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ALL SNUG IN THEIR BEDS
BY
ANNITA K. SMITH
(VARIOUS LOCATIONS, DECEMBER 1934-94)
December 25, 1934 - Phoenix, Arizona
"Kate?" Steven Michaels called softly from the bedroom doorway.
"Shhh," his wife responded, turning halfway toward him to put her finger to her lips before reaching down to pull the covers up around the neck of three-year-old Jenny. Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on her youngest daughter's forehead. She stepped back and looked around the room, resting her gaze for a moment on the occupant of each bed in turn, Lizzie, 9, Thelma, 7, and Katie, 6, all sleeping soundly. Katherine Anne Murphy Michaels never felt such a warm feeling of contentment as she did surveying her children's peaceful slumber.
"Kate," Steven whispered and motioned her to come out of the room. Reluctantly, she complied. "I thought you were going to bed half an hour ago," he chided her when she reached his side.
"I just wanted to check on the children once more," she explained, her eyes again moving from bed to bed in the small, crowded room.
"It's almost three in the morning, woman," Steven complained. "All the presents are under the tree and these young'uns will be up at the first crack of dawn to see what ol' Santa brought. You've got to be dead tired, Kate. Come to bed."
"I will," she promised. "Just let me look in on the boys."
"God Almighty, you mean to tell me you spent all this time since I shooed you upstairs in the girls' room?"
"You watch your language, Steven Andrew Michaels. Besides, it didn't seem so long," she replied, "and I can't think of anything I'd rather lose sleep for." She moved past him and into the room across the hall, moving first to the bed of their oldest Jake, 13, who was snoring softly. Kate chuckled. "He's going to be a noisy sleeper like his father." She pulled the blanket up and kissed the freckle-faced boy.
"I don't snore," Steven protested. Kate struggled to smother the laugh that almost escaped her lips.
"Of course you don't, dear." She patted his arm. "Not all the time."
"Hmmmp." Steven tried to look offended, but the corners of his mouth gave away the smile inside. "Get on with it, then. I need my rest."
Kate moved across the room to 11-year-old Robbie. His unruly hair lay across his forehead. Gently, she brushed it back before bestowing the goodnight kiss. Robbie was always so serious, she reflected. Even in his sleep, he seemed to frown. His brother picked on him a lot. Jake was the aggressive one, opinionated like Kate's own father had been. Robbie was the sensitive one. She worried about him the most of all her children. Steven said she spoiled him, and Jake was probably jealous, but the older boy never seemed to want her to fuss over him. She shook her head. You do the best you can, give them all the love you can, and pray for the Lord to do the rest. That had been her mother's philosophy. Kate hoped she was right.
"Are you gonna dawdle all night?" Steven protested.
"I'm coming," she assured him.
As they reached the doorway, she impulsively grabbed her husband's hand, calloused and rough from hard work, and squeezed it between both her own. "Thank you," she breathed.
"For what?"
In answer she looked from one room to the other, then back at Steven. "For making me the happiest woman in the world."
Steven smiled and pulled his wife into his arms. "You're welcome," he whispered against her hair. "Now, can we turn in?"
"Alright." She allowed him to lead her by the hand down the hall and into their room. Steven headed for the bed, but Kate moved to the hand-made crib on the other side of the room which held the newest addition to the Michaels family, Jonathan, only six-weeks old. Steven watched her, shaking his head, as she gently stroked the baby's cheek. He was about to protest again, but decided against it. With a resigned sigh, he followed her across the room, standing behind her and looking down over his wife's shoulder at his little son. The baby was so tiny and so precious as he slept. In his mind, Steven recalled standing beside this crib six times before. Each one was a miracle, a little piece of Kate and himself to live on long after they were gone. Gently, he wrapped his arms around the small delicate woman in front of him. She leaned back against his strength. He had everything in the world he could ever want. Well... almost.
"Come on, honey, let's go to bed. We gotta get some sleep if we're gonna be up with the kids in the morning."
She turned in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I love you, Steven."
"I love you too, honey," he replied. "Merry Christmas, Kate."
"Merry Christmas," she replied as she turned her face up to accept his gentle kiss.
* * *
December 24, 1944 - Glorieta, New Mexico
Cassie Michaels sat in her rocking chair in the middle of the room and looked toward the two beds against the far wall. It had taken a long time to get Little Jake to go to sleep. She had been afraid he would wake up his younger sister Kay before he finally drifted off. Maybe it would be easier if they were each in their own rooms, but ever since Jake had left for the Pacific, she had wanted her children close to her all the time.
She reached over to the table beside her and retrieved a brief letter that had arrived a year ago to the day. She read it over once again. He was fine. Been some fighting, but things looked good. They had the Japs on the run. Maybe he would get a chance to write again soon. He hadn't had that chance. Jake Michaels, Sr. had been listed as missing in action, but there was strong evidence he had been taken prisoner by the Japanese.
The last thing on the sheet of paper, almost as an afterthought, were the words "Merry Christmas," just below his signature. He had never written that he loved her or that he missed her, but she knew he did. Jake just didn't say things like that. He was a hard man, but she had known that when she married him. She loved him just the same. Maybe she understood him better than he understood himself. It did worry her, though, that his letters always sounded so angry. The war had made him even harder. And now, if he survived this ordeal, if he came home to her, it was quite possible he would never be the same again. But Cassie had decided long ago, no matter how he came home, she would go right on loving him in the only way she knew how. She'd never argue, never cross him, she would always do what he wanted. Nothing mattered to her, so long as he came home.
She placed the letter back on the table, stood up and walked over to the beds. She tucked in her children, then walked to the window. The sky was clear and full of stars. As she heard the old clock downstairs chime midnight, tears began to roll down her checks and she sent a little prayer to keep her husband safe. "Merry Christmas, Jake," she whispered to the twinkling stars. "Come home."
* * *
December 25, 1954 - San Diego, California
Robert Michaels stood at the window of the living room and looked out at the stars as he heard the clock on the mantle chime midnight. Christmas Day. He dreaded the coming of the morning light. The boys would be up with the first rays to see what Santa had brought them. They wouldn't be disappointed. Steven's bicycle was all put together and standing next to the tree, it's shining surface reflecting the twinkling lights. Three-year-old Murphy would squeal with delight when he saw the toy train, the one he had fallen in love with at the store, chugging around the tree in his own house. It would be a wonderful day for the boys. They would never know the emotions that lay beneath the smiles on their parents' faces. Never know the words their mother had said this night. Christmas Eve. God, what a night to learn your marriage is over.
It was over. He knew it. He would try and Margo would try, and they would stay together for the sake of the boys, but it would never be the same again. They would paste pleasant expressions on their faces, they would say all the right things. Margo would work all morning to make the Christmas dinner her husband and sons expected, even though she took no pleasure in cooking. The boys would have a very merry Christmas, full of dreams come true. But Robert's dreams had ended tonight.
"Maybe next year we'll have a little girl to buy presents for," he'd said teasingly as Margo sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and watching him assemble the shiny Western Flyer.
"No," she replied, a little sadly, but with a cold firmness that caused him to forget all about the screwdriver in his hand.
"Well, you know, it's been three years since Murphy was born and we're not getting any younger." A strange fear had begun to stir in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm 32, Robbie. That's not old. But I'd be 50 by the time another child was up and grown. I won't do it. I don't want any more children."
He moved to the sofa next to her and tried to put his arms around her. "You don't mean that," he coaxed.
Abruptly, she jumped up and stood staring at the tree. "Yes, I do, Robbie," she said, her back to him. "Steven and Murphy are already more than I can handle. I won't do it again."
"But I always thought we'd have a great big family..."
"You always wanted a big family. I didn't. I'm just not cut out to be a mother."
"You're a wonderful mother," he protested.
"Oh, for God's sake, Robbie, stop lying to yourself. You can't be that blind."
But he had been. He knew times had been tough. He knew she didn't take to motherhood the way his own mother had. He had seen that. But he never considered that she didn't want to try, that she wouldn't want the houseful of kids he craved. With two brothers and four sisters, he had grown up in a big happy family. Margo was an only child, her mother had died and her father had never been a real parent to her. She hadn't known the kind of loving home he had. He had wanted to share that with her. But only now did he see she couldn't understand what he felt. She could never feel the way he did about family. She didn't know how. He saw it all at last, and yet, he couldn't stop hoping.
He stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay, honey. You're just tired. You've been working hard lately. I know you feel this way now, but just you wait. Come on, now. I'll finish this up in just a jiffy and we'll go to bed and cuddle and everything will be alright."
"NO!" she shouted, pulling away from him.
"Margo, you'll wake the boys," he admonished.
She gazed in silence for a moment at the tree. "I'm going to bed," she told him. She stamped out her cigarette and headed up the stairs without another word.
He stood alone, staring after her for a good five minutes, then he turned and looked at the tree and the half assembled bicycle and the box that still held the toy train. His world had just fallen apart, but he had to keep himself together for the sake of the boys. Margo would stay with him and keep up appearances, and maybe, just maybe, he could still get her to change her mind. He wanted to make her happy. He still refused to accept that he never could. Closing his mind as best he could, he'd turned back to the task at hand.
Now, with the tree shining, the toys assembled and the brightly wrapped presents piled high, he didn't believe he would ever be happy again. He turned out the lamp and, leaving the tree lights burning, headed up the stairs. He went first to the boys' room. They were both sound asleep, oblivious to the happenings downstairs. He would not let this thing ruin their Christmas, he swore to himself. He rested a hand on first Steven's head, then Murphy's, then with a deep sigh, he left the room. As he passed by the spare room on his way to their bedroom, he could hear the sound of soft weeping from behind the closed door. He hesitated, then lifted his hand to the door, but he couldn't bring himself to push it open. He stood there for several seconds, then whispered "Merry Christmas" in a voice that even to his ears sounded flat and emotionless, and walked away toward his cold empty bed.
* * *
December 24, 1964 - Bel Air, California
"A little hot cocoa will do the trick, Guv." Clapper set the tray with the steaming mugs on the coffee table next to where Nick Foley sat on the floor astraddle a large package he had been struggling to wrap for the better part of 15 minutes.
"I knew I should have had these things wrapped at the store. I did the rest. But, no, I thought I'd like to try wrapping them myself. Clapper, remind me next year not to get so sentimental."
"Yes, sir," Clapper replied with exaggerated tones. "No sentiment next year."
"I didn't say no sentiment," Nick objected. "Just a little moderation. A little common sense." He looked at Clapper, who was smiling at him from ear to ear, and laughed out loud. "That's a joke, isn't it, Clapper? Nick Foley with a sense of moderation about anything, and especially about my girls." He paused in reflection. "My girls. Who'da believed five years ago that an old bachelor like me would find happiness as the father of five girls? I thought I was happy. I was wrong. And now, I'm about to lose one of them."
Clapper smiled as he watched the expressions play across his employer's face. He was remembering a whole panorama of moments with the girls over the last few years. The gentleman's gentleman felt tears sting his own eyes when he thought about how much joy and love Rose, Diane, Marva, Patty and Mickie had brought into their lives. And now, all too soon for Nick (and for Clapper, he admitted to himself), Rose was leaving to marry the young man of her dreams, a handsome young soldier named Jake Michaels, Jr. They had only met a couple of months ago, but they had known, almost from the beginning, that they were meant for each other. They became engaged over Thanksgiving, and now Rose was in New Mexico to meet Jake's family. Although she would be back in a few days and the wedding wasn't until February, it was the first Christmas since the girls had come into Nick's life that one wouldn't be here to open presents on Christmas morning. It was a melancholy blend of joy and sadness Clapper felt at this moment, and he knew the man before him well enough to know it was even more so for him.
Nick finally turned back to the package after covertly wiping the corner of his eye on his sleeve and finished up the job. "Nothing but the best for my girls," he murmured.
"You're not really losing her, Guv," Clapper reassured him.
Nick smiled sadly. "I know that, Clapper," he admitted. "But I'm sure gonna miss her." The silence dragged on for a few seconds, then, grabbing a huge red bow and a small sealed envelope, he attached both to the box before him. He stood up, surveying his work. "There," he pronounced, lovingly running his hand over the name he'd written on the envelope. "Finally done."
"Then you can go to bed now, Guv," Clapper hinted.
Nick shook his head. "No, Clapper, I'm gonna sack out on the sofa. I'm not gonna miss one moment of them opening their presents. Mickey already had the doll she had asked for opened when I got down here last year. I'm not gonna miss anything this year."
"Are you sure?" Clapper was hesitant about leaving his employer alone.
Nick smiled. "I'm sure, Clapper. You go on and go to bed." He grinned slyly. "I'll make sure they come and get you up before they open one present."
"Thank you, sir," Clapper replied as he took his cocoa and headed for the door.
"Clapper," Nick called as he reached for the remaining mug, "Merry Christmas."
Clapper turned back and toasted with his own mug of hot chocolate, "Merry Christmas, Guv."
* * *
December 24, 1974 - Bel Air, California
"Good night, Dr. Michaels," called the admitting nurse as Rose headed for the exit, wearily rubbing her neck. Why was it so many children had to be ill or injured at this time of year and end up spending their Christmas in a hospital? It was almost midnight, but she hadn't been able to leave until she'd seen to each and every child in her charge. Some of her colleagues complained she took her job too personally. She had to admit she did and it was a drain on her emotionally, but the rewards were well worth the effort. Up in her office, she had a wall full of pictures of children's smiles that were worth more to her than all the money in the world. But by far, the most precious smile to Rose was the one that shined out at her every day from the eight by ten on her desk, from the face of her own son, Nicky.
As she navigated the almost deserted streets, Rose's thoughts turned, as they often did, to Jake. The time they'd had together had been so short, and he'd died so young, not even knowing he was going to be a father. He would have made such a good one, too, Rose was certain. He was the kindest, gentlest man she had ever known, so unlike his own father whose hatred and bigotry had driven a wedge between him and his son. No, her Jake would have loved and supported his son. Knowing how great a dad Jake would have been made it even harder to think of all the things he'd missed: Nicky's birth, all those firsts in a child's life... first words, first steps, first baseball game, and all the milestones that were still to come. And yet, somewhere within her, somewhere near her heart, Rose knew Jake had seen all that had come to pass and would always be there to watch over her and their boy.
She pulled into the drive of the Bel Air mansion which had been her home for so many years now. There had been a time when she thought she would move on, away from this house where she had first learned the meaning of the word "family." But the new life she'd planned with Jake had not been meant to be. Perhaps she had been destined to endure the heartaches life had dealt her, but at least she had been given a source from which to draw the strength she'd needed. That source was her father and sisters.
She walked quietly in the front door and headed for the stairs, but the lights of the Christmas tree drew her instead to the main room. Except for what filtered in from the entry hall, they were the only illumination in the room, but their glow was reflected in all the brightly wrapped presents under the tree. There were always a lot of presents; they were a large family by most standards and with the fortune he had built in the frozen foods business, her father could certainly afford to indulge.
It was high time she went upstairs, checked on Nicky and went to bed, Rose suddenly realized. Christmas morning at the Foleys was always a marathon event. As she turned to leave the room, her eyes feel on a figure stretched out on the couch and a smile came to her lips. A Christmas tradition for the Foleys for the past ten years was Nick sleeping on the sofa on Christmas Eve so he wouldn't miss any of the early morning festivities. It couldn't be very comfortable, but he never complained. Rose walked over to the couch and gently reached out and pulled the blanket which had fallen to the floor back up over him, tucking it around his shoulders as she would her nine-year-old son. She didn't worry about waking him. After years of radios blasting at dawn, Nick had developed into a heavy sleeper. Funny, though, how he could always seem to hear when one of his daughters cried at night and miraculously appear at her door. Rose couldn't count the number of times Nick Foley had been there for her and for his grandson. Despite the tragedy that had marked her still young life, she counted herself blessed that fate had prompted the once playboy bachelor to adopt five mismatched orphans and open his home and his heart to them.
"Merry Christmas, Dad," she whispered, giving him a kiss before heading upstairs to tuck in and kiss her other slumbering blessing.
"Merry Christmas to you, too, sweetie," came Nick's reply as Rose climbed the stairs. He didn't know if she'd heard him. She had.
* * *
December 24, 1984 - San Diego, California
Four days after giving birth to her son, Melanie Carmichael sat back on the sofa, trying to keep from laughing at the sight of her husband working feverishly to assemble the large, intricate doll house he had bought for their adopted daughter, Michelle. He'd already put together the new bicycle which peeked out from behind the tree, and now sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor surrounded by various and sundry pieces of wood, plastic, screws, nails and wires, not to mention glue, and stared alternately at the indecipherable instructions and the corner section he held in his hand. His brow furrowed, he cast his eyes around the carpet before him.
"I think I'm missing a screw," Skip observed.
"Are you sure you don't just have one loose?" Melanie asked, hiding her smile behind a sip of coffee.
Skip cocked an eyebrow at his wife. "Very funny. The least you could do is help me with this."
"Oh, no," she replied. "We had a deal. I sit here and wrap and you would handle the construction duties. I'm just home from the hospital, remember? Besides, the doll house was your idea. I told you there wasn't enough time to get it done at the last minute."
"I already put together the swing set in the back yard," he protested, "not to mention all the furniture in the baby's room." He turned puppy-dog eyes and a martyred expression toward her. Melanie laughed as she moved beside him, sat down and planted a kiss on his cheek. Skip sighed. "I didn't know parenthood could be this complicated."
Melanie brushed her hand through his hair leaving it resting at the base of his neck. "You don't regret starting our family so quickly, do you?" she asked seriously.
"Of course not," he replied instantly.
"Well, we've only been married just over a year and here we are with a ten-year-old daughter and a brand new baby boy."
Skip dropped the instructions and his construction and pulled her close to him. "Hey, you're talking about the best Christmas presents a guy like me could ever hope for," he told her. "Listen, I've got two brothers, two sisters and more cousins than even a rocket scientist like you can count. I love kids and noise and all that goes with having lots of people around to love. And I'm proud of both our kids, and the only regret I have is how long it took me to make you my wife."
Melanie pulled back from his embrace far enough to look into his eyes. "We'll just have to make up for lost time." She leaned in for a kiss, but before their lips met, the room was filled with the unmistakable sound of Peter Harrison Carmichael informing his parents he was awake and in need of attention.
Skip released a slow breath. "I'll go," he volunteered and padded off toward the nursery.
"Skip?" she called. He turned around at the bottom of the stairs. "I love you."
He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "I love you, too, sweetheart, but right now, one of my presents needs his diaper changed." He gifted her with one of his patented lopsided grins before mounting the stairs. Melanie smiled to herself. "Merry Christmas, darling." She laughed, then looking at the mess around her, she picked up the instructions and prepared to show her husband exactly what a rocket scientist was capable of.
* * *
December 24, 1994 - Glorieta, New Mexico
Caitlin O'Connor Travis made her way up the stairs with a great deal of effort. She even had to pause on the landing to catch her breath. She rubbed her hand over her expansive stomach and smiled. "You're gonna be a big one, aren't ya, kid? I wasn't this big with the twins." She laughed. "Well, maybe I was and I just forgot."
Setting her determination, she finished her climb to the second floor of the old ranch house, but instead of going to her room as Andy had instructed, she headed down the hall, stopping at the open door on the right. Quietly, she tiptoed over to the first of two twin beds and gazed down on her oldest son. Danny was the spitting image of his Uncle Remington and growing to look more like him every day. Cait took great joy in that. She and Remington had always felt a strong bond between them ever since they had found each other. They had no proof they were siblings, but they had never needed any. They knew. But after Danny was born, there could be no question in anyone's mind that they all belonged to the same family. Remington, Laura and their children were coming to the ranch in a few days to spend New Year's with them. She would be so very glad to see her side of the family again.
Family. She had spent so much of her life with no one at all and now, here she was in the center of a gargantuan circle of relations. Not just her four children and one on the way, but her brother and his family and most of all her husband's close extended kin. The Michaels clan certainly lived up to that descriptive noun. There were so many, at first, she had thought she would never keep them straight. Now, here she was the unofficial historian, a job she took upon herself along with the new home she lived in. The ranch was the gathering point of the Michaels family, where they all returned to eventually, and usually frequently. Caitlin O'Connor, the homeless waif, was now the heir to the legacy of so many Michaels before her.
She tucked the blanket around Shane and kissed him goodnight. All too soon he and his brother would be running down those stairs she had had so much trouble getting up to find what Santa had brought them. But for now, they were little angels lost in sleep. Quietly she left the boys room and made her way into the room across the hall where her two daughters slept. There was plenty of room in the ranch for each child to have his or her own room, but Cait and Andy had decided that until they were older, it would be good for the children to share. Andy had related so many stories about how he and his cousins had laid awake well into the night talking about all kinds of things. Andy and the three cousins who were closest in age to him were also as close as brothers in so many ways. Cait wanted that kind of closeness for her children. When they were older, they'd want their freedom and independence, but not just yet.
Shawna, Shane's twin, was twisted into a pretzel. Cait chuckled softly. The three-year-old always seemed to sleep in a position which appeared extremely uncomfortable to the adults around her, but she seemed no worse for it. Cait did straighten the sleeping child as best she could so the blanket would cover her.
Across from Shawna was Trina, their first little miracle. That's what she would always think of her children as - miracles. Cait would never forget it was on the day Trina was born, when she had first held her child in her arms, this little creation who was part Andy and part her, that she had finally believed it was possible to be happy. Until that moment, somehow, subconsciously, she had always thought she was in a beautiful dream and would wake up and find herself back on the streets in the cold, hungry and with no place to sleep. Those things were all in the past since the day Trina was born. Even the events earlier in the year which led to the harrowing adventure in New York had not shaken the core of her belief. While it was happening, she had been too afraid to really think. After it was over, she knew she was safe. She had so many people to love and who loved her, she would never be alone again.
A swift kick from the soon to arrive newest member of the Travis family reminded her she wasn't even alone in her own body at the moment. She laughed aloud softly as she patted her stomach again.
"That's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard," came a whispered voice behind her. She turned to find herself being engulfed in Andy's arms. "And the most beautiful sight. I don't know what you have in that big box under the tree with my name on it, but you can take it back unopened. I have all the Christmas presents I want for the rest of my life."
"Oh, Andy." She rested her check against his shoulder, the touch of his arms around her bringing her such a feeling of joy and serenity such as she had never known. "I could never have dreamed of a better Christmas. I have all I ever wanted and so much more than I ever dared to hope for." She pulled back to look into his eyes. "Thank you, Andy."
He smiled. "You'd better be happy, because I've never been happier in my life and I owe it all to you." Their lips met in a warm and gentle kiss and lingered there until they both needed air. Finally, grudgingly, Andy pulled away. "I thought you were coming up to go to bed. I'm all finished downstairs now."
"I was, but I just wanted to check on the children once more," she explained.
"It's almost three in the morning, honey," Andy complained. "You know they'll be up at the crack of dawn to see what Santa Claus brought them. If we don't get some sleep now, we won't make it through the day!"
Cait chuckled, giving one last look at her daughters, she allowed Andy to lead her from their room down the hall and into their own bedroom. "You know, this used to be Grandma and Grandpa Michaels' room," Andy remarked.
"Yes, I know," Cait replied. Moving across the room, her hand caressed the rail of the crib which had been erected in anticipation of the upcoming birth. "And this is the crib your mother and all her brothers and sisters were placed in when they were born. Thank you for bringing it down from the attic and refinishing it. It looks beautiful."
"Does, don't it. Well, all I know about wood I learned from Grandpa. He built that crib."
She turned in his arms and threaded her own around his waist. "I love you, Andy."
"I love you too, honey," he replied. "Merry Christmas, Cait."
"Merry Christmas," she replied as she turned to accept his tender kiss.
* * *
Long after Cait and Andy were asleep, a warm breeze seemed to float through the room. In spite of the bitter cold outside, the tightly closed window, its touch set the crib to gently sway back and forth as if rocked by an unseen hand. The faint echo of a voice whispered on the phantom wind, "Are you gonna dawdle all night?", answered only by the music of a woman's laughter.