Christmas Gold - Part 2 of 6

Part II

When the Thorntons assembled in the living room, Nicole claimed the rocking chair, took a swig of wine and set her glass near the Nativity Scene she'd just assembled. Somehow hearing "Silent Night" gently play in the background was enough to remind her that no matter what she was about to hear, her grandfather's past couldn't be as dismal as she feared.

Their father clasped his hands together, which was a bit unnerving for all three girls, since this was his trademark for beginning a talk, whether about a lowly test score, a boy he didn't think they should be seeing, or a curfew they'd missed. Their mother sat close to him on the couch, her hands folded as in prayer while Julia perched on the edge of her seat and Kyla toyed with a green ribbon in her hair.

Mr. Thornton cleared his throat. "You already know that my father grew up during the Great Depression and that living through that's had a lasting affect on his life."

Kyla nodded. "And everyone says that's where we're headed with this recession. So I don't see how it could really be that different back then. Do you?"

Nicole put her fingers to her lips, wanting her little sister to stop her fidgeting and just stop to listen, but in truth, she was a bit curious as well. The current economic forecast had been in decline for quite some time, and while their family was considered middle-class, she hadn't experienced the drastic blow as portrayed following the Crash of '29.

Sure, she wasn't able to shop at Nordstrom often anymore, and she usually decided between getting her nails down or having her eyebrows waxed, but none of the Thorntons or most people that she knew for that matter, were scrambling for light bulbs or trading out their meat for soup scraps. Life wasn't that dire.

"One of the differences today," their father said, running a hand over his stubble on his chin, "is that running out of money doesn't stop people from spending. In the 30's, if you were broke, that meant you were at zero. Not so today. Plastic cards hide the fact that people have substantial debts they are unlikely to ever repay."

Nicole swallowed at this, thinking of not only her Nordstrom balance, but the staggering amount she still owed for that dining room set, and that back-up card she'd taken out since it gave her frequent flier miles. The drastic interest rate wasn't mentioned back when she activated the card.

Not wanting to level with such truths, Nicole attempted to redirect her family to the matter at hand: Grumps' disappointment with her.

Though her father never told them to close their eyes and imagine how it would have been, his storytelling transported them all, his wife included, after the first few words.

"My great grandfather worked in shipping back when the stock market crashed," Mr. Thornton said, his dark brown eyes flickering against the candles that were lit earlier that evening. "He wasn't without work since people still needed their essentials during hard times, but there were a lot of cut backs. His shifts weren't as long or reliable after the depression set in. It shook him, those months he wasn't as equipped to provide, but my great-grandmother didn't waver." He shook his head regrettably. "I never met her, but I've been told she was a spit-fire. She never called my dad "Ed." It was always Edward, and it caught his attention every time, whether he was in trouble or not."

And though she'd never heard her voice, Nicole was told it was deep and sultry. Perhaps that's why she was almost able to hear her call "Edward!" at the top of the stairs despite of never having been there, despite never having met her great-grandmother at all.

****

1934

Their house in Seattle was small and drafty. No matter how many logs were thrown on the fire or how many blankets the Thorntons huddled beneath, there was no getting comfortable. The cracks beneath the doors and the space below the windows seemed to welcome frostiness.

Knowing this, Helen outfitted her brood of seven children in hand-me-down gloves and hats and told them that she didn't want to hear any complaints about how cold they were.

"It's not that cold. If you think your teeth are chattering, take a run around the block," she said. "That oughta warm you up."

While the oldest daughter Missy rolled her eyes at this logic, wondering who would think to sprint around on a drizzling, overcast day, Ed typically heeded his mother's advice and then some. Full of energy, he could scarcely contain himself within the narrow walls of their house. Rather than risk knocking over the Advent calendar or cause the Nativity figures to fall, he took to the outdoors, sometimes for greater periods of time than his mother intended.

Since a neighbor boy, Jimmy had a larger backyard as well as a black lab to play with, Ed purposefully began losing track of time. Even with his gloves and hat, he watched his breath spiral in the air and felt his cheeks burn from cold. But he didn't dare leave his neighbor's back yard until Jimmy was called in for supper. If he left early, he knew he'd likely be subjected to a litany of chores and wouldn't be allowed to leave the house again.

One evening, close to Christmas, Jimmy raised a mitten to wave goodbye as his mother was ushering him in for ham and turkey soap. Ten-year-old Ed lingered on the front porch inhaling the broth and almost tasting the richness of the meat. He hoped that Mrs. Nelson would invite him in to have, if not a bowl, than a sip, but she took one look at him, tilted her head and said, "You best go indoors, child. I'm sure your momma is wondering where you are."

"She might be," Ed wanted to say, "but she won't be serving ham and turkey soup."

Instead, he nodded politely and ran a hand over the lab's thick coat. The dog seemed to adulate him, collapsing contentedly at his feet. If only he was mine, Ed thought, already knowing that wasn't feasible. At least he got to chase the Nelson's dog around after school.

Once Jimmy was seated at the table with the rest of his family, Ed surprised even himself by lingering on their front porch. Since the curtains were closed, he could barely see them, and he knew they were too consumed with raising the spoons to their mouths to think he might still be there.

Ed didn't know why he was reluctant to head home; from the top step of the Nelson's patio, he could see the billows of smoke swirling from the chimney of his house. Since the curtains were still drawn, he spied his youngest sister Evelyn spinning in circles, undoubtedly listening to Christmas carols on the static radio. He watched his younger brother Mark press his nose against the living room window and abruptly stop soon as their mother stepped in the room, thin arms on her hips.

Ed sniffed and felt his nose running, but didn't stop to wipe it. Instead, he crouched down next to the Nelson's dog, Tucker, and thought of the reason he was reticent to return home. No one was saying anything about what was happening to his mother, but he wasn't missing any of it. She wouldn't hear a word of it, but he saw her grimace when she struggled to open a bottle of pills. He'd watched her start to twitch when trying to set a loaf of bread on the table and saw his father graciously intercept it on her behalf. Sometimes her trembling lasted for only a few seconds, sometimes for a few minutes, but the one time Missy tried to ask her about it, their mother shook her head and said, "Maybe the chill in the air is getting to me. It's nothing for you to worry about." She'd promptly left the room and locked herself in the closet for a few minutes. When she emerged, Ed noticed her Rosary clasped firmly in her hands.

Missy, detecting that there was more to it than the nip in the air, pressed her ear to the vent at night and stood closely outside her parent's bedroom door to see if she could catch a revelatory phrase, an insightful sentence. Her father's face was a map of strain of late, and she knew that the state of his employment wasn't all that was getting to him. One morning, when he left his place at the table to use the restroom, Missy went to his seat and removed his mug of earl grey tea. Beneath its impression, she saw what he'd been looking at. Under the pretense of reading about F.D.R. and his New Deal, she saw that he'd hidden a small piece of folded paper. Written on it were the names of at least five physicians that might be able to see their mother at a low cost.

He might run around outdoors until his cheeks were ruddy and his fingers were frosted, but deep inside Ed believed there was reason to fear. His mother might say that it wasn't really cold outside; she might say that that she was in good health, but he didn't believe her.

Though anticipating her fury as soon as he opened the door and caused the bells to jingle his arrival, he somehow didn't mind her drawn out "Edward."

"I'm sorry, Ma," he said, feeling the heat of the fireplace scorch his cheeks, "I was having fun out there with Tucker and lost track of the time."

Instead of sending him to his room, she said, "Supper hasn't been served yet, but you could have missed it. Your father's working later than usual tonight." She smiled without showing her teeth. "Why don't you come to the living room with the rest of your brothers and sisters and listen to me tell a story?"

Once he joined his siblings out there, he noticed there were seven stockings hanging over the fireplace. Their Christmas greens and reds and golds shimmered as the log in the fireplace behind them set off sparks.

Without waiting for them all to sit around her, Helen sank into the rocking chair and glanced at the stockings with admiration. "Let me tell you a legend about the Christmas stockings," she said, hoping to distract her children from thinking of their growling stomachs until their father set foot in the door. "In the fourth century, before St. Nicholas was famous for granting children their Christmas wishes, he overheard an impoverished merchant speaking about his sorry financial state to another merchant. The man was a widower and had lost all his earthly goods to failed inventions, you see." She paused long enough to realize that all her children were savoring her words as if they were sugar.

"Since he had three daughters of marriageable age, he feared that no man would consider taking their hand in marriage; they had no dowry. Upon realizing that the proud father wouldn't accept any charity, St. Nicholas knew he had to be strategic. He passed by the cottage on enough wintry nights to know that the three beautiful daughters placed their stockings over the mantel to dry through the night."

While Ed wasn't listening to his mother's tale with the childlike belief of his younger siblings, his attention could scarcely be broken. He drew in his breath, anticipating the magic of fiction.

"St. Nicholas waited until the entire family was asleep, and then he carefully climbed to the rooftop and stood over the chimney so he could throw down enough gold coins to fill each of the daughters' stockings. By morning sun, all three of the girls awoke to find their stockings contained a ball of gold." Mrs. Thornton smiled upon revealing this next part. "He'd given them their dowry, and the relieved father watched each daughter marry before the next year's snow fall. What you may not know is that that those balls of gold are what first inspired the Christmas orange you find at the bottom of your stocking."

Upon completing her story, the youngest sister Evelyn glanced up at her mother, and asked, "Will I get an orange in my stocking?" Her cheeks were cherubic and red from the fire's roast.

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Thornton said, leaning over to kiss the top of her daughter's head. "And so will the rest of you."

Had the story of her grandfather's enmeshment with the Christmas orange ended there, Nicole might have been able to polish off the remaining drops of wine and call it a "night." Yet, her father's remaining words forced her sit up and clasp the rocker's upholstered arms almost forgetting to let go.