Hannah's Christmas
by Brenda Ross

It was Christmas Eve and Hannah waited for the house to go to sleep. She listened to Mama whispering to the twins. "Don't make so much noise, girls," she said. "You'll wake Papa." Sarah and Rebecca tried to be quiet but they were soon giggling, and Mama had to go to their room many times. Hannah wished that Mama would come to her room.

She knew that Mama was punishing her, but she didn't know why. She didn't remember being bad. Mama used to get angry when Hannah didn't do what she was told, but at the end of the day she used to give Hannah a hug. Papa would wink at her, the twins would rush up with kisses and their fluffy old cat, Miss Marmalade, would jump on her knee and start to purr.

But Mama never hugged her any more, and Papa had forgotten how to wink. The twins didn't notice her at all. The cat would hiss as the fur on its back rose every time Hannah came into the room.

Mama never set a place at the table for her. She couldn't remember the last time she had had anything to eat. She didn't want any food, and yet she was hungry. She kept asking Mama about the hunger, asking Mama if knew what it was, but Mama didn't answer.

One day Hannah saw Grandma Reeves standing beside her and she was startled. "Go away, Grandma," she said. "You don't belong here."

The old lady looked sad. "Are you scared of me, Hannah?"

"A little bit."

"I wouldn't hurt you, child."

Hannah was confused. "Are you a ghost, Grandma?" she asked.

"I prefer to think of myself as an angel!"

Hannah spluttered. "Papa don't think that you're an angel, Grandma. Papa thinks you're the wicked sister. He says Great-aunt Priscilla was the angel. He says she's the one who went straight to heaven."

Grandma Reeves laughed. "Ned doesn't know what he's talking about most of the time," she said. "Priscilla hasn't got the brains to be an angel. In any case she acts so high and mighty these days. I don't suppose she will be satisfied until she has become a saint."

There was a long silence each waiting for the other to speak, and then Hannah said. "What are you doing here, Grandma? What do you want?"

"I came to see you, Hannah."

"Why do you want to see me?"

The old lady seemed to flounder across the room, but she settled lightly enough on the edge of Hannah's bed. "I have to explain something to you, Hannah," she said. "But first I must take a rest."

Hannah walked over to the bed, and asked anxiously. "Are you tired, Grandma?"

"I rushed to get here before Priscilla did."

"What does she want?"

"She wants to talk with you."

"I don't want to talk to her, Grandma. I want to talk to Mama, but she never listens."

"Well. It has been a long time you know."

"What has been a long time?"

There was another pause. Then Grandma Reeves sighed "Don't you remember?"

Hannah was getting mad. "Remember what?" she yelled. "Did I do something really bad, Grandma?"

"No, child. It was not your fault. Your Mama should have paid more attention to you."

Suddenly there was a commotion in the other part of the house. The twins began to cry and Mama rushed into their room. Sarah lay shivering under the blankets. She said that the room was freezing. Rebecca was screaming. She insisted that someone was trying to take her away, but Mama said it was only a bad dream.

"What is the matter with Saint Priscilla?" Grandma Reeves muttered angrily as she slipped through the wall. "She's trying to take the wrong girl!"

Hannah stared after her in dismay. Surely Grandma doesn't want to take me, she thought.

She heard them arguing in the next room. "Abigail," said Great-aunt Priscilla in her snippety way. "Why do you make such a to-do about the simplest task? All you had to do was pick up the girl and leave."

Grandma Reeves huffed, "I was getting around to it," she said. "Besides, you're not exactly on the ball yourself, Priscilla. This isn't Hannah."

"I don't see what difference it would make. All these girls look the same to me."

"Well for one thing Rebecca is still alive."

Hannah banged on the wall. "So am I, Grandma," she said. Grandma didn't take any notice. Hannah tried to leave the room, but the door jammed. She couldn't open it, and then she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Great-aunt Priscilla.

Hannah jumped. "Leave me alone," she said. "I'm going to tell Mama."

"Your Mama can't help you. It is time to leave now."

Hannah was relieved when Grandma Reeves arrived until she said, "It really is time for you to leave here, Hannah."

"I don't want to go!"

And then Mama came into the room. She looked around and began to weep. She didn't say a word, but somehow Hannah knew that she was remembering the day that Hannah was born.

She had heard the story so many times. The whole family had gathered for Christmas at her grandparent's house. There had been a blizzard blowing outside, and the roads were impassable. When Mama went into early labor Great-aunt Priscilla, who had had no babies of her own, had pushed the panicky grandmother aside, and taken charge of the delivery.

Great-aunt Priscilla had never actually seen a baby being born. But she had watched a dramatic birthing or two on the movies, and in her view, this qualified her to play the role of family midwife. So she called for hot water as she placed herself expectantly in position to receive the newborn. And the ever-obliging Hannah popped out without any fuss. "It's a girl," declared Great-aunt Priscilla.

Before she had time to cut the cord Grandma Reeves, who had been hovering in the background, rushed over. She grabbed the baby in all its slippery glory, and dropped her on the floor. There had been no damage, but Great-aunt Priscilla never let Grandma hear the end of it.

"Abigail," she would say, whenever Hannah was bad, or sick, or lonely or involved in any of the other human conditions, to which little girls are prone to fall. "It's all your fault."

"My fault, Priscilla?" Grandma Reeves would ask. "Why is it my fault?"

"You were the one who dropped her."

This would make Hannah angry. She loved her grandmother, and so she would try to be good, especially when Great-aunt Priscilla was around, but it didn't always work out.

Mama would sigh, "What am I going to do with you, Hannah?"

Hannah would say she was sorry, and if Grandma Reeves were there, she would pat Mama on the shoulder and say. "All you have to do is love her."

When Hannah was six, the twins were born. Rebecca and Sarah were fragile babies, and they seemed to take up most of Mama's time.

But now Mama flung herself on Hannah's bed and sobbed, "Hannah, I am so sorry."

Hannah remembered what Grandma Reeves had said to do if someone said they were sorry. So she held out her arms and said, "I love you, Mama."

But Mama just looked right through her.

Copyright © 2002 Brenda Ross
All rights reserved

About the Author

Brenda Ross (otherwise known as brerfox) was born and raised in England. After her marriage she spent five years in West Africa before moving to British Columbia, Canada where she worked as a community librarian for many years. Her works have appeared in Cenotaph Pocket Edition, A Freelance Writer, Seven Seas Magazine, Writer's Life, Thoughtcafe, Rainy Day Corner, and Wynterblues Thunder. Her book on writing, "On the Other Hand" is published by White Mountain Publications, while her newest release is a tale for eight-to-twelve called "The Silver Arrow," which is available at www.wynterblue.ca/arrow.html. Other work by Brenda can be found at her websites, Shaking the Kaleidosope and Rosie and Me. [See this month's Writing Challenge for a "Rosie and Me" short story. - Ed.]