by Doreen Grégoire

Rating: PG

Christmas Eve, 1971

Dr. Julia Hoffman closed the door to her office at Wyndcliffe Sanitarium with more force than it required. The bang echoed down the still halls; even the patients were quiet for once. She'd finally been able to make her escape from the ordeal known as the staff Christmas party. She'd stuck it out as long as she could - too much booze, off-key voices singing hackneyed songs, the falsely cheerful faces put on jaded exteriors, tasteless presents given in the gift exchange. Duty required that, as director, she make an appearance, but she didn't have to like it.

She paused at the door to the parking lot and sighed resignedly as she pulled on her gloves. A light snow had fallen on top of what had been packed down during the day. The roads would be slippery, especially along the cliff road between Collinsport and Collinwood where the spray tossed by the rough seas froze on the pavement, making it like a skating rink.

After several minutes of letting her car warm up while she scraped snow and ice off the windshield, she got in and guided it out of the parking lot onto the highway. She shivered and turned the heater on to full strength. It enthusiastically blew hot air back at her, but somehow the condensation from her breath had managed to freeze on the inside of the windshield, which the heater did absolutely nothing about. She fumbled beside her, found the scraper and managed to chisel a small patch big enough for her to see the road in front of her.

She decided to turn on the radio and was disgusted to find that the stations within range (all five of them) were playing yet more Christmas songs. She'd just about had her fill of Frosty, Rudolph, jingle bells, silver bells, blue Christmases, and the whole damned lot of them.

She turned onto the private roadway leading to the Collins estate, but instead of turning right to go home to Collinwood, she turned left, onto a narrow drive that eventually ended in a small parking lot at the top of Widows Hill. The spot was known among teenagers as the local make-out spot, but tonight it was too cold for even the most devoted lovers. She had the place to herself, which suited her just fine.

She parked her car but left the engine running so the heater would still keep her warm. The radio was by now just a background noise. After fumbling in her purse in the dark, she found a half-crushed pack of cigarettes. She pulled out one that was reasonably intact, lit it with the car's lighter, took a long drag, and leaned back against the headrest.

She closed her eyes and let the fatigue and depression wash over her like a drug. She'd quit smoking months ago and the cigarette smoke burned its way down to her lungs. It stung, taking away some of the numbness she felt, but not enough to allow her to go home and face the Collins family.

She sat there for what seemed an eternity, smoking and trying very hard not to think of anything at all. She gradually became aware of violins on the radio starting to play the opening to a very familiar song.

"Oh shit. Not that one. Anything but that one." But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to reach over the few inches to turn the radio off, and she listened to Judy Garland singing of a merry little Christmas.

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas
Make the yuletide gay
From now on our troubles will be miles away

Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And, have yourself a Merry little Christmas,
now.

How could a song with such cheerful lyrics be so sad? It sounded as if Judy had the world on her shoulders when she sang that song, and that Christmas would never be merry again.

Julia stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, reversed the car out of its parking spot and drove back the way she'd come. She still couldn't go back to Collinwood, not like this.

She drove back to Collinsport. Thankfully the Blue Whale was still open. Even in a tiny place like Collinsport, there were still some places that didn't close.

The Whale was practically empty, only a few of the die-hard customers leaned over beer and pretzels tonight. Julia chose a table at the back of the bar, and ordered a double gin and tonic from the bartender. She silently paid him with a five and indicated that he should keep the change. He nodded his thanks and left her alone.

She gazed down into her drink, fiddling with the stir stick. She was soon deep in thought and took no more notice of her surroundings.

"Is this seat taken?" The pleasant baritone voice startled her out of her reverie.

"Barnabas!" She hurriedly cleared her coat and purse from the chair across from her so he could sit. "How did you know I'd be here?"

He seated himself and when the bartender came, ordered an expensive brand of brandy.

"Willie saw you drive up the Widows Hill road. He happened to be at the window when he saw you heading back into town about an hour later." He reached out for one of her hands and held it gently between both of his, cradling it like an injured bird. "What's wrong?"

She took a drag of the cigarette which had been smoldering in the ashtray and released the smoke slowly. Still holding it between two fingers, she took a sip of her drink and set it back on the table hard enough to cause the liquid in the glass to slosh dangerously close to the rim.

"Nothing's wrong. Why would you think that?"

Barnabas narrowed his eyes against the cloud of smoke she exhaled in his direction, but politely refrained from making any comment about it.

"Elizabeth expected you for dinner this evening. She was worried when you didn't come home."

She stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette in her hand. "I couldn't go back there," she admitted.

At that moment one of the other patrons in the bar dropped a quarter into the jukebox. The song was, of course, Bing Crosby's version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".

"Shit! Not again!" She retrieved her other hand and lit another cigarette from the stub of the old one, which she angrily stabbed into the overflowing ashtray. Her hand shook when she picked up her glass from the table and she hurriedly set it down again. She laced her fingers together on the tabletop and stared down at them.

Barnabas gently took the cigarette from her fingers and extinguished it. She lifted her face only long enough to glare at him, then resumed her contemplation of her fingers.

"Julia, this isn't like you." He reached out to touch her but she flinched away. He listened to Bing Crosby on the jukebox. "What is it about this song that angers you so?"

"Listen to the words: 'Here we are as in golden days' and 'through the years we all will be together'. It just doesn't happen."

He regarded her silently for several seconds. "Julia, where do you go?" he asked gently.

"What?" She was puzzled at his question.

"You're a psychiatrist. When people are hurting and in need of healing they go to you. They tell you what's bothering them and you help them sort it all out." He quirked an eyebrow. "Am I right?"

She nodded reluctantly. "To a certain extent, yes."

"All right, then. Where do you go when you need to talk your problems out?"

"I -" She stopped and swallowed. "I have no one." She said it so quietly he almost couldn't hear her over the music in the background.

He leaned forward and took her hands in his.

"Then tell me."

She nodded and reached for her cigarette pack, but stopped herself and reached for Barnabas' hand instead.

"I had an older brother when I was growing up. Charlie. He was my hero. He'd defend his skinny little sister against neighbourhood bullies and take me to the movies on Saturday afternoons. Sometimes we'd stop in the drug store afterwards and he'd buy me a soda with money he'd earned delivering papers."

She paused to reflect and take a sip of her drink. Barnabas waited patiently for her to go on.

"We grew up in the thirties, during the Great Depression. You've heard about that time?" At his affirmative nod she continued. "Dad was a surgeon in Philadelphia. So many of his patients couldn't afford to pay him, and he never asked. He just accepted what they could give him. Sometimes it was nothing at all. All Charlie wanted was to be just like Dad.

"Do you know, I don't remember being poor? I know Mom had to make do sometimes with beans and bread, but that's not what I remember from those times. What I remember most is the love. Dad would come home at night and gather Mom in his arms. He always whispered something in her ear, but I never found out what it was. Whatever he said, it made her eyes sparkle. Then he'd turn to Charlie and me. He'd give Charlie a big hug, and he'd sweep me up in his arms and twirl me around until I was dizzy.

"Christmas was always special. Dad and Charlie would take the streetcar out to the end of the line and hike out to the country. They always came back with the most beautiful Christmas tree. Mom and I stayed home stringing popcorn into garlands."

She paused again, marshalling her thoughts. Barnabas squeezed her hands in encouragement.

"Then the war started. Charlie was in med school when he was drafted and sent overseas as a medic in France. He never made it home."

She took a deep breath. "That song on the jukebox - it's from a movie, "Meet Me in St. Louis", that came out just after we received the telegram telling us that Charlie had been killed in action. We were never 'all together' again.

"Dad was never the same after that. Oh, he'd still come home and whisper to my mother, but the spark had gone from him. He died of a heart attack a couple of years later. And now, every time I hear that damned song, I think of Charlie."

Barnabas' warm brown eyes shone in commiseration. "And you mother?"

"Mom went to work. She'd never had to work outside the home before, but she cleaned other peoples' houses to put food on our table. She died about ten years ago."

Julia again reached for her cigarettes, but seeing the sympathy on Barnabas' face, she again halted her reach.

He smiled gently. "And now, here you are. Living with a family who have almost adopted you as one of theirs, and they don't even celebrate Christmas."

"That's just it. I see David, Amy and Hallie. They're all fine young people who deserve to have fun in their lives, to have a holiday to look forward to. Christmas is for children. Instead, the Collins family spend Christmas Day just as they do any other day of the year."

"I don't know what to say about Roger and Elizabeth. They're entrenched in habits formed when they themselves were children." Barnabas rose and held out his hand to her. "Come back to the Old House with me. We can spend the rest of the evening together."

She nodded and slipped into her coat as he held it for her, then followed him outside to his Mercedes. She'd send Willie to town later to retrieve her car.

She was silent on the short trip back to Barnabas' home, lost in remembrances and contemplations. Upon arriving he took her coat from her and hung it on the rack in the hallway, then sent Willie to make a pot of tea, all the time respectful of her need for distance.

Finally, when the tea was ready he handed her a cup and sat in a wing chair on the opposite side of the fireplace from her.

"You're forgetting one thing, you know," he told her after a time.

She looked up at him. "What's that?"

"The song that makes you so sad. There are two lines you're forgetting."

She was curious in spite of herself. "And what would they be?"

"'Faithful friends who are dear to us / Gather near to us once more.'" He said the words softly, letting the warmth he felt for her come out in his voice. "Julia, this friend will never let you be alone. When you are burdened with cares, I will be here for you to talk to. When you are lonely I will be here. When you need a friend, I will be here."

He put his cup down on a table, rose and went to her. He took her cup from her and put it down as well, then took her hands and pulled her to her feet. He drew his hand down her cheek in a soft caress and folded her in a warm embrace.

She relaxed at last, wrapping her arms around him, absorbing his warmth and strength.

He tenderly kissed her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Julia."

The End

Top of Page

Back to the Fanfiction Index