The Thursday Night Club and Other Stories of Christmas Spirit by Steven Manchester

Author:Steven Manchester
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fiction Studio Books
Published: 2019-10-15T20:19:15+00:00

Chapter 2

Although they were only days away from Christmas, Nancy Guillmette was miserable, lacking any spirit whatsoever for the holiday. For her, the season had long lost its magic.

“So you used to really love Christmas, huh?” Jeanne said. “What do you think changed that?”

“It’s too commercial now,” Nancy complained, “with toy advertisements running in November.” She shook her head, sadly. “Most of my family and friends, the folks I really loved, have passed away,” She half-shrugged. “I suppose it’s the price owed for living a long life.” She shook her white crop of hair again. “And you’ve met my daughters. No need to say any more there.”

“But Mrs. Guillmette, some people…”

“It’s my own doing,” the old lady interrupted. “I take full responsibility. When you spoil children rotten, you end up with rotten adults. There’s no great mystery there.”

“Okay,” Jeanne said.

“In my opinion,” Nancy said, moving beyond the awkward moment, “people who don’t celebrate Christmas are trying to ruin it for the rest of us who do. No matter what you celebrate, it shouldn’t be about exclusion; it should be about inclusion—embracing all holiday traditions from every religion.” She shrugged. “When you get right down to it, none of us is really that different at all. We all need to be loved and treated with kindness, right?”

“Absolutely,” Jeanne said. “Why don’t we talk about what Christmas was like when you were a kid?”

“That was a different lifetime ago,” Nancy muttered, sadly.

“I’d love to hear about it,” Jeanne prodded.

“You would, huh?” The old woman grinned.

Jeanne matched her smile. “I would.”

“So where do I begin?” Nancy asked, clearly unsure about this request.

“As far back as you can remember,” Jeanne said, “and don’t leave anything out. I want to know every detail.”

“And…and what if I can’t…you know…remember?” Nancy asked in the voice of a frightened child.

“You will, Mrs. Guillmette,” Jeanne promised. “Just don’t force it.” She grabbed Nancy’s hand. “Just let it come to you, okay?”

Nancy took a deep breath and then another before she closed her eyes. She stayed there for a long while, never moving an inch. Suddenly, she grinned. A moment later, the grin transformed into a full-blown smile. “I was young, really young,” she said, excitedly, “I remember trudging down Eastern Avenue in a snowstorm holding my papa’s hand. Garland was strung from one lamppost to the next in a zigzag pattern, with giant wreaths hanging right above the street.”

With a heavy sigh of relief, she sprinted back to her joyful childhood.

~~~

Small white lights illuminated the trees that retained a hint of green. Cars—with pine trees secured to their roofs with rope—slipped down the slushy street. Children were bundled against the bitter cold, scarves concealing everything but wide eyes peering out. Without fail, one of the kids would always hit Papa’s car with a snowball. And he’d always stop and pretend to give chase, balling up snow and throwing it back at the kids. He laughed so hard doing that, Nancy recalled. They’d stop for cups of hot chocolate, while the festive music of Nat King Cole swooned in the background.

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