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The Christmas Secret
by Pat Hood
Carolyn and I both entered a 24-hour contest this weekend. They sent us the topic / paragraph and word count at noon yesterday and we had till noon today to send them the story.
Here is my entry. We were allowed to make minor changes - and change the gender - but the paragraph we had to use was:
She looked behind her once again before she pushed open
the largest door in the house. She only had a few seconds
to search her employer's office or she risked detection.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to a handwritten note
sitting in the middle of the desk...
My entry was:
The Christmas Secret
The blazing fire in the potbelly stove was just one of the unexpected
changes that greeted Bob on his return to work after the Christmas holiday.
Another was the absence of his employer. He must have come in early to
build the fire and then quickly left again. That in itself was unheard of.
Many days there was no fire unless the frigid air made it impossible to
work. Yet today, for unknown reasons, the flames licked that top of the
stove and the fire had spread a cozy warmth throughout the room, even at
this early hour.
Rarely did the old codger miss a day at work. Truth be told, if ever he had
done so it was before Bob's time with the firm. For the past 14 years the
two of them had worked together, day after day, with only Christmas as a
holiday. His absence was a change that Bob could live with as easily as the
warm fire.
Bob looked around his own tiny office. Next to it was a new coal bucket. A
full coal bucket. Its presence seemed to imply that Bob was had the right <
to use coal at his own discretion. What a cheerful thought, and a new one.
Coal had always been a carefully guarded commodity.
As he tugged the scarf from around his neck, Bob's eyes looked for more
changes. Blindly he reached behind the door to hang up his threadbare coat.
The aging wrap dropped to the floor in a heap.
Bob looked at the coat as if it had the power to jump off the hook. There,
already hanging from the single hook was a luxurious, great-coat bearing the
label of a respectable haberdasher. Why was such a garment hanging on his
hook?
Another glance around the room revealed nothing to explain the coat, the
fire, or the absence of Bob's employer. Then he noticed the envelope on his
desk. Printed in the familiar script were the words, "Go see Dr. Laurens".
What could that mean? Why should Bob go see the most expensive physician in
the city? Or was the old man sick? Bob almost chuckled at the thought. It
was common knowledge that the old man spent his days accumulating money and
planning to live till his money was gone.
The front door opened with a blast of cold air. Bob knew the smiling man as
his employer's nephew. Fred wasted no time in getting to the point.
"How is my uncle this morning, Bob? I am curious to see how he is feeling."
Fred removed his gloves but shook his head at handing over his coat. "I am
just here to check on uncle. I want to know that yesterday was not a
dream." He looked around the office and chuckled.
Bob matched his subtle laughter. "That would explain this." He stretched
out his arm to encompass the fire, the coal, and the empty chair seen
through the window to the larger office. He had considered a miracle, but
not a dream. "What happened yesterday?"
"Well, he was acting just a bit -." A noise stopped him. It was the sound
of his uncle's voice. Not its usual growling voice, but a cheerful, happy
sound. He was calling to a passerby with words like, "Wonderful day!" The
greeting was repeated as the sound drew closer.
Fred reached for the door. "I must go see for myself. I can't wait." With
a chuckle Fred was gone.
What on earth could Fred have been talking about? What happened yesterday?
It had been an eventful day, to be sure, for Bob. But that had nothing to
do with the coal, the coat, or the envelope.
Quickly Bob rushed to his desk, and tore the envelope open. The slip of
paper that met his eye raised more questions. "Dr. Laurens," he read. "As
agreed, I will settle all charges for the operation. E.S."
Then the words began to sink in. Bob's fingers began to shake. Yes, maybe
this was a dream. He had to have some clues about what Fred meant and he
had to get them quickly. The voices were closer and time was short. Bob
crossed the hall quickly.
He looked behind him once again before he pushed open the largest door in
the building. He only had a few seconds to search his employer's office or
he risked detection. His eyes were immediately drawn to a handwritten note
sitting in the middle of the desk.
His went quickly to the desk and reached for the note. It had obviously
been written in haste. It was a receipt of sorts. The item listed tugged <
at Bob's thoughts as if, well, as if in a dream. What was it? Just words.
"Great turkey" and "cab" were followed by a sum that would have fed Bob,
his wife and their six children for two months. The last payment, labeled
"wonderful boy" was more than Bob received for a month of long days.
Nothing made sense.
He turned the paper over just as he heard the door open. Three men entered,
still talking happily. The one with which Bob knew best was made unfamiliar with its laughter.
Even in his fear of being discovered, Bob stopped and watched the three men
enjoying each other's company. The third man had been in this very office
just two days before. He had been nearly thrown from the doorway after
asking for a donation for the poor and destitute. Yet, here he was again,
apparently invited in with all good intentions.
Discovery was unavoidable as Bob quickly looked at the writing on the back
of the receipt. It was an address in Camden town. His address in Camden
town. The address to which the cab had carried the 'wonderful boy' and the
'great turkey' just yesterday and just in time for the Cratchit's Christmas
dinner.
Bob looked through the window at the three men. All exuberance drained from
Ebenezer Scrooge's voice when he saw Bob with the note. His secret was out.
But he could not contain the joy of his new life for long and soon all four
voices were ringing with laughter once more.
And so it was, every year that followed. Fred enjoyed his uncle Ebenezer's
company on Christmas Day. The Cratchit family, including a healthy Tiny
Tim, enjoyed Mr. Scrooge's turkey. And Mr. Sloan, of the Poor and Destitute
Children's Fund, would pick up a tidy sum. Thus they met, this odd
assemblage, the day after Christmas for many years to come.
©2004 Pat Hood
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