Kissing Father Christmas (9 page)

W
e arrived early at the community theater. Miranda and I drove together with plates of intermission goodies stacked in a large box that I balanced on my lap in the cramped sports car. Ian had caught a ride earlier with his father. He was waiting for us when we arrived and helped carry the heavy box.

The walkway to the front door was lined with lanterns hung on shepherd's hooks. The candles inside the lanterns gave a warm welcome as well as a nod to the ambience we were supposed to feel, which was that we were stepping back into Victorian times.

It seemed to me that the architectural style of the theater was well over a hundred years old but I soon noticed that it had the same sort of double doors as my high school. A plaque at the front main entrance listed May 19, 1987, as the dedication date for the building. It also listed Sir James Whitcombe's name, so I drew the conclusion that this had been one of his many contributions to the community.

I wondered how Miranda felt when she first came here and was made aware of all the ways that her birth father had been involved with the village of Carlton Heath. It saddened me that he had passed away before she could meet him. Someday I hoped to ask her about that time in her life.

“I should warn you,” Miranda said. “Ellie makes it a practice to always dress in some sort of costume of her own for this special evening. She likes to keep it a surprise. It's not anything related to Dickens's era. She just comes up with her own clever creations. The first year I met her she was a sugar plum fairy. I think I still have pink glitter on my coat from when she hugged me that night.”

I remembered how Ellie had been the most colorfully dressed woman at Ian and Miranda's wedding. At the time I thought it was because she liked wide-brimmed hats with audacious poppies and sunflowers. I never guessed how much she adored dressing up every day in her own style of happiness.

Tonight, when she opened the doors and let us inside the theater, she was wearing a beanie that had a whimsical star attached to the top. Around her neck and waist and hips were long strands of tiny Christmas lights that lit up and flashed on and off at different moments. The rest of her costume was green. All green. Even her hair was green. Pinned all over her in no particular order were ornaments. Lots of ornaments. I now understood why she wanted to buy so many tiny ornaments at Harrods the other day.

“O, Christmas tree, O, Christmas tree!” Ian sang as if recognizing her costume and singing about it was the secret password that opened the door.

“Yes, yes! Come in, come in.” Ellie motioned for us to close the door behind us. To her dismay, guests were already coming up the walkway behind us. “We've an hour and a half till showtime. I don't know why people are arriving now.”

One of the women in the group tapped on the door. She was wearing a costume that looked like what a Christmas caroler would wear during Dickens's time. Ian explained that we weren't ready to open the doors for at least another hour.

“We're here to help,” the woman said. “We're the Rochester Carolers. We've come to sing.”

“I didn't know we were expecting singers,” Ellie said.

“Andrew MacGregor gave us a call this week. We're to sing as the guests arrive.”

“Oh, yes!” The star attached to the top of Ellie's cap bobbed as she nodded. “The singers! Andrew told me. I'd completely forgotten.”

“Where would you like us? Inside or out?”

“If you don't mind the chill, I think outside would be best. It's a mild evening, isn't it? But do stay inside and keep yourselves warm at least the next half an hour or so.”

Ellie scurried off, her ornaments shimmering and her lights twinkling. “Edward?” She called out for him. “Edward? Can you see to the thermostat? I don't think it was turned on when we were here earlier today.”

The bustling began and Miranda and I went to work, side by side, as we had the other night at the Tea Cosy. The theater had a convenient kitchen area with a refrigerator. Both the refrigerator and all the counter space were taken up with treats for the refreshment table.

We readied the beverages, decorated the refreshment table, and spread all the treats out in a festive manner with red cocktail napkins sprinkled throughout.

Julia came up behind us and let out a squeak. Miranda and I turned to see her in a darling mouse costume. She had news about the actors backstage. One of them had torn her costume and Ellie was doing a last-minute stitch up.

“Mrs. Roberts told me she was afraid she might forget her lines, so I practiced them with her.” Julia beamed. “She only has two lines. But I know how stressful it can be when you're about to go onstage. Well, bye!”

“You definitely are part of a theatrical family,” I said to Miranda.

“Yes. I am.”

“Do you like to act?”

“No. Not at all. I know a lot of lines from a lot of plays, though. More Shakespeare than anything. I used to run around backstage the way Julia is. Never in a mouse costume, though.”

We finished laying out the tea service on the table, using all the teaspoons available in the kitchen. The harmonizing carolers echoed in the foyer as they warmed up their voices before heading outside to add a merry welcoming touch for the arrival of the first guests.

The doors opened.

Ushers were in their places and Julia, the most convivial mouse that ever scampered around in a theater, was in high spirits. She received endless pats on the head as she expertly wove her way through the throng of people of all ages. I'd never been to the opening night of a play, so I didn't know if there was always this much merriment or if this was a British distinction. Or maybe it was characteristic of only this play, performed only on this night, with only this community.

Whatever the factors were, it made for a delightful time before the play even began. Ellie came to us with programs in her hand. “Miranda, why don't you and Anna find your seats and save a place for Ian? Go down the left side. Markie will show you where we've saved your places.”

Tall Mark, wearing an impressive-looking suit for such a young man, proudly ushered us to the fourth row from the front. Ian was already seated. Miranda slid in next to him and I took the aisle seat.

The inside of the theater was as lush as the outside. The curtain was made of a deep blue–colored velvet and when it was drawn back by invisible cords, the lights dimmed and an impressive hush fell over the audience.

On center stage was my uncle Andrew, dressed in the most magnificent Father Christmas costume I'd ever seen. It was, as Miranda had said, very much like the one on the antique postcard hanging on the wall in her bathroom. I glanced over at Ian and saw the look of a son's great pride as he focused on his dad.

The spotlight warmed on Uncle Andrew's impressive figure. He turned to the audience and with the great rolling of the
r
's with his Scottish accent he quoted the first line of Dickens's
A Christmas Carol.

“Marley was dead. As dead as a doornail.”

I
settled back in my plush seat and watched as the thoroughly enjoyable, impressive, and heartwarming play unfurled through the interpretation of the senior citizen actors. Each of them seemed to take their role quite seriously and played every scene with dramatic flair.

Petite Julia the mouse had joined us and was taking turns standing and sitting on Miranda's lap and then on my lap. She clapped softly with simple joy when she heard the line, “For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself.”

At one point Miranda turned to me and whispered, “My mother would have loved this. I think of her every year when I see the play.”

I gave her arm a squeeze.

In that moment, I felt as if I was a world away from my mother and father and the rest of my Minnesota relatives. While I didn't miss them necessarily, I did feel a fondness when I thought of them. I didn't think that my mother or any of my relatives would “love” the play as Miranda said her mother would have. They would enjoy it, no doubt. But the theater fell into the category of all things fanciful and frivolous.

As did my love of art and drawing.

Miranda tapped my arm and whispered. “That's our cue. We need to slide out before intermission and help at the refreshment table.”

We left Julia with Ian and took our places behind the bountiful spread.

The guests of all ages were fun to watch and chat with. I especially enjoyed the enthusiastic comments from the younger theatergoers who proudly wanted me to know which one of the actors was their grandmother or great uncle.

I thought of Peter the most during intermission and wondered which one of the older couples was his parents. Some wistful part of me kept hoping he'd been able to slip away and would come striding up to the table at any moment and catch me by surprise.

But that didn't happen.

On this night, the Christmas wishes that were coming true were those wished by the cast. This was their night in the spotlight and they were giving such commendable performances. The most notable was the man who was playing the role of Scrooge. He was leading all of us to believe that he truly was being transformed that night.

When we returned to our seats, the curtains were drawn for the third and final act. Scrooge, still in his nightgown and nightcap, stepped onto the stage and the lights shone on a large, festively decorated Christmas tree. Mounds of wrapped gifts surrounded the tree and in the midst of it all was the imposing figure of my uncle in his Father Christmas costume.

“Come in, come in, and know me better, man.” I loved the way Uncle Andrew belted out the line in his most jovial voice.

I glanced at Miranda and she was crying.

None of the scenes in the play affected me the same way as that one moment affected Miranda. That is, until Scrooge was being whisked away by the Spirit of Christmas Future. Julia was on my lap and her mouse tail was draped over the armrest and hanging in the aisle. Scrooge was shown the tiny crutches beside an empty stool by the fire and concluded that Tiny Tim had departed this earth.

Scrooge clutched his chest and cried out to the Spirit of Christmas Future, “I am not the man I was! Assure me that I may yet change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life.”

I wasn't sure why that got to me but it did. I teared up and wished that Peter were beside me. Instead, I had Julia balanced on my lap, so I reached for one of the ears and blotted my tears.

Scrooge played out his transformation fabulously and delivered his well-known declaration, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” I felt a lump in my throat and lowered Julia on her feet so that we could stand together the moment the curtains began to close and be among the first to offer our wild applause.

“We need to get back to the table,” Miranda whispered.

Reluctantly, this time, I slid out the back of the darkened theater. The applause broke out just as we entered the brightly lit lobby.

“Just a minute,” I told Miranda. I rushed back in and stood at the back, offering my applause. It seemed the right thing to do as the stage filled with the endearing cast. They received the hearty affirmation with many bows and grins and bobbing heads. I thought there might be some shenanigans with waves and kisses blown out to friends and family members. Not so. To the last, each of them maintained their role with dignity and reserved pride.

I hurried back to help Miranda tidy up. The packed playhouse let out a few minutes later and the slow stream of pleased guests made their way out the door where the Rochester Carolers were giving it their all once again. Some of the guests stopped by the refreshment table for one last tartlet or a bite of fudge. Most of the food had been enjoyed during the intermission. During the third act Ellie had consolidated what was left down to four small platters.

“We estimated quite well on the food this year,” Ellie commented. She stood beside me behind the refreshment table. “I had my doubts earlier this week. But as usual, it all shifted out nicely.”

An older couple wearing coats and matching red scarfs came over to the table. The man reached for a coconut macaroon, examining it before taking a bite.

“Oh! Hallo!” Ellie said. “How's Molly doing? I heard she's home with a fever. I hope that won't change your plans to come for Christmas.”

I perked up, catching on that these were Peter's parents. I smiled politely, hoping to be introduced.

“We'll see how she does and ring you tomorrow. Would that be all right?” Peter's mother had a soft expression but a surprisingly wrinkled and weary-looking face. She gave the impression of being a very private person who had more than a few significant ailments of her own but none that she would ever complain about to others.

“Yes, give me a call once you know. We are all looking forward to having you join us.”

Peter's father wore glasses and a hearing aid. His white hair was yellowed on the ends and looked scruffy, as if he was overdue for a haircut.

“Have you met Anna?” Ellie asked enthusiastically. “This is Andrew's niece. She's staying with us. She and her mother came from America last May for Ian and Miranda's wedding.”

Peter's mother glanced at me and gave a polite nod. “We understand you are an artist.”

“Yes.” I wasn't used to being called that, but yes seemed to be the correct answer.

“Peter said you are making sketches of Whitcombe Manor.”

I nodded again.

“How lovely.”

I couldn't tell if she was trying to size me up or if she was simply being reserved and formal in her approach. The good thing was that at least Peter had said something to her about me. I had no way of knowing how much he'd said or how he'd framed the comments. But at least I was mentioned in his conversations with his family.

“If Molly is well, I suppose we will see you on Christmas, then.” Peter's mother seemed to still be observing me carefully.

“Yes,” I said with a sincere nod. “I hope she feels better soon.”

Peter's parents gave me a polite farewell and made their exit.

“I must fly,” Ellie said. “Are you and Miranda okay with cleaning everything up here?”

“Yes. We'll take care of it.”

“I'm off to set up for the cast party, then.”

I'd forgotten that Ellie was hosting the cast party at Whitcombe Manor. I'd spent the day leisurely at Miranda's while she must have been going a mile a minute getting everything ready.

“I'll help out at the cast party, too, Ellie. As soon as we're done here I'll be ready for you to put me to work at your place.”

“Katharine has been at it, helping me all afternoon. She's already there, so take your time. This is really the easiest gathering every year. I just love it.” Ellie started to bustle her swaying ornaments out the door but forgot something and turned around.

“Oh, dear! I nearly forgot. Julia asked if she could stay here and get a ride home with you. Whatever you do, please, don't leave here without my little mouse. Ian has the key. He said he'd lock up. Be sure to get everything turned off. Ian knows everything else that needs to be done. All right. I'm leaving now. Ta!”

A handful of guests lingered. Peter's parents were gone. I guessed that anyone who was connected to anyone who had anything to do with the play was already on their way to Whitcombe Manor. It didn't take long for Miranda and me to wrap the leftovers to take to the cast party.

We were ready to leave when we discovered one problem. Ian's sports car could only hold two people. They could slide Julia into the open wedge behind the two bucket seats and she liked that idea very much because she knew that her brother had ridden there before.

“I'll make two trips.” Ian handed the key to the front entrance to Miranda. “Julia, why don't you stay here with Miranda? I'll take Anna over first and be back in a wink.”

Just then the jolly man himself appeared, still wearing his Father Christmas costume. He pulled up in a compact car, not on a sleigh. But his arrival was most welcome.