A Christmas Medley

By Karen M. Caes and Charles J. Caes

A Trilogy of Christmas Novellas

In Mr. Dickens Christmas Eve In London, the famed author is thinking of writing a Christmas story, but he has neither a plot nor a main character, though he has his settingLondon. Whenever he finds himself in such a quandary, Mr. Dickens walks about the citys streets, searching for characters and ideas. Inviting a grumpy, begrudging old friend along by the name of Phineas Frost, he heads into the night on Christmas Eve in 1842. This is Dickens favorite time of year. Families come together and are filled with affection! People everywhere are overcome with generosity, friendship and good cheer! And he finds that the city does not let him down. Before long, he has the characters and ideas for A Christmas Carol, though it will be sometime before he can put the story on paper.

The Eighth Choir Celestial and the Birth of the Messiah draws from canonical and noncanonical writings and from speculative Christian theology to spin a warming, affectionate tale of the Nativity of Christ, but from the perspective of the archangel Gabriel. As a member of the eighth choir of celestial beings, his primary responsibility is the deliverance of divine decrees, but he also performs other angelic assignments of extreme importance, including assuring that those things which must happen do indeed occur. The story begins about 15 BCE (Before the Christian Era) when Gabriel visits 5-year-old Mary at the Temple in Jerusalem, and ends with the flight into Egypt. Middle chapters tell the story of Gabriels diligence in watching over Mary from her early childhood to her betrothal, and from the nativity to the flight into Egypt. It also follows Gabriels adventures in assuring the Magi find their way to Bethlehem and are able to outsmart Herod.

A Christmas in Princeton, also published separately, celebrates the very reasons for Christmas and its colorful traditions. Young Tom Cooper is preoccupied with getting money to purchase a used bicycle for sale at a shop on Nassau Street in Princeton, but a twist of fate suddenly puts things in proper perspective. A visit to a little shack! A bicycle accident! An epiphany of sorts! A puppy needing a home! Lessons about Christmas! And, finally, the special magic that Christmas brings. Yet, Tom will never fully understand what has happened to him until many years later.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 15, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462822584

Karen M. Caes

Karen Caes lives in Warrenton, Virginia, with her husband, Charles. Having raised two children and now delighting in the role of being a grandmother, she knows well of the magic of Christmas for young and old, and its traditions. She has teamed with Charles to share this little story with others. Charles J. Caes is the author of books and articles on science, religion, and investment. He is also the author of Seven Hundred Years to Bethlehem: The Story of the Magi and the Birth of Jesus of Nazareth to be published through Xlibris.

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 by Karen M. Caes and Charles J. Caes.

Second Printing

Oct 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The stories in this book, including the story of the Nativity which draws from the biblical canon and from apocryphal works, are creative blends of fact and fiction solely for the entertainment of the reader, and they are not intended as true biography or history.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

58404

Contents

MR. DICKENS’ CHRISTMAS EVE IN LONDON

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

The Eighth Choir Celestial and the Birth of the Messiah

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

A CHRISTMAS IN PRINCETON

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

These stories are dedicated with love and affection to

Pamela, Michael, and Caitlin Leake and

Stephen Kingsley Caes

INTRODUCTION

The stories presented on the following pages are intended as celebrations of Christmas and the special magic that this holy day brings to all. They are a unique blend of fact, legend, and fantasy for your enjoyment.

Some names are so closely associated with the season that just the mere mention of them excites the spirit. Among these are the names of Charles Dickens, famous for many classical Christmas novels, and, of course, Ebenezer Scrooge, Dickens’ penurious and lonely old bachelor in A Christmas Carol.

Few come close to Dickens when it comes to memorable stories about this time of year. He was a very fascinating man as well as a unique storyteller. He reveled in the twelve days of Christmas, which he believed to be the happiest time of the year—a season of unusual generosity, friendship, and joy. He saw them as a time of religious significance, intrinsic meaning, and brotherhood. In Mr. Dickens’ Christmas Eve in London, we try to capture that special enthusiasm Dickens had for the season by mixing fact and fancy to imagine how he may have been inspired to write his masterpiece about Ebenezer Scrooge and the four ghosts who help him retrieve his humanity.

Additionally, we must never forget what Christmas is all about—the celebration of the birth of Jesus of Nazareth in a stable-cave in the little town of Bethlehem. In the Eighth Choir Celestial and the Birth of the Messiah, we draw from speculative theology, the canon and apocryphal works to create a tale of the Nativity from the perspective of the archangel Gabriel.

Finally, we include here A Christmas In Princeton, which is also published independently of this collection. It is loosely based on separate events joined to spin a story that celebrates the very reasons for Christmas and its colorful traditions. Word count makes it officially a novelette by a few pages, but novelette has two meanings; besides, this tale is constructed more as a short novel than as a long short story, and therefore has far more kinship with a novella. It is about a self-centered lad who never reflects on the magic inherent in the world around him, and who is far more interested in receiving than giving. Events change him; but, as is so often true in life, he never fully understands how much they have until many years pass and he looks back in honest self-reflection.

We hope you enjoy these tales and that they add to your appreciation of Christmas and what it means.

Karen and Charles

March 15, 2009

~

The First Novella

MR. DICKENS’

CHRISTMAS EVE

IN LONDON

~

CHAPTER 1

Merrily About Again

There is a legend about how Charles Dickens came to write his Christmas Carol. Oh, it is probably all fanciful tale, but, then again, there is always a little truth to be found in every story, perhaps in this one also.

One morning before Christmas in 1842, so the story begins, 29-year-old Charles was hard at work on a new and brilliant novel, Martin Chuzzlewit, which was soon to be published in installments, the first of which he had finished and submitted the week before.

Until the moment when he looked up from the paper on which he was eagerly scratching out the next chapter of his story, Charles was in rather bleak spirits. He occasionally fell into such dismal moods for short periods, but being a happy man at heart he was quick to be back to his usual spirited self and merrily about again.

His bleakness had been less the result of his own financial challenges and need for a highly successful book. It had more to do with the world about him, the plight of the underprivileged or the disadvantaged, both of which had been that year underscored by the riots and strikes in the industrial areas of northern England, and he wondered if he was not doing enough to help the downtrodden through his writings. His sudden change to a state of gleeful excitement was the result of new inspiration.

Kate, he began to his wife Catherine, combing his hair as he did so, I think I’ve got it! I think I’ve got it!

Charles, what has you so excited? she asked, smiling curiously.

You see, I am on a different track here. Gullible saints and selfish sinners . . . maybe! That’s Chuzzlewit and company. Yes, yes, I think that will work. He was not necessarily speaking to her, more likely to his creative spirit.

His sister-in-law, the very gracious and beautiful Geogina Hogarth, who lived with Charles and his wife, came to see what all the excitement was about. She brought along with her the Dickens’ four children, whom she had been entertaining in another room.

In her left arm Georgina held one year-old Walter while the other arm rested over the shoulder of three year-old Kate just to keep her in place. Four-year-old Mary and five-year-old Charley came up close to their father and stared at him for some explanation of his excitement.

Charles laughed that he had created such excitement and inquisitiveness, and when he saw his children he called all but Walter over to him, for Walter was in Georgina’s arms. He tried to hug the others all at once. He loved children, especially, of course, his own. He knew how big the world looked to them, how lonely they could get sometimes, how much they needed love and understanding. Most of all he understood how they looked at the world, and he wished he could still see it as he once did when he was their age. Safe! Fun! Caring! Happy!

As a child, he thought of the world as comfy cozy and full of warmth and happiness. That is, until one day and for a year afterward when his life went topsy-turvy. Not yet in his teens, he unexpectedly found himself out on his own and living and working under the most demeaning, boring, and hopeless circumstances.

If he could, he once decided, he would always keep the world a safe and secure place for his children. He wanted their hearts stamped with that eternal optimism that, though sometimes smothered by disappointment, would be there when needed, like some knight responding to the call of the distressed. He had a storehouse of that same everlasting sunniness resident deep inside of him and he knew how important it was to hope and happiness.

While his wide-eyed children had fully forgotten why they had come running in with Georgina and were now busy horsing around with their father and loving it, Georgina cried out entertainingly, Now, what brings you about, Charles, after being so lost in such solemn thought?

My dear, Georgina he answered, I’ve found my way. Rather, I have found my characters—or they me.

Georgina smiled and said, I knew this all had to do with your manuscript!

What I have put down here is as good as the first chapter that’s hopefully coming out the end of this month or early next.

To be expected, Kate replied.

I feel these characters. They are more real than any of my creations. They learn as they live! Change as they find their souls! I have it! Just capital! Capital!

Kate added, You have an exceptional talent, Charles, and that is all something we readily recognize.

Georgina added, Not just us, either, Charles, but most of the world! Think of all the letters you have gotten from America. As though she understood what went on inside his head and heart, she smiled in a very special way and added, And the advertisements in the Athenaeum that have excited a great deal of interest all over.

This is different, dear Kate and Georgina, Charles replied. I have created two spectacular literary characters—Martin and Anthony Chuzzlewit—and they are repaying me by taking on a life of their own. I can feel them, care about them. They’re like none other I’ve introduced before. They are one thing now but will become something else later, like the words I put on paper. Have you ever noticed how much words and people are alike?

How so? Geogina asked.

Why both words and people can be very different depending upon whom they are with.

Now, how is that? Georgina asked, not having the vocabulary or command of grammar that Charles possessed. I understand that about people but not about words.

Take the word running. It has easily more than a couple of dozen meanings and it can be used as a noun, adjective, verb, or adverb—depending upon whom it meets in a sentence. The running of a household! The running vine! He read from his works for three nights running!

As he spoke, Charles sort of wrestled with the children, putting them in headlocks or poking them just enough to tickle a laugh out of them. Watching all the rough-housing from his bleacher seat in Georgina’s arms, baby Walter smiled in awe.

Then, as a word finds success with whomever it may be, so will you find success with your new novel wherever it may be published, Georgina said, as little Mary rushed back to her, trying to get far enough from her father to catch her breath after so much tickling.

Perhaps, Charles replied. I only hope so. Yes, yes. There is great interest in Chuzzlewit, but the public has not seen it yet. They only know the first chapter is on the way. I can certainly use another success, he said, before the public totally loses interest in me.

They will never lose interest, Kate assured him.

Later, he admitted to Kate that he needed more than Chuzzlewit, otherwise down the road, so to speak, they might find themselves less positioned than they were then. It won’t do us, were his words.

Perhaps a story of Christmas? Of giving? Of loving? Kate suggested.

Yes, yes I have thought of that, Charles answered, his mind drifting to some unknown place for a few seconds. When it came back, he added, But I do not see the story yet, nor the protagonist and the villain! And I ask myself, how can I have a villain in a story about Christmas—about the happiest, jolliest time of the year here in England. Even greater in celebration almost than the coming of the New Year!

You will find them, she said, referring to the characters he needed in order to populate his intended Christmas tale.

They are here in London, he said. Somewhere on the streets, in the shadowed alleys, the decaying buildings! But I will need the proper setting, an uplifting theme for all times. He moved close to her and kissed her on the forehead. "By the stars above and this city below them, I’ll find my story. Its here all around me.’

Take your stroll, Kate said, knowing that her husband liked nothing better to find a companion to join him on a jaunt about the city, into its lights and its shadows. Into the public houses! Down by the river! Through the alleys! Past the great buildings and the little store fronts! Into whatever activity caught his fancy. Perhaps William will go with you, she suggested, referring to his best friend William Charles Macready.

Yes, yes, he cried out, making a fist and shaking it with enthusiasm. Thank you, my dear. It is what I need. I shall start with a visit to Drury Lane to drop in on the rehearsals. William is preparing Harlequin and William Tell. But I doubt if he will be able to break away to do a bout with the city tonight. He is not directing, of course, but he scrutinizes everything.

The theater! The city! The night! The long walks. They were Charles’ escape from himself and the harsh realities of life. They were a type of out of body experience for him. They made him feel as though he were a free spirit, observing the world and unaffected by it, understanding it as a mere script that he could revise at will.

CHAPTER 2

Drury Lane

The theatre on Drury Lane in those days was not in the best part of the city, although it was not the tough and dangerous area it was in the time of Charles’ grandparents. It was lined with drinking places frequented by habitual pickpockets, thieves and beggars who had only contempt for social order and little interest in reforming. Yet Charles liked this part of the city, not because of its evilness but because of its intensity, its characters, its depth of despair, and its signs of hope. There were many stories for him to discover there as everywhere in London, stories of devils and angels, of sinners and saints.

He headed down Bow Street to Russell Street and there at the corner of Catherine Street and Russell over to the right stood Drury Lane Theatre. Memories! Every street brought them back. How often he walked through London with his father on these very same streets. He had just used them as background in his Old Curiosity Shop, just published the year before, and he would use Drury Lane again some years later when he penned David Copperfield. Ah, yes, this was Charles’ city, full of memories, full of ideas!

He especially liked the theater there because of its historical significance, not only because the building itself went back many generations but because of the famous actors who played there, including not only his friend Macready but also the celebrities he remembered from his childhood days including Ellen Tree and Robert Elliston. Inside what especially impressed Charles was the enormous stage and the incredible engineering genius that allowed especially lavish productions requiring ingenious special effects. He often thought that he would like nothing better than to be a theater manager. In truth, it was not so. Creating his great works of fiction was his real obsession. He might enjoy running a theater between novels but once his next group of characters or plot took possession of him, he would only want to write.

Now, pantomime fairy tales were especially popular in England theatres in Dickens’ time, particularly during Christmas season when the music, jokes, and staged festivities were indicative of the holiday mood. He particularly enjoyed the colorful backdrops, costumes, and special theatre effects, the last which he declared to be absolutely marvelous and certainly further evidence of man’s engineering genius. He was always amazed at how his friend Macready knew how to find the talent for creating such festive spectacles.

These were the days before pantomime was overtaken by burlesque; pantomime in those times was a literary or dramatic parody of a particularly jolly nature. Lots of slapstick, so to speak. Charles enjoyed not only the music and staging but also the slapstick that accompanied these shows. Harlequin and William Tell; or, The Genius of the Ribstone Pippin had much of the latter, though that Christmas it would be badly panned for using the same old tricks.

The play, as directed by a Mr. H. Younger, was based around a very annoying child who enjoys taunting his mother but also knows how to win her approval and forgiveness. William Tell, being played at the time by one a Mr. J.C. Smith, who also doubled as the harlequin decides is time to teach the boy how to use a bow and arrow. During the instruction, a careless use of the weapons finds one of Tell’s ears the target of an arrow and the instruction is immediately cancelled. Soon Tell finds himself in trouble with tax collectors and so starts a rebellion, wherein begins a series of raucous scenes which continue until the appearance of a Ribstone Pippin, after which time things are brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

At Drury Lane Theatre, cast and crew always treated Charles as one of them. After all, he had been on the stage himself, was a playwright at times, and a poet. He, in turn, liked their attention because he had a great deal of respect for actors and enjoyed their friendship. He always enjoyed watching the actors’ fine tune their performances and reaching into their emotional resources to find the feeling or mood to play a scene to the hilt.

No day could be more inspirational to Charles’ writing genius than the theater in late afternoon, much of the city at night, and intelligent conversation afterward with his most critically thinking and creative friends, of whom William was one. He once observed to Macready that the more successful actors were those who had an insight into the human condition and into the meaning of life, and such knowledge made them exceptional human beings.

Charles entered the theater just as rehearsal was beginning on the first scene. A company of journeyman imps, in aprons and caps of paper, entered the stage with the beating of hammers and rattling of chains providing background clamor. They have been employed to construct chains and other building materials.

Let folks about liberty prate, they begin, for freedom we don’t care a rap; we’re the only true friends of the state, with our rap-a-tap, rap-a-tap, tap, tap, tap.

Then lads forge away, they continue, by night and by day, chains and fetters of all sorts and sizes; be they short, be they long, we warrant ’em strong, and amazingly cheap at the prices. Rap-a-tap, tap!

Of course, he enjoyed the harlequin—that clown in a brightly colored suit of diamond patterns who brought the comedic element of the play to uproarious levels. Throughout the early scenes in this theatrical statement against slavery, Imps fell through the stage or tumbled across it, drums beat and muskets fired, and sailors climbed up and down ropes on a ship. Such characters did not belong in any of Dickens’ novels, but the comedic element did, and he wanted to learn it. If indeed he brought out a Christmas tale, he must find