Tell me another Christmas Story

"Daddy, tell me a story."

There were a lot of things he could have said, mostly along the lines of it already being past her bedtime, and that the sooner she fell asleep the sooner she would wake up and it would be Christmas.  But if there was one thing he had learned as a father, it was that excuses like that never worked, and that his daughter could be remarkably stubborn when she wanted to be.  His wife claimed that that was all his doing.  He had also learned a few things as a husband, and therefore he didn't contradict her.

"Of course, sugar plum," he told her, adjusting her quilt and smoothing down her hair.  "What sort of story would you like?"

"A Christmas one," she replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.  And really, it rather was.  "Do you have any more Christmas stories with Alice and the Mad Hatter?"

Ah, one of those kinds of stories.  She was in luck, as he had quite a few of those kinds.  "I know a very special one, from back when Alice and the Mad Hatter had their first Christmas together after they got married.  I think you'll like it.  Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes please, Daddy."

"Well, the whole thing had started off on the wrong foot, and that really should have been his first clue.  But the Hatter was nothing if not optimistic, or as some people put it, willfully blind and obstinate.  Whatever the case, he had every intention of making his and Alice's first Christmas together as husband and wife the best that either of them had ever known.

Alice falling ill, however, hadn't been part of the plan.  Some persistent little bug had gotten hold of her, and she had spent the last couple of weeks trying to keep down food and liquids, rather than shopping and helping decorate and otherwise enjoying the holiday season.  She tried to be cheerful and do what she could for the Hatter's sake, but she wasn't fooling either of them."

"If she was sick, shouldn't Alice have gone to the doctor?"  His daughter interrupted.  "That's what you and Mommy do when I'm sick."

"Quite right.  And Alice knew that as well as you do, and did in fact go to see the doctor.  Unfortunately, the only time she could get an appointment was on Christmas Eve.  This normally would have made the Hatter quite said, and he was having a blue Christmas for a time, until he came up with an idea."

"A wonderful, awful idea?"  

"Well, it turned out that way, though he didn't think it was such at the time.  You see, Alice originally came from a place called England, during a time people call the Victorian age.  And while she didn't regret her decision to leave that place and time, the Hatter knew that there were things she still missed about it, including the Christmas traditions she had known as a child.  So the Hatter decided that while Alice was gone, he would create a real Victorian style Christmas for her.

He had read all he could about the subject, and between that and what he remembered from Alice's own recollections, he set forth with all his usual enthusiasm.  They already had a tree, though it hadn't been decorated yet.  While having real candles seemed like a bad idea even to him, he did find electric lights that looked like candles.  Along with the lights he draped the tree with ropes of cranberries and popcorn, paper chains, tinsel, and old fashioned ornaments.  But the more he tried to make the tree look perfect, the more everything got tangled together, until all the various elements were so knotted together he couldn't make heads or tails of it.  Deciding to leave it for later, he got the food started, with goose and real Christmas pudding (made earlier in the week and left to set in a hidden spot out of Alice's sight), roasted chestnuts, and lots of fruit.  He hoped the familiar food would tempt Alice's wayward stomach.

Once everything was cooking, he went back to decorating, wrapping garlands around the bannisters and displaying them on the mantle, with more fruit and various little knick knacks nestled in for splashes of color.  At least that was the idea, but the garlands refused to lay right (or lay at all, several of them were steadfastly determined to fall at the slightest provocation) sending fruit to be bruised and smashed and curios to shatter.  Just as he was trying to remember where the broom and dustpan were, he smelled something burning."

"Oh no," said his daughter, already knowing that nothing good could come of that.  And she was right.

"Thank goodness for always having a fire extinguisher nearby in the kitchen, is all I have to say.  The Hatter kept the kitchen from burning to the ground, but he was too late to save the food.  And that was the last straw for him.  He had done everything he could, but it all turned out terribly.  He sat down in front of the Christmas tree, with its Gordian knots of decorations, with his head in his hands.  He didn't know how long he sat there.  Long enough for darkness to creep in, so that when Alice returned home the only light was from the fire (the one thing he had managed to do right) and the tree.  She made a soft sound as she entered the room, which alerted the Hatter to her presence and made him realize he hadn't had a chance to clean anything up.

"I can explain," he told her, but Alice didn't let him get any further than that.

"It's wonderful," she told him, looking around.  And in the dim light, it was.  The garlands looked artfully arranged rather than a mess, and the broken baubles reflected the light, sending sparkling patterns onto the walls.  Even the tree shone, an intricate cobweb of light and shadow.  Alice sat down next to her husband, putting her hand in his.  "I can't believe you did all this by yourself.  What a wonderfully mad, Wonderland sort of Christmas."

But it was too much for him, having her think this had been his intention, and he explained to her what he had really been trying to do.  Alice listening patiently throughout the whole thing, the smile on her face becoming bigger with every word, until her grin was absolutely dazzling.

"I hate goose, and I don't think I could stomach a pudding if I wanted.  As for the rest, it was wonderful of you to go to all this trouble for me.  But it's our life now, together, and I'd rather we had our own Christmas with our own traditions, rather than try to capture what I had in the past."

"And did they make their own Christmas traditions?"

"Yes, they did."

"Oh, good.  I like that.  But what about Alice being sick, did she find out what was wrong?"

It may have seemed odd that the question brought a smile to his face, but he had his reasons.  "She did.  In fact, that was the next thing the Hatter asked her, and she told him that it turned out that it wasn't a bug or the flu as they thought.  But never mind that, she had a Christmas present for him.

That was when the Hatter realized that in all his planning, he hadn't ever gotten Alice a present.  He begged for her forgiveness, promising he would make it up to her, but Alice just shook her head and said he needn't worry about it.  Especially since her present for him wouldn't actually arrive for quite a while."

"Did you order from a catalogue?"  Hatter asked her, confused.  Usually Alice was much better at planning things, and it was odd that she wouldn't have ordered something early enough for it to arrive on time.  But Alice told him that it was all a little out of her hands.  "So how long do you think it will take?"

"Oh, about seven months or so."

That was an incredibly long time, and Hatter was about to say so, when the little used part of his brain that was in charge of logic and common sense gave him the equivalent of a mental kick, and he realized just what Alice was telling him.

"A baby?"  He said, voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid if he said it any louder the words would shatter like the knick knacks.  Alice nodded.  "Our baby?  Yours and mine?"

"Our baby.  Merry Christmas, Reginald."

There aren't words in any language that can describe what the Hatter felt in that moment, but the one that comes closest is actually a very small, seemingly insignificant little word that nevertheless holds a world's worth of meaning and emotion in such a small space: Joy.

"That's a good story, Daddy," his daughter told him.  Her brow furrowed.  "But where do babies—"

No, no, that was a little more than he could handle for one night.  Cutting her off, he told her that it was past time she was asleep.  Brushing back her hair, he kissed her forehead.  He remembered when he had been trying to picture her before she was born.  He had expected she would come out a miniature of her mother.  And while she did have the same eyes, her hair was red as his used to be, back before it turned white.  She yawned, freckled face scrunching cutely as she drifted off to sleep, though she was able to get out one last, sleepy: "Good night, Daddy."

"Good night, Joy."

He didn't startle at seeing his wife in the doorway, as he had gotten used to it by now.  When they had settled down into bed, she told him that that was one of her favorite Christmas stories too.

"We never have been able to get the lights and such as wonderfully knotted as you did that first time," she teased.  "Though goodness knows we've tried."

No one really understood their method when they would see the family's tree, but most just chalked it up to one of the Hatter's eccentricities.  Whenever she was asked how she could allow it, Alice would just laugh and say it was one of their traditions.

"Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you," she added.  "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for your Christmas present again."

"That's all right, I barely got yours in time and I know you've been busy wrapping Joy's presents, and—"  He stopped, as he felt that rarely felt but very important kick to his brain again.  "Seven months again?"

"Or thereabouts.  Merry Christmas, Reginald."

"Merry Christmas, Alice."

And it was.  It always was, and with any luck it always would be.  Though both of them would admit, nothing would ever quite compare to that first Christmas together, when Joy was brought into their world.