The Ghost of Christmas Present (7 page)

But again, this one was different.

It was seven days ago that Ted had first heard the sonorous voice as he walked with Mila, negotiating their way through the sidewalk's lunch bustle.

“At Christmas I no more desire a rose than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth. But like of each thing that in season grows!”

Ted had stopped mid-stride and couldn't help but peer over the crowd to discover where the voice was coming from, a voice quoting Shakespeare of all things, not what one would expect echoing out amidst the din of the afternoon crowd. But there he was, this bearded, curly-haired, overgrown green sprite clutching a rose in his hand.

“So you, to study now, it is too late. Climb over the house to unlock the little gate.”

The man was a cartoon, his face a mask like something out of a Christmas circus. But his voice was captivating. Ted couldn't help himself and recited the next line aloud. “Well, sit you out: go home, Biron. Adieu.”

The line escaped out of Ted's mouth before he knew it, and his niece stared over at him in wonder.

“Uncle Ted?”

Ted looked at Mila with the same surprise in his own eyes. “I used to study Shakespeare, in school, when I was a boy.” Ted collected himself and turned to guide her back out of the Broadway crowd, but the beggar was before him in an instant.

“No, my good lord: I have sworn to stay with you.” A wild smile stretched across his lips.

Ted's eyes couldn't help but crinkle at the ridiculous sight in front of him, and he moved with Mila to escape, but the Christmas clown was not daunted.

“A businessman who knows his Bard. That is a rarity in this corner of the world.”

Ted looked back at the beggar and nodded. “As rare as a panhandler quoting
Love's Labour's Lost
with a trained tongue.”

Patrick bowed with a sweeping flourish, one hand completing the dramatic bow, but the other holding up the cup. “Spare some coin for the Ghost of Christmas Present. It will secure you place in heaven, good sir.”

Ted's natural instinct was to turn and walk away. It wasn't his job to save the world. He gripped Mila's arm to go. Then his eyes met those of his niece.

“Why don't you give him some money?” she asked.

“I don't reward panhandlers who approach me.”

“But Uncle,” Mila gently reminded him, “you spoke to him first.”

Indeed.

And now, a week later, Ted, who hadn't given any money to a beggar in years, found himself once again fishing into his wallet to reward this singing mendicant. Indirectly, that is. “You give it to him. And I should take it out of your Christmas bonus.”

“But you won't. You're not that much of a Scrooge. Thanks muchly, we're obliged to you,” Mila said as she took the bill and handed it over. As usual, Ted wasn't completely sure to whom she was expressing gratitude, himself or the green Ghost stowing away the folded sawbuck in his velvet robe.

The Ghost gave a polite nod, and the white-haired man and young woman rejoined the lunch-hour swirl of people who crossed the street toward the white
WALK
sign.

Mila looked back at the bearded beggar, who waved the rose and then held his cup back up to the business suits passing by. “Merry Christmas. So hallow'd and so gracious is the time!”

Mila turned and followed her uncle onto the far sidewalk and up the stone stairs of an office building where a young woman was just leaving. The woman caught sight of Ted and she made her way over to him. “Your call to my superior worked. The date of the hearing has been moved up several days. Congratulations, Mr. Cake.”

“Just as I expected. Thank you, Ms. Brody.”

But Rebecca didn't offer a “You're welcome” as she turned and headed down the street.

Chapter 9

A HA' PENNY WILL DO

“C
hristmas is coming. The goose is getting fat,” the voice sang out, its sound sifting through the small crowd that had gathered around.

Rebecca's path was completely blocked as she tried to reach the crosswalk before the sign changed. No luck.

“Please to put a penny in the old man's hat. If you haven't got a penny, a ha' penny will do.”

“What is a ha' penny, anyway?” Rebecca mumbled as she turned back to catch a glimpse of the green-robed beggar who stood in the center of the circle of onlookers.

“If you haven't got a ha' penny, then God bless you!”

If a ha' penny was a “half-penny,” then why not just call it that? “Jolly Old England,” she muttered, and this joker looked as if he belonged there.

Rebecca had recently become aware of this new and colorful panhandler. He had taken this corner as his own, and therefore interrupted the lunch timetable she'd carefully worked out these past seven months spent working in this part of town. Four minutes, door to door, from her office just two blocks up Broadway to her favorite chair at her favorite sandwich café that was just across the street within her view. Twenty-two minutes to order, eat, and pay. Another four minutes back to her office, which added up to precisely one half-hour.

No matter that she was given a whole hour for lunch. Rebecca always took half and never noted it on her time sheet or even made mention of it to a colleague. She knew her supervisors would pick up on the loyalty if they hadn't already. “Make yourself indispensable” was one of her mottos, a catchphrase she'd learned at the business seminar she'd taken to start her new career.

There were more like that: “Give them more than they expect.” “Take care of the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves.” Rebecca chose one quote each day to memorize, repeating it to herself until it became a part of her. “Make your mistakes your friends” was today's, and she said it again while waiting for the
WALK
sign to finally change.

But there was one mistake she'd made that she'd had a hard time ever considering a friend. Maybe today would be the day that would change all that. The
WALK
sign lit up and Rebecca headed toward the café. Maybe today she really would get good news.

“I
'm so sorry. I'm just so, so sorry” were the words that kept echoing through Rebecca's brain. And she knew that Julie truly was. They had served together as medical residents. No one knew her better, or how much she would give anything to relive that one decision.

“My father did everything he could,” Julie continued. “The medical review board just won't budge on something like this. I thought this time they might see it differently—”

“I'm sure of that,” interrupted Rebecca as she reached across the table and briefly squeezed Julie's hand. Then she looked down at her half-chicken-salad-sandwich special. She couldn't bring herself to eat even one bite. Rebecca motioned to the waiter for the check.

“You're leaving already?”

“I'm not really hungry.”

“Hey, Rebecca. It was a mistake and now it's over. You've moved on, you have a good job. I just wish I could stop you from being so hard on yourself.”

“Thanks, Julie, but I guess I'm still mourning all I lost. Or threw away. Or something.”

Rebecca looked at her watch—still twenty-three minutes left in her lunch hour. “And anyway, I'm late.”

R
ebecca transferred the to-go container to her free hand as she crossed the street with more energy and purpose than she felt. Then she stopped, unsure where to go, knowing only that she had to keep moving and not let her thoughts take hold. The corner that had earlier stood choked with onlookers now lay open before her, with barely a dozen people gathered around the man who turned and looked her full in the face. The new, green-robed panhandler with the ridiculous wreath around his head.

Rebecca, like many others, had guffawed with her first close look at him, but then his voice, the resonant vowels, softened her initial mirth. She watched him with a mixture of merriment and serious fascination.

“But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born unto you; he is Christ the Lord.'”

“Luke, chapter two, verse eight,” called out a man in the crowd, and the green-robed man turned and fixed a winking eye upon him.

“An educated man, a righteous and religious man,” said the velvet beggar as he bowed, waved one hand in the air with a flourish, and held out his other with the cup.

The onlooker grinned. “Nah. Just one who's also watched ‘Charlie Brown Christmas' since he was a kid,” the man said as he pulled a five-dollar note from his pocket and pushed it into the coffee cup.

“A man of fine sensibilities nevertheless! The Ghost of Christmas Present thanks ye!” cried the beggar as the onlooker and the rest of the crowd moved on.

Rebecca remained silent, staring, wrapped sandwich by her side.

The panhandler moved toward her with a slow step and looked into her face, which was flooded with regret. “Things without all remedy should be without regard.”

“What?” Rebecca said when she realized he was speaking to her.

Then, more gently: “Consider it not so deeply . . . What's done is done.”

Rebecca allowed the words to seep into her heart. “What's done is done,” she repeated as the man standing before her nodded and then smiled.

“
Macbeth
. Act three, scene two. The Bard has balm for every ache of the mind and heart.”

Rebecca glanced around to see that the sidewalk now was empty and that she was alone with him. She felt on the spot and searched her handbag for something to give. But Rebecca had only credit cards. She never carried cash, ever. “I don't have anything.”

“Then God bless you!” the Ghost softly sang to the melody of his earlier old English refrain.

Rebecca relaxed and smiled, and impulsively handed the man her to-go container.

“I don't have a ha' penny. But how about a ha' sandwich?”

Chapter 10

A COMMANDING POSITION