New Story: Another Time: The Gift

Veronica Jane Williams
xkhoi@iafrica.com

This story forms the third in my Reincarnation Series, under the
title: Another Time.

1. Another Time: The Roman Centurion
2. Another Time: The Ivy Leaf
3. Another Time: The Gift

DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Paramount, the story, with
its acknowledgement, mine, hopefully.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:  This story was based on the short story by the
American author, O. Henry under the original title: 
"The gift of The Magi". I have graciously borrowed from the author,
and this story, is my tribute to O. Henry. I hope it will encourage
you to go out and read "The Journey of the Magi"

RATING: R

ANOTHER TIME: THE GIFT

Ellena sat at the dining room table of their home, counting her
savings. There was very little money that could be spared. She and
her husband Thomas McKenzie Parker rented their home in an apartment
building in New York.

The year was 1920, a year after the Great War had ended, the one
the papers said was the war to end all wars. It was the day before
Christmas and she wanted so badly to buy her husband Tom, for that
was what she called him for short, a gift for Christmas. Which
was why she sat at the table, looking at the one dollar and eighty
seven cents, and realised she was very, very far from getting the
most beautiful gift for him that she wanted to buy.

"Ellena, darling, we have each other, and that is what counts
the most," Tom would always say to her. Work was very scarce, and
he didn't earn much to begin with, although he said things were
always looking up.

"But Tom," she would rejoin, "I really would like to give you
something. If I can afford it, she said silently.

"I love you, Ellena," he would say. "Life gives many gifts, you know.
It gave me you."

Then she would smile at him, her eyes dark with love, and her face
shiny with love for him. How she loved Thomas, she thought. Then
she looked at her meagre savings. And sighed.

Ellena was a very beautiful young woman, full of Latin fire.
"I get that from my mother's side," she always told him. "She
was Spanish."

"Then I want to make love to my Latin lover," he would answer,
before picking her up, high into his arms, march then off to
their bedroom and make love all night to her.

"My little wild vixen," he whispered into her hair, her hands
going over his skin where she would bite him, claw at him, drag
deep furrows into his back. He didn't mind, it seemed.

"I love you too much to complain," he said, as he looked at the
red marks on his body. "You put them there in love, sweetheart."
Then he would run his fingers through Ellena's glorious mane
of hair that would always be fanned out all over them.

"Don't cut you hair, my love," he said one night after making
passionate love to her, and twirling some long, long strands
through his fingers.

During the day her hair was always tied up in a bun, in a very
demure fashion, as was her dresses she wore. Long, with long
sleeves, now that it was winter. The neck high and frilly,
with a tiny little miniature brooch just under her neck.

She thought of Tom and the gift she wanted to buy for him. His
grandfather had given him a beautiful watch, but it didn't have
its fob chain. Then Tom would always be looking for his watch,
because he couldn't leave it in his fob pocket of his trousers.
She so much wanted to buy him a fob chain. A beautiful gold chain
he could attach to his watch. Sighing, she rose from the table,
and went to stand in front of the mirror, wanting to talk to
herself. That was when she thought of something.

Quickly she grabbed her thick coat hanging in the hall, for it was
very cold outside, and about to snow, it seemed to her. She walked
a few streets, until she reached the hairdresser shop. She walked
into the shop and spoke to the lady:

"I believe you buy real hair," she said to the lady.

"Yes, we certainly do. There is a great demand these days for
wigs made of real hair."

Ellena loosened her hair from the bun it was rolled in, taking
out the pins one by one. Her magnificent hair fell behind her, the
strands reaching below her waist. The hairdresser gasped when she
saw Ellena's long hair.

"How much for my hair?" Ellena asked.

"I can give you twenty dollars," my dear, the woman said, very
eager to have such beautiful hair to make a wig from.

"Please, I'd like to sell my hair. Cut it off," she requested.

Half an hour later Ellena left the hairdressers, feeling naked
without her hair, now cut very short, in her neck almost. When she
reached home, she looked into the hall mirror once again, and started
crying. But then she remembered Tom's gift, now nestling in a long,
black box, and thought it was worth it. They had walked past those
jeweler shops a while ago, and he admired that beautiful chain so.
Now she can give it to him.

But Ellena worried the rest of that day how Tom would react. He
was still at work, even though it was Christmas Eve. He would
only come home at six o'clock. She tried some curling tongs to
curl her hair into a style. Her heart was thumping with worry.
She looked into the mirror a hundred times, convincing herself
she looked like a chorus girl in a line-up or something. She touched
her hair, or what was left of it. And cried again. She loved
Tom with her whole heart and knew he would be disappointed.
So she went into their bedroom and took a scarf from her
drawer and covered her hair. But Tom, she sighed, was always
so sharp. With his piercing blue eyes, he was going to notice.

She paced the bedroom floor, then walked to the dining room and
paced there, her heart racing. She jumped when she heard their
front door open and Tom walked in. He threw down his case, and hugged
her passionately, kissing her on her mouth.

"I missed you today," he whispered. But his hand had touched the
scarf, which slid of her head.

He looked at her. And looked and looked. His eyes very very blue.
His blonde hair shining in the light of the lamp.

"I love you, Tom. Please don't be angry. Please," she pleaded with
his as he stared in shock at her hair. The little that was left of
it. She saw a sheen come into his eyes, as if he wanted to cry.

She hugged him then, and said:

"I wanted so much to buy you a beautiful gift for Christmas Tom.
So much."

"Shhh...it's alright, sweetheart. I understand." He looked at her,
his eyes going over her hair. "I love you, Ellena." Then he kissed
her.

He understood, she realised, as she rushed into their bedroom to
fetch his gift. She held the oblong box to him, and he opened
it. He stared long, long moments at it. Then he looked at her
again, his eyes swimming with tears now.

"I wanted to give you this present, Ellena," Tom said as he put his
hand in his pocket and removed a packet. He gave it to her.
When she opened it, she saw two of the most beautiful tortoiseshell
combs she had ever seen, the same pair she had admired so the day
she and Tom went window shopping. Then she burst into tears.
Because her beautiful hair was gone, and he bought her these two
combs she admired so.

He embraced her fiercely, loving her more for the great sacrifice
she made to buy him such a beautiful gift. He kissed her, then he
looked deeply into her eyes and said:

"My darling, let's put away our gifts," he said. "I love you,
Ellena, and that is most important. That we have each other. I
want you to remember that always, sweetheart. Christmas is a time
for giving, and in the way you gave, you gave the most precious
gift, my love. I shall love you always."

He kissed her lovingly, and held her close to him. Then he held
her away from him.

"Our gifts we can't use, darling Ellena, because, my love, I sold
my watch to buy you those combs.


THE END


Some feedback, please!!!

Veronica Jane Williams
xkhoi@iafrica.com