The Christmas House (2 page)

             
In the kitchen, the walls were tiled with loosely hung smoke tarnished yellow tiles. The furnishings were a stainless steel table and four chairs that had seen better days.  A vast collection of salt and pepper shakers filled several shelves about the cabinetry. A pot belly stove stood ominously next to an icebox that was no larger than the elderly woman standing beside it.

Wearing a dark blue dress protected by a white apron, she opened the oven door with a tattered and burned oven mitt upon one hand. She removed a cookie sheet filled with freshly baked gingerbread men shaped cookies and walked tediously to the nearby kitchen table.

In her late seventies, the woman was small in stature with a full head of grayish-silver hair. The white support hose she wore over her stout legs offered little opacity to cover the varicose veins bulging from her calves. Orthopedic shoes that only a grandmother would wear adorned her feet. Rose colored cheeks enhanced her sunken brown eyes as ivory loose-fitting dentures filled her mouth. As she walked her hips swayed out
of time, for arthritis found it
s
’
way to this frail body of mass and matter.

Back at the oven, the old woman removed yet another sheet of cookies and placed
it
on top of the stovetop to cool. The kitchen table was completely covered with numerous platters displaying of an assortment of various foods. A paradise of sweets, most of the foods were dessert and snack type delicacies. Nowhere in sight was there evidence of something more substantial such as a main course dinner of a golden brown turkey or succulent ham.

      She walked into the dining room and unfolded a white lace tablecloth onto the dining room table. As she pulled and tugged at the tablecloth in an effort to relax the wrinkles, she gazed at the grandfather clock that ticked away in the corner.

“I’m running behind,” she said as she shook her head in a disapproving fashion.

It was a few minutes before six o’clock. She hurried into the kitchen and started to place trays of cookies and plates of cakes onto the table. She made several trips back and forth to the kitchen from the dining room, arranging plates and
platters appropriately. It was obvious that she was hosting a well-attended holiday party.

     As the table became a kaleidoscope of sweets and appetizers she became more and more excited. She placed the last tray of cookies on the dining table and scurried over to a corner of the room opposite to that of the grandfather clock. Before her stood, what years ago would have been commonly recognized as a console phonograph. She opened the lid of the dark wooden cabinet and revealed a turntable with a gray cloth palette. In a methodical manner, she opened a door under the console and retrieved a record album. The jacket of the album had faded over the years and thus was unreadable. She removed the vinyl record from the browbeaten jacket and placed it on the spindle. As she turned on the phonograph, the record fell down the spindle onto the turntable and the toner arm set down onto the records' first selection. With the phonograph volume turned up quite loud, it was easy to hear the static pops that emanated from the speakers. As the music started, it disguised the crackles of the worn LP and the tune “Silver Bells”, as sung by Johnny Mathis filled the house.

             
“Chime, chime, chime, chime, chime, chime.” Almost in unison with the chorus of “Silver Bells”, the chimes from the grandfather clock complimented Johnny’s voice and brought the room alive. It was 6:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve

6:00 p.m.

148 Festive Lane

     A faint tone lingered from the last chime and faded into the silence. The doorbell rang.

     As the old woman walked across the room to answer the front door, she removed her apron and brushed flour remnants off her dark blue dress featuring a proper white embroidered collar. She stopped in front of a full-length mirror in the foyer, and primped her hair as she checked her make up. Satisfied with her appearance she proceeded to the door as a smile came to her face.

     As the door slowly swung inward, the guests still outside on the front stoop yelled, “Merry Christmas Martha!” As they entered the foyer, they hugged and kissed Martha as if they had not visited her for quite sometime.

The guests included an attractive woman in her early forties, a tall gentleman in his mid-fifties and a young girl
who
was fourteen. They each carried a tray of cakes and cookies. The stunning woman took off her coat and handed it to Martha as she walked toward the dining room table and commented, “In all the years we have been coming here, this place hasn’t changed one bit, Martha.”

     “Yes, I have tried to keep it up, but I’m not getting any younger,” Martha said as she collected the garments from the well-dressed man and the young girl, presumed to be the couple’s daughter.

The young girl ran into the dining room and shouted,    “Well, I’m not getting any older, so there!”

     They all laughed as the girl snatched a cookie from the dining room table and ran off into the family room area.

“What a beautiful tree Martha!” she shouted from the family room.

             
  The doorbell rang again and Martha hurried to answer it. Again the guests that arrived shouted, “Merry Christmas Martha!”, as she opened the door and invited them inside.

     As they hugged and kissed, the doorbell rang again- and again- and again.
Thirty, forty, fifty times over a brief 30-minute period.
With each guest that arrived came an additional tray of sweets. The selection of food on the dining room table was overwhelming. The variety of guests that now filled the house was vast as well.
Old people, middle aged, and several young children.
Some people even brought their dogs. The house was abundant with joy and merriment, so much so that it was strange. It just wasn’t normal. It was as if a stage play was in full production and all of the actors were told to laugh and smile on cue. Over 120 people filled the house and without exception every one of them was smiling, laughing or singing.

After an hour or so, the guests finally stopped arriving and the food and drink begun to flow, as the party was an obvious success. Having appropriately cared for the needs of her guests, Martha took advantage of an opportunity of leisure and joined the very first family that arrived earlier this evening at the dining room table.

      The distinguished gentleman, in his fifties was extremely well dressed in a three-piece black suit that was accented with a beautiful silk tie. Tied in a perfect Windsor
knot around his starched white shirt collar, the silk reflected a light overhead. A mustache adorned his face, as well as a full beard graying at the temples. A full head of wavy black hair also hinted of gray, but added to the Clark Gable good looks of the
d
ignified gentleman.

His wife, sitting at his side, was as mentioned very attractive. Her golden blonde hair was worn up with a bun over her forehead that accentuated her pronounced cheekbones. Wearing a lovely black dress that was v-cut at the neck, it showed off her lean yet shapely figure. Her lips, painted cherry red, were complimented by a light beige cover-base makeup upon her face.

Their daughter, who sat across the table next to Martha, was lovely as well. Dark hair like her father, it was braided into locks and perfectly set. Her blue eyes and creamy white skin blended well with the pretty bright yellow and white ruffled dress she wore.

     The man directed his attention to Martha.

     “Martha, hosting this party year after year must be getting to be quite a chore for you isn’t it?”

    
“Well, it does get harder every year, but I really don’t mind.
Its’ only once every 365 days.
I only wish my hips were a few years younger,” Martha replied.

   
 
“Well, I have some good news for you,” the man said.

     
“Yes Daddy, tell her, tell her!” The young girl chimed in.

    
“Now calm down Rebecca... I am trying to,” he said.

   
“Yes Martha, Stephen has something very important to tell you,” his wife said, as she smiled.

     “Thank you Mary. Well Martha, this is the last time you will have to go through all of this work at Christmas time,” Stephen said.

     “It is?” Martha asked.

     “Yes, by this time next year, you will be staying with us,” he said.

    
“Really?
When will this happen?” Martha asked.

     “By May of next year, so you are going to have to sell this house quickly. And remember you have to find the right buyer. Not just anyone can own this magnificent, old magical house,” he said.

   
“Oh yes, I will find the right people to purchase the house. I promise you that father,” Martha said as she looked at the man with tears in her eyes.

They embraced as several other guests from the party entered the dining room.

    
“Well, did you tell her Stephen?” several asked.

     “Yes, and she is very happy.
A bit apprehensive, but happy.”

             
It was now almost 10:00 p.m. on this Christmas Eve. The immediate area outside, in front of the house was completely deserted. For as far as the eye could see, not a single car was in sight or even parked on the street. The nexus of the desolate street and the large family celebration inside the house on Festive Lane seemed peculiar and illogical.

C
hapter 2- Christmas Day Approaches

December 24th

148 Festive Lane

11:45 p.m.

    
The party was still going strong as the grandfather clock ticked closer to midnight and the advent of Christmas Day would soon find
it’s
way to the old dilapidated house. Martha was sitting in a large cloth upholstered, dark burgundy Queen Anne style chair. She struggled to keep her eyes open but it was of little use. It had been a very long day and she was totally exhausted. As she drifted off into a sound sleep, her guests went about visiting with one another. The few children at the party were playing with several dogs in the family room that was toward the back of the house. A younger couple in their late twenties, walked hand in hand to the foyer that led to the second level of the mansion. As they ascended the carpeted stairway, they glanced down to the lower level to see if their actions were noticed. The guests down below were absorbed with each other and not a soul was aware of the absence of the young couple.

     The couple reached the second floor and proceeded down a dimly lit long narrow hallway. They walked in a deliberate fashion as if they knew their way and passed several closed doors on either side of the corridor. As they reached the end of the hallway, they stopped at the very last door on the right. The entrance to this room was complete with a dark wood six-panel door that hosted a tarnished brass doorknob. A Pewter colored plaque affixed to the door at eye level was engraved with the words, “Guest Room”. The young man reached for the doorknob and twisted it to the right as the door opened with a slight creak.

     The room was obviously a guest bedroom but was adorned in regal fashion. The furnishings were antique in style but unlike the rest of the furnishings in the house, this room showed no sign of wear or damage. The bed was a solid, dark wood frame with four tall hand-carved posters, one in each corner. The ceiling of the room was
at least 12 feet high and was constructed of inlaid copper tinted foil. The double hung windows boasted beautiful ivory satin window coverings that appeared to be brand new. The top of each treatment had a wide swag in perfect folds and was complemented by extra full pleated draperies below. There was a cherry wood dresser directly across from the bed that was a matching piece to the frame. A large ornate gold-framed looking glass was centered on the chiffonnier. An old fashioned white with blue flowers porcelain wash basin and pitcher set on the far left side as well as a lace doily runner that flowed off each end of the antique bureau.

     The couple entered the room and the young man closed the door behind them. Their tryst was complete. As he walked over to a small two-drawer night stand that sat along the right side of the large queen size bed, the attractive young woman took her place quietly on the opposite side of the bed. The young man lit a long white candle that sat in a polished brass holder with a small finger handle on its base. The candle softly illuminated the room as he turned off the overhead chandelier.

      He climbed into the bed and placed his hands on the shoulders of the young woman. She softly sighed. In the distance they could hear the muffled sounds of rapid conversation overshadowed by Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” as a holiday album played on the phonograph in the dining room below. He kissed her gently and wrapped his arms around her waist.