From: The Gift Giver

Chase Grayson pushed open the glass doors of Willows Brook Christian Home. He entered the current date, 12-24-16, into the passcode, and entered the building. Upon entering, he noticed the elaborate red, green, and silvery blue decorations. Holly hung from the front desk and festive-smelling candles were lit all over.

            As beautiful as it all was, none compared to Nurse Emily Davidson. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, still curly after the long shift she had just finished. “Chase,” Nurse Emily exclaimed when she looked up from the notes on her clipboard. He gleamed at Nurse Emily’s eager, wolf-like eyes and tried to remember why he was there.

            “Chase?” She asked.

            “Yeah?” He replied.

            “You awake? Did you hear what I said?” Nurse Emily asked as she waved her hand in front of his face.

            Trying to play it cool, he replied, “Duhhh, ‘course I did. Mrs. McArthur, right?”

            “Right,” Nurse Emily replied. She handed him the clipboard in her hands. “All of my other patients are asleep right now. Mrs. McArthur is the only one that might prove difficult.” She hesitated for a second. “Are you sure you’re okay with taking my shift?” she asked, “It is Christmas Eve night, after all. Surely you have plans tomorrow.”

            “Nah, girl, it’s cool,” Chase replied. That wasn’t quite true. His parents didn’t know he was working that night and they were expecting him to spend Christmas with them. A male nurse that Chase didn’t recognize butted his way in between them, rushing to help one of his patients down the hall.

            “Okay,” Nurse Emily replied, once they were alone again. “By the way,” she turned to the counter, “There’s a gift here for Mrs. McArthur. Well, it doesn’t say it’s for her, but it says it’s from the gift giver, and she’s the only one here who gets gifts addressed like that. I’m not sure who brought it in. I was about to give it to her when you walked in.”

            “Don’t worry, I can do that,” Chase replied.

            Nurse Emily smirked. “Just to warn you, when you give it to her, she’s going to want to tell you the story behind it.”

“I’m cool with that,” Chase replied.

“Okay, thanks,” she said quickly, and then paused. “And thanks again for finishing my shift. It means a lot to me, and I owe you one.” Nurse Emily started to walk away when she shouted back, “Hope you have a good shift! Merry Christmas!”

            Chase watched as Nurse Emily left through the glass doors, took out her car keys, and trudged through the snow to her car. He then turned his attention to the clipboard that contained Mrs. Tracy McArthur’s medical information. Apparently, she had attempted to sleep earlier, but remained restless. Since then, she had asked to be moved to her wheelchair and has been sitting in it, staring out the window for quite a while.

            Chase glanced at the small gift box labeled “To: You From: The Gift Giver.” He snatched it up and headed for her room. As he walked down the hallway he greeted several of his fellow nurses, most of whom he didn’t recognize considering that he was working an odd shift.

            Chase reached the door number, 174, and knocked lightly before entering. “Mrs. McArthur?” He asked.

            “Charlie?” She replied. Mrs. McArthur’s room was dim, as most of the rooms were. The room was slightly decorated for Christmas, but only a few things that could easily be taken down. Mrs. McArthur sat in her wheelchair facing the window. “Could you turn me around?” Mrs. McArthur asked.

            “Absolutely,” Chase replied. He quickly grabbed the handles to the wheelchair and maneuvered it so that Mrs. McArthur faced away from the window.

            “I was just watching the snow pile up outside,” She explained. “It’s quite beautiful.”

            “Yes, it is, Mrs. McArthur,” Chase replied. “I have something for you.”

            “Oh?”

            “A present,” Chase handed the box to her. “Says it’s from the Gift Giver.”

            A smile big enough to encapsulate all of Christmas spirit shone of Mrs. McArthur’s face. “My husband,” she exclaimed.

            Taken aback, Chase sadly reminded her, “Mrs. McArthur, your husband isn’t here anymore. He’s dead.”

            Mrs. McArthur nodded. “I’m aware of that. I may have a lot of problems, but my memory ain’t one of them. Surely I’ve told you the story of the Gift Giver before.”

            “No, Ma’am, you haven’t,” Chase replied.

            “No?”

            “No,” Chase continued, “This is the first time I’ve worked with you. I usually work in a neighboring nursing home, but I’m covering for a friend.”

            Mrs. McArthur grinned. “You must really like this girl to take her shift on Christmas Eve night.”

“How do you know I’m covering for a girl?” he asked.

“I can tell by the way you’re blushing, my dear,” Mrs. McArthur commented before changing the subject. “Well, how about I tell you the story about the Gift Giver. I’m sure it would help me through the night. Do you mind?”

            “Not at all,” Chase replied. “All my other patients are fast asleep.” He turned and took a seat on the bed and prepared to listen to an old lady’s story.

            “Well,” Mrs. McArthur began, “The Gift Giver was a tradition that my husband came up with when we wanted something fun for our kids on Christmas, but we didn’t want them to believe in Santa Claus. One night, our five-year-old Gracie asked me about the Gift Giver. I remember that night was Christmas Eve in 1978. Jeffrey, my husband, was tending the fireplace while I was sitting on the couch reading a Christmas novel.” Mrs. McArthur’s eyes drifted into the past as she told the story.

             The staircase creaked as the little brunette girl crept down the stairs. She paused when she saw her parents in the living room and attempted to scuttle back upstairs. The girl’s mother looked up from her reading. “Hold on there, little missy,” the shapely lady called out to her daughter. The distinguished gentlemen turned and smiled up at his angelic daughter. “What do you think you’re doing up this late at night?” the girl’s mother asked.

            Having been caught, the little child, Gracie, trudged down the shag carpet stairs. “I thought I would see what the Gift Giver brought.”

            Tracy shared a look with her husband before beckoning little Gracie over. “Come sit on my lap,” Tracy invited her.

            Gracie climbed up onto her mother’s lap. “Now remind me,” Tracy started, “Did I ever tell you why we have the Gift Giver while the rest of the world believes in Santa Claus?”

            Gracie shook her head and leaned into her mother. “I know Santa ain’t real.”

            “That’s right,” Tracy said. “How could one person make his way around the world all in one night? Why would he do it? But the Gift Giver, who says there’s only one? Any family could have a Gift Giver. It’s just what someone calls themselves when they want to give anonymously. Do you know what anonymous is?”

            Gracie shook her head. Tracy was about to reply when another voice piped up. “Anonymous means that they don’t want you to know who it’s from.” Ten-year-old Charlie, with his tousled, dirty-blond hair and ugly, stripped green pajamas made his way down the stairs to join them.

            The rest of his family turned to him as Charlie continued to tell about the Gift Giver. “The Gift Giver remains anonymous so that the receiver thanks God for the gift instead of the giver.” Charlie sat down on the couch next to his mother.

            Tracy picked up where her son had left off. “The very first Gift Giver was God. On Christmas, we celebrate Jesus who was that gift. Jesus, in turn, was a Gift Giver, too. The gift He gave to us was his life. And just like we don’t know who our Gift Giver is, the Jews didn’t know that Jesus was theirs. By giving anonymously, glory is given to God, and not the human Gift Giver. So, anyone could be called The Gift Giver, and our Gift Giver could be anyone.”

            “So, the Gift Giver for our family could be me,” Charlie told his little sister.

            “Or me,” Tracy piped in.

            “Or me,” Jeffrey said, still crouched next to the fireplace.

            Charlie continued, “It could be one of our neighbors, or church members, or teachers, or friends. It could be you.”

            Gracie giggled. “But I know it’s not me.”

            Charlie smiled back at her. “Well, then, that eliminates one person.”

            Gracie giggled again. And turned to look at the tree next to daddy. It was decorated with plain white lights, red ribbon, and all the ornaments that hung were made by Charlie and Gracie throughout the years. Underneath the tree, a few presents lay ready to be opened. On the coffee table, a glass of milk and three homemade chocolate chip cookies were set for the Gift Giver to enjoy when delivering the anonymous presents.

            “I think our children ought to be in bed,” Jeffrey suggested, “don’t you think, Honey?”

            Tracy nodded. “Okay, you heard the man; off to bed,” she picked Gracie up off her lap and placed her on the floor. Gracie grabbed her mother’s hand and the three of them walked upstairs.

            Charlie said goodnight to his mother for the second time that night, and Tracy replied goodnight before she closed his bedroom door. Still grasping her mother’s hand, Gracie was led back into her bedroom. She climbed up into bed, and Tracy tucked her little girl in. “Goodnight, Gracie,” Tracy whispered.

            “Goodnight, Mommy,” Gracie muttered before turning over in bed. Tracy silently walked out of the room and turned the light off before closing the door.

With a smile on her face, she rushed back downstairs where she found Jeffrey placing the last of the Gift Giver’s presents under the tree. “I think the Gift Giver is the best tradition you have ever come up with, my darling,” Tracy told her husband.

            Jeffrey looked at his wife and beamed from ear to ear before giving her a holiday kiss. “You,” Jeffrey stated, “are an excellent story teller.”

            “Just one of my many talents,” Tracy replied. Tracy took in a breath and looked down at the floor before asking, “How’s your head?” she asked.

            Jeffrey shook his head. “Still having headaches. They’re not horrible; just annoying.” Looking at his wife’s worried face, he smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

            “It better not be.”

***

            Mrs. McArthur shook her head. “Jeffrey always was a stubborn man. Psychiatrists are like that.  Throughout the new year, he continued to have headaches, and they got worse. He often wouldn’t tell me, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was growing fatigued and was slowly losing his balance. It wasn’t until December 2^nd of 1979 that he finally let me take him to the hospital after he had thrown up and couldn’t talk properly for about a minute.”

            Chase, still sitting on the bed, listened intently. Miraculously, not one of his other patients had need of him. “He had brain cancer,” Chase stated.

            Tracy smiled, sadly. “Stage four. Nothing could be done.”

***

            Tracy sat on the couch in front of the tree that Jeffrey had helped to set up right before the spell that sent him to the hospital. The fireplace was cold and dark. There were no presents under the tree. Tracy sat by herself and stared blankly at the Christmas ornament that Charlie had made for school two years ago. It was a picture of his parents, Jeffrey and Tracy, framed with multicolored popsicle sticks.

            It was Christmas Eve again, but this time, the seemingly perfect family was fractured. The family was told by professionals that Jeffrey wouldn’t live to see the new year.

            “Dad was the Gift Giver.” Tracy was startled out of her trance by the voice of her son. Charlie stepped down the stairs. “Wasn’t he?” Tracy nodded her head. “I’ve known for the past several years now, but I wanted to keep it a mystery for Gracie,” Charlie admitted.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you two anything for Christmas this year,” Tracy practically whispered.

            Charlie looked at the ground. “It’s okay. I understand. Gracie might not, though. She’s too young.”

            Tracy bit her lips and tried to keep tears back. “I don’t know what to do.”

            Charlie smiled. “It’s okay. You should get to bed.”

            Tracy let out a little laugh through her choked up throat. “Since when did you become the man of the house?”

            Charlie glance to the side. “When dad asked me too.”

            Those words hit Tracy like a train. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie took his mother’s arm and accompanied her to her room. As they walked upstairs, Tracy said, “There won’t be any Gift Giver this year.”

            Charlie hid a grin. “You never know.”

            Tracy curled up in under the covers of hers and Jeffrey’s bed. “Goodnight, Mom,” Charlie said.

            “Goodnight.”

***

            “What happened then?” Chase asked to show that he was listening.

            Mrs. McArthur grinned. “My children happened.”

***

            Tracy walked down the stairs around nine-thirty in the morning on Christmas Day. She rehearsed in her head what she was going to say to her little Gracie about there being no Gift Giver this year. She had an idea of how the day would play out. First, disappointment from Gracie. Then they would pile into the car and drive to the hospital to spend what time they had left with their dad.

            Tracy turned to face her children in the living room when she received quite the pleasant shock. Charlie and Gracie looked up at their mother with gleaming eyes. The fireplace was roaring and several presents were placed under the tree.

            “Merry Christmas, Mom,” Charlie said.

            “Merry Christmas, Mommy,” Gracie exclaimed. Tracy clasped her hands over her mouth as tears of joy streamed down her face.

            “Breakfast is in the kitchen,” Charlie said, “When you’re ready.”

            Tracy realized that Charlie must had stayed awake all night to prepare for this special Christmas. For breakfast, he had made eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. Gracie drank orange juice and kept looking back at the presents. Surely, she was anxious to open them, so Tracy quickly finished her breakfast so that they could start opening presents.

            The three of them curled up on the couch and Charlie grabbed the Bible. He read through the Christmas story with much expression to make it interesting for Gracie. He led them in prayer and thanked God for what He had given them. Upon closing, Gracie launched herself at the gifts.

            She grabbed a medium sized, neatly wrapped present and handed it to her mother. Tracy read the tag:

To: Mom

From: The Gift Giver

            Tracy’s heart was moved. Upon seeing this, Charlie told her, “They’re all addressed the same way.”

            “You did say that there are more than one Gift Giver,” Gracie said.

            Tracy smiled at her child. “Yes, I believe I did say that.”

            They opened their presents, and at long last, the only ones left under the tree where two presents addressed to Daddy from The Gift Giver. The family took the gifts and piled into the car to drive to the hospital.

***

            “Jeffrey died the day after Christmas,” Mrs. McArthur finished. “From then on, my children refused to write their names on any gift to me. It was always from the Gift Giver. It always reminded me to thank God for my children.”

            Chase smiled. “That’s a great story,” he paused and looked at the present still in Mrs. McArthur’s hands. “So, that present is from one of your children? Gracie or Charlie?”

            Mrs. McArthur shrugged. “Or my grandchildren. Honestly, though, it could be from anyone. I’ve shared that story with so many people, and they’ve all thought it was an excellent idea. The Gift Giver is my husband’s legacy, and that, I will carry on till the day I die.”

            Chase’s pager went off. It had been silent for so long, it surprised him. Mrs. McArthur noticed, and said, “Best be going, then, I suppose?” Chase nodded. “Before you go, could you help me into bed real quickly, dear?” she asked.

            As Chase moved Mrs. McArthur into bed, she said, “Thank you for listening to an old lady’s tale.” In turn, he thanked her for the story, and when to leave. “And Merry Christmas, Sir,” she called out.

            “Merry Christmas,” Chase replied. He carefully closed room 174 behind him before rushing to attend another, restless patient. Before he could even reach the door of one needy patient, his pager went off once again. With a sigh, he realized that this was no longer going to be a silent Christmas Eve night.

            Tired, and run down, Chase turned his house key at six o’clock on Christmas morning. He carefully crept up the stairs so as not to wake his parents. Upon seeing his bed, he collapsed on it and instantly fell asleep.

            Christmas pasted quickly for Chase. The presents were opened, food was eaten, and talk was exchanged. He continued to think about Mrs. McArthur’s story, and wondered how she was doing. As the Grayson family and in-laws where eating Christmas dinner, they heard the doorbell chime. Mr. Grayson wiped his mouth on a napkin and got up to answer the door.

            Everyone at the table listened to hear what the visitor wanted. “Yes, I see,” they heard Mr. Grayson say. He walked back to the table where his family looked up at him. He looked at Chase. “It’s Miss Davidson, Chase. She wants to talk to you.”

            Startled that Nurse Emily would come all this way, he jumped up and walked briskly to the door. “What’s up, girl?” He greeted her, “Want to come in?”

            Nurse Emily stood in doorway, bundled up in a warm, gray coat with fur lining the hood. Her brilliant blonde hair had bits of snowflakes in it. She was holding a little red package.

            Nurse Emily shook her head. “I’m not staying. My folks are expecting me at home.” She looked at the ground. “Mrs. McArthur died a few hours ago.”

            Chase was stunned. She seemed in such good health. Nurse Emily continued. “She wanted to let you know that she appreciated that you listened to her. She told me to give you this. She insisted that I give it to you today as her last wishes.”

            Nurse Emily awkwardly handed Chase the gift. He realized that it was the same box that Mrs. McArthur had received. He read the tag once again: To: You From: The Gift Giver.

Unsure what to think, he carefully pulled the ribbon loose and opened the little box.

The End

    ***

  Dedicated to the memory of Dr. Larry Pfahler.