Magic Christmas by Barbara Edwards

MAGIC CHRISTMAS by Barbara Edwards
“Is Daddy coming home for Christmas?” Sarah stared out the living room window at a single snowflake. Fluffy as a down feather, it danced and bobbed in the air.
“He wants to, baby, but Afghanistan is thousands of miles from Rhodes End.” When her Mom gave her a quick hug her tummy was a warm mound under Sarah’s cheek. Yesterday she’d felt her baby brother kick. Sarah swallowed a hiccup and turned her head so Mom didn’t see her tears. Mom cried sometimes, too, but thought Sarah didn’t know. She was a strong soldier like her Dad.
“What if we make a wish? Will that help?” She bounced on her toes. If she could catch the first snowflake, her wish would come true.
“A wish can’t hurt.” Mom ruffled her hair and patted her lightly on the shoulder.
“Then I’d better hurry. Tonight is Christmas Eve.” Sarah raced to put on her red winter coat, knit mittens and boots.
The door slammed behind her as she searched the yard. The feathery flake hung near the edge of the woods. Sarah laughed as she ran after it.
The thick grey clouds promised another white Christmas. The holiday was always special here. Tonight the townspeople would sing carols on the Green and there would be a living manger with cows and a burro. Mr. Dickens dressed as one of the Magi and paraded three Llamas to greet the baby Jesus.
The snowflake waited for her. Sarah cupped her hands under the delicate shape. A sunbeam glittered blindingly and she blinked. The snowflake was gone. On her palm sat a winged fairy.
“Oh no,” Sarah wailed. “I must make a wish on the first snowflake. Who are you?”
“My name is Noel, and I’m a Christmas fairy. What do you wish for?” She tilted her head to study Sarah’s face. Gossamer wings fluttered as she crossed her legs.
“My Dad promised to come home for Christmas, but he’s at the other side of the world. Mom said it’s too far, but that a wish might help.”
“Your Mom sounds nice. Does she believe in magic?”
“I don’t think so. She said if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, but I don’t know what that means. Should I ask her?”
“Grown-ups don’t understand magic. Instead, you can take me inside and I’ll watch her.”
“But what about my wish?” Sarah wailed.
Noel didn’t answer. Shimmering, she changed before Sarah’s eyes into a lovely winged doll dressed in white lace.
“Mom! Mom! Look! I found her in the yard.” Sarah shouted. The front door slammed again. “Her name is Noel.”
Mom lifted the doll from Sarah’s grasp. “She’s beautiful. And you already named her? I hope she’d not lost. Someone must miss her very much. She looks like one of those angels used as a Christmas tree topper.”
“I don’t think she’s lost, Mom. Can we take her with us to the carol sing?”
Mom crouched in front of Sarah, Noel between them. “Don’t be surprised if she is lost and someone recognizes her. The whole town will be there.”
Sarah pouted. “Not everyone. Daddy won’t.”
“Oh, Sarah, You know how much he misses us and wants to be home.” Mom stood and pressed her hands to her lower back. Noel’s dress fluttered as if a breeze caught her skirts. Mom turned and stared outside. While they talked an inch of snow had covered the yard. “I wish he could see this.”
“If we wish hard enough, he will.” Sarah took her Mom’s hand and tugged her toward the kitchen. She cradled Noel to her chest with her free arm. “I’ll help pack the cookies for the church social.”
Mom laughed. “I’m already done. All we need to do is dress warmly. By the way its mounting that snow will have the roads closed for Christmas morning.”
Sarah wrapped Noel in a thick baby blanket she kept for her other dolls. She whispered, “Are you cold?” Noel’s blue eyes twinkled and Sarah accepted that as an answer she was okay.
Her Mom slid the driver’s seat all the way back after helping Sarah buckle in. She arranged the cookie containers on the floor so they wouldn’t tip if she had to stop fast.
“Tell me again about the new baby, Mom. Will he come tonight?”
“I hope not,” Mom said and laughed as she backed the car onto the road and turned toward the church. Sarah pressed her nose to the cold glass, her breathe clouding the surface. A kazillion bright lights decorated every house, changing Rhodes End into a glittering fairyland.
“Look, look, there’s the stable,” Sarah pointed at the clumsy structure the CCD class had erected to house the cow and burro during tonight’s Christmas play. The manger and straw bales were dimly lit by an old kerosene lantern. One of the robe-garbed wise men led a harnessed llama past.
A number of cars crowded the streets and parking lots between the Catholic Church and the Congregational Church bracketing the town Green. Hundreds of villagers crowded the Green. Laughter rang like bells and children shrieked with excitement as they scrambled to hit each other with snowballs.
The church elders had arranged a bonfire. A table manned by white-haired old ladies dispensed hot cider. At exactly six o’clock both churches rang their bells and everyone cheered. They gathered in front of the Congregational church steps as the choir director handed out music copies to anyone who didn’t already know the words.
Mom rejoined Sarah after taking the cookies inside. Her hands were cold and she rubbed her back as if it hurt. Everyone sang the old Carols and a few seasonal hymns. Mr. Schmidt led a Hanukkah song. Like every year, the youth group performed the Christmas Story with live animals.
“I wish Daddy could see this,” Sarah whispered as she hugged Noel tight.
“Maybe he will,” Noel’s voice tinkled in her ear.
Mom groaned. Her hand squeezed too tightly and Sarah glanced up at her pale face.
“Mom?”
“Looks like your brother might be a Christmas baby after all.” Mom glanced around. “Could you bring Dr. White over here? Tell him my water broke.”
Sarah knew better than to ask questions when Mom sounded like that.
A few minutes later Doc bent close to ask a question, but Mom sank to her knees.
“Too fast,” she cried. “He’s coming too fast.”
Doc called directions and people swirled in a whirlwind of activity around Mom. Sarah couldn’t see. Then Mom laughed. The crowd parted and Sarah saw her naked baby brother cuddled to Mom’s chest. She dropped Noel to hand Mom the fluffy blanket as a gust of snow blew across the Green.
A state plow slowed to a halt and a soldier leaped down.
“Daddy?” Sarah whispered.
“I can’t explain why my squad all got leave,” he replied. “And then a military transport flew right into Harford. It was like my wishes came true.” He gathered them into his arms and Sarah looked for Noel, but saw only a new angel atop the tree.

A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE AND A PRAYER FOR THE SAFE RETURN OF OUR MILITARY.
Barbara Edwards

Halloween drawing and Rhodes End short story

As part of Halloween fun, I’m having a random drawing for those who leave a comment by October 31, 2008 at midnight for a $10 gift certificate at The Wild Rose Press.
This is a good time to introduce you to my favorite New England town. Rhodes End is located on a confluence of ley lines that draws magic and paranormal activity. Dog-legging the corners of Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts, it fails to appear on many maps due to various boundary and settlement disputes. This isn’t far from Hartford. Major highways to both Boston and New York City cut through the hills less than a mile away. It exists in my imagination and is the setting for my paranormal, Ancient Awakening.

Welcome to Rhodes End’s Halloween where All Hallows’ Eve is celebrated on the Town Green.
Two churches bracketing the wide swath of grass like book-ends dispense orange and black decorated candy bags. The scents of cinnamon, burning candles and scorched pumpkin drift on the breeze. An owl hoots from a hollow tree in the ancient cemetery behind the church. The nearby streets are dark and empty in stark contrast to the noisy party-goers. No-one goes from house to house yelling Trick-or-Treat since an incident in 1943 that no one claims to remember.
A huge bonfire lights the night where excited children toast marshmallows donated by Nelson’s grocery store and parents drink heated apple cider from Styrofoam cups. Peter’s Pluckers’, a local blue-grass band is stomping out ‘Turkey in the Straw’ to loud clapping at the gazebo strung with bobbing skeletons and ghosts. Johnson’s Orchard donates huge tubs of shiny green Granny Smith’s for bobbing. The dripping faced kids hardly wait to be dried before running off to another game. Colorfully attired townsfolk escort laughing, excited children from event to event. Everyone wants to keep the little ones safe tonight.
Costumed or painted to reflect their own personality, every child is present except Mickey Burton. He has the measles. A few giddy teenagers who dared each other to climb the flat-topped boulder on Witch’s Rock Road, run onto the green shrieking. One shouts she saw a shape fly across the face of the rising full moon. Parents nod wisely and laugh. Kids!
The full moon rises as the evening wanes and the younger children are taken home, protesting through wide yawns. Parents cast uneasy glances into the shadows. Older children drift to the games and food offered inside the church halls. More and more are encouraged to return to the safety of home as the hour grows late.
The costumed crowd oddly thickens. The patrolling police cruiser stops to allow two witches, a werewolf and a ghoul to cross the street. Headlights pick out gleaming red eyes. A casual wave is exchanged.
Under the huge silver moon, the townsfolk circle the bonfire as midnight approaches. Thankfully, a full moon doesn’t occur every All Hallows’ Eve. The churches shoo the remaining families home, shut off the lights and lock their doors.
A few brave souls linger, nervously glancing over their shoulders. The air is electric with nerves, fear tickles. A dozen witches gather to one side. Shadows conceal details, but a gleaming fang or claw occasionally reflects the flames. Hair, hide and patchy skin conceal the wearers. Too many red eyes reflect the light.
A thick-set man wearing a knit cap feeds wood onto the fire and flames leap voraciously skyward. The crowd pulled back then surges closer. It’s almost midnight, the witching hour. The heavy wood-smoke mingles with a coppery smell of fresh blood and rotting flesh. Circles within the circle join hands and murmur. Not all are willing, but they must protect their secrets.
The Congregational church clock bongs, once, twice, and the flames explode up in a column of sparks. Three, four, five…chanting echoes across the Green. Six, seven, eight, nine… skeletal figures twist and turn, stretch clutching fingers from the seething flames, almost breaking free. Demons howl. Ghouls curse. Ten, eleven… the chants strengthen until they drown the unearthly noise. The threatening figures shudders with rage. Tonight is their night to walk free!
Twelve…
With a weary sigh, the fire shapes disappear. The fire dies. Only embers remain.
The crowd silently melts into the night leaving a few shivering adults to wonder what they just saw.

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