to me."</div> <div>      "Ach, well, you know what Santa Claus looks like thanks to this man, and an artist named Thomas Nast who drew cartoons in a book called <U>Christmas Drawings for the Human Race."</U></div> <div>      Quentin was impressed.  He knew a lot of things that Bjorn didn't-all about black magic, witches, conjuring, and other spells but very little of this kind of enchantment.  "How do you know all this?"</div> <div>      "I am an elf, of course," Bjorn answered with a straight face.  Quentin nearly went off the road then, and Bjorn yelled, "Watch the road, boy! Because I am an elf does not mean I am immortal!"  Quentin glanced over at him to see if he was kidding.  Bjorn looked back at him and smiled benevolently. He said in broken English, "Don't vorry-I am, how you say, pulling your leg?"</div> <div>      "You are, are you?  So what else do you know about Santa Claus?" Bjorn talked about everything from the diet of reindeer to the number of elves Santa had to where exactly he resided.  They were approaching the driveway to the house now, and Quentin saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.  He saw a father walking through the woods with two small boys-they couldn't have been older than Mary Jane.  The man had an axe slung over his shoulder.  They were obviously looking for a Christmas tree.  Quentin wondered who they were-they didn't look familiar at all.</div> <div>      When all the cars pulled up in front of the house, the door opened and everyone inside-except for Nora and Mrs. Cleary-came out to greet the new arrivals.  Beth was flushed with excitement to see her family again, embracing her mother and sister tightly first before turning to her brother.  Mrs. Cleary had made lunch buffet style, assuming everyone would be hungry and reluctant to eat in shifts.  There was no way that everyone would fit around the tables in the house.  "I haven't been able to find what you were looking for," Beth whispered to Quentin.  "Did Papa tell you many stories?"</div> <div>      "As a matter of fact, he did.  Why didn't you tell me he was an elf?"</div> <div>      "A what?"  They both laughed at the same time.  Then Annie pulled Beth in another direction.  Quentin filled a plate for himself and joined the Brumbaughs, who were sitting by themselves on a sofa.  He sat across from them and signed, "How are you?"</div> <div>      "Jus' fine," the pastor answered in his guttural voice.</div> <div>      "Beautiful home," Norma commented, keeping her signs down by her waist.</div> <div>      Quentin sighed.  He didn't understand the reluctance to use sign language.  He liked it a lot better than German or Norwegian.  It was easier to follow and, he thought, more intimate.  Some days, Beth didn't speak to him at all.  She would only sign or fingerspell and he noticed her hands then-they were long and slim, her fingers very graceful as she made moving pictures in the air.  At night, they would fingerspell to each other in the dark.  He found it very erotic at first (and still did), and it was hard to concentrate on what Beth was telling him, feeling her soft hand moving against the palm of his hand as her fingers spelled out the different letters.  He smiled, remembering the feel of her fingers and her hand in his.</div> <div>      "What's so funny?" Joe signed quickly.</div> <div>      Quentin was a little taken aback.  He didn't have the vocabulary to explain what he'd been thinking and didn't think it was appropriate to talk about it in front of Pastor Brumbaugh so he improvised quickly, lied, and signed, "Santa Claus."  That was an easy sign to make, indicating the long beard that hung down to the middle of the chest.</div> <div>      "What's so funny about that?"</div> <div>      "I was remembering the children arguing about whether or not he was real."</div> <div>      "Oh, you!" the pastor signed to his son.  "Remember how your sister cried and cried when you said Santa Claus was not real?"</div> <div>      Norma poked Joe in the ribs.  "You're terrible!"</div> <div>      "I was little!  I didn't know any better!"</div> <div>      "You let them believe in Santa?" Quentin asked haltingly, partly because he still felt awkward using signs and partly because he was so surprised.</div> <div>      "Ah, do you think ministers don't believe in Santa Claus?"  The pastor punctuated his question with his forefinger drawing the mark in the air.  He raised his brows and looked at Quentin with a mischievous expression on his face, his eyes twinkling.</div> <div>      At that moment, Eric strolled in and said, "Snow's really falling now, Quentin.  We'd better go get that tree."</div> <div>      Quentin looked out the window.  The flakes were no bigger than they were this morning, but they were definitely falling faster.  There was a lot more of them, too.  The Brumbaughs had all put their hands down, but Quentin stubbornly signed, "Want to chop down a tree?"</div> <div>      "Shur," Joe answered gutturally.</div> <div>      "I wool like too," the pastor answered.  Norma said something as well, but Quentin couldn't understand what it was.  She smiled and went into the kitchen.  Obviously not going, he thought.  </div> <div>      Nora came out of her room and down the hallway to the living room.  She'd overheard the last bit of the conversation and said disdainfully, "Taking the dummies out for some fresh air, are we?"  She went into the kitchen.</div> <div>      Quentin was on his feet instantly, his face red with anger and embarrassment.  As he started to move, Eric caught his arm.  "Don't," he said. Quentin opened his mouth to turn his anger on Eric.  How could he let someone insult his family that way?  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pastor making a sign that meant, "It doesn't matter."</div> <div>      "Where's your axe?  Your saw?" Eric asked, impassively.</div> <div>      "In the boathouse," Quentin muttered.  "Hold on, I'll be right back." He got up and went into the kitchen.  Nora had gotten herself a snack and was about to leave-presumably for her room.  Mrs. Cleary was washing the dishes, and Beth was deeply engrossed in a conversation with her parents.  She looked up at Quentin, her eyes warm with loving emotion. He was almost distracted by the loving expression on her face, but he turned and said to Nora:  "You should be ashamed of yourself, talking to guests that way."</div> <div>      "They can't hear me," Nora snapped.  "And they're not <I>my</I> guests.  <I>You</I> invited them.  This was <I>my</I> house but now it's not anymore."</div> <div>      "It wasn't your house!" Quentin said harshly.  "It belongs to the whole family.  And Beth's family is our family, too!"</div> <div>      Everyone turned to look at them.  Nora tossed her head and walked out the door.  Quentin began to follow, but he felt a tug on his arm.  Turning, he saw Beth holding on to his elbow.  "Don't, darling, not today," she whispered.  He saw that Bjorn and Petra were looking at him, obviously confused and distressed.  Mrs. Cleary squared her shoulders and turned back to her dishes harrumphing and muttering about some people taking on airs when they should be grateful.</div> <div>      "But-" Quentin began.  Then he stopped.  Would it help Beth to know now what Nora had done?  "All right," he said.  He put his arms around her, looking into her eyes.  She looked happy again and full of love for him.  He kissed her, ignoring the now approving looks from Beth's parents.  He remembered she'd told him that they openly held hands and kissed too.  "We're going to get the tree," he said.</div> <div>      "Wonderful!  Perhaps Papa would like to go.  Mama and Norma and I will be baking all afternoon!"</div> <div>      He tried to remember the word.  "<I>Fattigmann</I>?"</div> <div>      "<I>Sehr gut!"</I> Bjorn said approvingly.</div> <div>      "<I>Danke!"</I>  Quentin answered gratefully.  He tried to remember how to ask Bjorn if he wanted to come along but was suddenly overwhelmed.  So he made a chopping motion with his arms, as if he was holding an axe and asked, </div> <div> <I>"Tannenbaum?"</I>  He remembered the word for Christmas tree.</div> <div>      "<I>Naturlich!"</I>  Bjorn smiled broadly, giving Quentin a what-did-you-expect look.</div> <div>      "Hydee halp make yool-neck?" Norma asked awkwardly.  Annie nodded.  Quentin looked at Beth, who whispered, "My niece Heidi is going to help us make the <I>julenek</I>."  She'd explained that was a sheaf of grain that was prepared especially for the birds.  On Christmas, even the animals were supposed to join in the celebration.  She kissed Quentin quickly and the two men retrieved their coats and boots.  Eric, Joe, and Pastor Brumbaugh were already outside, with the children dancing around them.</div> <div>      Annie followed Quentin and Bjorn out the back calling, "Heidi!  Margot!"</div> <div> Two of the brood reluctantly detached themselves, knowing that they would be helping in the kitchen.  Mary Jane ran along behind them.  "Is my Mommy helping?  I want to help, too!"</div> <div>      "Your mommy <I>never </I>helps!" Peter called behind her.</div> <div>      "Snow is becoming heavy," Bjorn remarked in heavily accented English. His accent was different from his wife's; it had an almost musical tone to it compared to the harsh German accent Petra had.  "I think no church tonight.  Maybe tomorrow, ja?"  At least two inches of snow had fallen in the last hour, and it was still coming down heavily now.</div> <div>      "Maybe," Quentin said doubtfully.  He and Beth had been going to First Presbyterian faithfully for the last couple of months, but he didn't relish the idea of driving there even on Christmas morning if they got a really heavy snow.  They went into the boathouse to get the axes and hacksaw that was stored there. </div> <div> Quentin pulled out the toboggan he and Dave had made.</div> <div>      "We can go sledding!" Joey exclaimed, delighted.</div> <div>      "I want to help get the tree," Eric's oldest boy-his name really was Hans-declared.</div> <div>      The other children clamored for the sled or to go for the tree.  This was one of those rare occasions Quentin thought he would not miss his hearing.  All the children were yelling at once.  "Wait a minute, wait a minute!" he shouted himself, so that he could be heard.  "Who wants the sled?"</div> <div>      "I do, I do!"  Most of the children were enchanted with the idea of sledding.  Tree cutting was hard work. </div> <div>      "I want to go with you, Quentin," Peter said, very seriously.</div> <div> "You, Peewee?" Hans said derisively.  Peter ignored him, looking at Quentin steadily.</div> <div> "Well, with so many big strong men, I don't see how we need the help," Eric said very deliberately.  Peter flinched, and Quentin was about to protest when his brother-in-law winked at him.  "Well," he said slowly, as if he was reconsidering, "I guess if you can help us carry the tree-"</div> <div>      Peter's eyes lit up.  "I can, I can!" he promised excitedly.</div> <div> "Aw!" Hans scoffed and Peter stuck his tongue out at his cousin.</div> <div> "Daddy carry me?  I wanna get the tree too!" Katie was saying, tugging at Quentin's coat. He looked at her doubtfully.  The baby was jumping up and down as enthusiastically as the rest of the children.  He didn't have the heart to deny her and decided he'd just keep an eye on her.  She held her arms up to him, and he swung her up, placing her on his shoulders.  She shrieked and grabbed handsful of his hair, which pulled but he didn't protest. Eric gave him an odd, searching look but didn't say anything.  </div> <div> They started off in search of their Christmas tree, heading in the same direction Quentin had seen the man and two boys go earlier.    The other children followed along, pulling the toboggan along behind them.  They would stop at the hill and the others would go on looking for the perfect tree.  It was very quiet, even with the sound of their footsteps and the excited voices of the children.  They'd walked into the woods about twenty minutes and could only barely hear the occasional shout from one of the children sledding down the hill.</div> <div> Quentin began to wish he'd brought a hat with him.  Little Katie's mittened hands pulled his hair; not only that, the snow was falling so fast now he was having a hard time keeping it out of his eyes.  The other men had been more sensible and wore hats with brims.  He lagged behind a little, wiping the snow away from his eyes.  He heard a sound and looked off to one side.  He stopped to watch.  The man and his two boys had found the tree they wanted, and he was busy chopping it.  He'd been at it for some time; the tree was cut almost all the way through.</div> <div> The two boys stood to one side, watching.  The younger one had become restless, though, hoping from foot to foot as if he was dancing.  Might be Peter's age, Quentin thought, but not as serious-more like Mary Jane.  The little boy reached down and picked up a handful of snow.  Moving swiftly, he pushed the snow into the face of the older boy, who reacted violently.  He knocked the smaller boy to the ground and sat on him, pinning him to the ground with his knees.  He washed the little boy's face with snow.  Justice, thought Quentin.</div> <div> Just then, the man threw down the axe, leaving the tree he'd been working on and grabbed the older boy under the arms, pulling him up.  The younger boy sat up, obviously weeping and wailing.  Quentin wasn't surprised to see the man turn the older boy to deliver what he must have felt was the proper retribution, a spanking.  "That's not fair!" Peter exclaimed, and Quentin realized that the little boy was watching, too.  Oddly, Quentin thought he could feel the stinging blows himself-it all seemed familiar to him.  Then all three were gone.</div> <div> Shocked, he turned to Peter and asked, "Did you see that, Peter?"</div> <div> "The other one started it," Peter answered.  He shook his head, surprised, realizing that they were gone.  "Where did they go, Quentin?"</div> <div> "I don't know," Quentin answered softly, disturbed.  "But you saw them, right?"</div> <div> "Maybe they were just ghosts."  Peter shrugged and turned away.</div> <div> "Hey!  Come look at this one!" Eric was calling.  Quentin finally tore himself away from the spot he'd been frozen too.  <I>That looked like me</I>, he realized suddenly.  <I>But I've never been here for Christmas before.  Where did they come from?</I>  He searched his memory and thought he remembered a year when something like that had happened to him-Edward spanking him after Carl had provoked him.  He'd been upset about it the rest of the afternoon, sulking about the injustice of it all.<I>  That was in Maine, not here.  Who are those people?</I>  "Hey!" Eric called. "You all right, Quentin?  Katie too heavy for you?" He looked at his brother-in-law closely.  "You all right?  You kinda white, there."</div> <div> "I'm fine," Quentin said shortly.  He looked at the tree.  It was a fine fir tree.  Bjorn circled it, nodding his head in approval.  Quentin thought he'd defer to his father-in-law.  "<I>Es ist gut?"</I></div> <div> Bjorn looked at Quentin and grinned hugely.  "<I>Das Tannenbaum!"</I> he exclaimed.  Quentin sat Katie on the ground.  "<I>Komm, bitte, mir herzen!</I>" Bjorn called to her, and she ran to him.  Eric handed Quentin an axe.  Joe had the other one.  They positioned themselves on either side of the tree and began chopping.  This will go fast, Quentin thought.  The tree would come down quickly because Eric and the pastor were ready to take over and chop.  He listened to Eric and Bjorn talking back and forth about how good the <I>juleol </I>would taste once they got back to the house.  That was the specially brewed Christmas beer they'd brought with them and left to stay cold in the snow outside.   So much for Prohibition, Quentin thought.</div> <div> Eric and Joe used the large hacksaw to cut through the last part of the tree.  Quentin checked to make sure that Bjorn and Katie were out of the way and then joined everyone in pushing the tree over.  The children cheered, and everyone helped to bring the tree down.  Bjorn elected to carry Katie this time.  Taking pity on Quentin, he pulled his cap off and put it on his son-in-law's head, laughing.  Quentin was grateful for it; his ears were frozen.  As they passed the spot where he'd stopped to watch the man and the two boys, Quentin looked over, knowing he wouldn't see anything.  Peter didn't even glance over in that direction.</div> <div> The house was filled with the smell of pork and pastries.  The children ran around to the back of the house, where Norma had erected a pole for the <I>julenek.</I>  The men finished preparing the tree and then carried it into the house to set it up.  Quentin and Beth had moved a rocker from the corner of the living room to make room for the tree.  As they brought it in, though, Quentin saw it was back, and people were there.  He was about to call to Beth when he realized he was seeing a past image again-it <I>was</I> Edward in the rocker, Carl on his lap.  Quentin himself leaned up against Edward, listening as his brother read.  Edward looked almost like a child himself, his thick blonde hair curling slightly.  He was trying to grow a mustache-not yet 21 and trying to be the man of the house.</div> <div> <I>`Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,</I></div> <div> <I>Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…</I>  Quentin could hear Edward's voice reading Clement Moore's poem.  Suddenly, he remembered that Christmas Eve.</div> <div> <I>"Edward, it's silly to indulge those childish fantasies!"</I>  Judith complained.</div> <div> "Nonsense!  They're still little children-they have to have something to believe in!"</div> <div> <I>"God should be enough for them-they should know they truth!"</I></div> <div> <I>"What do you think, Grandmama?"</I></div> <div> "Well, they're bound to find out sooner or later there is no Santa Claus, nor God either!" the old woman said bitterly.</div> <div> <I>"You see?  Grandmama agrees!"</I></div> <div> "Now, wait, girl, that I did not say.  I merely said they were bound to find out sooner or later-Edward can fool them for as long as he likes."</div> <div> The doors to the drawing room were shut tightly, but he'd pressed his ear to them so he could listen to them arguing.  He had just turned eight, and Carl was only five.  He heard the truth-there was no Santa Claus.  He went upstairs to the playroom and flaunted it in Carl's face, who sat and cried.<I>  "Yes there is too!  You're just being mean!  You're always mean!"</I></div> <div> <I>" Cry baby!" </I> he taunted his brother, who cried even harder.  That's why Carl did it, Quentin remembered-he threw the snow in my face because I told him the truth and laughed at him.  He waited for his chance to get even and he did.  The image of the man and boys dissipated as they stood the tree up.  Quentin was silent-no one else noticed because of the excitement of the lovely tree.  <I>That's why Edward read the poem</I>, he remembered.  It was to reassure Carl, who'd continued to cry the whole way home after the tree was cut down.</div> <div> Beth and Annie came out of the kitchen to admire the tree.  Both looked flushed and warm.  "Oh, it's beautiful!"  Beth exclaimed.  </div> <div> "Won't we have fun dressing it up!" Annie agreed.</div> <div> They'd just gotten the tree to stand up on its own when Quentin heard Mary Jane's shriek from the back yard.  <I>Now what?</I> He thought irritably.  The door to Nora's room cracked open a little, but she didn't come out.  There was another scream of rage, and the sounds of the children egging on a fight.    Everyone spilled outside to see what was going on, and Quentin pushed past the relatives.  They deferred to him-it was his house, after all.</div> <div> Peter was throwing punches and kicks at Mary Jane, who was squalling at the top of her lungs.  <I>Damn it!</I>  Quentin thought irritably.  <I>Why can't they just get along one day?</I>  He intervened between the two, picking Peter up and pulling him back.  Peter continued to struggle and kick, and Quentin felt himself losing his temper.  He wanted to swat the kid to make him stop but then he remembered the images in his mind and counted to ten instead.  "What's going on?" he demanded, shaking Peter a little.</div> <div> Peter's face was covered with tears.  "I'm not stupid, and I'm not a baby!  There is too a Santa you said so didn't you?" The words all came tumbling out at once.  Peter suddenly stopped struggling, clinging to Quentin and trying to stifle his sobs.  Mary Jane was crying, too.  This was a real mess now, he thought, but he was glad he hadn't hit Peter.  He did remember what it was that Jamison had left behind, though.</div> <div> During that insane year of 1897, Carl had returned from a trip with a copy of the New York <U>Sun</U> under his arm.  He'd thrust it Quentin and crowed triumphantly, "Aha!  You see!"  He showed Quentin a letter to the editor from a little girl named Virginia O'Hanlon, asking if there really was a Santa Claus.  The editor had written back a long reply telling her that yes, there was indeed a Santa.  Quentin sneered at Carl and flung the paper back in his face.  <I>"We're not kids anymore, you damn fool!  Or are you planning on never growing up?"</I>  He remembered the hurt look on Carl's face-the eternal child, a prankster who'd harmed no one his whole silly life.  The memory hurt.</div> <div> "Mary Jane, listen," he began gently. "You know that newspapers tell the truth, don't you?" Mary Jane nodded.  He began to tell her about that little girl named Virginia, whose friends told her there was no Santa Claus.  "So she wrote to the editor of this newspaper because she knew he would tell her the truth.  You know what he said?"  Mary Jane shook her head, no.  He tried to remember the words of the letter-he'd seen it hundreds of times since.  "He said just because you can't see Santa doesn't mean he's not there.  There are things that are real even though we can't see them-like love.  You can't see love, but it's there, right?  That's like Santa Claus, honey."</div> <div> Mary Jane gave him a hopeful look.  "Eddie's wrong?"</div> <div> "Eddie's wrong," he said firmly.</div> <div> Mary Jane looked at Peter's back and said shyly, "I'm sorry I called you a stupid baby."</div> <div> Peter turned around and faced her.  "That's all right," he answered, with a great deal of dignity.</div> <div> Quentin sighed with relief.  He turned around and saw approval on the faces of all the adults.  Beth's eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and she came to him and squeezed his hand.  "Juleol!" Eric exclaimed, and everyone laughed.  Of course, as soon as he went into the kitchen, Quentin knew that not everyone approved of what he did.</div> <div> Nora stood with her arms folded, glaring at him.  "You are a perfect fool!  What are you going to tell her when she finds out the truth?  You won't be such a knight in shining armor then, will you?"  Fortunately, no one else heard except Beth.  Nora turned and stalked back out of the kitchen.</div> <div> <I>For two cents I'd like to kill her</I>, Quentin thought.  Seeing his expression, Beth said, "Let me talk to her.  She's obviously upset with all the excitement and the company."</div> <div> "You are too kind, my dear!  I'd say let her rot in there!" Quentin objected.  Beth went to talk to Nora anyway.  The adults had begun to come into the kitchen, led by Eric.  Eric again gave Quentin a serious, searching look but didn't say anything.  He led everyone into the living room. Quentin sighed and turned away.  Just because the mood had suddenly gone sour for him didn't mean he had to spoil it for everyone else.</div> <div> "Whosis," Mrs. Cleary said to him gently, "an would ye be tryin some of that cold beer now?"</div> <div> "Yes, thanks, Mrs. Cleary," he answered gratefully.  As Mrs. Cleary poured a glass of the cold Norwegian beer, he added, "Would you be joining me, then?"</div> <div> "Oh, och, no!"  Mrs. Cleary exclaimed, shocked.</div> <div> "Come on, you know you're like a member of the family," he urged, misunderstanding.</div> <div> "Go on with ye then, Whosis, I know that," Mrs. Cleary laughed.  "I've me own special something for later.  Perhaps you'd like to have some, eh?  Looks like ye've had something of a rough day now."</div> <div> "That I have," he said with a grimace, sipping at the beer.  He looked at it, impressed.  It was good for being homemade, but then the Germans and the Norwegians were probably experts at the stuff.  "What is your special drink, Mrs. Cleary?"</div> <div> "Later on, `tis warm mulled wine I'll be enjoyin'.  I don't believe we'll be goin to services later, then?"</div> <div> "Not at the rate the snow's coming down."  He thought and then said with a teasing grin, "We'll have a service here."</div> <div> "Sure an why not, then?  A man of God we've got under our roof, then, haven't we?" Quentin laughed.  Mrs. Cleary looked at him, puzzled.  "What did I say then, Whosis?"</div> <div> He laughed even harder.   "I've never had a Christmas like this one before."</div> <div> "Well, now, an there's a first time for everythin' isn't there?"  Mrs. Cleary smiled gently at him, looking mildly confused.  He was sure she had no idea what he was thinking.</div> <div> No wonder Nora was angry!  This was not the traditional Christmas celebration of New England.  He was a bit overwhelmed by it all, too.  He was willing to try something new and different, particularly where Beth was concerned and her explanation of the German/Norwegian traditions sounded foreign enough to be fun.  </div> <div> But now it was Christmas Eve, and it was just…different.  The smells were different.   He'd never had pork for Christmas before.  Traditionally, the Norwegians ate some kind of cod called <I>lutefisk</I>, and he had inquired about it in Port Jervis.  No <I>lutefisk</I> anywhere-much to his relief.   Instead, they were going to have pork ribs, another traditional dish for Beth's family.</div> <div> The cookies and cakes smelled good, but even they were different.  The <I>fattigmann</I> were deep fried, diamond shaped cookies.  The <I>lefse</I> was flat bread that was buttered and then covered with sugar and cinnamon.  It was served as a coffeecake.     There was a big pot of <I>rommegrot</I> on the stove.  Following his glance, Mrs. Cleary said, "I'd better give yon gruel a stir."  She wrinkled her nose and said, "I'm not being critical-minded, ye know, but I cannot for the life of me understand why an elf would want to eat this, never mind a person."</div> <div> Beth came into the kitchen, looking distracted.  "How's the spoiled brat?" Quentin asked.  Beth gave him a puzzled look, and he laughed.  He could imagine her asking "Which one?" but she didn't. "Nora," he elaborated, and Mrs. Cleary snickered.</div> <div> "Quentin, that isn't nice," Beth said reprovingly.  "You know she's been-well, not herself.  This is all so new and strange to her."</div> <div> "You'd think she'd make some effort though," Quentin grumbled.</div> <div> "Come out and help us trim the tree," Beth urged.</div> <div> "All right-but what about all the kids?  Shouldn't they help?"</div> <div> "No, they're supposed to stay out.  We're supposed to surprise them."</div> <div> "Oh?  Which tradition is this?  The Norwegian one, or the German one?"</div> <div> Beth smiled indulgently.  "What difference does it make?  Come on, darling."</div> <div> Quentin got up, taking the glass of beer with him.  "Mrs. Cleary, you'll have to tell us what the Irish tradition is."</div> <div> "Oh, go on with ye then!  As if ye didn't have enough to take in!"  Mrs. Cleary laughed, giving the porridge another stir. "Mrs. Whosis, will the yulecake be ready to come out, then?"</div> <div> "Oh! I forgot!" Beth exclaimed.</div> <div> "Tish, tish, `tis what I'm here for.  Go on wi' ye, and I'll take care of the cake for ye!"</div> <div> "Thank you," Beth smiled gratefully, reaching out and taking Quentin's hand.  </div> <div> He whispered, "You have to stop thanking her all the time, Beth.  She's just doing her job."</div> <div> "I can't help it!  I'm not used to it," Beth whispered back.  Quentin stopped short as they came into the room, his eyes widening at the transition.  Collinwood had never looked this festive at Christmas time.  Beth looked at the wondering expression on his face and beamed with delight.</div> <bR> <div> Traditionally, the children were kept out of the room holding the Christmas tree until after dinner.  Under the circumstances, though, that tradition had to be adapted to fit the layout of the house and the number of people crammed into it for the Christmas Eve feast.  Quentin looked doubtfully at the first course ladled into his bowl-it was the <I>rommegrot.</I>  Several of the children had already carried a serving out to the boathouse.  He looked at Beth.</div> <div> "It's made with sour cream," Beth whispered.  "Try a little-you don't have to finish it if you don't like it."</div> <div> He looked back down at the porridge, swallowing hard.  He was sorry he'd had so much of the <I>juleol.</I>  He wasn't sure the sour cream would mix well with it.  Bjorn held up his glass and announced in a blurred, happy voice, "<I>Skal!"</I> It sounded like he was saying scawl, and it was some kind of toast Quentin was sure.  </div> <div> He raised his own glass and drank from it.  Then he leaned over and whispered, "What else is there?"</div> <div> "Don't worry-there's always the <I>ribbe</I>," Beth whispered back, "and there's potatoes and bread and-"</div> <div> "I just need something to soak up all this beer," Quentin said.  There were about ten different pastries and breads laid out, but none of them appealed to him.  Even the delicious smelling <I>julekake</I> Mrs. Cleary had taken out of the oven was filled with raisins, candied peel and cardamom.  Fine fare for a sober person, but Quentin was sure he'd throw up.</div> <div> "Oh, dear," Beth said.  "Maybe you'd better go in the kitchen and get some of Mrs. Cleary's soda bread."  She smiled at him.</div> <div> "You're making fun of me," he said in his best woe-is-me voice, "and I really feel sick, Beth.  Why'd those kids take this stuff to the boat house?"</div> <div> "Oh!  We don't have a barn.  I told them that the <I>nisse</I> would find the <I>rommegrot</I> there."</div> <div> "The what?"</div> <div> "The<I> nisse,</I>" Beth repeated.  "The <I>nisse</I> is actually a gnome that got mixed up with Santa Claus."</div> <div> "Oh, well, he can have mine, too," Quentin said generously, his head spinning.</div> <div> Just then, Bjorn looked over.  "Was ist los, Quentin?" he asked in German.  Then, in English, "Eat, eat!" making spooning motions with his hand.  </div> <div> Quentin smiled, nodded, and whispered to Beth, "Get me out of this and I'll give you anything you want-all my money, my life, anything!"</div> <div> Beth smiled, turned to Bjorn and said something that sounded like Quentin needed to make a phone call to his family in Collinsport-he needed to call <I>now</I> before they left for church.  She turned back to Quentin and winked at him.  He squeezed her hand gratefully and got up to go to the living room.  He thought he'd better make it good and called Collinwood.</div> <div> "Hello?"  It was Frances, speaking in a tentative voice.</div> <div> He was glad to hear her voice.  He hadn't spoken to her since he'd seen her in the hospital, after the dogs had attacked her.  "Frances?  It's Quentin-I mean, Frank-I mean-" He was drunk, he realized and had no idea who she'd remember him as.</div> <div> "Yes, Merry Christmas," she answered softly.  Obviously, she remembered.</div> <div> "Merry Christmas to you, too," he said warmly.  "May I speak to Jamison?"  There was a pause.  Quentin felt irritated.  "He's not too drunk is he?"</div> <div> "Of course not!" Frances said stoutly, a good loyal nanny.  "Hold on a moment, please."</div> <div> Quentin held on, reaching for some of the <I>fattigmann</I>.  They might be deep-fried, but they were plain and didn't upset his stomach like the other sweet breads and cookies.  "Hullo!" he heard a tiny voice say.  He was startled and choked on the cookie.</div> <div> "Hello," he answered finally.  "Who is this?"</div> <div> "Roger-are you Santa?"</div> <div> "Uh-"</div> <div> "Livvabeff, Santa, Santa!"</div> <div> <I>Oh, Lord!</I> He thought.  He heard a serious voice next.  "Hello, who is this please and why are you tricking my brother?"</div> <div> "Elizabeth, I'm not tricking Roger, it's just that-"</div> <div> He heard the phone being fumbled away and heard Elizabeth say excitedly, "He knew my name!  He must be!"  He laughed.  It really was too funny.  "H'lo?"  </div> <div> "Jamison?  It's Quentin.  Merry Christmas, Jamison."</div> <div> "Hold on a minute, Santa," Jamison replied, slurring his words a little.  Quentin heard him say to his children, "Run `long wi' Frances you two.  You're not s'posed to hear me talk to Sanna."  After a moment, he heard Jamison demand harshly, "What the hell are you playing at?"</div> <div> "I'm not-damn it, Jamison, I just called to wish you Merry fucking Christmas, that's all!  It's your kids that got it mixed up-I didn't tell them I was-"</div> <div> "Well, Merry fucking Christmas yourself, you sonuvabitch! I tolja I would come for your damn wedding, didn't I?"</div> <div> Quentin heard a sound and turned.  Nora was coming into the room.  "Here, wish your brother a Merry Christmas," he growled, thrusting the phone at her.  Nora's eyes widened with surprise.  Quentin walked into his bedroom and slammed the door.  He threw himself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  Damn Jamison anyway!  The door opened, and he fully expected Edward to walk in and reproach him for the way he was behaving.  Why not?  He'd been seeing him all day-but it was just Beth.  "Go away!"</div> <div> "What's the matter?"  Beth asked, obviously concerned.  She sat down on the bed next to him, and he rolled away from her.  "Quentin!"</div> <div> "Oh, Beth, just leave me alone, please!" he snapped resentfully.  She had her loving family surrounding her.  Everyone loved her.  They tolerated him, which was fine, but he wanted to be loved by his own family-and they couldn't stand him.  Now he did see Edward, looking at him sadly.  He shut his eyes.  "Beth, I've been seeing Edward all day-what do you think of that?"</div> <div> "I think you miss your family."  He felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.</div> <div> "Oh, you think so?  They hate me!"</div> <div> She was quiet a minute and then said, "It may look that way right now, but I don't think they do.  And you do miss them, don't you?"  He didn't answer.  He had become melancholy and tearful-it was the beer.  He'd had too much of it, he thought.  "Quentin, we're almost ready to circle the tree.  Come out with us.  We want you there, and you'll feel better."  He was tempted to tell her to go circle the tree with her family and leave him alone-but he didn't really want to be alone.  He rolled onto his back again, and she leaned down to kiss him.  "It doesn't matter, darling," she whispered.  "We're our own family now.  Come on out with me, please?"</div> <div> He sat up and took her hand and kissed it.  "Okay, what're we doing now?"</div> <div> "Well, I want you to help me sneak all the presents out so that we can give them out later.  Right now, we're going to circle the tree and sing carols."</div> <div> "Oh, this should be interesting with fifty people in that little room!"  Quentin teased.  Already he could hear the children singing.  He found a cloth sack filled with gifts he and Beth had wrapped for the family.   Some of the gifts were toys, some were sweaters Beth had knitted, and others were treasures they thought would be appreciated.</div> <div> "There aren't fifty people in here!" Beth laughed, taking his hand and pulling him into the living room.  Everyone but Nora had joined hands and were giggling, laughing, and singing, trying to circle the tree.  Some family members moved too slowly and the line bunched up; others moved quickly and stretched the arms of the children, who shrieked with laughter.  Beth saw Nora standing in the shadows of the hall leading to her room.  "Nora, darling, come and join us!"</div> <div> Nora hesitated, then shook her head, hugging herself.  Beth started to go to her, but Quentin had had enough of her moods.  If she wanted to sulk in the dark, that was her problem.  He pulled Beth's hand, moving toward the family circling the tree.  "Okay, now we mean business," Eric said as Beth and Quentin joined hands with Mary Jane on one side and Heidi on the other.  "Do you know `O Tannenbaum'?" he asked Quentin.</div> <div> "Does it matter?"</div> <div> "Nein, he's right, no matter!" Bjorn answered.  They began walking around the tree again, singing "O Tannenbaum".  Quentin realized it was "Oh, Christmas Tree." It didn't matter; everyone was having fun.  By the third go-round, he was feeling dizzy.  Beth whispered to him to go and help himself to some of the <I>ribbe</I> and potatoes still on the kitchen table.</div> <div> Mrs. Cleary was helping herself to some mulled wine.  "There's still plenty out, Whosis," she said encouragingly.  </div> <div> "What are you having?"</div> <div> "A little bit of recipe from the auld country, Whosis.  Would ye like to try some, then?"</div> <div> "Maybe tomorrow."  He was feeling hungry now and didn't want to mix liquor when he was finally able to eat.  The roasted pork dish was delicious.  Mrs. Cleary set out some soda bread for him, and he was grateful for that.  Everyone was still singing in the living room.  </div> <div> "Ah, tis happy they all are an not too soon, I'm thinkin," Mrs. Cleary said, smiling.</div> <div> "Don't you miss your family?" Quentin was suddenly curious.  He wondered if she was lonely for her family too.</div> <div> "Ah, well, sure an I do, Whosis, but I sometimes think that you and Mrs. Whosis and the chilthern are my family, too.  Especially on this day-all of us are family then, d'ye think?"</div> <div> "Sure, why don't you join us around the tree, Mrs. Cleary?"</div> <div> "Why, thank you, Whosis, an I may just do that when I am done wi' the kitchen.  G'on w'ye then, they've stopped singing.  Go see what they're up to now."</div> <div> He'd had enough to eat so he went back into the living room, with Mrs. Cleary timidly tiptoeing behind him.  Everyone was seated, either in chairs, the sofa, or on the floor.  Bjorn had two books, and he'd gone into the hallway, cajoling Nora.  "Please, you read, please." He was saying.</div> <div> Nora looked frightened.  "Wh-what do you want me to read?"</div> <div> "Here, you read this-please?"  Bjorn opened the book and showed Nora what he wanted. "Here, Mary Jane's mama, you come-you sit here, ja?"  He was urging Nora into the center of the family circle.  Her face was very white, but she was allowing herself to be led.  <I>Well, I'll be damned!</I>  Quentin thought.</div> <div> Nora clutched the book on her lap, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room.  She was very pale, realizing that everyone was looking at her.  She looked down at the book and began to read from Matthew in a tremulous voice.  Her voice became steadier as she read, as she seemed to forget that so many adults and children surrounded her.  As Nora read, Quentin noticed Beth signing to the pastor, Joe, and Norma, her hands practically in her lap and almost completely unnoticeable.  Nora had barely finished reading, closing the book, and looking up a little fearfully as if she wondered what to do next when there was a heavy pounding at the door.  Everyone jumped.</div> <div> "Quentin, open the door," Beth urged, winking at her surprised husband.</div> <div> Quentin blinked and did a double take at the sight of the hunched man at the door.  He was wearing a bright red sweater, with leather knee pants, knitted stockings and sturdy hiking boots.  He wore a fur-trimmed hat and had a long flowing white beard.  A pair of startling blue eyes peered at him and winked.  Quentin took a closer look.  Was it Bjorn?  Had he sneaked out while Nora was reading to dress up?  Where had he gotten the beard? The man stepped into the room, carrying an empty bowl in one hand and dragging a large sack with the other.  The children squealed-all except for Mary Jane who was uncharacteristically still and speechless.</div> <div> "So?  <I>God dag, God dag!"</I>  The odd man cried out, handing Quentin the empty bowl.  He dropped the sack and threw his arms wide.  "<I>Er det noen snille barn her?"</I></div> <div> "Who's that?"  Mary Jane finally found her voice.  "What's he saying?"</div> <div> "That's Santa!" Peter cried out triumphantly.  "He's talking North Pole talk!"</div> <div> "He says, `Good day, good day-are there any nice children here?'" Annie translated.  Immediately all the children began to call out that here they were.</div> <div> "Ah! Ah!" the odd Santa exclaimed in delight.  "See here vat I brought for the gut children!"  There was the musical quality to his voice that Quentin thought he recognized.  Santa's eyes met Quentin's, and he smiled warmly.  "Ve see vat ve haf for the gut children, ja?" He called out again, reaching for his sack.  "Sit, all the gut children, sit, ja?"</div> <div> Quentin made his way back to Beth's side and sat down next to her.  He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Beth, you're lucky to have a father like that!"</div> <div> Beth squeezed his hand, but didn't reply.  She picked Katie up onto her lap.  Katie wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing, sticking two fingers into her mouth and looking at "Santa" suspiciously.   She changed her mind, though, when she saw the treats and trinkets in the sack.  She slid off Beth's lap and moved closer to the man.  Now Peter leaned up against Quentin and whispered, "I knew he was real.  And you let him in so Mary Jane could see, too."  He seemed to feel vindicated, and his eyes shone.</div> <div> Quentin ruffled the boy's hair with mixed feelings.  <I>Some day this kid is going to find out that this is all fake.</I>  He remembered feeling a sense of betrayal when he'd overheard Edward, Judith, and his grandmother arguing about whether to allow the boys to continue believing Santa Claus.  He'd liked believing and resented giving it up.  That was probably why he'd been so mean to Carl, he realized.</div> <div> The Norwegian <I>nisse</I>-Santa had finished giving out all the treats.  One by one, he went through all the other gift sacks-not only from Beth and Quentin but also from Eric and Annie, Joe and Norma, Bjorn and Petra.  The adults indulgently held onto their packages for later and allowed the children to rip into their packages excitedly.  </div> <div> When all the presents had been opened and exclaimed over, the old man spread his arms out again and then cried out, "<I>God jul og godt nytt ar!"</I>  He backed up toward the door, ready to leave.  "Did he say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year?"  Nora demanded.  There was some wonder in her voice.</div> <div> "Ja, so he did," Annie said, patting Nora's hand.  " A good surprise for the children, ja?" </div> <div> Nora turned her eyes toward Mary Jane, whose own eyes were fixed on the man now leaving.  She'd been still almost the entire time he was in the room.  As soon as the door shut behind him, she leaped up and ran to her mother.  "Mommy, did you see that?  Was that Santa Claus?  Really and truly?" In her arms she held a cloth doll with blonde curly hair.</div> <div> Quentin felt Beth tense beside him and knew they were both thinking the same thing: <I>Don't spoil it, Nora.</I>  Nora looked at her little daughter and whispered gently, "That was Santa Claus, really and truly."  There was a curious expression on her face as she looked at her child: wonder mixed with regret.  Mary Jane didn't really notice; thrilled, she began whirling like a top.</div> <div> Bjorn strolled in from the kitchen, dressed as he was before.  Quentin frowned.  Where was the beard?  How had he changed so quickly?  "Beth, how did he do that?" he asked.</div> <div> "It's Christmas, Quentin," Beth answered, as if that explained everything.</div> <div> "You are finished reading?" Bjorn asked Nora.   She nodded, looking puzzled-she must've been wondering the same things Quentin was.  "You don't mind-I read in <I>Deutsche</I>?"</div> <div> "Please," Nora said, getting up and handing the book to Bjorn.</div> <div> "No, danke, I have mein book," Bjorn said, bowing to Nora.  She settled herself on a hardback chair.  "Now it grows late.  Ve turn out the lights, yes, and I read mit the candles, ja?"  Eric got up and began lighting the candles around the room.  Quentin began turning the lights out.  Soon the only light came from the flickering candles and the fireplace.</div> <div> "It's too dark to read," Quentin whispered.</div> <div> "He doesn't need a book," Beth answered.  Sure enough, Bjorn didn't open the book.  He began to speak in German, the words flowing.  Quentin was able to catch a few of the words and knew the Christmas story was being retold.  "It's Luke," Beth whispered, as if reading his mind.</div> <div> The flickering lights of the candles had a hypnotic effect on him; Bjorn's voice was soothing and relaxing.  Quentin's eyes felt heavy.  He tried to watch the pastor, who seemed to be telling the same story in sign language to Joe and Norma.  He knew Beth put her head on his shoulder, but he didn't really seem to feel it.  He felt he must have been passing into that state between wakefulness and the dreams of sleep.  Bjorn's voice seemed further away now, and everyone seemed out of focus.</div> <div> <I>"Quentin!  Quentin!"</I>  He heard a woman's voice calling him.  He thought he got up to look for her, going into the bedroom.  There was a figure standing there in the window, a tall, broad shouldered woman.  He turned the light on and saw her clearly.  She was beautiful; her thick auburn hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon.  <I>"Oh, good, you heard me!  Merry Christmas, Quentin!"</I></div> <div> <I>"Jenny?  What are you doing here?"</I></div> <div> <I>"I'm trying to help your brother, Quentin.  He's very stubborn.  He wants to talk to you, but he won't listen to me.  He's still as difficult as ever!"</I></div> <div> <I>Quentin laughed.  Then he noticed Edward standing in another corner of the room, looking at him sadly.  He stopped laughing.  "Edward?  Can you hear me?"  The apparition nodded and then faded away.  "Jenny!  Where'd he go?"</I></div> <div> <I>"You see?  I've been trying to teach him, but he is stubborn and wants to learn in his own way.  He's very frustrated."</I></div> <div> <I>"Can I touch him?"</I></div> <div> <I>"No, we don't have any form.  He can touch you.  Edward!  If you'd watch me, I'll show you!  Now watch!"  Jenny sounded a little impatient.  Quentin felt a hand caress his cheek.  "You see?  Like that!  You try it now."  Quentin shivered, feeling a hand on his shoulder.  "Don't be afraid, Quentin, we don't mean you any harm."</I></div> <div> <I>"Is something wrong?  Why are you wandering on Christmas Eve, Jenny?  Why isn't Edward at rest?"</I></div> <div> <I>"I am watching out for the children, Quentin."</I></div> <div> <I>"What children?"</I></div> <div> <I>"Our child, Lenore, and all the children who will come after her.  There's still the curse.  I can't leave while there's still the curse-but that's not why I've come to you.  You'll help them-later, when it's time.  I am glad you're happy at last, Quentin.  And I came because of your brother-he needed help."</I></div> <div> <I>Edward reappeared.  "Madame, I am quite capable of communicating with my brother without help!"  He looked stunned at what he'd accomplished and vanished again.  Quentin began to laugh wildly.  It was so-Edward!</I></div> <div> <I>"Come back so I can wish you a Merry Christmas, brother!" he called.  "I've been watching you all day!  I've seen you everywhere, and I missed you, Edward!"</I></div> <div> Now he felt a pair of strong arms encircling him, embracing him.  He felt safe and comforted.  "I will always be here, Quentin," he heard Edward's voice in his mind and felt lips press against his forehead.  "You won't forget that, will you?  Merry Christmas, brother!"  The sensation of being held was suddenly gone.</div> <div> Quentin opened his eyes, confused and disoriented.  Now he could hear Bjorn's melodic voice again, clearly and distinctly.  He looked at Beth, who was watching her father with a rapt expression.  Did that just happen, or was I dreaming? He wondered.  He looked toward Bjorn, and standing just behind him, Quentin could make out the outline of a man watching him.  The man was the same person he'd been seeing all day-it was Edward, the brother he remembered from childhood.  He blinked his eyes and Edward was gone.  He shifted as if he was going to get up, and Beth grabbed his hand.   She leaned over and whispered in his ear, "The story is almost over, my love.  I know how tired you are.  You were just sleeping!"</div> <div> He looked around and noticed that the youngest of the children were nodding now, sleepy.  He wondered what time it was-it had to be very late.  Bjorn stopped reading.  "God bless the reading of His word", he said reverently.  He looked around the room.  "Do you feel the <I>Krist kind? Er kommt!</I> "</div> <div> "<I>Frohliche Weinachten!"</I> Petra exclaimed.</div> <div> <I>"God jul!  Frohliche Weinachten!"</I>  Members of Beth's family responded. </div> <div> Quentin saw Beth fingerspelling to her sister.  He got up sleepily and moved to Nora's side.  "Merry Christmas, honey," he said to her.  </div> <div> She looked up at him with a warmer expression than he'd seen in months.  Suddenly she grabbed his hand and kissed it.  "Merry Christmas, Quentin, and-thank you.  For helping me-and Mary Jane."  He was moved, laying his hand gently on her head.  He hoped that she would be less sad and angry now.</div> <bR> <div> Everyone had gone to bed at last, some of the family members struggling out through snow that was over their knees.  Beth hadn't drawn the curtains in the room so that they could look out and watch the snow come down.  It was still snowing steadily and showed no signs of slowing down.  </div> <div> "It's so beautiful," Beth commented as Quentin yawned.  They lay side by side, looking out the window and watching the snow come down.  He reached over for her hand, carefully covering his own with it.  He began to fingerspell into her hand and he heard her laugh, delightedly.  He'd spelled "Merry Christmas" to her.</div> <div> She took his hand, covering her own hand and slowly spelled "I love you" into his palm.  He spelled "I love you too."  He pulled her into the hollow of his body, holding her close.  He thought he could hear Edward's voice in his ear.  "Beth, listen, do you remember this?" he whispered to her.  He listened to Edward's voice, reading, and then repeated the words aloud softly:  "Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not  a creature was stirring…"</div> <div> "Not even a mouse," Beth added.  Together they went through the poem until they came to the end:  "Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night."  The only sound now as they drifted off to sleep was the faint jingling sound of bells in the air and, quite possibly, the fluttering of angel's wings. </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id107.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Alternate Destiny"><U>Alternate Destiny</U></A></div> </td> </tr></table></body>