On Christmas Eve morning, Cynthia was buried under the covers. I threw on my robe and bumped up the furnace. The flow of warm air was welcomed. I poured our coffee and headed back to the bedroom. I was curious what the ‘little voice’ was going to ask.
“Baby? Are you in there?”
“Yes,” came the little voice.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Yes,” was the response.
“You can’t drink it under there. You have to come out.” I was holding back my laughter.
“Is it cold up there,” the little voice inquired.
“It’s getting warmer. Do you want your coffee?”
“Yes, please.” A little hand appeared from under the cover. The hand and cup disappeared under the cover. “Ummm, good. Nice and hot,” the little voice sounded happy. That was it. I lost it. I almost had to set my cup down.
The little voice interrupted my laughter. “Are you coming under here?”
“I don’t think I can drink my coffee under there,” I answered.
“Mmmm, bummer,” was the response. I lost it all. I was hysterical. I sat on the edge of the bed, roaring with laughter. Then things got worse. The little hand pulled the covers down just far enough to see two little sleepy eyes peeking at me. Now I’m useless with laughter.
“Cynthia, come up here,” I was panting from laughing. She sat up – she had her winter vest on. The tears flooded from my eyes, and my sides were in pain. I crashed on the bed laughing.
I finally calmed enough to take a sip of warm coffee. Cynthia smiled at me from behind her coffee cup. I could hear her giggle. She handed me her cup.
“Can I have some more?” Her expression is so very innocent.
“Well, let’s consider. You have had me in stitches and have had only a sip of warm coffee. I think we need to even the score.” I looked at her, trying to be stern.
“How?” said the little voice.
I pulled down the covers and started to tickle Cynthia.
“NO -JACK – NO, DON’T DO THAT – JACK, NO – I GOTTA PEE, DON’T!“ She jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. “DARN YOU JACK LANGDON! OOOH! YOU MADE ME, OH DARN!” I sat on the bed laughing. She came out of the bathroom, “You made me, I mean – darn you – I need new panties.”
“Then don’t wear any,” I suggested. Cynthia jumped on me, and we landed amid the disheveled covers, grabbing each other. We ended up kissing and hugging.
We settled down, and I looked at Cynthia. “I could not have a greater Christmas gift than you, Cynthia. You have made my life wonderful. I could not ask for anything more in my life, just you.”
“Jack, all I want is to give you everything a man, a lover, protector, a husband deserves. My life is yours forever.” We embraced and kissed long and passionately.
Cynthia got up put her vest away and put on her robe. “I have loved our love this morning, but you have to go to work. I am going to make your breakfast. It must be very cold out. It’s chilly in here.”
“I’m so glad you don’t have to go out today, Baby. It’s eleven degrees outside, I have no idea what the wind chill is. It’s a very rough day.” I started to get ready for work.
Her oatmeal along with bacon and eggs never tasted so good. She hovered over me making certain everything was just right. When I got ready to leave, she had my thermos filled with hot coffee straight from the pot.
“Jack, please call me when you get to work. It’s so bitterly cold out. I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“I promise to call you when I get there, Sweetheart. I’ll be careful. Honest.” She kissed me, and I walked out of the apartment. I have the necessary things in the car for our winters, but one never knows what Mother Nature has in mind.
I got to work early, and Mrs. Timbrook rushed into my office. “Jack, call everyone you can, tell them to stay home. This cold is dangerous. When you’re done, go home. Don’t wait for any of us, go.”
“Mrs. Timbrook, if you think I am going to leave and you and Nancy are still,” she stopped me.
“Lupton’s orders. No ifs, ands, or buts. Call your list and leave. Get home to your sweet wife and have a happy Christmas.”
“I won’t leave unless you and Nancy promise me one thing. That you will call me when you are home safe.”
“But Mr. Lupton said,”
“I don’t care. I’d say the same if he were standing here.
“He isn’t, but I am Jack,” Mr. Jennings came into the office. “Well, Maria, it appears that you owe me five bucks. Mr. Langdon is a company man. Even to the extent of his worry about others. Now, all of you, out. And Merry Christmas.
I got into the car and called Cynthia. “Honey, I’m at work and coming home. Lupton said to call people and tell them to stay home. I told Mrs. Timbrook and Nancy to call me, and then Mr. Jennings came in and told us to go home right then and there. I’ll be home in about a half hour or so. I love you.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Jack. Be careful. I’ll have a hot tea ready when you get here.” I headed for the jewelry store.
The owner did a wonderful job of wrapping Cynthia’s necklace. He said if I need anything else, just let him know. I jumped back into the warm car and headed to my wife. I kept prayers for the people I work with in the back of my mind.
I got home and ran into the house with her gift and my briefcase. The wind was brutal, and the air frigid. I opened and shut the apartment door. Cynthia came running to the door.
“Jack, are you okay, you must be frozen.” She took my coat and hung it up. The present remained out of sight. “I have some hot tea ready for you, do you want a shot in it?”
“That may be a good idea. I want to take a hot shower and warm my bones. Are you warm enough? Turn the thermostat up if you are chilly. I don’t want you to catch a cold.” I headed for the bedroom. “What on earth?”
Cynthia had decorated our bedroom like a little North Pole bedroom. The windows had snow sprayed on them, little icicles hanging from the curtain rod, snowflakes on her vanity mirror, and our headboard with a wintry garland.
“Cynthia, this is wonderful. Thank you. That’s a lot of hard work. It’s beautiful.” I hugged her and kissed her.
“Now, go one and get your shower and shave if you want. Here’s your hot toddy; sip slowly. Come into the living room whenever you are ready to relax.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, turned, shook her little butt at me, and disappeared to the kitchen.
After being in the weather, even for a short time, the hot shower was amazing. When I got out, the fog in the bathroom was almost too thick to navigate. I cleared the mirror; my face thanked me for the hot soap and the shave.
The fog had dissipated, and my sweats were hung on the door. They felt nice and warm. I went to the kitchen. The aroma of dinner had filled the rest of the apartment. There was no hiding from it.
The quiet Christmas carols played on the radio. Occasionally, they would break in and update on the weather. The announcer stressed not to go outside unless it was absolutely necessary. The temperature and wind chill were life-threatening. Cynthia looked at Jack.
“Yes, Baby. Call Allison and Stacey. Make sure Tommy and Andrew are home as well. Tell them if they need help to call, and I’ll do what I can.”
“Jack, I can’t let you out on a night like this. Please.” Cynthia started to cry. “Please,” her voice begged.
“I will stay here with you. Please call them and make sure they are safe.”
While Cynthia was on the phone with Allison, the announcer broke in again. He said that at midnight, they would transmit a Mass from St. Agatha’s Church for those who wanted to listen. Some of it would be in Polish, but the priest offered his services.
Cynthia told Allison, and then she called Stacey. She offered the same information to her. Cynthia settled down, knowing her friends were safe. We sat quietly for a moment. We could hear the wind howl through the trees, bending them to their maximum. The night was bitter.
With everyone accounted for, Cynthia and I settled in for our little celebration. We enjoyed a nice merlot as an appetizer for her standing rib roast. She called me to the table. She had the roast at the head of the table. She handed me the knife and fork and kissed me.
“I hope my husband is pleased with his Christmas dinner.” She stepped back and put her hands to her mouth.
I cut into the dark roast between the first and second rib. The pink inside glowed as the juices gently flowed from her creation. She placed a plate next to me and I put the first cut on the plate. Cynthia placed it at my setting. I made the second cut and placed it on a plate. She put it in front of her setting.
Cynthia had me sit down and pour my wine. She brought the stuffed potato and a small salad and placed it next to my plate. Then she did the same for her. She sat and waited.
I cut into the tender meat and put the piece into my mouth. It was so tender, juicy, and flavorful that every one of my taste buds came alive. I looked at my wife.
“Cynthia, there is no place that one could find a more magnificent meal. I’m speechless. I can’t believe the flavors and a knife is unnecessary. This should be on the cover of a renowned chef’s magazine.” Cynthia teared up at her success.
“I wanted my husband’s first Christmas meal to be worthy of him. You’ve made me proud, Jack. I’ve dreamed of this night for months. Ever since you said you loved me, I have lived for this night. Our first Christmas, my first Christmas meal for you, my husband.”
After Cynthia’s masterpiece and a glass or two of merlot, I was certain I would never eat again. With nothing left except the bone on my plate, Cynthia poured my wine and removed my plate. Her face was radiant as she removed the other plates and put my glass of wine in front of me.
“I have read the papers today, but I have not read where I have been crowned a king. Yet I come home to a feast that the King of England would have been proud of.” I looked up at her glowing face.
“But I did fix the meal for a king. My king, the king of our castle. The king that makes me his queen and not his slave, but his woman. I love you, Jack.” Cynthia’s smile was soft; her cheeks were flushed.
“Would you go into the living room while I straighten the kitchen,” she asked.
“Cynthia, let me help,”
“No man of mine is going to be in the kitchen. Now, please. Let me fill your glass and relax in the living room. I will be there soon so we can have our First Christmas. Please, Jack.” Even her eyes were begging.
I sometimes wonder if she is part magician; within minutes, she joined me in the living room. With her came a stand for the champagne and two glasses. She set the glasses on the table. Cynthia had this planned. That was obvious, but to what end?
She put on the old Christmas music we enjoyed as kids, lit the candles she had bought and set around the living room, sat next to me, kissed my cheek, removed the bottle from the stand, wiped it off, and handed it to me.
“Would you open our first Christmas champagne, please?” Her smile was different, her hair framed her face, and her eyes glistened like a Christmas star.
I opened the champagne but kept the cork from shooting across the room. I poured her glass, then mine.
“I would like to make a toast,” I smiled at my bride,” to the most wonderful lady I man could ever love. To my wife, Cynthia.” Our glasses met but sounded like a small bell, not a clink.
“And, if I may,” Cynthia’s voice was soft, “to a man who any woman would be proud to carry his name. To my husband, Jack.” Again, the small bell.
We sipped our champagne and enjoyed the carols we grew up with. Then Cynthia asked, “I would like for you to open your present. It’s just something for you but for us.” She got up and brought a large box from under the tree.
I opened the present carefully, saving the paper and ribbon forever. I found matching robes. Mine was a long master's robe; hers was a matching lady’s robe. They were magnificent. I put mine on immediately. It was a perfect fit. Cynthia stood up and removed her robe. I put her new robe on her. She looked radiant. She had a special glow about her—a new bride’s love of Christmas.
I got up and brought the small box from under the tree and gave it to Cynthia. She looked puzzled until she unwrapped it. She looked at the box, and it was as if she could see into it. She began to tear up and caught her breath. When she opened the box and saw the necklace, she sobbed with joy.
“Please, Jack. Put it on me. I want to feel your hands as you clasp it around my neck. Oh, God, it is beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Cynthia kissed me several times.
“Now, it is beautiful. You have made it magnificent.” She touched it and held it.
Cynthia looked into my eyes. She didn’t say anything but got up and walked to the tree. She brought back a small, square, meticulously wrapped package. Her hands were shaking as she handed it to me, and then she sat at my feet.
On the little card was carefully written: “To my husband. My first Christmas gift. With Love, Cynthia."
I looked at her. She was smiling, yet tears were filling her eyes. I carefully unwrapped the little box. When unwrapped, I looked at my wife. She was radiant. Her flowing hair framed her soft face, tears filled her eyes, and she blushed as she did on our wedding night.
The little plastic box contained a pair of pink booties and little pink socks. Cynthia’s tears were streaming down her face. Her smile sparkled, as did her eyes. My beautiful bride had given me a gift no one else could give.
I slid from the couch and sat next to Cynthia. She looked into my eyes for my response. I reached for my bride, hugged and kissed her, and my tears fell on her face. She sobbed with joy, knowing she had given me the most perfect present a woman could give her husband.
“My Love, does my present have a name as yet?” I held her soft face.
“If it pleases you, your present’s name could be Jacqueline.” My wife smiled through her tears and heavy breathing.
“But her giver has a beautiful name as well. Cynthia.” I kissed my bride.
“If you please, I think she should carry the name of the man who fathered her.” Cynthia smiled a certain smile I had never seen before.
“Then Jacqueline, it is. Our daughter will be christened Jacqueline Langdon.
I wrapped my wife in my arms. Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem quietly played in the background.
After a while, I helped Cynthia from the floor. I carried my wife, my child’s mother, to the bedroom made into the North Pole and laid her carefully on the bed. I covered her and crawled in next to her. She scooted her little butt against my body, and I caressed her breast. The breast that would feed our Jacqueline.
Our Christmas had just begun.
Departed Soul
