by Donna Poole
Meldrew Hucklebee never actually said the words, “Bah humbug!” But if anyone who knew him were to picture a modern-day Scrooge, his face would instantly come to mind. He never used profanity, but the pounding of his cane on the hardwood floors of his home said the words for him. Not only wouldn’t he say, “happy holidays,”—too pagan, he wouldn’t say “Merry Christmas” either. Just hearing the words sent him into a rant about how commercialized the whole thing had become and how baby Jesus in the manger would disallow the whole thing. His family thought Jesus would certainly disallow the language his cane and his slammed doors said for him, not just at Christmas, but all year long.
And wouldn’t you know, his birthday fell on Christmas Day. This year he’d turn a venerable eighty-years old. His wife, God rest her sweet soul, had died with a sigh of relief and a smile on her face a decade earlier. But his children weren’t so lucky. There were four of them, two sons, and two daughters. Even though some now had grandchildren of their own, they stilled called him “Papa” and obeyed his every command as quickly as they had when they were children and he’d thundered at them from his rocking chair, “Obedience which is not cheerful, prompt, and complete, is not obedience at all!”
His commands, quirks, and whims were many. You may wonder why the “children,” would allow the old man to control them. It was a combination of things, really. Surely love was in the mix, but so was duty. They still thought daily of the Saint Augustine quote they’d had to repeat to Papa each night at bedtime as children, “In doing what we ought we deserve no praise, because it is our duty.”
But the loudest voice of all commanding their long-standing servitude was money. Money has a thunderous voice, especially when it comes from a tyrant who has millions, hasn’t yet shared a penny, and changes his will every New Year’s Day, much to the disgust of his lawyer who must leave a family gathering and go to his home. The way it stood now, all four children would inherit equal shares of his fortune, but that could change this year. Some years he’d been so miffed at one or the other he’d cut them out completely.
Meldew might be eccentric and difficult, but he was never lonely; he’d seen to that himself. The day his wife had died he’d commanded the audience of his four offspring and ordered them to come without their partners or children.
He began his speech. “Your mother, God rest her soul, was a perfect wife to me.”
The four exchanged guarded glances. Perfect slave more like it. Gertrude, get me my coffee! Gertrude, warm this coffee up. You know I hate cold coffee. Gertrude, find my sweater. Not the red one! You know I don’t like red! Gertrude! Gertrude! Gertrude!
Papa pounded his cane to reclaim their attention and snapped his fingers for good measure. “Now, you four look at me. Your mother is gone, and I cannot abide being alone. I will not be alone a single night; do you hear me? Beginning today, from oldest to youngest, you four will spend three months each living with me. You will not bring your families. I will allow you one day a week to go home and visit with them, but you must return to me before dark. You will come straight here after work each day. You will cook, clean, and care for me in the matter to which I am accustomed. Do you understand?”
Jay was the eldest and most like Papa. He sputtered, “That’s totally unreasonable and impossible. You can’t expect us to give up our own lives to take care of you. First, you don’t need help. You’re as strong physically as we are, and the only prescription medication you need is eyedrops. Second, when you do need help, you have plenty of money to pay for caregivers or to go into assisted living. We won’t do it. Do you hear me, Papa? The answer is no!”
Papa and Jay locked glances. Jay looked away first. Papa’s voice was quiet, and that was even more terrifying than when he shouted. “I will never hire help or go into assisted living. You four will take turns living with me until I die, and if one of you chooses not to obey my wish, you disinherit yourself. The four of you can barely pay your bills. I know what my money will mean to you.”
Like I said, money has a loud voice. And so, for the next five years, the heirs of Meldrew Hucklebee did exactly as he said. Each endured a miserable three months every year away from their own families while the patriarch grew ever more demanding. It was hardest on Carole Beth, the youngest of the four. She had the months from October through December.
Sometimes Carole caught her father looking at her face with a strange expression she couldn’t decipher. She’d seen love there so seldom she didn’t recognize it. Meldrew had formed the habit of having silent conversations with Gertrude. It wasn’t hard even though he never actually heard her voice; he knew exactly what she’d say if she were here.
Carole looks the most like you, Gertrude. She has a lot of your personality too, but she lacks your spunk.
You hated my spunk, Meldrew.
Well, I miss it now.
I know you love our children. Let them be free to live their own lives.
I can’t abide being alone, Gertrude. You know I never could.
And I always told you that you never are. God is with you.
But I want someone with skin on.
You want someone you can boss and bully, and that isn’t God.
Meldrew pounded his cane four times in frustration, his version of a four-letter word, and his children knew it well.
“What is it, Papa?”
Carole’s voice sounded tired. Meldrew felt surprised. Did she always sound tired and he’d never noticed?
Carole was tired, body, soul and spirit. For five years she hadn’t even been able to go home on Christmas Day unless that happened to be the day her father chose to give her for her weekly day off, and no one loved Christmas more than Carole.
Carole did get to attend the Christmas Eve church service though; they all did. Though Meldrew Hucklebee refused to allow a tree, a gift, or even a piece of tinsel in his home, he did go to church on Christmas Eve each year, and he insisted all four of his children go with him, without their families of course.
“Children give me migraines,” he often complained. “I had a terrible time with those headaches when you four were growing up.”
Christmas Eve day dawned cold and snowy and light snow continued all day. Carole struggled to push the wheelchair up the ramp of First Community Church. Papa insisted on being taken to church in a wheelchair even though he never used one any other time. And he insisted on sitting in the front.
Carole dropped into the pew and glanced at the life sized creche, and the baby Jesus seemed to smile encouragement at her. Would she, would they, be brave enough to go through with it? Jay had agreed to be the spokesperson; the rest of them just had to have the courage to back him up.
After the service, Meldrew’s four children took him home, helped him into his pajamas, fixed his cocoa just the way he liked it, and pulled their chairs near the couch where he was sitting covered with a green, not red, Afghan.
“Papa,” Jay began, “we have something to say to you.”
“Quiet!” Meldrew thundered. “You know I prefer drinking my cocoa in silence.”
A sudden red crept up Carole’s neck and into her cheeks. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her father’s cane, and pounded it on the floor four times. He almost grinned. Spunky!
“Carole! What would your mother think if she heard you using a word like that?”
She ignored the question. “Papa, we love you, but we aren’t going to live here anymore. We don’t do a thing for you that you can’t do for yourself. We’ve neglected our own families far too long. This is the last Christmas Eve we’re going to leave our families alone. If you want us to come to the service next year, you’ll take us with our families. We’re leaving now, all of us. One of us will visit you for a short time each day to see if you need anything.”
Meldrew could hardly form words into a sentence. “But . . . have you four lost your minds? Don’t forget, I’m seeing my lawyer about my will next week!”
“Keep your money, Papa,” Jay said, as he tied a red scarf around his neck. “We don’t want it. We’d like your love if you have any of that left in your heart.”
“What’s that you say?” The old man shook his head like he was trying to clear cobwebs or understand a foreign language. “None of you want my money?”
The four of them shook their heads as they tied matching red scarves around their necks. Carole had bought them. “It’s a show of solidarity,” she’d said. “Tie them on and say a prayer for courage.”
“We’re going home now, Papa.” Carole said. “Goodbye, happy birthday, and Merry Christmas. We’re all celebrating at my house tomorrow at noon, and you’re welcome to join us.”
The enormous house echoed with silence after the door closed and Meldrew hurried off to bed. He’d never noticed before how loud the grandfather clock ticked.
Well, Getrude, I guess Carole is more like you than I thought. She’s got spunk. They all do. Not want my money! What do you think of that?
They might have thought for awhile they wanted your money, but I don’t think they ever really did.
Well, what did they want then?
You know the answer to that.
Gertrude, I hate being alone.
You’re never alone. God is with you. And how much you see the family depends on you now, doesn’t it?
I’m a selfish old man, aren’t I? Jay said they’d like my love, if I had any left in my heart. If I do, it’s been a long time since I gave any of it.
Gertrude was silent.
“What was that prayer Gertrude used to pray, God? I need to remember it. It was something like love through me, love of God. Oh, balderdash, Lord, I can’t remember the rest of it. Amen.”
It was a strange prayer, but it was enough.
Christmas Day dawned cold and clear. Sunlight poured across the carpet as Meldrew fixed his own toast, egg, and coffee. He sat at the table and to his surprise enjoyed the silence. He took a nap in his recliner, and when he woke, he noticed a gift-wrapped package on the couch. The tag read, “To Papa from his loving children.”
He opened it and laughed. It was a red scarf that matched the ones they’d worn the night before. He tied it around his neck and looked at the clock. It was noon. He wouldn’t go for Christmas this year, maybe next, but he did have a gift to give. He called Carole on his cell.
A child’s voice said, “Hello?”
“This is Meldrew Hucklebee.”
“Who? Oh, I think I know who you are. Are you the grumpy old man?”
Meldrew chuckled. “I certainly am. Are you my great-grandson?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? What’s your name?”
“My name is Mel, and my middle name is Drew.”
Meldrew swallowed a lump in his throat. How did I not know I had a great-grandson named after me?
“Are you old enough to give Carole a message for me?”
“Sure! Carole is my grandma.”
Meldrew had the boy repeat the message twice. He knew he gave it correctly, because before he disconnected the call, he heard the child shout above the background music and chatter, “The grumpy old man said to tell you three things. He’s wearing the red scarf. He’s never changing his will again. And Merry Christmas.”
Grumpy old man, huh? Spunky! How many more spunky ones are there in my family? I think I’d like to find out.
Meldrew was almost asleep in his recliner again when the doorbell rang. “We’re running a little late at my house, so we haven’t eaten yet. I got thinking. A man with twenty grandchildren and five great grandchildren shouldn’t eat Christmas dinner alone, especially when he’s wearing a red scarf.”
He hesitated. “How noisy is it?”
“Very.” Carole laughed. “Better get your migraine medicine. I have a feeling you’ve had your last Christmas.”
“What?”
“I mean your last quiet Christmas! Now come on, Papa, the ham is going to get cold, and the children are waiting to meet the grumpy old man.”
The end
***
These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:
Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.
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