A Christmas Gift
Diane Craver
Smashwords Edition February 2011
A Christmas Gift is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2010 by Diane Craver
All rights reserved
Published by
Whimsical Publications, LLC
Florida
http://www.whimsicalpublications.com
ISBN-13 for print book: 978-1-936167-36-0
ISBN-13 for e-book: 978-1-936167-33-3
Cover art by Traci Markou
Editing by Melissa Hosack
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Acknowledgment
To my husband, Tom: Thank you for your love and support during the highs and lows of my writing career. I appreciate so much your constant belief in me. I love you.
To my children, Sara, Christina, April, Bartholomew, Emily and Amanda: Thanks for your encouragement and for listening to me ramble on about my story ideas. You guys are the best.
About A Christmas Gift:
A Christmas Gift was formerly published under the title, The Christmas of 1957. Although it's the basic same story, A Christmas Gift contains new material, so it is longer than the original and has also been revised throughout the book. The heartwarming story is based on childhood experiences in the author's life. However, the characters and story line are fictional.
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Dedication
For my parents, with love and thankfulness.
Horace Clifton Wilson (1902-1979)
Laoma Gail Wilson (1904-2003)
And for my siblings, with loving and fun memories.
Jean Wilson Carpenter
Lois Wilson LaWarre
David R. Wilson
Carolyn Wilson Chavanne
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Prologue
It was 1957 when I saw something that I wasn’t meant to see. I have never forgotten this night because it had such an impact on me. I was only seven years old, and what I saw my father doing confused me. Finally, I had enough courage to ask my mother about it. After she explained everything to me, I was shocked and saddened.
What happened after I learned my father’s greatest secret was extraordinary to our family. When my father, Justin L. Reeves, decided to conquer an overwhelming disability in life, he was fifty-four years old. He gave our family an incredible gift to last a lifetime because of what he accomplished at this age.
His triumph made me into the woman I am today. My three older siblings were able to make the best decisions of their adult lives because of our father's influence.
This is a story of determination and hope. My father's journey was not easy. But if it had been easy, I wouldn't be telling his story now. After you finish reading this book, I pray that the true meaning will linger in your heart and mind; just as the outcome of my long ago memory has remained in my soul for fifty-three years.
My name is Debra Reeves Cunningham, and I am sixty years old. It’s not hard to take you back to the beginning in 1957 when I was seven. My life was good and simple. My memories of this wonderful year are crystal clear. We lived on a farm with eighty acres outside of Findlay, Ohio. My petite mother, Lucille, worked hard doing whatever needed to be done on the farm. She was a big help to my dad when it came to dairy chores. With no milking machines, they milked seven cows by hand in the morning and again in the evening.
My siblings didn't help with this time-consuming job. My oldest sister, Gail, was twenty-five and lived at home, but not by her choice. Whenever she mentioned moving to an apartment, our mother insisted that wouldn’t be proper for a single woman. Gail worked as a secretary at the impressive Ohio Oil Company in Findlay. She always dressed in pretty clothes and went out on dates all the time.
My brother, Carl, at the age of twenty-one was in the Army, and he hated it. He wrote me the best letters. The past summer, we all traveled in our blue Mercury car to visit him in North Carolina.
Next in the family was my fourteen-year-old sister, Kathy. We shared a bedroom, and she never complained about sharing a room with a younger sister. She only worried about not being able to dance. From the time she was a small child, she wanted to be a dancer. She watched all the Shirley Temple movies and practiced on the kitchen linoleum floor. I was told how her dancing entertained me when I was a fussy baby with teething pain.
A short time after Kathy celebrated her seventh birthday, she was stricken with polio. She wore a brace on her left leg because the polio had weakened these muscles. Dancing was no longer a realistic dream for Kathy.
It's time to take you back to the night when what I saw made me question everything. From my siblings, I learned that sometimes we see only what we want to see, and only face the truth when we can no longer deny it. I remember everything about that night so well. In my mind I see my bare feet softly walking down twenty-two steps. I enjoyed counting the steps and jumping off the last one.
It drove Gail crazy whenever she was in a hurry and behind me. “Why do you have to count these stupid steps all the time?”
I like to count them. I always get twenty-two.”
And so on this particular night I counted them again. With no light on to guide my footsteps, I didn't want to fall in the dark. I didn't switch the hallway light on because it would shine through the register. My parents might wake up and see the light from their bedroom. Mommy liked to keep a door open for air circulation in their small room. I knew that I had to be very quiet since I wasn't supposed to be up at this late hour. I skipped the jump off the last step so my parents wouldn't hear me. With a racing heart, I slowly opened the old stairway door, hoping it wouldn't make a sound.
Chapter One
The Secret
I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs just enough to slide through, and released a deep breath in relief that the door hadn’t creaked. My mother would continue sleeping.
Loud striking noises in the dining room startled me. I stood still, counting the bongs of the grandfather clock. The striker stopped at twelve. Oh no, it must be midnight. If Mommy heard me, she would want to know why I was up at this late hour. I had to go pee, but hated to have to tell her this. I could hear her say, “Debra, I told you not to drink so much before going to bed.”
My parents slept in the downstairs bedroom next to the kitchen and dining room. I needed to go through the kitchen to get to the only bathroom.
I tiptoed across the dining room floor toward the kitchen. The old door wasn’t shut tight, and a narrow band of light shone through the crack. Someone was in the kitchen.
Rats, I thought. It’s probably Gail. I didn’t want to see her. She would tell me about her date, and what a great time she had. I always wondered if her dates ever got to talk. Gail was some talker, and poor Kathy was the one Gail usually confided in. But Kathy was asleep so Gail would want me to be her captive audience. Then Mommy would be sure to know I was out of bed.
I got to the door and peeked through the crack. Our kitchen was large with a high ceiling. Blue-flowered paper covered the walls. I had pasted the long strips of wallpaper for my mother to hang.
My green eyes stopped at the small cabinet where my mother’s homemade fruit pies set on top. Mommy had just baked them that day. I remembered I hadn’t eaten any pie for supper. Maybe I could go pee and before going back upstairs to bed, I could pretend to listen to Gail while eating a piece of pie.
My gaze shifted to the far side of the room. We ate our daily meals in front of a picture window with white ruffled curtains, and my eyes widened when I saw Gail wasn’t in the kitchen. Daddy was at the table, still dressed in his gray work clothes. Why wasn’t he in bed? What was he doing?
Opening the door a little wider for a better look, I saw a yellow pad on the table. I watched Daddy copy words from my reader to a page in the tablet. Why was he copying words from my new book?
Mommy purchased this extra book for me in the summer to have at home for practicing my speech. School would start soon and Mrs. Garrison would be my second grade teacher. Daily we worked on my pronunciation of the words in the text so that when I read the same pages in school, the teacher and my peers would understand me. I couldn’t remember Daddy ever looking at it.
Before I could leave my spot and ask why he had my book, I saw his lips moving. He softly spoke, “D-a-u-g-h-t-e-r.” After he said the letters, a look of confusion crossed his face, and he rubbed his chin.
I wanted to go in and ask him why he was copying words down and why my book puzzled him. Something held me back. For several minutes he copied words while I twisted my long, dark brown hair around my finger.
He sighed and closed my book. I watched him pull open a bottom cabinet drawer and lift the towels in the one hand while placing the tablet underneath. He closed the drawer with the tablet hidden. It’s a secret, I thought.
Although I didn’t think he would enter the dining room, I moved with quick steps, hiding behind a big chair with a slipcover over it. I was relieved when I heard the bedsprings sink with his weight. After I heard his snores, I hurried through the dark kitchen to the bathroom. Finally I got to pee.
I quickly washed my hands with little water. I didn’t want the noisy water pump to alert my parents that I was up. Wiping my wet hands on my pajamas, I walked past the cabinet, then turned, and went back.
I needed to see the tablet.
Since I didn’t want to risk having the kitchen light shine in my parents’ bedroom, I took the pad into the bathroom. I turned three whole pages of words, printed in a shaky handwriting. Tonight wasn’t the only time he'd copied words.
Muffled laughter scared me, and I swiftly returned the tablet to its hiding place. Before going back upstairs, I listened at the open window to Gail talking softly to her boyfriend, Phil Dunsmore. I saw they were in each other’s arms on the porch swing.
Should I ask Gail about the tablet? Gail’s chatter stopped when Phil kissed her on the lips. Now was not the time to bother my sister.
When I climbed into bed and snuggled next to Kathy, I realized my daddy didn’t know he had spelled daughter. How sad he didn’t recognize this word when he had three daughters. Maybe I should wake Kathy and tell her what I had seen and heard.
But I decided to keep quiet and think about it instead. For once in my life, I wasn’t anxious to find out what was happening in my family.
Chapter Two
Heavenly Food
The next day I didn’t have a chance to ask Mommy about Daddy’s tablet because she was busy with the neighborhood ladies coming to our house. In the afternoon, three women wore dresses while Ellen’s mother, Ruth Marshall, looked trim in a pair of cream-colored pants with a blue blouse. Helen Foster, a woman of medium height and probably overweight by sixty pounds, wore a green dress in a fine material. A pretty lacy hankie was stuck in a front pocket, and around her neck was a small pearl choker. Helen went shopping more than the other ladies in the neighborhood because her husband farmed the most land. Doris Hicks, short and plump, wore a brown sleeveless dress with no waist.
My mother, Lucille Reeves, always wore housedresses, especially the style she wore today with a collar and several buttons down the front of a blue flowered print with a matching belt. I think she wore dresses instead of pants because her grandfather had been a Mennonite minister. Mommy told me how strict he was about so many things with his children, and it carried over with the grandchildren. Or maybe she just liked wearing housedresses.
My best friend, Ellen Marshall, giggled as I edged to the counter where there was a plate of cookies. These were not ordinary cookies, but were called thumbprint cookies with white frosting. I knew my mother spent more time making these special cookies, so some guilt entered my mind about eating more than my share. Not enough guilt to stop me though, as I quickly swiped my sixth cookie. I glanced to see if my mother and her friends noticed my greediness. No one looked at me. They continued discussing their plans for probably our last summer Sunday outing to Lake Erie before school and the Hancock County Fair started.
Feeling especially brave with my success, I grabbed another cookie for Ellen. I started walking by the table of women with the cookies hidden behind my back to sit by Ellen in the corner of the kitchen. Doris put her arm out to stop me by her chair and moved her head closer.
She squinted her eyes. “Is that the outfit Kathy made for her 4-H project?”
Ellen laughed at my anxious expression, and my mother stared at me. “Debby, what are you hiding behind your back?”
Helen scraped her chair against the linoleum, so she could peek and see what I had. “Lucille, she just has cookies.”
Ruth winked at me. “Kathy’s outfit matches because she made a smaller one for Debby to practice on before sewing hers.”
Mommy nodded and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Kathy’s shorts and top are pressed and all ready for the 4-H booth.”
“Well, that relieves my mind,” Doris said. “I didn’t want anything to happen since Kathy placed first in her project, and we want to display her ribbon and outfit in a prominent spot.”
I sighed in relief that Mommy hadn’t scolded me for eating too many cookies. I was glad Ruth’s explanation about Kathy making two outfits got Mommy thinking about sewing projects. I wondered though if Doris needed stronger glasses. How could Kathy’s project fit me when I was only seven? Good thing both Doris and Ruth were Kathy’s 4-H advisors. Ruth could see better than Doris.
Ellen and I ate our cookies, sitting crunched together in Mommy’s favorite rocking chair. Although I enjoyed my cookie, I had a moment of jealously when I glanced at Ellen’s beautiful blond hair. Why did God give me just plain old brown hair? He gave Gail and Kathy blond hair, but Carl and I got brown hair from our mother. I didn’t care so much that my hair wasn’t light-colored but red hair would've been interesting.
After my mother took a sip of her red Kool-Aid, she said, “I think we’re all set. I’m taking cookies and pies for the picnic. Ruth is taking the meat sandwiches and deviled eggs. Helen’s making her delicious potato salad, and Doris will fix the baked beans.”
I said to Doris, “Don’t make the beans spicy. Mommy will get sick.”
“Lucille, has your gall bladder been acting up?” Doris asked.
She shrugged. “Just a little when I eat something I shouldn’t. Go ahead and make them spicy. I probably won’t eat any.”
Ruth held a cookie in her hand and smiled at Helen. “I’m glad you and Fred and the boys are going.”
Helen nodded. “Fred didn’t want to go at first, because he’s still depressed about losing Mary Beth. It’s hard since they were close, and she was his only sister. And she was so young to have a heart attack.”
“You always miss your loved ones so much at first,” Doris said, “but as time goes on, it becomes easier.”
“Since Mary Beth died, I haven’t slept well.” Helen lifted her hankie out of the pocket and fingered the lace. “She was only five years younger, so I keep thinking about death, and I’m scared to die.”
“I think that’s normal,” Ruth said. “We all think of our mortality when we lose someone close to us.”
Helen bit her lip. “I’ve always been terrified of dying.”
I leaned forward in the chair and said in a loud voice, “Helen, are your relatives in hell?”
As I said this, Helen gasped, her hand bumping her full glass of Kool-Aid over onto the table. While the red beverage soaked the white tablecloth, my mother stood up and grabbed a kitchen towel off the stove. She gave me an angry look before she put the towel on the liquid. “Debby, what’s wrong with you? You don’t say something like that.”
Before I could answer, Helen’s forehead wrinkled, and she said in an irritated voice, “I don’t think any such thing. My relatives are not in hell. I’m sure they’re in heaven.”
“Well then, you shouldn’t be afraid to die,” I said in a calm voice. “You should be happy to go to heaven to see them. That’s why I’m not scared of dying because Grandma Preston and Grandpa Preston will give me lots of hugs and love in heaven.”
Mommy turned from the sink to look at me. “You’re only seven years old. I don’t imagine someone your age should be as afraid of dying as someone Helen’s age or my age.”
I shook my head. “No, you just told me the other night we never know when we’ll die and only God knows.”
Mommy nodded. “We don’t know and sometimes that makes us a little afraid wondering when it’s going to happen.”
“And when we do die,” I said, turning my face to look at the women, “Mommy says it’s like a reunion in heaven with all the loved ones who’ve died ahead of us.”
Ruth said, “I like the idea of a reunion in heaven and thinking how we’ll spend time with our relatives and friends.”
“Just like what we’re doing on Sunday at Lake Erie.” I paused for a moment, picturing a heavenly reunion with food on picnic tables, but it didn’t seem right. “I don’t know if it’s quite like a reunion, because there probably isn’t any food in heaven. What do you think Ellen, will there be food?”
She shrugged her shoulders and gave me a worried glance. “I don’t know.”
I looked at Helen. “What do you think?”
“I think you better fill up on cookies down here, because I don’t think there will be food in heaven.”
Chapter Three
The Writing Tablet
Our mother couldn’t resist the fiery baked beans with onions. She became ill when we returned from Lake Erie and was in bed on Labor Day. “I wish I could die,” she kept moaning.
With her gall bladder attack, I knew I couldn’t ask her or my sisters about Daddy’s tablet. It would have to wait, and besides, I was scared Mommy would die. She was too sick to even to look at the get well card I made for her. Daddy tried calling our family doctor to see if he could make a home visit and give Mommy some medicine to ease her pain, but there was no answer.
By afternoon she was a little better, insisting we go ahead and make ice cream as planned. On the back porch Gail, Kathy, and I each turned the handle of the ice cream freezer. When it was too hard for even Gail to turn it any longer, Daddy came outside to finish making the ice cream. I laughed as he grunted while giving a few final cranks.
Gail lifted the part with the metal blades out of the container and put it on a dinner plate. Kathy and I had our spoons ready to eat the ice cream off the blades.
After Kathy took a few bites, she said, “You can have the rest.”
Holding the dasher in one hand, I tipped the plate and slurped the melted ice cream.
Kathy laughed. “You have ice cream on your nose.”
Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I said, “Gail, you make good ice cream.”
Kathy nodded. “It is good.”
Gail, smiling, stuck a lid on the ice cream container. “I’ll stick it in the freezer until we have it later for dessert.”
A couple hours later, we ate hamburgers and potato salad. After we had big bowls of ice cream, Daddy went to do some chores. Kathy washed the dishes while I wiped. Since she was a little taller, she could reach the cupboard shelf to put the plates away. Then Kathy went to check on Mommy. I decided to talk to Gail about what I had seen on Friday night. She sat on the couch in front of the dining room window looking at a magazine.
“What are you reading?” Gail was always reading magazines or books. Our bookcase in the living room was filled with all the books she bought.
Gail looked up from her magazine. “I’m reading about a talented and beautiful movie star. She has the same first name as you do. In fact, I liked her name so well that when you were born I talked Mom and Dad into naming you Debby.” She held the Modern Screen magazine for me to see the actress on the cover. “Her name’s Debbie Reynolds.”
“She’s pretty. I need to talk—”
At the sound of a car in the driveway, Gail moved to look out the window. “I’m sorry, honey. We can talk later. Phil’s here.”
***
By Thursday I still hadn’t found an opportunity to talk to anyone about Daddy. While my mother was outside helping with the morning milking, I tried again to talk to Gail about the tablet. Unfortunately, she was concentrating on applying her makeup and in a hurry to leave for work.
It was no different when Mommy came in from milking the cows before we left for school. She told me to sit down and proceeded to vigorously brush my hair. I couldn’t just blurt my question about Daddy using my book because I wasn’t supposed to be up late at night.
I thought too long about how to ask her without getting myself in trouble. Before I could bring up the fact that he'd used my book and hid his tablet, Kathy stopped by my chair. “Mom, could you listen to me practice my poem?”
My mother stopped brushing my hair and looked at Kathy. “Are the lunches packed?”
“Yes. And I’m ready for the bus.”
***
After riding the bus to school, our class got on the bus again for a trip to Findlay. Many elementary children slammed the bus windows down until the bus driver, Mr. Walters, said in an alarmed voice, “Hey, we don’t need every window down.”
A boy, keeping his hands on a window, turned to look at Mr. Walters and said, “But it’s hot in here.”
Mr. Walters shook his head. “When the bus starts moving, it won’t be hot.”
I glanced at Ellen to see why she was still. “What’s wrong?”
Ellen shook her head, causing her blond ringlets to move. She was lucky to have natural curly hair. Every Saturday night my mother used clean rags to wrap small sections of my hair. On Sundays, I always had nice long curls for church, but I hated sleeping with my hair tightly bound.
“I don’t want to get a shot,” Ellen said in a sad voice.
Our second grade teacher, Mrs. Garrison, stood in the aisle and said to us, “Children, please sit down. I need to get a count.”
I patted Ellen’s hand. “I’ll go first, if you want me to.”
Mrs. Garrison finished counting, and she glanced at me before her eyes traveled to the other children’s faces. “Now remember to be on your best behavior when we go to Findlay to get your polio shots. We want to show the nurses and doctors that Liberty-Benton students know how to behave.” Mrs. Garrison paused for a moment. “This is an important day for all of us. With these shots, you won’t get polio.”
After this short speech, Mrs. Garrison sat across from me and said, “Debby, I’m thankful there’s a vaccine now. I still remember when I visited Kathy after she got polio. You were just a baby. Your parents and I were afraid you’d get polio too.”
Mrs. Garrison had been Kathy’s teacher when she was in a March of Dimes center to received rehabilitation with other polio patients. She'd taken Kathy’s schoolwork to her.
I nodded, recalling how tears were in my mother’s eyes when I left for school. “My mommy said this has taken a big worry off her heart.”
“I thought this might be on your mind when I noticed how quiet you’ve been today.” Mrs. Garrison gave my shoulder a squeeze.
The polio vaccine wasn’t the reason I'd been quiet. Daddy’s yellow tablet occupied my mind. I remembered a photo of Mrs. Garrison reading to Kathy at her bedside. Maybe she could explain why he needed to copy words from my book. Should I ask Mrs. Garrison about his peculiar behavior?
I gave my teacher a little smile. Before I could say anything to her, Mr. Walters asked, “Ready, Mrs. Garrison?”
At her nod, he drove the bus onto the street, heading toward Findlay. Mrs. Garrison turned away from me to talk to another teacher.
I sighed. Another lost moment. It was very difficult to talk to adults. For days I had carried this burden around, waiting and hoping to ask someone.
During school, I made a decision to ask Kathy and Gail after supper about what I'd seen at midnight. I wouldn’t wait another day. In spite of my anxiety wondering what my sisters would say, the day flew by quickly.
I took Kathy’s books from her and got off the bus first. I waited while Kathy maneuvered her leg with the brace down the steep steps, and thought how hard life was for her. She was just a kid, but her handicap cheated her out of a normal child’s life.
We walked slowly across the yard, and I pulled on Kathy’s sleeve. “I’m going to be a doctor someday, and I’ll fix your leg. It’s a promise.”
Kathy cleared her throat and stared at me for a moment. “For a little sister, you’re all right.”
“Hi, girls.” Mommy stood at the screen door with a big smile. She wore a faded blue housedress. “Debby, change into your play clothes. I want you to keep your new dress nice for school.”
“I will.” I threw Kathy’s books on the dining room table and went into mother’s opening arms. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He went to get a part for the tractor, but he should be home any minute.”
Later, when the supper dishes were done and put away in the cupboard, Gail said to Kathy and me, “I have surprises for you two.”
We followed Gail to her bedroom where she handed small bags to us. Mine contained a pretty ring and a book about Peter Pan. Kathy pulled out a diary with a key and fingernail polish.
I hugged Gail and thanked her.
“I love what you got me,” Kathy said, “but it’s not our birthdays or anything.” With raised eyebrows, she asked, “What are the gifts for?”
Gail smiled. “Because I’m so happy.” She glanced at me putting my ring on. “I think Phil is going to ask me to marry him.”
I stopped admiring my ring. I noticed Gail’s blue eyes sparkled and her honey-blond hair gleamed. “I hope not.”
“Debby, don’t you like Phil?”
“He’s okay, but I wouldn’t want to marry him.”
Gail laughed. “I guess not.” She turned to look at Kathy. “What do you think of Phil?”
“He’s handsome and nice—”
I didn’t want to hear anymore about Phil and marriage, so I cut in, “Gail, will you read Peter Pan to me?”
Gail shook her head. “I can’t now. Phil’s taking me to a movie.” She grinned. “I’ll read to you tomorrow if you promise not to spy on us tonight.”