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Sunday, December 26, 1937
On Sunday, we created a miracle. It may have been a modest, grubby kind of miracle, more chaos than order, but it happened.
Michael arrived at our doorstep at eleven o’clock. He told us that Martin would be along in another hour, with a truck and a few surprises. He brought his make-up kit and the red-robed Father Christmas costume. He sat in my parent’s bedroom and used my mother’s mirror to begin the arduous process of transforming himself into Kris.
The Murney family arrived at eleven-twenty: Cyrus, Clive and Olivia, and their special guests Tabitha and Jeremy Boyd. As soon as I let them all in, it occurred to me that Clive and Jeremy needed to be sequestered away from Michael, lest the illusion be spoiled. All of the children were taken to the parish hall and put to work preparing food or wrapping packages. Mr. Prassler and his wife supervised.
The van from Christchurch arrived late, about twelve-forty. Robert was driving, and Martin was with him, along with Andras and Ariast. The van towed a trailer with two deer, Banner and Lina. It also held the ornately carved wooden carriage that had recently carried me into an enchanted forest. We were all very ready by the time it got there. Dad’s car was loaded up with goods, the Murney wagon was loaded with children.
Michael, who was now Kris for all intents, waited in the relative cool of the church sanctuary. He only donned his hooded robe at the last moment. He rode in the van, and the rest of us followed, driving the few short miles until we reached a spot just one block away from West Lodge.
Anaru and Tamati were waiting for us by the wind-scoured supply house. Tamati gladly greeted Mr. Prassler, shook his hand and embraced him. He assisted us in getting the deer and wagon hitched, and the many packages loaded into the back.
Cyrus took Olivia, Clive, Tabitha and Jeremy directly to the West Lodge. They were strangers, but they went to the door posing as neighbors. Olivia and Tabitha rounded up the boys who lived in West Lodge, and got their assistance in finding the dozen or so children who lived at the building adjacent. The Murneys and the Boyds chattered excitedly about how they had been to the frozen palace of Father Christmas. They told the other kids that they had a wonderful secret; Kris had business nearby, and they just might steal a look at him.
At one forty-five, under bright sunlight, Father Christmas rode onto the dirt lot around West Lodge, standing on the platform, holding the reins in one hand and waving with the other. I was seated next to him, wearing a green and red tunic and a pointed hat with a feather. Martin Piper sat in the back, ready to hand out gifts.
The children ran to surround our wagon. Andras and Ariast kept the reindeer calm, and kept the children at a respectful distance. I warned Lake Marson that he would be sorry if he tried to make off with a reindeer the way he once had with Joey Pete.
Father Christmas was mobbed with kisses and embraces. Martin and I tried to keep control over the exuberant hubbub.
“There are gifts for everyone, and you will each get to speak with Father Christmas,” Martin shouted. I added, “Let’s form two lines. Ladies on the right and gentlemen on the left!” It took a long time to establish said order, but it eventually happened.
Adopting a ladies-first policy, each girl spoke to Kris, and chose a package from the back of the cart. Those with pink ribbons were said to be for the girls, but few of these girls chose those particular parcels.
Once each child had received a gift, we saw that there were enough left for a second round. Kris gathered everyone together and said, “There are still more gifts. I want each of you to take one and find somebody else to give it to.” There were nods of agreement, from most of them. Within minutes, everyone had hold of two or more wrapped packages, and to this day, I couldn’t tell you how many made their way to other recipients, and how many were hoarded.
Before two-thirty, the clear sky clouded, and at the half hour, a light rain began to fall. At first, we all raised our heads and let the cooling drops hit our faces. Before long, the dirt yard held a thin layer of mud, and much of that got caked onto everyone’s shoes, trousers and dresses. Rawinia called for us all to come inside. It was a merry mess. Even Father Christmas tracked dirt onto the wood floor, much to the dismay of Ruta, who found the whole exercise silly.
The West Lodge house was now overrun with excited children, but they calmed down for a while when it came time for our own not so secret feast. Martin had to excuse everyone and take Kris out of sight to an upstairs room to repair his brow and beard, which were coming detached from his face. I checked in on them, and reassured Michael that none of the kids had noticed.
When I returned downstairs, Clive took me aside. “Did you know?” he said.
“Did I know what?”
“That the whole thing was a fraud.”
“No. I had no idea. And I wouldn’t call it a fraud.”
“I hate to break it to you, Candlewax. It was a charade.” Clive said, and he tutted. “I never thought I’d have to explain this to you.” He shook his head and wandered away.
Olivia found me near the stairs.
“There you are. I hope Clive wasn’t pestering.”
“He always is,” I said. “But on the other hand, he never really is.”
“It’s kind of you to say it.” She smiled.
“So, when did he figure it out? Very North, I mean?”
“He didn’t. We had to tell him.”
“Really? Why?”
“He kept insisting that he had to serve out his one-year sentence. He was going to run off into the forest and start crawling under trees to try and get back. So, we told him the truth to put him at ease.”
“Was he angry?”
“I don’t know. He was Clive.” She took my hand and began to pull me along down a corridor toward a screen door.
“Let’s run out to the garden,” she said.
“In the rain?” I asked, knowing that for Olivia, that was precisely the point.
She brought me outside. The rain had simmered into a fine, misty drizzle. Hand in hand, we ran over to the little garden.
“I wanted to see the flowers,” she said. And before I could comment, she placed her hands on either side of my face, leaned in and kissed my mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Mannie,” she said. “I thought it would be nicer out here,” she added with a short laugh.
“I wish you didn’t have to move,” I said.
“It’ll be all right. We’ll write letters.” She touched my cheek with her right hand. “No matter how far apart we are, I’ll always think of you.”
We shared one more kiss, perfect and lovely, if too brief. Then she skipped away, back into the house, and cuddled Clive affectionately on an old tattered chair.
Martin was seated at the out-of-tune piano, playing carols. Many of the grown-ups, and some of the children, sang along. Kris finished up a rousing chorus of “Deck the Halls,” then signaled Martin to play another tune.
It was ‘The First Noel,’ and everyone sang the well-known first verse. But then, alone, Kris sang new words, of his own composition.
Let us bless each other’s lives, and together assure
That the bond we create may forever endure
For the momentary strife, and the sorrows we face,
Must give way to the joy that we share in this place
Then he sang the refrain, and looked at me with a wry smile. Only I noticed the little aspiration that changed its meaning, splitting one word into two merciful halves.
Noel, Noel,
No Hell, No Hell
Love One Another And All Shall Be Well