The Christmas Tree by Nancy L. Eady

I wasn’t sure why Father Patrick decided to host a blessing of the animals two weeks before Christmas. He had just taken over the parish at the beginning of November, Father McCarthy and his wife having lain their charge down after forty years. But since he had, I brought the whole menagerie with me – Frances on her leash, Sarge on my shoulder and Scout in his carrier. Scout protested his imprisonment the entire five-minute drive up the street from my house to the church.  (I found out later an old carol about animals in the stable kneeling at Christmas was a favorite of Patrick’s mother, which is why he does a blessing of the animals every December in her honor.) 

I wasn’t late, but the church’s parking lot was almost full, with a couple of spots in the back available. As any well-behaved golden retriever would do, Frances waited patiently, sitting once I left the car, allowing me time to give Sarge a seed from my pocket and to open the back door to retrieve Scout’s carrier. Scout’s yowls didn’t stop when we left the car, either. It’s hard enough to carry Scout when he’s still; he’s a huge cat. I’m glad I didn’t speak cat; even though he has some Maine Coon cat in him, Scout was originally found in an alley, and I suspect he was using words not appropriate for church.  

When I reached the lawn in front of the church steps, I knew Scout was not alone in his disdain of carriers. Several other cat carriers had even louder occupants. Dogs younger than my five-year-old Frances acted like they’d never been out in public before, and poor Minnie, the aged schnauzer that lived next door, couldn’t stop shaking even while Dorreen Conover held her. 

Father Joseph checked his watch and cleared his throat. I blushed when Sarge loudly said, “Atten-shun!” Sarge knows better, but he likes to show off. It’s something African Gray parrots do. 

Father Patrick, a smile twitching at his lips, spoke solemnly in a sonorous voice that lifted over the assorted barks, growls, hisses and yowls. I wondered if that was part of his seminary education. 

“Let us begin the procession of the animals.” Procession was a loose description.  Straggling in a rough line would have been more accurate. At least we made it into the church without incident. 

When the service was over, the church emptied faster than it had filled. I was one of the last to leave; my leg was giving me more trouble than usual, and I didn’t want other people to see me if I struggled with the carrier or had to adjust my prosthetic.  I never liked the reminder of why I was unable to continue working as a school resource officer.  

When I reached Father Patrick, his face brightened. “Vanessa, I’m so glad you could come today. And you were able to bring your entire crew.” He bent over to scratch Frances’s ear, telling her, “Frances, you’re looking well.” Typical golden; a little praise went right to her head and her tail waved madly. Scout turned around in his carrier, unimpressed, and went to sleep. Sarge, unwilling to be ignored, announced, “Blessings, Father, blessings.” Father Patrick’s lips twitched even more as he straightened up. He looked younger and more approachable with his eyes twinkling. 

“I wonder if I could impose upon you to meet with me in my parish study for just a minute before you go? Your animals are welcome, too.” 

“Why?” 

“I need some advice and help if you have time,” Father Patrick answered. 

“Okay, Father.” 

“Please, call me Patrick.”

I blushed again. A poker face was not in my repertoire.  “Patrick.” 

“Go on into the study, and I’ll be there shortly.”  

I picked Scout’s carrier back up and walked through the entryway into the study. I was surprised to see someone already in there once we got in—a young boy, in a chair in the corner, frowning with his shoulders slumped. As we entered, he looked up. 

“You’re not Father Patrick,” he announced. 

“No, I’m Vanessa Handley, but Father Patrick should be here in a minute. And you are?” 

The kid flashed me a look, shrugged, then said, “Jim.” 

“Well, hello Jim.” As I sat down, I pointed toward the parrot on my shoulder. “This is Sarge,” Ever the showoff, Sarge fluffed up his feathers. I then lifted the carrier up briefly before putting it back down. “This is Scout.” And then as Frances sat beside me, I introduced her as well.

The boy looked a little more interested, studying the carrier. “That cat is wicked big, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, he’s got some Maine Coon in him.” Jim gave me a blank look. “Maine Coon cats are particularly big house cats. I rescued Scout from an alley, and he adopted me.” 

“It must be nice to have animals. Mom says we’ll have some again one day.” He was quiet for a second. “Do you think – I mean, is it okay if I pet your dog?” 

Frances didn’t wait for me to answer but walked over and put her head on his knee. I laughed as her tail wagged.  “Frances never met a stranger.” 

“She’s beautiful,” he said. “We had a dog once, but he died and then Dad…” He stopped as abruptly as he started. 

He was silent for a minute, stroking Frances, then asked, “Do you think I can pet your cat, too?” 

“I can’t really let him out of the carrier,” I answered, “But let’s try opening this hatch on the top and see what kind of a mood he’s in.” 

Jim came over to me and lifted the top hatch, which was just big enough to let Jim put his hand on Scout’s head and rub his ears. Scout started purring, and Jim pulled the carrier with him back to his seat, steadily petting both animals.   

As soon as Patrick walked in, Jim slumped back in his seat. 

Patrick took a seat behind his desk, his eyes no longer twinkling and a furrow on his brow. 

“Vanessa, I need your help…” 

Dorreen Conover burst through the door, her gray hair windswept, and her aged schnauzer still nestled in her arms, shedding grey over the long-sleeved black sweater she was wearing. It hadn’t seemed that cold but everyone’s internal thermostat is a little different. She gave me a quick dismissive nod, glanced at Jim, deeming him beneath formal recognition, and then rounded on Patrick. 

“Father Patrick, I must protest!” 

“About what, Mrs. Conover?” Patrick said, with polite interest. 

“About the trees, Father, about the trees.” 

Since I was on the Christmas decoration committee, I asked, “What trees, Dorreen?” 

“The ones on the outside walk. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed!” 

“Noticed what?”

“There are six trees on the right hand side of the walkway into the church, and only five on the left hand. You know how dear Mrs. Conover” (Dorreen was referring to her husband’s mother) “liked things to be symmetrical. Harold will be beside himself when he notices.” 

Patrick answered, “Mrs. Conover, I apologize. I was not aware how important symmetry would be to your family…” 

I started to interrupt, to tell Dorreen I was on the vestry committee and I knew darn well that we had bought and decorated twelve trees for the church walkway, but I noticed Jim hunching over to make himself smaller, and his hand clutching Scout’s fur instead of stroking it. Based on my experience at the elementary school, he was the perfect picture of a boy about to be caught. 

Patrick continued, “I was not aware how important the symmetry of the trees was to your family.” 

“Oh, but Father, the symbolism of the twelve trees is sacrosanct, based on the twelve days of Christmas!” 

I wanted to explain to her that the Twelve Days of Christmas was a secular carol but chose not to. She and I had a rocky enough relationship because of Scout’s tendency to slip out of the house and wander through her yard. She particularly despised it when he left paw marks over the cars they kept outside. I tried to keep him inside, but he was an escape artist.  At least he always came home. 

“Again, all I can do is apologize for the oversight, Mrs. Conover, and be sure it does not happen next year. Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

“Well, thank goodness Harold’s mother isn’t here to see this! I will do my best to explain the situation to him,” she huffed, and then stormed out of the room. 

Once she was out of the room, Jim relaxed, then tensed up again as Patrick and I both turned to look at him. Patrick motioned at me to start. 

“Jim, is there anything you might want to tell Father and me?” 

He shook his head, then answered quietly, “No ma’am.” He kept petting Scout as if his life depended on it. 

“It certainly would help us to know what happened,” Patrick said. 

Jim’s eyes filled with unshed tears, but he shook his head no again. 

Patrick tried again. “Look, I’ve noticed how you’ve been hanging around the church ever since December 1st picking up leaves and trash off the grounds and the parking lot, and I really appreciate it, but the missing tree is important as well. Are you sure you don’t know anything about that? 

“No sir,” Jim answered, looking at his feet, “I don’t.” 

“We’ll have to leave it at that, then. Could you stay here for a moment?” Patrick said, as he motioned for me to follow him into the hall. 

“Jim, could you hold Frances’s leash and watch Sarge and Scout for a minute?” 

His eyes got wide as I handed over the leash and settled Sarge on his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled his hand out of the top of Scout’s carrier, closed it, grabbed the leash and started petting Frances while trying to study Sarge through his peripheral vision. 

Leaving him thus occupied, I stepped out into the hall with Patrick. 

“Vanessa, I hope I’m not bringing up painful memories, but I’m a little at a loss here. Several members of the congregation told me that you used to work as a School Resource Officer at the elementary school.” 

“Is that all they told you?” 

He was still for a second, then said, “No, they told me why you stopped working at the school and how proud they were of you, but it’s your experience with children that I need your help with, since I have zilch.” 

Relieved I didn’t have to rehash my past, I said, “I’ll help, if I can.” 

“Like I said in the study, ever since December 1st, Jim has been hanging around the church once school gets out, trying to do chores.” He paused. “November 30th was when the tree disappeared.” 

“So you want to know if I think Jim had something to do with it?” 

“Yes. I think so, but I have no proof.” 

“It’s not proof, but based on his expressions, I have to say yes, he does.” 

Patrick sighed. “I was afraid of that.” 

“Do you know anything else about him?” 

“Not much, besides his name and address. I don’t even know who his parent or guardian is. And the thing I find puzzling is that he’s still hanging around here even though the tree is gone.” 

“That part’s easy,” I said, “He feels guilty about the tree, and he’s trying to make amends.” 

“So now what should I do? I don’t think it will help him if I just look the other way, but this isn’t a matter for the police, either. He’s so young and he seems like a nice kid otherwise.” 

I laughed. “Yes, he scarcely looks like a hardened criminal. What I would suggest is that you take him to his home to try and meet his parents and see what his living situation is. He won’t want to do it, but he probably won’t turn you down if you ask him to let you drive him home.” 

“I’m pushing it, and I know I am, but do you think you could come with me? I don’t know what I’m walking into, and I’d like an impartial witness with me to be sure no misunderstanding arises. 

“I guess that makes sense. When were you thinking about doing it?”

In an unconscious imitation of Jim, Patrick hunched his shoulders as if to ward off a blow. “Do you think we could do it now?” 

“Because I have nothing better to do?” I asked bitterly. 

Patrick’s eyebrows lifted. “Not at all. Because as a former school resource officer and a respected hero in the community, you would carry a lot of weight with whoever is responsible for Jim.” 

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for on my part.” I started to tear up, turned away for a second, then turned back. “It’s just that I do miss the job, very much.” 

“And there’s no way you can return?” 

I shrugged, then answered his earlier question. “I can go with you now, but I need to get my animals home first.” 

“Perfect,” Patrick said, “Why don’t we and Jim take your animals back to the house? He seems enamored by them.” 

“The animals like him, too, and they’re good judges of character.  But you’ll be pulling cat fur and golden retriever hair out of your vehicle for months.” 

“I’m willing to risk it,” Patrick said, smiling. “Then once we get them set in your house, we can tell Jim we need to run one more errand and stop at his house. When we’re done there, I can drop you back here to pick up your car.” 

“Deal.” 

Jim gave me a big smile when I asked for his help in returning my menagerie back to the house. 

“Why don’t I sit in the back seat and hold Frances’s leash and put Scout’s carrier beside me so I can pet his head?” he asked. 

“Fine with me,” I answered. 

Scout seemed to really like Jim; Scout was much quieter on the way back to the house than he had been going forward. Because the carrier was so heavy, Patrick insisted on carrying it into the house. He was so matter-of-fact about it, I didn’t resent the offer like I did sometimes, such as when a person stared at my leg, realized I knew they were staring and then abruptly asked if I needed help.  Even when I was wearing slacks, some people noticed the prosthetic. Jim insisted on walking Frances, while Sarge remained on my shoulder. 

When I let Scout out of his carrier, instead of wandering off to a bedroom to hide like he normally did, he stopped to rub Jim’s ankles and purr. Jim was fascinated by Sarge’s cage, and the fact that I left the door open to it. 

“Won’t Scout bother Sarge?” 

“Not hardly. Sarge won that fight the first day Scout arrived.” 

When we got back into the car, and headed back out, Jim was quiet for a second then said, “We’re going to my house, aren’t we?” 

Patrick looked at me, asking me to answer. I decided not to lie to him about our destination. 

“Yes, we are.” 

Jim nodded, then crossed his arms across his chest and scowled the rest of the trip. 

Jim didn’t live far from my house, in a faded old Georgian two-story house that had been divided into four apartments. He lagged behind Patrick, and I followed him as we walked to his apartment on the bottom floor. Once Patrick reached the door, he knocked. Jim immediately rushed past him, unlocking the door with his key, then running in and yelling, “Don’t get up Mom! It’s just me and two visitors.” 

We heard a metal clicking against the worn, hardwood floor, and a young, brunette women hesitantly using a walker appeared in the doorway. 

“Mom, I told you not to get up!” 

“Yes, Jim, but you know it’s just as important for me to move around as it is for me to sit still.” She looked past Jim to Patrick and me. “Hello, I’m Monica Sewell.” 

I introduced myself, but when Patrick introduced himself as the pastor of our church, her face lit up. 

“I am so happy to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. Please come in.”

Without waiting for an answer, she began walking back into her sitting room. We walked behind her patiently, then sat down when she gestured for us to do so. Pointing to a corner of the room, she said, “Thank you again for the beautiful tree. Jim told me how you agreed to let him have it in return for doing afternoon chores around the church.” Patrick and I exchanged a glance.  She turned to Jim. “Jim, honey, would you mind checking on Amy? It’s almost time for her to get up from her nap.” 

Waiting until Jim was out of the room, she continued. “Amy is my three-year-old.  I wanted to explain to you while Jim was out of the room why this tree was such a godsend.” 

Patrick nodded. “I’d like to hear more about it. Obviously, you have a disability?” 

She frowned. “Yes. I was in an accident in October with a hit and run driver and broke my femur. My husband and I… I mean, I owned a cleaning business but obviously I can’t work right now until my femur heals. The doctors say I might be able to go back to work in another month.” 

“I certainly understand that,” I said, gesturing at my leg, “I had a major leg injury two years ago, so I have an idea of how difficult your recovery must be.” 

Monica put her hands up to her face. “Oh! Vanessa Handley! I am so sorry; I didn’t put your name together with the news story. My husband and I had just moved here when you were shot. It’s such an honor to meet you. There’s no telling how many lives you saved at the school that day because you reached the shooter before he could get past the front desk.  And one of those lives was Jim’s.” 

I shied away from remembering that day; the few minutes before I could make sense of what I was seeing, the panic and rage that filled me when I realized the man was about to start a shooting rampage at the elementary school over his divorce, and the terror that I wouldn’t be able to stop him before someone got killed. Since a revolver usually won’t win an argument against a AK-47, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him, except that he was trying to shoot out the security cameras when I walked in.  Even distracted, he still managed to shoot my upper leg before my bullet entered his chest. 

I shrugged. “I don’t talk about it much, but I’d love to know more about you and your husband.” 

Her face clouded. “Dan, my husband, died a year ago from cancer that we caught too late. He left me some life insurance, enough to carry us through, until I got hurt. Now that I can’t work, I am limited to essentials only.” Then she brightened again. “That’s why the Christmas tree from Father Patrick was so welcome. When we had to move after Dan died, we had to get rid of our Christmas decorations except for the box with the Christmas stockings and a few special ornaments because we had no room. I had planned to get more decorations this year, but …” She gestured helplessly. “Even if I can’t afford presents, I appreciate having a tree.” 

Patrick stood up. “You are more than welcome. Is Jim done with school now until the New Year?” 

“Yes, they are on Christmas break.” 

About that time Jim returned, holding a little girl’s hand. She broke loose from him and went to hug Monica. Jim admonished her, “Amy, remember to be careful.” Amy stopped just shy of the couch and nodded. “Yes, Mama has an ouch in her leg.” Then she gently reached out her hand to touch her mother’s hand. 

Patrick turned to Jim. “Jim, your mother was explaining how grateful she was for the Christmas tree.” 

Jim looked at Patrick and me, his eyes pleading. 

Patrick continued, “Since you are on Christmas break, how about meeting me at the church tomorrow at 9 so we can see what else you can do?” 

I added, “And when you’ve finished whatever Father Patrick needs you to do, would you like to come over and visit my animals for a little bit?  You can bring Amy and your mother if you’d like.” 

Jim swallowed and looked at both of us gratefully. “Yes, thank you.” 

As we turned to leave, I saw Patrick’s face and knew three things. One, the Sewell household was about to have a better Christmas than they expected. Two, my animals were going to be spoiled until school started again.  Three, a dinner invitation lay in my future, and for the first time in two years, I was ready to say yes. 

The End