The Week Before Christmas

‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the post office

Everything was stirring and there was so much amiss.
The packages were stuck by the back door with care,
In hopes that the mailman soon would be there.
The postal workers were nestled all snug at their spots,
While visions of M-16s danced through their thoughts.
When out by the back door there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my window to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash
And tripped over some packages where they had been stashed.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a huge mail truck and all of its gear.
With a little old driver who was not a Christmas fan,
I knew in a moment it must be the mailman.
More rapid than eagles his coursers he came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Expresses! Now Registereds! Now fragiles and oversized packages!
On cards! On Priorities! On, Certifieds and first classes!
To the main post office, and then on to the warehouse!
Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash as quick as a mouse!”
So up to our back door the coursers they flew
With a truck full of mail and the mailman, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the street
The roaring and groaning of the mail truck fleet.
As I picked myself up and was turning around,
In the back door the mailman came with a bound.
He was dressed all in blue from his head to his toes,
And his clothes were quite dirty as it usually goes.
A bundle of packages he flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler with that big old pack.
His eyes— how dull! His dimples— not showing!
His cheeks were flushed, his face was not glowing!
His droll little mouth was pulled into a frown,
The beard on his chin was dirty and brown.
The stump of a toothpick he held tight in his teeth,
And black exhaust encircled the truck like a wreath.
He had a sad face and a round little belly
That shook when he yelled like a bowl full of jelly.
He was angry and stressed, not a jolly old elf,
And I cried when I saw him in spite of myself.
The glare of his eye and the twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had much to dread.
He spoke some bad words and went straight to his work,
He picked up the mail; then turned with a jerk,
Then thinking the customers’ money all spent,
And giving a nod, out the back door he went.
He sprang to his truck, and gave a short whistle,
Away the truck flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,
“Next time mail your packages long before Christmas Eve night!”

(with sincerest apologies to Clement C. Moore)
(c) 1998 by Angela Johnson

Rebekah's Gift

Rebekah watched with wonder as many people streamed past her home. She knew none of them, for they had all come from different lands to pay their taxes. Rebekah’s father owned an inn in the heart of Bethlehem of Judea. With all the taxpayers needing boarding, the inn was completely full. Thirteen-year-old Rebekah and her ten-year-old sister, Salome, were kept busy all of the time. They didn’t mind, for there was not much else to do. They enjoyed helping their parents.

All day, Rebekah had watched the people coming into Bethlehem (except, of course, when her mother called her away from the window to do a job.) Never before had Rebekah seen so many people. Out of the corner of her eye, Rebekah noticed a man leading a donkey on which a woman sat. They looked very tired. Rebekah saw them approaching her inn. She crept downstairs as she heard the knock at the door.

“I’m sorry. There is no room,” Rebekah’s father was saying.

“Please, sir,” the man pleaded. “My wife is with child and her time is near. We need a room.”

“I’m terribly sorry. We have no rooms left.” He shut the door quickly

“Father!” Rebekah cried out. “You turned them away?!”

“Yes, Rebekah. You know that we have no rooms open. I had no choice,” he replied.

“I can’t believe you, Father! Turning them out! That woman is with child. If I were in her condition, would you like someone turning me out?” Rebekah asked.

“No, little one, I wouldn’t,” her father replied, lowering his head.

“You must get them back! We will make room. She may have my bed,” Rebekah said, throwing open the door.

“No one will be sleeping in your bed but you, Rebekah,” her mother called from the next room. Nevertheless, Rebekah ran out into the street. Down a way, at another inn, she spotted them. The man was talking to the innkeeper. As Rebekah hurried over to them, the innkeeper led the couple behind the inn. Rebekah followed at a short distance.

“I’m sorry that I have no rooms, but I’m sure that this will be a bit to your liking. Nice and cozy and warm,” the innkeeper was saying. Rebekah’s mouth dropped open. They were in a stable for the animals! It was not a wooden structure, like at her father’s inn, but a cave! Rebekah could hardly believe what she was seeing.

“My wife’s time is near, sir,” the man said. “Are there any women about who could help her?”

“Certainly. My wife, Rachel will be glad to, and there are others nearby,” the innkeeper said. “Rachel will be out shortly with water and other things.” Rebekah shrank back into the shadows as the innkeeper walked away.

“How are you, Mary?” Rebekah heard the man ask. As surprisingly young voice answered him.

“Quite well, Joseph,” Mary replied. “I will not complain of our lodging. I find it most pleasant.” Rebekah crept toward the door and peered in. A twig snapped beneath her foot, and the woman looked up.

“Hello,” she said smiling.

“Hello,” Rebekah replied shyly. She was shocked when she saw the woman’s face. She was not much older than her! “May I come in?”

“Certainly,” Mary said. “What is your name?”

“Rebekah. My father owns the inn down the street,” Rebekah said.
“My name is Mary and this is my husband, Joseph. We come from Galilee,” Mary replied. Her face suddenly became stricken with pain. Joseph rushed to her side.

“Are you all right, Mary?” he asked anxiously. Mary took his hand.

“Yes, Joseph, I am fine. The child is coming very soon,” Mary said, her voice sounding strained.

“May I help?” Rebekah asked.

“Yes, Rebekah,” Joseph said. “Run to the inn and tell them that it is time.” Rebekah ran to the inn and brought back the innkeeper’s wife and daughter.

Rebekah couldn’t watch. She stayed outside and listened. She had never witnessed a birth before, and now she was scared. Mary was so young and fragile, Rebekah thought for sure she would die. It was well into the night when the baby’s cry was heard. Rebekah, who had her face buried in her arms, looked up. She leapt to her feet and entered the stable. Mary was wrapping the small baby in white cloths. She looked up and smiled as Rebekah came in.

“I have a beautiful son, Rebekah,” Mary said as the laid the child in the manger.

“What shall you name him? Shall it be Joseph? Is he your first born?” Rebekah asked.

“He will be called Jesus,” Mary replied, gazing down at him.

“May I hold him, please?” Rebekah asked.

“Of course.” Mary lifted up the baby and placed him in Rebekah’s arms. Rebekah couldn’t remember ever holding a baby before. She looked at the sleeping child and was overcome. It was a feeling like no other she had felt before in her life. After a few moments, Rebekah handed the baby back to his mother.

“Thank you for letting me hold him, Mary,” Rebekah said. Mary smiled and kissed Rebekah’s cheek. Rebekah smiled back and then looked around. “I wish you had a better place to stay.”

“It’s quite all right, Rebekah. The city is so full of travelers, and there really is no other place to stay. We are quite happy with this place,” Mary replied.

“But you have no place to rest your head! The straw is not nearly soft enough!” Rebekah said. Mary smiled kindly and touched Rebekah’s cheek.

“Do not fret, Rebekah. Everything is fine here,” Mary said. Rebekah shook her head and pulled her shawl from her shoulders. She rolled it into a ball and placed it behind Mary.

“You may have my shawl, Mary. Use it to lay your head on, and then you may wear it as you travel to your home,” Rebekah said. Mary smiled again.

“You are very kind, Rebekah, but I cannot accept your beautiful shawl,” she said.

“It is my gift to you and your beautiful baby. I have many other shawls,” Rebekah insisted. “Please take it, Mary.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,” Mary replied. “Your gift is much appreciated.”

“You are welcome,” Rebekah said, grateful that Mary was accepting her shawl. She ducked her head and backed toward the door. “I must leave, so I hope that we meet again some day.”

“Perhaps we will,” Mary said. “Goodbye, Rebekah, and thank you.”

As Rebekah was walking home, she noticed that, even though it was late at night, the sky was not very dark. She looked around for the moon, but couldn’t find it. What she did see was a large star, situated right above the small stable she had just come from. Rebekah stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments, then continued to her home.

(c)Angela Johnson
(First version— 10/93; Revised version— 12/97)

After Anatevka: The Story of Motel & Tzeitel

The small table was crowded into the kitchen of probably the tiniest apartment in Warsaw. But it was situated above the tailor shop, so they didn’t really have much of a choice. It was by a stroke of sheer luck that Motel Kamzoil was the owner of the shop. The previous owner was ready to close it and retire when Motel and his wife Tzeitel arrived in town, looking for work. Motel, already a skilled tailor, took over the business completely within a few weeks. They were able to move into the apartment above the shop almost immediately. It was cramped quarters for their small family. Baby Aizik was only a few months old, so he didn’t take up too much room. Not yet, at least.

That was early spring 1906 when the Kamzoils moved to Warsaw from their tiny village of Anatevka in Russia. Tzeitel’s parents and younger sisters, Shprintze and Bielke, had moved to America. Motel & Tzeitel’s intent was to save up the money to eventually join them. Prospects looked good for them to save the money quickly. However, things did not go exactly as planned. Tzeitel planned on finding work, but with the baby, it was difficult. With no family around to help out, and no one else willing to watch the baby, Tzeitel had to stay at home. She took in laundry when she could and did small jobs for people who didn’t mind the baby tagging along. The income from the tailor shop was modest, but not quite enough to save a lot of it. Especially when the babies kept coming.

Avigal was born in the summer of 1907, and the twins, Beila and Leib came the following summer. 4 babies in 2 ½ years was just about enough for Tzeitel. By that point, she couldn’t work at all outside the home. But Motel was making quite a name for himself in Warsaw as a fine tailor, especially after the mayor himself was pleased with a suit he purchased. And an old friend from Anatevka, Mordcha, visited and told everyone in town that Motel made the best undergarments in all of Europe. Things were looking up for Motel & Tzeitel. However, as winter set in over Poland, Tzeitel found herself pregnant again, and very sick. She was bed ridden, and Motel had to watch all of the children as well as run the shop. Luckily, Tzeitel’s sister, Chava, came from Krakow to help out. She took over the care of the children completely. However, Tzeitel lost the baby in early January. Chava stayed until Spring, when Tzeitel was finally well enough to resume her duties.

Two more years passed. Business remained good, but there still wasn’t enough to make definite plans to move to America. Zindel was born in early 1911. He was a happy baby of 9 months when his mother and father sat at their cramped kitchen table with all of their money piled in front of them.

“Count it again, Motel. Are you sure it’s enough?” Tzeitel asked, bouncing little Zindel on her knee. She didn’t have much room for him on her lap, as the next baby was due in a few months. Tzeitel thought it might be twins again.

“I’ve counted it three times, Tzeitel. We have enough to get us to England at least. Depending on how much the boat fare costs, it may get us all the way to America. After that, I don’t know. From what your Mama writes, it’s a long way to Texas from New York City.” Motel replied.

“We can’t stay in this apartment much longer, Motel. We need to leave,” Tzeitel said.

“I know, but we have to wait at least until the baby comes.” Motel scooped up the money and put it back into the coffee can.

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll have to wait until next year. I know it’s only September, but the baby isn’t coming until December at the earliest. We can’t wait that long,” replied Tzeitel. “I’m fine now. I’ll be fine for another month or two. That’s enough time to get to England, don’t you think? We’ll take the train. The children will love it!”

“Well, I can make a few inquiries in town. Maybe someone will buy the shop,” said Motel. Tzeitel’s eyes brightened.

“Seff might buy it. He’s apprenticed with you off and on over the past few years. I think he knows enough to run it himself,” she said.

“That’s an idea. I’ll talk to him tomorrow!” Motel stood up, and bumped his head on the shelf above him. He growled miserably as he rubbed the perpetual lump. “More than 4 years here, and I always hit that awful shelf. Tzeitel, we have to move.”

The next evening, Motel came barreling into the apartment, shouting happily.

“He’s going to buy it! He has the money now! Tzeitel, we can leave as soon as we’re ready!” he exclaimed. Tzeitel leapt from her chair, squealing with joy. The children watched their parents in awe as they danced around the tiny room. Tzeitel kissed Motel and held his face in her hands.

“I knew this was right. I knew it would work! We’re going to America!” she cried. “Oh, I must go write to Mama and Papa. They will be so happy! It’s been so long!” Motel kissed each of the children in turn, then sat down and tried to explain to them what was happening. Aizik & Avigal seemed to understand, but the twins seemed more concerned about leaving their few toys behind. Motel assured them that the toys could come. There weren’t that many to begin with. He promised them that Grandma and Grandpa would have all kinds of toys for them. That seemed to be enough for Leib, but Beila still seemed a little leery. Motel laughed and hugged his cherub-cheeked little girl who was an exact copy of her mother.

Three weeks later, the Kamzoil family boarded a train for France. Even with the money they had saved and the funds from the sale of the tailor shop, they had still had to sell almost everything they owned. Their meager possessions packed, they set off on their journey west. Aizik and Avigal stared out the window of the train as it started chugging along.

“How long until we see Grandma and Grandpa?” Avigal asked.

“It will be a very long time, Avie,” Motel replied. “We will stay with some old friends from Anatevka in London until Mama has the baby. After that, as soon as we can book passage on a ship to America, we’ll leave. But it will still be awhile after that. Grandma and Grandpa live in Texas. It’s in the middle of the country…and America is a big place.” Avigal nodded solemnly. Tzeitel cuddled baby Zindel close and tried to count the months until she would see her parents and little sisters again. Her best guess was that it would be summer before they would make it to Texas.

It was early October by the time the Kamzoils arrived in London. They quickly found their old friend Avram at his bookshop. It was a wonderful reunion, and soon everyone was settled. Motel secured work at a local textile factory. He didn’t earn much, but it was enough to add to their travel funds.

In late December, Tzeitel gave birth to twins. Both healthy girls, they named them Chayele and Reina. Tzeitel had a hard recovery, but by late March she found that she was ready for travel. Motel quit his job at the factory and spent his days trying to find the cheapest way to get a family of 9 to America. It wasn’t until early April when he found a ship that was leaving very soon from South Hampton that they could afford. It was a bit of a stretch, but Motel bought tickets for the entire family.

Early in the morning on April 10, 1912, the family arrived at the dock. Tzeitel instructed the children to hold onto each other’s hands and onto her shirt so that no one would get lost. She held Chayele and Reina in her arms, while Motel held Zindel. They all stared in awe at the huge ship in front of them.

“Are we going to ride on that all the way to America?” Aizik asked.

“Yes, Aizik,” Motel replied. “All the way to America!”

The line seemed impossibly long to get onto the ship, and the children grew restless. They wanted to run around, but Tzeitel was afraid they would fall into the water and drown. When they were just 50 yards from the ship, Beila tugged on Tzeitel’s skirt.

“Mama, where is Aizik?” she asked. Tzeitel gasped and looked around frantically.

“Motel!” she screamed. “Where is Aizik?! He’s not here!” There was still a tremendous crowd of people, and Aizik was no where to be seen. Motel’s face went white as he looked around. He handed Zindel to Avigal and pushed Tzeitel and their few bags out of the line.

“You stay right here. I’ll find him. Don’t get on the ship until we get back!” he shouted. Tzeitel tried not to burst into tears, as she knew that would scare the children.

Tzeitel grew frantic as time passed and Motel did not return. It was almost time for the ship to leave. She watched in horror as the large doors were closed. Several people asked her, in English, if she needed to get on the boat. She understood a little English, and spoke even less. All she could do was shake her head with tears streaming down her face. The ship was just pulling away from the dock when Motel came running up, dragging Aizik behind him.

“I’m sorry, Tzeitel. He wanted a closer look at the ship,” Motel said. “Aizik, what do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the forlorn little boy replied.

“Well, we’ve missed the boat now. What are we going to do?” Tzeitel asked.

“Don’t worry, Tzeitel. The RMS Titanic isn’t the only ship sailing to America.”

(c) Angela Johnson

June 28, 2008

Name Meanings:

Motel - Warrior

Tzeitel – Princess, Noble

Aizik – He will laugh

Avigal – Father’s Joy

Beila – Beautiful

Leib - Lion

Zindel - Son

Chayele – Alive, Living

Reina – Pure, Clean

Birthdays:

Aizik – February 1906 in Anatevka

Avigal – July 1907 in Warsaw

Beila & Leib – June 1908 in Warsaw

Unnamed Baby – January 1909 in Warsaw

Zindel – January 1911 in Warsaw

Chayele & Reina – December 1911 in London

John & Sarah's Wedding

“Do you, John Henry Chapman, take Sarah Elizabeth Lawry to be your lawfully wedded wife...” The minister was talking, but John was only half listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sarah, his soon-to-be wife. This day had been too many years in coming. Why he had waited so long, he didn’t know. They had been childhood sweethearts, growing up together in St Neot, Cornwall, England. Well, as much as they could grow up together, as John was 7 years old when Sarah was born.
“I do,” John uttered the sacred words and squeezed Sarah’s small hands gently. He berated himself for not marrying her years ago. When he’d left England for Canada in 1906, Sarah had been 23 years old. She was of marriageable age then, and John even more so at 30. But not knowing how bad the journey would be, and not knowing what life would be like in the “New World,” John had left Sarah behind.
“Do you, Sarah Elizabeth Lawry, take John Henry Chapman to be your lawfully wedded husband...” Sarah smiled up at John as the minister spoke. She had waited so long for this day. John had been gone for 5 long years. While it was a comparatively short span of time, it had seemed an eternity to her. Sarah had known John her whole life and loved him for as long as she could remember. What began as a young girl’s infatuation blossomed into love as they grew older. John was her hero, her dearest friend, the love of her life, and now...
“You may kiss the bride.” Her husband. Sarah’s heart soared as John took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. This was the moment she had dreamed of for so long. Sarah recalled the day John’s last letter had arrived, postmarked in Spokane, Washington. She’d read it over 5 times to be certain she hadn’t read it incorrectly.

October 1, 1911
My dearest Sarah,
I am coming home, my darling. I have been here in Washington for a year now, and I have felt for some time that something is acutely missing in my life. I thought the move from Canada would help, but I now know for certain what it is that I lack. Or who it is, more accurately. It is you, my darling, dearest, sweetest Sarah. America is wonderful place of opportunity, but I would rather be in England with you, than in America without you. I was fool to leave you behind. I suppose I needed to find myself. Well, Sarah, I’ve found what I was looking for...that I am nothing without you by my side. So, I am leaving Washington and returning to England. If all goes as planned, I should arrive in mid-December. I will send you further word when all the plans have been made.
Oh, Sarah, I wish I could ask you this question in person. It is so utterly Victorian to do this through the mail, but I have no choice. Sarah Elizabeth Lawry, will you do me the greatest honor, and make me the happiest man in the world, and marry me? I love you with every fiber of my being, and I can hardly wait to make you my wife. I know you have always wanted a winter wedding, so it is perfect timing with when I am returning. All further plans can wait until we are reunited. A Christmas wedding is all I ask for now, my dearest. Please give your Aunt Emma and the rest of your family my love.
A continent and ocean separate us now, my love, but soon nothing will ever part us again. Until that time, I remain, devotedly,
Yours, John

Sarah now smiled up at John through tear-filled eyes. Nothing would ever part them again. She was sure of it.
“I love you, John,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
“And I love you, my sweet Sarah,” he replied, pulling her close.

---
(c) 2003 - Angela Johnson

This was written when I was doing Titanic: The Musical with Front Range Music Theatre. I was playing a 2nd class passenger in a few scenes, and we researched actual passengers to play. If you are interested to know what happened to John & Sarah Chapman when the Titanic sank, look here:

http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-biography/john-henry-chapman.html
http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-biography/sara-elizabeth-chapman.html

The Miracle -- A Tale of Brigadoon

I had loved him my entire life. Ever since the day he first came to my father's milk stand, I had loved Harry Beaton. He never cared much for me. He had his eye on little Jeannie MacLaren. If it wasn't for handsome Charlie Dalrymple, Jeannie would probably be with Harry. He's a very handsome lad, too. Jeannie was very sweet, and she deserved gentle Charlie. harry was rouch, and thought that everyone hated him. Not I, though. I would love my Harry until the day that I died.
"Maggie Anderson, ye bonny lass, stop drinkin' all the milk!" my uncle cried.
"Aye, Uncle Angus," I replied, setting down the mug. I was thirsty, but my mean old uncle never let me drink any of the milk.
"Ye're drinkin' up the profits, Maggie!" Meg Brockie giggled. "Save some for the handsome lads that will be comin'!" Meg worked for my uncle and got paid. I received no wages, because I was family. It wasn't fair at all.
"Angus MacGuffie! Have ye any milk for a poor man of God?" It was Mr. Forsythe! He always said the same thing when he came to the milk stand in the mornings. Uncle Angus held up a mug of fresh milk.
"Aye, sir! The best milk on MacConnachy Square! Nay, in all of Brigadoon!" Uncle Angus exclaimed. Mr. Forsythe took the mug and drank it down. He dropped a coin into Uncle Angus' hand and smiled at me.
"I canna find better milk in all of Scotland, Maggie," he said, winking at me. "Keep that cow a-milkin'. Will ye, Maggie?"
"Aye, sir, I will. My brother does the milkin', so I'll be sure he doesn't slack," I replied. I tried to smile, but in my direct line of vision was Harry Beaton. He was talking to Jeannie MacLaren. Charlie was in Edinburgh, and Harry had not left Jeannie alone since he left.
"What ails ye this fine mornin', Maggie?" Mr. Forsythe asked. He could always tell when something was wrong.
"Harry Beaton," I replied with a sigh. "He pays Jeannie more mind than me. She's goin' to marry Charlie, but Harry is determined to stop the weddin'. I love him, Mr. Forsythe. I only wish that he would love me."
"I believe that he does love ye, Maggie. The poor lad just dinna realize it. Jeannie had never loved him, and he knows it. Give the lad time, Maggie. He'll come to ye, darlin'." Mr. Forsythe was the greatest man in all of Brigadoon. I kissed his cheek.
"Thank ye, Mr. Forsythe. I just hope Harry comes soon. Charlie will be home tomorrow evenin', and I'm afraid that Harry will do somethin' before then," I said.
"Don't ye worry, Maggie! Harry won't try anythin'. Remember, if ye love someone enough, anythin' is possible. Harry will come," he replied, then turned and walked away. I looked over at Harry. He was staring after Jeannie as she walked away with her sister, Fiona. I marched straight over to him.
"Hello, Harry! How are ye this fine mornin'?" I said He looked down at me.
"As good as I'll ever be with Jean marryin' Charlie," he said sternly. "Just leave me alone, Maggie." He stormed away. I frowned deeply and started to follow him.
"Let him go, Maggie," my cousin, Kate, said. "He wants to keep to himself."
"WITCHES!" A cry rose up from the other side of the square. It was Sandy Dean. Everyone rushed over to him.
"Are they were in Brigadoon?" Mr. Lundie, the schoolmaster, asked.
"Nay, but there is a band of them comin' this way. They should be here in a few days," Sandy said breathlessly.
"I hope Charlie gest back safe," his brother, Stuart, said. "Mother would never forgive us if somethin' were to happen to him."
"What can be done to stop them?" Ian MacGregor asked. Everyone began talking at once. Mr. Forsythe held up his hand.
"Lads, I have a plan, but I dinna know if it will work. Have nay worries about the witches. All will be well." He had a strange look in his eyes which frightened me. Mr. Forsythe had never failed Brigadoon before, so I trusted him.
I was walking through the brae a few hours later, when I saw Harry. He was staring off at nothing. I didn't want to bother him, but I knew I had to.
"Harry, there are witches comin' to Brigadoon," I said, sitting down next to him. He stared at me for a few moments.
"I know, Maggie," he replied.
"Ye're not scared?" I asked.
"Aye," was all he said. I reached up and touched a lock of his red hair.
"Mr. Forsythe has a plan, but he won't tell us. It might not work. If it dinna, will ye protect me from the witches? I asked. Harry didn't answer. "I hope Charlie Dalrymple dinna have any trouble with them."
"I hope that he does. Jean dinna deserve him. She deserves me," he said. I turned away quickly.
"What does Jeannie have that I dinna?" I asked, facing him again. I startled him with my question. He stared at me for a moment.
"I dinna know, Maggie," he replied softly.
"Is it her golden hair?"
"Nay. Yer dark hair is very pretty."
"Is it her green eyes?"
"I like yer blue ones."
"What is it then, Harry?" I cried. Harry jumped to his feet.
"I dinna know, Maggie! Will ye just leave me alone?" He ran off through the brae.
"I love ye, Harry Beaton!" I screamed. "When will ye know that?" I leaned back on a rock and cried.

* * *

The next night, I went for a walk on a hill near Brigadoon. Harry had avoided me all that day, and it hurt very badly. Charlie was home, so the wedding would be on Friday. Then, Harry would be mine forever. The thought sent chills through my body.
As I walked on the hill, I saw a figure ahead of me. As first, I thought that it was a witch. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud. It was Mr. Forsythe! He was praying. He must have heard me coming, because he looked up.
"Maggie Anderson! What are ye doin' here, lass?" he asked.
"Just goin' for a walk," I replied. "I was thinkin' about Harry."
"Ye need to get back to Brigadoon, lass," he said. "I'm prayin' for a miracle. Ye must be in the town, or ye will have to stay here with me."
"I dinna understand, Mr. Forsythe," I said. "What kind of miracle?"
"The witches will be here soon, Maggie. I want to protect Brigadoon. I am prayin' that the town will disappear and only reappear for one day every one hundred years. The witches winna harm ye, and ye winna be in any century long enough to be touched by it." I stared at Mr. Forsythe for a few moments. "Is Charlie home, Maggie?"
"Aye. He returned just before I left," I replied.
"Good, then. Get back to Brigadoon as quickly as ye can, lass. Mr. Lundie will make certain that everyone knows the rules," Mr. Forsythe said.
"Winna ye be there?" I asked. I was trembling now.
"Nay, Maggie. A sacrifice must be made. I will stay behind," he replied. I threw myself into his arms.
"I canna leave ye, Mr. Forsythe!" I exclaimed, bursting into tears.
"Ye must, Maggie. Be gone with ye now, lass." He helped me to my feet and gave me a gentle push. I kissed his cheek and then began to run. As I reached the outskirts of Brigadoon, I was enveloped in a soft mist. I turned around quickly.
"Goodbye, Mr. Forsythe!" I called out. "Thank ye!" I ran to my house just as the mist began to get thicker.
"Goodbye, Maggie!"

The End

(c) 1996 - Angela Johnson

Note: This story was written while I was playing Maggie Anderson in my high school's production of the Lerner & Loewe musical, "Brigadoon". My sincerest apologies to Alan Jay Lerner & Frederick Loewe for my own imagining of their characters. They can't arrest you for Fan Fiction, can they? (Sorry about the lack of indentation. It was there when I typed it, but didn't stick around when I published. Grrrr....)

Just for kicks and giggles, here's a picture of Harry Beaton and me from the production.

The Puzzle

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young maiden who lived by herself in a cozy cottage next to the mountains. She had many things to fill her day, but she was still very lonely. She didn't know what to do about that, so she continued on as she always had…one day at a time.

One day a strange package appeared on her doorstep. The maiden brought it inside and carefully removed the wrapping. It was an unmarked box. Inside were thousands of puzzle pieces. The maiden didn't really care much for puzzles, but this was too intriguing to set aside. She cleared off the table and set to work on the puzzle. With no picture to guide her, it was slow in going. However, she soon discovered the picture to be that of a girl…a girl not unlike herself. As soon as she started working on the face, she was shocked to find that the girl was her! With hands shaking slightly, she pulled the last pieces from the box and put them in place. But to her surprise, there were two pieces missing…right where her heart was. To her even greater surprise, she felt emptiness in herself, right where those pieces were to have gone. Stepping back, the maiden stared at the puzzle and pondered its meaning.

For several days, she thought about what the puzzle was and why it had come to her. What could it possibly mean? Who had sent it to her? Was this some kind of cruel joke? Tears filled her eyes as she prepared the tear the puzzle apart and burn the box entirely. This must have been a joke, and it was a very cruel one indeed. Someone knew she was all alone and lonely. They were malicious in their intent to hurt her feelings.

Just as she reached toward the puzzle, a knock came at the door. The maiden quickly dried her eyes and stepped away from the table. She opened the door to reveal a handsome prince standing before her. He had a quizzical look on his face as he held out his hand. The maiden was shocked to see a puzzle piece in his outstretched hand.

"I was told to bring this to you," he said.

"Who told you?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "It arrived at my door with directions to this house. Do you know what it means?" The maiden motioned for him to come in.

"I have an idea," she said. She led him to the table and pointed at the nearly completed puzzle. The prince gasped.

"It's you! But why?" he asked.

"I don't know, but see if that piece will fit," she replied. The prince did as she bid, and the piece almost fit. But something was still missing.

"There is room for one more piece. I don't understand." Tears glistened in the maiden's eyes.

"I have a note that may help," the prince said. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the maiden.

"Find the maid of whom this is part, and look to God to complete the heart."

The maiden read the words and started at their meaning. She raised her eyes to the prince and gasped. He held a piece of her heart and God held the other part. She turned and walked quickly to her bookshelf. She pulled down the old worn Bible that had belonged to her mother. As she opened it, something fell to the floor. It was a puzzle piece. She carried it to the puzzle and put it in its place, next to piece that the prince had brought. The maiden sighed and clutched at her chest. The emptiness was gone. Her heart was complete.

THE END.

(c) 2007 - Angela Johnson

The Key

The walls are as high as a mountain top
and thick as the ocean is wide
This fortress of steel and mortar and stone
has become the best place to hide.
But what in the world could need such protection?
Is it silver or platinum or gold?
It must be a treasure unequal in measure
or secrets that cannot be told.
The truth will surprise you, I promise it will,
for it's almost too awful to bear.
It's my heart I keep locked up, hidden away
to protect it from hurt and despair.
My heart was once shattered to pieces, you see,
and it really was quite a mess.
When everything was mended and patched up again,
I then did what I thought was best.
This wall I did build, stone by stone from the ground
and sheltered myself from more pain.
If my heart can't be reached and broken once more,
then I've spared myself once again.
Can this high wall be scaled or broken in two?
Will true love my heart ever see?
It will, for you see there's a door in my wall,
and one person holds the lone key.
He'll come into my life and unlock the door.
He'll fill my heart with love.
The wall will come down, piece by piece it will fall
from the inside, with help from God above.
I know this for certain. I have not one fear.
God will send this angel to me.
He's somewhere searching, pining for us,
this boy who hold's my heart's key.

(c) 2003 - Angela Johnson