The Fairy Who Stole My Christmas Wish

by
Mitchell Alexander Jackson

"Now, you don't believe in Hallowe'en gobblins, ghosts...or even Santa Claus, so I don't expect you to believe in imps or--fairies. That's why I'm hesitant in telling you about--well." The old man cleared his throat. He sighed, then lifted his chest and leaned forward in his chair and whispered--"the fairy who stole my Christmas wish."

Next the old man fingered his beard that hung white over the greater part of his chest, alert to any response I might give. I gave none. He settled back in his chair...relaxing, somewhat--but said nothing.

Has it been seven years? Still, here I find myself--doing little more than "patchwork." I had grown wise to the ways of these senior citizens-or rather, the "forest of wisdom" had pounced upon me much like the forest of Barnum Woods upon Macbeth. I now knew that their "confiding" in me was their way of usurping attention. For instance, Mrs. Johnston had once made me her accomplice in getting the entire Sinclaire police department and half the town to camp outside her modest home in the belief that she was being held captive by two previously escaped criminals. And then, there was Thomas Stanley who led me to believe that his shoplifting spree was an illness on his part. But, after my continuous pleading to various shopkeepers in his behalf, I later learned that shoplifting was his queer form of entertainment. Therefore, have I since learned to just lean back in this swivel chair of mine and "toy" with my ballpoint pen. As now...I wait--wise to the ways of these oldsters. [PHOTOclicK]

"See here," and the bearded man reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small, worn address book, flipped several pages, then laid the red book open on my desk. "See that?"

A small, pressed leaf lay stiff on a blank, yellowed page.

"A clover," I said--not sure what I was to make of it.

"Not just any clover, young man! A four-leaf clover. Count the leaves!"

"I can see that. But, what does it suppose to mean?"

"My wish, of course!" He said. "The wish that fairy stole from me!"

"But, the clover--four-leaf clover," I corrected myself, "is for luck, isn't it? Or did I, as a lad, cheat myself of all the wishes I may have held with every clover?"

"Did you have a horseshoe and, say, a shiny, new penny?"

"No." I said coolly. "But isn't a horseshoe worth three wishes in itself?"

"Umm-- Yeah." The old man fluffed his beard. "You get three wishes, but you can't depend on them. I remember one thanksgiving--we were kind 'o poor, you see--and I had this horseshoe. So, three times I wished for the family a chicken. We got three turkeys! I hate turkey! No, no," he said adamantly. "Just can't depend on them. And with inflation these days, it's best to have a clover and a shiny new penny to go with that horseshoe. Then, young man," he thumped emphatically, "you can be sure of one wish, at least."

I raised a brow slightly, though not the least surprised; for I was merely becoming impatient. Still, I'm paid to listen, if little more, so I said, "Mr. Winterpegg, what do you want from me? Want me to do--?

"Your help. I want you to change my luck. They stole my wish, and I want to get it back."

"They?" I said.

"Oh, I didn't tell you. There were two of them. That fairy had an elf with her. And the two of them went and stole my wish."

"And how did they steal your wish?" I asked pretentiously, "Did you make a wish, then changed your mind, and so, used the wish without receiving it?"

"No, I was tricked!"

"How?" I was becoming exasperated.

"I dreamt it."

"Beg pardon?"

"When I went to sleep, young man. One must sleep. I dreamt my wish. And, well--they peered into my dream. Yes, you heard right. The impish elf entered my dream as that frairy reject appeared at my bedside. Devious she was!"

"Meaning?"

"Chanted some words over me as I slept. Then that--that elf fellow wripped my dream away. And--in horror--I cried out: 'No, no! No!' Awoke and saw the two of them-- laughing. Dancing! Round and round my bed--and sing!:

The wish you would wish On Christmas Eve

Is no longer yours ...but ours to perceive.

"In an instant, I lunged at the little thieves. But they winked out. Nothing. And I landed on the floors. Don't know how long I laid there, but when I opened my eyes, there she was. Her flowing ball gawn sparkling...a rainbow of colors. Another fairy she was...and floating just above me. She lifted me to my bed with the touch of her wand. No wit bigger than the first. Only three feet tall. A certainty. As the rogue looked more a child, this fairy seemed the perfection of maturity--and lady-like.

"A Promise fairy, she said she was. And she told me how I could get my wish back. But I'm an old man; I'll need help. I've thought on it and thought on it. Decided on you--because you listen"--and then, as though some revelation: "To hurdle a wall, one must first address it. Don't you agree, young man?"

"If I'm to help you--eh, find your wish, you'll have to tell me what your wish is." One obstacle at a time, I thought.

"But if I do that, it might not come true. No--can't take that chance."

"Then, what--"

"Well...." He brushed his white beard aside and reached again into his pocket. "I've here," and he placed the items on my desk as he said, "a pin, a piece of bacon, and a shiny, new penny."

I studied the items briefly: an ordinary straight pin wedged in a strip of corrigated board, a fatty piece of bacon, and a brand new penny. I ventured, "So--?"

"So, Mr., eh--Josh." Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "First, sir, we have the pin. I prick my forefinger...here. Put a drop of blood on this page. Then, I prick yours, and your blood is added to mine. Well, like...so." The deed was done before I could mount much of a protest. "Next," he went on, this penny is placed over that spot of red, and...then the piece of bacon here over that."

"What effect can this have on--"I broke off to nurse my wound.

"On regaining my wish?" Mr. Winterpegg added: "Oh, ye of little faith." He shoke his head. "But now, we turn the page," he said and did just that, placing the four-leaf clover upon the page. "So," Mr.Winterpegg breathed reasured. "We now close the book, and maybe-- Do you have a rubber band?"

I fished into my desk, producing one. "Uh, would green do?"

"Fine! Fine!" The old gentleman beamed. And after he finished binding the little book, he addressed me with an air of sternness. "This book must be kept in a safe place. But I am an old man--with dreams, and they would be able to find it through my dreams. But you, unforturante man, yet the stalwart youth...shoring up the walls of practicality. You know no such demands on hope as dreams. No. Your hopes aren't based on wishes. You can not dream. So, on your bleak...empty nights of sleep, this book will keep safe. And, on Christmas Eve, my wish will come true."

"Well, Mr. Winterpegg." The scolding had left me feeling less than hospitable. But patience is a necessity when dealing with this crowd. "True," I said. "My luck isn't based on hunches. And dreams--? I consider them a faulsehood--waste of energy that could be better used towards a more constructive period. It's obvious we're not on the same wavelength. So, what makes you think I'll go along with it all?"

I was somewhat surprised to see the old man grinned--just a little. Then he said, "Because you listen. What you hear you may not like, but--because I believe in them, you'll respect my beliefs. And thats more than the person who doesn't listen would ever consider doing. You will hear me out."

I became intrigued, feeling almost appreciated."And how would I know if anything becomes of this?"

"That you won't look foolish when it's over--? 'Tis a pity you exercise so little faith." The old man thought a while. Then he said, "What if I were to show you my wish--on Christmas Eve?"

He show me a wish? This I had not expected. He can't tell me his wish, but he will show it to me. I was shaken with skepticism. Yet intrigued. "Uh-- And where--?"

"Here," he said, reaching the small, red book towards me. "Just"--he fanned a hand about in small circles, absentmindedly. "Just write your greatest desire in the book."

"My--?"

"Greatest desire."

Then I had heard correctly."And this will show me what you wished for?" I asked, doubtfully.

"But, of course! However, at the proper time." His reply carried a smile. Warm, perhaps genuine. "Go ahead, young man. Don't be shy about it," he said, as little lights danced in his eyes.

The thought just flashed in my head--right then and there. Still, I don't know why I did it, unless subconsciously I was striking back after the many abuses suffered at the whims of these senior citizens. So, with mischievous intent, I removed the rubber band. And the miniature tome lay open before me. I settled on the next available leaf--the page immediately following the clover. I then wrote: Will You Marry Me....[PHOTOclicK]

That should throw a monkey wrench into the works, I thought, as I confidently replaced the band around the book. Let him make whatever he could of that!

Mr. Winterpegg triumphantly got to his feet as I reached the address book back to him. "No, no." Then, he mused, "Oh, I see I've forgotten a matter of much importance." And he reclaimed his chair. Hesitating, he gruffed his beard, then commenced anew. "In order to make the whole thing work, you must place the book in--say--a Christmas stocking one minute before twelve midnight...on Christmas Eve," he added, with the raise of a brow. "Just a moment before Christmas, mind you.

Before I could construct an argument, he, with the most gracious of carriage, eased his small, bulky form from the chair and through the doorway.

At the closing of the day, I could scarcely prod my weary body from behind my desk. The little address book given me...for safe keeping--that peculiar Mr. Winterpegg--I picked up and slid into my breast pocket; I checked the contents of my valise, then started out for my appartment house. It had been a long day.

. . .

Two days had gone by, but I saw nothing further of Mr. Winterpegg. And as peculiar as that group of senior citizens appeared, Mr. Winterpegg was truly "sui generis"--peculiarly unique. Now, the striking of an old grandfather clock down the hall woke me from slumber, as usual. And--as usual--I toiletted, breakfasted, and went to the office. Most unusual, however--the strangest of things...the items in the drawers of my desk seemed tampered with. Of a certainly. And pen...desk calender were not in their proper places. Still, I attributed it to the whims of a busy-body superintendent. The following block of days ensued without further incident: "A place for everything and everything in its place"--"God's in His heaven, and all's right with the world," et cetera, et cetera.

Come three days before Christmas...the office limited activities to the morning hours. At twelve noon, I boarded the public transit for Combelbee and Sterling. This was my first opportunity to see Sterling in all its holiday splender. The strings of holly transversed the length of the main street, draping very available cable and lamp fixture. Candy canes, bells of red and white and green, even Santas and stockings aligned the street--with each store hailing its own special greeting.

Hoards of busy shoppers bustled about. [PHOTOclicK]

On completing my Christmas shopping, my parcel tucked under my arm, I was hailed by my lady friend, Miss Gladys Rampart. "Josh! Joshua! I see that you finally got time to do your Christmas shopping." She had a mountain of packages, all wrapped and ribboned. After spotting the small, flat package under my arm, she remarked with the zeal of the holidays: "And who is the lucky girl?"

"Oh. Some young lady I've been seeing for a good while now."

"You know," she said, "I've been seeing a certain guy for several years, and he's given me a head scarf and matching handkerchief each Christmas. You wouldn't be giving your girl a like gift, would you?" She asked, eyeing my package suspiciously.

"Now, that's for her to know," I jokingly chided. "Need any help--?"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

"Well, I know how stand-offish a woman with some independence can be," I volunteered.

"I'm referring to hands-on volunteering. Mister, talk is cheap." She winked.

Fatigued from from our excursion into "window-shopping", I was more than happy to curl up in bed for an early night's slumber. And when the old clock woke me the day before Christmas Eve, I had imagined seeing the strangest little individual peering from the foot of my bed. With high cheek bones and wearing green, bibbed pantaloons that fell short at the calves, he appeared to be whispering to some other I could not see. Then, in a wink, he was gone. I rushed to record what I imagined I had heard. With pen and paper I wrote down the sounds and peculair syllables; they made no sense.

Later, at the office I puzzled over the unintelligble script for a good part of the mornimg. And after completing a nourishing brunch at the Inn House, I telephoned Gladys. She suggested that I accompany her in doing some "last minute" shopping. It was during this task that she told me of an unusual, yet humorous, tale that left me somewhat uneasy.

It appears that a great-great grandfather, who had been freezing to death from a harsh Maine winter, was rescued when the to-become great-great grand-mother fitted him into several pairs of her long flannels. The old gentleman considered this a form of engagement, apparently--for they were married soon after. Now, it seems, it has become a "family tradition" that when a Rampart female was sure of her man but couldn't get him to the altar, she would make the proposal, or at least a harty suggestion, by presenting him with a pair of flannels on some special occasion.

I gave a nervous laugh at its close. And all the rest of our touring, I could only offer up nervous smiles--and hope that Gladys did not notice the uneasiness there. I'm sure Gladys knows that I will propose at the proper time. And, of course, she isn't the kind of woman who'll result to trickery. She knows me better than that.

The thought maligned my spirit to the point that dear Gladys urged me to take early leave. With reluctance, I left her side to shut myself away for the rest of the evening. Still, its presence had the occasion to linger. That thought--collectively expressed in the "patrician" and the "feminine"--disordered me. And it kept me tossing...the whole of the night. 'Tis ever a wonder sleep found me....

But...As Goes Night....
Part Two

Comes day....

Christmas Eve burst forth with the ringing of carols throughout. Church bells tolled spiritly of the season, and everywhere could be heard the expectations--of adult and child alike. Late shoppers hurried about with parcels overflowing. Merrymakers crowded the lanes and broadways. And "Santas," in their bright red on street corners, called out in merry "Oh-ooh's!"--as their ringing bells tolled of the fate of the less forturnate.

There was no escaping the holiday spirit.

Soon I, too, burst forth--with a spirited chorus of "Jingle Bells." Such is how Gladys came upon me. And she went as far as to tease that I was commencing upon my second childhood.

"I'm amazed," chimed Gladys. "You were never the emotional type! That 'wall' of yours is crumbling.

This bit of reference to the "wall" startled me, somewhat; for it alluded to an earlier statement made by the elderly gentleman, Mr. Winterpegg. However, still caught up in the holiday mood, I merely hinted, "Birds of a feather...."

Gladys linked her arm in mine and blew a kiss up to me. I pretended to catch it on the jaw. "Forever," she whispered.

Unlike myself, who had been an only child--and an orphan fending for himself since his fourteeth birthday--Gladys is from a huge family with strong family ties. All the aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews...and an assortment of cousins...return from all corners of creation for a mass familiar--en masse. As Gladys' fiance-- informally, of course, I am always invited to her family's Christmas Eve gathering. For whatever the reason, I had always "begged off." Apologies accepted. But this Eve--at Gladys' insistance, I called on her at seven o'clock in the evening--in casual attire.

The early arrivals were busily preparing for those yet to arrive. And hopefully only Gladys noticed my presently agitated state. After introductions and a minimum of curtious exchanges, Gladys--ever simpatico--spirited me out into the gardens. We nestled upon a mauve, metallic swing. She interlaced her fingers with my own. [PHOTOclicK]

"You responded better than I had hoped," she mused. "At least you didn't lose your voice completely."

"Attribute it to the miraculous wonders of the holiday spirit," I replied.

Her head had been cradled in my chest. But Gladys then looked at me with a bewildering smile and raised brow. "You're not one to speak of miracles, let alone spirits! Could it be that my family has got you sprung at wit's end--?"

"It's just that I'm not accustomed to mob gatherings," I offered.

"Oh, you--!"

Of course, I began to laugh. And so did she. "I love you," said Gladys, inclining her head towards mine.

Truly, I'm far from the romantic cut, for I later learned that I had fallen asleep in but the turning of an hourglass.

When I awoke, a candy-striped pollow was under my head. And except for the glowing lights of the house and gardens, the surroundings were in darkness. Gladys stepped out of the shadows with a look of puzzlement. "I'm sorry about falling asleep," I ceded.

"Oh, if I wanted a Casinova, I'd have snooted when I saw you coming." Then Gladys offered up a belated smile.

"I'm not sure just how I should receive that," I replied, somewhat puzzled. "Gladys--is there--is there something wrong?

"Oh, no! No, umh. No. It's probably the lighting playing tricks on my eyes--I suppose. I've had a fairly tiring day...as one can imagine. And well--what with lodging and dining preparations.... You know, I can appreciate a quick nap about now."

We two reclaimed the swing. Gladys glided a caress upon my forehead. I offered her my shoulder. "I shall do my part, to be sure," I ventured.

"You're quite a bargain, after all."

"But, no Casinova?"

"Much better," Gladys broached. "Umm-uh. You're the security a woman needs--even when her needs are secured. "Especially so when...half convinced she is seeing little green men."

I sprang to my feet. "Little green men!"

"Oh, I'm sure it must be fatigue. What imaginings...! And if they hadn't appeared so frightfully real, I would be enjoying a robust laugh just now."

"How many were they?" I coaxed.

"As well as I could make out--two. I suppose.... And I don't suppose they were actually green; it must have been the lighting. But then.., if it were so, they couldn't have been real. Oh, Josh! Wha-What's happening to me--?"

I did my best to comfort her. "The commingling of lights and shadows in darkness does have a way of stimulating the imagination. But as a dream--locked away in the human subconscious--there can come revelation. If you're up to it, dear, please--continue."

"Well, if it's really just a dream, what does it matter if they had been green," Gladys said with confidence. Still...what was most peculiar was that sing-song speech of theirs."[PHOTOclicK]

I volunteered: "A chant of some kind, maybe?"

"Yes. Oh.., like--" I could almost see Gladys' synaptic bridging, as she said: "Why, yes! Like English spoken backwards."

"What?" I reached into my wallet and took out the coded piece of paper from the night of my strange dream. And it became all too clear.

" All the while dancing about you.... Uh--chanting rhyme," Gladys said, "Next I heard you murmur something back to them."

"Oh, no!" I cried

"What's the matter?" Gladys asked. Concerned.

"That bell-- What does that mean?"

"Oh, that's just to summons every available person to decorate the tree and put out the presents."

"I--I got to go," I said.

"Of course, we will."

"No, I mean, I must leave. What time is it?"

"Fifteen 'til," said Gladys.

"'Til--?"

"Twelve," she said. "Why?"

I placed a hurried kiss on her cheek, then dashed for the garden's exit. Any explinations must come later. I could hear her light footsteps echoing from behind me. But I dared not stop. For time was quickly slipping away.

The grave urgency of time pressed heavily as I reached my appartment house, unlocked the broad, weathered door leading from the streets, and raced up the long, narrow stairway. On reaching the second floor, I stole a glance at the old grandfather clock at the top of the landing--five 'til twelve. I wheeled about, and at full stride I reached the door of my quarters, only to remember having left my chain with keys in the door to the street.PHOTOclicK]

Without hesitation, I stepped back, then rammed a perfectly good shoulder against a perfectly stuborn door. As I sat crumpled on the floor of the hall, enduring the pain of a battered shoulder, I heard the light, quick tapping on the stairs. Gladys appeared. She rushed to my aid, and apparently to my delivery.

"Josh! Why are you on the floor! What's happening?"

"What time is it?" I pleaded, "The time.... The time!"

"Oh, Josh, really!" Gladys said, as she stooped to help me to me feet.

"No, dear. I must get in. I--"

"Then you shouldn't go leaving your keys about," Gladys chided. And she managed to fix the appropriate key into the door and turn the lock. She pushed the door wide, and then froze. The room was in tornadic disorder. And in the midst of the upheavel stood two little, green figures.

In a dash, I was after the two rummaging theives. An imp had just claimed the little, red book and tossed it to his accomplice. I made a grab for her, but she winked out into nothing--tossing the book back to her companion as she did so. And to their satisfaction, I jounced between them, over sleeping cot, upon chair, into cabinet--tripping and falling, but never, never letting up.

Dear Gladys, bless her heart, "snapped to" just as I thought I would fold from exhaustion. And the two of us tackled both simutainiously. The imp tossed the book to the child-like fairy and winked out. Suddenly, my "dare-devil" Gladys made an impossible spin on her heels and leapt into space to snatch the address book from plain air. [PHOTOclicK]

"I've got it! I've got it!" She bounced upon the little cot, waving high her victorious gain. The imp and a sneak attack sobered her. Gladys managed to toss the little--and somehow precious--tome to me. Suddenly, the old grandfather clock down the hall started to strike the hour. And I knew that it was then too late. Time had run out. Still, I refused to give in. I "raced" over to where the ill-matched stockings hung. Truly, that Apostle would have approved! Next, I rammed the book down the smaller of the two--my being a little heady, possibly. The last of the clock's chorus died away. All was quiet. Stone quiet.

The room was in shambles.

Gladys nonplused by the episode and out of breath: "They just--vanished,". And then, as though remembering something long forgotten, she asked, "What is all this about, anyway?" She settled on the cot.

I espied the red-and-green head scarf and handkerchief set trodden underfoot. "I'm sorry, dear. I had hoped--"

Gladys stood, pecked me on the cheek. "Merry Christmas," she said.

In silence, I gathered up her present and dropped it on the cot--brooding over the racked affair.

Our stroll back to the Ramparts' was a little less than pleasent. In stead, my thoughts idled elsewhere.... During the days following the session with Mr. Winterpegg I had grown to think of Christmas as a special kind of holiday. And I'd half expected...and had wholly hoped to see the old gentleman the minute Christmas commenced.

Gladys was aware of my downcast mood. And the dear fretted so about my well-being that she chanced to placed my dismal countenance in the heart of her family's mass of good cheer. "Can you stay a while? The 'mob' would be opening presents just now. And I do want to give you yours."

Any amount of resistance on my part seemed to fuel her insistance. And in the end, I breathed a sigh of resignation, as I stood amongst the cheery members of the largest family to ever I witnessed! An aunt or, possibly, cousin was expressing her thanks, as she displayed her gifts before the approving relatives. She was followed by another family member, and that member by yet another...and another and.... The Unwrapping of presents transpired the whole--the festive hearth and hearts!

Finally, Gladys, in turn, reached beneath the huge, ornamented tree and retrieved a colorful package. "I hope you like it." Gladys had directed her words to me. I made a modest protest. After all, her gift from me had been trodden under foot. "Shusssh...!" She said, silencing me with one tender finger against my lips.

The inevitable thus--be, it must.

With hands suited for other matters and heart suggestive of affairs I know not what, I undid the delicate wrapping, then opened the box. Within that box--flat and wide--its meaning was clearly exposed--a colorful pair of long flannels...! I was slain--discombobulated. My mind kept running the script: underware...red, flannal underware.., over and over.

Eyes grew wide and a murmur rose from that sea of faces. Gladys' intent of marriage was clear. And now that army of relations knew. Knew. Every eye fell upon me. Gladys patiently waited. Am I to prove true--show all that she had done well in choosing me? I suddenly felt as though I was being suffercated. And speech took flight. I was unable to utter a word. Not word one!

The joy in my dearest's eyes died away. Mirrored on her face was pain--the pain that stabbed deep into her heart; the pain I had placed there...with nothing being said. My loving Gladys...sad, sadly turned away--to flee. Her home, her family was largesse enough to drownd her sorrow. I--the outersider, the alone one--I headed towards the door.[PHOTOclicK]

But, then, there came the knock. An aunt somebody-or-other hurried off to answer the door and soon returned with a large box, her arms barely encircling it. "Why, Gladys! It's for you!" She exclaimed.

"From whom--?" The tearful Gladys appeared truly puzzled.

I'll never win her back now, I thought. A secret amour.

"Strange," this aunt replied. "But, when I answered the door, there was nobody there. Just this stupendous, gloriously colorful box in the doorway. And I've looked, Gladys, dear, but there's no sender listed."

The "buzz" about the room grew ever more loud. And on the face of each and all shown wonderment. I now felt more alone than ever.

When my darling Gladys recieved the box, she announced with surprise: "Why, it's not much heavier than a feather!"

The "buzz" exploded in "ooooh's!"

Gladys eyed me, with love teeming joyously in her eyes. She was so certain that I had sent the box--that I would never let her down. She set the box down and unwrapped it. "Oh! But there's a box within a box!" She cried out. All the more intrigued grew the "buzzing" body.... Gladys, soon having this undone--stuffing abound, found within it yet another; a roar went up and cheers resounded about the room. This presentation continued on, as I dumbly counted the disclosures. And with this smaller box, about a sixteenth the size of the first, numbered six. And this revealed yet another! With all spread about wonder and rummor, this smallest of the boxes contaned the...the fruitage: a velvet-like box which was small enough to rest sweetly in the palm of a lady's delicate hand. When Gladys opened this, tears flowed. She made no attempt to wipe them away. In that instant, I saw more love in her eyes than I had seen in all my thirty-two years of living. [PHOTOclicK]

"Oh! "Josh!" my dear-heart cried, as she threw her arms around my neck. "I will! Oh, I will!" She sang.

The others shared her jubilation. And the women passed the small, velveteen box amongst themselves. I managed a glimpse of the bands--the rings--sparkling in the affective atmosphere. Having my Gladys in my embrace felt good! But I knew that I that I had lost the right to make any claim to her--that, sooner or later, her anonymous admirer would make his presence known. That I should be so irresponsible as to take advantage of her faith in me just now would only cause her to later despise me when the sender the gift is finally revealed to her. And though I must lose her, I could not have her think ill of me.

Regretfully, I pulled away....

"Gladys--" My world was crumbling before me. But I had to go on. "My dearest, I--I'm not responsible. That--"

"What--?"

Before Gladys could say another word, I charged forward. All had to be now: love and let her go...or maintain and be distained. "I--I did not send the gift," I said.

Gladys just smiled up at me as though she had beard a bit of Marvell humor. "Oh, no?" She said, "Well, 'mister practical joker,' even I can read your handwriting by now. And she showed me the small, yellowed page. It read:

Will You Marry Me....

"Mr. Winterpegg!" I cried out.

"What did you say?" My Gladys asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Oh," I thought. Knowing that she would never believe the truth. "What a winter, eh?" I said, "I mean, what a winter to remember."

And then, my loving Gladys came again into my arms--as "the family" stopped admiring the ring set long enough to admire the two of us. Said Gladys, "A Christmas, in deed. For as your "P.S." asserts--let me see: "Amor vincit omnia." My Latin's a little rusty, darling. But, yes. 'Love conquers all'!"

"I couldn't wish for anything better," I said, as she hinted at the overhanging mistletoe. Then, we drew close-- kissed...long...and tenderly.... And, of course, the cheers went up and lasted until....[PHOTOclicK]

...The End and...beyond.

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SHORN SHARER...MAIN THOUGHT: A Holiday Thought/The READING ROOM...Short Story: The Fairy Who Stole My Christmas Wish © September 1, 2000 by M.A. Jackson. All rights reserved.