Silhouette Christmas Stories

be on guard constantly to keep from being intimidated by his superior attitude-not an easy task, considering she knew absolutely nothing about cars.

She told herself she only went to Angel's Garage because it was the most convenient one, located within walking distance of both her work and Andrew's school, but the truth was that for all his brusqueness, Tony D'Angelo was simply the best mechanic in town. Karen depended on him for her very livelihood. And, what was more, she trusted him.

'Go see Tony D'Angelo-he's as honest as the day is long.' She wished she had a day's salary for every time someone had said that to her, beginning with that memorable, baking-hot day last August when she'd arrived in town with her car overheating and wisps of steam beginning to seep ominously from under the hood. 'Oh yeah,' everyone she'd asked had told her without hesitation, 'what you want is Angel's Garage. Tony'll fix you right up, and he won't steer you wrong, either. He's as good-hearted and trustworthy as they come, and a darn good mechanic to boot.'

In the three months since, Karen had come to believe in and appreciate the last two attributes of the garage owner's character; of the first she had yet to see any convincing evidence. Why her son seemed to enjoy his company so much, when all he ever did was bark orders at the child, was beyond her.

'What's wrong with the car this time?' Andrew now inquired, shrugging into his backpack and baring his freshly scrubbed teeth for Karen's inspection.

'Nothing, I'm just having it serviced,' she said, mentally knocking wood as she brushed traces of toothpaste from her son's chin and tried without noticeable success to flatten his cowlick. 'I just want to be sure everything's all set for winter. Everyone's saying it's going to snow next week.'

'Cool!' said Andrew with the enthusiasm of a child born and reared in the Southern California sunshine.

Karen just sighed. The thought of something going wrong with her car at any time was a source of nightmares. In the wintertime it was unthinkable.

The car had been a long way from new when she and Bob had bought it, but it had been all they could afford then, as newlyweds. With Bob in the army, it had been primarily Karen's car from the start, and she had always driven it with great pride and proper respect for its venerable age. In another few years, she thought, it might even be considered a classic, although it came from an era not known for distinguished automotive design, and people had been known to break into impolite gales of laughter when she suggested such a possibility.

Still, she was rather fond of the old heap, and in any case, she couldn't afford to replace it even if she'd wanted to. The move had wiped out a good portion of her savings, and the rest had been taken care of by the discovery, during the school's routine vision screening in September, that Andrew had developed nearsightedness and would definitely need glasses. As far as Karen was concerned, Tony D'Angelo's mechanical expertise was all that stood between her and economic disaster. She would forgive him his surliness and put up with his arrogance if he would just-please, God-keep her car running!

'Hey, Mom, what's this?' Andrew asked suddenly as they were leaving their apartment.

Karen, who was struggling with the old-fashioned key and lock, answered absently without turning around, 'What's what?'

'Look at this. Somebody must have sent us a present.'

'Probably for Mr. Clausen,' Karen said, glancing over her shoulder at the large brown box that was sitting on the landing's threadbare carpet, just to one side of the door to their apartment. 'The delivery person probably didn't feel like carrying it up those narrow stairs. Just leave it there. Mr. Clausen will see it when he comes back from his morning walk.'

'Mom… ' Andrew's tone was hushed. 'I think it's forme.'

'What?'

'Come and look. It has my name on it.'

Karen bent over the box, her fingers brushing the letters neatly printed on the top with a black indelible marker. TO: MASTER ANDREW TODD. And that was all. No address, no labels, no return address, no stamps or postage of any kind. 'How odd,' she murmured.

'Oh boy, somebody sent me a present!' Andrew was already on his knees beside the box, measuring it with his hands. 'I wonder what it is. Can I open it? Who do you think it's from?'

'I don't know,' Karen said, frowning. 'It doesn't say.'

'Maybe it's from Santa Claus. Can I open it? Please, Mom, please?'

'Of course you can't open it, not right now.' Once again, exasperation was creeping into her voice. Karen didn't like mysteries, and the box disturbed her in ways she didn't understand. 'You're going to be late for school, and I'm going to be late for work, if we don't leave right now, this minute.'

'Aw, Mom… '

'No arguments! We'll just have to wait until tonight to open it.' She was already unlocking the door. 'Come on, I'll help you push it inside.'

The box was both heavy and bulky; it took both of them to get it through the door and into the apartment. Karen wondered, as she locked up for the second time, how on earth anyone had managed to carry it up the stairs and deposit it at the door without making any noise. And who would send her son a package? It had to be someone local, someone she knew, since there was no address or postage. Who? She knew so few people in town…

'Oh boy!' Andrew was hopping with excitement. 'I wonder what it is! Who do you think it's from, huh, Mom?'

'We'll both find out,' Karen said firmly, taking him by the hand and starting down the stairs. 'Tonight.' There would be a card inside, she told herself, determinedly squelching her own curiosity. All would be explained soon enough.

'Maybe it's from Santa!' Andrew was tugging at her hand like an exuberant puppy. 'I bet that's why there's no stamps.'

'It's a little early for Santa Claus, isn't it?' Karen said mildly, wondering whether an eight-year-old boy who still believed in Santa might be cause for parental concern.

Andrew paused, looking inspired. 'Well… ' Karen sighed inwardly and braced herself; she knew that tone of voice. '… Everybody else starts Christmas this early, so why shouldn't Santa?'

There was more to the argument, of course, a great deal more, but Karen didn't even try to refute it; her mind was already tuning him out returning to her own more pressing problems and questions.

At the foot of the stairs she hesitated, looking toward the closed door at the end of the hall, wondering of Mrs. Goldrich knew anything about the package Perhaps she had even seen who had delivered it.

But she decided against disturbing her landlady at that hour. They were late already, and besides, she told herself, there would certainly be a card inside the box.

As they were going down the front steps they met Mi Clausen, the elderly gentleman who lived upstairs in the attic of the small, wood frame Victorian, coming back from his morning walk. The cold air had reddened his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his vapored breath wafted about his head like smoke. A breeze parted his long white beard and lifted a few stray wisps of his hair from his rosy scalp as he swept off his Tyrolean hat in response to their greeting.

'And a good morning to you, Mrs. Todd, young Andrew!' the old man's voice boomed out, as mellow and rich as church bells on a winter morning. His eyes twinkled, as if they beheld delicious secrets. 'A beautiful morning! Snow in the air!' He drew a deep breath, expanding his considerable girth as he clapped both hands to his chest. 'Yes indeed, snow before the week is out.' A large gloved hand intercepted Andrew. 'What do you think of that, young man? Do you like snow?'

'Yeah,' said Andrew enthusiastically.

The old man laughed and winked sympathetically at Karen, then, with a wave of his cane, proceeded on up the walk.

'I'll bet he sent it,' Andrew said in a hoarse whisper as he scrambled across the front seat of the car.

'Why do you think that?' Karen asked, laughing a little, forgetting to scold him for the dusty footprints he was leaving on the driver's seat. Encounters with Mr. Clausen had a strangely revitalizing effect on her, like a brisk breeze.

'I told you,' Andrew said, still whispering even though Mr. Clausen had disappeared inside the house and they were now safely enclosed in the car. 'I think he's-'