 | ||||||
| ||||||
A light snow was falling as she turned the key to open Rose's Flower Shop. The name didn't take much imagination, but then it was better than "Rosie's Posies" as Clint had suggested when she had first begun the business.
"Going to the Towers again this year?" asked Cass Gunther, who was opening the European deli next door.
Rose nodded. It was what they did every year. Supper and drinks at the club and Christmas Eve at the posh Park Towers. Swimming. The hot tub. Maybe take in a show. It was a tradition.
She turned on the lights, feeling bone-tired. As usual, people waited until the last minute to place their Christmas orders. Why did she do this every year? It wasn't the money, though business had gone well. It filled her days, and there was something soothing about working with flowers.
"I'll be home for Christmas...," the sentimental lyric wafted from the radio under the counter. Home was four extravagantly decorated walls, which she welcomed at the end of the day, but when it came down to it, what was really there for her? Perhaps if they'd been able to have children. They'd had a reasonably good marriage, the best house on Carriage Drive, money in the bank and enough friends to keep them from feeling lonely. And goodness knows they were too busy to think about whether or not they were happy. Bills for the mortgage, the car and boat, and a half dozen credit cards never stopped.
Rose sighed. A hollowness plagued her. Even anticipating Clint's surprise when he received the Pendleton sport coat she'd bought held little joy. His gift to her would be something beautiful, expensive...but she couldn't remember last year's gift or when they had taken time to really talk to each other.
She felt suddenly at odds, cross. Perhaps if they'd kept up with the family. But family meant Clint's two aunts in Virginia and her stepfather in Wyoming, none of whom seemed famished for their company. Hungry, that was it. She'd forgotten to eat breakfast.
The bell over the door announced a customer, but she kept her back to the counter, consulting the order book.
"Excuse me, Miss," an elderly voice called from behind her.
I haven't been a Miss in fourteen years, thank you. She swallowed the caustic retort and turned slowly to find an old man smiling at her.
He had all his teeth, a look of kind apology and a full head of wavy white hair. He held a plaid cap across his chest and gave her a quaint little bow like an aging Sir Galahad. "I'm looking for some flowers - for my wife."
At those words, something luminous lit him from within. She wondered if Clint ever looked that way when he spoke about her. "I see," she said slowly, waiting.
He tapped gnarled fingers over his cap in meditation and with warm authority in his raspy voice said, "Not just any flowers. It must be Christmas roses."
"Well, we have roses. American beauty, reds, pink, tea and yellow..."
"Oh, no," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Christmas roses - white as snow - with some of that feathery fern tucked in. And I'd like a big red bow, too."
"It's Christmas Eve, sir, and I'm afraid we're fresh out..."
"My wife loves white roses," he continued, looking at something she couldn't see. "They remind her of the Babe of Christmas and the purity of his heart. She hasn't seen any roses for such a long time. And now that..."
The old man's shoulders drooped ever so slightly, then straightened again. Rose heard the faint tremor and was touched by something beautiful in the old face that made her think of alabaster. No, alabaster was too cold.
"She's ill now..." He paused and tucked his cap under his arm. "We served at a medical clinic in West Africa for more than thirty years. But we've had to return home. Nell has Alzheimer's. We're living at Country Gardens..."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Rose breathed.
The man rushed on without a trace of bitterness. "I have a little room on the floor just below the nursing wing where Nell is. We share meals together - and we have our memories. God has been good to us."
Rose returned his smile, uncomprehending, but unable to deny the man's sincerity. White roses on Christmas Eve? She might be able to get them from Warrensville, but it would be a stretch.
"We'll be spending Christmas Eve in my room - just the two of us - a celebration," he was saying. "Christmas roses for Nell would make it perfect."
"I may be able to get them sent over from Warrensville..." Rose bit her lip. Was she crazy? It would take a miracle. Then there was the price. "How much do you want to spend?"
The man set his cap on the counter and dug out a faded wallet from his trousers that had seen several winters. He pushed four five-dollar bills toward her with childlike eagerness, then seeing her dismay, hesitated. "I hope it's enough."
"I could give you a nice spray of red roses in a bud vase," Rose began. White rose centerpieces would start at thirty-five dollars. Then the delivery charge would run another twenty, especially on Christmas Eve. If she could get them!
"I had hoped for a real special bouquet..." he broke off, and she read his profound disappointment.
"Leave it to me. I'll do my best to get you something nice," she began, astounded by her own words.
"Bless you!" the old man said, reaching across the counter and grasping her hands. "Can they be delivered around four or five? It will be such a surprise! I can't thank you enough." Nearly dancing, he replaced his cap and began backing toward the door. "Arnold Herriman - Room 7! Merry Christmas! God bless you! God bless you!"
What had a tired old man with a sick wife have to be so happy about? She puzzled over that through the next few orders, then placed a call to a supplier in Warrensville. They could get her a dozen white roses at $42.50 - but it would be four o'clock before they could be relayed to her shop.
"Okay," she said wearily, realizing that she herself would have to deliver the Christmas roses to Mr. Herriman. No matter. Clint would likely be delayed by a promising client.
The flowers arrived at ten minutes to four, and Rose quickly arranged them in a silver bowl, tucking in the feathery greens and sprigs of baby's breath and holly. She secured a lacy red bow into the base and balanced it in one hand while locking the door with the other.
Country Gardens hardly resembled its name. Surely a couple who'd spent a lifetime healing the sick in an obscure village deserved better in the sunset of their years.
She found the residential wing and tentatively approached Room 7. Arnold Herriman, in the same old trousers and shirt with a crimson tie, beamed at her. She entered a room with a few pieces of old furniture and walls bursting with pictures and certificates. On the hall table was a crèche. The Babe of
Christmas and the purity of his heart, Herriman had said.
A diminutive woman sat on the sofa with hands folded over a patchwork quilt on her lap. She had a translucent complexion and vacant blue eyes above two brightly rouged cheeks. A bit of red ribbon had been tucked into her white hair. Her eyes widened, then spilled with tears when she saw the flowers.
"Nell, darling. It's your surprise - Christmas roses," Arnold said, placing an arm around the woman's fragile shoulders.
"Oh, how lovely!" Nell stretched out her arms, her face transformed in radiance. She rubbed one wrinkled cheek against the delicate petals, then turned a watery gaze on Rose. "Do I know you, dear?"
"This is the nice lady from the flower shop who made your bouquet," Arnold said.
"Can you stay for a while, dear?" she asked. "We'll be finished with our patients soon, and we'll take you to our house for tea."
"Oh, no..." stammered Rose.
Arnold touched his wife's shoulder. " The patients are all gone, dear. We're home, and it's Christmas Eve."
Rose's throat ached with unshed tears and the sense that something beautiful lived here from which she was excluded. Could it be that in living their lives for others these two old people who had nothing but each other and a bouquet of white roses had everything that was important?
Suddenly, Nell plucked one of the long-stemmed white roses from the elegant bouquet and held it out to Rose. "Please, I have so many. You must take one for yourself!"
"Yes," Arnold said, taking the stem from his wife and pressing it toward her, "thank you for all your trouble. God bless you."
She wanted to say that he already had, that bringing them the Christmas roses had made her happier than she could remember in a long time, that on this Christmas Eve she had learned something about the meaning of the holiday she
had missed until now.
By Lt. Col. Marlene Chase
The Christmas Rose
Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has many, not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.
Charles Dickens
The voice of Tony the Tiger is Thurl Ravenscroft, who also sang the "Rotten Mr. Grinch" song in the movie, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas". He was also narrator for Disney's "A Spooky Night in Disney's Haunted Mansion" album. He performed for many Disney attractions including: voice of Fritz the parrot in "The Enchanted Tiki Room, " lead singer in "Grim Grinning Ghosts" in the Haunted Mansion, narrator on Monorail. He was the voice for the Disneyland LP based on the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. The flip side of this LP contained a number of sea chanties he sang.
