The Christmas Angel
(For a while, I wrote a short story every Christmas Eve. This one was written as a gift for my parents in the 1990s.)
It was early November 1969. Winter had come early that year and the morning dew was condensing to frost on automobile windshields hours before dawn. The light frost would melt to dew by mid-morning and return an hour before sunset wrapping everything in glistening crystal cocoons. It was under one of these crystal veils, beneath the seat of a new yellow Chevy van, rested a box.
As the sun was setting, a young-looking man in his early thirties reached down and retrieved the box from under the passenger’s seat. It had been resting safely the entire day. Noticing the cool temperature of the smooth white cardboard, the man became concerned. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around the box to warm its contents. With the jacket secure under his right arm, he opened the van door, cracking its icy cocoon, and stepped out into the night.
Carl was a newlywed. He smiled as he turned the corner of the driveway and caught a glimpse of his new wife through the newly painted kitchen window of their new house. He loved coming home. Carl was a businessman by trade, however, he was neither overly ambitious nor driven by greed. He was a people person. Not one of those sad souls blinded by their own insatiable desire to acquire more money, unable to stop working long enough to realize that they are probably already wealthy. Carl was lucky. He knew he was wealthy. And sometimes, when he would forget, he would just look at Christine.
He loved her smile, her depth, her honesty, and her compassion. But most of all, he loved that she was now part of his life… and that was why he was carrying that box.
For one month the small box rested on the attic shelf. Only the scurrying mice and the howl of the wind kept its contents company. Then, on Christmas Eve, Carl opened the door to the attic and climbed the stairs to retrieve his gift. As he reached the top, he looked at the box and stopped.
That’s odd, he thought. There was a faint soft white glow around the box.
Then he remembered the full moon that Christmas eve. Without turning around to check the windows, he figured that the moonlight coming through the dormer window must have been causing the white box to appear fluorescent. Smiling, he eagerly retrieved the gift from the dusty shelf and rushed down the stairs to place it under their Christmas tree.
Carl was excited…. so excited in fact, that he didn’t notice on his way down the steps that the shutters on the dormer windows were closed.
“What a beautiful Angel!” said Christine as she lifted her newly opened present up in the air with both hands. “Something about it reminded me of you. It’s the expression..or, the eyes.”
The statue was small, about 6 inches tall. But if one looked at it long enough, it appeared larger. The angel had the face of a young boy with peaceful, tranquil eyes. His mouth was carved into an oval as if he were singing and his wings were half open and curled around him as if he was offering the person facing him a warm embrace.
“It’s wonderful. I am going to place it here on the mantle every Christmas as a reminder of your love. It will watch over us.”
She placed it on the center of the mantle over the fireplace taking a few moments to study it. It reminded her of a young boy sitting alone on the end of a pier with his legs crossed, dangling off the edge, as he looks with wonder down at the ocean below. She was amazed at how clearly the smooth white marble of the angel reflected the white lights of the nearby Christmas tree. Strangely enough, the eyes reflected the most light, making them appear fluorescent, warm, and kind.
Carl and Christine looked up at the angel as they sat by the fire. It was a truly beautiful statue.
“Merry Christmas Christine…” It was their first Christmas together.
And the angel watched over them.
Christine blew the dust off the cardboard, unwrapped the tissue paper,
and lifted the angel from his box. The small angel warmed her heart and she said a silent prayer that they both enjoy many more Christmases together. She placed it above the mantle, taking the precaution to drive two nails into the mantel as to prevent the angel from falling onto the brick fireplace below.
It was their second Christmas.
And the angel watched over them.
Many more Christmases came and went, some during happy times, others during sad times, but the Christmas angel watched over them all from the mantle above the fireplace. He watched Carl and Christine turn from young lovers to parents. He watched their daughter grow from a girl to a woman, until one Christmas she didn’t come home. He was with their two sons as they had their first Christmas in this world. And was with them through the Christmases when their loved ones were no longer in this world. He celebrated with them as the world turned a thousand years older. He saw their sons get married, and saw Carl and Christine through five more Christmases with newborn grandchildren.
The time passed and the family changed. But the Christmas angel brought joy to all every year.
Then came a cold winter. And it was the coldest ever to Christine, for Carl was not with her that Christmas. He had passed away in October just before their fifty-fifth anniversary. Christine was now in her early eighties. The autumn leaves fell early that year. A friend had told her that the locals were arguing that this was the most beautiful fall foliage that had ever graced the rolling hills of the Blue Ridge, though she did not notice. A few years ago it might have reminded her of Van Gogh’s sunflowers, with its vibrant orange and red swirls…but it did not now.
As she looked out the window to the small grape arbor down in the yard, she smiled. Her thoughts drifted to the past. It was never the color of the leaves that lifted my spirits this time of the year, she thought. She said a silent prayer and thought of her husband. It was you, watching them with me.
A few days before that Christmas, her three children and her five grandchildren came to stay with her. She was so happy to see them all, and so proud of them. It had been a long time since they had all been together for Christmas. She spent two wonderful days with them, and soon she did not feel so alone. She was happy.
By ten o’clock that Christmas Eve, all her children and grandchildren had retired for the evening. As she prepared for bed, she would occasionally hear some rustling and quiet laughter from downstairs reminding her, to her comfort, that her grandchildren had still not outgrown the excitement of Christmas.
With that thought, Christine slowly walked to the closet, opened the doors, and retrieved the Christmas angel for the last time.
“I almost forgot.” she whispered to the old statue. She moved slowly but steadily across the room as she carried the angel to the mantle. The nails that were in place to prevent the angel from falling were long gone, and she had no strength left in her to replace them. She held the worn statue tightly with both hands and lifted it to its place on the mantle.
She sat alone in her rocking chair by the fire and looked at the Christmas angel. And as she looked she remembered, and as she remembered she smiled. The gift that Carl had given her on their first Christmas together did not look anything like what was now sitting on the mantle before her. She remembered how happy she was and how excited the angel had made her on their first Christmas together. The shinning white angel which had symbolized their new love together had always been in her thoughts every Christmas, even the years that she failed to put it out. Sitting before her now was not the brilliant new angel she remembered Carl giving her, but a different gift altogether.
The angel was old, worn ragged by presiding over nearly fifty Christmases. The once smooth marble was now a crumbling mass. There was a crack running down his left-wing that fingered throughout his body, and most of his toes had broken off. The two small marks on each side of his waist, etched by the protective nails on the mantle, had grown each year and were now gaping crevices. His hands folded neatly in his lap were attached to two tattered, cracking arms.
Christine studied the angel for a long time. Each mark took her back to a specific Christmas. She saw the angel slowly transform from a crumbling statue to a harborer of Christmas memories as it guided her through fifty years of Christmas together with her husband and her family. And as she remembered, she smiled. Her smile grew to laughter, her laughter to tears, and her sobs transformed to laughter again. She sat there for hours with the angel, remembering.
Her heart filled with joy as she realized that Carl had given her one last precious gift. He had brought his love for her to life one last time through the memories harbored in the Christmas angel.
It was midnight when the snow began to fall softly on the ground. A gentle wind began to stir outside, rustling through the icy branches of the nearby trees. And, as Christine slept, it must have been a gentle Christmas Eve breeze that came through the broken shutter and finally pushed the Christmas angel from the mantle.
But the Angel never hit the ground, and Christine never woke.
