The 13th Day of Christmas Read online

  Marva resisted the urge to start with the Advent calendar. It had been the last decoration to go up every single year, and every single year she’d almost given in and cheated the schedule. When John was alive, he’d playfully hide it under the bed or in the pantry and magically produce it only when the rest of the house was ready. She had no need to hide it anymore, and she carefully placed it on the corner of the kitchen counter until the time arrived. But she avoided looking at it, just to be safe.

  Marva remembered the year John made it by hand. It was their first Christmas without their son, J.R., and she’d asked her husband to make the calendar for her as her only gift. John had been a successful door-to-door salesman most of their married life, and despite his legs burning and his shoulders aching, he spent time in his shop almost every night in November, perfecting the wooden case and handcrafting each compartment and door. He’d raced to finish it by December 1st and Marva wept when he presented it to her that morning.

  Marva knew her tears were an odd mix of happiness and grief, but they didn’t stop her from placing the Advent calendar on the mantel that morning and filling each compartment but the twenty-sixth with a gumdrop. The space behind Day 26 didn’t get a gumdrop; it got something else.

  John hadn’t fully understood why she’d requested the calendar go one day longer than usual, to December 26, but Marva promised him that when Christmas arrived, it would be as clear as the Christmas star.

  All her handling of the boxes and tree had left her breakfast apron dirty from the dust storm of impatience. It was time for a Christmas apron anyway, and she sorted through a dozen on a long peg in the pantry. She chose one with the image of a chunky elf popping the buttons on his red, green, and white outfit. A roll of pink belly flab hung over his belt, and he said in a speech bubble, You can be Santa’s little helper. I’ll be the helper who likes pie.

  She tied on her apron by the kitchen window and smiled at the sight of Charlee standing on the stump at the edge of her family’s backyard. It was just how she’d first seen her, except this time Charlee was trying to twirl like a ballerina on one foot. She never quite made the complete circle before losing her balance and hopping off.

  Marva opened the back door and walked toward the stone walkway that separated the property she still owned from the spacious field between her and 27 Homes. She enjoyed a few more of Charlee’s spins, some with her finger above her head, and when Charlee finally saw her, she jumped back on the stump and waved wildly with both arms, as if signaling for help across the sea from a tiny, deserted island.

  Marva waved her over, and Charlee ran the opposite direction toward the trailer. A minute later she reappeared and sprinted halfway to Marva before stopping to catch her breath. Marva laughed when Charlee began running again, but soon stopped to walk the rest of the way.

  “You’re quite the dancer,” Marva said.

  “I am?”

  “Back there.” Marva pointed to the stump.

  “Oh, yeah . . . No, I’m not really very good. I can’t even spin all the way around without getting dizzy.”

  “Well, you look quite talented to me.”

  Charlee smiled and a rush of blood turned her face pink. “Thank you, Miss Marva.”

  They chatted about the unseasonably warm weather, and Marva explained what the word unseasonably meant. Charlee asked if there was anything to hang on the line, and Marva explained that she was all caught up, but that she’d need help in the morning.

  Charlee pointed at Marva’s apron and giggled. “I get it,” she said.

  Marva winked. “How would you like to help me with something inside?”

  “What?” Charlee asked with such enthusiasm that Marva heard only the Yes!

  “You’d have to ask your parents first, but I could use some help with my Christmas decorations.”

  Charlee cocked her head to the side. “Christmas?”

  “I know, the calendar says October, but my house will say December by the time the sun sets.”

  Charlee held her chin. “Will you excuse me?”

  Marva didn’t have time to answer, giggle, or argue because Charlee was galloping back across the field of scattered dandelion bunches toward her trailer. Once again, she started and stopped several times, and Marva admired her tenacity. When the door to Charlee’s trailer shut behind her, Marva went back into her own home and continued preparing for the day.

  When Charlee returned, she came with her mother, a prepaid cell phone her father had purchased for Charlee and Zach to use in emergencies, a Disney World water bottle, a stuffed monkey, and the brightest, broadest smile Marva had ever seen on either a child or primate.

  “You must be Charlee’s mother,” Marva said at the front door. “My name is Marva Ferguson.”

  “Yes, hello. I’m Emily. Emily Alexander.” They shook hands across the threshold, while Charlee ducked underneath their arms and slithered into the house.

  “Charlee!” her mother said.

  “It’s all right—come on in.”

  “I can’t, actually, I’m late for work. I just wanted to be sure this was okay. Charlee helping you, I mean.”

  “Of course, yes. I’d love the company for as long as she’d like to stay. We’ve got a lot in store.” Marva swept her arm behind her into her home like a game show host revealing the grand prize.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “She has a phone she can use to call me or her father—he’s at work, too. Her brother, Zach, is home if she needs anything.”

  “Understood, but we’ll be fine.”

  Emily smiled, and Marva could see both belief and relief on her face. Then Emily shouted a quick good-bye to Charlee, looked at her watch, and thanked Marva for keeping her daughter busy. Then she raced back across the field to the family van.

  Marva closed the door with a smile.

  7

  The Advent Calendar

  “Where do we start?” Charlee asked.

  “How about a tour?”

  Miss Marva led Charlee around the home, and her eyes grew wider with each new room. It wasn’t a large home, but to Charlee’s Hershey’s Kiss-colored eyes at less than five feet from the floor, it was a mansion. Charlee couldn’t tell if it was bigger than the home they’d left behind, but they’d been vacuum-packed in the trailer long enough that Miss Marva’s home felt bigger than the mall they used to visit on weekends.

  They continued through every room, even Miss Marva’s bedroom because Charlee asked, and Charlee gawked at every apron, figurine, book, and lamp as if they belonged to royalty.

  “This is a palace, Miss Marva!”

  “You’re very sweet, Charlee, but it’s just a house. Just my little home.”

  Miss Marva stopped at a bookcase in the living room. “Want to see one of my most favorite collections?”

  “More favorite than the aprons?”

  “It’s close.” Miss Marva winked and gestured grandly at three shelves full of books.

  “What are they?”

  “They’re Bibles. I have them from all over the world in all different languages.”

  “Coooool,” Charlee said. “Have you read them all?”

  “No.” She smiled. “But I’ve read this one many times.” She tapped the spine of a brown leather Bible.

  “Can I read it, too?”

  “My Bibles are your Bibles, Charlee. . . . But first, speaking of aprons, follow me.” Miss Marva led her into the pantry. “Everyone who decorates has to wear an apron.” She reached for a peg of aprons and separated a few so the fronts could be read.

  “Really?”

  “Pick one.”

  “To wear?”

  “My. Well, of course to wear. Are you here to work?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then pick an apron and let’s get starte
d.”

  Charlee spent so long considering her choices that Miss Marva excused herself for a visit to the restroom. When she returned, Charlee had on an apron that looked more like a dress. On it, a woman held a candy bar in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. The front read I have this theory that chocolate slows down the aging process. It may not be true, but do I dare take the chance?

  Miss Marva smiled at Charlee. “Nice choice.”

  “I mostly liked the picture,” Charlee said, holding out the apron skirt to admire it again.

  Miss Marva tied a knot in the neck strap to make it smaller, and when she let it hang again, the apron’s hem stopped at Charlee’s ankles.

  “How do I look?” she asked, taking a spin and letting the apron flare.

  “It’s perfect,” Miss Marva said. “Let’s get started.”

  Charlee and Miss Marva spent the morning arranging many of the decorations on the kitchen and dining room tables and taking a dust rag to those needing the care. They tested strings of lights and were pleased to find all of them illuminated when plugged in.

  “That’s never happened before,” Miss Marva said. “You must be good luck, Charlee.”

  The words made Charlee illuminate, too.

  They popped popcorn to freshen the decorative strings Miss Marva had been using for more Christmases than Charlee had been alive, and Miss Marva took the opportunity to explain why she never believed in throwing decorations away.

  “Every year I just keep adding. One year I imagine my tree won’t hold the weight anymore.”

  The idea made Charlee laugh, and she stood with her arms extended like tree branches and Miss Marva strung tinsel around her until Charlee pretended to topple to the floor from the weight.

  At noon they broke for lunch—half a ham sandwich, extra popcorn, and a glass of lemonade—and Charlee asked about a photo of two men on the wall. “You have a lot of photos of the man on the left, but not of the other one,” she said.

  “My. So perceptive, aren’t we? You’re right. The man on the left was—is—my husband, John. The young man on the right, in the uniform, is my son, J.R.”

  “The one you told me about.”

  “The one who passed away, yes, that’s right.”

  “Did he die in a war?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. J.R. died in the Vietnam War. I bet you’ll learn about that some day.”

  “I hope not,” Charlee said.

  Miss Marva took a drink of lemonade and delicately wiped her mouth.

  “Why do you call him J.R.?”

  “His name was really John Jr., after his father, but we called him Junior when he was a little boy. Then when he grew up, he liked J.R. better.”

  “I like J.R. better, too,” Charlee said, and Miss Marva smiled her approval.

  They finished lunch quickly, and Charlee was happy to get back to work. She told Miss Marva over and over that she’d never put up so many Christmas decorations in her whole life, and that each new item was cuter than the last. She especially enjoyed adding decorations to the tree and confessed that they might not have one of their own.

  “No tree?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know really, I guess. But I don’t think so.”

  “My. Well, you can come see my tree anytime. All right? My tree is your tree this year.”

  They passed from room to room, not moving on until each one could be mistaken for Santa’s home. When they both began to tire, they stopped to sit on the couch and look at photos or share a funny Christmas story from their past. Charlee revealed Melvin the monkey’s history and bragged about her father. “He’s an amazing monkey storyteller.”

  “Your dad’s a monkey?” Miss Marva asked and Charlee snickered.

  Next they sat side-by-side on the couch and dusted each piece of the nativity, even though Charlee couldn’t see a speck of dirt. “Are you sure these are dirty?” she asked.

  “Even the dust you can’t see needs to be wiped away, right?”

  “Right!” Charlee said with a big nod, even though she didn’t really understand. She watched Miss Marva pass a cloth through every crease of each nativity piece, and she mimicked her every move like an apprentice shadowing the master.

  They placed the pieces one at a time on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. They started with Joseph, then Mary, the three kings, a shepherd, a standing angel, an ox, a donkey, and a camel. Charlee watched Miss Marva rearrange the pieces with such care, she almost wondered if her best friend had been there that night. The final piece was the infant Jesus. But after it was placed, Miss Marva picked it right back up again and polished the smooth stone figurine in her hand. When she was done, she held it another moment before returning the Savior to Mary’s feet.

  “Are you crying, Miss Marva?”

  “No, dear, just praying.”

  “With tears?”

  Miss Marva used the tail of her apron to dab her eyes dry. “Sometimes crying and praying are the same thing.” She smiled the words.

  It wasn’t long until it was time to finish the day with one final project.

  “I should have asked you this before, Charlee, because this is very important.”

  Charlee’s eyebrows rose, and she stiffened her spine.

  “Do you have any experience with Advent calendars?”

  “A little.”

  “How much?”

  “We used to have one.”

  “Perfect!” Miss Marva grabbed her by the hand and led her back to the mantel in the living room. “Wait here.”

  A moment later she returned from the kitchen carrying the wooden box. She set it on the edge of the coffee table next to the nativity scene. “This is my favorite part of Christmas. It’s the very best part of the holiday.”

  “Better than the tree?” Charlee asked, her mouth gaping in disbelief.

  “Much,” Miss Marva said, then she took a rolled-up piece of white cotton fabric from the box and rolled it out across the mantel. Charlee noticed that it fit perfectly and thought it a miracle her friend had found a piece exactly the right size.

  Miss Marva pulled out the wooden Advent calendar from the box and held it so Charlee could admire it up close. It was mostly Christmas red with gold, hand-painted lettering. Charlee counted twenty-six numbered doors to open, and each one had a matching golden star attached as a small knob.

  Charlee let a peaceful moment pass, the kind she felt after she said amen to her daily and nightly prayers. Then she asked, “Miss Marva, why are there twenty-six days on your Advent calendar? Isn’t Christmas always on December 25th?”

  Miss Marva’s tired laugh was cut short by the doorbell ringing and the sight of Charlee’s brother, Zach, standing on the porch.

  When Charlee pulled open the door, Zach pointed with his thumb toward their trailer. “Time to go home.”

  Charlee frowned. “Okay, but you have to meet Miss Marva first.”

  Miss Marva looked him over from head to toe and smiled at him. “I bet I could guess who this is.”

  “Really?” Charlee said.

  Miss Marva extended her hand. “You must be Zach.”

  “Hey,” he answered. He shook her hand, but when it appeared he was trying to let go, Marva grabbed it with her other hand, too.

  “I knew it was you because Charlee told me how handsome you were.”

  “Really?” Charlee said again.

  “You did, and you told me he’s the best big brother you could ever have.”

  “He’s the only brother I have,” Charlee said, looking up at Miss Marva.

  “And aren’t you so lucky,” Miss Marva said, and she finally let go of Zach’s hand.

  Charlee looked at her brother. She knew him well enough to know he was trying not to smile. Her mother had told her teenage boys were good at that.

>   “Nice to meet you, too,” Zach said. “Time to go home, Charlee.”

  Charlee hugged Miss Marva good-bye and thought it was strange that when they got halfway across the field, Zach looked back over his shoulder without breaking stride. Charlee did the same and then smiled.

  Miss Marva was still watching them.

  8

  Emily’s Journal

  It’s Thursday, November 17. This is my first entry in the new journal. I can’t believe I’ve already filled one up this year. Usually one lasts me through December, and I still have blank pages left at the end.

  I dug up my old journal box this morning to put the last one in it. I thought about reading some of the entries from earlier this year, but I’m afraid it will only made me feel sad, and I’m trying not to be sad.

  So maybe one day. And maybe one day, they’ll all be interesting to the kids. For now I don’t think I can handle reminders of the old life and how much better it was than this new one. I’m just hanging on and that’s got to be all right for now.

  Thanksgiving is one week away. But we will not be eating here in the trailer. (I still refuse to call it a home because I am afraid that if I do it will become permanent.) Charlee’s best friend in the world is a woman from the neighborhood. Her name is Marva Ferguson; Charlee calls her “Miss Marva.” She lives in a nice home at the edge of the trailer park. She’s been here for a long time. She owned all this land around us once. She and her husband, that is. They sold it and were able to keep the area where her home sits.

  We are eating Thanksgiving dinner in her home. It’s an odd thing, I think. But Charlee cried when we first said no. She said she wasn’t upset that we were not eating there, she was upset that the rest of us didn’t want to get to know her “best friend forever.”

  So Thomas and I went over and spent time with Miss Marva that night, and we accepted her invitation. We offered to bring something, but she insisted that we simply come early. She wants me to wear one of her aprons and help her. I did not tell Thomas this, or Marva, but a part of me is looking forward to it. Even though my pride hates the idea that I cannot afford a traditional meal in my own home trailer.