The Twelve Days of Christmas

By Sherry Fowler Chancellor

Just imagine…Imagine if the twelve days of Christmas weren't about Christmas at all.  What if the Partridge in a pear tree was actually a chef named Otto Partridge who found a pear orchard to pick some fresh pears for his restaurant? Imagine the two turtle doves as a pop duo? What if the eleven pipers piping were bakers on a baking challenge show? And what if the six geese a-laying were sassy birds full of advice for a young girl looking to earn money for a prom dress?

 

A mixture of stories sure to appeal to a variety of readers. Some are set in historical times, some are modern, some fantasy and some romantic. All of them fun and mostly light-hearted. Something for everyone. And none of them Christmas…except for the last one, which involves the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade… the traditional kick off for Christmas festivities

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fowl Enterprises
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223302490

Sherry Fowler Chancellor

    Sherry Fowler Chancellor is multi-published in both her real name as well as in romance as Jillian Chantal. She's a lawyer by day and writer, amateur photographer and history buff by night. Sherry lives on the beautiful gulf coast of Florida and loves her little slice of paradise. She lives with her spouse, one of their children and one very bossy cat.   Sherry loves to hear from readers. She can be found at her websitewww.sherryfowlerchancellor.com or  https://www.facebook.com/sherry.f.chancellor/ or https://twitter.com/JillianChantal

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Fowl Enterprises.

619 W. Chase Street

Pensacola, FL 32502

Copyright © 2023 by Sherry Fowler Chancellor

ISBN

Published in the United States of America

eBook Publish Date: October 2021

Editor: EAL Editing Services

Cover Artist: Sherry Chancellor

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

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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Dedication

This set of stories is dedicated to my long-term friend Lisa Gaylord Everett who helped make the high school years bearable. One of her FaceBook posts is the first line of the Eight Maids a Milking story. I was stuck for how to approach that day of the Twelve days of Christmas and her post of a real life experience with a cow was the perfect opening line. She graciously allowed me to steal it. Thanks, Lisa!

A Partridge in a Pear Tree

As he drove down the two lane, pot-holed country road, Otto Partridge slammed on the brakes of his old Ford work truck named Bruise because it was painted black and blue. Even though the blue was faded and less vibrant than when he first chose the colors, he still loved the old guy as if he was straight off the showroom floor.

Patting the dashboard, Otto said, Look there, old boy. A tree full of pears, ripe and ready to pick. He shook his head. Shame whoever owns it is letting them fall to the ground and rot. Let’s see if they’ll let me have a few.

He knew he had a suitable box stowed in the truck bed. As a chef who liked to cook with fresh fruits and vegetables in season, he was always alert to opportunities to score some goodies for the hotel where he served as executive chef. Poached pears, pear chutney, pear tarte Tatin, cobbler or even my famous braided raspberry and pear bread. It’s hard to choose which to do, but I have to get permission to pick them first.

Otto was sure people would think he was crazy talking to his truck, but since he’d lost his wife and child in an accident several years prior, he hadn’t found anyone to share his life and being silent all the time when he wasn’t at work had begun to wear on him. Better to chat with old Bruise than go to the insane asylum. If they even had those any longer.

He pulled into the dirt driveway of the old farmhouse and approached the door, dodging the chickens who seemed to be determined to trip him and make him fall on his face.

Before he could knock, an elderly lady, in a faded old house dress like his grandmother used to wear, stepped onto the porch. Hands on hips with the door open wide behind her, she glared at him. Whatever you’re selling, I either already have, don’t need, or just plain don’t want.

Actually, ma’am, I’m looking to buy—

Car’s not for sale. Yes, it’s an antique. Yes, I bought it new and yes, I know it’s a collectible. Still ain’t gonna sell it to you.

Otto hadn’t even noticed a car. Sorry. I’m not here to make an offer on your car.

Don’t be sorry then. Damn fool people always after my Shelby. I got no time for that.

An old Shelby would definitely attract some buyers, but Otto wasn’t interested. I was hoping to talk you into selling me some of your pears. Before she could open her mouth to say no, he added, I’ll pick them and also pick some for your use as well.

Bah. Ain’t got much use for pears myself. Never did figure out how to cook them to make them good.

I’m a chef. How about I throw in making you something delicious to sweeten the deal?

If your cooking is as good as your play on words, I might like something made with fresh pears. She actually laughed.

Otto initially thought she was a sour old thing, but he realized she might just be lonely and had put up barriers to fend people off who might feel sorry for her.

I assure you, I’ll make you love fresh pears. I’ll keep on cooking them for you until you ask for my recipes.

She hitched her thumb in the direction of a building to the side of the house. Ladder’s in the barn. Mind you put it back when you’re done.

How much for a bushel?

Lord, child, I’m not about to charge you for something that’ll rot if you don’t take them. Take all you want. She grinned slyly. The only charge is them baked goods you promised me.

Thank you. Thank you. I appreciate it.

You might give my Shelby a peek while you’re getting the ladder. She’s a pretty lady.

I’ll do that. Otto smiled. By the way, my name’s Otto Partridge.

Mine’s Miriam Bowman. He could barely understand her name as she was laughing so hard.

Puzzled, he frowned. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what funny about your name.

She bent over double, holding her stomach. When she could finally speak, she said, "Not my name. Just the thought that I’m fixing to have a partridge in my pear tree."

She waved her hand as she continued to giggle. Sorry. Sorry. That just struck my funny bone.

Otto laughed with her. It was kind of funny and he hadn’t even thought about that song. You’re right.’ He nodded. You are. Wonder what the guy who wrote the song would say."

Probably that we are both good at word play. Right? Mrs. Bowman had another fit of giggles. Or that you’re much bigger than the little bird he had in mind.

That is very true. Otto smiled.

Off you go, then. She pointed to the barn.

When Mrs. Bowman returned inside her home, Otto grabbed the crate from the back of his truck and headed to the barn to get the ladder. He peeked under the tarp at the Shelby. It was a gorgeous car. White with red interior, she had clearly kept it in immaculate shape. He was absolutely sure Mrs. Bowman got offers from people to buy it every time she took it out.

He laughed as he recalled her immediate thought he was either here to sell something or buy the car. I hope those aren’t the only people she sees every day. Sad, if so.

With the ladder under one arm and the crate held by two fingers of the other hand, Otto made his way to the tree.

As he settled the ladder against the trunk, he appreciated again her little joke. Here we go, a Partridge in a pear tree. Ready or not.

He climbed as far as he could toward the best looking of the fruit. Picking the ones that he thought were ripest but not overly ripe, he soon had quite a few. His jacket was filled with them, so he made his way down the ladder and put them in the crate.

It’s a shame to leave as many as are left that need picking. Maybe Mrs. Bowman has another box I can put some in.

Otto went back up the ladder. He chose more and took them to the ground to pack up when he had another container.

Up the ladder again, he spied a cluster of pears with the sun beaming down in an arc as if pointing those particular beauties out for him. He stretched to reach the closest one. The ladder teetered a little. Catching himself and steadying the ladder, he breathed in a deep breath to settle himself and, on his tip-toes to give himself more length, he reached again for the perfect pear.

Unstable on his toes in his slick-soled shoes, his left foot slipped, and the ladder crashed to the ground.

Otto dangled there for a moment, trying to get a grip on the branch he held. He tried to steady himself on the branch below him, but his foot slipped again.

His arm felt like it was going to pop out of the socket as he gripped the tree. Glancing down, he panicked a bit to see how far up he was. It was going to hurt if he fell.

But there was nothing he could do. His hand couldn’t hold his whole body much longer.

Resigned to possibly breaking his hip, back or getting a concussion, Otto took a deep breath before he let go, hoping if he rolled with the fall that he would somehow be all right.

He must have blacked out because when he woke up, Otto didn’t remember the actual fall.

You’re going to be fine. Just stay still, darling.

Otto shook—or tried to shake—his head. It hurt too much. I’m dreaming, right? Or did I die when I fell?

You’re not dead. I’m here to look after you until help arrives.

"But you’re deceased. You’re my wife. Am I hallucinating?"

No, darling. I’m here. I’m usually not, but your guardian angel said I should come.

Wait. What? My guardian angel. He touched his forehead. Man, I really knocked my head, didn’t I?

I assure you. You’re still alive. His wife smiled at him. Besides, if you were dead, your head wouldn’t be hurting.

Good point but what’s this about guardian angels and permission to be here?

There’s a hierarchy here on this side.

Why am I not surprised? He heaved a sigh. Was there nowhere, even in heaven, that everyone was equal?

Not a hierarchy like that. What I mean is there are angels who work as guardians. They choose that path many years after death and they are assigned to no one they knew in life. Others who have passed on are not allowed to interact with those still on earth. But I was given special permission for this occasion.

What occasion? Me cracking my skull is an occasion?

No, silly. The day you meet your second wife.

Horrified, Otto stared at his wife. I’ve only met one woman today and she’s old enough to be my mother or young grandmother. I know I’m hallucinating or have brain damage if I’m going to remarry at all and to a septuagenarian at that.

This is exactly why your guardian angel allowed me to come down.

To talk me into marrying Mrs. Bowman? I won’t do it.

No. Of course not. I see you still leap to conclusions as you always did.

Leopards don’t change.

You’re going to meet a young lady who has been chosen to share your life. She held up her hand. Listen. I don’t have much time.

Otto nodded. Much as he’d like to have her stay, he knew this was just an impossible dream. He had to be in a coma or something. No way was his wife really talking to him.

She laid a finger on his lips. He knew it only because he saw it. He couldn’t feel a thing.

Several other women have been put in your path for you to fall in love with. It’s become clear to your guardian angel that you won’t move on from my and Charles’ deaths. When your angel knew you’d fall today, it was seen as a chance for me to come and give you permission as well as encourage you to go forward and live again.

But I still miss you both. Desperately.

I know, my darling, but you must go on.

She smiled and looked him in the eye. I’m not supposed to say this, but what can they do to me if I do?

Don’t get yourself in trouble. Otto knew how ludicrous he sounded. After all, she was right. She was already dead. What punishment could heaven impose?

I want you to remarry. Charles wants it too. There are three souls in a line where we are who are waiting to be born. To you.

This was big. Really? I don’t know. I can’t bear to lose another wife and child.

Shh. You won’t. All will be well. Remember. And then she disappeared.

One second she was there, then she wasn’t.

Oh my gosh. Are you okay? a female voice called out.

Otto turned his head to see who was talking.

A blonde-haired woman dashed over and knelt beside him. I’m Becca. My grandmother sent me to check on you since it’s been an hour, and your truck is still in her driveway with no pears loaded at all. Becca’s gaze raked over his body. Looks like you lost your balance. I should call an ambulance. I can tell you haven’t moved based on where you are and where the ladder landed. You might have broken your back or something.

He made a move to sit up, but she pushed him back down.

Nope. You’ll stay right there. Grandmother would be upset if you were seriously injured and got up. She pulled out a cell phone. I’ll call now.

I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’m going to gather my pears and go home. He smiled. And take a handful of aspirin.

"See? You are hurt."

Just my head. I must have hit it hard. I was knocked out for a bit, I think. Had a weird dream anyway, so I must’ve been, right?

She ignored him and talked into the phone, ordering that ambulance. When she disconnected, she said, "If you did black out, you definitely need to be checked out."

I could drive myself, you know.

Nope. Not on my watch.

What about my truck and my pears?

I’ll babysit them both. They’ll be fine. I promise.

How will I get back here to get them when they release me? He tried again to sit up.

She pushed on his shoulder to keep him down. I can call your wife to pick you up.

I’m widowed. His words reminded him of his wife’s words about moving on with someone he would meet today. He eyed Becca a bit closer. She seemed nice enough and clearly had compassion for a wounded person even if she insisted on calling that ambulance against his will.

I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anyone else I can call to bring you back here once you’re checked out?

Otto shook his head which made him feel like it would split his skull. No. I’ll grab an Uber or cab since you’re insisting I take this crazy ride to the hospital.

Where’s your phone?

In my pocket, but I told you, I don’t have anyone to call unless I call someone from work and I’d rather them not know. Too much hassle and they’d constantly be asking if I’m okay.

She waggled her fingers. Hand me the phone. I’ll put in my number, and you can call me when you’re done. I’ll come get you.

You don’t need to do that.

My grandmother will insist. Just make it easy on yourself and agree. Besides, I think your wife would want me to see that you’re taken care of.

Her words freaked him out a bit. My wife would want? Why would you say that?

Becca shrugged. I don’t know. It’s a feeling I have. No particular reason. It just came into my head.

The ambulance arrived and she stopped talking while they attended to him.

Despite his protestations, they insisted he ride to the emergency room to be assessed.

Becca gave him her number to call when he was done. Otto knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to inconvenience her. He’d find his own way back.

To his surprise, the process didn’t take long, and he was released within a couple of hours with a diagnosis of a concussion and sprained ankle.

Grateful for no broken bones, he walked into the lobby with his phone in hand to call the Uber.

As soon as he cleared the doorway, he saw Becca standing near the exit. She waved.

He walked to her. Why?

Because I knew you wouldn’t call. Grandmother told me to come as well. She said you needed us to watch you as you probably have a concussion and shouldn’t be alone.

She was right. The doctor recommended someone stay with him and he’d been making his head hurt worse by trying to figure out who to impose upon. I don’t want to inconvenience either of you.

Look, you came to our place, you were hurt. Let us do this. Okay? Just let it happen, Otto. Let it happen.

He laughed. You talk to me exactly like my wife used to.

Then you should know how to mind.

They walked to the parking lot where Otto was surprised to find the Shelby. She let you drive her car?

Of course. I learned in it. It’s part of my life. Older than me and close to the same age as my mom.

The car was immaculate inside. As soon as she turned the key and put the Shelby in gear, he said, How did my truck and pears hold up while you babysat them?

Both are fine. Grandmother is looking at recipes to see what she wants for her payment.

She doesn’t waste any time, does she?

You’ll really like her once you get to know her.

I already do. She’s what my own grandmother used to call feisty.

That’s what she is for sure. I moved in with her about a year ago when I got a job here. She sometimes wears me out with all her energy.

I can see that. Otto leaned back and enjoyed the ride. He closed his eyes and dozed a little.

Wake up. We’re here. Becca shook his arm.

Mrs. Bowman stood on her porch again. Come on in, my partridge who couldn’t stay in the pear tree. We have to keep you awake for most of the night, don’t we?

That’s what the doctor ordered, Otto said.

In the house, Mrs. Bowman led him to a sofa she’d made into a makeshift bed. We’ll let you doze there off and on after supper. I’ve made chicken-fried steak, greens, and some sautéed okra. Becca said you probably wouldn’t want it fried too so I was being accommodating.

Otto didn’t have the energy to laugh but she was right. Too much fried food. He hadn’t had Chicken-fried steak in years. That all sounds good.

"Not fancy like I’m sure