Yorkville Christmas - Seven Small Miracles

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Title: Yorkville Christmas - Seven Small Miracles

Author: R.K. Vaughan

ISBN: 1928928153

Description:

These seven short stories set in Manhattan’s Yorkville neighborhood at Christmas time remind readers of the simple joy and gift of the Miracle at the heart of Christmas. Author R. K. Vaughan has written memorable holiday masterpieces that will enrich the lives of every family seeking to kindle the devotional joy, hope and love that comes alive in our hearts at Christmas time.

Rev. Angelo Gambatese, OFM, Pastor, St. Stephen of Hungary Church, New York, New York, writes about R. K. Vaughan's "Yorkville Christmas":

"These are wonderful Christmas stories, which, under Ray Vaughan's capable hands, awaken the ‘wide-eyed youngster’ in all of us on those magical Christmases of younger days when the most cynical of us believed that there were miracles to be hoped for. Christmas, he reminds us, is about light in the midst of darkness, love and joy often tinged with sadness and loss, gifts and wreaths and trees remembered from bygone days. Suffused with the warmth of childhood memories growing up in his beloved Yorkville and his insistence that the Birth of Jesus is the Christmas miracle that continues to change our world, these stories will bring smiles to the faces of our children-our Christmas miracles. Yorkville is a bustling neighborhood in the New York metropolis; but Vaughan reminds us that it is also that place of hopes and dreams that comes alive in our hearts at Christmas time."

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Excerpt:

The Gift (Christmas 1944)

It was four days before Christmas in 1944. The country was at war. Soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen were fighting in far-off places -- places 12-year-old Eddie Doyle was only studying about in his sixth grade geography class -- Italy, France and Belgium in Europe… and the Philippine, Solomon and Marianna islands in the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
    This particular afternoon, late in the day, Eddie also was at war, his own private war with himself. He was standing in the aisle of Nichol’s Variety Store, staring at a doll. The red-haired youth was too old to play with dolls, but his seven-year old sister, Jennifer, was not. And this doll, with its long, golden curls, angelic face and soft, rubbery body was the one she had specifically asked Santa Claus to bring her.
    At 12, Eddie was also too old to believe in Santa Claus. Nevertheless, he went along with the myth when Jennifer asked him to help her write a letter to the legendary gift-giver. That was why he was staring at the doll. With just a week to go before Christmas, he knew Santa Claus would not be bringing the much-desired plaything to his sister. Because he knew his mother wasn’t going to be able to do it         Cathy Doyle just couldn’t afford it, having been left with the two children and a widow’s insurance annuity when her husband became a casualty of war in 1942. He had been a merchant seaman, first mate on a tanker that had sailed from New York harbor with a cargo of fuel oil for allied forces overseas.     It had barely cleared the Narrows off Staten Island when it was blown to pieces by a torpedo from one of the German U-boats that regularly and silently patrolled under the waters offshore seeking such prey. Cathy Doyle collapsed when she first heard the news and wept almost constantly for days. Eventually, knowing she had to do it for her children’s sake, she pulled herself together and, with her annuity and earnings from her part-time job as a receptionist for the neighborhood doctor, she was making ends meet in the wartime economy – barely.
    Poor Jenny, Eddie thought. She doesn’t have much. It would be nice to leave her with something – even if it’s just a belief in a jolly old saint in a red suit. Now she ain’t even going to have that. Mom can’t afford to blow $20 on a doll – even a doll like this. Eddie’s eyes wandered around the store, taking in the twirled loops of red and green crepe paper hanging around the store, the wreaths and Christmas lights gaily festooning the walls. His survey ended when his eyes came to the door nearby – about 20 feet away.
    His gaze came back again to the doll. Slowly, as the sound of Kate Smith singing “Silver Bells” began playing from the store’s public address system, he began checking the surrounding area again. It looked like everybody was busy shopping. No cops in sight. The salesgirl was busy behind the counter. He could grab the doll, shoot out the door and be halfway home before she ever got out from behind the counter.
    His heart began to pound in his chest. He had never stolen anything before, but Jennifer had never wanted anything so much – or so expensive – before. His mouth was dry, his stomach churning. It was like the feeling he had when he went to the line to shoot two fouls shots that would put his team into the Catholic Youth Organization finals a week ago. He made both foul shots, and he felt he could pull this off, too.
    Gingerly, he reached out to touch the prize, deciding he would make it seem as though he were looking for the price. Just as his hand began to tighten on the box – the prelude to his dash for the door – a voice behind him said: “Aren’t you too old to play with dolls?”
    Eddie turned to be confronted by a boy about his age with a striking smile that, in other circumstances he would have warmed to instantly.
    “And you’re too good to steal one, too.” The other boy continued, lowering his voice. His eyes stared frankly, and disconcertingly, into Eddie’s.
    “I… I wasn’t trying to steal it,” Eddie whispered, feeling the warmth of his blush creeping up the side of his face. “I was just looking for the price tag,” he mumbled, wondering who this strange kid was and why he looked so familiar.
    “Sure,” replied the other boy. “And I’m the store detective, just like that gorilla over there.” Eddie’s head turned to follow the thumb jerked in the direction of the door. Sure enough, there was a large man in a brown suit and fedora standing to the side of the door, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes constantly moving from one counter to the next, seemingly alert to every movement of every customer on the floor. Eddie felt his knees wobble even as he wondered how he could have missed the man. The wonderment was quickly replaced by imagined visions of himself in the clutches of the security guard, the store manager, the police and, inevitably, his mother. He felt sick to his stomach.
   “Aahh, who needs it?” he said, slamming the boxed doll back on the counter shelf. “It was a dumb idea thinking I could get it for my sister, anyway.”
    “Well, it was dumb to think she’d like something that was stolen – and to think you would actually enjoy giving it to her knowing it was stolen.”
    “Who are you, my conscience?” Eddie asked with an embarrassed smile as he pushed a lock of red hair from his forehead. Ordinarily, Eddie’s temper would have flared if anyone else had confronted him the way this open-faced, smiling youngster had. But, he admitted to himself, the boy had saved him from making a bad mistake. Plus, there was something about his manner that suggested: Relax. I’m a friend.
    Eddie pulled his woolen cap onto his head and began buttoning up his green and blue plaid mackinaw before returning to the relative comfort of Eighty-Sixth Street and Third Avenue, where the winter air might stop him from sweating. The other boy, dressed virtually the same except for the colors, buttoned up his coat too and slipped the hood over his head. The two pushed through the revolving doors and stepped outside to hear the rattle of a Third Avenue elevated train going by and to see a light snow beginning to fall. Eddie looked up at the snow as it floated gently down past the light of the lamppost and the traffic lights at the corner of Eighty-sixth Street and Third Avenue.
    Then, looking at his new friend, he said, “Thanks. Do I know you? You look familiar.” “My name is Jay,” he said. “We’ve never been introduced, but we’ve seen each other around the neighborhood.”
    “Mine’s Eddie.”
    “Nice to meet you.”
    “Look, I gotta get to choir practice. It’s almost 5 o’clock.”
    “I’ve seen you at St. Ignatius during the high mass and I can even say I’ve heard you during the procession down the aisle to the choir loft. You’ve got a nice voice, you know, but you seem to just go through the paces. You don’t show much feeling. If you ask me…”
    “I didn’t ask you, okay?” Eddie responded harshly, and then was immediately sorry when he saw the hurt cloud his newfound friend’s eyes. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that I can’t get into the mood. Sometimes I think I just sing because my little sister likes it.”
    “I know. I’ve seen her watch you. Her eyes light up like a neon sign as you go by. That ought to get you into the mood. And, if not that, how about Christmas?”
    “How about Christmas? There’s nothing so special about Christmas. I’m just as poor at Christmas as I am the rest of the year – maybe even worse, because I feel it more right now. I can’t even buy Jenny that doll she wants so bad. What’s more, I can’t even get a part-time job to work for it because I have to go to choir practice or my mom will have a conniption.”
    “Yeah, but you’ll be singing in the choir on Christmas Eve and that’s special. Gee, I think everything about Christmas is special. Anything can happen at this time of year. I don’t know… call it the magic of Christmas… the spirit …miracles… even Santa Claus. Heck, I don’t know how to say it, but Christmas is a very special time. I believe in Christmas, Eddie.”
    “Next thing you’ll be telling me you believe in the tooth fairy,” Eddie said. “Naah! Fairies are not real. The spirit of Christmas is real – at least, to me. Listen, I have to peel off and head home. I’m glad you changed your mind about the doll. Besides, I think you’ll find a way to earn it for her.”
    “Yeah, sure, and when I sing I’m John McCormack,” Eddie said invoking the name of the great Irish tenor. “But, anyway, thanks for setting me straight in there,” Eddie said, nodding his head in the direction of Nichol’s.
    “Yeah. See you around,” Jay responded. He held out his hand, which Eddie took and was immediately surprised by the strength in Jay’s grip. It didn’t seem to fit with his gentle eyes and open smile.
    As Jay backed away toward 87th Street, Eddie gave a final wave and turned to walk in the opposite direction, to 84th and Park Avenue where the church of St. Ignatius of Loyola took up the entire west side of the avenue extending toward 83rd Street and halfway up to Madison Avenue. St. Ignatius Loyola School, where Eddie was in the sixth grade and Jenny in the first, was right behind the church on 84th.