Third Day of Christmas - Fiction

Third Day of Christmas

Timmy was standing in front of Mrs. Davenport’s house.  His breath almost shrouded his view in the cold still air.  Her house had for a long time showed neglected needs such as the peeled painting on the sides and the dry rot of the eve’s boards.  He already experienced the sponginess of the rickety porch. 

It was about two in the afternoon, and her windows were dark.  It was like she wasn’t home, but Timmy knew she was in there.   He pondered, what next?  The Sunday school lesson on charity had a profound effect on his heart.  As the lesson progressed, Mrs. Davenport came to his mind.  He regretted charging her twenty-dollars to mow her yard last summer.  Six months later, he could see she couldn’t afford to pay for the mowing.  What had changed in that time, he couldn’t put his finger on, but he planned to do her yard this year for free. 

WHAP.

A snowball came flying from his right and hit the side of his head.  Timmy’s stocking cap went flying off his head, and he felt moisture flow down the side of his head as the projectile spun him around.  What was that?  He wondered as his head cleared only to tackled to the sidewalk.

“Well, Timmy four-eyes.  Whatcha doing here?” 

Trapped in a half-nelson, Timmy groaned.  There must have been more ice in the snowball than snow.  “Let me go, Burt.”

“No way, you little turd.  I ain’t seen you since Christmas break started.  Time to catch up.”

Burt, on top of Timmy’s back, forced him to his knees.  Timmy’s glasses landed by the mailbox post.  Even still, he could make out a small dark shape running their way from the corner.

“Let me go.”  Timmy struggled but was no match for the two years older boy.

The dark shape loomed pink as Sally jumped on Burt’s back.

“Let him go, let him go.”  She beat on Burt’s back. 

Burt shrugged her off, and she tumbled into the snow in the medium between the sidewalk and the curb.  “Need your little sister to rescue you?”

Timmy heard tapping and the gate clasp flick.  “Turn that boy loose you, filthy bully,” Mrs. Davenport called in a raspy voice and waved her crane at Burt.

He let go, stood and took off down the street all in the same fluid motion. 

 “Are you all right, young man?”  Mrs. Davenport hadn’t put on a jacket in her haste to save Timmy, leaned on her cane and peered at him and shivered.  “You’re bleeding.”

Mrs. Davenport looked to be turning blue as her thin blue shift.  “Oh, I’ll be okay.  I’ll run home and get mom to look at it.”  He touched his hand to his head and came away with red on his fingers.  “You go back in, Mrs. Davenport.  It’s too cold out here.”

She hesitated, nodded and slowly turned and headed back toward the house.

Sally regained her feet, retrieved Timmy’s glass, handed them to him and stood next to him as they watched Mrs. Davenport disappear back inside.

“Thanks, Sis.  I don’t know where Burt came from.  He took me by surprise.”

“I hate him.  He picks on everybody.”

“Let’s get home.  Mom is going to be mad at me for getting my head busted.”

#

                Timmy and Sally hung their coats in the mudroom and pulled off their overboots before entering the kitchen. 

                Mom was writing out Christmas cards at the table.  Stacks of green, red and white envelops sat to her side.  “Hi Kids,” she greeted without looking up.

                “Mom.  Timmy got hurt.”

                “What.” She looked up.  “Oh my gosh, Timmy.  Let me look at that.” 

                He came around and presented his head to her.

                “We need to wash you up.”  She got up and pulled him over to the sink.  “Sally, get me a clean washcloth from the drawer.”

                Sally handed it to her.

                Turning on the sink faucet, she stuck her fingers in the stream of water when she seemed satisfied with the temperature. She wet the cloth.  “What happened?” she asked as she washed the frozen blood off.

                “Slipped and fell.”

                “Did not, Mom,” Sally interjected.  “It was Burt.  He hit Timmy with a snowball.”

                “The Ferguson boy?  Were you playing?”

                “Yeah, we were playing.  Not a problem, Mom.”

                Sally harrumphed and stomped up the stairs.

                “You boys have to be more careful.”

                “Mom,” Timmy changed the topic.  “Can I have the old tree we bought the year before last?”

                “Tree”

                “The short one we got when Dad remodeled the living room.  It’s in a box in the shed.”

                “Sure, if you want.”

#

                Timmy took the lead with Sally carrying the rear of the four-foot Christmas tree in its box. They had waited until they saw the Access Bus stop in front of Mrs. Davenport’s house and pick her up to take her downtown.

                On the porch, they took the tree from the box and assembled the pieces, hung several ornaments.  Timmy left two boxes of purple and silver ornaments in the box along with some garland.  In the branches, he stuffed a card.  In the card he had written:

Merry Third day of Christmas

Your neighbor

                Placing the tree next to the front door, Timmy and Sally went home.

#

                “Timmy, you still want to check on Mrs. Davenport?  It’s dark out,” Sally asked.

                “Yeah.  Let’s do that.”

                Timmy and Sally on tread on freshly fallen snow that the starlight lit the sky despite the sun setting an hour ago.  They stopped at Mrs. Davenport’s mailbox.  Instead of the dark windows as usual, through the curtains of the front window, they saw a multicolored glow, with sparkling lights of the Christmas tree.

Timmy and Sally took a high-five and headed home.