Summary:\u00a0 This story was written for the 2016 Advent Collection.\u00a0 If the Christ child was born today, a Christmas before the Cartwrights.<\/p>\n
Rating:\u00a0 G\u00a0 (1,580 words)<\/p>\n
In Absentia Series:<\/strong><\/p>\n In Absentia<\/a> All Through the Night Christmas 1852, Portland, Oregon<\/strong><\/p>\n Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,<\/em> Meg was singing. Of course, Meg was usually singing. She sang while setting the breakfast table. She sang while polishing the silver. She sang while making the beds. Hymns, folksongs, pub songs, and lately, lullabies. Fortunately for Cookee, Meg\u2019s voice was sweet and tuneful.<\/p>\n Cookee was fussing over the delicacies he was charged with concocting for the Palmer\u2019s Christmas soiree: roast turkey with cranberry sauce, turnips, winter squash, cookies, assorted pies, nuts and raisins. He was torn between pride at the variety and quality of the repast and the certain notion that it would not be properly appreciated.<\/p>\n Stepping back from the hot stove, Cookee mopped the sweat from his brow and motioned for Meg to make room at the table. He sat down with a thump and sigh before snatching up the paring knife to work on the mound of vegetables.<\/p>\n Meg grinned at his theatrics and continued to sing under her breath.<\/p>\n Guardian angels God will send thee,<\/em> \u201cHow do you know this song?\u201d he asked her.<\/p>\n \u201cMe mum used to say the shepherds sang this to the Christ Child on the night He was born,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n \u201cTell me the story,\u201d Cookee invited her. They both settled into their chores\u2014he to cleaning the vegetables while she poked spicy cloves into the apples and oranges arrayed on the table.<\/p>\n When Meg wasn\u2019t singing, she was talking. Gossip, mostly, whispered comments about Mr. Palmer whereabouts and the places where he wasn\u2019t (anywhere near Mrs. Palmer).<\/p>\n When she wasn\u2019t singing or gossiping, Meg shared the bedtime tales from her homeland an ocean away. Ordinarily, she favored vivid, frightening accounts of witches, wolves, and lost children.<\/p>\n Although not nearly as exciting as her usual fare, Meg\u2019s Christmas story was nearly as fantastic. Nothing in Cookee\u2019s experience had prepared him to accept the notion of royalty using a barn as a birthing chamber. That a king\u2019s birth should go unannounced, unattended, and unheralded was unthinkable. Barbaric. Compelling<\/em>.<\/p>\n There was little time available to puzzle over the idea of an infant king (the \u201cking of kings,\u201d no less) born in such mean circumstances. Guests were coming, and a feast was expected. Their relaxed pace was soon abandoned for the need to rush about\u2014 arranging the dazzling repast on platters of chased silver to serve the hungry visitors . The banquet continued well into the night; in fact, by the time the exhausted Cookee and Meg had cleaned up after the departed guests, it was nearly midnight.<\/p>\n Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,<\/em> Mrs. Palmer appeared unexpectedly at the kitchen door as Meg was about to bundle herself into coat and hat. Their employer\u2019s eyes were rimmed red with fatigue, and she twisted her fingers nervously as if uncertain of her welcome.<\/p>\n \u201cSit, sit\u201d Cookee scolded, and he drew a chair from the nearby table. \u201cWhat Missy need?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to be in the way. . . I was hoping for just a morsel of something and a hot drink,\u201d Mrs. Palmer replied. \u201cWith all of the excitement, I didn\u2019t eat very much.\u201d Cookee frowned at the revelation.<\/p>\n \u201cHere, I make a plate for you. Go! Sit in parlor, we will bring it.\u201d<\/p>\n Cookee sorted through the leftover food while Meg fetched a plate and tray. Very soon they had the lady of the house settled into a comfortable chair with a tray of food at her side.<\/p>\n \u201cMissy have a \u2018Merry Christmas\u2019\u201d Cookie said, wincing at his pronunciation of the dastardly tangle of vowels.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Cookee. Merry Christmas to you!\u201d Mrs Palmer simpered as she carefully sounded out the phrase for Cookee\u2019s benefit. \u201cYou\u2019ll get it right soon. It\u2019s not that difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n Cookee beat a hasty retreat before his eye roll ruined the holiday mood. Meg waited in the kitchen as Cookee pulled on his own coat. Quietly they exited the house, stepping reluctantly into the icy mix of drizzling rain. The mile long walk to Meg\u2019s boarding house seemed to take longer than usual despite their hurried steps.<\/p>\n I my loved ones’ watch am keeping,<\/em> \u201cThank you, Cookee\u201d Meg whispered, pressing a small, wrapped package into his hands, \u201cMerry Christmas.\u201d She ran inside before he could protest. Running his thumb under a loose edge to pull away the paper, Cookie revealed a soft knitted scarf. He wrapped the bright cloth securely around his neck, pledging silently to prepare Meg\u2019s favorite candied fruits very soon.<\/p>\n Cookee headed back to the Palmer house. His small room would be snug and dry, and as his services would not be required on Christmas day a long sleep was assured. Since no one was around to notice his lack of dignity, Cookee broke into a trot, dodging around the growing puddles of water and trying not to slip in the mud. He found himself singing Meg\u2019s lullaby as he drew closer to the house.<\/p>\n Angels watching, e’er around thee, Cutting through the alley behind the house, Cookee was nearly to the back door when he noticed the slightest of movements from the corner of his eye. He halted and scanned the area anxiously. He had no desire to invite miscreants to push inside his employer\u2019s home.<\/p>\n Finally, he made out the source of his discomfort\u2014a sodden, shivering bundle of humanity tucked against the brick wall. Creeping closer, Cookee raised his lantern to reveal a small boy, blonde and frail, slowly freezing in the bitter cold. A touch to the boy\u2019s shoulder failed to rouse him, but confirmed how dire the child\u2019s condition was. Quickly, Cookee unlocked the door and propped it open. Returning to the child, he lifted the boy under his shoulders and knees and clutching his small burden to his chest, hurried them both through the door.<\/p>\n Midnight slumber close surround thee, He placed the child on a chair while he stoked the fire until it was blazing hot.\u00a0 The change of scenery served to rouse the little fellow.\u00a0 The boy\u2019s eyes were wide open, and he shrunk away as Cookee approached him.\u00a0 Cookee was quite able to command obedience through voice and gesture, but the night\u2019s work demanded a softer touch.\u00a0 He smiled at the shivering lad and coaxed him with kind words and gentle touches to relinquish his saturated rags in exchange for the coverlet from Cookee\u2019s bed.\u00a0 He rubbed the boy\u2019s drenched hair and cold flesh with the kitchen towels, all the while fussing at him in a way that might have felt threatening if the touch and tone weren\u2019t so completely compassionate. Soon the boy was warm and sipping hot chocolate as Cookee bustled about fixing another plate of food.<\/p>\n \u201cCookee? What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n He hadn\u2019t heard Mrs. Palmer enter the kitchen. Her eyes were narrowed and fixed on the small child wrapped in a quilt.<\/p>\n \u201cFound child outside in cold rain,\u201d Cookee explained as he heaped food on the plate. Placing the plate on the table, he stepped around Mrs. Palmer to push the child\u2019s chair close to the table and gestured for the boy to eat.<\/p>\n Mrs. Palmer briefly closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Clearly, she was attempting to react patiently to her cook\u2019s brazen offer of hospitality to strange children.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s certainly unfortunate,\u201d she said. \u201cHowever, I simply can\u2019t take in urchins off the street. It just isn\u2019t done.\u201d<\/p>\n Cookee surveyed the luxurious kitchen, snug and cozy against the cold night. The cupboards were laden with food left over from feeding people who did not live on the street and weren\u2019t forced to cower in icy rain on the most sacred night of the year.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d he asked her. \u201cWhy isn\u2019t it done?\u201d Her mouth gaped open at his impertinence, and she gulped and sputtered rather than offer a real explanation. Cookee seized his opportunity.<\/p>\n \u201cNo one brought lady about to have baby off the street. Said there was no room. Had to have baby in barn. Maybe people called that baby \u2018urchin\u2019 because they couldn\u2019t see he was glorious king.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCookee, this isn\u2019t the same thing at all! This child is . . .\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMissy,\u201d Cookee interrupted her gently. \u201cWhen you look at boy, all you see is rags, and dirt, and hungry eyes. Don\u2019t see glory that could be hidden under all. Maybe that why baby king was born in barn so everyone could understand glory doesn\u2019t come from fine clothes and house.\u201d<\/p>\n He had never seen Mrs. Palmer so flummoxed. He stood his ground silently and watched her expression shift slowly from righteous indignation to ashamed understanding. She brushed moisture from her eyes, nodding in acceptance of his words.<\/p>\n Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, \u201cThank you, Cookee.\u201d Clearing her throat, she gestured to the little fellow. \u201cThe small bedroom upstairs will do nicely, I think.\u201d Extending her hand to the child, she coaxed the little one to his feet. With a hand on his shoulder, she turned back to her cook.<\/p>\n \u201cMerry Christmas, Cookee.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMissy?\u201d<\/p>\n She paused.<\/p>\n \u201cName not Cookee. Name Hop Sing. Not that difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n She gave a little snort of laughter before replying.<\/p>\n \u201cMerry Christmas, Hop Sing.\u201d<\/p>\n I my loved ones’ watch am keeping, XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX MERRY CHRISTMAS XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Link to the 2016 Advent Calendar – Day 17 – Snow<\/a> (by faust)<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nRestitution
\n<\/a>All Through the Night <\/a>
\nSignificance<\/a>
\nHomesick<\/a><\/p>\n
\n(A prequel to In Absentia<\/em>)<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHill and dale in slumber sleeping<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHill and dale in slumber sleeping<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAll through the night<\/em><\/p>\n
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