Gertrude: A Christmas Tale

"Hand warmers. . . "

"Yes, they're lovely."

For the first time that night, Fiona face lit up.

"Now, the most special of those lost things, I make an effort to return to their owners. The homefolk do that all year. But I. . ." Winking, Gertrude pushed the present closer to Fiona. "I deliver the one I deem most special on Christmas eve."

"I'm not a special person." Fiona shook her head. "I've been told this many times."

"But you've told them you're an heiress?"

"Well, of course." She sniffed and sat a little straighter in her chair.

"And they don't believe you?"

"My dear," Fiona said with a resigned sigh. "I think my family has paid them not to believe me."

"Hmm." Gertrude tapped her chin. "Would you like to open your gift now?"

Fiona stared at the box like it was from outer space. She touched it with one finger, then quickly drew her finger back as if she'd been scalded. "I think you must have the wrong person."

"When you open the box," Gertrude said, her smile widening slowly, "I think you'll see I don't."

With shaky hands, Fiona attempted to remove the ribbon from the package. Each time she tried, the box would fall from her hands onto the table. "Oh, dear, I don't think I can do this." She met Gertrude's gaze, tears shivering in her eyes, her cheeks blushing in embarrassment.

"Let me, Miss Fiona." Gertrude slipped the ribbon and paper off the box. After lifting off the top, she returned the box to Fiona.

"Oh, my. . ." Fiona's gaze shifted from what was in the box to Gertrude, then back again. "I thought I'd lost this years ago. Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my." Her thin shoulders shook from the force of her sobs.

"Would you like me to help you put it on?" Gertrude said.

"If you would." Fiona snuffled and removed a linen handkerchief from the pocket of her robe. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks as Gertrude moved behind her. With some effort, Gertrude leaned forward and removed the contents of the box. The heavy chain, she knew, was pure silver. Attached to it was a jeweled coat of arms. Inside the box remained a photo of a dapper gentleman dressed in a fine gray suit. His hair was raven black. He wore the coat of arms that was now around Fiona's neck.

"This was my father's." Fiona lifted the photo from the box and held it between her thumb and forefinger. "When he and mother died, and I was taken in by my aunt, so long ago. I lost track of it." After setting the photo gently back in the box, Fiona dabbed at her eyes again. "My aunt took everything from me, my birthright, my heritage. I thought she had taken this too."

Gertrude took her seat again, while Fiona ran her hands over the coat of arms like it was a cherished pet.

"One of my homefolk, Digsby, will be by tomorrow," Gertrude said. "He will have the paperwork that was lost with the medallion. That paperwork proves without a doubt that you are the heir to your father's legacy."

"But what do I do then?" She had a panicked look that Gertrude eased by taking one of her cold, thin hands in her chubby, warm ones.

"Digsby will take care of you. He'll take you to a safe place up north until he can get the legal things worked out."

"But. . . tomorrow is Christmas."

"What better day to give you back your life?" Gertrude pushed herself to her feet, thinking about a hot bath and old-time liniment while she buttoned her coat.

"Oh, don't go, please," Fiona's lower lip trembled. It looked as if the tears were on their way again.

"My ride will be here soon, Miss Fiona."

Fiona ran her fingers along the jewels on the medallion and nodded. "Thank you, Miss Gertrude."

"It was an honor," Gertrude said, before pulling her hood tight around her head and making her way toward the exit. As she stepped out the door, she turned for one last look at Fiona and was heartened to see the chatty balding man had transported himself from his solitary place by the window to seat himself across from her.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Fiona.'

Fiona's face lit up for the second time that Christmas eve. "Why, hello, Charlie."

"That is a mighty fine necklace you got there."

A mischievous light appeared in Fiona's eyes. "There is a story behind it. Would you like to hear my story, Charlie?"

"I like stories, " Charlie moved to a chair closer to Fiona. "Does it have a happy ending?"

"Oh, my. Oh, my," she said, those tears threatening again. "I believe it does."

The last thing Gertrude heard before pushing out into the frigid Chicago night, where the sound of sleigh bells was drawing ever nearer, was Miss Fiona Wingate shouting for more tea. Now.