Jeanette’s Christmas, 3rd Edition 2005, by Christine Sunderland

Jeanette’s

Christmas

Christine Sunderland

An American Church Union Publication

Published by the American Church Union

P.O. Box 40070

Berkeley, California 94704

www.anglicanpck.org

+ + +

+ Book Number 5 in the Jeanette Series +

Jeanette discovers the true magic of Christmas

at home in San Francisco.

To Travis and Stephanie

Sincere thanks to Laurelle and Bishop Provence, Nancy and Archbishop Morse, Kathleen and Kimm.

CONTENTS

Windows – 1

Trees – 10

Angels – 15

Shepherds – 21

Carols – 29

Jeanette’s Christmas – 37

Windows

o I have to?” Jeanette stared out the window at the pouring rain. The twins made faces as they peeked from behind their mother. Life was so boring in the rain, and this would make it even worse. San Francisco in December meant being trapped indoors. Jeanette wanted some magic in her life, not this.

“Yes, you have to. You’re thirteen, going on fourteen, and old enough to baby-sit your sister and brother. They’re five now – it’s not like they’re babies.”

Anthony stuck out his tongue and Allison pulled her mouth wide with painted fingers, rolling her eyes. Jeanette frowned.

“But Mama, I was going to meet Sally at Union Square to see the decorations.”

“Better call her. I told you about this weeks ago. I promised to work at the hospice today, tomorrow, and Friday. It may be a week before Christmas, but people are still sick, Jeanette. You are in charge. Phone Sally and cancel.”

O O O

ith the slam of the front door Jeanette knew her day was ruined. She glared at Allison and Anthony, then flopped on the couch.

“Jeanette, read us a story,” Allison whined, crawling up beside her.

“No, Jeanette, let’s play in the park. It stopped raining.” Anthony grabbed her hand and pulled.

“Pleeese,” begged Allison.

“Nowww,” screamed Anthony, pulling harder.

“Leave me alone!” Jeanette cried, pushing her brother off and disentangling her sister. “I’ve got a better idea. We’re going downtown.”

“Nooo… ” they wailed.

“Let’s get our coats. We should be able to catch the 9:42 bus at the corner.”

Jeanette slipped into her parka and pulled Allison’s arms through her fleece jacket, then Anthony’s through his.

She knew she should be a better sister, but sometimes it was difficult. Her friends met for cool outings – skating at the new rink at Yerba Buena Center on Folsom, or hiking Mount Tamalpais in Marin, or just hanging out at Fisherman’s Wharf and watching the fishing fleet dock – smelling the fresh crab boiling in the giant pots. Her best friend Sally liked the chocolate factory up the street, and Jeanette liked the old whaler docked nearby. It looked just like a pirate ship.

At least Papa was home for Christmas. His Army assignment in Afghanistan had frightened Jeanette. She wished he had a different job – he left them for months at a time – and Jeanette worried he might not come home one day. Mama was brave, but Jeanette could tell when she had been crying during the night.

“The attack on the World Trade Center in 2001 changed our world, Jeanette,” he would say on the phone. “You have to understand more is expected of you now – I may have more overseas postings. Be grown up for your mother. I’m counting on you.”

But Papa was home now, at least for a while. When he left the house that morning, he said he was going shopping, and he winked at her.

She wondered, as the bus lurched down the street to its next stop – the twins securely boxed in by the window – what he was shopping for, or who, rather whom, he was shopping for. The twins received so many presents, and Jeanette envied them. “There are two of them, Jeanette, so it just seems that way,” Mama had said soothingly. “And you're older now, so you receive special presents – like the necklace last year, the ruby birthstone on the gold chain – fewer but more precious presents.”

It was true that all Jeanette really wanted this year was a cell phone, a cool slim one, preferably blue – that, and a little magic in her ordinary life.

In fact, Papa had agreed with Mama. “You see, Jeanette, as you grow up, your heart grows up too. And you must learn to exercise your heart, to open it more and more. That way, life will be sweeter and sweeter.” He had looked at Mama when he said that, Jeanette recalled, and Mama had blushed and smiled – a magical smile.

“It’s all about love, Jeanette,” she had added as she slipped her arm around her papa’s waist.

Jeanette often wondered what they meant, and why it had to do with fewer presents. She still wondered, and she still envied her brother and sister. Growing up might be the most difficult thing in the world. It meant less of everything, not more – just more work – more homework – more chores – more baby-sitting. It meant less play, less fun.

Jeanette sighed as the bus came to the stop closest to Macy’s.

“Let’s look in the Christmas windows.”

She led Allison and Anthony past a man begging on the corner, one leg – rather its stump – tucked in an Army blanket. His bushy white hair hung over his shoulders. His beard nearly covered the sign he held: Old soldier – need shelter and food. He caught Jeanette’s eye, and she looked away quickly.

Jeanette led the twins through the crowd, and pushed them to the front of the Macy’s store window.

It was magical – a Victorian Christmas from long ago. Lights blinked on a fir tree, heavy with cranberry strings and crystal ornaments with red velvet and white lace. Bears rocked on hobby horses, and children in old-fashioned clothing sang carols as the mother played the piano. A fire burned in a fireplace, a toy train chugged in a circle in the corner, and a couple kissed under mistletoe. Stockings hung from the mantel, and Santa Claus peered through the doorway. The room filled Jeanette with a cozy warmth and, yes, a sort of magic. She wanted to crawl in and be a part of it, to hold onto it.

They moved up the street to another store window. The crowd was even thicker here, but she managed to push forward, holding the twins firmly. Jeanette smiled with delight.

It was a Harry Potter window. Now that was magical, she thought. There he was, flying on his broomstick, and over there was Hogwarts School, looming in the dark night like a medieval castle. She found Hermione, her favorite character, raising her hand in class, probably Potions Class. Cool!

Jeanette wanted to fly like Harry and his friends. She wanted to change one thing into another and foretell what would happen next. She wanted a little excitement, and she didn’t want a brother and sister tagging along, rooting her to the earth.

There were fewer people at the next window. She didn’t recall the tiny store, with its red wooden door, its crisscrossed panes of old foggy glass. Why it’s like a gingerbread house, she thought.

She peered in, the twins in front of her, their noses flat against the glass, their fingers spread out to pull themselves closer.

At first, the display seemed to be all trees. How odd, thought Jeanette. Then she looked more closely.

There, deep within the forest, was a path, and the path led to a barn. The barn door was wide open, and inside she could see a light and then a cow and then a sheep. Finally, as her vision sharpened, a pile of hay appeared, and there, cradled on the hay, lay a baby, surrounded by light. A woman bent over the child and a man was gathering more hay. Two men approached the door along the path, set down sheep they carried over their shoulders, and knelt. Three more travelers in purple, red, and green capes walked up the path and entered. They knelt before the baby too, and set down golden gifts. It was a crèche, a manger scene. It was the birth of the Christ Child.

“Wow,” sighed Jeanette. “How did they do that? It’s all so tiny, and it looks so real.”

“Let’s go in!” cried Allison.

“We want to see more!” cried Anthony.

“Okay, but don’t touch anything.”

Jeanette turned toward the red door, but it was nowhere to be found. She shook her head.

“There doesn’t seem to be an entrance,” she said, “and anyway, we need to move along.”

Reluctantly, they walked away, the pull of the forest and the manger lingering like fairy dust. They walked by other windows facing Union Square with its giant Christmas tree. Jeanette felt in her pocket. She still had the twenty-dollar bill she planned to spend on presents for her mother, her father, and the twins. She had saved it from her last allowance and the money she made feeding Father Francis’ cat one weekend. Papa had changed her single dollar bills for the twenty.

As she walked toward the crippled soldier, his mysterious eyes looked up as though she were an angel from heaven and not tall Jeanette in her old rain jacket. She pulled out her twenty and slipped it in the hat.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, and hurried away, dragging the twins and running for the bus.

“Bless you, bless you! And Merry Christmas, child!” he called hoarsely.

Why did I do that? she wondered. How would she buy presents now?

As she boarded the bus, Jeanette’s heart seemed a bit bigger.

“I’ll make you hot chocolate for lunch,” she whispered to the twins.

Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

Trees

he Guardsmen’s tree lot was in the Presidio grounds, the former Army base. Jeanette and her father walked the aisles of firs, as the twins ran in circles, hiding in the trees and squealing. Jeanette took her papa's hand.

“How’s my princess today?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes, his gray streaked hair escaping his Niner’s cap. He was taller than her five-seven, for he stood six-three, and Jeanette felt less like a freak when she walked with her papa.

“Okay, I guess,” she said, looking away.

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. What’s up?”

The sun was out now, and its light reflected on the puddles from the morning rain. The trees glistened.

“It’s just . . . oh, I don’t know . . . I can’t really explain . . .”

“Try.”

“Things aren’t the same anymore. Christmas isn’t the same.”

“Since Santa pays more attention to the twins than to you?”

Jeanette smiled. “Sort of. I know Santa is a kid’s thing, but still, does everything become boring when you get bigger? And don’t go on about my heart opening up.”

Her father chuckled, rubbing his vacation stubble, and glancing around the lot for the twins.

“I wish your mother was here, then we could have a real talk, but she’s a nurse and they need her, especially this time of year. But Ally and Tony are a full-time job – let’s head in their direction. They seem to be near the entrance.”

“I want life to be magical, Papa. Like Harry Potter.”

“Ah, but it is.”

“It is?” Ever since her father took Confirmation classes, he had more answers to her questions.

“You just have to know how to tap into it.”

“Tap into it?”

“Grown-ups have a different word for magic, Jenny – miracles. Magic is for children and the dark side.”

“You believe in the dark side?”

“If there is light there has to be dark, right? The dark side is where there is no light. No God.”

“I suppose so.”

“Jenny,” her father said lifting Allison onto his shoulders and grabbing Anthony’s hand, “God works miracles all the time, and God is real. Not a character in a book. Magic is a poor imitation – its man’s attempt at miracles and a pretty sad attempt at that. And of course Satan’s attempt too.”

Jeanette looked up at him. Once her father didn't believe in God, and now he did. He changed his mind, he said. He opened his heart. She was glad. They went to church together now.

“Like miracles of healing at the hospice?”

“That’s one example. And miracles on the battlefield. For that matter,” he said, looking around at the forest of Christmas firs, “how about the miracle of life itself? Look at these trees!”

Jeanette nodded, noting the setting sun. “Papa, it’s late, and Mama will be home soon. How about the miracle of finding just the right tree?”

“Right. We’d better get on with it. Your mother will have my head if we don’t take care of this today.”

At that moment Anthony escaped his father’s grasp and ran into the trees, squealing, “a puppy, a puppy!”

“This tree is perfect, Papa.”

Jeanette motioned her father over to her. It was perfect, all right – huge and fresh and sparkling with the rain and asking to come home with them. And she had found it.

“It only has one bare spot," Jeanette said, "and we can put that against the window.”

“Isn't it too tall for our bay window?”

“We’ll trim it.”

“Okay, I’ll find the salesman. You find Anthony.”

When Jeanette returned, her father was signing a paper, the tree was tagged with a yellow tape, and Allison was hanging on her father’s leg.

“Papa, I can’t find Anthony anywhere.”

Angels

e’ve done all we can, Annie. We just have to pray and wait,” her father said to her mother. He paced the living room, moving from the window to the fireplace and back again, rubbing his hands, his brow crinkled in worry.

“It’s not your fault,” Jeanette’s mother protested. “You did the best you could – he should have minded you. Running off like that! He knows better.”

Carter Wentworth hung his head and glared at the carpet. He sat on the couch and covered his face with his hands. “I still feel responsible.”

“Mama’s right, Papa," Jeanette said. "Anyway, I distracted you – I should have been watching Anthony too.”

The doorbell rang, and she opened the door. “It’s the tree – they weren’t supposed to deliver until tomorrow.”

Her father directed the young man where to set the tree, gave him a tip, and closed the door after him.

The huge fir filled the bay window, and the room smelled of fresh evergreens.

Carter turned to Annie. “We made a report, and I’m sure we’ll hear soon. Let’s make some cocoa.”

They walked into the kitchen, arms wrapped about one another.

Jeanette cuddled Allison on the couch.

“Where’s Anthony? Did he run away?”

“He’ll be back. Don’t you worry.”

But Jeanette was worried.

She took Allison’s hand and led her behind the tree to the window. The night sky had cleared and a few stars appeared.

“Dear God, bring Anthony home,” Jeanette prayed. “It’s my fault, and I love him. I didn’t mean for him to go away. I really didn’t.” She held Allison’s hand tight.

“See the stars Ally? That’s where the angels live. But sometimes they visit, and we’re going to put lots of angels on our tree. But we’ll wait until Anthony comes home to help us.”

The phone rang, and she heard her father’s voice in the next room.

“You found him? He has a dog? We’ll be right there.”

“We need to go to the station – sounds like our boy, Annie. Jeanette, watch Allison.”

“No, we’re all going,” said Annie, as she ran to the coat closet.

O O O

e said," the officer explained, "that he was following a bright man, a tall man with white wings. Quite an imagination!”

The boy was Anthony all right, and Annie held him tight, crying “my baby, my baby”.

“He wandered into the station," the officer continued, "with this puppy, saying he was looking for a bright man. I’m relieved this lad has found his family.”

“Mama," Anthony wailed, "the bright man is gone! Where did he go?”

Jeanette looked at her father who stared at Anthony. Annie shook her head.

“All I care about," Annie said, "is that Anthony’s safe and sound. Let’s go home.”

Jeanette thought about the “bright man” all evening as they decorated the tree. Was he an angel? She walked to the window and looked into the sky. There was one star that, well, seemed to blink brighter somehow, brighter in kind of a magical way, maybe even a miraculous way. But definitely brighter.

O O O

hat night her father sat at the foot of her bed as she said her prayers.

“Papa, do you believe in angels?”

“I do.”

“Do you think that was an angel that led Anthony to the station?”

“Could have been.”

“What are angels, anyway?”

“Angels are pure spirits, Jenny. But in order to be seen by us they take on a physical form, a temporary form. And good angels are God’s messengers, warriors, and guardians.”

“There are bad angels?”

“Yes indeed. Many were kicked out of heaven with Lucifer in the Great War in Heaven. Some people call them demons or devils. They like to cause trouble among humans.”

“Anthony’s angel must have been good.”

“I should think so – he was bright, a good sign, and he did a good thing. Someday we will know for sure.”

"Did Father Francis teach you all of this?"

Her papa smiled. "He's taught me a good deal, Jenny, and he's given me books to read. He's brought me to Christ – I only wish I had known Our Lord sooner."

"I'm glad you go to church with us now, Papa."

"Me too."

“Now go to sleep, Princess.”

“Papa?” Her eyelids were getting heavy.

“Yes?” He stood at the door, his hand on the light switch.

“Can we keep the puppy?”

“We’ll see, Jenny, but don’t get your hopes up. We barely have room for the five of us. Good night, Princess.”

As he closed the door partially, leaving a shaft of light from the hall, Jeanette recalled her angel adventure last summer in France. Sometimes she thought she had dreamed the whole thing. She hadn’t told her family about it, fearing she would get in trouble, but perhaps Papa would understand.

Shepherds

ageant practice started promptly at two o’clock the following Saturday afternoon. This year Jeanette was a narrator with Sally. After all, they were too old for costumes, and she almost didn’t want to be in it at all.

“You can be First Narrator, Jeanette,” Mrs. Sanderson announced. “We need you. Please?”

It was difficult to say no to Mrs. Sanderson when she smiled up at you so sweetly. Once Jeanette said no to Mrs. Sanderson, and she felt guilty for weeks. Having learned that lesson, she grudgingly said yes, and said she would ask Sally to read the Second Narrator part.

“Think now about the miracle of Christmas,” Mrs. Sanderson said in a hushed voice when the cast was assembled in the front pews of the church.

Jeanette studied the elderly woman. She was short, a bit squat, and probably the oldest person Jeanette knew. No one was sure how old she really was, but she had been at Saint Thomas’ forever. Her hair, or what was left of it, coiled in tiny wisps about her head like cotton batting pulled into strands. Her face was wrinkled like crumpled tissue, and her chin folded into a high collar fastened with a cameo brooch. Her eyes captivated Jeanette, for they were young eyes, baby’s eyes, like blue flowers, and they danced with laughter, as if she had a wonderful secret she couldn’t tell even if she wanted to. If there was a Mrs. Claus, she would be just like Mrs. Sanderson.

Jeanette laid a hand on the knee of each twin squirming beside her and leaned forward to catch what Mrs. Sanderson was saying. Maybe she would explain more about angels.

"So you see, this is the greatest miracle of all, Almighty God became a baby, became one of us. When we tell the Story, we never forget this. It is a magical time, a miraculous time, a holy time. Now,” she concluded as she turned to Father Francis, “would you say a prayer, please, Father, to get us started?”

The practice progressed, and Jeanette read out loud the familiar account in Saint Luke’s Gospel – the announcement of Angel Gabriel, Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem. The Christ Child was born in the stable and an angel raised the star behind the Holy Family.

Allison, one of the heavenly host, followed Angel Gabriel to the shepherds, who were supposed to be warming their hands over an imaginary fire in the center aisle, halfway down. But it seemed there were no shepherds. Mrs. Sanderson acted out the part of the shepherds and promised to find some. Gabriel and his heavenly host led Mrs. Sanderson back to the manger, then the angel with the star led the kings (Anthony was Second King) to offer their gifts and worship the Christ Child. Everyone knelt and sang Silent Night.

Jeanette noticed Anthony could not take his eyes off Gabriel, one of the taller acolytes who played a magnificent angel – glorious and fierce.

“You’re just like the bright man that took me to the police,” he said, poking his leg. “Are you the one?”

“I don’t think so,” Skip said, laughing. “Now why would I take you to the police?” He looked at Jeanette, his eyebrows raised, his hands on his hips. Jeanette shook her head, her cheeks burning, and bundled up the twins. She liked Skip who was home from college for the holidays. But what had Anthony said? That he had seen an angel! Wait until she told Papa.

And the shepherds? How could they have a pageant without shepherds? And that was the last rehearsal, the dress rehearsal. The performance was two days away, Christmas Eve.

“Jeanette, are you caroling with us tomorrow night?” Skip asked, as he stood in front of the door to block the twins from running onto the street.

“I guess so . . . but I thought it was for the college students.”

“Youth too – and I would say you qualify – you’re nearly in high school. We need you! We’re going to include the hospice, our parish mission.”

“My mother volunteers there.”

“I know – so does mine. Shall we meet at the church at seven?”

“Sure.”

O O O

he tree was lit in the bay window when Jeanette, Anthony and Allison climbed the stairs of their small Victorian house. Jeanette was proud of their house. Papa took care to keep the paint up and, although it was small and cramped, it was a friendly house. Tonight the fog blanketed the city, but their bay window sparkled Merry Christmas to the passers-by. Suddenly she recalled she had no presents to give.

The twins ran into the kitchen screaming as her mother announced dinner was ready. Jeanette's parents were going out tonight – a Christmas concert and party. She was babysitting as usual.

O O O

eanette sat in her father’s easy chair and gazed at their tree. The house was dark and her brother and sister were in bed, but the tree was alive with light.

She liked all the meanings of the tree – it made Christmas even more special. The twinkling lights shone like stars. Papa had said that lights on the tree were an old tradition. They represented Jesus as the Light of the World.

The tree itself had its own meanings. The three points – the top and sides – represented the Holy Trinity. And evergreens meant new life, eternal life with God. Trees recalled the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. Jesus was crucified on a tree – the cross beams had once been tree trunks.

The candy canes were the shape of shepherds' crooks. And the three red stripes were another form of the Holy Trinity. The fourth stripe was the blood shed for mankind when Jesus died on the cross, then rose again. White was for the purity, the perfection, of Jesus, and Jeanette thought, maybe his resurrection too. Some even said the shape of the candy cane was an upside down J for Jesus.

The stockings were a J shape too, she thought, as she glanced at the fireplace mantel. Three large hand-knit stockings dangled, waiting to be filled by Saint Nicolas, Santa Claus. Jeanette recalled that long ago Bishop Nicolas left gold for three poor girls during the night. How surprised must have been! Did he still visit on Christmas Eve?

The miniature crèche nestled under the tree, nearly alone in a sea of white felt. Next to the crèche was a poinsettia. Jeanette loved the story of poor Pepita who had nothing to give Baby Jesus in the crèche at church. She made a bouquet from weeds and offered them. She offered her love too. The green leaves turned red and flowered all around the manger. They became poinsettias.

Her mother wouldn’t allow other presents to compete with the crèche, at least not until Christmas Eve. Baby Jesus lay in the stable under the gaze of his mother Mary and his stepfather Joseph. How could God become so small and so poor? What kind of God was He?

Maybe she could make presents this year. Like Pepita.

She could write a poem for her father. He would like that – a poem about angels. And she could do a drawing for her mother – maybe a sketch of the twins. But she would need to buy something for Allison and Anthony. Her $5 allowance came tomorrow. She could buy felt pens and a coloring book for Allison and maybe a ball for Anthony – a punching ball balloon. He loved those. Yes, she would shop tomorrow afternoon with Sally . . .

The lights blinked and she slid lower in the overstuffed chair. The puppy, a spaniel mix with a red wavy coat and floppy ears, nestled under her arm. Her head drooped and she dreamed of tall angels and tiny babies and finding presents in crowded streets.

“Come, Jenny.” It was her father's soft voice. He nudged her awake. “Time for bed. No prayers tonight, sleepy-head.”

Her father and mother helped her up the stairs and she slipped into the cool sheets.

Carols

hey started with O Come O Come Emmanuel, calling God to earth and into their hearts, to ransom captive Israel . . . The fourth Sunday in Advent was, after all, still Advent, and not yet Christmas – but it was close, very close. The Advent Wreath stood on a pedestal to the left of the altar. Three purple candles and one rose candle flamed above the greens. During Advent another candle was lit each week, as they waited for the coming of the Christ Child in the manger.

At home Jeanette lit the candles on their wreath. Then her parents said special Advent, or "Coming", prayers. The twins opened a tiny window on their Advent calendars.

Jeanette knelt in the pew between her mother and father – the fifth pew back, Gospel side, their usual place – and stared at the altar. The vestry and altar guild had decorated the day before. Poinsettias clustered at the foot of the altar. Two Douglas firs, lit with tiny white lights, stood at each end. The tabernacle, a marble house embedded with blue stones, had a bronze door, and a red candle burned alongside. Jeanette knew the candle meant the Reserved Sacrament, the Real Presence of Christ, was in the tabernacle.

Was Christ really there? Jeanette thought he was, but had difficulty understanding how. She wanted to know, to be certain. She had often knelt in the pew and stared at the tabernacle and wondered. When she received Communion – the sacred Host and the transformed Wine, the Body and Blood of Christ Himself – she believed and yet didn’t believe, she knew but yet wasn’t certain. How could such a thing be possible?

They ended the service with the first carol of the season, O Come All Ye Faithful. Tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, they would sing many more.

O O O

e still don’t have shepherds," Skip said that evening. They walked the five blocks to the hospice, a home for cancer and AIDS patients, staffed by volunteers.

Jeanette enjoyed walking with Skip. Sally, her bushy red hair tied back in a wide band, walked on her other side, in awe that Skip was speaking to them at all. That afternoon Jeanette had to shush her in the Art Mart where they were shopping for gifts. “A college man! Gee, Netty, you really lucked out – Skip likes you! And he’s kind of cute in a nerdy sort of way . . . Skip and Netty, Skip and Netty, Skip and Netty!”

“He’s just a friend," Jeanette had whispered through her teeth. "Kind of an older brother. Anyway he’s way, way, way too old. Our mothers know each other from the hospice, that’s all. And don’t call me Netty anymore – I’m going by Jeanette, after my aunt in France.”

Now the three friends approached the busy lights and traffic of Fillmore Street. Holiday decorations were strung high across the intersection, and shoppers rushed from corner to corner, store to store. Taxis honked, and double-parked cars blocked traffic. The air was damp from the evening fog. Jeanette looked at Skip.

“No shepherds," she repeated. "Do you think Mrs. Sanderson will find anybody?”

“She usually does," Skip said. "One year she appointed – or some say anointed, ha ha – two vestry members and shoved robes on them. They say she has a closet of adult costumes to fall back on. And no one has the courage to say no to Mrs. Sanderson.”

“You’re right about that,” replied Jeanette.

Skip Lewis walked with assurance, she thought, as though his legs owned the sidewalk. His blonde hair was short, and his wire rim glasses made him appear older than eighteen.

They entered a large multi-purpose room where paper holly hung from the ceiling and walls. A scraggly Christmas tree stood in the center, its red balls weighing down the few branches, its tinsel uneven and bunched. Some of the patients sat in wheelchairs, some in folding chairs, and some stood in the back with the attendants.

The fifteen carolers took their places in front. They began to sing, holding their leaflets in front of them. After the first carol, they processed into the corridors past the rooms of the bedridden. They sang about the coming of God on earth, and the sick men and women welcomed the hymns of hope. The acrid air smelled of bedpans and rubbing alcohol.

It came upon a midnight clear,

That glorious sound of old,

From angels bending near the earth

To touch their harps of gold:

“Peace on the earth, good will to men,

From heaven’s all-gracious King.”

The world in solemn stillness lay

To hear the angels sing . . .

The thin and gray patients leaned forward, gratefully. These carols, sung again and again, wove their past into their present, reassuring them with God's love.

Jeanette’s heart opened, and she sensed angels hovering over the sick, brushing them lightly with their wings. It was magical. She looked at Skip as he began Silent Night, and thought she saw a tear in the corner of his eye. He blinked, glanced at her, and smiled awkwardly.

Jeanette glimpsed her mother in the crowd. When they had finished singing, Annie pushed an old man in a wheelchair toward them.

“Jeanette, I would like you to meet our latest guest, Henry Nickleston. He enjoyed your performance. Henry, this is my daughter, Jeanette.”

He looked up at Jeanette, and Jeanette stepped back, startled.

It was the crippled soldier in front of Macy’s.

He smiled a toothless grin.

“Why,” he said, his voice hoarse, “we’ve had the pleasure already, it seems. A good day to you, Lassie.” He touched his head as though taking off his hat in salute.

“Yes,” said Jeanette, recovering. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Nickleston.”

Jeanette’s mother looked at her for an explanation, but Jeanette merely smiled.

“I’m sorry you're sick,” she added.

“Ah, yes, I am too. It’s much better in here though, is it not, Jeanette?” He tapped his nose with his secret knowledge.

“Uh . . . yes, it is . . . It must be.”

“Did Mrs. Sanderson find her shepherds, Jeanette?” asked her mother.

“I don’t think so.” She couldn’t stop staring at Henry Nickleston.

“Maybe some of our patients would like to play the parts. Not all of them are in wheelchairs.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Nickleston cried, chuckling and patting his ample stomach. “Why, I should enjoy that immensely! I once played Saint Nicolas, a long time ago. Carried presents, I did! Wore a long red velvet robe, even, and taped on a beard! Ha! Ha! Don’t need to tape on a beard today! Ha! Ha!” As Mr. Nickleston laughed, tears streamed down his leathery cheeks. Jeanette noticed his eyes were green with gold flecks.

“I guess so," she said. "You could ask Mrs. Sanderson, Mama.”

“I shall. And maybe we could have a Saint Nicolas? After all he was a real bishop who gave presents to young people. He could come to worship the Christ Child as well.”

“Yes! Ha! Ha! Presents to young people,” repeated Mr. Nickleston, nearly choking in his glee.

“We must go now, Henry,” Annie said as she turned his chair toward the rooms, “and Jeanette, be home by ten.”

“I’ll see she is, Mrs. Wentworth.” Skip loomed behind her.

Jeanette smiled and waved, and the carolers headed for their next stop, the children’s ward at Good Samaritan.

Jeanette’s Christmas

hristmas Eve was clear and cold. Jeanette helped her mother dress the twins, and they shared vegetable soup and sandwiches before heading for Saint Thomas’ 5:30 Mass and Pageant.

Jeanette checked herself in the hall mirror. She and Sally agreed to wear white shirts and black skirts. Jeanette had pulled her long auburn hair back like Sally did, tying it in a red band. Her throat was dry. What if she left out a word or mispronounced something? She tried to think of the real Christmas, the coming of God to earth. But her mind returned to where she would be within the hour – speaking in front of over a hundred people!

Why had she ever said yes to Mrs. Sanderson?

As they walked down their front steps, Jeanette looked up at the bay window with the tree sparkling its colored lights onto the sidewalk. She tried to see the stars in the clear night sky, but the city lights obscured most of them. Still, one shone brightly. She breathed deeply and sighed. This night was more magical than other nights. She could imagine Harry and Hermione flying in this sky, a sky of blue-black and icy air that slapped your cheeks. Anthony and Allison would be looking for signs of Santa on his sleigh.

They walked up the street to Saint Thomas’ and heard the organ and choir practicing as they approached. The first Noel, the angels did say . . .

Her mother led Allison, and her father led Anthony, and Jeanette walked behind as usual, but tonight she didn’t mind. Someone or Something different was with her tonight. Perhaps it was the anticipation of Christmas morning and gifts under the tree, the surprise of unwrapping, that moment of not knowing, then knowing. Perhaps it was her new friendship with Skip. Perhaps it was her heart, which did indeed seem larger. She began to hum The first Noel . . .

They entered and knelt in their pew before the altar.

“Look!” Jeanette whispered, pointing.

On the altar, in front of the tabernacle, a bit to the left, were three ceramic kings, with their robes of green and red and purple. To the right stood three ceramic shepherds, their sheep at their feet. One shepherd carried a lamb on his shoulders. They gazed through the open tabernacle doors.

Inside the marble house lay the Christ Child. Mary and Joseph knelt before him. Behind the tabernacle rose a monstrance, a holder for the Reserved Host, and it shown like a star.

“Yes,” Jeanette thought, her heart opening like a flower. It’s just like the manger at Union Square, the one in the house that disappeared. Only now I understand! The miracle of Christmas happens in every Mass! The Presence of Christ is right there in the tabernacle . . . and real.

They listened to the Epistle and Gospel readings and Father Francis began his announcements.

“Welcome to the Feast of the Incarnation, the Festival of the Love of God . . .”

O O O

eanette took her place with Sally at the pulpit and began the Story:

The Angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary . . .

As she read, she understood with her heart. She knew that God was indeed among them, and in them, in the Mass. She knew he loved them so much, that he did this humble thing and did it again and again. And she knew that all the Christmas excitement – the surprise presents hidden in their wrappings, the lights, the tree, the singing – all of these things were how people expressed the mystery of the Incarnation, God becoming a poor human baby.

This was the miracle of Christmas. For indeed, it was a miracle.

Jeanette and Sally read the Story, and soon the Baby Jesus, pulled from Mary’s robe, lay in a wicker basket at the foot of the altar. Joseph knelt at Mary’s side and an angel held the star high behind them. The front doors of the church opened and tall shepherds shuffled in, leaning on their canes, and knelt before the Baby. The last shepherd rolled in a wheelchair. He wore a red robe and held a sack of gifts, his white beard falling to his waist. It was Mr. Nickleston, and he winked at Jeanette.

Anthony walked solemnly down the aisle with the other kings. He stared at the red-robed shepherd. “Wow,” he whispered, pointing to Mr. Nickleston.

Everyone sang Silent Night, and Jeanette trembled with happiness, for the love of God was all around her. This was a holy, magical night, and – she was certain – a miraculous night. Surely angels danced in the air, suspended and shimmering about the tabernacle.

O O O

hristmas morning Jeanette stood before the tree in the bay window. She held Allison and Anthony’s hands, and they held their mother’s and father’s. They sang Hark the Herald Angels Sing. She didn't want Christmas to end, and she was glad it would last twelve more days. Her papa said they were going to do something special each of the twelve days until Epiphany.

She did indeed receive her slim cell phone. She even liked the box of thank you notes from her Aunt Jeanne-Marie. Allison and Anthony gave her a set of watercolors as they did every year. Saint Nicolas remembered her too – with a pearl necklace. They decided, when the family voted (the twins got five votes each, Jeanette thirteen, and her papa and mama thirty-five), to keep the puppy and name him Angelo.

Jeanette wondered about the window in Union Square in the store with no door – the store was gone when she returned to look for it. And what about Anthony’s bright man? Could he have been an angel? She had told her parents about her summer angel adventure and they had nodded happily, but did they really believe her? And Mama said Mr. Nickleston had disappeared without a trace. “They often do that,” she said sadly.

Harry and Hermione paled in comparison – they were only in a book.

One thing for sure, Jeanette had magic in her life that Christmas, or maybe, now, she would call such magic miracles. And on Sunday, the miracle of Christmas would come again. And then again and again in each Mass. Perhaps that was the best miracle of all.

Indeed, Jeanette’s heart grew large that Christmas, and her life would never again be boring.

The End

Notes

The Twelve Days of Christmas

The Twelve Days of Christmas run from December 25 through January 6, the Feast of Epiphany. It is said that the popular carol The Twelve Days of Christmas arose as a teaching tool in the sixteenth century. Some interpretations include:

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me. The true love is the Christian faith; the Church.

A partridge in a pear tree. The one true God; Christ on the cross.

Two turtledoves. The Old and New Testaments inspired by the dove of the Holy Spirit.

Three French hens. The Holy Trinity: The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Four colley birds. The four evangelists: Mathew, Mark, Luke, John; the four gospels.

Five gold rings. The Pentateuch, the first five books of the Old Testament.

Six geese a-laying. The six jars of water at Cana turned into wine; the six days of creation.

Seven swans a-swimming. The seven sacraments.

Eight maids a-milking. The beatitudes.

Nine ladies dancing. The nine choirs of angels.

Ten lords a-leaping. The Ten Commandments.

Eleven pipers piping. The eleven disciples left after Judas' betrayal.

Twelve drummers drumming. The twelve tribes of Israel or twelve apostles.

The Feast of Epiphany

January 6

The Feast of the Epiphany celebrates the visit of the Wise Men to the Christ Child. For many years it was also the day of gift giving, because of the gifts these eastern magi brought to the new king.

The name epiphany means manifestation, or revelation. Jesus is revealed to the world as the Son of God.

An Epiphany tradition often includes baking cakes with coins in them.

Stories in the Jeanette Series

Jeanette's Summer

Jeanette’s Birthday (Number One)

Jeanette must celebrate her thirteenth birthday in a strange castle in France and without her papa. What mysteries lie in this ancient chateau?

Jeanette’s Treasure (Number Two)

At her aunt’s ancient castle, the Chateau Saint Martin, Jeanette and Emile search for the lost treasure of the Knights Templars. What awaits them in their search?

Jeanette’s Secret (Number Three)

Jeanette searches for the ancient hermit Anthony in the mountains above the Chateau Saint Martin. What secret does she discover?

Jeanette’s Angel (Number Four)

Jeanette sails to the holy island of Lèrins, where she searches for treasure and finds something – or someone – else instead.

Jeanette's Festivals of the Church Year

Jeanette's Christmas (Number Five)

Jeanette learns the true magic of Christmas

at home in San Francisco.

Jeanette's Easter (Number Six)

Jeanette discovers the true meaning of Easter.

Jeanette's Hallowe'en (Number Seven)

Jeanette discovers the mysteries of

Hallowe'en and the Feast of All Saints.