This story is called "Delayed
Delivery," and it first appeared in a 1992 Christmas story contest for a
Canadian paper called The Northern Life and was reprinted as well in Christmas
in My Heart. ...
There had never been a winter like
this. Stella watched from the haven of her armchair as gusts of snow whipped
themselves into a frenzy. She feared to stand close to the window, unreasonably
afraid that somehow the blizzard might be able to reach her there, sucking her,
breathless, out into the chaos. The houses across the street were all but
obliterated by the fury of wind-borne flakes. Absently, the elderly woman straightened
the slipcovers on the arms of her chair, her eyes glued to the spectacle beyond
the glass.
Dragging her gaze away from the
window, she forced herself up out of her chair and waited a moment for balance
to reassert itself. Straightening her back against the pain that threatened to
keep her stooped, she set out determinedly for the kitchen.
In the doorway to the next room she
paused, her mind blank, wondering what purpose
had propelled her there. From the vent
above the stove the scream of the wind threatened to funnel the afternoon storm
directly down into the tiny house. Stella focused brown eyes on the stovetop
clock. The three-fifteen time reminded her that she had headed in there to take
something out of the freezer for her supper. Another lonely meal that she
didn't feel like preparing, much less eating.
Suddenly, she grabbed the handle of
the refrigerator and leaned her forehead against the cold, white surface of the
door as a wave of self-pity threatened to drown her. It was too much to bear,
losing her beloved Dave this summer! How was she to endure the pain, the daily
nothingness? She felt the familiar ache in her throat and squeezed her eyes
tightly shut to hold the tears at bay.
Stella drew herself upright and shook
her head in silent chastisement. She reiterated her litany of thanks. She had
her health, her tiny home, an income that should suffice for the remainder of
her days. She had her books, her television programs, and her needlework. There
were the pleasures of her garden in the spring and summer, walks through the
wilderness park at the end of her street, and the winter birds that brightened
the feeders outside her kitchen picture window. Not today though, she thought
ruefully, as the blizzard hurled itself against the eastern wall of the
kitchen.
"Ah, Dave, I miss you so! I never
minded storms when you were here." The sound of her own voice echoed
hollowly in the room. She turned on the radio that stood on the counter next to
a neatly descending row of wooden canisters. A sudden joyful chorus of
Christmas music filled the room, but it only served to deepen her loneliness.
Stella had been prepared for her
husband's death. Since the doctor's pronouncement of
terminal lung cancer, they had both
faced the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time
together. Dave's financial affairs had always been in order. There were no new
burdens in her widowed state. It was just the awful aloneness ... the lack of
purpose to her days.
They had been a childless couple. It
had been their choice. Their lives had been full and
rich. They had been content with busy
careers, and with each other.
They had had many friends. Had!. That
was the operative word these days. It was bad
enough losing the one person you loved
with all your heart. But over the past few years,
she and Dave repeatedly had to cope with
the deaths of their friends and relations. They were all of an age-the age when
human bodies began giving up--dying. Face it-they were old!
And now, on this first Christmas
without Dave, Stella would be on her own. Mable and
Jim had invited her to spend the
holiday with them in Florida, but somehow that had
seemed worse than staying at home
alone. Not only would she miss her husband, but she would miss the snow, and
the winter, and the familiarity of her home.
With shaky fingers, she lowered the
volume of the radio so that the music became a muted background. She glanced
toward the fridge briefly, then decided that a hot bowl of soup would be more
comforting fare this evening.
To her surprise, she saw that the mail
had come. She hadn't even heard the creak of the levered mail slot in the front
door. Poor mailman, out in this weather! "Neither hail, nor sleet ....
" With the inevitable wince of pain, she bent to retrieve the damp, white
envelopes from the floor. Moving into the living room, she sat on the piano
bench to open them. They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes smiled
at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the loving messages inside.
Carefully, her arthritic fingers arranged them among the others clustered on
the piano top. In her entire house, they were the only seasonal decoration. The
holiday was less than a week away, but she just did not have the heart to put
up a silly tree, or even set up the stable that Dave had built with his own hands.
Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of
it all, Stella buried her lined face in her hands,
lowering her elbows to the piano keys
in a harsh, abrasive discord, and let the tears come. How would she possibly
get through Christmas and the winter beyond it? She longed to climb into bed
and bury herself in a cocoon of blankets, not emerging until her friends and spring
returned.
The ring of the doorbell echoed the
high-pitched, discordant piano notes and was so unexpected that Stella had to
stifle a small scream of surprise. Now who could possibly be calling on her on
a day like today? Wiping her eyes, she noticed for the first time how dark the
room had become. The doorbell sounded a second time.
Using the piano for leverage, she raised
herself upright and headed for the front hall,
switching on the living room light as
she passed. She opened the wooden door and stared through the screened window
of the storm door in consternation. On her front porch, buffeted by waves of
wind and snow, stood a strange, young man, whose hatless head was barely
visible above the large carton in his arms. She peered beyond him to the
driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give clue to his
identity. Returning her gaze to him, she saw that his hands were bare and his
eyebrows had lifted in an expression of hopeful appeal that was fast
disappearing behind the frost forming on the glass. Summoning courage, the
elderly lady opened the door slightly and he stepped sideways to speak into the
space.
"Mrs. Thornhope?"
She nodded affirmation, her extended arm
beginning to tremble with cold and the
strain of holding the door against the
wind. He continued, predictably, ''I have a
package for you."
Curiosity drove warning thoughts from
her mind. She pushed the door far enough
to enable the stranger to shoulder it
and stepped back into the foyer to make room
for him. He entered, bringing with him
the frozen breath of the storm. Smiling, he
placed his burden carefully on the
floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded
from his pocket. As he handed it to
her, a sound came from the box. Stella actually jumped. The man laughed in
apology and bent to straighten up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an
invitation for her to peek inside. She advanced cautiously, then turned her
gaze downward.
It was dog! To be more exact, a golden
Labrador retriever puppy. As the gentleman
lifted its squirming body up into his
arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma'am He's 6 weeks old and
completely housebroken." The young pup wiggled in happiness at being
released from captivity and thrust ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of his
benefactor's chin. "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve,"
…continued with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the wet little
tongue, ''but the staff at the kennels start their holidays tomorrow. Hope you don't
mind an early present."
Shock had stolen her ability to think
clearly. Unable to form coherent sentences.
she stammered, "But ... I don't
... I mean... who .. ?".
The young fellow set the animal down on the
doormat between them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was
still holding.
"There s a letter in there that
explains everything, pretty much. The dog was bought last July while her mother
was still pregnant. It was meant to be a Christmas gift. If you'll just wait a
minute, there are some things in the car I'll get for you."
Before she could protest, he was gone,
returning a moment later with a huge box of
dog food, a leash, and a book entitled
Caring for Your Labrador Retriever. All this
time the puppy had sat quietly at her
feet, panting happily as his brown eyes watched her.
Unbelievably, the stranger was turning
to go. Desperation forced the words from
her lips. ''But who…who bought
it?"
Pausing in the open doorway, his words
almost snatched away by the wind that
tousled his hair, he replied, ''Your
husband, ma'am." And then he was gone.
It was all in the letter. Forgetting
the puppy entirely at this sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella had walked
like a somnambulist to her chair by the
window.
Unaware that the little dog had
followed her, she forced tear-filled eyes to read her
husband's words. He had written it
three weeks before his death and had left it with the kennel owners to be
delivered along with the puppy as his last Christmas gift to her. It was full
of love and encouragement and admonishments to be strong. He vowed that he was
waiting for the day when she would join him. And he had sent her this young
animal to keep her company until then.
Remembering the little creature for
the first time, she was surprised to find him
quietly looking up at her, his small
panting mouth resembling a comic smile. Stella
put the pages aside and reached down
for the bundle of golden fur. She thought
that he would be heavier, but he was
only the size and weight of a sofa pillow. And
so soft and warm. She cradled him in
her arms and he licked her jawbone, then
cuddled up into the hollow of her
neck. The tears began anew at this exchange of
affection and the dog endured her
crying without moving.
Finally, Stella lowered him to her
lap, where he regarded her solemnly. She wiped
vaguely at her wet cheeks, then
somehow mustered a smile.
"Well, little guy, I guess it's
you and me." His pink tongue panted in agreement.
Stella's smile strengthened and her
gaze shifted sideways to the window. Dusk had
fallen, and the storm seemed to have
spent the worst of its fury. Through fluffy flakes that were now drifting down
at a gentler pace, she saw the cheery Christmas lights that edged the rooflines
of her neighbors' homes. The strains of "Joy to the World" wafted in
from the kitchen.
Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing
sensation of peace and benediction washing
over her. It was like being enfolded
in a loving embrace. Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy and wonder,
not grief or loneliness. She need never feel alone again. Returning her
attention to the dog, she spoke to him, "You know, fella, I have a box in
the basement that I think you'd like. There's a tree in it and some decorations
and lights that will impress you like crazy! And I think I can find that old
stable down there, too. What d'ya say we go hunt it up?" The puppy barked happily
in agreement, as if he understood every word.
Isn't that a touching story of love
between a man and woman? I am glad I have the privilege to share this story
with you.
A blessed Christmas to you all.
