From the Improvement Era, December 1959 –

Christmas is the Same

By Christie Lund Coles

Diane Schubert closed the worn, green reader, and smiled at the ten small faces before her. “Now, we are going to decorate for the Christmas party. And you may take your drawings and other papers home.”

The children hurriedly picked up their papers then gathered around her, waiting to be told what to do to make the small, bare schoolroom festive for the party. Their eyes were brighter than the baubles —chipped and broken— which were taken from a box on the closet shelf. The ropes of heavy tinsel were tarnished and old-fashioned.

“Looks like this is pretty old,” she said, half to herself. “I’ll be going to Richardson tomorrow, and I’ll buy some new. We can put it up at the last minute … before your parents get here.”

One girl, Laurel, older than the others and the usual spokesman for the group, said, “You see, we didn’t have a party last year. We didn’t have a teacher. We’re so happy to have you, Miss Schubert.” Her rather large and awkward arm went about the back of the chair.

The sudden show of emotion rather embarrassed Diane, who was only twenty, and still felt a bit ill at ease with these children in this rural town, practically isolated from the world. She had come here because she didn’t have her certificate and needed money to finish her education. She had come here, too, because she had read of the town’s desperate need for teachers. Somehow, it had seemed like a challenge, like something one ought to do. She had been here for nearly four months, trying to be part of the little, isolated community, its monotonous days and doings.

But in three more days she would be going home. She would go to Richardson tomorrow, pick up her train ticket, and two days later would be on her way . . . back to the stores, the lights, the excitement of the city, which wasn’t such a large one, either, although it seemed that way compared to this hamlet. The thought of the big Christmas tree, the house all warm and cozy, the expensive gifts, the baking and roasting (nobody could cook like her mother). The homesickness was so great that she felt she would probably not even come back for the second half of the year. Surely, they could get someone else, and if they couldn’t, well, she had served her term. Let someone else take a turn. All the young people her own age were married, the younger ones had nothing in common with her. She grew hungry for talk of books and town doings, the young people in the ward, the Mutual with its crowded chapel, instead of the small branch with its few members.

She didn’t say much to the children. They had confided their plans to her, had asked her to stay and spend Christmas with them. Though she was sure that in their hearts they knew it could not be so.

“Home is part of Christmas,” she had told them. “Everyone wants to be with the ones they love.”

And Lucy— shy, little Lucy with the grave, gray eyes, had said, “We love you.”

Instinctively, as one responds always to sincere love, she put her arms about the child, assuring her, “I love you, too.” And for the first time had realized that it was true.

Now, she brought herself to the business at hand which was to decorate the room, make it as bright as possible for their party. She picked up the ornaments and directed their efforts, assisting where she was needed. When it was finished— not too happily, for her— they took their wraps and started toward home, the children telling her the various things they would bring— cookies, candy, and cocoa that could be warmed on the old-fashioned stove in the small room behind the classroom.

As they started down the road, she looked up at the sky, seeing it overcast, the clouds gray and low. “Looks like snow for Christmas,” she told them, happily, as each one tried to be the one closest to her as she walked homeward.

She hoped it wouldn’t snow too hard before she took the rather decrepit bus into Richardson to get her train ticket. After she was on her way, let it snow. She was sentimental about the whole affair. She wanted snow, and mistletoe, and all the things the popular songs told about.

When she reached Mrs. Dee’s home (where she boarded,) she ran in, laughing and telling the children to hurry home. Had she been dressed for it, she would have loved to walk for a long time. But now, she had packing to do. And suddenly, she remembered that Mrs. Dee had not been feeling too well when she had left this morning. She would have to see if there was anything she could do to help.

Her landlady was expecting a baby. Since they thought it might be born near Christmas, everyone was excited. A young, new doctor who had recently come to Richardson was to take care of her. She surely hoped everything would be all right, and would have been glad to help with the other two children had she been planning to stay, but fortunately, the neighbors were most kindly.

She was still humming as she came into the living room where Mrs. Dee sat rocking in a high-backed chair. She was knitting, and her hands stopped in mid-air as Diane came in.

“Oh, it’s you,” she exclaimed, “I thought maybe it was John.”

“How are you feeling?” Diane asked her.

“We-11, I wouldn’t be a mite surprised if we have this baby for Christmas … or before.”

A moment of panic seized the girl. She didn’t know where Mr. Dee was, and she felt she had better get in touch with the doctor. After learning that his name was Reid she put a call through for him, telling him that she thought it might be wise for him to come over, though the rather pretty woman in her mid-thirties assured her there was no great hurry.

Fortunately, the husband came home soon, and Diane — instead of finishing her packing— made a cup of hot chocolate for each of them. It seemed forever as they waited for the doctor to come. And it seemed she had never in her life seen snow “lay in” as it was doing now. She could not see the neighbor’s barn from the kitchen window. And it went on and on. Then, she heard the screech of brakes as a car stopped in the wet, deep snow. She wished she had gone to Richardson yesterday. She wished she were home now, instead of feeling so acutely for these people with their two other little children, hopefully awaiting Christmas. Oh, their mother had knit them mittens and got them a few things from the store, but what about the Christmas tree being trimmed? If everything was all right, and the neighbors came as planned, she could drive to town with the doctor, and get all the things she needed for school, and a few things for this humble house.

Yes, she would ask him. She could take the bus back tonight. It would be better than taking a chance on waiting until tomorrow. Although it was just possible tomorrow might be better. . . .

John Dee had let the doctor in, and he was shaking the snow from his tweed topcoat. “What a snow,” the doctor said, “you can’t imagine where it’s coming from.”

She had expected to see a young doctor, but not one this young. He looked almost boyish, with his crewcut, and his smooth, tanned face, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. She would never ask him to take her to Richardson.

It was just as well she hadn’t asked him, for by the time he had been there four hours, and a fine baby boy had joined the household, news was coming over the radio that the road into the small town was completely closed. There was no possibility that it would be opened until the next day at least. Looking out at his car, practically covered and submerged by snow, the doctor shook his head,

“It’s good I have no pressing cases in town.” Then, smiling, he said, “And if an emergency comes up, there is another man. Now, where can I get a room and something to eat?”

Diane had taken meat from the locker and gone ahead with supper for the children; she had made some hot broth for Mrs. Dee.

“It isn’t fancy,” she said, a bit apologetically, “but there is plenty to eat here, if you want to join us.”

Mr. Dee insisted, “We wouldn’t think of letting you go. Sit right down.”

The doctor smiled at Diane, “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” And she smiled in return, feeling happy, forgetting for the moment about tomorrow, forgetting that Christmas was only three days away.

They ate together in the cozy, large kitchen, a fire blazing in the old-fashioned coal stove. And a baby cried, miraculously, in the room upstairs.

The next day it was still snowing. Old-timers said it was like snow they had had years ago when they had been completely isolated for over a week. “Oh, but it won’t be like that this time,” she assured herself, “It can’t be.” But she kept busy helping with the children, and the house.

The doctor came in the morning, having found a place three doors down the street to stay. “Two more days till Christmas,” he said to her, “I suppose you were planning to go home?”

“I’m still planning to,” she assured him, “I was going to town to get my ticket today, but I can do that tomorrow when I catch the train. But I am worried about my party for the school children. I had thought I would get some decorations— the the ones they have are so worn, and then, there’s no tree either for here or the school, and no way of getting any.”

“We could decorate that big pine outside,” he suggested, then more seriously, “I’m sure the old-timers here know ways to manage, they’re used to being away from the world.”

He was going toward the bedroom, and she mused aloud, “My mother said they used to string popcorn and cranberries, and there’s some aluminum foil in the drawer, we could make a star. . . .”

The word “we” had slipped out unnoticed until he said, “Why, we certainly could. Anytime you’re ready I’ll be here to help.”

And that very afternoon he was there, packages of cranberries and popcorn under his arms, string, and tin foil. The children and Mrs. Dee were napping so they spent a wonderful hour popping corn, stringing cranberries, making stars and other ornaments. They could still scarcely see through the windows. Yet, no one in the town seemed downhearted; everyone who passed by brought something warm and tasty, for Mrs. Dee, and all shared in the gaiety, and friendliness.

Bill Reid, the doctor, seemed as happy as anyone and when she asked him, “Aren’t you worried about not getting back … to your family … or friends?”

“I haven’t any family out here. I came down in this direction for about the same reasons you did, I imagine. They needed a doctor so desperately. Doctor Donner in Richardson is getting too old to handle half the people. But he’s still good in emergencies. And the way things looked when I left, there won’t be too many of those.”

“You’re not married?” she asked, shyly.

“No. I haven’t even had any good proposals lately.” There was teasing . . . and something else in his eyes. She felt herself flush. And hurriedly changed the subject to that of a Christmas tree.

“I’ve arranged about that, too,” he assured her, “or at least, we men around here have. Look.” He lifted the curtain and through the falling snow she could make out a bobsleigh near the neighbor’s barn. “We’re going up in the hills and get one for the school, the church, and as many others as we need.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to ride in a bobsleigh,” she told him, little-girl excitement dancing in her eyes.

“Well, only the men are going on this trip. It will be cold, and perhaps hazardous. But— I promise you— if we are here over Christmas, I will take you for a ride.”

“Do you think we will be?” she asked, not feeling nearly the panic she had felt before, feeling almost a joy instead. Then,

“But how will I let my folks know?” she questioned suddenly.

“The telephone lines are all down. But they will read the newspapers, they will know. And it will make it nicer when you do go home.” She nodded, quite contentedly.

During the school party the next day, when the children sang and reveled in every bauble, Diane felt filled to overflowing with joy. Christmas Eve, when Mrs. Dee’s husband and children and Doctor Reid sat down to the golden, steaming dinner, she was almost unbearably happy because of their happiness . . . and her own . . . and that of neighbors and friends who came in with food and gifts for the baby. She wondered how she could have found these people dull or monotonous.

When dishes were dried by Doctor “Bill,” and the children were in bed, he said, “It has stopped snowing. Mr. Knudsen said he would have the sleigh and horses here at eight-thirty. Get wrapped up warm, and I will take you for that sleighride.”

“Really?” she questioned, “I was afraid you were fooling.”

“Me? I should say not.”

So, they rode under the sky that was like gray tulle now, with a star-pin piercing through here and there. And they sang familiar Christmas songs, and watched the breath steam against the cold air. “Are you happy?” he asked her.

“More so than I would have dreamed possible, this far away from home, and all.”

“Yes. I suppose Christmas is the same wherever you are, as long as your heart is ready to receive it.”

A brighter star pricked through the clouds as he reached over and touched her hand, whispering, “Merry Christmas.”