“That’s quite enough, Miss Wimble,” said Nurse Crowton crossly. “Boys, why don’t you head off and play and forget all about this silly conversation. You go on and believe whatever you like.” She tried to force a smile, but it didn’t help. The damage had been done.
When we got back to Tim’s room we agreed not to talk about Dr. Ringle anymore, or at least not about his being Santa Claus. Instead we found other important things to talk about. He told me all about his family, about how his parents came to visit him every morning and evening at the hospital, about how his older sister was the best speller in their whole school, and about the trip they took last year to Yellowstone Park. I told him about my mom and dad, about our home in Sherwood, and how I loved to play soccer and baseball.
Tim liked baseball, too, but hadn’t been able to play much recently because he had been in and out of the hospital so often. Since we didn’t have a baseball to toss around, I found a pair of socks in Tim’s dresser drawer and rolled them up tightly in a ball. For the rest of the evening we just sat playing catch across the room with socks.
It was a wonderful visit.
During the car ride home Aaron told me all about the latest and greatest bloopers from their final dress rehearsal of the Christmas pageant. Madhu, of course, continued to be a thorn in Nurse Wimble’s side, especially since he hadn’t yet decided what the fourth wise man should bring to give the Christ child. He kept promising her he would come up with something “splendid indeed,” but so far he had come up with exactly nothing.
After Aaron filled me in on everything noteworthy I told him about my visit with Timothy and the letter we’d received from Dr. Ringle. Mom turned on the overhead light in the car so we could read the letter together.
Dear Aaron & Mo,
I’ve heard some wonderful things about how you are helping at the hospital. I hope you know how much it means to the children to have visitors like you who spend time with them.
Mo, I was saddened to learn about your accident on the eighth floor. I trust you are recovering well by now. Please be more cautious next time you go for a ride on a gurney. Remember, those contraptions are designed to help the injured, not to injure the helpers!
I have had a wonderful visit at the children’s center in Alaska. I began volunteering up here when I was in the Air Force and have continued the tradition ever since. There is a great need here for medical services, especially for children.
I will be returning to Oregon on Christmas Eve and should arrive at the hospital in time to watch the Christmas pageant. Following the performance I shall once again require your elf assistance in handing out Christmas presents to the children.
Thank you again for all of your help. You have truly earned a gift worthy of this special season. See you soon!
Sincerely,
Dr. Christoffer K. Ringle, MD
Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart . . . filled it, too, with melody that would last forever.
—Bess Streeter Aldrich
T
he much anticipated Christmas pageant was held in the hospital’s large cafeteria located on the second floor. It had been converted for the occasion into a fully operational auditorium, complete with stage, spotlights, and curtains. When my family and I entered the cafeteria, Nurse Wimble and her stage hands were scrambling around making last minute preparations for the big show. Madhu and his parents waved hello and invited us to sit with them in a few vacant seats near the front of the room.
“Have you decided what the fourth wise man will bring to baby Jesus?” I asked Madhu once I’d sat down.
“Oh dear, no. I am still very much undecided on that point,” he said in his rhythmic Indian accent to which we’d all grown so accustomed. “But I have some good ideas, and Nurse Wimble has provided me with a fancy box. Now I must decide what to say is in the box when I set it down next to Jesus.”
At the mention of her name, Nurse Wimble’s ears perked up and she caught the tail end of what Madhu was saying. Without missing a beat she marched over to give him one final piece of directorial guidance.
“Mr. Amburi, you should have made a decision about this long before now! But since you haven’t, Ah’ll just make that decision for you. After the three
official
wise men have announced their special gifts, you are to set down the box beside the manger and say, ‘Ah present you Lord with a gift of precious gems—diamonds, pearls, and rubies—brought to you from my home far in the east.’ Then you are done. Step back without making a scene and we can all forget about the supposed fourth wise man. Do you understand me, Madhukar?”
She was not in a mood for lengthy intelligent responses, and Madhu knew better than to rebuff her in front of his parents. “Yes, Nurse Wimble, I understand,” he replied politely.
“Good,” she said flatly, then turned and walked away, returning all of her attention to the pre-show preparations.
“Well, she seems nice,” joked my dad.
“Yes, well, nice or not, it’s six forty-five,” warned my mother. “Aaron, you and Madhu had better go get into your costumes. The pageant is supposed to start in fifteen minutes.”
The two older boys made their way up to the stage and then disappeared behind the curtain. For the next fifteen minutes I sat watching the people as they entered the cafeteria. Occasionally I spotted a boy or girl whom I’d met over the previous weeks and waved to them as best as I could with my one good arm. Many of them headed off to get into costume behind the stage, and it was in those few minutes that I finally felt the full pangs of regret for having injured myself. Oh how I would have loved to participate in the Christmas pageant, instead of being sentenced to watch it from the sidelines.
The lights of the makeshift auditorium dimmed precisely at seven o’clock, indicating the performance was about to begin. Nurse Wimble took her seat in the front row when everything seemed in order and gave the cue for the lights to go down even further. From what I’d watched of the rehearsals, I knew that Aaron, as the narrator, was supposed to come on stage first, dressed up as a clergyman, to start things off.
He didn’t come.
The audience sat quietly for a few minutes, but soon whispers and questions began to erupt throughout the hall. All the while a lone spotlight swept back and forth across the stage in search of my brother. Eventually, and none too soon, the curtain parted and Aaron stepped into view. But rather than walk over to the side of the stage where a microphone was waiting for him, he strutted straight down the stage stairs and rushed over to Nurse Wimble.
I couldn’t hear what he was whispering to her, but by the look on his face it was something very important. Nurse Wimble, on the other hand, appeared as though it was just another trivial annoyance. Out of apparent obligation she stood up, turned around, and marched unenthusiastically over to where I was sitting with my parents.
“Molar,” she said softly as she leaned down. “You are friends with Miss Katrina Barlow, correct?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said softly.
“Well, it appears she has come up missing. The other angels can’t find her anywhere. As her friend, you may want to go look for her. But Ah will not delay this performance on her account! If you can find her before her scene begins, fine. Otherwise, Ah’m sure the angels will do quite alright without her and her paper bag.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. I wasn’t really sure what I was thanking her for but thought it sounded nice anyway.
With my parents consent I slid out of the row of chairs and fumbled my way through the darkness up the aisle toward the green glowing exit sign at the rear. As the door closed behind me I could just hear my brother beginning his lines, signaling that the Christmas pageant was under way.
It is not known precisely where angels dwell—whether in the air, the void, or the planets. It has not been God’s pleasure that we should be informed of their abode.
—Voltaire
I
don’t have much time, I thought as I hurried toward the elevators at the other end of the building. After making my way up to the fifth floor, I walked down the corridor that led to Katrina’s room. Since everyone was supposed to be downstairs watching the pageant, the staff had dimmed the lights lower than normal, which made me feel all the more alone as I paced along the empty hallway.
As I got closer to the doorway near the end of the corridor, I noticed red and green lights flickering through the darkness. Katrina’s door was partially open, allowing the flashing colors to escape.
“Katrina?” I whispered as I touched the door lightly, pushing it open all the way. “Katrina, are you in there?”
Within the room I saw the source of the flickering lights. Dr. Ringle, in his full Santa Claus costume, was seated in his wheelchair, his famed “sleigh” twinkling in the darkness. His back was toward me as he sat looking out at the rain pouring down against the window.
“She’s not here lad,” he said as he began to turn his wheels slowly around. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’m afraid she doesn’t want to be found.”
“But she’s gonna miss her part in the pageant! She’s part of the angel choir, and after all her practicing and singing she should be there.”
“I’m sorry, Mo. You’ve been such a good friend to her. I know it means a lot to you to see her in the pageant—it’s what you broke your arm for. But unless we find her there’s nothing we can do.”
“That’s it!” I shouted.
“What’s it?” he said, looking downright puzzled.
“My arm! I know where Katrina is! Follow me!”
With Dr. Ringle jingling along in hot pursuit, I ran back down the corridor and made my way to the service elevator in the east corner of the building. Once we were both inside I pushed the top button for floor number eight.
When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, I found myself back where I’d been on the night of my accident, looking down a gently sloping hallway toward a stairwell. There, sitting on the top step with her paper-bag head resting on her shoulder, was Katrina. She was dressed all in white with the feathery form of wings protruding from her back. Dr. Ringle and I approached slowly.
“You look like a beautiful angel,” I said when I was close enough to talk without yelling. She didn’t respond or even move for that matter. “How come you’re up here when the pageant is going on downstairs?”
Still no response.
“Kat, Dr. Ringle is back from up north. He’s here too.”
With that she lifted her head and turned around slowly to look at him through the holes in her white bag, which was now showing considerable signs of wear.
“Hi Santa,” she said. I could tell by her voice that she had been crying before our arrival.
“Hello lass. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. I wanted to tell you thanks.”
“For what, Miss Katrina?” Dr. Ringle was smiling broadly now.
“You know what,” she stated matter-of-factly. “For my Christmas present—the one I wrote on that red paper.”
“Oh yes! Well, you’re quite welcome. But you earned it, you know.”
“You mean you already gave her a Christmas present?” I asked.
Now I was the one with the puzzled look on my face. I didn’t understand how Dr. Ringle could possibly have given her a Christmas present considering he had been gone for so long and was just seeing Katrina again for the first time in weeks.
“In a manner of speaking, lad. In a manner of speaking. But Christmas presents are not important right now. Right now we should be talking about getting one Katrina Barlow back down to the Christmas pageant. I hear word they are missing one of their most special angels.”
“I’m not going. I can’t.”
“But why, Katrina? You’ve done so well in rehearsals!” I pleaded.
She turned and finally looked right at me with those big green eyes. “Mo, it was different at rehearsals. All of the kids are used to seeing the weirdo with the bag on her head. But there are a lot of people in the audience who will laugh at me if I go out there. They’ll think it’s some sort of joke. I don’t want them laughing, not at me. I just want to be left alone, where nobody will laugh.”
“They won’t laugh,” I said sympathetically. But I knew better. People always laugh when they don’t understand.
“They will, and you know it. I can’t go out on stage without the bag ’cuz I’m ugly, and that’d scare them half to death. And I can’t go with it because they’ll laugh at me.”
“You are not ugly,” I said.
“How do you know? You’ve never even seen me.”
“I did see you, once. After we crashed at the bottom of these stairs, I saw you. Your bag must’ve come off when we were falling. Right before I passed out I saw you standing over me. You’re not ugly, Katrina.”
Katrina lifted her head and turned to look me right in the eyes, searching as if to see whether I was telling the truth.
“You’re just a beautiful girl who has a sickness,” I continued. “That’s all. Besides, the way I see it, your beauty goes a whole lot deeper than most people’s, so what they think or say about you doesn’t really matter, does it?”
She was quiet, but her eyes showed she was trying to assess the value of what I’d just said.
“But . . .” she said finally, trying hard to mask the fact that she was getting choked up. “So what? Just because you don’t think I’m ugly doesn’t make it so. I’m not going on stage without the bag. And I’m not going with it either. I’ll just sit here until it’s all over. Besides, I’ve had an awful headache for a couple days and I don’t feel up to it.”
Dr. Ringle seemed concerned when she mentioned the headache, but he didn’t say anything about it so we all sat silently for several moments longer.
“Kat,” I said eventually. “Would you go on stage if you weren’t the only one wearing a bag?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Would you go down and be in the pageant if you were not the only one with a bag on your head?”