A Partridge for Your Thoughts

Christmas was her favorite time of year. The soft delicate flakes of white swirling in crisp air. The promise of icicles and skating. The smell of cookies and pies wafting from underneath the freshly rising rolls of the bakeries. Peppermint in the shape of canes brought a smile to her delicate thirteen year old lips; a whisper of tastes to develop with the passing of holidays. Winter was her season, in the season of her arrival.

Noel was the third daughter of her father. Born on the eve of her favorite holiday, she relished in the senses of scent and taste. Her pale skin, and crystal grey eyes sparkled, framed with jet black curls as porcelain dolls are crafted. She was a living, breathing doll. Her gifts were many, but most of all kindness and joy, which she spread like warm butter over the town. Even the sullenest of passers by would smile at the sight of her.

On this day she seemed to glide in and out of the shops, and over the cobbled streets; a dancing winter fairy. Her laced boots barely touched the ground. Today she was granted the freedom of shopping on her own. Today she turned thirteen and the world changed. Today would be the best day of her life.

Noel always knew what to give. She began her list of what to make and buy for her sisters and four brothers, her parents and her Great Aunt Olive, on Boxing Day. In this way she could relive the joy of the past day and have a whole year to perfect her presents. She crafted the wrapping and ribbons - the tag and its sentiments - every little detail - based upon the recipient. There was no more thoughtful gift giver than Noel.

Her family teased that she must be a descendant of Saint Nicholas. And to this day, even at thirteen, she believed she was. she believed in him.

Her arms ladened with packages and bags, she had one last stop, an errand for Ma’ma. This year she was to purchase the cranberry pie for the eve’s dessert. Before she did so, she wanted a peek at the garden on the edge of the main street. There, in the barren winter beds, the lady of the house was apt to hang a single ornament on a tree. If a child could get through or over the gate, the prize was theres to keep. Noel was much to big for this game now, but as a child she had always looked and never tried - wanting only one who truly needed the gift to get it. Still she loved to see what the new ornament was. As she rounded the corner she glided into a tall lean man, in a black coat and cap.

“Oh pardon me sir! I did not —“

“Not to worry miss — didn’t see ya’ neither!”

Noel continued past him toward the garden gate. She did not notice the man turn, she was too set on seeing the ornament and getting home with the pie. She stopped in front of the gate, searching the tree branches for a glimpse at the tiny treasure. Alas, someone had found it already.

“A boy just found it.” The man’s voice surprised her. “He bounded off with it just before we collided.”

“Oh I missed it.” She sighed. Of all the years.

“It was a snowflake.” He offered.

“Oh. I wish I had seen it.”

“Look up and ye’ll see plenty of ‘em.” The man tried to make her smile, but Noel just looked longingly through the fence at the barren tree.

“Wanted too collect it did Ya’?”

“Oh no!” Noel sighed “I just wanted to see it.”

The man regarded her solemnly. Noel did not move.

“A partridge for your thoughts” the man smiled. And then Noel laughed her silvery, contagious melodic laugh.

“That’s not the saying.” She giggled.

“It’s not?” The man teased with a glint in his eye.

“No. I’m quite sure it is: ‘A penny for your thoughts’.”

“I suppose,” the man leaned in, “but who wouldn’t prefer a partridge over a penny.”

“Hmm.” Noel thought and considered. “I suppose you are right. A partridge can feed a deal more mouths than a penny.”

“Yes.” He leaned in a bit closer and whispered: “But to catch one, ya’ got to ‘ave a pear tree.”

Noel giggled and pointed.

“That’s one inside the gate, but I’m afraid it’s a bit cold to grow pears in December.”

The man leaned over the gate talking in the view of the tree.

“Well I suppose you’re right —“ he turned to Noel, “little winter sprite!” Then he leaned in closely to her and whispered, but what if Saint Nick were to bring ya’ a magic one?”

“A tree? Or a pear?” Noel asked.

“A pear. Like this one.” And the man pulled from his sleeve a sparkling, golden pear.

“How? Are you…?”

“Saint Nick? Ah no not me! I don’t look like ‘im do I? No belly. No beard.”

“No red suit,” she added.

“No. He gave it to me and told me to find you.” He pointed at her and made a gallant sweeping gesture with his hand.

“Me? He told you to give it to me?”

“Right he did.”

“You know Saint Nicholas?”

“That I do. Been friends since we were just lads.”

“You must be very — oh!” Noel stopped herself. She did not want to be rude.

“Old?!” the man cackled now, showing his grey and many missing teeth. For the first time in her life, Noel felt uneasy. The man noticed and quickly closed his mouth.

“Don’t let the teeth scare ya’ luv. I’m in need of a dentist that’s all. We old ones, we lose our teeth.”

“I’m sorry” Noel blushed.

“Don’t worry yer pretty little head about it. Them’s what they is.” He held up the pear and thought out loud. “Now there’s just the problem of how to hang this pear on the tree to catch a partridge.”

“It has a string” Noel pointed.

“Why indeed it does” He agreed. “But someone’s got to get into the garden and up on that tree to hang it. Too bad that boy run off.”

“I can do it.” Noel offered. She did not believe the pear would bring a partridge, but the thought of hanging her own precious gift on the tree to share with someone more needy than her brought joy to her heart.

“Well I suppose you could.” The man looked at Noel’s packages on the ground around her feet. “Ya’ trust me to watch yer things while you hang the pear.”

“Of course.” Noel smiled. “A friend of Saint Nicholas would never steal Christmas presents, and certainly not from a birthday girl!”

“Yes birthday girl. He told me it was your birthday - this ‘ere pear’s a birthday gift! He said - oh my mind’s not what it used to be - forgot yer name I did.”

“Noel.”

“Uh. How silly of me to forget. Noel. Born on Christmas Eve. practically a woman she is ‘e said.”

“He did?”

“Swear on his sleigh. He said, Noel’s fourteen —“

“Thirteen” she corrected flattered at the added year.

“Right - told ya my mind’s slippin’ a bit - Thirteen ‘e said. She would rather give than receive, so we need to give ‘er a special gift to share.”

“I cannot wait to see who collects it though. I have to collect the cranberry pie for Ma’ma.”

“Well I’ll ‘elp you. You hang the pear. You go collect the pie. I’ll wait here with yer parcels and watch to see if someone finds the pear. When ya return, I’ll help ya carry it all home, I will.”

“Why thank you sir friend of Saint Nick.” Noel, ever trusting climbed the gate. She climbed the tree. She hung the shiny pear for all of the children to see. She hung the pear that hung the partridge on Christmas Eve.

It glistened in the cold air spinning, sparkling. A dance of silver and gold and snowflakes above her head, she smiled and laughed. Then slipped on the icy bark, fell to the ground. Red all around her, like a broken cranberry pie. A bird cried out and the wind drew its last breath.

A partridge for your thoughts.