The Christmas Visitor
From an early age, Melinda Conklin had always believed in helping others. After becoming a mother, she tried to involve her two children in a number of worthy charitable causes, sometimes successfully but more often not. Then when Brandon was fourteen and Travis was six, Melinda's husband passed away. The widow and her two sons somehow managed to get through the summer and autumn months, but Melinda dreaded the first Christmas without Russell. She considered taking the children to Pennsylvania to spend the holidays with her sister and brother-in-law in the Poconos, but the boys wanted to remain at home in Puritan Falls.
The solution to the first-Christmas-without-husband-and-father problem presented itself in early November when St. Michael's Church placed a notice in The Puritan Falls Gazette asking for volunteers to take in senior citizens from the local nursing home for the holidays.
"What a wonderful idea!" Melinda exclaimed when she read the priest's appeal.
Since her two boys had grown up without grandparents, she believed it would be good for them to be exposed to the elderly. She broke the news to her sons at dinner that evening.
"We're going to have a guest for the holidays this year."
"Who?" Brandon inquired. "Aunt Doris and Uncle John?"
"No. I've made arrangements through the sisters at St. Michael's to have one of the residents of the Laurel Springs Home for the Aged come and stay with us from the day before Thanksgiving until the day after New Year's."
The two boys exchanged a look of surprise mixed with horror.
"We're gonna have an old person live with us all that time?" Brandon exclaimed.
"I'm sure it will be a rewarding experience to open our home to a lonely person during the Christmas season."
Neither of the boys agreed with her, although they wisely didn't voice their objections until they were alone in the family room after dinner.
"Do you think we'll still get Christmas presents with that old person here?" a concerned Travis asked his brother.
"Duh! Of course we will. Christmas will still be Christmas. We'll just have someone staying here, and we'll have to pretend we enjoy having a stranger spoil our holidays."
"Do you think it'll be a man or a woman?"
"I'd say a woman," Brandon decided as he surfed the television channels. "There are probably a lot more women than men in the old folks home. Men have a tendency to die before their wives."
"Like Dad," Travis said sadly.
"Yeah," Brandon agreed, feeling the familiar anger over the loss of his parent. "Like Dad."
* * *
Brandon's assumption proved to be correct. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving their mother came home from work with eighty-seven-year-old Hildegarde Nilsen, a plump, white-haired woman with wire-framed glasses, who smiled or laughed whenever someone spoke to her.
"She thinks everything is funny," Travis observed when his mother took the old woman upstairs after dinner so that Hildegarde could get settled into the guest room.
"That's because she's probably senile," Brandon said sarcastically.
"What does that mean?"
By way of explanation, the older brother pointed his index finger at the side of his head and twirled it in a circular motion, making a gesture nearly every American child recognized as a sign of someone being mentally off-balance.
Travis paled.
"Why would Mom bring a crazy lady into our house?"
"Because she wants to do a charitable deed. It's like when she gives our old clothes and toys to the Salvation Army or donates money to an animal shelter."
Travis frowned.
"If she wanted to do a good deed, why didn't she donate money to the old folks home and bring home a dog from the shelter for the holidays?"
Brandon laughed and affectionately patted his younger brother on the back.
"Maybe next Christmas that's what she'll do."
Melinda caught her oldest son's last words as she and Hildegarde descended the stairs.
"What will I do next Christmas?"
"Get a dog," Travis replied.
"If you two boys are willing to feed it and walk it every day, maybe we will get a dog."
"Really?" Travis cried, his eyes widening with hope.
Brandon would just as soon get a cat. At least it wouldn't have to be taken for a walk two or three times a day.
"A cat makes a good pet, too," the elderly guest declared.
Brandon quickly turned around and saw Hildegarde smiling at him. There was something about the twinkle in the old lady's eyes that he found disturbing. It was as though she knew he had been thinking about a cat.
"I prefer dogs myself," he lied and turned his attention to his kid brother.
* * *
The following day, Thanksgiving, Melinda forbade Hildegarde from entering the kitchen to lend a hand.
"I want you to relax and enjoy your holiday."
"I don't mind rolling up my sleeves and helping out with the cooking."
"Nonsense! Why don't you go and watch the parade with the boys?"
When Hildegarde went into the family room, she found Brandon and Travis sitting on the sofa, already watching the Macy's parade.
"That must be a new balloon," she said. "I've never seen it before."
"That's Abby Cadabby," Travis informed her.
The name made the old woman giggle.
"Good gracious! Who is Abby Cadabby?"
"It's a character on Sesame Street. She's supposed to be a fairy."
"Oh my! I remember the parades from years ago. There were balloons of Mickey Mouse, Happy Dragon, Felix the Cat and Smokey the Bear. Did you boys know that at one time the balloons were released into the air after the parade was over?"
"You mean they just let them fly away?" Travis asked.
"That's right."
Brandon turned away, paying no attention to the old woman's stories about the history of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. His younger brother, however, was clearly fascinated.
Not long after Santa Claus made his appearance, signaling the end of the parade, Melinda announced that the meal was ready. Travis immediately forgot about balloons and floats and ran to the dining room to get himself a plate of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes with gravy.
Although the meal consisted of the usual fare, the remainder of the day deviated from the established Conklin family holiday traditions. When Russell was alive, he and the two boys usually spent the post-turkey portion of the day watching football while Melinda curled up in front of the fire, first perusing the store circulars for Black Friday bargains and then settling down with a good novel and a cup of coffee. This holiday, however, Travis played checkers with Hildegarde, and when Melinda finished cleaning up after the meal, the three of them played card games. Only Brandon refused to join in, preferring to go upstairs to his room and watch football on his portable television.
It just wasn't the same without his father and brother. Brandon, who was a baseball fan at heart, found it hard to keep his mind on the game, especially with the sound of laughter coming up from the room below. Rather than turn off the television and join in the merriment, he stubbornly remained in his bedroom, irrationally blaming his unhappiness on Hildegarde Nilsen.
"What's she doing here at our house, anyway?" he asked himself angrily. "Doesn't she have her own family? Why is she trying to steal mine?"
* * *
The following day Melinda rose early, eager to fight the traffic and the crowds for the early bird specials. Hildegarde politely declined her hostess' invitation to accompany her on her annual shopping expedition.
"I'll stay here with the boys," the old woman offered. "I don't care to risk life and limb going out shopping today."
"Oh, great!" Brandon groaned as he watched his mother drive away.
"What's wrong?" his brother asked.
"Mom's gone shopping and left that old lady here with us."
"So? I think she's nice. At least she doesn't smell funny like Josh's grandmother."
"Brandon. Travis. Breakfast is ready," Hildegarde called from the first floor.
Travis, who had been expecting the usual cold cereal or instant oatmeal, was delightfully surprised by what he found in the kitchen.
"Chocolate chip pancakes!" he exclaimed.
"And not from a mix," the old lady said proudly. "I made them from scratch."
Although Brandon's mouth watered at the sight of the scrumptious breakfast, he wouldn't touch any of the food. He was too angry at Hildegarde for trying to win his brother's affection with her home cooking.
"Aren't you having any pancakes?" the old woman asked him.
"Nah. I'm not that hungry. I'll just have a bowl of Cheerios."
"Good!" his younger brother said. "That means more pancakes for me."
"There's plenty for both of you," Hildegarde insisted. "Now, do you want marshmallows or whipped cream on your hot cocoa?"
"Can't I have both?" Travis asked sheepishly.
"I don't see why not," the old woman replied with a conspiratorial wink.
* * *
During the next few weeks Brandon watched his little brother grow closer to the old woman with each passing day. The two baked cookies, built a snowman, decorated the Christmas tree, cut snowflakes out of white paper, watched holiday specials on television or simply sat and talked. Although they had tried several times to include the teenager in their plans, he flatly refused to participate.
"I just don't get why my brother is so taken with the old lady," Brandon told his best friend, Josh, during lunch one day. "I can understand why my mother likes Hildegarde especially since the whole adopt-a-granny-for-the-holidays thing was her idea in the first place, but why does Travis spend so much time with her?"
"Sounds to me like you're jealous," Josh teased.
"I am not. I don't want to hang around with an old woman."
"Maybe you're jealous of your mother and brother spending time with someone besides you."
"That's dumb," Brandon argued angrily. "You don't know what you're talking about."
But Josh's observation struck a nerve. With Hildegarde Nilsen at their house, Brandon no longer played video games or watched cartoons with his brother, nor did he have conversations with his mother as he dried the dishes each night. It was as though he, not the old woman, was the guest in the house—and Brandon didn't like it one bit!
Melinda noticed her older son's reticence to participate in the holiday festivities and attributed his lack of spirit to the fact that it was the first Christmas without his father.
"I wonder if I should take Brandon to a child psychologist," the worried mother mentioned to her elderly houseguest.
Since the mother had brought up the subject, Hildegarde offered her opinion.
"I don't think that's necessary. It's only natural that he's more withdrawn this year, but he'll get over it. You wait and see."
Although Melinda's instincts told her to seek professional help for her grieving son, she heeded the old woman's advice. She would give the boy some more time, but if he didn't seem any better in January, she would take him to a psychologist for therapy.
* * *
Things came to a head on the evening of December 23, just two days before Christmas. The three Conklins and Hildegarde Nilsen were sitting around the dining room table enjoying a delicious dinner that the old woman had cooked while Melinda was at work—actually, three of them enjoyed the meal, and Brandon moodily picked at his food with his fork.
"Stop playing with your food and eat it," Melinda instructed.
"I don't like it," Brandon replied. "Why didn't you make something? I don't like her cooking."
Melinda blanched at her son's rudeness.
"You know better than to be so disrespectful," she cried. "You apologize to Hildegarde at once."
"I'm sorry," he grumbled, showing absolutely no sign of contrition for his unkind words.
"You'll have to do better than that, young man," his mother told him.
"It's quite all right," Hildegarde said, trying to smooth things over. "I'm sure the boy didn't mean anything by his remarks."
Melinda was not about to let her son off the hook so easily, however.
"If you can't be polite to Hildegarde, then you can go upstairs to your room."
"Why should I be nice to her?" Brandon suddenly erupted. "She's not our grandmother. She's no relation to us at all. What do you really know about her, anyway? She might be some crazed killer who murdered her family with an axe. Maybe that's why she has no relatives to spend the holidays with. Besides, after New Year's Day, we'll never see her again."
"That's it! I don't care if it is your Christmas vacation. You're grounded."
Brandon got up from his seat, ran upstairs to his room and slammed the door behind him.
"I'm so sorry," Melinda apologized to her guest. "He's usually so well behaved."
"It's quite all right," Hildegarde assured her hostess.
Upstairs in his room, Brandon fought back his tears. He felt betrayed. His mother had sided with Hildegarde, and his brother had not come to his defense.
He looked around his room and hated what he saw. The Red Sox memorabilia he'd collected since he was a small child reminded him of his father and the fun times they had watching home games at Fenway. His father had been taken from him so soon, so unexpectedly. It wasn't fair.
Suddenly, Brandon wanted nothing more than to escape the house that was filled with inappropriate Christmas cheer. There shouldn't be any lights or decorations, no Christmas tree or gifts. By enjoying the holiday season, his mother and brother were betraying his father, too.
* * *
On Christmas Eve morning Melinda, who had taken the day off from work to spend with her family, sat in the kitchen with Travis and Hildegarde.
"French toast!" she exclaimed. "You're spoiling us, Hildegarde."
"I believe everyone deserves to be spoiled once in a while."
"About what Brandon said last night," the mother began.
"No need to say a word. I've already forgotten all about it."
"I mean what he said about us not seeing you again after New Year's Day. I hope that's not going to be the case. I'd like us to remain friends."
"That's very sweet of you, Melinda," Hildegarde replied, looking at the mother with affection. "I'd like that, too. Speaking of Brandon, where is he this morning?"
"He's probably still up in his room sulking. Travis, go upstairs and tell your brother it's time for breakfast."
The young boy returned several minutes later with the news.
"He's not there. His bed is made and his coat and backpack are gone."
Melinda immediately began phoning her son's friends, but no one had seen or heard from Brandon.
"Where could he be?" she cried, wishing she'd followed her instincts and taken him to a psychologist.
"I'm sure he didn't go far," Hildegarde said. "He'll probably be home by lunchtime."
But by nine o'clock at night, Brandon still hadn't returned. Shawn McMurtry of the Puritan Falls police had been on the lookout for the teenager all day but found no sign of him. Melinda was beside herself with worry.
"What if something has happened to him?" she sobbed.
"It's not good for you to get so upset," Hildegarde declared firmly, trying to calm the distraught woman. "Why don't you try to rest a bit?"
"I couldn't possibly. I'm too ...."
Melinda looked into the older woman's eyes and suddenly felt at peace.
"Yes. I'll go upstairs and lay down awhile."
Meanwhile, Brandon sat shivering outside the Red Sox team store on Yawkey Way, staring at Fenway Park across the street. How many times had he gone there with his father? he wondered. He remembered the days before the Sox won the 2004 World Series, when Yankee fans used to taunt Boston fans with cries of "1918." How he and his father celebrated when the curse was broken! What he wouldn't give to be able to spend time with his father again.
The tears he'd been fighting to hold back since his father died finally fell.
"Oh, Dad, I miss you so much," he sobbed.
"It's freezing out here!" a familiar voice declared. "You'll catch your death if you stay out here much longer."
Brandon looked up with a tear-stained face and saw Hildegarde Nilsen standing above him.
"What are you doing here?" the young man asked with amazement.
"I came to take you home. Your mother has been worried sick about you. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and you ought to be home with your family."
"They're not my family anymore. You've stolen them from me."
"Stop talking nonsense! Of course, they're your family, and they love you."
"My father loved me," Brandon argued, "but he's gone, and now I have no one."
"Do you think you're the only one who misses your father? Well, you're not. Your mother and brother miss him, too."
"Then why are they acting so happy?"
"Because rather than mourn what they've lost, they choose to enjoy what they still have."
"What's that?"
"They have each other—and you."
Brandon hung his head in shame, and his tears began falling again.
"Try not to dwell too much on the past. Instead, concentrate on making the present as memorable as you can."
As the old lady spoke, her voice became deeper.
"Come on. I'll take you home."
Brandon looked up. The old woman was gone. In her place stood a jolly old elf, dressed in a red velvet suit and hat. Above the long white beard and mustache, the twinkling eyes looked remarkably like Hildegarde Nilsen's.
* * *
Melinda rose from her bed at the sound of the front door opening.
"Brandon? Is that you?" she cried excitedly.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm home."
There were no apologies on his part and no threats of punishment on hers. Mother and son simply hugged each other tightly, both happy to be together. Moments later, Travis joined in.
Hildegarde looked on and smiled.
The following day was Christmas, and although Melinda and her two sons still felt the loss of their husband and father, there was a good deal of joy and love in their holiday celebration.
After all the presents were unwrapped, Melinda headed toward the kitchen to start Christmas dinner, and Travis took his new puppy for a walk. Brandon found himself alone with Hildegarde. The old woman reached into the pocket of her red and green sweater, took out an envelope and handed it to him.
"What's this?"
"A little Christmas present from me to you."
Brandon tore open the flap and took out three tickets to a Red Sox-Yankees game at Fenway Park.
"You, your mother and brother should go to a game together," Hildegarde said. "I think your father would have liked that."
A moment later the beard, mustache and red suit briefly reappeared before Santa Claus vanished, leaving no memory of Hildegarde Nilsen behind with the Conklin family, only a gentle reminder of the love they all felt for each other.
Does anybody want a feline guest for the holidays? (I didn't think so.)
