Volume 6, Number 9 - Fall 1978
How Could a Little Girl Stand Anymore?
by Marie M. Booth
The thin December day began in the dark with a brisk rustle. Scurrying about from room to room, whispers darting under crackling paper, the aunts finally got three sleepy children dressed -- not for the entire day! Oh no, for tonight was Christmas Eve!
The smell of breakfast came floating up the broad stairway. The sting of cold lingered in the big high-ceilinged bedrooms, so giggling and hugging the undressed part of ourselves, and streaking over the icy floors we made for the big black potbellied stove in the dining room.
Um-mum-mm-m! Hot oatmeal and biscuits -- sausage and eggs, pancakes and molasses -- gotta hurry! Christmas Eve morning and the excitement was enough to make a feller pop!
Mama and Papa and Grandpa seated in the high-back chairs at the long white table were already eating that delicious breakfast. The twin aunts were keeping a nervous eye on the kids -- seemed no one wanted us near the living room. The girls darted in and out of the yellow circle of lamp light, shooing us away from interesting doors and corners, muscling us to the table and ordering, "Now, eat! We have things to do today."
My brothers and I didn’t need threats. Grandma Van, starchy and combed, came gliding in from the kitchen with steaming bowls of oatmeal and piles of hot biscuits.
It was the year 1912 and sugar was plentiful, but sugar or molasses or maple syrup -- as long as it was on oatmeal -- along with cream-really made no difference to us.
The cold red dawn was fingering it’s way into the East windows when the big uncle came galumping down the stairs. He’d tried for the part in his hair, but combing in the dark he’d missed the back and succeeded in parting two black wings over his brows. I was four years old, and I never knew what to do with this handsome fellow. My feminine wiles didn’t work on him but neither did my baby tricks. Most of the time he simply irritated me by picking on me -- or ignoring me. This morning he was glum and limpy like my rag doll. I avoided him.
"Red sky in the morning -- sailors take warning..."the cheerful chant went up from the weather forecasters. Papa nodded sagely, standing at the window, scanning the wild red sky, "Yup," he said, "It’ll snow before night."
"Yippee!" the kids took up the chant, "Red sky in the morning, snow before night…
The cold hushed in. The red faded to gray, spreading its echoing dome ever closer over tree tops. Scrappy little birds fed, and squirrels on the alert, flicked their way to buried nuts, then chattered back up the nearest tree.
With the first lazy flakes, we children were locked into the wonder and hush of the snow storm. We pressed to the windows to watch the crisscross patterns dizzying the whole world, and laying white upon white.
Then we exploded, hooded and mittened, into the purity. Voices carried in a strange clarity -- harshness was muffled out and gaiety became sweet.
The twin aunts, Jess-n-Edna, and Aunt Gladys, breathed a sigh of relief to get us out from under foot. They were responsible for the Christmas Eve program at the church.
"Oh goodie! Could we go and help?" we begged.
"No!"
The little chapel was just around the square and a block down on the river street, and if they hurried they could get everything done before the snow got so deep.
We watched them cut across the court house lawn, carrying their baskets and boxes, their ridiculously stylish black hats doing nothing for cold ears, and their long dark coats flicking up the snow with every step. They came and went, carrying boxes and things. Hurrying to beat the snow, they failed to cover all the boxes, so once in a while we caught a glimpse of a tantalizingly be-ribboned box, or candles or striped candy. Why then, the closed living room door. What was in there? we puzzled.
By noon everyone was exhausted, Grandma Van had decided that Christmas Eve dinner would be at mid-day, because after all, there was the doin’s at the church and getting everybody ready and all.
Bursting into the warm dining room, shedding wet mittens and coats behind the black stove, we eyed that big, long everlastingly white table. Candles even, instead of lamps -- pickles and butter and apple sauce -- The aunts came and hustled us around to make room behind the stove for their wet feet.
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But "Oh my," they signed," it is all finished at the church!"
Mary Vanzandt, every wisp of white hair pulled to the top, called the family for dinner. We rattled into our places. I sat on a Montgomery Ward catalog. Grandpa muttered a blessing through his walrus moustache -- and there it was; chicken pie, mashed potatoes, home-made bread, and Grandma’s famous angel food cake. Grandma Van could bake an angel cake that made the angels smile.
Warm and happy -- and being only four -- I must have fallen asleep, listening to the clinking of dished and the chatter from the kitchen.
I came awake to sounds that were not kitchen talk. Big spats and bangs and laughing -- and smells! Hurrying to the door, I saw the aunts and the uncle, and my brothers slapping taffy candy and pulling against each other. The long ropes of sweet were turning from dark to light creamy stuff. The clowning uncle went into a jig, passing and wrapping the girls as he went. My brothers were licking the taffy pans. Heaps of popcorn tumbled from Mama’s skillet. Would I ever live through the tingle -- the shout and laugh that never got past my stomach? And there was yet Christmas morning, after Santa came -- in the night-in the snow. I hugged myself, I hugged my Mama, my Jess-n-Edna. I nosed through my brothers’ frowns to get some of the taffy pan.
It seemed late. The lamps were burning. Sky and earth were one in a deep blue-white blurr. Irrational snow caps were forming on everything. But it was only 3:30 -- a long walk for the church program.
If the sun ever goes down on a memory, it should have set at 5:00 o’clock, but it was deep dark at 5:00, and having delivered a timely Christmas gift, the clouds gathered up their fluff and stood a little aloft in a black cover, as if to watch the earth enjoy the gift.
Snow too deep to go to the church on Christmas Eve? Unthinkable! No one mentioned it, No one expected to get cold, or damp feet, or get chills, or take pneumonia!
My new red velvet dress was bundled under a soft brown velvet coat. Then came the button leggings over high top shoes. Snuggling hands and chin into a fluffy white muff and scarf, I was ready to go.
We kicked the snow off the broad wooden steps as we left the porch. Every clear word startled us slightly. We were dark cloaked figures punctuating the long, pink fingers of house lights that lay across the blue velvet snow. Uncle Glendle, anchored on each side by a small boy, was horsing around with them when Mama called out, "Don’t get their pants wet!"
Around the square we layed down the first prints in the white icing. Even before we turned off the square, the church bells were ringing -- ringing softly.
The ridiculously tiny stone chapel with every arched window ablaze with light was piled with snow. Its steeple filagreed with the new snow, reached up and up. It should stop in a little while; any church can only have a steeple to match its size. But tonight that bell-ringing, finger-pointing steeple seemed to pierce the black sky above. The mass of ivy hugging the walls, was pouffed with snow.
On the inside all my vital functions stopped! I was only dimly aware that my aunts had turned and were watching my reactions. The tree- Oh-h-h-h-h-h, that tree-reached to the sky! It was ablaze with candles. Again, I was only dimly aware that two men stood on either side with the tools to snuff out a fire.
Way up in the middle, smack in the front was the most beautiful doll -- pink dress, pink bonnet -- I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
When I was finally urged to bend into a sitting position, I found myself on the end of the pew.
Big boys and girls spoke little pieces, little girls and boys spoke and sang little pieces. My Aunt Jess played the violin, then the piano and everybody sang Christmas carols.
It gave me time to see something beside the doll. I noticed some of the packages the aunts carried out that afternoon, and the peppermint candy sticks hung on the limbs. On a table in the front were packages and things -- but one thing was a little oil lamp just exactly like Mama’s, except it was pink glass. All the while I was being scanned with indulgent smiles.
The program was over. Some man got up to read off the names -- "since Santa wouldn’t fly over in his sleigh until much later tonight." Aunt Edna was to hand the gifts to the reader. She picked up the little pink lamp and flashing a "See-what-you-got" look at me, the man read, "Marie Melton"/
My brother bumped me off the end of the pew so hard I almost fell in the aisle. The man stood beaming, and Aunt Edna, forgetting there were other packages, tip-toed to grin at me and
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watch me falter my way to the front. The knuckle on my index finger clamped firmly between my teeth kept me from running -- somewhere. Cupping the pink hob-nail bowl in bath hands, and breathing a thank you, I moved softly to keep the jar of my footsteps from toppling the tiny frosted lamp chimney.
Names were called. My brothers were busy with their gifts. Other people were receiving and opening their packages. I was so happy with my gift I could look at all the other happy gifts.
Then a lull came, and the man was saying, "We have saved one thing for the last." I looked up -- it was the beautiful doll. Not so rigid anymore, I glanced around to see which little girl would walk to the front and wrap that doll up in her arms. The man stepped on the table to reach the doll down. He turned, cleared his throat- the hush was painful-and read.
"Marie Melton!"
My head went back against the high wooden pew with a thump. I dug both fists into my eyes to keep the tears back. Even my brother was awed -- this time he didn’t bump me out into the aisle, he cupped his hand over my shoulder gently. But I still couldn’t move. Trembling, I pulled myself up, but Aunt Edna, in her eagerness to see my face, hurried down the aisle, thrust the doll into my arms and kissed me.
As I said, how could I ever stand such joy, such surprises -- and there was still Santa, and morning-and how could a little girl stand any -- more?
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