Read Online Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes by Robert Devereaux - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Devereaux
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head, cheeks unblemished, eyes awash with dew, smiled down at them. The angel’s hair was lustrous and shiny, its long auburn locks breaking over the shoulders just ahead of the prayerful arcs described by his wing tops.
“Behold,” said he. Wendy thrilled from head to toe. “I bring tidings of great joy from God himself, from the Son, and from the Divine Mother.”
Behind her, Santa held Wendy’s shoulders in a soft grip, no fear or protection in the gesture, but rather the need to touch her as they shared this visitation.
“To what do we...?” He faltered in awe.
“You were afraid that God would not answer your prayer. Your fears were unfounded. Probe not for reasons. But accept this my annunciation.”
The angel opened his hands and gazed upon Wendy with boundless love. “Wendy,” he said, “type of the perfect child, and Santa Claus, thou ever-replenished fount of generosity, on behalf of heaven itself, I grant you this boon: On the night before Thanksgiving, you will be granted leave to visit three households, to persuade those you visit to choose a different path, and thereby save the boy you would save. You know which households I mean?”
Wendy nodded, naming those whose cumulative barbs would drive Jamie Stratton to suicide.
“We wish to visit their bedrooms,” said Santa.
“It is God’s will,” said the angel, gesturing beyond them with a finger and the nod of his head. “Behind your workshop, where the hills slope into the forest, stand replicas of those bedrooms. However your helpers bedeck them, upon your appearing to the mortals, the same shall be overlaid upon the real bedroom as magic time envelops it. At the conclusion of each visit, sleep will claim those you have visited. For that one night shall they share a dreamscape, where their dreams will reinforce your message.”
Wendy thrilled as the angel charged them. There was no guarantee that the mortals would mend their ways. But if persuasion could turn just one of them, even a little, Jamie’s life might be spared.
“Thus has God decreed. Go forth. Bend your best efforts to the task.” Turning to leave, he spoke a parting word. “If you need further aid in this effort, simply speak aloud the name Michael, that’s me, and I will appear at once.”
He raised his hands in benediction. “Blessed be, o favored ones of the Lord. Thou art beloved of him and of all the world.”
Then his eyes lifted heavenward and he melded with the air. The scent of ozone and a lingering glow upon the landscape were the only hints he had been there.
“God be praised,” said Santa.
“Is it possible?” asked Wendy. “Can we do it?” But her words held no doubt. “We can,” she said, “and we will, to the limits of our power.”
Santa hugged her, his huge palms confident along her back. Then he took her hands and gazed at her with fervor. “God has touched us yet again, this time through the archangel. Our way was lost, but now is found. Wendy, sweetheart, I love you so. If Jamie is to be saved, it shall be through our agency. To the limits of our power indeed! Let’s go tell everyone at once. We have much planning to do before Thanksgiving.”
“We do.” Wendy had not seen her stepfather so excited in ages. Her spirits too were buoyed with expectation. “I have a few ideas.”
Santa laughed. “Let’s hear them,” he said, as they struck out homeward at a brisk pace.
* * *
As Michael rose toward heaven, he opened himself to doubt. Had he bumbled or in any way overstepped? He didn’t think so.
He knew from prior annunciations that angelic visits invariably raised hope in the visitants. As they were meant to do. Such hope guaranteed nothing. But in the worthiest, the knowledge that divinity supported a righteous course of action sparked resolve, determination, and the will to confront and defeat adversity.
How sweet Wendy had been, how grand and generous Santa, standing there in the snow, attuned to one another and enthralled
“Behold,” said he. Wendy thrilled from head to toe. “I bring tidings of great joy from God himself, from the Son, and from the Divine Mother.”
Behind her, Santa held Wendy’s shoulders in a soft grip, no fear or protection in the gesture, but rather the need to touch her as they shared this visitation.
“To what do we...?” He faltered in awe.
“You were afraid that God would not answer your prayer. Your fears were unfounded. Probe not for reasons. But accept this my annunciation.”
The angel opened his hands and gazed upon Wendy with boundless love. “Wendy,” he said, “type of the perfect child, and Santa Claus, thou ever-replenished fount of generosity, on behalf of heaven itself, I grant you this boon: On the night before Thanksgiving, you will be granted leave to visit three households, to persuade those you visit to choose a different path, and thereby save the boy you would save. You know which households I mean?”
Wendy nodded, naming those whose cumulative barbs would drive Jamie Stratton to suicide.
“We wish to visit their bedrooms,” said Santa.
“It is God’s will,” said the angel, gesturing beyond them with a finger and the nod of his head. “Behind your workshop, where the hills slope into the forest, stand replicas of those bedrooms. However your helpers bedeck them, upon your appearing to the mortals, the same shall be overlaid upon the real bedroom as magic time envelops it. At the conclusion of each visit, sleep will claim those you have visited. For that one night shall they share a dreamscape, where their dreams will reinforce your message.”
Wendy thrilled as the angel charged them. There was no guarantee that the mortals would mend their ways. But if persuasion could turn just one of them, even a little, Jamie’s life might be spared.
“Thus has God decreed. Go forth. Bend your best efforts to the task.” Turning to leave, he spoke a parting word. “If you need further aid in this effort, simply speak aloud the name Michael, that’s me, and I will appear at once.”
He raised his hands in benediction. “Blessed be, o favored ones of the Lord. Thou art beloved of him and of all the world.”
Then his eyes lifted heavenward and he melded with the air. The scent of ozone and a lingering glow upon the landscape were the only hints he had been there.
“God be praised,” said Santa.
“Is it possible?” asked Wendy. “Can we do it?” But her words held no doubt. “We can,” she said, “and we will, to the limits of our power.”
Santa hugged her, his huge palms confident along her back. Then he took her hands and gazed at her with fervor. “God has touched us yet again, this time through the archangel. Our way was lost, but now is found. Wendy, sweetheart, I love you so. If Jamie is to be saved, it shall be through our agency. To the limits of our power indeed! Let’s go tell everyone at once. We have much planning to do before Thanksgiving.”
“We do.” Wendy had not seen her stepfather so excited in ages. Her spirits too were buoyed with expectation. “I have a few ideas.”
Santa laughed. “Let’s hear them,” he said, as they struck out homeward at a brisk pace.
* * *
As Michael rose toward heaven, he opened himself to doubt. Had he bumbled or in any way overstepped? He didn’t think so.
He knew from prior annunciations that angelic visits invariably raised hope in the visitants. As they were meant to do. Such hope guaranteed nothing. But in the worthiest, the knowledge that divinity supported a righteous course of action sparked resolve, determination, and the will to confront and defeat adversity.
How sweet Wendy had been, how grand and generous Santa, standing there in the snow, attuned to one another and enthralled
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