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THE ANGEL
A Christmas Tale by Darwin Hageman
The cottage, surrounded by its pines and firs, with its snow covered roof and snow trimmed rose bushes and hedges, was a charming sight, especially with the lighted Christmas wreath in the window.
Then when suddenly the scream came from within the cottage, the scream seemed to cut through the still and crisp night air like a saber blade.
Tim Hogan, going home after shoveling snow on all the church walkways next door, having admired the special glow the moon in the cold clear sky gave the carpet of snow on the cottage roof, stopped in horror at the sound of the scream. Tim knew Agnes Smythe. Not that he recognized her voice as the voice that screamed. Tim pulled his tote bag off his shoulder and started running up her walk to the cottage and, leaping onto the single step, he rang the bell and began pounding on the door.
"Miss Smythe! Miss Smythe! Are you all right?"
The door came swinging open, and Miss Agnes Smythe came stumbling out and fell upon him.
"He's in there! He's in there!" is all she said.
The thoughts that Tim had in his head vanished. All he could think was, "Oh, my God, what have I gotten into?"
Gingerly, Tim entered the cottage, and there under the big lighted Christmas tree was the strangest sight he had ever seen. A large man in a gold jacket and gold trousers, with silver embroidery, and wearing a fur trimmed hat with large jewels on it was lying at the foot of the Christmas tree, and all the blinking gold, blue and red tree lights made his suit and hat sparkle.
Tim asked, in a hushed voice, "What does this mean, Miss Smythe?"
Miss Smythe came in behind Tim. "Is he dead, Tim? He is from the Christmas pageant that we were rehearsing tonight over at the church, for tomorrow is the performance, he is one of the Magi, one of the three wise men; and I invited him to tea, to see my tree. I was in the kitchen, and when I came back in....well, you can see exactly. This is how I found him. Is he dead? Do you think he is dead? I don't have the courage I had in my youth. I didn't dare touch him."
Timothy Hogan stood there feeling he did not have the courage he had in his youth either, and he was only twenty-five.
"I...I..." and stepping forward he reached out and took the man's wrist. "He's warm. He's alive, Miss Smythe."
"Oh, thank the Lord. I have to clean up this mess. You call for the ambulance. When I saw him like that I dropped the tea tray. I am so grateful I did not break my favorite tea pot. I've spilled tea all over the carpet. There's the phone, there, in the dining nook. Here, I'll turn on the light for you. Just ask for information, I don't know the number."
Tim did everything he was told to do. Miss Smythe seemed so matter-of-fact and cool about it all, after that terrible scream she had made. Tim supposed she was sort of in shock.
When he hung up, she was mopping the rug and the splattered floor. Tim said, "They are coming."
"Good, would you take care of it. Look, I am still wearing the blue and white costume I wear in the pageant as one of the shepherd's wives. I haven't even changed."
"Don't you think we should do something for him?"
"Who? Oh, him. Maybe a pillow under his head. Handsome fellow. I really don't know him; I just invited him over for tea, to see my tree. Here's a sofa pillow."
Tim took the pillow and leaned down. It was exactly then - maybe it was the sound of Tim's breathing, or their voices - that the man opened his eyes and laid there staring into Tim's widely opened eyes.
The man struggled to get up. "Oh, thank God, you have come. Did you see the angel?'
"What angel?" Tim asked, finding his throat very dry.
The man, gripping hold of Tim pulled himself up to the standing position. "That's all I remember. I must have passed out! The angel. That one at the top of the Christmas tree. I was standing here as - yes, there she is - she was in the kitchen making tea, and I was standing here staring at the very beautiful fir tree, all so beautifully decorated, with the blinking lights, and in staring at the angel, it seemed to move and then get larger, the angel, there at the top of the tree, and suddenly it lifted itself up into the air, and on its wings it hovered over the tree! That is all I remember. Everything seemed to go black."
"It's all right, it's all right. The ambulance is coming."
"Ambulance?"
"Yes, just to check to see you are all right."
"Oh, yes, of course. I do understand, for the sake of all concerned. I'll just sit here."
Tim said, "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Yes, please."
Agnes Smythe said, "But I've spilled all the tea."
It was then they heard the siren of the ambulance. The men came in and the man in gold stretched out on the stretcher, and as they left Miss Smythe murmured to Tim, "He must be a lunatic or too much holiday punch. Would you go out to the ambulance with them, I am not dressed."
After they all left to go out to the ambulance, and putting the tea things and the broom and mop back in the kitchen, Agnes Smythe returned to the Christmas tree. There was the angel on the top of the decorated tree; Agnes had made it herself, the angel, using a bit of wire and percale for the wings and an old piece of satin for the dress, and a very used Barbie doll that some child had thrown away in the trash for the body and face. She believed none of what the man had said, it was nonsense.
But as she stood there staring, the angel seemed to shake itself out of sleep, and it moved and grew larger, and it lifted itself up on its wings and it hovered over the tree, just as the man from the pageant had said it had.
And then the angel spoke, in a perfectly calm clear voice: "Agnes Smythe, I have come to announce to you that you are pregnant with child, having known no man."
All Agnes could get out was, "Wha...?"
Tim walked back up the walk to the cottage. He paused and turned as the ambulance drove away, its siren shattering the quiet of the evening. Going on up to the cottage, he pushed open the door that was still ajar, and there was Miss Smythe lying under the Christmas tree on her back in exactly the same position the man had been lying in. Tim gasped, and in doing so he backed up hitting the standing door and it slammed shut behind him.
Tim rushed to Miss Smythe, glancing quickly around the room. He kneeled down by her. Her hand and wrist and arm were warm and there was a pulse. She was still wearing the blue and white robe, and the shawl she had been wearing was flung out under her, and her arms lay sprawled out on the shawl.
Tim jumped up. And he remembered that strange story the man in the gold costume had told. Tim glanced up at the tree and at the angel on top. Then he turned and remembered the phone. But, no, he backed away towards the front door. He opened it, checking that the latch was off, and he closed the door. And running as fast as he could, he ran around to the church, up his well-shoveled walks, and struggling with his keys, he opened the church door. He had keys, for he worked there, and running up the aisle, he twisted between the pews to the vestry door and again using his keys, for the vestry was where he stored his shovels and brooms, he entered and turning on the lights found the phone.
"Yes, give me the hospital, please, it is an emergency." As he stood waiting, he looked around the vestry. It was freezing cold. Then a rather cold voice came on the phone.
"This is Community Hospital. Can I help you?"
"Yes, I am Tim Hogan, and your ambulance came to Fir Cottage because of a man who had fainted, and they took him away, but now - yes, Fir Cottage next to Saint Luke's Church - now Miss Smythe has fainted, and she is out like a light, and I don't know what to do, I think you should send the ambulance back."
When he finally hung up, he was bathed in sweat, and the church seemed colder than ever. He locked the vestry door. Somebody had left the candles lighted at the altar. That was not wise. He went and blew them out, muttering a clumsy prayer: like, "Oh, my God..." and in the darkness he worked his way to the front door of the church and locked it. Then running again, he went back to the cottage, and when he got in, the warmth comforted him.
He left the door unlatched, knowing the ambulance would be coming, and he sat down, panting for breath. There she was, lying there. There was the tree with the angel on top, looking rather silly with its lipsticked mouth. But as he took it all in, he noticed something was different. Before, Miss Smythe had been lying with her flung out arms on the shawl under her. Now, her hands were resting on her stomach.
That seemed good news, to Tim, she had moved.
When the siren, as the ambulance entered that street, sounded its shrieking horn, Tim jumped in his chair. Within minutes, Tim found her purse on the same table the phone was on, and he found her keys, in the purse. He could turn the latch in the cottage door, after all of this was taken care of, when he left, but she would need her keys to get back in. So, when they came in with the stretcher and put her on it, he was careful to see that they took her purse with her.
Tim watched as the ambulance took her away. He turned all the lights off, including the Christmas tree lights. Standing in the doorway, he looked back at the shape of the big tree. The wreath in the window was still lighted, but he decided to leave it on for when Miss Smythe came back. It had probably been all too much for her, finding a man she thought might be dead lying under her Christmas tree. And when she came back having the wreath lighted would make it more cheerful.
Tim went out, careful to turn the latch in the door, and he pulled the door closed behind him. He had fortunately remembered to get his tote bag. And he paused to zip his jacket up. Tim turned back and he saw, as he paused on her walkway, the moon still shining on the snow on the cottage roof, and he saw the firs and the pines, and the snow on the hedges. And there was the Christmas wreath in the window, lighted so cheerfully. And Tim walked, gratefully, on home.
As he walked home, along walks that were not so well shoveled, he remembered that, that night they were rehearsing the Christmas pageant, at the church. Tim wondered if Miss Smythe as the shepherd's wife and the stranger as the Magi would be there, on Christmas day, for the performance? Oh, he just felt sure that they would be.
THE END
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