Carol Ritten Smith (11 page)

Davy’s eyes opened wider. Tom figured he had never heard a grown man admit to such a thing. Bill had likely told him only sissies cried.

He held the boy’s hand. “And now you don’t come over any more.” He let the words spill out, hoping beyond all hope they were the right ones. “It’s almost like I lost my two best friends at once, Jack
and
you. I miss you.”

Davy’s bottom lip quivered and then a flood of emotions broke through and he sputtered, “I miss you, too. And I d … didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you.” And then with a cry that almost tore the man’s heart from his chest, he begged, “Please, don’t hate me.”

“Ah, Davy, I could never hate you. Not ever.” His voice choked with emotion. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we could be buddies again. Would you like that?”

In answer, Davy jumped onto his knees and wrapped his arms in a strangle hold around Tom’s neck, hugging him fiercely. It was the best kind of hug, the kind that squeezed the heart. In return, Tom held him tight against his chest.

“Now, how about something to eat?” he asked softly when the boy eventually released his neck.

“Can you stay and eat with me?”

He was caught off guard by the request. “Ah, I don’t know … ”

“There’s plenty,” Beth said quietly from the doorway. “You’d be more than welcome.”

“Well, thanks, but I’d better not.” Bill already hated him. No point in aggravating the situation by forcing him out of his own home. “I’ve already eaten.” He carried Davy to a chair in the kitchen. “I sure hope you can come to the smithy tomorrow. I’m getting behind without your help.”

“You are?”

“Darn tootin’! Don’t know how I managed without you.” He named all the tasks awaiting the lad’s return.

When Beth set about warming some food, Tom turned to leave. “I’d better get going. I got things I have to do at home.”
Like sit alone and listen to the clock ticking.

She accompanied him to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

They stood there on the front step, Tom reluctant to leave the company of those who understood his grief. Finally, he stepped back. “I guess I’d better go. You’re going to catch a cold standing out here.” He sauntered away a few yards, stopped and then said in a loud clear voice, “I’m leaving now, Bill.”

Beth watched the blacksmith’s receding form and she couldn’t help being impressed. He had spoken honestly and openly with Davy about his own grief, when most men would have denied having such feelings. Considering all the trouble she and her brothers had been to the man, he really didn’t owe them the time of day. His kindness gave her something to think about.

• • •

The snow stayed, and more followed as the weather became increasingly colder. Beth started going to the school half an hour earlier each morning to fire up the stove.

The heat in the classroom was never evenly distributed. Students sitting nearest the heater virtually cooked and students furthest away shivered. Often Beth would swing a towel around and around like a windmill to circulate the heat about the room. But despite all the trouble that the cold weather caused, Beth still enjoyed the winter season. She marveled at the beauty of the large feathery snowflakes as they veiled the trees and ground. She loved the sound of her school bell as it pealed loud and clear across the schoolyard, calling the children in from their frosty playtime.

It was the third week in November when Beth decided it was time to begin preparations for the Christmas concert. She wanted every student to partake in the program.

Of course, there would have to be a reenactment of Christ’s birth. That was expected. She mentally assigned her older students the major speaking roles. The youngest children could be the animals who would happily “baa” or “moo” on cue. She wondered if Mrs. Young had had her baby yet. Wouldn’t a real baby in the manger be wonderful!

From the bookshelf she withdrew a book,
Plays, Poetry, and Prose for Children.
No doubt parents with children in the older grades had watched most of the plays in the book, but she hoped something would inspire her to write something original. A few of her students were exceptional poets. She’d pick the best poems and have the authors recite them.

Ideas were coming so quickly, she went to her desk and jotted notes to remember them all. After vowing she was a great teacher, Beth was adamant that this concert be the talk of the town for years to come.

When Beth announced her ideas to the children that morning, they were so excited they couldn’t sit still. She had to remind them that no Christmas preparations would happen unless they got all their work done and it wasn’t long before they all buckled down to their assignments.

Inga’s mother kindly donated the use of her piano, so Beth felt obliged to allow Inga, who
said
she had taken lessons, to be the pianist. But upon hearing her play, Beth had her doubts. She prayed the girl would improve with extra practice.

For the next month, every available moment was devoted to memorizing poems and lines, perfecting piano solos and duets, practicing Christmas carols and rehearsing the pageant. Notes were sent home with the children as to what props and costumes were needed, and Beth marveled daily at how the ingenuous mothers could fashion something out of nothing.

The concert was scheduled for the Friday before Christmas Day. As a reward for her students’ diligence, Beth suspended afternoon classes on the Wednesday and Thursday preceding the big event. The time was spent making Christmas decorations. The youngest children crafted paper chains and strung popcorn and cranberries on thread; the older boys, with stronger, more calloused hands, used tin snips to cut stars from flattened cans; and the older girls’ nimble fingers fashioned angels out of lacy remnants. Each child decorated a large envelope to hold samples of his best penmanship and poetry.

The evening before the concert, several men in the community, including Tom, built a stage at the front of the classroom to enable all to see the program.

When the big day arrived, the little schoolhouse was charged with excitement and the students spent the entire day putting up their decorations. Yards of paper chains draped back and forth across the room and angels hung in all the windows. Around the top of the blackboards, winter scenes were stenciled with chalk, while a large “Merry Christmas” was attractively written across the side blackboard. The piano, decorated with spruce boughs and ribbons, was pulled away from the wall and a blanket hung between it and the front blackboard, creating a backstage. The older boys were assigned the task of pushing desks into the back corner, and bringing in extra benches from the shed outside. The small, but stately Christmas tree, cut by one of the fathers, stood proudly on a table in the front corner. Soon it was decorated with the tin stars and popcorn strings.

Beth dismissed the children early in the afternoon so they could rush home, do their chores and have a quick bite to eat. They were to return at six-thirty sharp, half an hour before the concert was to begin. She sent Davy home ahead of her, which allowed her time to secretly place the treat bags under the tree. Everything was double checked, pictures straightened, bits of paper picked up, benches lined up evenly, heater stoked. With a final glance to verify all was perfect, Beth went home to prepare some supper for Bill, knowing that both she and Davy would be too excited to eat.

Beth and Davy headed for the school, while Bill went to pick up Annaleese, who he’d been seeing regularly since the box social. Even in the brief time since Beth had last stoked the fire, the temperature in the school had dropped considerably. She threw a large bucketful of coal in the heater before preparing the coffee. By six-thirty, the students had arrived and they crowded “backstage” to don their costumes while their parents took their seats.

It seemed as though the entire community had turned out for the evening. The benches quickly filled. Men propped themselves against the walls and soon the schoolhouse reverberated with the din of neighborly conversation and laughter. A few women fanned themselves with the hand-printed programs, which caused Beth to worry that she had added too much coal.

Behind the curtain, the girls giggled nervously, and the boys pushed and shoved, while last minute butterflies stampeded in everyone stomachs. Beth’s included.

“Did you see my parents, Miss Patterson?”

“Are my grandparents, here?”

“Mr. Percy from the
Tannerville Chronicle
is here.”

“My angel wings keep slipping.”

“I forget my lines.”

Words rained down on Beth. “You will all do just fine,” she reassured.

At seven sharp, she turned to her students and pressed a finger to her lips. Immediately they silenced. The moment they practiced so arduously for had arrived.

“I want you to know I’m proud of each and every one of you. You’ve worked hard, very hard, and I know this will be a concert to top all concerts. Everyone ready?” Heads nodded.

Beth stepped out from behind the curtain and pounded on middle “C” to draw everyone’s attention. When the friendly conversations ceased and the room was hushed, the children filed onto the stage to form three tidy rows, positioning themselves evenly.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” Beth began. “Please rise to sing our national anthem.” As everyone stood, Inga took her place at the piano, and soon the small schoolhouse expanded with pride as voices rose in unison, drowning out the wrong notes from the piano.

Following the anthem, the stage cleared. Beth squeezed in along the sidewall to watch the proceedings. This came as quite a surprise to most since it was customary for the teacher to remain backstage to ensure things went smoothly. But Beth thought it would be more impressive if the children ran the entire show by themselves. She had great faith in her students, but still she caught herself holding her breath.

Presently the youngest student, little Peter Brown, dressed in his Sunday best and his hair plastered down with grease, strolled out from behind the blanket and stood upon the mark that had been chalked on the stage. With his high-pitched voice he recited:

“Please don’t judge me by my size,

Although I’m mighty small.

I have a most important task

To bid a welcome to you all.”

He bowed solemnly, chanced a shy wave at his beaming parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and then exited backstage while the audience clapped exuberantly.

Following the welcome was a piano duet and after that a poem recitation. As efficiently as clockwork, one student followed another, and halfway through the hour-long program, Beth began to breathe easier.

Tom’s aunt, Mary Betner, maneuvered her way over to Beth and squeezed her hand. “My dear,” she whispered, “this is the best concert I’ve ever attended. You should be very proud.”

Beth’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, Mary. I am. The children have worked very hard.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I used to be a teacher. I know how much work is involved.” Mary leaned closer. “Tell me, I’m dying to know. Who did you get to be Santa?”

Mary’s question hit Beth like a hard-packed snowball in the stomach. “Santa?” she whispered weakly. “I don’t understand. I thought the men decided among themselves.”

Mary stared wide-eyed at Beth. “Didn’t you see the Santa suit in the cellar?”

The truth was Beth had never ventured into the cellar. There had simply been no need and, besides, the place was too dark and creepy to encourage exploration.

“Listen dear,” Mary advised, “you’d better find someone quick, or there’s going to be some very disappointed children.”

Beth desperately wanted to sit down and bawl. A Christmas concert with no Santa! What could be worse! But she had no time for self-pity. She had to find a willing Santa and fast! She scoured the room for a likely volunteer.

Bill, maybe he’d do it, but then she thought, who was she kidding? He’d never agree.

Lars Anderstom? She could just imagine it.
Have ew been a gewd little boy?
His accent would immediately reveal his identity and negate any beliefs of Santa’s existence.

“How about Earl, would he do it?” she asked Mary.

“
My
Earl? Not a chance. He did it one year and he said never again. He does the auction at the box social and figures that’s plenty.”

Beth spotted Tom. Now, he might do it. After all, he was fond of Davy. And he was on the school board. One didn’t take on a position like that if he didn’t care for the welfare of children. There was only one way to find out and that was to ask him, and if he refused, then she was prepared to beg. The concert’s success and, more importantly, her job, were at stake. She wouldn’t let pride stand in her way.

Resolutely she edged between the bench seats, apologizing to those she disturbed. Finally she reached Tom.

“Tom, I need to speak with you,” she whispered.

Tom frowned. “Now?” he whispered back. “Can’t it wait until the concert is over?”

“No, I’m sorry it can’t. Please.” Conscious of the disapproving looks cast upon her, she quietly slipped to the back of the room to wait.

She watched Tom excuse himself. As soon as he drew closer, Beth pulled him into the cloakroom and closed the door behind them.

“What’s the matter?”

Beth wrung her hands, not certain which would be the best way to approach this. Finally, she just blurted it out. “Tom, I need you to be Santa.”

“What?”

“I never realized it was up to me to find someone. I thought — well, never mind, it doesn’t matter now what I thought. Oh Tom, please just say you’ll do it. Otherwise the children will be devastated and the concert will be ruined and it will all be my fault.” She reached out and grasped his forearms. Realizing she was squeezing them a bit too much, she released her grip, and clasped her hands nervously between her breasts.

“But I don’t know anything about kids.”

“You’re good with Davy.”

“You think so?” Tom smiled. Suddenly, he shook his head. “I can’t be Santa. What if Davy recognizes me?”