No I haven't forgotten 'Little Boy Lost' but I am working on a SN Secret Santa story that needs to get done first so I thought I would post this in the interim as a Hardy Boys Merry Christmas to everyone!
A Blanket for Baby
Four-year old Joey Hardy sat in the church pew between his mother and older brother. He didn't squirm with his usual restlessness as his bright blue eyes were firmly fixed on the scene being played out before him. It was the Christmas story.
He watched in rapt fascination as a girl, dressed in what looked like a nightdress, made her way to the front of the church, walking beside an older child who wore large floppy ears and a brown coat. "It's the donkey," he was told and barely nodded.
The girl tried to find somewhere to sleep but was turned down by two men whose countenance made the small boy scowl. He didn't like people being mean to each other. And then finally, the girl sat down on a cushion and was surrounded by other children, costumed as well. "Look a sheep…a cow…and ooh, that one is a horse!" he was told. Again he just nodded, too intent on the story to even register who was translating it for him.
And then finally a beautiful girl dressed in white proclaimed the birth of a king and everyone bowed down to a small, swaddled bundle.
"That's the baby Jesus!" An excited voice squeaked in his ear and this time the child realized it was his older brother, Frank, who was giving him this insight. At five, Joey was sure his brother knew everything!!
The child's lip started to tremble as the choir started to sing…
…What child is this, who, laid to rest,
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary…
Turning quickly, the little boy buried his face in his mother's lap and sobbed…
Why lies he in such mean estate
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The Cross be borne for me, for you;
Hail, hail, the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
"Joey," he heard his mother whisper as he felt her gentle fingers running through his soft, blond curly hair, "what's the matter, baby?"
So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come, peasant, king, to own him.
the King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone him.
Raise, raise the song on high,
The Virgin sing her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary…
He couldn't explain it but as the choir finished, he raised his face and scrubbed at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. His mother stroked his cheek gently but never pressed him to explain. After another moment, she nudged him to stand and said softly, "Come on boys, it's time to go."
Feeling his brother take his hand, the little boy was grateful that Frank didn't question him either but gently tugged, pulling him into the aisle and holding tight against the press of other parishioners anxious to get home this Christmas Eve.
And then his father's hand on his shoulder gently guided the two small boys through the mass of people and out the front door.
The night was cold and Joey could see his breath as they walked across the front of the church and towards the parking lot. A fresh layer of snow crunched beneath his boots. The small boy turned and stopped – his eyes scarce believing what they saw. He heard his father chuckle, "Yes son. It is a manger." The investigator crouched down behind his boys, one hand on each shoulder as he bade them, "Watch, see what happens."
Joey held his breath as he saw the same girl place the infant king in a simple cradle, bow to him and then leave. Concerned, the child glanced over his shoulder at his father. "She's leaving the baby!" he accused.
"It's okay, Joey," Fenton Hardy assured his son, "the baby Jesus will be perfectly safe here. Now come on before you catch a cold!" Straightening up, he once again prodded his sons to move.
The blond boy did, but not before casting another concerned glance at the manger….
…
Private investigator Sam Radley sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas lights on the festively decorated tree. He sighed and hid his downheartedness when he heard the front door open and saw his partner's family come into the house. He counted himself lucky that Fenton had invited him to stay with them this Christmas, but still found it really difficult to find his seasonal spirit this year. Recovering from an almost fatal gunshot wound, the man found his usual enthusiasm dampened by a melancholy he just could not shake. Maybe it was the pain killers….
"Uncle Sam!" Joey greeted as he raced towards the sandy-haired man, preparing to launch himself at their guest. He had known 'uncle' Sam all his life.
"Easy Joey!" Laura gently admonished, knowing the excited youngster would not remember that Sam was still recovering. Immediately the child stopped and looked rather forlornly towards his mother. "Say goodnight and then go upstairs to get ready for bed," Laura looked at Frank, "Both of you. I'll be up in a moment to tuck you in. Now come on or else Santa can't come!"
"Sorry," the little boy mumbled and then climbed up on the couch next to Sam, showing much more restraint. The investigator gingerly leaned over and gave the little boy a goodnight kiss as he tousled his hair.
"'Night Joey." He then did the same when a more subdued Frank carefully hugged him. "Night Frankie."
As the two children quickly climbed the stairs and hurried to their respective rooms, Sam turned to his partner and his partner's wife. "Was it a nice service?"
"Very much so," Fenton agreed as he hung up his jacket and took off his boots, "You should have come with us. It would have at least gotten you out of the house; All this moping around really doesn't look good on you at all."
Laura smiled compassionately at Sam and then followed her boys upstairs to help get them settled down.
"And don't look so surprised. I'm not an ace detective for nothing, you know," Fenton added as he sat down in the chair next to the couch and appraised his best friend. "You want to talk about it?"
"Nothing really to talk about," Sam sighed as he leaned back, "It's nothing I can place my finger on but I just don't feel very festive right now."
"Well I think – all things considered – that's probably not that surprising," the dark-haired sleuth mused as he assessed his friend carefully, "but I'm still really glad you're here, old buddy. You gave me a hell of a fright, I've got to admit."
Sam smiled wryly, "If it weren't for you—"
Fenton shrugged but never said anything as for the next few moments the two men sat in an amicable silence until all sounds upstairs had quieted down, and then he stood up.
"I'm going to finish tucking the boys in and then I'll probably call it an early night myself. I'll come down a little later to put out the gifts." He paused and looked at his friend. "Do you need a hand before I go?"
"I'm okay," the other man said with an acknowledging smile, "You go on." He paused, "And Merry Christmas, Fenton."
"Merry Christmas my friend," the other sleuth responded, and then headed towards the stairs. He turned halfway up. "If you need anything—" he left the rest of the offer unvoiced, knowing that his friend was not as healed as he liked to pretend, and Sam nodded and finished:
"I'll call." And then he watched as Fenton continued on upstairs. A slow smile spread across his face as he could hear the low murmurings of the two small children as their father finished tucking them in, and then the soft footsteps of Fenton and Laura moving towards their room.
It did his heart a world of good to be around them, but still he just couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that had taken residence in his heart.
The sleuth sat for a long time on the couch, watching the lights and thinking. He could not place his mind on what he was missing – but he knew it was something.
His eyes were just drifting closed when he heard the sound of soft footfalls on the stairs behind him.
…
Joey lay in his bed and closed his eyes. His mother and father had both been in, tucked him in his bed, said good-night, gave him his kisses and then left, but the child could not go to sleep yet, and it wasn't the excitement of the impending morning that was keeping him up…although it might have played some part in it. It was the cold.
The child himself was not cold. Ensconced beneath warm blankets and in flannel pajamas, the blond boy was pleasantly comfortable – snuggly warm – but around the house, he heard the increasing wind and knew that it was getting colder outside. Some people in the church had been talking about how low the temperature was going to drop tonight. And while he didn't really understand all they were saying, he did realize it was supposed to be one of the coldest nights in a long time. One old man had even joked that Santa better bundle up extra warm this year!
That comment had caused some concern to the child, which when voiced to Frank was quickly laid to rest when the older boy reminded him that Santa Claus lived in the North Pole where it was cold ALL year around, so HE would know exactly how to dress. But that little baby – the newborn king… Joey wasn't so sure about him.
He wasn't sure of his allure with the Christmas story child but for some reason, he felt a great sense of sadness towards the baby. And the memory of the babe being placed in that wooden cradle outside the church and then left – well, the little boy felt tears wobble in his eyes and he sniffled softly.
Everyone told him that this special child was the reason for Christmas, and yet on the holiest and most special of days – his birthday – the infant was left alone and forgotten.
Joey shivered in his cocoon of warmth. It didn't seem right, and as he heard the sound of a wind gust around the corner of the house, the little boy made up his mind.
Slowly pushing back the covers, he got out of bed and dressed as quietly as he could, choosing his warmest clothes; his young mind filled with a special mission. He paused briefly, looking towards the door that led to his brother's room. The little boy knew his brother wouldn't laugh at him or think he was being silly, but – at the same time – he knew Frank would not let him go. So taking great care not to make any noise, the child made sure he had everything and then crept downstairs.
…
Sam glanced towards the stairs and was surprised to see the youngest Hardy, fully dressed and dragging a – he did a double take – and dragging a blanket. Joey didn't seem to notice that he was being watched as he quietly moved across the living room, walking right between Sam and the Christmas tree.
"Joey?" The man's voice was only a whisper but it might as well have been a gunshot for the way the child reacted – just about jumping out of his skin!
"U-uncle S-Sam!" the blond boy stammered, his face white from the scare.
"C'mere," Sam said, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. He had no idea why Joey was up – a flicker of intuition telling him it had nothing to do with Santa – but he recognized the determined look of a young 'man' on a mission.
Hesitantly the child obeyed, cautiously slipping next to Sam and looking up at him with expressive blue eyes.
"What's this?" he asked gently, cupping the boy's cheek in his hand and smiling warmly into the young face, "this is not the face of a sleeping child on Christmas Eve."
The child blinked and bit his bottom lip but never said anything.
"Joey," Sam tried again, "why are you dressed?" The outfit was mismatched, obviously having been chosen for warmth and not fashion. His gaze flickered towards the blanket. "And what's with the blanket? Are you cold?"
"No," Joey started, "I'm not cold. But I—" He faltered and Sam's concern grew that something was bothering the little boy. He put an arm around the small child and drew him close, leaning them both back against the couch.
"What's wrong, kiddo?" he pressed softly before adding, "You know you can tell me anything—"
Joey pulled away from him and looked deeply into the man's eyes. Sam fought a sharp intake of breath as he saw the myriad of emotions on the boy's face.
"You won't laugh?" the child asked.
"Of course not," Sam told him.
"You won't think I'm silly?"
"Never!" the detective answered resolutely, even as he wondered what was so serious that it needed an interview.
Joey paused, and then asked one more thing, "And you won't try to stop me?"
'Uh-oh' Sam thought. That was one he couldn't agree to as easily, as he had no idea what was hidden behind that question. He looked at the fully dressed boy – dressed in warm clothes and carrying a blanket, and got a distinct impression of what his answer should be, so he just shrugged nonchalantly and responded, "No, but I might want to go…"
The boy's expression changed slightly and for a moment Sam was afraid he had said the wrong thing and the child was not going to confide in him, but then Joey sighed and looked down at the blanket for a moment. "I have something to do."
Sam waited, not saying anything and the child elaborated after a moment, "I want to give the baby my blanket."
'Baby?' thought the investigator, 'what baby?'
"The baby Jesus," Joey explained before Sam had to ask.
"The baby Jesus?" the man repeated softly to make sure he had not misheard and then went on after the child nodded his affirmation, "But why, Joey?"
"Because it's cold out," the little boy answered as if it was the most silly question he had ever been asked.
"Oh." What else could the investigator say? And then he frowned. "Wait a sec, you weren't trying to sneak out of the house to do this, were you?"
The guilty look that crossed Joey's face told him that was exactly what the boy had been intending!
"Whoa there, partner," Sam said, momentarily forgetting the interrogation of only moments ago, "this is no time of night for little boys to be going outside alone…for any reason—"
"But I have to!" The little boy sounded on the verge of tears. "It's his birthday, Uncle Sam! And he's going to be cold 'cause everyone's forgot 'bout him and they left him outside all by himself! And – and he's a king!!" He was no longer on the verge…
Sam reached out and gently wiped away the precious wetness on the young face. A burning spark ignited in his heart and slowly worked its way into his mind. He smiled softly and swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat at the child's innocent poignancy. 'It's his birthday and he's been forgotten…oh child, if only you knew…'
"Well then," Stifling a groan, the investigator carefully stood up and reached out with his hand, "we'd better get a move on. We can't have the King of men cold on his birthday, now can we?"
Instantly a small hand was pressed in his and the smile that lit up Joey's face served to melt away the frigidness that had hung over his mood. Slowly a hint of Christmas spirit wafted around him and Sam reached out to embrace it…in the form of a blanket; a blanket for a very special baby.
…
The night was very cold and chilled the lungs with each breath as the man and the boy walked from the car to the front of the church. Around them the wind tickled the snow, and it swirled low to the ground, nipping playfully at their boots as overhead a bright moon heralded the eve of Christmas.
The little boy let go of the man's hand and rushed towards the manger, the blanket carefully draped around his slim shoulders so it didn't drag on the ground; too precious to the bearer to be allowed to get cold or wet.
Sam walked a few steps behind and watched as the child carefully laid his powder blue blanket over the wooden babe, determined that no corner would be missed. It didn't seem to matter to Joey that this child was make-believe… 'But then again', the man decided, 'it is what it represents that is most important – not what it really is…'
His eyes misted as he watched the tenderness displayed by the four-year-old as he tried to tuck the blanket in, but mittened hands were awkward and baulked their normal dexterity.
"Can I help?" the detective asked and the child nodded. Moving towards the manager, the man picked up the King of mankind and as tenderly as he would have with a living child, wrapped him in the blanket. He glanced down at Joey to see if the little boy was satisfied, and when he received the nod, gently lowered the powder blue bundle back down into the cradle and then stared at the little carved face.
Joey slipped his hand into his and together they stood for a few precious moments. The whole scene was rather surreal but it was one that was forever stained on the windows of Sam's soul…. 'what child is this?' he wondered and felt a smile tug on the corners of his heart. He knew.
Finally he looked down at the little boy and asked, "Ready to go?" He kept his voice low as if afraid he would somehow wake the slumbering babe.
The child nodded but before he left, he moved back over to the cradle and whispered, "Sleep tight, little king. I won't ever forget you."
Tears burned Sam's eyes just as the softly spoken promise burned his soul. Turning to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder – his heart suddenly bursting with Christmas joy – and made his own promise. 'Neither will I…'
…
Laura Hardy opened her eyes and smiled. It was Christmas morning!
"Merry Christmas, Laura," the voice next to her whispered and she turned towards it.
"Merry Christmas, Fenton," she whispered back as he slipped his strong arms around her body and pulled her close for a few precious moments before they got up….
With great reluctance, the parents finally got up, grabbed their housecoat and robe and hurried down the hall to wake their sons; Fenton to Frank's room and Laura to Joey's.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," the detective greeted his son as the little boy's dark brown eyes, still blurry with sleep, opened and looked up at him. "And Merry Christmas!"
Instantly Frank's face lit up as he suddenly realized what day this was! It was Christmas!!
"Merry Christmas, Daddy!" the child cried, flinging himself at his father for a quick hug.
Fenton gave him a tight squeeze as he swung Frank around for a moment before sitting him back down on his bed. He grabbed a red robe from the end of the bed and held it open. "Come on – let's see what Santa left!"
Hurriedly the boy put on the robe and then raced into the hall, almost colliding with his mother who was just coming out of Joey's room. Laura's face was clouded with concern when she saw only Frank coming out of the bedroom in front of Fenton.
"Is Joey in there?" she asked, her eyes darting from her young son to her husband. "He's not in his own room." Clearly she had expected her missing boy to be in his brother's room, as was his habit at times.
"No," Fenton said, adding, "he's probably already downstairs."
Quickly the family hurried down the stairs and then stopped in surprise. Sam had obviously fallen asleep on the couch instead of going to the guest room he stayed so frequently in.
"Merry Christmas," the sandy-haired man said softly in greeting when he saw them and then added, "Ssshhh," as he indicated the missing Hardy, who was slumbering softly nestled against his chest. "Someone's still asleep."
Fenton moved towards his friend, concern on his face that this might be aggravating Sam's injury, but it was quickly dismissed as the man added, "He's quite the snuggler – and to tell you the truth, I didn't mind the company."
"Good," the other detective said as he towered over the couch and looked down fondly at his sleeping boy. Reaching, he gently roused his son, picking him up so that his waking wouldn't jar Sam, "Merry Christmas, Joey, Santa's been here!"
Instantly, blue eyes flew open as the child smiled into his father's face and to Fenton's surprise the little boy corrected him, "Not just Merry Christmas, Daddy! But happy birthday too!"
Putting Joey down so he could join his brother beneath the festively lighted Christmas tree, Fenton looked at his partner and mouthed the words, "happy birthday?"
Sam nodded and then pointed to the star that adorned the top of the large green tree. And as Laura slipped her arm around her husband's waist and smiled at their children, Fenton got it.
His face filled with pride as his stomach twisted in unexpected emotion. 'Yes, you are right, Joey,' he thought as he joined his wife and partner in watching the children open their gifts, 'happy birthday too –' and then he corrected, 'or rather. Happy birthday first.'
…
And in a manger, in the front of a church, a small wooden baby carefully swaddled in a powder blue blanket, smiled…
The End