A Poppycockian Christmas

“Ho, ho….hum,” Maude said glumly, thunking her forehead gently against the clammy glass of the kitchen window. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas at all.”

“Now, dear, you know that’s only because of all this rain. You’ll see, the weather will certainly come round right by next week,” Professor Emilia DeBusque said distractedly, trying and failing not to jab her finger on a needle as she strung popcorn and cranberries for the tree that they still did not have.

“Maudie’s right, no one could feel at all cheered in this damp. We can’t even get our Christmas shopping done what with the floods. We haven’t seen Mr. Periwinkle in simply days, and, well, since we’re all such procrastinators, I’m afraid this won’t be a real Christmas at all.” Professor Molly P’ohlig, unlike her esteemed colleague, was never inclined to espouse feelings she didn’t wholeheartedly embrace, even if they might have cheered up younger members of the household. Emily gave her an appropriately stern look.

“And just look at the garden – ruined, ruined, ruined.” Another thunk from Maude.

In an attempt to placate Emily and soothe Maude, Molly tried to put the thought of their forlorn parlor out of her mind. “We’ll just have to find other ways to be cheerful, my dears. We’ll read “Little Women”! We’ll, we’ll make our presents! And it wasn’t like you’d been that successful with the garden yet anyway.”

“But I get so angry when Jo doesn’t marry Laurie and then nasty old Amy gets him! And you’re the only one who can knit and I loved that garden! I guess I just don’t have a very green thumb,” Maude gave a small sniff that threatened to escalate into a much bigger one. Molly thunked her head on the heavy antique Italian kitchen table, a gift from Nigella Lawson after a bit of help with her newest Christmas cookbook. Emily would have glared at her, but she didn’t seem inclined to stop the thunking, so she scurried over to Maude at the window.

“Hell-o, whoever is that out there in the rain?” Emily and Maude peered through the torrents of water pouring down the pane. Even Molly looked up from her thunking, forehead slightly pink. The ladies of Poppycock were indeed puzzled, for standing placidly in the middle of their now-underwater garden in a downpour of Biblical proportions was a figure swathed head to toe in white.

“An angel?” Maude said hopefully. “Although I’m not sure angels would need to wear so much rain gear…” Molly and Emily peered closer. The figure was indeed wearing a snow-white poncho and rain hat, as well as pristine wading boots. Then the figure turned towards the trio at the window. Maude offered a little wave, and the figure began to walk towards the house. Molly and Maude looked at Emily, who was a veritable Emily Post in situations such as this. She smartly clapped her hands twice.

“Put the kettle on!” she shouted, and the group sprang into a flurry of activity to receive their guest. The doorbell chimed charmingly, and Maude trotted off down the hall, returning moments later with the rainy angel, who had been divested of her rain clothes.

“This is Alexx, with two xes,” Maude beamed. Alexx with two xes waved somewhat shyly. Introductions were made, tea was hastily served, and seats were offered. Silence fell.

“I suppose you might be wondering why I was standing in your garden in the middle of all that rain,” Alexx said meekly, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, yes, actually, we were. A bit.” Molly giggled, stuffing far too large a bit of lingonberry scone into her mouth, and Maude had to whack her on the back several times.

“Please go on, Alexx,” Emily said, once again required to assume the role of sole fully-functioning Poppycock grownup.

“I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but I was wondering if…if I could work in your garden.” Alexx looked deep into her cup of tea, fiddling with her glasses, which were steaming up. “I do so enjoy working in gardens. Yours is really quite lovely, and I think with a little help it would be ever so beautiful.”

“Yes!” Maude shouted, upsetting a pitcher of cream. But as it was the first time Maude had smiled in days, Molly and Emily simply went about the business of mopping up. “Oh, Christmas may come without presents, but at least there’s hope for the garden.”

“No presents?” Alexx said. “But you live in such a grand house. Surely you can….”

“It’s this blasted rain,” Emily said vehemently. “There’s simply no passable roads to the shops. So it looks as if we have to go without gifts this year.”

“Oh, I daresay there’s more than you think! I always do take the long way round myself, and there are certainly a few. Why, if you’d give me a list, I’d be happy to go to town for you!” Alexx blushed with happiness, and Maude clasped her hands in childish glee.

“Oh, but however could you carry everything?” Molly’s smile began to sag at the corners. “If only we had a – wait!”

Everyone gaped as Molly tore out of the kitchen and clambered round and round flights of spiral stairs up to the attic. There were a few distant crashes and shrieks, followed by the sound of something quite cumbersome being dragged down the stairs. And then Molly burst back into the kitchen, triumphant.

“There!” A trickle of blood running from a scratch on her forehead, Molly gave a flourish as she displayed the beautiful, shiny bicycle complete with a banana seat, streamers at the handlebars, and little wagon latched to the back. Alexx’s eyes lit up and she slowly stood.

“That’s….that’s….Jack Kerouac’s bicycle!”

The founders of Poppycock and their foundling look at one another, and then all three began to laugh.

“Did I say something wrong?” Alexx asked.

“No, Alexx, it’s just….welcome to Poppycock!” Emily shouted.

* * *

“What a loooooooooooovely Christmas,” Maude yawned, closing her newly received signed first edition of Vikram Seth’s “A Suitable Boy”. “Don’t you all agree?”

“I certainly do,” Molly concurred, stroking a pair of alabaster knitting needles that had once belonged to Catherine de Medici.

“It really has been perfect,” Emily said, squinting in the firelight to read the fine print on a set of oil paints. “But not just because we have presents, of course. We have each other. AND Mr. Periwinkle.” Everyone looked to where he dozed in an overstuffed armchair, clutching a very good bottle of brandy. “And it’s all thanks to our newest friend Alexx! So let’s raise our glasses –“

Alexx looked at her new pair of shiny black rain boots, jewel-handled spade from the thirteenth century, and splayed her hands in her new knit garden gloves.

“Hip hip hooray!” They shouted. “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip – “

“Hooray,” whispered Alexx, as they all settled in for Christmas night with carols and sweets, their cheeks rosy in the firelight.