Cardboard Christmas

“They deserve so much more,” she lamented, turning to her husband over the small kitchen table.

“They deserve all the world,” he reached for her hand, “but we don’t have it to give.”

“I know. I only wish we could make it special this year. They have not complained once, no matter how meager the meals or how many times I’ve patched their clothes. Not once.”

“They’re good girls. We will find a way. We’ll make it special somehow.”

She sighed deeply as she turned back to the pot of cabbage bubbling on the stove. Somehow, she thought uncertainly.

The next night, his head appeared in the kitchen doorway as she prepared the evening meal.

“Where are they?” She pointed to the living room where both girls were huddled together on the braided rug, pointing out beautiful objects in the Sears Christmas Book. “Good. Give me a hand, will you?”

Bewildered, she removed her apron and draped it on the kitchen chair. Her husband stood beaming in the snowy driveway, gesturing grandly toward two cardboard boxes.

“John, what is this? What are you doing?”

“Something special!” he proclaimed, a boyish grin lighting his eyes.

“Boxes?”

“Yes, Betty, boxes! They will be perfect—wait and see. These will be the most special gifts you have ever seen. Lend me a hand and we’ll move them into the garage before the girls see them.”

Together they lifted the boxes across the snow and into the small garage. One was nearly as tall as the girls and emblazoned with the word Frigidaire. The other was slightly smaller, stamped Beech-Nut Cooked Spaghetti. She frowned.

“I still don’t understand.”

“You will. Give me a few days, and you will. Now get back inside before you freeze or the girls spot you!” She obliged willingly, still shaking her head as she crossed the distance to the house.

John could hardly wait to finish his cabbage, pushing back from the table as soon as the plates were empty.

“I am sorry, girls, but I need to go take care of something in the garage. I’ll be in to say good night in just a while. Be good for your mother.” He picked up the lantern that hung by the back door and, before anyone could respond, disappeared into the cold darkness.

Betty sighed and set about clearing the supper dishes as the girls scampered off to the lit fireplace to read.

The next night was much the same, and the following as well. John slipped quickly from the supper table each evening and disappeared to the garage. He reappeared at precisely eight o’clock, whistling to himself, to tuck the girls into their beds. Then he went back to his work outside until it was too cold to continue.

Finally, as they closed the door on the girls’ room the fourth night, John turned to Betty.

“Would you like to see what I’ve been doing?”

“I should say so. John, you’ve been absent all week! Whatever you are working on had better be—” he placed a finger on her lips.

“It is. Don’t you worry. Follow me.”

They wrapped in their coats and braved the cold night air. A thrill ran through them, in equal parts owing to the blast of winter wind and the excitement of a late-night secret. John grasped Betty’s hand as they reached the carriage doors of the single garage.

“Are you ready?” he asked. She nodded.

As the doors swung open, Betty could hardly believe her eyes. Where once had stood two plain brown boxes, now there were two small houses.

“What do you think?” he grinned. “Look, this big one—it was just begging to be made a playhouse. I made a peaked roof here and cut some windows and a door. I plan to paint it, if I can get it warm enough out here for the stuff to dry. I need your help. It needs a woman’s touch—curtains, pictures, you know, the little things that will make it a home for Beatrice.” He paused to revel in the look of surprise on her face.

“And now this box, it was just perfect for a doll’s house. It’s littler, of course, but Daisy will love it for her doll family. I made three rooms—two downstairs, and one up. There is a cardboard kitchen cabinet. I have some scraps of wood to make a table and chairs, and a bed. And then there’s your bit. It needs quilts and rugs and curtains.” He was beaming now. “So, what do you say?”

“What do I say? John, I hardly know where to start! How ever did you come up with these ideas?”

He shrugged, kicking the dirty garage floor. “You wanted something special. These were sitting out by the dumpster behind Mr. Morely’s store. It just seemed right.”

“Oh, John!” She flew forward and threw her arms around his neck. “They’re perfect.”

The next many nights were a blur. After the girls were tucked away in their beds, John slipped out to the garage to work on the small houses. He added window boxes and shutters to Beatrice’s playhouse. He crafted miniature furniture of scraps and odd pieces for Daisy’s dollhouse. Betty pulled the scrap basket from the living room cupboard, stitching tiny curtains and quilts from fabric pieces she had saved. They worked through the evening hours imagining the girls’ excitement on Christmas morning. They were like two children when they met up at the end of the night to show off the work they had done. They fell asleep talking excitedly about the plans they had for the houses. This would be a Christmas to remember.

“Mother,” Beatrice asked one morning as she brought her breakfast plate to the sink, “have you thought about Christmas this year?”

“What do you mean, Bea?” Betty asked casually.

“It’s just that, you know, with things being tight—well, Daisy and I have been talking. We hope you know we don’t expect much this year.”

Betty put down the plate she had been washing and turned to her daughters. Daisy’s cheeks were streaked with tears. Perhaps Beatrice had been the one doing the talking. 

“You two are some of the sweetest, most generous girls I know. How very grown-up of you to say something like this.” Both girls nodded. “I would be lying if I said this year will be just like others. For instance, there’s no turkey this year. But, girls, we must still have hope. We must have something to look forward to.” They nodded again.

“But we’ve heard you talking to Father. He hasn’t had steady work in months!” Beatrice bit her lip. Betty sighed.

“You are right, of course,” she took a deep breath, pulling up a kitchen chair. “Why don’t you do this: each of you think of one way this Christmas could be special without spending money. You make a list and leave the rest to your father and me.”

The girls’ eyes lit up, and they hurried off to dream up their ideas.

At the dinner table that evening, Daisy produced a wrinkled piece of paper. On it was a carefully printed list:

1. Bake cookies for the neighbors
2. Go sledding

The girls talked over one another in their excitement to share their ideas.

“We’ll go sledding on the big hill behind the school. Joey says it’s the fastest hill in town. It will be just perfect!” Beatrice clapped her hands together for emphasis.

“We don’t have a sled, but we’ve already thought of a solution,” Daisy beamed. “We can slide on cardboard boxes! We read a book once where they did that. And Bea and I have always wanted to try it since then.”

“Box sledding it is!” declared John, holding his glass of milk in the air as though toasting the idea.

“All right, how about the rest?” Betty smiled.

“We want cookies—beautiful cookies—to take to the neighbors. Daisy and I can wrap them up in pretty packages and deliver them all up and down the street.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

The next afternoon, Betty found herself elbow-deep in flour. It seemed to be everywhere in the tiny kitchen. The girls giggled and talked as they rolled cookies on the kitchen table, carefully shaping each one with the cookie cutters they had selected. Betty’s cheeks flushed as she removed a batch from the oven.

“I see all my girls have been dusted with flour!” John laughed, closing the door against a gust of wind. “You’ve all been busy!”

“Have a seat,” Betty pulled a chair from the table. “We’re all about due for a cookie and milk break.”

“So, how goes the cookie business?” John asked, taking a bite.

“Great! We’ve just about finished,” Daisy practically bounced in her seat.

“Then we’ll wrap them in newspaper and tie pretty bows with ribbon Mother saved.”

“That sounds like a perfect way to finish things off,” John winked.

“I hope Mrs. Croft likes the gingerbread man I made for her.” Daisy pointed to a brown cookie with globs of icing and gumdrop eyes sitting crooked and bulging on the tiny head.

“I’m sure it will be the best she’s ever tasted,” John nodded, tousling her blonde hair.

The following day, the family bundled in their warmest clothes and trudged the short blocks to the school. Already the hill was speckled with the dark silhouettes of sledding children.

“Everyone else has a real sled,” Beatrice said quietly.

“Everyone else will be missing out on the fun we are about to have,” John smiled, holding up one of the boxes he had been carrying. “You’ll see. Box sledding is even more fun than toboggan sledding.”

“Are you sure this will work?” Daisy was doubtful.

“Absolutely! Now, who will be first?”

Beatrice sat tentatively on the flattened box, gripping its edge tightly in her mittened hand.

“On the count of three,” John said behind her, “I’ll give you a little push. One, two, three!” With a scrape of snow, she raced down the hill. Her shrieks carried on the wind behind her as she glided over the packed snow. Soon the shrieks turned to giggles, until finally she collapsed in a fit of laughter at the bottom of the hill.

“Again! Again!” she called, gathering up the box to begin the long climb.

“My turn!” Daisy squealed. John laid out the second box, giving her a gentle push at the top of the hill. Daisy was all giggles and laughter as she slid over the snow.

They took turns on the hill all afternoon. John and Beatrice raced side by side. Daisy flattened herself on her belly, sledding head-first. Again, and again they flew down the hill, laughing and squealing.

Finally, John turned to Betty. “Well, my dear, we’ve all had a turn. What do you say? Are you ready to try it?”

“Oh, John, I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t,” Betty held up her hands.

“Of course you could! Girls, what do you say? Should Mother try sledding?”

“Yes, do, Mother! Try it!” Beatrice cheered and clapped.

“Try it, try it!” Added Daisy.

“You see?” John smiled.

“Oh, all right. Get me started, John, but not too fast.” Betty settled herself on the soggy cardboard, crossing her legs and holding tightly to the edge of the box.

John counted in her ear, then gave a push that spun her backward. Shocked, she screamed. She raced faster and faster down the hill, watching as her family grew smaller and smaller. The world was a blur of white. The wind whipped her hair into her face and her mouth, and her stomach flip-flopped relentlessly. There was nothing to be done. She giggled.

Suddenly, the wet cardboard tore beneath her. She tumbled in the snow, end over end, and rolled down the hill. John gasped and raced headlong down the steep bank toward her.

“Betty! I’m coming, Betty!” he called, slipping and sliding on the packed snow. She was dusted in white and lying in a heap at the bottom.

“Betty, are you—” he called as he reached her, turning her over to face him.

She had tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was laughing so hard she could barely form the words, “I’m—all—right.” John collapsed next to her, laughing and wiping his brow after the exertion of reaching her.

“Next time,” Betty was still laughing, “I will leave the box sledding to the three of you, thank you.”

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear the next day. John slipped from the warmth of his bed to light a fire. Betty arranged leftover cookies on a small plate and poured glasses of milk. As the dancing flames began to fill the room with their heat, the girls wandered sleepily into the living room.

“Merry Christmas, Bea! Merry Christmas, Daisy!” John exclaimed, giving them each a kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning, Father,” said Bea sleepily. Her eyes traveled unconsciously to the small Christmas tree, its branches shimmering with silver tinsel. She could not hide the look of disappointment that clouded her face. The space beneath the tree was empty. It would be a small Christmas, after all.

Betty said quickly. “Since today is a special day, we shall have cookies and milk for breakfast!” They smiled weakly at one another.

“Cookies are special,” Daisy said quietly. “Do you suppose our neighbors are eating the cookies we gave them for breakfast, too?”

“They would be if they knew what a great celebration it made.” John winked.

“Still, it’s not quite the same as a Christmas with presents,” Beatrice whispered sadly. Betty wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders and pulled her close. She handed them each a cookie.

Suddenly, John clapped his hands together.

“How about a Christmas walk, girls?” he said cheerfully. “A stroll around the neighborhood will be just the thing to make this morning special. We can traipse through the snow and see the decorations.” The girls looked at one another uncertainly.

“Well, girls, go on, then! Go get dressed and bundled!” Betty shooed them up the stairs. She squeezed John’s hand, stifling the girlish squeal that threatened to escape her lips.

“They don’t suspect a thing,” John whispered into her curls as he pulled her close. She lifted a finger to her lip as the girls thumped back down the steps.

The family tumbled out onto the icy front porch, wrapping their coats more tightly against the cold.

“You know,” John said, stepping onto the front walkway, “I’ve been meaning to check the garage for something. Didn’t we have a string of Christmas lights in there somewhere, girls? Come, help me take a look.”

He led them without a word to the wide doors of the garage. Betty bounced as they waited, shivering from cold and excitement. John’s eyes sparkled as they exchanged a quick glance, then he swung open the wooden doors.

They stood blinking for a moment in the darkness of the space. Daisy was the first to step forward, speechless as she stared into the garage. John hurried past her to stand between the boxes that filled the room.

“This one here is for you, Daisy. Come, come and see!”

Daisy walked slowly toward the dollhouse, dropping to her knees on the cold floor.

“See here,” John was saying, “you have little rooms for your doll family. Look, there are stamps on the walls for pictures. There’s a kitchen with cupboards and tables and real plates,” he lifted the colorful bottle caps that lined the table. “Your mother made curtains and tiny quilts. She even made a little sofa—look at this!”

Betty smiled as he held up the little cardboard and paste sofa, over-stuffed with cotton balls and upholstered in scraps from Betty’s summer dress.

“What do you think, Pumpkin?” Betty rested her hands on Daisy’s shoulders.

“Oh, Mother! Father! This is the best gift!” she threw her arms around her father’s neck, kissing his frosty cheeks.  “You did this for me?”  

“Of course we did!” John swung her around, laughing.

“We didn’t forget you, either, Bea,” Betty said quietly. Beatrice stood mesmerized, gazing at the box next to Daisy’s gift.

“It’s your playhouse, Bea,” John said. “Like you’ve always wanted—though a little different, of course. This one is made of cardboard.”

“It’s beautiful,” Beatrice breathed, running her hands over the blue cardboard shutters and the window boxes filled with Betty’s silk flowers.

“Go inside,” Betty urged.

Beatrice opened the cutout door and stepped into the small room. A rag rug filled the floor, and tiny flour sack curtains hung at the glass-less windows. On a far wall, John had painted a cozy fireplace. Real photographs hung on the walls, and two little wooden stools served as furniture in the cozy space.

“This is beautiful,” Beatrice whispered again.

“You girls deserve all the best in the world. Perhaps it’s not the Christmas we would have imagined, but—” Betty began.

“No, Mother, it’s even better,” Beatrice interrupted. “Nothing in the world could be better than a cardboard Christmas.”