Within minutes of being called, Judith and Joseph tumbled down the stairs. Joseph ran to the tree and stooped to investigate a ceramic camel with a missing leg. Then, remembering his mission, he pounced on the parcels and brought them eagerly to Mother. He shouted, “What one’s mine? What one’s mine? Mine!”
Judith tried to snatch the presents from Mother’s lap, but Mother placed her hand on them, looked up and asked, “Is this how we receive gifts from each other?”
“No, ma’am,” said Judith, blushing. “May I?”
Mother handed the presents to Judith. Studying the label on the first one, she read aloud, “M...A....” Eyes averted, Judith tossed it back onto Mother’s lap. Then she read another, “J...U...D...I...T...H. That leaves this one for you.”
She didn’t look at Joseph as she extended her arm to hand him the last package. He clutched it to his chest and stepped back, plainly expecting his oldest and meanest sister to change her mind. Just as his hand came down to rip the brown paper wrapping, Mother said, “Not so fast, young man. First we’ll have the star and the story.”
“Aawwh!”
“We all heard the story this morning,” said Papa. “Do we really need it again?”
Mother raised her eyebrows, one at a time, like she was weighing the merits of his point: the usual good of children being made to wait for no reason whatsoever against the immediate peace of their gratification, in this case, unwrapping presents. “All right,” she replied. “But we still have the star to put on first. Who will do that?”
Judith and Joseph both galloped to the tree. “I will! I will!”
Papa asked, “How ’bout you, Mary?”
Mary pointed at Joseph. “Let him do it.”
Looking at Judith, Papa lifted his eyebrows.
“Draw straws,” she answered.
“Is it so all-fired important?”
Judith’s bottom lip came out. “Yes.”
Sighing, Papa pulled three green needles from the tree. He arranged them behind his back, then displayed them between his thumb and forefinger. “Try yer luck, ladies and gent!”
Joseph chose a needle, and Judith did too. Mary took the last one and when they held them up, hers was longest. Papa picked her up and carried her to the tree, but she wiggled and kicked her legs. “No. No! I want Joseph to do it!”
As Papa set her down, Mary glanced over at Judith, who glared back at her. Mary sighed. As always, she would pay a price for Judith not winning the contest. Judith never forgot a slight.
Joseph was formally given the star by Mother and carried, squealing with joy and getting a whisker rub on his baby neck, toward the tree. Papa lifted him high and Joseph placed the star’s green tin cone over the topmost stem. The star glittered. Its five arms were covered in sparkles that reflected any light that came their way. For the past two years, Mary had placed it. Judith brushed by and used her needle to leave a red scratch on Mary’s hand. Still, Mary felt glad Joseph had set the star up high and glad that Judith had not.
Finally it was time. They were allowed to rip into the paper wrappings. Joseph cheered at the sight of a small wooden mallet. He immediately began to hammer the floor. Judith, slower in getting to her present, eventually uncovered a pair of shoes. Although they had been buffed up, Mary could see wear marks in their leather uppers. They were used.
“Thank you,” Judith said, without enthusiasm.
“You’re welcome,” Mother answered.
Mary’s present didn’t feel right. It was too soft. And Judith’s new scuffed shoes meant one thing: no money. Could there possibly be two sets of shoes if Judith’s pair was used?
In that moment Mary’s shoes vanished, sucked back into the world of daydreams.
Mary swallowed and made a show of reading the newsprint wrapped around her present. But as nobody seemed to pay any attention to her, she went ahead and ripped the paper. A dark painted eye gazed up at her. Mary looked at Papa, who was smiling broadly. Mother smiled too, smiled as she had not done for some time, smiled even though she had practically promised new shoes for Christmas. A sense of quiet panic stole up Mary’s throat. Hot tears began to form. She forced them away.
The present she’d waited for so patiently all these months turned out to be a doll, not un-Judith shoes. Mary closed her prickly eyes and opened them to the awful sight of Judith grinning at her.
Mother smiled sadly. “I didn’t think a nosebag would do the trick.”
Papa’s eager face had relaxed into disappointment.
Mary looked at her mother and her father. She tried to smile. She knew they had done their best, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. She’d got nothing but an old nosebag.
She bolted upstairs, hid under the bed covers and cried, asking over and over why nothing ever went right for her. Later, drained of tears, she felt foolish. Why had she imagined there would be money for shoes when they had to do without the simplest everyday things like tea? She sighed and unwrapped her present anyway.
It was a doll, but not a real one with porcelain hands and feet and face and lacy clothes like Judith’s. This doll was canvas and naked. Two crude arms and two crude legs stuck out into the air as if stretching to recover lost hands and feet. Its seams were evenly stitched, but with a fine black thread. The white-painted but expressionless face had large black spots for eyes, lips of red paint, and hair of black paint. The paint was still sticky. It was a nosebag with no nose. Who could feel anything for such a doll?
And worse, when fall came, she would have to go to school in Judith’s annoying old shoes. With cracks. No, I won’t! she vowed angrily. I’ll go barefoot first!
Then she thought of the ride in to the play that morning, how cozy it had been, how full of hope. Her parents always did the best they could, she told herself. If the Christmas money had been spent on other things, nobody was at fault, unless they blamed that little angel Mother had lost last fall. She looked at the doll again and propped it up against the pillow. With a face like that, the doll could use a friend. When the doll fell over, she sat it back up. When the light disappeared from the window, Mary took the doll downstairs.
“I’m sorry, Mary,” said Papa as Mary sat on the bottom step. “There was no money left to buy a nice one.”
“Nor shoes,” said Mother. “Maybe next year.”
Judith sat between Papa and Mother, holding her feet out in her new shoes. “I think they do fit well, Mother. They’re oh so comfortable.” She raised her lip at Mary.
Just then Joseph whacked Papa’s foot with the mallet.
“Ow! Joseph, by gum and by golly, you go over there and fix yer jalopy, will ya?”
“I didn’t buy a thing for you,” Mary confessed, ignoring Judith.
“Well, it’s not much, I know.” Papa pointed Joseph off to a far corner, picked up his foot to rub it and faced Mary appealingly. “We made her while you kids slept.”
No kidding, thought Mary. “No, Papa. I love her. Is it a he or a she?”
“He.”
“She, as anyone can see.” Mother peeked up from beneath lowered brows.
Mary put her face against the doll’s cold, coarse face. “And what is my baby’s name?”
Papa glanced at the nativity scene and smiled mischievously. “Jessy.”
“Don’t be sacrilegious, Raynold,” Mother scolded.
“Jessy is sacrilegious?”
“We all know what you’re getting at.”
He smiled guiltily, as if he’d been caught in a lie. “Okay, but it’s not so far from the stable to a nosebag. Pretty darn close, if you ask me.”
Mary looked up to the yellow angel on the ceiling and remembered their deal. She had given up her shoes. Would she get the peace and quiet she had asked for in return?
Mother fussed with her knitting, brushing Judith’s hand away as she picked at the pretty blue wool.
“Jessy. Hmm.” Mary liked the feel of that name. Ignoring the disapproval in Mother’s eye, she dandled the doll on her knee. She thought the face looked a bit happier now that everyone knew her name. “Maybe Jessy needs to go to bed for a while,” said Mary, “even though she didn’t do anything wrong yet.”
Papa was smiling as Mary turned to go back upstairs, but Judith was not.
“Whatever you call her, she’ll need some clothes,” said Mother. She lifted her knitting proudly. Her nice blue-lined hand held up a small blue wool dress, half finished. “Put her to bed for now, Mary, and in the morning I hope she’ll be fit to be seen.”
Mary ran upstairs, put Jessy to bed and bustled around her. Jessy felt cold, her head was not comfortable on the pillow and she even came down with a sudden fever. One moment passed into another, and Mary had to be called down to supper. Only then did she realize how frozen she felt. When she came down into the kitchen, she ran to Papa, just returning from evening chores. He dripped with sleet and carried a pail of frothy milk. Mary hugged him earnestly. “Thank you, Papa, for Jessy.” She ran to Mother and hugged her. “Thank you, Mother, for making Jessy’s dress.”
“You’re welcome.” Mother pulled away from Mary to plunk a bowl down in the center of the kitchen table. For this evening only, the table’s stained wood and scars were hidden under a cover of linen. That single white sheet, spotless, transformed the kitchen into a marvellously festive and happy place.
When they were all sitting down and examining the collection of bowls before them, Mother said, “Mary, will you kindly say grace?”
Feeling solemn, Mary folded her hands and bowed her head. This was usually Judith’s job, and she felt every eye must be on her. “Thank you, God,” she said, “for sending us our little friends. Ah-men.” When Mary looked up again, Papa had a lopsided grin on his face. Mother’s cheek was twitching. Joseph was flying his fork through the air like a bird. But across the steaming bowls, Judith glared at Mary.
It was a fancy meal, with cabbage and carrot soup, chicken, potatoes (mashed on this very special day), a squash and turnip dish that Mary couldn’t decide if she liked, bread, milk for the children and tea for Mother and Papa. For dessert, Mother set a candied apple on each plate.
Even Judith found it within herself to smile at such a treat.