The Gift (a Restless Spirits Christmas short)
Being that it’s Christmas eve, it seems fitting that the first piece of fiction I publish here is a Christmas story. This standalone is a mini prequel to my novel Restless Spirits which gives a little backstory on a couple of characters. It’s a little incongruous, because that novel is a ghost story, and this is not — here these characters are very much alive. But I hope it strikes a haunting note regardless.
In any case, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas!
(Psst! Rather read this story in your e-reader device? Click here to get the ebook!)
Joe Bentley carried his daughter down the stairs, watching her face light up with wonder as the Christmas tree came into view. The Collier children were already stationed around it, tearing into packages and squabbling over who got the best Santa presents. “Merry Christmas, Joe!” Mr. Collier, his employer, raised a mug in greeting from the settee in the parlor. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Go on in and help yourself.”
Joe set Clarice down and whispered in her ear. “You go on and watch the other children. And mind your manners.”
“Yes papa!” She took off like a shot as soon as her little feet hit the floor. Turning toward the kitchen, Joe smiled as he heard her say, louder than necessary, “Merry Christmas Mr. Collier!”
“Merry Christmas, Clarice!” he boomed back, just as loudly, amusement plain in his voice.
Mrs. Collier was coming out of the kitchen just as Joe was heading in. She was carrying a tray loaded down with a coffee pot, mugs and a plate piled high with cookies. “Oh, Joe! Good. Here, will you take this into the parlor? And help yourself to a cup. I’ll be in in another minute.”
“Yes ma’am.” He took the heavy tray from her and turned back the way he’d come.
“And don’t let those children touch anything at the back of the tree ‘til I get in there!” she called after him before disappearing back into the kitchen.
In the parlor, he set the tray on a little table beside the settee before settling into a chair on the other side of it. He helped himself to a cookie and a cup of coffee, keeping an eye on Clarice while he poured. She sat a little distant from the other children, knees pulled up to her chest underneath her nightgown. She watched, enraptured, as the others opened their gifts, most of her attention fixed on little Sarah, the Colliers’ only girl.
Sarah knew it, too. A flame-haired tomboy who usually preferred balls and fishing gear to dolls and frilly things, Sarah also knew that Clarice adored all that ladylike stuff. Sarah’s own preferences didn’t stop her parents, especially her mother, from foisting girly things on her. Usually she’d complain, but seeing the longing looks from Clarice, Sarah made a big show of how much she loved each and every item—and also of placing it far away from Clarice before moving on to the next present.
Joe did his best to swallow his dislike of the girl along with a bite of ginger bread. She was only a child, barely older than Clarice, and it wasn’t her fault that she was the youngest and the only girl and that her parents and brothers doted on her so. And didn’t he dote on Clarice just as much? That she was such a sweet child and not at all spoiled was more a testament to how much of her mother was in her than any particular fathering skills Joe possessed.
A fog of sadness tried to settle over him at the memory of his late wife. He wished she could be there to see how well their little girl was growing up. Of course, part of the reason he doted so much on Clarice now was to ease his guilt over how much he’d neglected her in the beginning, driven so out of his mind with grief that he’d held that precious, innocent baby to blame for her mother’s passing. It wasn’t her fault Martha’s constitution had been too frail to endure childbirth. Once he’d come to his senses, he’d sworn to Clarice that he’d never stop making it up to her. And that was a promise he intended to keep.
Watching her now, he wished he’d given her the rag doll he’d picked out for her before they’d come down instead of saving it for later. It had to be torture for the girl to watch the other children open presents when there was nothing under the tree for her. He was debating whether he should go get it when Mrs. Collier came bustling into the room with another tray. He and Mr. Collier both stood as she announced, “Hot chocolate and gingerbread for the children!” She set the tray on a sideboard and went to join her husband on the settee.
“It was right kind of you both to include Clarice and me in your family’s Christmas celebration,” Joe said as the three of them took their seats.
“Nonsense. You two are gettin’ to be just like family. And I wouldn’t have missed seeing that angel’s face on Christmas morning for all the world.”
Joe smiled and nodded. “Even so, we sure do both appreciate it.”
“Not as much as we appreciate the help you’ve been to us,” Mr. Collier said around the pipe in his teeth. He took it out and used it to point toward Joe. “Speaking of which, if you turn around you’ll find a token of our appreciation propped up there in the corner.”
Joe turned and spied a brand new fishing rod standing in the corner, tied with a big red bow. He looked back at the Colliers. “That’s too generous. I can’t accept that.”
“Sure you can. The boys got new rods, too, and we can’t have you joining us on fishing expeditions with that old broken down reel of yours.”
Joe grinned as he got up to inspect the rod. “Well, if you put it that way.” It wasn’t top of the line, but it was a far cry better than anything he could afford on his farmhand wages, made of polished bamboo with a shiny new reel. He had mixed feelings as he looked it over. Good manners wouldn’t let him refuse it, and truth be told he couldn’t wait to take it fishing. But it also made the lace handkerchief and tin flask he’d picked out for each of the Colliers seem woefully inadequate by comparison. Still, he swallowed his pride and focused on his gratitude. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re both too kind.”
“We hope you put it to good use,” said Mrs. Collier. Before he could promise that he would, she called to Sarah. “Why don’t you hand out those gifts there in the back?”
Sarah frowned. Joe couldn’t tell if it was from puzzlement or because she was being torn away from her presents and put to work. But she got up and went around behind the tree. Sorting through some boxes there, she handed one each to her brothers before grabbing one for herself. As she settled down and started tearing the paper off, Mrs. Collier, her voice filled with exasperation, said, “Sarah, you forgot one!”
She shrugged. “That wasn’t any of ours.” She kept tearing at the wrapping paper before squealing with excitement. “A baseball glove!” She held it up admiringly before shoving her hand inside, clearly genuinely excited about this gift and not just putting on a show for Clarice.
“I know you’ve been wanting to play with your brothers. Now you can.”
“Thank you, pa!” She ran over and threw her arms around his neck, looking so happy that for a moment Joe forgot the bad feeling he usually got from the girl.
“Clarice,” Mrs. Collier called, “why don’t you have a look at that last package behind the tree?”
Joe looked at her, surprised. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said with an air of innocence. “It was all Santa Claus’s doing.”
“Mrs. Collier, I can’t let you—”
“Hush,” she said, and it was already too late. Clarice had already found the package and brought it out where all could see, holding it reverently in her little hands. It was a box half her size, wrapped in bright red paper. She set it on the floor and just gazed at it in awe. “It’s so pretty, papa,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Joe could no more refuse the gift for her than he could live without his own head attached. Relenting, he said, “Well, go on and open it.”
Slowly, taking pains not to tear the paper, she worked to remove it from the box. Joe glanced over at the Colliers to see the amusement on their faces, but instead his gaze landed on Sarah, perched in her pa’s lap, watching Clarice with an intensity that made it clear she’d forgotten all about her beloved baseball glove. The look on her face sent a shiver down his spine. He quickly turned his attention back to his own girl, who had managed to open the wrapping at one end.
“Here, punkin, let me help.” Joe got down on his knees and slid the box out of the wrapping, then placed it before Clarice. She glanced up at him with pleading and hopeful eyes, so he went ahead and pried the lid off the box. As he lifted it away, the look on her face made it worth all the extra odd jobs he planned to do around the place to pay back the Collier’s generosity.
It was a doll. A fine porcelain doll, with real hair, blonde and curly like hers, and a dress finer than anything Clarice herself had ever worn. It made the rag doll Joe had gotten for her look like, well, just a bunch of rags by comparison. With a gasp of delight that seemed to come from deep in her little soul, she scooped it up and hugged it tight.
“Why does she get a doll?”
All eyes turned to Sarah, who had dropped her glove and now glared at Clarice, her face flushed as red as her hair.
“Because Santa decided she’d been a good girl all year,” Mr. Collier said, trying to make light of the situation.
“But why didn’t I get a doll?”
“You don’t play with any of the dolls you already have,” said Mrs. Collier. “You’ve complained every time we’ve ever gotten you a doll.”
“But none of ‘em looked like her!” Sarah pointed at Clarice’s doll. “It’s not fair!”
“Sarah Jane, don’t you talk to me about what’s fair.” Her mother pointed at the pile of toys and new clothes that belonged to her. “Look at everything you got this morning! And Clarice only has the one present! You’re being ungrateful, not to mention rude to our guests.”
“They ain’t our guests, they’re hired hands.” She pointed at Clarice. “And she ain’t even that!”
Mrs. Collier got to her feet. “That is enough!” She pointed emphatically at the stairs. “Go to your room!”
“But—”
“Right now, young lady!”
Sarah closed her mouth and stalked away toward the stairs, glowering at Clarice with a look of pure contempt as she went.
“I am so sorry, Joe. I don’t know what on earth’s gotten into that girl.”
“Probably too much sugar and not enough sleep,” said her husband. “All she needs is a nap and a good breakfast, then she’ll be right as rain.” He looked down at the baseball glove and stooped to pick it up, frowning at it in disappointment. “I sure thought this was what she wanted more than anything this year.”
“It was,” Mrs. Collier said. With an exasperated sigh, she shook her head. “Please don’t pay her any mind, Joe. Nor you, Clarice. You enjoy your dolly.”
“I will.”
“What do you say to Mr. And Mrs. Collier?” Joe prompted her.
“Thank you for the doll, Mr. And Mrs. Collier.”
“Don’t thank us,” Mr. Collier said with a wink. “That dolly came from Santa Claus.”
“Well then, we’ll have to write a thank you letter to Santa, won’t we?”
She nodded emphatically, still hugging her doll.
Mrs. Collier reached over and patted Joe on the arm. “You two should head on up and get dressed. Breakfast will be on the table in half an hour.”
“We’ll be there,” Joe promised as he scooped Clarice into his arms. “Come on, punkin. Let’s go put on our Sunday best.”
“Yes, papa.”
Joe carried her and her new doll up the stairs. The second flight of stairs leading up to their rooms on the third floor sat at the other end of the hallway. To get there, they had to pass by Sarah’s room. The door was opened, and although Joe tried not to look, he could feel eyes on him as he went past. Glancing over, he saw Sarah sitting on her bed, glaring at them with pure hatred.
Looking straight ahead, Joe hugged his girl a little more tightly and picked up his pace.
***
The day was unseasonably warm, the pull of sunshine and fresh air too hard to ignore. The Collier boys had headed outside with their new baseball gear, and Sarah, once again enthralled with her new glove, had gone with them. Mr. Collier had headed upstairs to sleep off that afternoon’s Christmas dinner while Mrs. Collier stationed herself in the kitchen to do more cooking and baking for the next round. With Clarice all too happy to remain with her as a “helper” and Mrs. Collier all too happy to have her company, Joe seized the opportunity to take his new fishing rod down to the pond.
But first he had to get the rest of his fishing gear from the shed. He passed the boys playing in the yard as he went, nodding to them on the way. There was no sign of Sarah. Joe frowned. “What’s that girl up to?” he muttered to himself. He got his answer when he reached the shed and found her standing at her pa’s work bench, looking at the tools hanging above it on the wall.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She spun away from the tools, clearly startled, with a look on her face like she’d been caught at something. Joe looked around but couldn’t see any signs of obvious mischief. Eyeing the girl, he asked again, “Sarah Jane Collier, what are you doing in here?”
She stuck her little nose up in the air and peered down it at him, a neat trick seeing as how she barely came past his waist. “I was looking for some oil for my glove.”
“Well, you won’t find the right kind of oil for that in here.” He stood back and motioned her out of the shed. “Go on, now. There’s nothing in here for little girls. Not even ones that like baseball.”
She shrugged as if to say she didn’t care and headed outside, making a little noise of contempt as she passed him.
Shaking his head, Joe watched her until she returned to her brothers. Then he found his tackle box and opened it to inspect the set of flies and lures that had been handed down to him from his own pa. Satisfied with what he saw, he closed up the box, slung the strap over his shoulder, picked up his rod and headed out of the shed.
Whistling Christmas carols to himself, he made his way across the Collier’s land to the fishing pond, his feet crunching on dry leaves and brown grass as he went. The pond soon came into view, as blue as the sky, sparkling in the sunlight. Smiling, spirits high, he launched into a full rendition of “Jingle Bells,” but the song died on his lips as he drew closer to the pond. His stomach dropped as swiftly and violently as his heart leapt into his throat.
A little body floated in the water near the shore, blonde curls billowing out around it. Joe threw down his fishing gear and ran to the pond, pleading as he went for it not to be his girl, for it not to be too late.
He slowed his pace as he got closer and realized the figure was too small to be his Clarice. A bit closer, and he recognized the dress, soaked and muddy as it was. While the sense of panic and urgency fled from Joe, the sickness in his stomach remained as he pulled the wet and ruined doll out of the pond.
He turned it over in his hands and his nausea intensified. The doll might have been salvageable if it had only gotten dirty and wet. But its face had been smashed in, with no small amount of force. Shuddering, Joe recalled Sarah in the shed, standing in front of her pa’s tools. Had she been returning something? He thought he’d seen her hand hovering beside the hammer, but he couldn’t recall for certain.
He couldn’t accuse her without proof. But he couldn’t just let it go, either, and have the Colliers thinking that this was how his girl repaid their generosity.
His fishing plans forgotten, Joe turned and marched toward the house, tromping back over the dead grass and leaves, his hand gripping the doll’s arm like a vice. He found Sarah in the yard with her brothers and held the doll out as he approached her. “Did you do this?”
Sarah took one look at him and the doll, then turned and ran inside.
Joe restrained himself from immediately following her, instead taking a moment to keep his blood from boiling. He glanced at the boys, who both looked at him in confusion. With a deep breath, he went inside.
She had thrown her glove on the floor in the entryway in her hurry to get wherever it was she’d gone. Other than that, he saw no sign of her. “Sarah!” he called. “I just want to talk!”
Mrs. Collier came out of the kitchen. “What’s the matter, Joe?” Her questioning gaze landed on the doll, and her mouth fell open.
“I found it like this in the pond. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make too much of a ruckus about—”
“Sarah Jane Collier!” she shouted before he could finish. “You get in here right now, young lady!”
A moment later, Sarah came slinking down the stairs.
Mrs. Collier took the doll from Joe and held it out to Sarah. “Did you do this?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Don’t you be telling me stories, girl.”
“What makes you think it was me?”
Her mother put a hand on her hip. “Why do you think? After all that carrying on you did this morning.”
Just then the kitchen door swung open and Clarice came running out. “Papa! I helped make cookies that look like stars!” she shouted excitedly, then stopped in her tracks as she saw the doll. Her smile fell. “Dolly?”
The tremor in her voice felt like a knife twisting in Joe’s gut. “I’m sorry, punkin. I didn’t want you to see this.”
She only stood there, her lip beginning to tremble.
Mrs. Collier turned back to Sarah. “Explain yourself, young lady.”
Apparently knowing she was beat, Sarah turned on her own water works. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to break it!”
“What were you doing playing with it in the first place?”
“Clarice said I could!”
Joe looked back at Clarice. “Is that right? Did you tell Sarah she could play with your dolly?”
Tears were flowing down her face. She looked over at Sarah and nodded before wiping her cheeks with her chubby little hands.
“Then why on earth did you throw the doll in the pond?” Mrs. Collier asked.
“’Cause I didn’t want anyone to see. I knew you wouldn’t believe it was an accident.” And then she started to sob.
Mrs. Collier sighed. “Land sakes, girl. I ought to tan your hide for telling a fib, but I can’t argue with your reasoning.” She pulled her daughter in for a hug. “There, there. Now go on upstairs and clean yourself up. Then I want you to come back down here and apologize to Clarice.”
Sarah’s sobs reduced to sniffles. She turned to Clarice. “I’m sorry I smashed your doll.”
“It’s okay,” said Clarice, though her own tears were still flowing.
“Go on, now. And when you’re done we’ll pick out one of your old dolls for Clarice to play with.”
“Yes, Ma.” Sarah turned to go, and Mrs. Collier turned back to Joe. She didn’t see what Joe saw: Sarah’s hands behind her back, both of them with fingers crossed.
“I’m so sorry, Joe. Clarice, honey, we’ll get you another dolly.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Joe. “Truth is, I’d already picked out a doll to give her. It’s not as fine as that one was,” he nodded toward the ruined corpse of a doll in her hands, “but it’ll be a lot harder to break.” He reached out and placed a hand on Clarice’s head. “Will that do, punk?”
Wiping her face again, she nodded. Then she moved in close and hugged his leg. Joe knelt down to give her a proper hug. “Now you go back in the kitchen and help Mrs. Collier make some more of those cookies, and I’ll go get your other doll. Okay?”
“Yes, papa.” She turned and went back into the kitchen as told. Although she wasn’t the sort to complain, he could see her disappointment in the way she carried herself, and knew the rag doll would be a poor consolation prize.
“I’m so sorry, Joe,” Mrs. Collier said again as he got back to his feet. She shook her head. “I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl.”
Joe had a few ideas, and they mostly involved fewer presents and more trips to the wood shed. But he kept those thoughts to himself. He pointed to the doll. “I can take care of that for you.”
She looked sad as she handed it back to him. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll give Clarice some milk and cookies. That ought to cheer her up some.”
“That’s right kind of you, ma’am. I’m sure she’d like that.”
With a kindly smile and a pat on the arm, she headed back into the kitchen, and Joe headed upstairs to get the other doll.
Once again, Sarah’s door was open as he passed by. Once again, he tried not to look, but once again he felt eyes on him as he walked by. He stopped and turned to face Sarah. She sat on her bed, watching him with a smug, satisfied smile on her face, and any remaining doubt that she’d deliberately destroyed the doll was erased.
But more startling than that was the sudden, overwhelming urge he felt to walk in there and ring her little neck.
Joe forced himself to keep walking down the hall. By the time he reached the third floor, he’d pushed those murderous thoughts down so deep that he could almost believe he’d never thought them. In his room, with trembling hands, he opened the bottom drawer of his bureau and took out the rag doll. Turning the humble doll over in his hands, there was one thing he knew: Sarah surely wouldn’t be jealous of this.
And there was something else he knew, too: he would never allow Sarah to be alone with his girl.
Not if he could help it.
You’re a good writer, Jean Marie.
Loved the story!