40 
Chalet Christmas Party

The day of the chalet’s annual Christmas party arrived. Everyone except Kasmira was up at the crack of dawn. Soon the kitchen and whole chalet was bustling with activity.

In midmorning, Amanda was in the kitchen helping Sisters Agatha and Anika chop nuts and dried fruits. Several others were also busy in the kitchen baking and mixing and kneading various breads and pastries and cookies. Sounds, smells, and spirits were festive and gay. From the great room came wonderful music from their old piano, where Sister Gretchen sat practicing the carols and hymns they planned to sing that evening.

“How are you three doing?” asked Galiana.

“That depends on how much you need,” Anika replied.

“Oh, my stollen needs cups and cups,” Galiana said. “It is the nuts and fruit that make the bread so sweet and crunchy and delightful.”

“And I need some for my steamed plum pudding,” Sister Hope put in as she walked by. “We shall keep you three busy all day at the cutting board!”

“I am going out to help Sister Clariss with the last work on the stall,” Galiana said. “Then we shall have to bring straw to our manger. But I will be back to finish the stollen before long. It must have time to bake.”

The three cutters returned to their work. After some time Amanda left the counter to take a break and stretch her back. Absently she walked to the window. Outside she saw Galiana and Clariss assembling the last bits of wood for the manger stall and shaking straw around on the ground where they had cleared away the snow, then placing some in the little manger Sister Gretchen had built. She could hear nothing of what they were saying, but they were talking and laughing freely. Truly they seemed like sisters.

What would it be like to laugh and talk and have fun with a sister? Amanda wondered. Her thoughts immediately went to Catharine. She could hardly remember any happy times they had enjoyed together such as she was witnessing right now outside the chalet. Catharine had always seemed so many years younger. But had there been more to it? Had she herself perhaps prevented the kind of camaraderie sisters were meant to have?

The thought was unwelcome. She tried to shake it away. Why did the season of Christmas, which was supposed to be happy, bring so many painful stabs of past thoughts with it?

Amanda sighed, then turned and rejoined Anika and Agatha at the chopping board.

Late in the afternoon the villagers began to arrive, continuing to drift across the snow-covered field to the chalet by ones and twos and family groups, mostly walking but a few in horse-drawn sleighs.

The Christmas party given annually by the Chalet of Hope for the village of Wengen had become for many of the region the traditional beginning to their own Christmas season. For the sisters of the chalet, however, this day represented the climax. Over the next few days, those sisters who were leaving would depart to be with their own families.

As the villagers approached, all were curious about the new addition this year, the live crèche sitting in front of the chalet, complete with a cow, a donkey, two goats—a little too restless for the occasion—and several of the sisters dressed up and standing quietly occupying the roles of Mary, Joseph, and a few shepherds. As the villagers continued to come, they paused quietly, filled with a sense of reverence and awe.

Sister Anika sat in the middle of the scene, holding a small bundle of wrapped blankets and staring down at it. She did not glance up at the visitors. She knew from the whispered comments they made amongst themselves that they were staring at her. But she sat unflinching. Never had her face been more radiantly beautiful, nor filled with such an expression of peace. No one needed to explain the scene. Though most of the villagers had never seen such a thing, even the children understood.

When everyone who was expected was inside, Galiana took the animals back to the barn while Anika and the other participants came back inside the chalet to change their clothes.

Meanwhile, Sister Hope greeted all the arrivals at the door.

“Frau Schmidt . . . Herr Buchmann—how are you?”

More villagers crowded in, feeling the warmth inside from the fire.

“Father Stein,” now said Hope, “I am so glad you could make it up the mountain!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” replied the priest.

Hot potato soup and fresh rolls followed, then singing with Sister Gretchen at the piano. The evening sped by, as it always did, with food and drink, stories and songs, laughter and even a few games.

Gradually one, now another of the sisters gathered the Swiss children in a circle to tell them how the boys and girls in each of their own countries would be celebrating Christmas.

“In my country of Holland,” said Sister Anika, “Saint Nicholas will arrive not many days from now, and he may be there already, on a big ship. He will be accompanied by his assistant, who is called Peter and who carries the gifts. Then Saint Nicholas and Peter will mount great white horses, and ride through the Dutch countryside giving candy and toys to all the good children of Holland. He will leave their gifts in wooden shoes. Sadly, I will not be there this year, but on Christmas Eve here you may be sure that I will put out my wooden shoes in hopes that Saint Nicholas and Saint Peter will not forget me!”

All the children watched her and listened with even more than usual interest, for they were still somewhat under the spell of having seen her earlier in the crèche. And now her expressiveness in the matter of the gifts brought high-pitched laughter to their lips.

Now came Sister Gretchen’s turn.

“In Germany,” she began, “as in many other countries, we put up and decorate a Christmas tree. My mother and father are very old now, but you may be sure that when I arrive at their home in Munich, they will have a tree. But they will wait until my sister and I arrive, and we will all decorate it together. All the children of Germany look forward to the visit of Kriss Kringle. He has long blond hair and wears a white robe and gold crown. He is helped by Saint Nicholas, whom Sister Anika told you about. Saint Nicholas carefully watches all the children of Germany through the year to see if they have been bad or good. If they have been good, there will be toys and gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. But bad children will find switches and twigs and nasty things like that, and they will know that they must try harder to be good during the coming year.”

“In Spain,” began Sister Regina, “all the children wait for the arrival of the three wise men. These great kings of the Orient never fail to come to Spain at Christmastime, bringing gifts just as they did when they visited Bethlehem many years ago.”

“Will you be there for Christmas?” asked a tiny girl, looking up into Sister Regina’s brown face with wide inquisitive eyes.

“Yes I will, Anke. I am leaving by train tomorrow,” replied Regina. “All the boys and girls of Spain will fill their shoes with straw and place them out on their doorsteps on the night before Christmas. The straw is for the camels that carry the wise men on their long journey. When the children awake early the next morning, they find to their amazement that the straw is gone. In its place are toys and fruit the wise men have left for them during the night.”

“In Italy,” now said Sister Clariss, “children believe that on the night before the twelfth of Christmas a kind old lady arrives at all the towns and villages of the country. But she is really a witch who loves little children.”

“A witch?” said little Anke in amazement.

“Yes, dear, but a good witch,” replied Clariss. “Her name is La Befana. All the little girls and boys prepare for the arrival of La Befana by placing their shoes next to the miniature manger that every Italian family displays at Christmastime. During the night, La Befana flies through the window and fills the children’s shoes with toys and candies, or maybe with a few pieces of coal if any of them have been naughty.”

As they sat listening, the children’s eyes were big and round, and their mouths hung open at the thought of a witch, even a good one, flying right into their homes.

“But these are all just stories,” Clariss said, breaking the spell. “They remind us that baby Jesus came to earth and was born in a manger. That is why we made the little stable outside, to help us remember that Christmas is not really about toys and candy, but about the birth of the Savior, our very own dear Lord Jesus.”

She paused and now glanced around the chalet at all the rest of the villagers present. As Amanda sat listening, she too glanced about as if in unconscious response. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the black-shrouded form of Kasmira Tesar at the upper landing of the stairway, obviously listening as Clariss spoke but trying to keep out of sight. Amanda had only seen her briefly all day, and she had not participated in the party since its beginning. Her presence reminded Amanda of the few Serbs whom she had met at the house in Vienna, and it filled her with unpleasant memories. She could not help being a little afraid of her. And what did she think, Amanda wondered, of such things as she was now hearing, so very different from Muslim belief?

“As you know,” Sister Clariss went on, “many of us will be leaving Wengen to enjoy Christmas with our families. I will be visiting the family of my younger sister. But we are going to leave our stable and manger out in front of the chalet. Each morning Sister Galiana will put the animals out, that is if it is not snowing. And we would like to invite you all to come to the chalet as often as you like, and stand in the different places of the nativity scene. One day you may wish to come as a family and all take different positions and talk together about how you think the shepherds might have felt on that holy night, or Joseph, or the innkeeper. You might want to sit where Sister Anika sat this evening and think to yourself what might have been going through dear Mary’s mind and heart after giving birth to the baby Jesus. We want you to enjoy this Christmas as never before, by understanding a little more personally what Jesus’ birth means to you. This is our Christmas gift to you, our dear friends of Wengen. Please . . . not only enjoy it, but let the living stable and the miracle of the manger make Christmas a living miracle in your heart.”

As the story time now broke up, more refreshments, cookies, stollen, and hot cider were served. Herr Buchmann was in rare form, laughing and visiting with everyone. Some of his former pupils, which included half those present, began to clamor for a story. At length he agreed, took a seat, and once again the chalet quieted.

“Let me tell you a tale,” he began, “of an old doll maker and a queen. It happened long ago in a distant land, though in a village not so different from our very own Wengen. . . .”

The mere sound of his voice immediately had all the children mesmerized. They were well accustomed to Herr Buchmann’s stories, and none were ever disappointed.

As Amanda listened, however, suddenly she was overcome with sadness. Tears struggled to rise. She blinked them back. She didn’t want to get nostalgic now. She didn’t want to remember how devoid of meaning Christmas at the Pankhursts was. She didn’t want to feel pangs of loneliness. She didn’t want to remember Christmas hymns from the Milverscombe church, or a childhood carol her mother taught them. She didn’t want to remember their baking day at Heathersleigh, when she and Catharine and George and their mother had filled the kitchen with pans and bowls and trays, laughing and singing as together they made raisin shortbread, almond candy, gingerbread men, and molasses candy. . . .

But once begun, the memories came back like a flood. Amanda scarcely heard any more of Herr Buchmann’s story. The next time she happened to glance around, Kasmira’s dark form had disappeared from the landing above, and Herr Buchmann was rising from his chair, the story of the doll completed.