The little Angel.(Kevin Hughes) Author's note:

Every year I try and write five Christmas Stories before Christmas Day, this is the first one this year. Wish me luck!

*****

I heard the hum way before I saw the glow. I mean in the deep snow of an Ohio blizzard (and a record one at that) you don’t expect to hear the buzz of a hummingbird’s wings. That sound was so unexpected while tramping thru the muffled sounds, muted lights, and sparkling snow piled more than a foot deep; that it caused me to look for its source.

That is when I saw the glow.

Okay, Okay, I know, why would you walk towards a glowing mound of snow that is making a humming noise? Maybe it is a downed power line or a Christmas Spotlight buried in snow…shorting out. Something dangerous.

Nope.

It was the least expected thing you can imagine. For I sure wasn’t ready to see it. Nobody would have been ready…I’m pretty certain of that. Because you tell me what you thought you would see if you heard a hummingbird’s wings pounding away a hundred times a second, then saw a glow, a deep bronze glow, like all the gold had faded out of gold and left a pale imitation of itself just beneath the snow.

So what did you come up with?

Wrong!

It was a Christmas Ornament. (Or so I thought) One of those lace covered Angels you put on the very top of a Christmas Tree. You know, the ones that look like old time girly girl dolls; with the porcelain faces and hands, holding a wand in one hand, with cute little butterfly wings on the back- and white lace trimmed in gold everywhere. The ones that are just about ten to twelve inches long with the flowing hair and Gold tiara keeping it in place. You see them all the time in Christmas Movies, or on giant trees in Department Stores, and often in an ordinary home.

They are common place, pretty, and lovely. Unless, like this one, they are alive and burying themselves into the snow bank with sobs coming out of their body that are way too big for their tiny bodies. They were little girl like sobs, but carried the weight of a much bigger cry.

For a moment, I just watched. I mean really. What would you have done if you saw what you thought was an Ornament trying to bury itself in the snow in a kind of “reverse snow angel” position, but using real wings. Okay tiny wings, but still.

Then hear it cry in such a way that all you want to do is pick it up, hug it and rock it to feel better. Which is just what I did.

*****

I reached into the snow about six of seven inches (that is how far she had managed to burrow before I found her) put my hand around her tiny waist, just below the buzzing wings, one of them had a crooked bent tip on it. Her wand was bent at almost a forty five degree angle and the little star on the end of it was twisted perpendicular to the wand itself. Her lace dress was soaking wet from snow melt, her hair was stringy and frozen, one gold slipper had fallen off her feet.

As soon as my hand went around her waist, her wings stopped- frozen in mid flap. She was surprisingly heavy. Like lifting a newborn. Light but solid. I picked up the golden slipper with my other hand, gently sliding it back on her foot. Then I did what you would do when any little tyke fell down crying in front of you.

I turned her towards my shoulder (her eyes were closed, two long runs of makeup flowed from her eyes to her chin -just picture the Mona Lisa with tears and you would be close) just as you would a new born. With one hand behind her neck, and one around her waist, I placed her up against my shoulder. I could feel one of her tiny hands bunching up my collar to hold onto, the other one I could feel (the one holding the bent wand) resting so gently against my chest.

I just sat in the snow, rocking back and forth, patting the little Angel’s back in soft slow circles. I hummed the same song my Mother used to hum for me when I was little. I don’t know if Angels are Irish, but I know they relax when they hear Tura Lura Lura…in a good clear tenor. At least this one did.

After a while she leaned up to look into my eyes. I have to tell you, that is one look you will never forget. Ever seen all the good things in life- all at one time? Well imagine that, and then cover it with sadness. I couldn’t help it. I cried.

She reached over with her tiny perfect hand - as if she was trying to catch a snowflake without melting it (Something I had tried many times in my life). Some of the sadness left her eyes.

“Are these for me?”

There was wonder, awe, and a ton of gratefulness in her tone.

“Yes. Something…er…eh…someone as pretty, sweet, and gentle as you - shouldn’t be able to make a look as sad as that one.”

She looked up from a single tear of mine that was clinging to her finger like a big wet diamond. Her eyes had lost the cover of sadness. It was replaced with one of wonder.

“Thank you. But how come you can see me? Aren’t you mortal?”

*****

Well that was a bit of a conundrum wasn’t it? I mean I don’t usually go on my long walks and talk to Christmas Ornaments I pulled out of a snow bank. A snow bank they were actively trying to bury themselves in at the time. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t have cuddled them until they felt safe enough to talk about what was bothering them.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said this to answer her:

“Yes. I am mortal. I heard your wings before I saw you. I wasn’t going to leave you in the snow crying. Does crying make you visible or something?”

She laughed.

I don’t know how to describe that laugh. Picture every good Holiday Movie running in your mind at the same time. Now add your favorite Christmas Songs (by your favorite singer or orchestra), memories of your favorite toys, gifts, and kissing your teenage true love under the mistletoe. Now add the feeling of your cold feet being warmed by the fire as you sip hot chocolate with the person you love most sitting next to you. Just for some extra joy, have all the lights out and outside a giant bay window you see snow falling, in the distance the Christmas lights on your neighbors houses glitter on the snow. Everyone you know is safe, warm, happy and satisfied. There…you have her laugh.

She had a blue velvet vest on. With her perfect little hand she reached in it, wiggled her finger around and then looked up at me:

“Oh. My forget me petals must have fallen out in the snow.”

We both turned to look at the spot where I had dug her out of the snow. I didn’t know what a “forget me petal” looked like, but I thought they were self explanatory. So I looked for petals. Instead I saw about a dozen blooming dandelions with huge yellow balls of flower on their stalks.

She laughed again.

“Oh dear. They must have fallen to the ground. The ground “forgot” it was winter, so did the dandelions. So they bloomed. This guys yard must be a mess in the summer.”

At that, I laughed. Because it was the worst yard in the neighborhood. All summer it had crabgrass, dandelions, and other weeds everywhere. Mr. Mason (who lived there) said it was his English Garden. Which was his way of saying: “Let nature take its course.” Elsie William and George (his neighbors on either side) didn’t buy into the nature bit, they thought Mr. Mason was just lazy. Maybe he was.

So I told the little Angel about Mr. Mason’s yard in the summer. I also told her that it caused a great deal of friction most of the spring and summer between the three neighbors. Sometimes leading to some rather rude language and once to a 911 call.

At this the little Angel lost most of her bronze faded gold look - her hair filled out in a beautiful array around her head. She became prettier (okay, not prettier - I mean heck, she was already an Angel) more glowing, her outfit a bit neater. Her one wing was still bent, so I reached over and straightened it for her. She looked over one shoulder, gave that wing a flutter to shake out what was left of the wrinkles, looked back at me, and gave me a friendly little tap on the nose.

It was a gesture so devoid of anything but thanks and “glad you were here to help” that I could only swallow, my throat too full to talk.

Her wand was still bent. She reached over and just like you would pull a straw out of its wrapper, she started at the bottom of her wand and “pulled” the wand straight. She tightened the star at the top of the wand, putting it back the right way. As soon as she did all that, the wand glowed. And I mean glowed.
I had to turn my eyes away.

Then she giggled.

*****

Light shot out the end of the wand, hit the snow, and the dandelions. It didn’t stop there but broke into a weird fractal light show sort of like those old glass disco floors with the lit squares under them. But these weren’t square lights, but ribbons, waterfalls, streaks of rainbows- and they covered Mr. Mason’s entire front and back yards. I couldn’t see his backyard, but I could see the glow from back there reflected on Elsie’s sun room, and George’s garage.

A minute later, I had to rub my eyes. All that remained was snow. The lights, dandelions, and ribbons were all gone.

The Angel was still standing on my chest, one tiny perfect hand holding her upright was on my shoulder - her other hand was still pointing the wand at the snow. If I thought her first smile was beautiful, this one was a Hall of Fame Model smile. One I will never forget (she promised me!).

She turned back to me, obviously satisfied with her work with the wand. She threw both her arms around me (I could feel the little star bumping up against the nape of my neck):

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea how much you helped me!”

I patted her back again in those slow circles.

“Well…you’re welcome. Always here to help a lady in distress.”

That made her laugh again, and I swear it made my heart bigger.

“I am so sorry. You do deserve and explanation. I am not a Christmas Ornament. I am a little Angel.”

(this time I laughed, because…well…she is) She tapped me on the nose with that now familiar tap. Pure trust, like with your best friend for life, was in that tap.

“You see, we are the little Angels, and we are sent down to make sure the “little things” get done at Christmas. But all I could find was big things. People buying cars, jewelry, coats, expensive watches, computers…just stuff. There are other Angels for that kind of crap.”

(I had to hide a smile. She was an Angel, but she talked like my sister in the Navy.)

“What we are supposed to do, is to grant little things that make a difference. And now, well, you have given me a chance to do just that. You (and she turned quite shy and coy with a little turn down of her head when she spoke this time) wouldn’t happen to have any more little things I could do?”

She looked so hopeful, like a kid on Halloween when they yell out: “Trick or Treat” and get a full size candy bar instead of a sampler. When they look up to say thanks…the person says: “Wait, that costume is darling. Give her (or him) another one.“ It was that kind of look on the little Angel’s face.

“Well, it would help if I knew what little thing I just helped you with.“

“Oh, didn’t you see the lights? I made Mr. Mason’s yard perfect. This year, when the snow melts, his yard will have the nicest grass in the neighborhood. It will look like the Master’s! And…it will stay that way as long as he lives. Every spring and summer, his yard will be beautiful.”

“Wow, that is pretty cool.”

She preened. Did a pirouette in the air in front of my shoulder and nestled back on my jacket.

“Oh, it gets better. As his grass gets greener, he will get kinder. Elsie and George will start asking him for tips on getting their yards to look like his. He will spend hours learning about grass, later gardening, and much later, prize winning roses! He and George will become good friends. Elsie and Mr. Mason will become quite the item. All good things that spring from such a little thing…a nicer lawn. That is the kind of craft us Little Angels are good at.”

I can tell you now, that is exactly what came to happen over the next few years. Little things make a difference.

So she asked me again:

“Any thing, any little thing, you think I can help with?”

She was so hopeful and eager…as if I could magically figure out what she needed to find, or what she was looking for. So I suggested we just go for a walk and see what comes up.

“Oh! That is a great idea. Let’s go for a walk!”

She perched on my shoulder and we trundled off on my walk through the snow.

I saw the O’Malley Boys (all six of them) standing next to their sled on the slight hill that was their driveway. Bryan (the eldest, at sixteen he was truly man-sized like six one or two and almost two hundred pounds- but the O’Malley’s tend to be big boys, like their Dad) was talking with old Mrs. Simpson.

As we got closer we could hear them talking.

“Why can’t you go to Twinsburg for Christmas tomorrow? It is only forty miles from here in North Olmsted, and 480 is clear all the way.”

Mrs. Simpson pointed to her driveway which had at least two feet of snow on it, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the snow plow had put a wall of packed snow at the end of it that must have been four feet high and six foot thick.

“I can’t shovel that snow, it is too heavy. I can’t get my car out of the garage because of it.”

I could feel the little Angel on my shoulder shiver with joy. Her wand came out, and a beam of green/blue light shot out to hit Bryan in the heart. It passed right through Bryan, split into little rays of blue/green and went right to the hearts of Sean, Patrick, Michael, Seamus, and little Timmy too.

“Oh? Well that’s no problem. My brother’s and I can clear that off in less than an hour.”

He turned to his siblings and said: “Get the shovels!”

Mrs. Simpson tried to offer to pay him- Bryan refused. He put out his arm and just like he was leading his lady into a Ball Room, walked old Mrs. Simpson back to her house. Her foot prints in the deep snow still there from earlier. She meant to just give Bryan the Fruit cake she gave his mother every year. She knew only Mrs. O’Malley loved fruit cake, and that always made her smile.

“You just wait inside until we are done. Come back out when we are done, and back your car out into the street to make sure you can. It isn’t supposed to snow anymore tonight. You should be good to go in the morning. If it does snow again, just beep your horn, and we will come over and shovel it again. You will be with your sister on Christmas Day!”

The Angel on my shoulder now glowed like a laser. Nobody could see her, the boys just waved at me as I walked by. I yelled out a hearty: “Merry Christmas!” The boys all yelled it back. Boys being boys, they had split into teams, dividing the driveway into two sides, three boys on each side.

The first team to clear their side of the driveway got bragging rights, and had to do the chores of the other three for a day. I heard Bryan say:

“One…two…Go!”

And go they did. It looked like those cartoon shots where snow flies up in a constant steam - it was hard to believe how fast young people can shovel when they have a goal. I wished them a tie.

My little Angel was practically purring when she told me:

“Oh, you are my good luck charm. Such a little thing. All they did was clear an old Lady’s driveway. But little things make a difference.”

I swear - she smirked.

“Well what happens now?”

“Oh (and she gushed like someone had just asked her for a recipe while eating some of her cake and saying: “Oh, my, God, this is the best cake I ever ate. You have to tell me how you made it.”) well, let me tell you!

(She clapped her tiny hands in glee.)

Mrs. Simpson’s sister- Margaret, doesn’t know yet that Mrs. Simpson will be there tomorrow. She is feeling sad because it would be the first Christmas that Mrs. Simpson would have missed in thirty two years. Right now, Mrs. Simpson is on the phone telling Marge she will be there after all. It is a little thing, but if you mortals could see what their souls and hearts look like knowing they will be together on Christmas - it would melt you on the spot.“

Even just being told what would happen gave me a warm feeling inside. But she wasn’t done telling me things yet- for little things ripple and become big things.

“Bryan is going to clear her driveway every day now. Well, every day it snows. And not just this year. He will do it every year until he goes to college. He is going to get into Harvard, but won’t have enough money to go. Even with the scholarship he will win- Harvard will be out of his reach.

Mrs. Simpson will pay the difference. Bryan will be stunned, grateful, and overwhelmed. So will Mrs. Simpson when Bryan brings her to not only his graduation, but his wedding. Bryan and Allyson’s two children will call Mrs. Simpson “Nanny”. And when they say it, her heart will soar.“

I was crying …again. These little things were piling up.

“Where to next?”

She was waving her wand around in a giant circle…pointing it in every direction.

I don’t know why I said it. But I did.

“I think we should go by the Thompson’s place.“

My voice must have given it away. She quieted immediately.

“Are you okay?”

This time it was her that gave me a hug. It took me a minute before I could choke out the words.

“Mrs. Thompson is only forty. She is in home hospice. She just wanted to live through the Holidays and have a day without pain, just a few hours to share with her three children on Christmas. Her husband told me this morning that he expects her to die tonight. She hasn’t even been out of bed in a day or so.

It’s a little thing, but a few hours on Christmas where she could move around would be a godsend.”

The little Angel closed her eyes. I could see a kind of tunnel open in the sky. I stopped walking. I don’t know how long I was standing there before she opened her eyes and spoke. She had a tear forming in one eye, her little perfect hand was tapping me gently on my neck.

“He says we can give her all of Christmas Day. A bit of the afternoon on the next day, but then…then…she has to go.”

I didn’t say a thing. The little Angel leaned against my head as we walked, one perfect hand was playing with a little ringlet she had made with my hair. Her wand was tapping lightly against my shoulder. She was humming Silent night.

The snow crunched under our feet in the cold snappy air, as we walked to the Thompson’s house to do another little thing.

I started to sing. I told you I have a good clear tenor. The lights went on in the Thompson house as we drew near.

Even in the street we could hear Daisy (their youngest at nine) yell out in surprise:

“Daddy! Melissa, Mary…Mommy’s up! She wants coffee!”

The little Angel’s wand glowed brighter than I had ever seen it.

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