Twice-Told Christmas Tales #1

Six hundred and ninety dollars. That was the total, with two hundred or so of it in loose change and small bills. Money scrounged from her pocketbook and saved by packing her lunches and skipping the happy hours and avoiding the additions to her own personal collections. Delia counted the money a third time. Six hundred and ninety dollars. Christmas was tomorrow.

She could feel a panic attack coming on. She had dreaded counting the money knowing she would fall far short of her goal. Why did she think she could do this? She didn’t have the discipline to save. She could’ve stopped buying wine. She didn’t need a vanilla latte each morning. Delia, lost in self-accusations, wept.

She sat on a brown leather sofa, staring at the mahogany coffee table where her secret pile of money lay. Her feet shuffled uncontrolled on the Anatolian carpet. The flat paneled television hung silently on the wall displaying the Weather Channel. The Christmas tree stood in her periphery, dark, silent, expectant, as if it were ready to browbeat her into action.

A stack of envelopes and magazines lay next to the money. Bills, mostly, addressed to James Henry Grant, would remain unpaid until after the holiday season. Jimmy’s old firm terminated his contract in October and he didn’t find another position until the week before Thanksgiving, and at only two-thirds his prior rate. He worked the Friday after Thanksgiving and now he was working on Christmas Eve.

For a while, the Grants seriously considered selling the house. Delia barely held back the secret fund she had saved since last Christmas. She decided she would keep it and use it for its original purpose no matter what happened. When Jimmy started a new job, she relaxed a little, suppressing the question of whether she had enough for the purchase until after the November holiday.

Delia selected one of Jimmy’s new magazines, the latest issue of Audiophile, and flipped the pages rapidly. The advertisement appeared as if she had summoned it. Christmas Eve had arrived and she was looking at an ad for the exact item she couldn’t afford. Coincidence was mocking her.

She tossed the magazine back on the stack and drying her eyes walked to the bay window. The icicles hanging from the roof looked like cold iron in the cloudy gloom. The neighbor’s cat trotted quickly across the icy hard packed front walk on some unknown feline mission. Seeing the bright orange tabby on the whites and grays of the snow-covered lawn startled Delia.

She whirled around and lightly jogged to the bedroom. Dropping to her knees, she looked under the bed and pull out two large boxes. She opened one of them and removed wads of tissue paper.

The Grants enjoy fine things. In this, they are somewhat normal. However, each of them has a peculiar passion for collecting. Jimmy has his collection of high fidelity vinyl records and Delia Grant has her collection of rare Precious Moments porcelain figurines.

At every dinner party, Jimmy never failed, by his third glass of wine, to take someone into the spare bedroom and show off his Mobile Fidelity Sound Labs long playing records. He would never play them because he believed his equipment was not adequate and could damage his precious vinyl platters. Still, in a reverie, he would describe their sound as having all the subtlety and nuance of a live performance without the clinical sterility that characterized the sounds of the digital age.

Not to be outdone, Delia would dazzle whoever demonstrated the least bit of interest in curios with a sampling of her prized bisque figures with their adorable cherubic cheeks and tear-drop eyes. She had collected all twenty-one of the “Original 21” and she had a few dozen other retired pieces, but she never displayed them. Instead, she set cheap little curios along the fireplace mantel hoping to lure someone into a Precious Moments figurine show.

Delia sat on the bed looking at a little blonde haired porcelain boy holding a shepherd’s crook and a wooly lamb. Her tears plopped onto the tissue paper in her lap. She rewrapped the figurine and placed it gently back in the box. Gathering the two boxes, she set them by the front door.

She stood before the coat closet biting her thumbnail. Then feeling shame at her hesitation, she grabbed her coat, scarf, and gloves and taking the boxes, she set out in her SUV to Molly’s store.
Molly owned a successful collectibles shop in the old part of downtown at First and Main. Delia loved shopping there and never failed to find something to add to her collection. This year, though, Delia had made a point of not buying. Yet staying away from Molly’s store was never an option. She still visited about once per month, just to stay on top of things, to see what she was missing. But this year, she didn’t buy anything.

Now here she was on Christmas Eve, arriving not to purchase, but to sell.

“Merry Christmas, Molly,” Delia said as she set her boxes on the counter.

“And a Merry Christmas to you, too, dear,” said Molly. She was about thirty years older than Delia. She had worked in the shop since the 1960s before buying out the old owner in 1975. She survived two incursions by Hallmark onto old Main Street over the years. She was a tough businessperson, but a smiling charmer to her devoted customers. That charm paid off, for the store was packed with browsing shoppers.

“What can I do fo you, sweetheart?”

“I want you to buy my Precious Moments collection.”

“Ah, don’t you think you’d get a little more selling them yourself?” Molly asked. “Say on eBay?”

“I don’t have time,” Delia said. She looked on the verge of tears as she thought of the wasted days leading up to Christmas.

Molly tilted her head in sympathy, looking with pity on anyone who would have to stoop to selling their cherished collection for less than it was worth. She started to speak and seeing Delia’s bowed head and, perhaps, feeling the Christmas spirit flow through her, she changed tack and said, “Ok, let’s have a look at what you’ve got here.”

They opened the boxes and Delia felt a crushing pressure on her heart as she looked upon treasures she had buried away under her bed. Molly “oohed” and “aahed” as she took each one out and examined it for imperfections. Delia’s hands shook, but she held up as she emptied the second box. Over sixty figures, including the Original 21 sat on the counter.

“They’re all lovely,” Molly said. “But honey,” she whispered. “I only have about $500 in the store right now. Everyone pays with debit and credit cards these days. I’m assuming you need cash.”

“Yes,” Delia said. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t given any thought to how much they were worth. Her only thought was that they would bring enough to make up the difference.

“I have an idea, if you don’t mind,” Molly said, and then she whispered her thoughts to Delia.

After Delia reluctantly agreed, Molly raised her voice and got the attention of everyone in the store. Without knowing why Delia needed the money, Molly stated for all to hear that Delia needed to raise funds for a special last minute gift for a loved one and that she had fallen on difficult times. Would the good patrons of Molly’s be willing to buy one or two of this young woman’s Precious Moments figurines? They just had to come up to the counter and make an offer. Cash only, please.

Embarrassed, Delia tried to raise her head and smile at the customers. Then a mother walked over with her young daughter and offered twenty dollars for the little blonde shepherd boy holding the crook and the lamb. Delia accepted with tears in her eyes. Upon seeing this, the customers must have felt a wave of sympathy and that Christmas spirit that grips us all at one time or another each December, for they lined up and purchased her figurines and walked away beaming, clutching them to their hearts.

Molly herself paid one hundred dollars for a little girl standing over a manger, far more than it was worth. Delia was openly crying now, but the tears were joyful and cleansing. These people seemed so happy to help her and they seemed genuinely to love the pieces from her collection. She thought about how happy Jimmy would be. Her feelings of gratitude left her speechless.

When she counted the money, she had more than one thousand three hundred dollars. Combined with her savings, this was more than enough.

After her sincere thanks and hugs and many Merry Christmases, Delia drove directly to the edge of the industrial section of town to a little store called The Sound Shack. There she confidently purchased a Thorens TD-201 turntable with its space-age shiny acrylic body and all the bells and whistles that Jimmy could want. She knew this was the one because Jimmy always stared at the ad and read the reviews in all of his magazines. She knew this is the one that Jimmy felt was worthy of his record collection. Only a turntable like this could bring out the depth of sound that he craved from his music. She imagined Jimmy hooking it up immediately and then spending precious minutes agonizing on which album he would grant the honor of playing first.

She hurried home hoping to get there before Jimmy returned from work. Relief washed over her when she arrived and saw that his car wasn’t there. Bolting from the car she fumbled with the keys and threw open the door. She ran upstairs and found the giftwrap and matching ribbon.

The wrap was white with red musical notes on a green staff. She had found this paper after last Christmas. It was the original inspiration for buying this gift for him. Her excitement made it difficult to wrap the box. She felt so upbeat and loving. Giving up the figurines didn’t seem so great a sacrifice now. She felt a little embarrassment at how much value she had placed on them.

She spent a few minutes trying to place the gift under the tree so that the light hit it perfectly. She turned on the tree lights and strands of blinking lights on the porch. She wanted the moment to be perfect. It was nearing three o’clock. Surely, Jimmy wouldn’t be working all the way until five today? Why hadn’t he called?

There were no messages from Jimmy. She tried his cell phone and it went straight to voicemail. He was forever forgetting to charge the battery. She paced, brewed some tea, didn’t drink it, tried calling his cell and work phone again and again. Her excitement wore off as an hour passed with her pacing between the bay window and kitchen, holding the phone, hitting redial.

Then, as darkness was settling in, a huge delivery truck pulled into the driveway. She would have to tell them that they had the wrong house. She was pulling on a sweater to go outside when she saw Jimmy’s car pull up to the front curb. He hopped out of the car, hopping and skipping, dancing as he dashed up the front walk ahead of the two deliverymen.

Delia couldn’t fathom what was happening. She stood on the front step as Jimmy rushed up to her and gave her a strong bear hug and a warm kiss.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said. Jimmy hadn’t been this wound up since their honeymoon five years ago.

“What is going on, Jimmy? Why is there a truck in the driveway? What on earth did you buy?” A sudden horrifying thought sprang in her head: Jimmy bought a pool table!

But the thing the deliverymen lowered off the back of the truck was not a table. It stood upright, maybe seven or eight feet tall, draped in moving blankets.

“Oh come on, Jimmy, what is it?” she asked.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and said, “Just wait for it, Del.” He flashed a toothy grin that went from green to red and back again in the blinking of the holiday lights.

The deliverymen brought it up the walk and negotiated the stairs with professional ease. Once inside, Jimmy moved a small table, took down the Winslow Homer print, and had them place the thing in the vacated space. Delia followed, bewildered. This wasn’t playing out at all as she had hoped.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Jimmy said to the deliverymen. He handed over a couple of bills for a tip. Jimmy then shooed her into the hall.

“Go ahead and take the blankets,” he called back into the living room. “Thank you and have a Merry Christmas!” he said to the men as they left the house.

“Close your eyes, Del.”

He held her hands and walked her into the living room.

“I can’t hide this from you until tomorrow, baby. Merry Christmas, girl. Open your eyes.”

Delia didn’t understand initially. What was this? Then she staggered mouth agape. Jimmy smiling, beaming held her upright.

Standing before her was an enormous, gorgeous mahogany curio cabinet, complete with serpentine glass and a mirrored back and ornate carving.

Delia was crying again. “Oh my, Jimmy, it’s perfect, it’s wonderful.”

“You love it! I knew you would. Now you’ll have a place to show off all of your little what-knots and knick-knacks. A collection should be seen, Del. In style,” he added with another huge hug and kiss.

“Jimmy, I love you,” Delia said sniffing loudly. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she just sold all of her prized collection. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. She would wait. Jimmy could open his present now, too.

“I have my own surprise for you too, sweetness,” Delia said. She pointed to the package under the tree. The gift was indeed perfectly placed. The notes practically leapt off the paper in the lights of the tree.

Jimmy retrieved it, surprised by it’s heft and sat down on the sofa with Delia cuddled in next to him.

“It’s a shame to tear this paper,” he said, but he ripped it open anyway.

He sat completely still, in shock, his hands fallen to the sides of his legs, the Thorens masterpiece of audio engineering sitting in his lap.

Delia couldn’t read his response. “Are you ok? Is it the wrong one?” She began to panic.

“Oh, no, no. It’s absolutely perfect, Del. Absolutely perfect.” He swallowed and licked his suddenly dry lips.

“It’s just that I,” now he faltered. “Del, I, uh.” He took a deep breath and turned to look at her. Their noses almost touched. “I sold my records, baby, to buy the curio cabinet.”

He looked so sad and completely defeated, as if he had failed her in some way.

Delia gave a weak smile as her endless supply of tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

“I sold my knick knacks to buy you this turntable,” she said.

They kissed.

“You know, we’re idiots,” Jimmy said.

“We’re idiots in love,” Delia said.

“It’s a beautiful turntable, Del.”

“We can display it in my curio cabinet, if you’d like.”

“Can I? I’d like that.”

They rubbed noses and smiled at each other.

“You know what I really want for Christmas?”

“No, what is that?”

“Do you remember our honeymoon?”

“Just like it was yesterday.”

“Well, I was thinking…”

They carefully set the turntable on the coffee table.

Then they giggled and kissed some more. Delia had stopped crying.

Then the Grants had a very Merry Christmas.

(with my deepest thanks and apologies to O. Henry)