A Christmas Story

aivs jr&ivHii\cei\se 73t£ Kathleen B. Nelson LARISE made a grimace at the heater with its isin- glass front. The fire-light grin- ned back at her. Clarise was not happy with that pre- Christmas exuberance usual to her, but her un- happiness was not bad enough for the luxury of despair nor the cool- ing depths of sorrow. It was just plain uncomfortable, something laying hands on her smug opti- mism and flaying her responsibility side. In the thirty Christmases she re- membered of her thirty-four years, none had ever shown so little promise as the forthcoming one. Christmas only five days off and she floundering for cheer. It was incredible. Could it be she was growing old? Nc iO! That was not it. Hastily she arose to her own defense. This morning her mind had been full of happy plans. It was only since she had run down to the store for that ribbon that things had changed. It was in the air — that's what it was. The air was thick with the query, "What's the use?" In her daily occupation of building up this Christmas fan- tasy for the children, how slow she had been to sense that the vil- lage was numb with helplessness. The first of the month the paper mill had closed down. That meant every man in the village except the postmaster was out of a job. Clarise Williams was a school- marm with an ungraded school of eighteen pupils. She had been a teacher for fourteen years but this ungraded school was a new expe- rience. New experience, new sur- roundings— it was the desire for these that had brought her here. When her mother died the previous spring she had felt she must get away from all dear familiar things, so here she was. There were no relatives to consult. She was the last of the family. There had been friends — many of them — always. Her mother kept open house for her friends, not only in holiday season but all the year round. What happy times they had had! But when one is thirty-four most of one's friends have made permanent attachments and have to go out of their way to include one in their number. The last few years Cla- rise had felt this. She always sent their children some little remem- brances at Christmas. She gave careful consideration to the smallest gift and dispatched them trustfully with the postman who charged nothing extra for the weight of love in each. IT was Saturday morn- ing and she had just been finishing a perky little apron for Dotty Ma- son. She had run to the only store two blocks away to get some rib- bon for the ties. When she en- tered the store she was struck by the unwonted quiet. Three men were drawn up around the red-hot stove. Mrs. Larsen in a purple crocheted hug-me-tight sat with her plump hands before her on the counter. The Saturday before Christmas and nobody buying a thing! pected to see the usual small town array. "Ain't got none!" "Not any little things — dolls — and trains — and balls — things for the children to buy?" "What for?" "Why, to make it seem like Christmas," lamely from Clarise. "No. As soon as I heard the mill wuz to close I cancelled my order." "Oh-h." It was a long drawn out, the real situation slowly sink- ing in. One of the men laughed. Clarise took her ribbon and de- parted. As the door was closing she heard one of the men mock, "To make it seem like Christmas!" She felt like she had had a bat- tle and come off the loser. M lOW as she sat in the rented room that was home, tack- ing the bows on the little apron all her eagerness had left her. What was the sense in her making pres- ents for children who had every- thing while her own — her roomful of little trusting children went without Christmas? It wasn't as if they were expect- ing nothing. Whatever Clarise did she did with her whole soul. Im- mediately Thanksgiving was over, every day had been filled with these suggestions of Christmas — pic- tures, songs, stories, poems, games — little gifts for parents and broth- ers and sisters. Everything antici- pative of the great holiday. T Wi HERE are your toys?" Clarise inquired. She ex- HIS Christmas at- mosphere. Clarise loved and made everyone else love it. It would be hard to make one understand how much Christmas meant to Clarise — that is, one to whom it was only the 25 of December and a big hole in the bank account. Santa Claus was as real to her as to her little

The Improvement Era for December, 1929 107 charges. When she first mentioned Santa Claus in school the older children laughed knowingly but one by one they had drawn into the magic circle. It was so much more fun to be on the inside look- ing out. "A little thoughtfulness is all it takes to make a child hap- py." That was her philosophy, but after her trip to the store Clarise doubted. Always before she had taught in select residence districts. This problem of bread and butter was only a general one. She hadn't realized that the closing of a mill could literally behead, Santa Claus. And she had gone 051 encouraging her trusting brood in their shy confidence. Plainly it was her responsibility to see that they were not disappointed. Something must be done. But what? She could not give the men work. Impa- tiently she threw the unfinished apron on the table and began walking about the room. It was a pleasant room with a bay win- dow in one end and a heater in the other — the only trouble being, these cold days, that these two points of interest were rather far apart. In the window-seat was a basket bulging with multi-colored yarns — leftovers from her pulled- rug venture. The yarn gave Cla- rise her happy thought, and she was putting on her rubbers in a jiffy and walking briskly around to Mrs. Swenson's in the next block. When she emerged half an hour later you could tell Clarise had started something. "Be sure and tell them to bring all their bright colored scraps and needles and thread and think-caps," Mrs. \ A Swenson her. called after A .T two-thirty that afternoon the work party at Miss Williams' was get- ting well under way. The older children and the men were at home to tend babies so the women were unencumbered. At two-fifteen Mrs. Elston came puffing in with a twenty pound baby. "I just had to bring him. Sam went up the mountain for a Christmas tree." "A Christmas tree," laughed Annie Waite. "What do you want a Christmas tree for?" "For the baby of course." A SNORT from An- nie, "A four-month's old baby, what does he know about Christ- mas trees?" "Not as much as he's going to by a darn sight. We've been mar- ried eight years and this is the first Christmas we've had a kid and we're going to have a tree, work or no work. It's our first real Christ- mas." Mrs. Elston spoke fiercely and Mrs. Swenson hastened to in- tervene. "You're right, Sadie. None of the children is going without Christmas if we can help it. Now each one of you, I hope, has an idea for something to please them." Mrs. Scheimer had many ideas — many more than she could make intelligible in English. She had worked in a toy factory in Berlin. But she had brought materials to demonstrate at least one idea — spools, buttons, wooden beads, string. "I make one doll to make you laff." Busily she set to work. Everyone was busy — every one talking at once. Happy as little children — perhaps happier, seeing their ideas grow in- to concrete expression. One wom- an was fashioning a wonderful dog with shoe-button eyes from a piece of astrachan coating. In the hands of the two others an old piece of white plush washed soft and silky was inspiration for adorable bun- nies and kittens. The rag dolls under Clarise's supervision were emerging gay marvels in their bright crocheted dresses. Mrs. Scheimer was gesticulating wildly with her hands touching the smooth surface of the door, rubbing her cheeks. Paint — that was what she wanted — finally they understood. Mrs. Swenson said she had half a can of white enamel and while she went to get it Clarise rifled her •'.: .•'.'- .." . .■« -. .'s ••.'.••MB i>-»«al >•'.':.• china painting outfit for colors and brushes^ Mrs. Scheimer proved a wizard with paint. She could make a clothes pin look like a movie vamp or a Methodist minister. The only trouble was lack of materials on which to experiment. Mrs. Huiser said her husband whittled all kinds of wooden toys. Had a whole box full of them. "He make 'em, I paint 'em. We go partners." 1 HE short December afternoon was over. The lights were turned on. Most of them stayed long past supper time. "Let the men folks see what an easy time we have at home all day long." Mrs. Jacobs was talking in an undertone to her neighbors. "I tries to be savin' but it don't do no good. Ike never gives me a cent and when I go an' charge things he says, 'Minnie throws more out the back door than I can haul in the front door with a wheel barrow.' Men don't appreciate and they haven't the feelin's for their kids." "Ah, come on, Minnie. You don't mean that. It ain't only the mothers that like to see their kids happy. Sometimes I have to snoop a nickel here and mebbe a dollar somewhere's else to get enough together to buy 'em some- thing they wants. That's the way it was with Freddie's wagon. If I'd come and asked Rube to get it he'd a thundered his head off, but I went about it quiet and when I'd got enough, (I didn't dare take it all out of one check) I went and bought it. Rube was tickled'er

108 The Improvement Era for December, 1929 than the kid with it. Couldn't wait 'til morning for him to try it. Had to go in and pull 'im out of bed." 'They're all alike — my Chris — " 'Yes, but bein' out of work weighs heavy on 'em. They can't forget there's nothing comin' in." "Cept the wolf, as my old man sez." "What about faith? If you women don't have faith your men are beaten before they start. I tell you something will happen and the men won't have to leave home to find work!" Ji Mf LRS. Swenson tried to steer them from that disagreeable sub- ject. "Len got a good one on me the other day," she said. "I was brag- gin' I never wasted anything. 'Why, Maria,' he sez, 'You waste more breath than anyone I ever new. The brief laugh was not enough to change the train of thought. "These things we are making are all right for the little children, but they're not going to take the place of skates and sleds and books for the older ones. We're not actually suffering but the men will not spend money for such things with no work in sight." It was Mrs. Taylor who spoke. She had worked busily all afternoon with- out saying much. She hoped the doll she had made would please some little one. It did not solve her individual problem. "We must be hopeful." This from Clarise. "Even now some- thing might happen before Christ- mas." "What could happen?" "Well, I've heard of mountains being moved." "We don't want a mountain moved, dear Miss Williams, just something to cheer the men up. There's no chance for Christmas spirit with them all so sullen." "Bein' a father's hard work sometimes — especially at Christ- mas." "Yes, I know. But let's just think everything is going to be all right. The mill may re-open." "The last of the year!" They regarded her pityingly. Whatever she knew about school teaching she knew very little about mill owners. PERHAPS their atti- tude sprung defiance in Clarise. Whatever it was she was startled at her own ringing words. Clarise dropped into bed and slept the sleep of the blessed. When she opened her eyes it was broad daylight and much lighter than usual, for the ground was covered with snow. Through half open lids Clarise noted the feathery flakes, then dozed off again. She was so tired and it was so pleasant to lie half asleep and half awake. It snowed all day. Clarise did not leave the house. The unchal- lenged quiet was heavenly. Truly it was a day of rest. Her spirit felt bathed and refreshed. She wrote some letters and addressed some Christmas cards. Just before dark she walked out on the porch. The sky fairies still seemed to be shaking their giant sifter. The white peace that stretched as far as eye could reach was only rivaled by the peace in her heart. How different the feverish haste of yes- terday— and tomorrow, back into the battle, but today that did not matter. IN EXT morning up and making ' her own fire before daylight she was startled by a man whistling happily. Looking out she saw Timothy Waite shovel- ing a path to her door. The snow was above his knees. "A job at last," he shouted see- ing Clarise framed in the doorway. "Sure some snow!" It was indeed, breaking all pre- vious records. It stopped for about two hours, while the men worked clearing paths. Then it began again. The children were wild with delight. The paths, with the snow piled high on either side, be- came new mysterious alley ways. It was snowing at recess but there was no keeping them inside. , UST before noon when Clarise was giving the high class spelling, there came a crack- ing, thunderous sound. Then men ran past the school-house. Clarise was frightened, but she managed to answer the children's frightened questionings with a re- assuring smile. John :Blum, oldest boy in the school was hastily dis- patched to find out what it was all about. He was not long in returning. "It's the warehouse roof," he an- nounced breathlessly. "The snow's caved it in." Now there was work and work aplenty. They turned out to a man and worked, regardless of wages. 'Til after dark they were removing the snow and debris. It had cleared off and was freezing hard. As _^S Clarise walked home, fragrant odors of baking and frying came from the clustered cabins. She sensed the change in the village. There was stir and excitement. The apathy caused by three weeks enforced idleness was broken. Later she heard the men shouting, laughing, even singing as they came home from the mill. Mrs. Swenson had gone in to make a fire so Clarise came home to meet cheer. "How's the miracle- maker," laughed her neighbor. Clarise was at a loss to catch her meaning. "You're not going to deny that you prophesied something would happen, are you?" "Well, has it?" "Well, hasn't it? The men are working. You must have prayed hard." "Not for the warehouse roof to fall in." G -LARISE could not help laughing. The mill owner would never feel the loss. Doubt- less it was controlled by Eastern capital. But Mrs. Swenson was pouring a steady stream of con- versation. "They'll get it all cleared out tonight. It's a blessing it's quit snowing. They'll start on the new (Continued on page 168)