Gertrude: A Christmas Tale

"Thank you." Gertrude heard the turn of a page as she headed down the hallway.

***

She made a pit stop at the ladies' room to fix her hair and reapply her cherry red lipstick. Her white pillowy coiffure looked surprisingly put together despite the somewhat harrowing ride here in the drenching weather. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled. Her face was round, her soft features making her seem both youthful and ancient. She had been called ageless, and she guessed in some ways it was true. She didn't think Fiona Wingate would care what she looked like. She would probably think Gertrude was another social worker or a rotund volunteer who dipped into the Christmas cookie jar one too many times. It didn't matter, really. She was here on a mission, and when it was complete, she would catch her ride home and be done with this sort of thing for another year.

She was already exhausted, and had no idea how Kris did what he did year after year.

After taking one more fortifying nip from her comfort, she straightened her back, pulled open the door, and walked purposefully to the lounge.

***

The lounge was even more depressing than the reception area. "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" played low on a radio in the corner by a Keurig machine. A woman with wiry gray curls, wearing sweats and sandals, dozed in an easy chair next to it, her head bobbing in time with her snores. A balding man in flannel pajamas stared out the window at the storm as he conversed with his reflection. An aide in blue scrubs lay on the threadbare sofa, legs crossed, head against the armrest as she chatted on her cellphone. And seated by herself at the large round table in the center of the room was, Gertrude assumed by her attire, Miss Fiona Wingate. Miss Fiona wore gold satin pajamas beneath a purple robe. Her hair was as black as raven feathers, flowing down her back in long waves. On top of her head was a tiara that sparkled under the fluorescent lights. She was immersed in a book, one finger trembling as it moved across the page.

Gertrude approached the table, working out a kink in her bruised shoulder as she waddled along. "Merry Christmas, Fiona," she said, standing by the table. After one long moment, Fiona raised her head from her book, keeping her finger firmly in place. Her skin looked as rough as tree bark, with deep lines around her eyes and mouth. But something in those gray eyes marked her as regal, and no amount of trouble in her life could take that away.

"I would appreciate you not disturbing me when I am reading Mr. Dickens." Fiona's gaze was steady, her brow furrowed. Her head trembled the same way as her hand.

"I've come a long way to visit with you, Fiona."

"It's Miss Fiona."

"My apologies, Miss Fiona." Gertrude shifted in place, hands gripping the back of a chair for support.

"Are you in pain, my dear?"

"My shoulder is bruised, Miss Fiona. And the ride here was quite long and somewhat harrowing."

"Sit then." Fiona made a brusque move with her free hand toward the chair. "The lazy wench, Sophia, will bring us tea."

"No, it's quite alright-"

"Sophia! Two teas, now!"

The woman on the sofa took the phone away from her ear. "You know how to use the Keurig, Fiona."

"It is MISS Fiona, and I have a guest. Bring us tea. Now!"

The woman by the Keurig woke suddenly, blinked, then pushed herself out of her chair and shuffled out of the room.

"NOW!"

The man by the window continued his chatter.

Sophia said something into the phone before heading to the Keurig to do Miss Fiona's bidding.