The Story Review: Edition One

 Hullo and Happy February! I come before you today beyond excited to present the first of (hopefully) many Story Review posts! Today’s featured work is a short story by Cecilia Miller entitled Gaudete. (Thanks so much for the entry, Cecilia!) It’s a Christmas story, but it’s never too late to celebrate God’s goodness in our lives, which is what this story does! Without further ado, I’ll paste the story here, and then we can get on with the review. 

—<>—

Gaudete

—<>—

     “How many times do I have to tell you to put away your school things?” shouted Carys. Her twin nine-year-olds scuttled to the other side of the room, picked up their bags, and disappeared into the next room, shutting the door behind them.

     Carys set down her mug sharply onto the side. Coffee slopped over the edge of the cup and pooled on the side. Carys didn’t notice. She picked up the mug again and swallowed some of the coffee, trailed her white blouse sleeve into the spill and left a spreading brown stain on her blouse.

     She stared around her. This house had so much potential to look beautiful! They had moved in six months ago – just herself, Lilian, and Isabel. She had tried so hard to arrange everything neatly and buy nice new things, but she was just so tired after work each day. And the girls never helped her. 

     She picked up her phone and absently looked at it, sipping her coffee. So many Christmas advertisements! She needed to go Christmas shopping with the girls before Christmas, but she couldn’t face it. Their first Christmas with just the three of them – it would remind her too much of last year, before everything went wrong. 

     “Mum – I’m hungry,” came a whine from Lilian, sticking her head round the door. Carys groaned and got up, going to the fridge and rummaging around in it. She pulled out the remains of last night’s takeaway and threw it into the oven, shutting the door. 

     She got out plates and forks while her daughters sat down at the other end of the table. 

     “So, how was your day?” she asked breezily, her back to them as she ladled reheated curry onto their plates. The two answered her quietly, and the conversation carried on as normal until they had eaten and Carys said, “Time for bed.” Then the two girls sidled up to her and looked at her beseechingly. 

     “Yes?” she said. “What is it?”

     “It’s Saturday tomorrow,” said Lilian.

     “Yes.”

     “Can we go Christmas shopping tomorrow?”

     Carys stared at her. Tomorrow had been her chance to do the washing and cleaning, to tidy up the house, and have some time to herself while her daughters were out at their sports clubs. She had planned a long, hot bath and then maybe a walk into town to a café…

     She couldn’t refuse them. Not after what happened a few months ago.

     “All right, darling,” she heard herself saying. “But what about sports?”

     “We can go on Sunday instead.”

     “Yes, all right,” although that would mean less time to herself and no café. 

     The girls seemed pleased, anyway, thought Carys as she washed up later. But she hated Christmas shopping – or, at least, she would have liked it if she had not had to look after two little girls as well as make the purchases.

***

     The next day was rainy and cold. When the rain turned to sleet, Carys put her foot down. They couldn’t go out in weather like this. 

     She braved two hours of crying and whining from the girls, which only subsided when she switched the television on. She went and shut herself in her room. She lay down on the bed and cried. 

     What had happened? What had gone wrong? They had been so happy before. She had thought that moving here – new area, new house – would have cleared things up a bit. But no. Everything was just as bad as it had been before. Everything was terrible. She could see no way out of it. Just going in circles. Until the girls left home. And they weren’t happy. 

     “What am I doing wrong? I give them so much, and I’m not too indulgent. At least, I’m not always too indulgent. I can’t help what happens when I’m so tired after work each day. I thought this new job would be better. It’s nearer home, but I can’t leave it now. I need the money. I wish there had been another way to solve our problems. It seemed the best way out at the time. It just hasn’t – it has to work! It has to work!”

     She got through another week of early, dark, cold mornings, dragging herself and the girls out of bed, driving the girls along the cold, icy roads to school, coming home and snatching some food and a strong coffee before she left for work. The housework slipped – she tracked mud over the kitchen floor on the Tuesday, but it stayed there for the rest of the week. Evenings were dismal and dreary, belabouring the girls into doing their homework, making them eat, normally buying a takeaway because she was too tired to cook. This wasn’t working.

     Friday night was the worst. Lilian decided she wouldn’t do her homework, and it took two hours of cajoling from Carys to get her to even look at it. Meanwhile, Isabel had finished hers and went off to watch television. Carys came in half an hour later to find her watching something completely inappropriate for a nine-year-old. 

     She switched it off. Cue a screaming tantrum from Isabel. 

     They had something neither of the girls liked for dinner. Cue a screaming tantrum from both of them while Carys desperately cooked eggs and bacon for them – they couldn’t object to that, surely! 

     It seemed they could.

     Carys completely lost control. She shouted at them, throwing the bacon on the floor. If they were going to be so picky, they could eat dry bread! 

     There was a ring at the doorbell. It was the next-door neighbour.

     “Is everything okay?” he asked. “It sounded quite heated.”

    “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” mumbled Carys, closing the door. But the man wouldn’t go away.  

     “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

     “Yes! Thank you. My girls are being difficult.”

     “Well, don’t be too hard on them. They do need a structured home.”

     “I don’t think that it’s your position to criticise me,” snapped Carys. She slammed the door hard and marched back to the kitchen.

***

     The next day was wet, and they couldn’t go to the market. But Sunday was sunny, and so they had to go shopping. There was a big Christmas market near them, and Carys almost felt happy again as she heard the brass band playing carols and saw the tempting stalls with their Christmas displays. 

     But what should she buy for the girls? 

     She had no time to buy anything, for both of them pulled her this way and that, asking what they should buy – should they get this book? A snow globe! Look, Mummy, a doll! Look at that lovely doll! Listen to this, Mummy, it plays different tunes when you press this button! Crying from Lilian because she couldn’t afford it. Isabel showed her a toy fairy on a spring that bounced when you pulled it down and let it go. Carys gave in weakly and bought it for her. Crying from Lilian, only stopped when Carys bought her a bun from the next stall. Weeping from Isabel when her new toy fell apart.

     Carys bought them each a doll from a soft toy stall. They couldn’t possibly break those! She then dragged the two girls home. None of them had enjoyed the afternoon at all.

     That night, as they were eating, they heard a knock on the door. Carys marched over to it and wrenched it open. It was probably that neighbour again.

     It was not. It was a tall man with a long, flowing black beard, which curled and waved magnificently down his breast. He wore a long, flowing red silk cloak, a short, red, velvet tunic, brown trousers, and long brown boots. He wore a red turban twisted over his flowing black hair and held a shining wooden box in one hand. 

     As Carys opened the door, he bowed low.

     “Well met, madam,” he said, in a deep, rich, booming voice. “I am going to find the Child born to be King.”

     Carys stared at him. Had a madman turned up on her doorstep? 

     “I have seen His Star in the East,” continued the man, and Carys began to listen more attentively. Hadn’t she heard something like this before?

     “Will you come with us to find the Child?” finished the man. Carys simply stared at him.

     Lilian and Isabel poked their heads round the door. The man laughed softly, his deep brown eyes crinkling up round the corners.

     “Bring your children with you, too. But come! We have three days to find Him. You need no gifts. I have brought mine – gold, for a king.” He opened his box and tipped it forward to the light. A shimmer of gold coins and a clink of gold chains.

     “Who – are you? What do you mean by ‘us’?” stammered Carys. But suddenly, she shook her head.

     “I don’t know who you are,” she said crisply, “but you’re wasting my time. I have a lot to do today. Goodbye.” She shut the door.

     Her daughters stared at her. 

     “Who was that, Mummy?” asked Isabel, finally.

     “Someone playing a practical joke,” snapped Carys. “Now, go upstairs and get ready for bed.”

***

     Another day of Christmas preparations. Decorations up, biscuits made, Christmas pudding bought. Another dinner where all three were tired, cross, and sad. Carys couldn’t wait to go into her room and cry and cry.

     Another knock at the door. 

     If it was that madman…

     It was not. It was a tall, proudly erect young man, with black skin, flashing black eyes, a short black beard, and black hair. He wore a green cloak, flung back over his shoulders to show the glimmering silver lining, a short brown tunic of soft velvet, pointed black boots, and a silver turban with a small red point to it. He held a tall, silver jar in one hand. 

     He bowed low.

     “Well met, madam,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice. “I am going to find the Child born to be King.”

     “Not another one!” exclaimed Carys impatiently.

     “Wait, madam! We have seen his star in the East and have come to worship Him. Come with us to find Him.”

     “Who is this child?”

     “He is the Lord of all.”

     “Don’t tell me you believe in those old stories!” laughed Carys.

     “You believed in them once,” said the man, gently.

     “How do you know that?” whispered Carys, staring at him. 

      Isabel poked her head round the door. “Please let’s go! What’s in your box?” she demanded of the man. He smiled, and opened it, to show sweet-smelling incense.

     “Frankincense, for the Deity,” he said. “Will you not come with us, madam?” 

     “No.” snapped Carys. “Girls, go upstairs.”

     “A pity,” said the man. “But it is not too late. It is only two days, now.” 

     He bowed low again, and disappeared into the darkness. 

     Carys distinctly heard the clip of hoofbeats as she shut the door.

***

     Carys had never had such a hateful Christmas Eve. The girls did not enjoy themselves. They cried and said they had wanted to go with the man from last night. Carys packed them off to bed early and went to her room to wrap their presents and prepare their stockings.

     Another knock on the door.

     She knew what it would be before she answered it…

     An old – a very old man stood on the doorstep. He was small and bent, with gnarled hands and a long, thin white beard and long, thin white hair. He wore a heavy green robe patterned with silver: it looked heavy, too heavy for him. It was edged with white fur, as was his deep green, long cloak. He leaned on a thick wooden stick with one hand. With the other, he held a small, black marble box.

     He inclined his head.

     “Well met, madam,” he said, in a quiet, quavering voice. 

     Carys pitied him. It was such a cold night. 

     “Won’t you come in and warm yourself?” she asked softly.

     “I am going to find the Child born to be King,” his voice grew stronger. “There is not a moment to lose. Come with us.”

     “I can’t.”

     “Why not?”

     “You – you’re making it all up!”

     “Come with us.” He half-turned.

     “What’s in – what’s in your-,” stammered Carys. 

     “My box? Myrrh.” He opened it and showed her the fine black powder. “It shows the bitterness of death. I am too close to death not to know it. I have brought it to the Child.”

     “What a strange present.”

      “It is strangely fitting.” He smiled, bowed, and said, “Come with us. Time is short.”

     He disappeared into the night.

     Carys stood in the freezing wind, chilled and bewildered.

***

     How had he known? The second man? How had he known she had believed in it once?

     The question pounded in Carys’ brain as she stumbled down the cold, frozen road.

     The girls were at home. They would be safe there, asleep. 

     She had gone out to follow the men. She must catch up with them! She must catch up with them!

     They had gone down here. How did she know? A whiff of incense. A flash of gold.

     It was two o’clock in the morning. Five hours after the man had left; five hours to think. Alone.

     How had he known she had believed in it? 

     “Stories. Just stories.” She had tried to convince herself. 

     But she didn’t believe her own voice. 

     And here she was, running along a frozen and deserted road, lured on by a whiff of incense and a flash of gold ahead of her. 

     She began to come towards houses, shut up and dark. Expectant for the next day. 

     She saw, ahead, a door swing open. A flash of blinding light. Then darkness.

     She ran forward. It was a tall, dark, cold building. She fumbled with the doorknob with her frozen hands.

     She burst in through the door. Silence.

     It was cold and dark – yet, Someone was there.

     She seemed to hear a rustle of silk. A clink of gold. The smell of incense came forward to meet her. She heard an echo of a song dying away, as if the singer had finished just as she pushed open the door.

     “Gaudete! Gaudete! Christus est nautus!”

     Yet there was no one there.

     She looked ahead of her, and saw, piercing the gloom, a light gleaming from a little lamp at the front of the building. Then she remembered. She was in a church. 

     There was Someone here.

     It was Christmas night. She was not alone in the church. 

     She would never be alone.

     “Christus est nautus!” sang the song in her heart. “Yesterday, today, and forever.”

Review: 

Opening line: 2.5 out of 5

    “How many times do I have to tell you to put away your school things?” shouted Carys.

I have mixed feelings about this line. It drops the reader right in medias res, but I wouldn’t say it compels one to keep reading. The next line, though (Her twin nine-year-olds scuttled to the other side of the room, picked up their bags, and disappeared into the next room, shutting the door behind them) does an excellent job of placing you in the world of the story–and I especially love the use of the word scuttled :)

Strength of Characters: 3 out of 5

Carys is a relatable protagonist, if a little stereotyped–the overworked single mom struggling to make ends meet at Christmastime. Lilian and Isabel don’t have much depth, though that’s understandable, as they’re somewhat boisterous nine-year-olds who mainly serve to provide a foil to their mother. I did love the growth Carys underwent throughout the story, though, and the realisation she came to at the end. It was a wee bit rushed, so I would work on perhaps expanding her return to belief. 

Flow: 3 out of 5

The overall plotline flows well, but it is a bit chopped up in the middle, what with the scenes rapidly changing. Granted, it works, but it could be more liquid (if that makes sense). 

Last Line: 4 out of 5

    “Christus est nautus!” sang the song in her heart. “Yesterday, today, and forever.”

I love the last line. It’s beautiful, it’s poetic, it encapsulates the message of the entire story nearly perfectly. Well done, Cecilia!

Overall: 3 out of 5

It’s a well-written story, and I love the faith-centred message. I think it speaks to the author’s intentionality that, as I read it, I actually felt the things Carys was going through–mostly the stress of dealing with her overwhelming children, but also the hope she felt at the end. It’s also a curious choice to leave her conflict with her daughters unresolved, which may be purposeful, but it does feel a little open-ended. My main comment was that overall it just felt a little rushed. 

Thank you so much for your submission, Cecilia! And of course, if any of you have any short creative works to submit, please feel free to do so here!

What do you think? How would you rate this story?

soli Deo gloria,

Hannah