The Christmas Tree
Gabriella stood motionless at the big front window of the duplex she shared with her aunt, her uncle, and her small cousin. Facing the street, eyes tightly closed, she felt rather than saw the lights on the huge Christmas tree across the street flick on. She smiled in relief and slowly, almost reverently opened her eyes. The small multicolored fairy lights blinked and sparkled as if mocking her doubt. Had they not put in an appearance every single evening for the last six months, rain or shine, snow or hail?
“Gaby, Gaby!” Simon gasped as he toddled into the living room, holding his stuffed bear Harry by one very tattered ear. “Lights!”
Simon tugged on Gabriella’s mid-calf loose peasant skirt and imperiously held up his arms for her to pick him and Harry up.
“See lights!” he demanded as Gabriella turned her head to look down at him. “Up!”
Gabriella reached for him and hoisted him up onto her shoulders. Immediately, Simon leaned his forehead against the glass and holding onto her hair tightly with one small hand, he positioned Harry carefully against the windowpane so that he could see the lights too.
“Angel,” he sighed in satisfaction, as his eyes immediately sought and found the delicate angel poised on top of the brightly lit Christmas tree. Her golden hair and flowing white, fur-edged gown could be seen clearly, as could the bejewelled silver star she held in one hand.
Simon was as fascinated by the Christmas tree as Gabriella was, but this feeling was not shared by his parents, Gabriella’s aunt and uncle. They, Laura and Bruce, dismissed it as sheer laziness or pertinaciousness on the part of the middle-aged spinster across the road.
Who left up a Christmas tree beyond January? No-one! It was an embarrassing sight in the neighbourhood, Aunt Laura and Uncle Bruce declared. They had considered contacting the City Council, but the spinster was not actually breaking any rules, so they were left feeling frustrated by the sight night after night.
Aunt Laura had told Gabriella to go across the road and offer to help their neighbour take down the tree, but Gabriella had so far avoided doing it. It was well known that their neighbour, Edme O’Reilly was house-bound and rather delicate health-wise, but she was also determinedly protective of her privacy, and she did not welcome unsolicited advice or uninvited visitors to her home.
Surprisingly, the Christmas tree did not elicit the type of disapproval among their neighbours that Aunt Laura and Uncle Bruce had expected it would. In fact, some of the other houses on their street, Garland Street, seemed to have been influenced to put up their own lights and decorations to mark special occasions, like Easter or St. Jean Baptiste Day.
“Story,” Simon demanded, moving his hand from Gabriella’s head to her face, pursing her lips in an attempt to get her to speak. “Tell story lights?”
Gabriella transferred Simon to her arms and she moved to the loveseat near the window. It had a pale pink background with bunches of poppies and carnations sketched across the fabric, and soft pink and grey cushions at each end of the loveseat complimented the pattern. Gabriella sat cross-legged on the loveseat, holding Simon on her lap, with his back against her front. She bent her head over his and as she spoke, her breath ruffled his short, spikey brown hair.
Like her mother Lily had done so many times when Gabriella was a child, she related the story of the Christmas Star and the three wise men. She then added a fable about Hercules being guided by lights in the sky during one of his labours.
“Simon, Gabriella, where are you two?” An impatient voice demanded as Aunt Laura poked her head through the open door. Seeing the two sitting so close together on the loveseat, she frowned and bit her lip in annoyance. Aunt Laura seemed to resent their closeness and preferred to relegate Gabriella to the position of babysitter, rather than cousin.
“It’s time for Simon to be in bed, Gabriella!” She reproached sharply, “Do I have to do everything around here? I have to leave for work in about 20 minutes. I don’t have time to waste.”
“We’re just going, Aunt Laura,” Gabriella replied soothingly, getting up quickly, still holding Simon in her arms. “Simon will be in bed before you leave for the hospital, I promise.”
“You promise? And are your promises worth anything, Gabriella? What about your promise to clear up the kitchen and wash the dishes? It hasn’t been done yet.”
“Give the girl a chance, Laura love,” Uncle Bruce said as he strolled in behind her. “You know it’ll get done before you come back home in the morning. It always is, isn’t it?” He gave Gabriella a conspiratorial wink and Aunt Laura threw him an impatient look.
“Working the night shift was your idea, Bruce. I can only continue to do it if I get help around the house. Gabriella has to pull her weight. She’s old enough now to take on more responsibility.”
“She’s only 15, Laura. She has enough on her plate as it is, don’t you think? And working the night shift means only working 3 nights a week rather than 5 days a week. Isn’t it worth it? You get the same money, with less time away from home. But it is your decision. Whatever you decide to do, you know I will support you.”
Gabriella had heard this argument many times before. She knew that Aunt Laura did not really mind the night shifts. In fact, she was sure that it suited her very well, as she was able to transfer a lot of her own responsibilities and duties onto Gabriella’s shoulders. It was just her style, Gabriella reflected, to portray herself as a martyr and to garner sympathy from those around her.
Gabriella swallowed the acrid taste of bile in her mouth as she looked at the couple determinedly oblivious to her and Simon’s presence. She could feel the tension in Simon’s body, and her hand caressed his bowed back and she nuzzled his neck until he giggled softly.
“I’ll take Simon to bed now, Aunt Laura,” Gabriella interrupted, “And I’ll take care of the dishes after that.”
As she approached her aunt and uncle, Simon reached out his arms to his mother. She gave him a quick hug and an absent kiss on his cheek, leaving him in Gabriella’s arms.
Then, Uncle Bruce pulled both Gabriella and Simon into a bear hug, loudly kissing Simon’s face and neck while Simon giggled. Uncle Bruce’s arm was around Gabriella and he bent down to do the same to her.
“I’ll tuck you in just now, Simon,” he told him, as he released them. “And I’ll help you with the dishes, if you want, Gaby.”
Gabriella smiled vaguely and nodded her head, pretending not to hear her aunt’s sharp tut of disapproval as she and Simon left the room. As they headed down the long corridor to Simon’s bedroom, she heard the murmur of Aunt Laura and Uncle Bruce’s voices, with Aunt Laura’s voice more strident and louder than her husband’s.
Gabriella could almost have scripted their conversation; it was so well-known. Aunt Laura would be complaining about Uncle Bruce’s tolerance and spoiling of Gabriella, and Uncle Bruce would be reminding his wife of how difficult Gaby’s life was. Her mother (his beloved younger sister) recently deceased from lung cancer, living in a strange city with an aunt and uncle she barely knew, having to adjust to a new school, etc.
Gabriella automatically helped Simon to get into his Avengers pyjamas. She then led him to the bathroom and pulled up his little stool so he could reach the sink. Steadying his hand as more toothpaste landed in the sink rather than on his Hulk toothbrush, Gabriella gave a soundless sigh.
Seeing that Simon was managing well for just a little over two years old, Gabriella straightened the bathroom, hanging up a discarded towel and refilling the toilet roll.
“Finish, Gaby! Go down!” Simon called from a foaming mouth.
“Not just yet, Baby,” Gabriella laughed, “haven’t you forgotten something?”
Simon looked puzzled.
“No! No forget!” he declared confidently.
Gabriella held out a glass of water for him to rinse his mouth and then carefully wiped his mouth and face.
“Now, you’re ready to get down,” she teased him, swooping him up and circling him around the bathroom as if he was a plane.
Amidst giggles, they flew back to his room and Gabriella landed him gently on his bed. She tucked him under the covers and anticipating his urgent call for Harry, she placed his bear in his arms.
“Goodnight, Simon,” Gabriella whispered tenderly, bending to kiss his forehead. “”Dream sweet dreams, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night night, Gaby!” Simon whispered back as he held up Harry for his kiss.
Gabriella flicked on his nightlight and turned off the main light. As she stood in the doorway, Simon closed his eyes tightly and put his thumb in his mouth.
Gabriella shut the door quietly behind her, then she took a shuddering breath and headed to the kitchen. It was time for her second job of the night.
As she entered the kitchen, she heard the front door close and then the sound of Aunt Laura’s brand-new Lexis start. It was a thing of beauty: sparkling white with expensive chrome trim, red leather seats, and plush beige carpeting.
Uncle Bruce had surprised his wife with it a couple of months before, an early birthday present, he said, and Aunt Laura was delighted at both his thoughtfulness and the envy of her coworkers. She had a big photo of herself standing beside the car in her nurse’s uniform, looking more than a little smug. It was on the coffee table next to the big sofa in the living room, keeping watch while she was away from home.
As Gabriella ran hot water into the first basin of the stylish double basin undermount kitchen sink Aunt Laura was so proud of, she added liquid detergent and placed the dirty dishes and cutlery in the sink. She didn’t mind doing the dishes, not at all, as the warmth of the water and the bursting of the soap bubbles against her skin relaxed her. It also gave her a sense of accomplishment, of satisfaction, to put the clean, shiny dishes on the rack to dry.
Hearing the wooden swing doors of the kitchen creak apart, Gabriella stiffened involuntarily. She heard soft, stealthy footsteps approaching as her heartbeats accelerated until they shook her body, but she didn’t turn around.
Uncle Bruce slid his hard, muscular arms around her waist, pressing his body firmly against her back. Gabriella bent forward until she was hanging over the sink, uselessly trying to ease a centimeter of space between them. As his hands slid down her arms into the water, his fingers entwined with hers.
“Let me help you with that, Gaby,” he murmured, pressing his chin onto the top of her head. “You work too hard. The sooner we finish these dishes, the sooner we can relax and have some fun.”
“I can manage, Uncle Bruce,” Gabriella said. Her voice sounding strained and husky. “Why don’t you go and watch TV? Isn’t tonight the soccer match you’ve been waiting for all week?”
“It’s programmed to record. I’ll watch it later. Without the commercials.” Uncle Bruce replied, his breath coming faster as he tightened his grip on her waist. His lips moved to her cheek and then across to her earlobe. He bit down teasingly and Gabriella winced.
As his hands moved inexorably upwards, from her soapy hands, to her arms, across her shoulders, down to her breasts, Gabriella went up on her tiptoes in an attempt to thwart him. She knew how ineffectual her small act of resistance was when Uncle Bruce swung her around and kissed her roughly. Bruising her mouth carelessly, twisting her small breasts painfully, he used the pressure of his body to manoeuvre her back against the small breakfast table.
When it was over, Uncle Bruce climbed off Gabriella’s prone body, straightening his clothes and brushing back his salt and pepper hair from his broad sweating forehead. He glanced at his watch and a half smile twisted his mouth.
“Well, how about that. The soccer match hasn’t started yet. I might as well catch it live,” he exclaimed in satisfaction.
“Oh, and your Aunt Laura wants you to make some raisin scones this evening before you go to bed,” Uncle Bruce called over his shoulder as he pushed open the swing doors he had come through little more than 10 minutes earlier. “I’ll catch you later.”
Gabriella lay on the table a few minutes more before sitting up stiffly. As she pulled down her skirt, she looked at the soapy water splotches on her blouse then at the dishes still left to be cleaned. Her lips compressed and tears filled her eyes. More often than not, Uncle Bruce ended up not helping with her chores, he only made more for her.
She bent down awkwardly, grabbing on to the edge of the table as she almost overbalanced and picked up her torn panties, lying beside the strewn placemats and napkins on the floor.
Her breathing still shallow and audible, Gabriella felt the tears squeeze their way out of the corner of her eyes, rolling silently down her face. She felt a moment of amazement that she could still cry. Then she turned her head instinctively to look out of the small kitchen window above the sink.
The Christmas tree was just visible.
As Gabriella moved a little to her right to see it better, a now-familiar feeling of relief washed over her. Her eyes caressed the strands of silver tinsel and red/gold ribbons decorating the tree. She began to count the huge red, green, gold, and silver balls hanging on its branches as well as the tiny gold stars peeking out from the depths of the tree branches.
Gabriella knew deep in her bones that the Christmas tree was a message of reassurance and comfort from her mother, telling her that she wasn’t alone. Life was hard and many things have to be endured, but they made you stronger and more resilient, she could almost hear her mother whispering in her ears. And when you least expected it, miracles did happen.
A Christmas tree at the end of May was a miracle, wasn’t it?
As long as she could see it through the living room window, the kitchen window, or her bedroom window those nights that Aunt Laura was at work, there was hope: hope that Uncle Bruce would leave her alone after six months of abuse, hope that Aunt Laura would stop being alternatively hostile to or dismissive of her, hope that Simon would stop wetting his bed, and hope that her father would remember she existed and come for her.
Listening to the faint sounds of Uncle Bruce yelling his support for his team in the living room, Gabriella plunged her hands into the now cold water in the sink. Her hand absently went to the hot water tap and as she turned it on, a movement across the street caught her eye.
Edme was standing straight and tall beside her Christmas tree. She seemed to be staring directly at Gabriella as she continued to scrub the dirty dishes. Her expression was stern and uncompromising, and it made Gabriella gasp involuntarily. Gabriella raised a hand hesitantly in greeting. Edme nodded her head brusquely before she turned around and walked slowly back up her pathway to her front door.
As she opened the door, Edme glanced over her shoulder at Gabriella silhouetted against the kitchen window. Then her eyes travelled to the big front window where, curtains not yet drawn, Uncle Bruce could be seen jumping up from the sofa and raising his hands triumphantly as his team scored.
Then Edme disappeared inside and Gabriella finished the dishes, placing them on the rack to dry.
Moving to the pantry to gather the dry ingredients and a mixing bowl for the raisin scones that Aunt Laura had demanded, she sighed softly and then straightened her spine with determination.
Life went on, she reminded herself sternly, helped by Simon and the Christmas tree. Surely that was all she could expect for now? Miracles did happen, but not yet and not for her. Help was certainly not coming any time soon. Who out there knew what was happening to her and who cared enough to do anything about it?
