{"id":9972,"date":"2022-11-20T19:44:10","date_gmt":"2022-11-21T01:44:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=9972"},"modified":"2023-12-21T12:56:45","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T18:56:45","slug":"delwyns-feather-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/delwyns-feather-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Delwyn\u2019s Feather"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Christmas Short Story<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Patricia Crisafulli<\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Note: The story first appeared on FaithHopeandFiction.com in 2014, and has been featured in an anthology of winners of the Silver Pen Award.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Snow sugared the lawn and whitened the balsam wreathes at the twin bay windows flanking the front door painted red as holly berries. Lacy flakes drifted to earth, one tethering itself to the sleeve of the old black wool jacket Delwyn Edward Morgan wore. At eighty-seven he still got around, but not without assistance. Delwyn stopped mid-shuffle up the walk and leaned on his son, Duane, as he raised his snowflake-frosted sleeve toward his squinting eyes. The icy particle was a perfect paradox, such delicacy and yet an unearthly ability to slick highways, close schools and factories, and even seize entire cities into states of emergency. Up close, though, it was a thing of beauty. \u201cAngel feathers,\u201d Delwyn said, tipping his face upward to a benediction of frosty wet kisses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cCareful, Pops,\u201d said Duane, who for the first time was bringing only himself and his father to Christmas at his sister Meredith\u2019s house. His wife\u2014ex-wife<\/em>, officially, sometime in the new year\u2014was in her new condo where their two college-age children had spent the night. Reaching over, he brushed the snowflakes from Delwyn\u2019s arms and shoulders, breaking them into faint traces of crystal powder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOf course, real feathers are strong,\u201d added Delwyn, who had always been Del to his friends and his late wife, Martha, dead five years already, and Pops to his three children and eight grandchildren. \u201cNeeds a strong shaft, but hollow so it\u2019s not too heavy. Amazing how they work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cFirst step, Pops.\u201d Duane held his father\u2019s folded walker, careful not to get snow on the bottom of it, or else he\u2019d face the wrath of Meredith for trailing slush on her hardwood floors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith with her built-in double ovens and gourmet six-burner stove hosted Christmas Day dinner every year. No matter that Sharon, the youngest sister, wanted a turn, or that Duane and Beth, when they were still married, might have tried hosting it one year, Meredith claimed her hostess rights by birth order and the status of her neighborhood. To keep the peace they came and inevitably fell into their childhood roles: Meredith, the bossy one; Duane, middle child and only son who tried not to take sides; and Sharon, the youngest, who teased, joked, and fawned her way into the center of attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pops took the second step, his hand digging into Duane\u2019s forearm. Feeling his father\u2019s weight, a surprising solidness, Duane thought how good it was that Pops was still with them. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cLast step,\u201d Duane added. Delwyn grunted with the effort of raising his foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith opened the front door and pushed up the sleeves of the red velour top she wore with black slacks. The apron she wore read, \u201cKiss the Cook,\u201d and was covered with mistletoe and lipstick prints. \u201cMerry Christmas, Pops,\u201d Meredith said loudly. She looked behind Duane toward his car. \u201cWhere are the kids?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cComing later,\u201d Duane said. \u201cOr so I\u2019m told.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith pursed her lips. \u201cI set for fourteen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Duane could picture it from years past: antique table extended with three leaves and laden with the good china and a full set of silver. \u201cHey, I don\u2019t have much of a say here, okay? They\u2019re 20 and 21, remember? Last night they were with Beth.\u201d He\u2019d spent Christmas Eve eating dry turkey and gummy dressing at Oakwood Acres with Pops, who\u2019d recently moved to the fourth floor, the transition to full-time nursing care. \u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThey\u2019ll come,\u201d Delwyn announced. \u201cIt\u2019s Christmas. Kids always come.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sharon came to the door, her blond hair shoulder length and held back by a headband. \u201cHi, Pops.\u201d Sharon kissed Delwyn on the cheek, wrinkling her nose at the feel of whisker stubble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cHello there\u201d\u2014Delwyn paused just a second or two to catch his breath\u2014\u201cSharon. Happy Holidays!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cMerry Christmas,\u201d Meredith said. \u201cThat\u2019s what we say in this house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sharon elbowed Duane. \u201cHe didn\u2019t know me for a second. Did you notice that? He didn\u2019t say my name right away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Duane unzipped his leather jacket and reached for the closet door. \u201cBut he did say it.\u201d If Sharon could see the others at Oakwood, she\u2019d realize their father\u2019s pause was nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith reached for the walker that Duane still carried, unfurled the legs, and positioned it in front of Delwyn. \u201cWhere\u2019s that nice North Face coat we got you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThis one\u2019s still good.\u201d Delwyn paused, coat half-unbuttoned, and stared agape at a six-foot artificial Norwegian blue spruce decorated with metallic gold ribbon and red ornaments in the foyer. \u201cThat where you put the tree?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cNo, Pops. This is just a decoration. The real one is in the living room, like always.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Delwyn took a step in his orthopedic shoes that fastened with Velcro and pushed his walker across the floor. He\u2019d once stood six-foot-two, taller than Duane and his two sons-in-law, Charles and Bill, but time had shrunk him and age curved him earthward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cPops!\u201d Charles, a beefy sixty-one, had a double chin that wiggled over the lip of his turtleneck. \u201cYou\u2019re looking well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Delwyn looked up into Charles\u2019 face. \u201cYou, too. Peace on earth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cAnd goodwill to men\u2014or should I say, to people.\u201d Charles reached to greet Duane with a handshake. Duane surrendered the bottle of wine he\u2019d brought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Charles gave the label a glance. \u201cI already have a nice Bordeaux open\u2014a perfect sixty-degrees. This feels a little cold.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Duane positioned Delwyn in an armchair between the kitchen and the living room so he could see everyone, and followed Charles to the bar set up by the fireplace where a stack of logs flamed and crackled. Along the wall, stood seven-and-a-half feet of Frasier fir studded with hand-blown glass ornaments and roped with garland. At the top perched an angel, a foot-and-a-half tall from the edge of her brocade robe to the top of blond curls molded around her resin head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThey don\u2019t look like that,\u201d Delwyn said, pointing a gnarled finger toward top of the tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sharon scurried over. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, Pops?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cAngels don\u2019t look like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sharon looked at the figurine that was better dressed than all the rest of them. \u201cWell, Meredith goes for that kind of thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith passed by with a tray of crab puffs. \u201cYou\u2019ll like these, Pops. But they\u2019re still a little warm.\u201d She handed him one with two napkins. \u201cIt\u2019s so good to be together as a family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWill be when Duane\u2019s kids get here,\u201d Delwyn added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meredith glanced at the clock. Dinner was in forty minutes; her perfectly timed roast beef waited for no one. She brought the crab puffs into the family room, where Charles and Duane discussed sports with Bill, Sharon\u2019s husband. The kids\u2014three each for Meredith and Sharon\u2014were in the family room in the basement, occupied by a pool table, big screen TV, and smartphones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alone in the hive of separate activities, Delwyn decided he\u2019d tell them today. Not just the story; they\u2019d heard it every year since they were children. Today he\u2019d tell them the part he\u2019d kept back from everyone except his beloved Martha, who believed him without proof the first time he told her. Over the years, if he told it once, he told it three hundred times, never wanting to let go of an event so improbable, so miraculous, even he wondered at times if it had really happened. And he told it to remember his twin brother, Edwin, who contracted polio that year and died. Fraternal, light to his dark, Edwin had the same pale blue-gray eyes that sometimes startled people when the brothers turned in the same direction simultaneously. For seventy-seven years since Edwin\u2019s death, Delwyn looked at the world for two: keeping watch, making mental notes, and collecting stories that he\u2019d tell Edwin when he saw him again one day. Most likely, one day soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The doorbell rang. Meredith called for Charles, who made his way to the foyer. Duane\u2019s son and daughter arrived bearing a loaf of cranberry bread baked by Beth, their mother. Delwyn saw the tears brim in his son\u2019s eyes that his children had come. They were all together, the old man smiled, just as he knew they would be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The dining room table, as big as a river barge, carried more food than Delwyn had seen in a week. Charles toted a tureen to the head of the table where Meredith laded bowls of celery soup for everyone, even those who looked askance at the green creamy liquid. The salad had cranberries and walnuts in it, and a bit of gorgonzola cheese, which Duane\u2019s daughter, Lily, picked out with her fingers, declaring she\u2019d become a vegan. That newfound fervor kept the roast beef off her plate, along with the green beans almondine with herbed butter sauce and the cheddar cheese-and-spinach pie Meredith had made from scratch that morning. \u201cVegetarian,\u201d Meredith protested. \u201cThat\u2019s what your dad said. Vegetarians just don\u2019t eat meat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI\u2019m a vegan,\u201d Lily stressed the word. \u201cNo dairy at all. No milk, butter, cheese, or eggs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sharon passed Lily the sweet potato and cranberry casserole she\u2019d brought; there was triumph in her gentle smile. \u201cJust apple juice in here\u2014not even sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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            Delwyn watched the plates fill, knowing that conversation would quiet once their mouths were full. He smoothed the napkin in his lap, gathering his thoughts. \u201cIt was real, you know,\u201d he began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIs there any more of that spinach stuff?\u201d Robert, one of the grandsons, asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI have another pie in the kitchen. I\u2019ll slice it and bring it out.\u201d Meredith got up from the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThe angel, I mean. You thought it was a story, mostly \u2019cause that\u2019s how I told it. But it was real\u2014he was real.\u201d Delwyn felt his lips move and knew he was speaking the words aloud and not just to himself. But lately he wasn\u2019t so good on the volume control, mumbling when he thought he was talking in a normal voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Sharon leaned over. \u201cDo you need something, Pops?  More beef?\u201d Before he could answer, she raised her eyes to her husband, Bill, across the table, who was reaching to pass the breadbasket and about to knock over his glass of wine. \u201cBe careful! Red wine stains!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cSince we\u2019re all here,\u201d Delwyn said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            One of the granddaughters squealed at a text that landed on her phone, announcing that some friend had just gotten engaged, which set Sharon and Meredith into a round of queries about who and how old she was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Delwyn remembered sitting at the head of the table, wielding the carving knife and saying grace. Martha was at his right and the children around the table, along with Martha\u2019s parents and her brother, Jake, and his wife, Edna. He was the last of that generation, and he had a story to tell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI need to say something.\u201d Delwyn gripped the table to stand, but his legs betrayed him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Duane saw the movement across the table, his father\u2019s fingertips curling around the edge. \u201cPops, what do you need?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cSilence!\u201d Delwyn\u2019s voice grew louder and sharper than it had been in years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Meredith grabbed Charles\u2019 arm. \u201cSomething\u2019s wrong with Pops!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNothing\u2019s wrong with him,\u201d Duane snapped. \u201cHe just wants to say something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI need you all to listen,\u201d Delwyn began. \u201cThe story\u2014you know it as well as I do. The angel and the feather. But it\u2019s true, I tell you. It\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cOf course it is.\u201d Sharon tilted her head to the side. \u201cWe love that story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Delwyn raised one hand, fingers gnarled and the joints swelled to walnuts. Flesh and bone hit the linen cloth and the maple tabletop underneath. \u201cI was afraid that you wouldn\u2019t believe me\u2014that it was just a trick. So I never showed you, thinking I\u2019d do it when you got older. But the older you got, the less you listened, because you\u2019d heard it too many times.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He was tired now, almost exhausted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell the story after dinner,\u201d Bill suggested. \u201cGet your second wind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Delwyn pressed on, fumbling at first through the back story of Edwin being diagnosed with polio, and their mother who paced the floor at night and prayed, and their father who had white hair by the time they buried the boy in the spring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI used to share the big bedroom in the front of the house with Edwin. But when he got sick they put me in a back room where my mother used to sew.\u201d Delwyn closed his eyes and saw that tiny room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cPops, maybe you shouldn\u2019t tired yourself,\u201d Meredith said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cDo you need some fresh water?  I\u2019ll get you a glass.\u201d Sharon slid her chair back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cLet him be!\u201d Duane snapped. \u201cHe\u2019s got water.\u201d He turned to Delwyn. \u201cGo on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            And so he told the story of how, in that small bedroom, he\u2019d seen a light come at him from a distance, growing larger as it neared, until it burst over him like a wave and filled the room. \u201cI tried to say something, but my mouth just gaped like this.\u201d Delwyn mimicked the gasp of a fish on the shore. \u201cThen he was standing there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Delwyn described the figure wearing a long gown that seemed to be made of light yet draped like fabric. The face looked human, except it was as smooth and unlined as a china doll\u2019s. The arm that swept in his direction had a firm bicep and strength in the shoulder, which made Delwyn think of the apparition as male. Then the angel spoke: \u201cYour brother is going to heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Sitting upright in his narrow bed, he’d found his voice. \u201cHow will I know he\u2019ll be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cBecause Edwin will be with God,\u201d the angel said in a voice that blanketed him with comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The light dimmed, like an oil lamp turned down. \u201cWait!\u201d young Delwyn called. \u201cHow do I know this is real\u2014that I didn\u2019t dream this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The angel form rematerialized just enough, like a figure stepping into a lighted doorway. An arm stretched toward him, and a hand that had five fingers of light where there should be flesh, deposited something on the foot of his bed. There, where his toes stretched to the footboard, was a feather.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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            The story over, Delwyn paused, his voice spent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cSuch a beautiful story, Pops,\u201d Meredith smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Sharon dabbed her eyes with her napkin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Slowly, conversation picked up around the table: after-Christmas plans, sales on the twenty-sixth, and parties for New Year\u2019s Eve. Delwyn, no longer ten years old, but eighty-seven, reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat that sagged at his shoulders like it belonged to a bigger man and felt for his handkerchief. He pressed it to his lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou okay?\u201d Duane asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Then Delwyn reached into the jacket pocket on the other side and laid something on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Duane pushed back his chair and rose slowly.                                                                      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Meredith stopped her story about a friend\u2019s cruise to Alaska. \u201cPops?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Sharon\u2019s hand clutched her throat and her fingers worked the chain of her gold necklace like a rosary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Picking up the feather by the tip of its white shaft, Delwyn rotated it slowly. The gold that tipped each filament caught the light and shone brightly. \u201cIt\u2019s true\u2014it\u2019s all true,\u201d he said. The feather, as perfect then as it was three-quarters of a century ago, rested on the Christmas table.<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"Delwyns<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Christmas Short Story by Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2212,18],"tags":[6,38],"class_list":["post-9972","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-holiday-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","tag-christmas","tag-holidays"],"yoast_head":"\nDelwyn\u2019s Feather | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/delwyns-feather-2\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta 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