A foster son for the season

Rita had been busy the whole week sprucing up the house. She had got it colour-washed a soft pastel shade, got a man to clean up the garden and had gone to the extent of even buying two beautiful flowering pots to add lustre to the home. There was a kind of perky air about her; she seemed to have suddenly been invigorated.

The Christmas tree which had been hidden away for a couple of years was taken out. She had bought all kinds of baubles to decorate it and even a new carpet. She was in a flutter of expectation, for this year her soldier son was coming home for Christmas. A widow for a considerable time now, her sole interest was her son. But for the past couple of years or so it had been a lonely Christmas with her only son, her only child in fact, away on the battle field. Of course, serving the country in this manner was his one ambition in life.

Rita had prayed incessantly for his safety and had felt acutely with the thousands of bereft mothers she had heard of. Christmas of yesteryears had been lonely ones for her and no matter who visited her the void would not be filled. But this year it would be different. He had written to her that he would be there on Christmas Eve. Hallelujahs hissed between her lips; she caught herself softly singing snatches of carols.

Today the day before Christmas her joy was replete. She looked around the home. Perfect for a soldier's welcome. She had wanted him so much to herself that she had not informed anyone about his coming in fear that the little time she had with him would be snatched away by others. A pardonable selfishness, one would think.

All was ready save the crib. This alone she had not touched. That was her son's speciality and this time she wanted it done by him in the old customary manner. It would be so like old times. She had washed the figures, patted them dry and left them ready on a table. He with his deft fingers would turn the crib into a replica of that scene long ago in Bethlehem.

Rita was ever so restless. She wondered when he would arrive. All the dishes he liked the most were ready for him. The poor starving child. He would relish what she had prepared with so much love. Seated by the window, she waited anxiously, eagerly for his coming. She even left the gates wide open – a token of welcome.

A jeep turned into the driveway. Sobs of emotion choked her as she rushed up to embrace her son, thankful to God for having spared him this long. A couple of army officers got off, went to the rear and helped out a very young figure with a plaster cast on his arm and a hidden stump of a leg, who hobbled up.

But surely there was some mistake. This was not her son. Her heart missed a couple of beats. Anguish overcame her at this mystery. She could hardly bear her own weight and quickly collapsed on a chair. The officers handed her a letter. It was from her son indeed.

I'm sorry to disappoint you but we are in the thick of battle and I have to let you down again. Instead I'm sending you my pal on the war front, a very young orphaned chap who sustained injuries, was hospitalized and will be going to Rana Viru Sevana on the 26th. I would like you to think of him as me and let him have a home and a mother for just this Christmas day and let it be a memorable one for my pal. Today it's his turn, tomorrow it may be mine. I know your magnanimous heart will open out to him.

Wiping away the tears of disappointment that had gathered at the corners of her eyes she arose and went forward with alacrity to welcome a foster child for the season.