How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas (26 page)

I told Alan, Elizabeth, and Sara that I would be spending Christmas 1645 in London. They were dismayed, Sara in particular.

“But if you're on a trip, how will Father Christmas find you, Auntie Layla?” she asked.

“Oh, I never have to worry about that, my love!” I said, and I knew Sara wondered why her innocent question had caused me to laugh. Her parents, of course, had another concern, and asked me quietly if I really wanted to risk being seen by Blue Richard Culmer. I replied that, to the best of my knowledge, he would be away to the north, and I should be safe if I only stayed in London for a day or two.

Just before I left, I informed Margaret Sabine that I would not be able to come to work on December 25. “There are some people in London who might only be there on that day, and I must see them,” I told her.

Margaret Sabine

“You've worked for me for three years, honestly and well,” she replied. “With someone else, I might suspect this was an act of defiance over that pagan Christmas holiday. But if you say you must see someone in London, I believe you. I would not want you to have to walk all the way there. My husband is sending some goods to London by wagon on the twenty-third. You may ride along, though you must find your own way back.”

So the Christmas-hating Sabines helpfully gave a ride to someone who intended to save Christmas from people like them.

These brave young men were making it clear that no law could prevent them from thanking God for his son as they saw fit. They kicked footballs around the streets and market stalls, cheering and laughing and enjoying the lives that God had given them.

CHAPTER
Fifteen

 

 

 

 

I
was dismayed by what I saw at the toy factory in London. I arrived early in the afternoon on December 24, since the wagon ride from Canterbury took a day and a half. I'd anticipated a merry reunion with Arthur and Leonardo and their employees, but instead I found most of the Christmas toys being packed for shipment to the factory in Nuremberg. There was another package, too—Leonardo was sending a box of several hundred left-over candy canes on to me in care of the Hayes cottage in Canterbury.

“This is the last Christmas we'll have this London operation, at least for a while,” Arthur informed me. “Blue Richard Culmer has his spies everywhere in London, so it is only a matter of time before we are discovered. Tonight we're going to distribute gifts to those few remaining children in England whose parents defy the Puritans by allowing Christmas presents. With the very limited number of boys and girls who are still allowed to accept our gifts, it won't take very long. Then Leonardo and I will be off to Germany. The fine people who work for us will have to find other jobs, I'm afraid. Within a year or two, I'm sadly certain, Christmas will no longer be celebrated in England. For a while, at least, its enemies have won, Layla.”

“Perhaps they haven't, Arthur,” I argued. “I suppose you're right to close the factory for a while, though it breaks my heart to see you do it. But this new government may very well find it is harder than they imagine to make the holiday simply go away. It won't. Those who cherish it so much won't allow that to happen.”

That night, I helped Arthur and Leonardo distribute gifts—dolls and puppets and hoops for spinning and balls for bouncing, tokens to remind children throughout the coming year that they were loved. Even in such a sad time for Christmas itself, there was still so much joy in giving presents as one way to celebrate the wonderful gift God gave the world so many, many centuries before. Then, on Christmas morning, I hugged my dear friends good-bye as they prepared to leave for the toy factory in Germany. By government order, all the British ports were open despite the holiday, and so Arthur and Leonardo could leave immediately.

“Give my love to Attila and Dorothea and St. Francis and Willie Skokan,” I reminded them. “Arthur, when you write my husband to inform him you've closed the London factory, please tell him as well that I send my love and hope to see him very, very soon.”

“You really should come with us,” Arthur said. “I'm worried that you have some dangerous plan in mind. If you like, I can send Leonardo on ahead and stay to help you.”

I smiled and said gently, “I really don't have a specific plan, Arthur. But I'm not going to give up on England and Christmas quite yet.”

I had two visits to make on that holiday morning. Many of the shops in London were open, signifying December 25 was just another ordinary working day. Most of the people who were at work wore sad expressions, for they truly believed it was wrong not to celebrate Jesus' birth with songs and small gifts and feasting. When I arrived at my first destination, Pamela Forrest told me her husband, Clive, had been summoned to cut the hair of some Roundhead generals and asked if I had brought any messages from her beloved sister Elizabeth. I had, of course, and spent some happy minutes sitting with her in her small, pleasant home while describing to Pamela how much her niece Sara had grown. Pamela had a few small tokens she wanted me to take to Elizabeth, Alan, and Sara, and they, of course, had sent some modest gifts for Pamela, Clive, and their two sons.

“With the factory closed, Pamela, how will you make your living?” I asked.

“I'm not certain,” she replied. “There are some businesses that hire seamstresses, and I'm very talented with needle and thread. But no matter where I go to work, I'll keep hoping that Mr. Arthur and Mr. Leonardo return someday, so I can go back to helping them make toys. I'm not going to ask you any awkward questions, Layla, but I think I have a rather good idea of what the three of you really do. I'll just say that Father Christmas is
very
real to me, and we'll leave it at that.”

When I stood up to go, Pamela hugged me. I thanked her again for sending me to her sister Elizabeth in Canterbury and promised I would keep in touch. Then I went on to my second stop, a fine brick house near Parliament. Oliver Cromwell's dwelling reflected his rise in rank; though he was not officially the commanding general of the Roundhead army, everyone knew he made all the important decisions. Years ago, I had just knocked on the front door of his middle-class cottage, then joined him in the kitchen. Now he had guards outside his home, and it took several minutes before they would even agree to tell their commander that a Mrs. Nicholas wanted to see him.

After another quarter-hour, a young Roundhead soldier came out to fetch me.

“Colonel Cromwell is fearsomely busy, missus,” he said. “I'm surprised he'll see you at all. Please state your business and then be on your way.”

Cromwell received me in a large, well-lit room. He stood by a table that was strewn with maps. Looking up as I entered, he said, “So it's Layla Nicholas, wife of colonist Nicholas Nicholas. Missus, I would have hoped by now you'd be safely across the ocean with your husband, and instead you come knocking on my door in London. Aren't you afraid Blue Richard Culmer may run in and catch you?”

“I'm sure Mr. Culmer has more important things to do,” I replied.

“Don't be so certain,” Cromwell said. “Blue Richard is never pleased when someone escapes his clutches, and he surely hasn't forgotten how you avoided arrest—what, three years ago?”

“Three years,” I agreed. “I assume you know I was never a spy for the king, and thank you for your warning so that I could escape. I don't deny I am a great friend of Christmas, but I don't believe that is, at least as yet, a crime. Will you make it one, now that you've beaten the king and England is yours to do with as you wish?”

Cromwell rubbed his face. He looked very tired. “We began to debate this Christmas issue once before in my home and again in a public park. We obviously will never agree. But I wish you would at least try to understand what I am really attempting to do, what we true Puritans have intended from the moment this terrible civil war began. Yes, the king is defeated, and I believe that, within a few months, he will finally negotiate the peace that we have sought for so long. Charles will be welcome to return to London and reclaim his throne—don't look so amazed! We never said we didn't want a king at all. We just want one who will consult with Parliament, which is elected to give voice to the people, before the king makes his decisions. When Charles agrees to this, why, I'll dust off his crown for him myself.”

“And if the king refuses?”

Cromwell rubbed his face again. “He won't. He doesn't have much of an army left. So Charles will come back to London, Parliament will have its rightful influence, England will be at peace, and I can return to my farm. See if it doesn't happen just that way.”

“It won't be as simple as you make it sound,” I argued. “People like Blue Richard Culmer will shut down any churches that don't worship God the way they want. Christmas, the happiest, most joyful day in the lives of almost every working family in England, will be banned. You say you want a government that listens to its people. But you don't seem eager to hear what they say, only to impose your will on them. How is that an improvement?”

Cromwell walked over to me and looked hard into my eyes. “Yes, there will be some new rules. Only godly men, those who truly understand the will of the Lord, shall control this government. We will allow worship for any faith—Catholics or Jews or whoever. But non-Puritans will never hold any positions of power, as, indeed, they should not. Though we will protect them, we will not allow them to taint our laws or godly nation with their false beliefs. As for Christmas, all right. I will state it for you one more time. Christmas is not a true Christian holiday. December 25 is not the actual birthday of Christ, but instead a pagan date appropriated by sinful people who want to practice bad behavior. Singing and gift-giving and feasting are not proper ways to give thanks to God. In short, missus, Christmas is not holy.”

I stared right back at him. Years before, I had held my tongue in deference to Elizabeth Cromwell, but now there was no reason not to reply in detail. I had come to London hoping to meet with this man and offer a complete defense for the celebration of Christmas. I would take advantage of the opportunity.

“Very well, Mr. Cromwell,” I began. “You have told me what Christmas is not. Now allow me, sir, to tell you what Christmas
is.

“Christmas
is
a day when we can reflect in our words and deeds the same generosity of spirit that moved our Lord to send us his son. It
is
a day when, for a few fleeting hours, every man, woman, and child can remember all the joyful things in their lives instead of being worn down by problems and hardship. It
is
a day when, for a little while, there are no masters and servants, no rich and poor, just human beings equal in their love of Jesus and in their respect for one another. In short, Mr. Cromwell, Christmas
is
holy.”

Cromwell looked frustrated. “Surely, missus, you cannot see these Christmas drunks and troublemakers and tell me their actions are appropriate in the eyes of God?”

“I suggest, Mr. Cromwell, that you consider the actions of Blue Richard Culmer smashing windows in churches and arresting people on trumped-up charges. Are these things holy? Just as you, I know, would tell me Mr. Culmer does not really represent the Puritans, so I promise you that those who abuse the holiday for their own purposes do not represent Christmas. Let us be honest with each other, Mr. Cromwell. We both know very well that even if King Charles regains his throne, you personally will be the real power in England. When you have that power, will you use it to represent the people or to force your own beliefs upon them?”

Oliver Cromwell started to say something, stopped, thought a while, and then sighed. “I will always do what I know is best for England. I've learned a hard lesson during this war, that sometimes right-thinking leaders must impose their will if the common people prove incapable of understanding. At first, some new rules may seem harsh, but everyone will accept them after they see how much more improved their lives are, living as God wants. When Christmas is gone, it will only be missed until a pleased Lord bestows new blessings on England, a country that turned away from pagan celebration. I am acting as I think right for the land I love, Layla Nicholas, and I hope you accept that.”