Clarissa lay in bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin, seeing the moon as a silver ornament hung in the sky. Christmas Eve was like a breath held in all over the world. She imagined reindeer, foxes and bears in the woods dropping to their knees at the stroke of midnight in honor of Jesus's birthday. Maybe even husky dogs would kneel in their kennels. The wonder of Christmas made Clarissa's fingers and toes tingle. Her gaze stayed on the window: any time now, she might see the hooves of Santa's reindeer.
There's no point
in having an imagination if you can't use it
, she thought. A cloud â or maybe Santa and his sleigh â crossed the moon, and darkness covered the window, filling the room and settling against her face like dark velvet. She fell asleep thinking of Christmas Day as a gift-wrapped box, its string ready to be burst and Christmas unwrapped.
It seemed that she had just fallen asleep when she woke up to a rustle in the dormitory. Her eyelashes lifted enough for her to see what had awakened her. Miss Elizabeth stood in the doorway holding a lamp while Missus Frances tiptoed to each bed, laying a Christmas stocking on the foot of it. Clarissa didn't wonder why Missus Frances was in the room and not Santa. Santa was only as real as her imagination; she closed her eyes and pretended it was Santa who was leaving the stockings.
Clarissa drifted back to sleep and dreamed that Santa had brought her a stocking full of reindeer turds. She stirred to the clanging of the bell as the dark drifts of night disappeared. There was a sudden clatter of voices in the hall. Some children were already on their way downstairs.
Clarissa sat on her bed and lifted her Christmas stocking. Inside were an orange, an apple and some peanuts. She pulled out the orange wrapped in a tissue handkerchief and bit into it to pull off the rind; orange zest sprayed the cold air. Its scent mingled with the cool sweet scent of the apple. She knew the apple would have the star of Bethlehem in its centre. She would eat it and the peanuts later.
Becky came into the bath and toilet room while Clarissa was brushing her teeth. “I saw Missus Frances put the Christmas stockings on our beds,” she said, sounding disappointed.
Clarissa shrugged. “You can't expect Santa to fill stockings and do everything else. Besides, where would
he
get apples and oranges â and peanuts? He can't grow fruit and peanuts at the North Pole. You'll get a Christmas box downstairs.”
Becky's freckled face relaxed and she went off to catch up with Imogene and the other girls, who had already left to go downstairs. Clarissa was left alone to take her time. She could hear the strains of the children's favourite carol, “Away in a Manger,” from the Victrola as she made her way slowly down the steps. Someone was playing an accordion, too, but the sound was nothing more than a cough and a wheeze.
Most of the older children were in the hall when Clarissa got there. She accepted her slice of buttered bread for breakfast and waited for the dining room doors to open.
There were gasps as one child after another rushed into the dining room. They stopped to stare at a tree dressed in red bows, green candles and silver stars. Gauze bags of hard candy were piled against its base. There was not a present in sight â just an empty wooden cot on rockers beside the tree.
“No presents! 'Tis just like when the world was in war, and four of the harbour's fellows went off to fight,” Peter exclaimed.
“That's okay,” Cora said. “'Tis fewer bad people in the world now because the good people killed them. Sure, that's a Christmas gift.”
Imogene spoke up, lifting her tight, little chin to gain attention. “There could be lots of reasons why Santa didn't come. His suit could have caught on fire last year when he came down the chimney, and he was left with nothing to wear. Maybe there were too many children in the poor countries who needed regarding, or â ” her voice dropped to a whisper, “Santa could have just up and died.”
The younger children looked at her with horrified faces before turning back to the tree. They were still staring at it, when Miss Elizabeth swept into the room in a navy dress with a square collar as white as new snow. The children didn't seem to notice she was holding a white bundle until she announced, “We are celebrating the good tide of Christmas knowing we are a privileged lot. Many children in the harbour didn't get their stockings filled. Most of them are thankful just to have stockings to put their feet in and a crust of bread and jam on their plates.”
Clarissa thought of Esther. The image of the harbour girl, likely not much older than herself, drably dressed and grimy, was like a match put to a piece of coloured paper, burning to ashes what was left of her joyous emotions.
“Don't forget to thank God for Dr. Grenfell and the people around the world who help him keep you healthy and happy,” the mistress said, her smile so wide that a dimple showed in one cheek.
It's not a dimple that God's fingertip pressed into her
cheek,
Clarissa thought.
A dent is what it is
,
made by a smile her
face wasn't ready for
.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth.” The children's voices rose in chorus, their heads bowed. “We thank God for the food we eat, and for the boots upon our feet. Father, we thank Thee.”
The children's eyes widened as the mistress walked to the tree. She bent down to the wooden cot and laid the white bundle in it. “If the baby Jesus had not come, we would not have Christmas,” she said gently. “This baby is a reminder that you are fortunate to have a home, and people in it who have become your family.”
The children rushed to look at the pouty-faced baby, but Housemother Priddle, who took care of the younger children, shooed them away. “We don't want this motherless little child to catch the diseases that's around and about,” she said with a firm lip. “He's under the tree to honour the baby Jesus.”
The dining room door opened again, and an energetic young Ben galloped around the room on a hobby horse. Everyone was looking at the boy. They didn't see Santa Claus sneak in and stand right beside Treffie, who wouldn't be kept in bed on Christmas Day. When Treffie saw the black boots beside her, she looked up, wide-eyed, and let out a squeal. Her eyes closed and her body made a little shudder as she slid to the floor in front of the man in a Santa rig-out.
“Ho, Ho, Ho!” boomed a big voice Clarissa recognized as belonging to Dr. Curtis, an American who worked at the Grenfell Hospital. The big man scooped Treffie up in his arms and hurried to the tree with her. Her eyelashes flickered open and her eyes lit up as Santa put her down and grabbed up a bunch of candy bags. He passed a bag to Treffie. She looked up at him, her voice shaking. “I just took a little spell, Sir.” Clutching her candy, she walked over and sat down beside Clarissa while Santa passed out the rest of the bags to the other children.
After the children sang “It came upon a Midnight Clear” with Missus Frances accompanying them on the piano, most of them scampered out into the hall. Clarissa and Cora stayed in the dining room. When Housemother Priddle went across the room to close a window, they hurried to get a close look at the baby.
Clarissa longed to lift the infant into her arms, to hold a beautiful, living doll for the first time. She knew that even if the housemother allowed her to pick him up, she wouldn't be able to hold him. He would slip from her arms, drop to the floor and get broken â maybe crippled. Then he would never get out of the orphanage.
Cora looked at the baby, her voice wistful. “I can't hold him because of my cough.”
“And I can't hold him because of my infirmity,” Clarissa said matter-of-factly.
Their chatter was stopped by the squawk of a tongue against their ears. “Out! Out! You young ones are not to be in here. Where is that wretched maid â housemother â whoever?” It was Miss Elizabeth in a fury, her arms beating the air as if the girls were flies she was trying to banish.
“We just wanted to look at the baby,” Clarissa tried to explain, knowing the woman's Christmas spirit must be on its way out already.
“Can we see the baby shortened?” Cora asked. “I've never seen a baby shortened.”
“No, the child is a New Year's gift for some family. They'll have the joy of shortening him at three months. And the means to do it.”
Clarissa imagined the party there would be on the day of the shortening. The baby, bundled up like a papoose since he was born, would finally get his legs loose. Dressed in booties, a knitted sweater, drawers and a cap, he would kick with all his might and blow bubbles in the face of anyone who pecked his cheek and cooed, “Coochy-coo.”
I must have been shortened myself when I was a baby
, Clarissa thought.
Maybe just in time to get a few kicks in before
the ailment got at me.
“Next you will want to lift him!” Miss Elizabeth shuddered. “You know what can come from being dropped.”
“No, we don't,” Cora whispered into Clarissa's ear as they hurried into the hall where children were squealing and laughing. Ben had found a present in his locker. A bright spin top was twirling on the floor. The other children ran to their lockers and lifted the covers; inside were gifts wrapped in green or red tissue paper. There were pocket combs, barrettes, knitted stockings, wooden spin tops, boats, harmonicas, a checkerboard, books â some with pictures. There were dolls made from bottles and dressed by Miss Pritcher, the seamstress. Boys who got push cars and tractors were soon truckling them across the hardwood floor.
Clarissa took what felt like a book from her locker, and was tearing the red tissue off when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Missus Frances looking at her. The mistress crooked her finger and Clarissa laid down her gift and went towards the office, wondering what trouble she had gotten herself in now. Missus Frances closed the door and sat down. Clarissa stayed standing.
“You have another Christmas box, Clarissa, a white muff from your mother,” the mistress informed her. Clarissa's heart leaped. Her family hadn't forgotten her.
The mistress shook her head. “It is quite impractical for you to wear a muff with your disability, even if there was no weakness in your left arm. We will keep it in the office. Besides, the other children will feel left out if they know you received an extra Christmas box. You cannot be selfish, Clarissa.”
Clarissa stared at the mistress, wanting to beg for her muff, cry for it, knock the mistress to the floor with her crutches and search the big, wooden drawers in the office, but she knew there was nothing she could say or do to get her muff. Once the mistress set her mind, there was no changing it.
Clarissa lumbered out of the mistress's office, not caring how much noise she made as she went to get her book. Cora and Treffie came up beside her and sat down on the locker. Treffie's pale face was anxious. “I wanted a sister for my dolly,” she whispered. She looked down at the book on her knee. “A book is no good to me.”
“Now don't be putting on a long face,” Cora told her. “Santa knew what you needed to bring out yer readin' voice.”
“It's true, Treffie,” said Clarissa. “Reading is a lot of fun. It will knock the loneliness out of your head for hours at a time. You'll love
Heidi.
”
“I don't know how to read,” Treffie said, her eyes downcast. “I don't remember ever pitching me eyes on books before I cum here. Sure, I don't know what the black marks mean.”
“You'll learn here, then,” Cora promised. “Fast, too, when yer feeling better and Miss Ellis gets a hold of you.”
Treffie's eyes brightened. “I'll be glad then.”
Clarissa sulked all the way through the salmon and rice dinner. She tried to listen to her sister-self talking.
You can't be
getting two gifts when everyone else gets one. You like the
book you got. It's yours; you don't have to take it back to the
library
. It's just as well you can't have the muff. If you wore it on the sled, Peter and Jakot might grab it and that would be the last you'd see of your mother's gift.
After dinner Clarissa went into the study and sat at the table, leafing through an issue of
Among The Deep Sea
Fishers
, a magazine founded by Dr. Grenfell to tell the world about the people of his mission. The “Children's Page” had a story about the need for a Home. Clarissa looked at the sketch of the brick orphanage. Little girls, in wide-brimmed hats, flowered dresses and striped and plain knitted stockings, were walking up the concrete steps under an arch above the entrance. Clarissa imagined The Home being just as perfect in real life. It likely could be, if everyone followed the motto: “A long pull, a strong pull and a pull together.”
She searched until she found the Christmas issue from 1915. She read, as she had last year, about her first Christmas away from home. She was at the Grenfell Hospital. On Christmas Day, every patient well enough was moved to the same ward. There were shrieks of delight when Santa Claus stood in the doorway with a bag slung over his shoulder. Clarissa's eyes brightened as she read about herself: “. . . Clarissa Dicks found somebody's lap to bury her head in and tried valiantly to surpass George in screaming. It was impossible for Santa Claus to make any advance, whatever gift he offered the two, and not until he had removed his mask would Clarissa deign to peek through her fingers and give him a shy smile as she accepted a big darling doll.”
Clarissa smiled at this image of herself. She closed the magazine and pushed herself to her feet. She lifted her chin.
I'm not a baby and I am not going to cry
. She'd take a lesson from Johnny, a little boy from Labrador. Once, after some older boy had picked on him, Clarissa had gone to comfort him. He had shrugged, and said with a grin: “Whenever I feel like crying, I smile instead. That's what everyone wants to see: a bright face like a bright day.”