Poinsettias
December 7th, 1953
Margaret Houlihan trudged up the last flight of stairs to her apartment and paused for a moment to catch her breath before rummaging in her bag for the key and slipping wearily in. She had walked all the way home from the hospital to save the expense of catching a bus.
She was just sinking onto the couch when the phone rang. She got up again and went over and picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Margaret? It’s Hawkeye.’
‘Hawkeye, hi!’ Margaret sat on the floor, ready for a long chat.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Not bad at all, you?’
‘Fantastic. Absolutely peachy. Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a few days over Christmas? Some of the gang are coming, Colonel Potter, Charles, Father Mulcahy…’
‘Oh,’ Margaret frowned, ‘I don’t know, I have a lot of work to do at the hospital, I don’t know if I could get the time off.’
‘Come on, Margaret, it’s Christmas! Surely you could get a bit of time off?’
‘I just don’t know, Hawkeye. I promise I’ll try, but don’t hold your breath.’
He obviously heard the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, and asked: ‘Margaret? If you don’t want to come it’s ok, I understand…’
‘It’s not that, it’s just, I am rather busy at the moment and I have a lot to do over the holiday. I’m sure I’ll see you all another time.’
They exchanged small talk for a while longer, but Margaret could tell that Hawkeye was disappointed, that he thought she didn’t want to see him. He gave her the details anyway, in case she changed her mind, but he didn’t sound hopeful, and she didn’t give him a reason to.
She put the phone down and sighed deeply. How could she tell him that she barely had enough money to keep her head above water, let alone travel to Maine? She had made out to everybody that she was doing fine, and she would have been, except that her parents had been arguing again and her mother had started drinking again, and stealing too, and who else was going to manage her if not Margaret? Most of her pay went for bail now. She couldn’t bother her sister with it, not with the baby on the way.
She had been planning to make spaghetti for dinner, but suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more. She sat on the floor by the phone for a while, then went to bed.
December 12th
Margaret checked the mail box before starting up the flights of stairs to her apartment. There was an envelope, addressed in Father Mulcahy’s handwriting. She sat on the bottom stair to open it. It was a Christmas card, and a long letter. Father Mulcahy wrote often and always had lots of news. This time he told her about a new project he was working on with a school for the deaf, and expressed his regret that she wasn’t coming to Hawkeye’s for Christmas. He sent his best wishes and hoped she had a wonderful Christmas anyway.
Thirteen days until Christmas. Margaret still didn’t have anything planned. She wasn’t really needed at the hospital, she couldn’t afford to go anywhere, she didn’t feel like making an entire Christmas dinner just for herself. As far as she was concerned, Christmas would be just another day. Another empty, lonely day. She got up and started up the stairs.
December 19th
Another Christmas card in the mailbox, this one from Charles. He too wished that she could be with them all at Christmas, and sent her his best for the festive season. She put it with the little row of cards on her bookshelf, all saying basically the same thing. No card from Hawkeye yet. Was he still upset that she wasn’t coming? He hadn’t called since that evening when he had asked her about coming over for Christmas, which was unusual. She wanted to talk to him, but she hadn’t paid her phone bill yet and wasn’t allowed to make calls.
December 23rd
It was her last day at work until after Christmas. She couldn’t help getting into the Christmas spirit a little. There were carol singers on her ward, and families coming in to bring gifts to their loved ones. One of the other nurses had brought in some mince pies, and the orderlies were decorating everything with holly and Christmas garlands. Margaret smiled as she went though the charts.
‘Nurse Houlihan? Margaret?’
Margaret looked up. The girl who worked on the reception desk was approaching, with a big basket of flowers.
‘These were just delivered for you,’ she smiled.
Margaret returned the smile and took the basket. It was full of poinsettias. Margaret loved poinsettias, the deep red of the leaves always made her feel Christmassy, and reminded her of holidays when she was very small, before she had become unhappy, when she hadn’t worried about always moving from place to place.
She read the card.
Wish you were here.
Have a wonderful Christmas.
All my love,
Hawkeye.
She smiled. How could she have thought that Hawkeye wouldn’t send her anything? And now she would have something to decorate her apartment, make it look a little bit festive. Maybe she would even get some cake. Perhaps Hawkeye and the others would call her on Christmas morning! The world suddenly seemed a little bit brighter. She put the flowers on her desk and carried on with her work.
That evening, Margaret walked home from work with her poinsettias in her arms. She was pondering where to put them. On the table? On the windowsill? She hummed a little as she walked.
‘Excuse me!’
Margaret heard nothing, lost in thought.
‘Hey! Excuse me! You, with the poinsettias?’
That got her attention. She looked up and saw a man in an expensive suit, running towards her.
‘You have to give me those poinsettias!’ he said, coming to a stop beside her.
‘Pardon?’
‘I mean, please! I’ll pay you for them!’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Margaret, ‘they’re not for sale.’
‘You haven’t heard how much I want to pay you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. These were a gift from a friend, and the only thing I have to remind me of him at Christmas. They aren’t for sale at any price.’
‘But I need them!’ he said.
Margaret had to stop herself from glaring at him. Here he was, a well-dressed, obviously well-off businessman, trying to make her give up Hawkeye’s poinsettias! What was wrong with him? Surely he could afford to buy his own flowers?
‘Not as much as I need them,’ she said, ‘goodbye.’
She turned and carried on walking, but he grabbed her arm.
‘I’m sorry!’ he said, ‘I didn’t explain myself very well. But I really do need those poinsettias. You see, this year I just started running my own business. It’s going ever so well. But, my wife, Georgie, I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting her. I’ve been so wrapped up in the business; we’ve barely spoken for months. I’m afraid she’ll leave me. And I need to make it up to her. I love her so much, really I do. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her. I’ve been such a fool!’
Margaret patted him on the back sympathetically. ‘But what does that have to do with me?’ she asked.
He explained, ‘she adores poinsettias. Every year since we were first engaged, I’ve brought her poinsettias on Christmas Eve. But I’ve been so busy this year, I didn’t realise it was coming up so fast! I’ve looked everywhere for poinsettias, but nobody has any left. What if she thinks I don’t love her any more? Especially considering how I’ve been towards her lately! I honestly think that this could mean the end of my marriage, if I don’t have those poinsettias!’
‘Well,’ Margaret considered for a moment, ‘how would it be if I gave you half of them? Could you find some nice paper to wrap them in, or a basket?’
‘I bet I could! Oh, that would be fantastic! Oh, how can I ever thank you?’
He watched as Margaret carefully took several flowers from the basket and arranged them into a bunch before giving them to him.
‘Oh, thank you, you’re an angel!’ he cried. He kissed her cheek and pressed a few crumpled notes into her hand before running off into the night.
Margaret smiled. This was shaping up to be a pretty nice Christmas after all. She did hope that he could make it up with his wife. And he had given her a few dollars too – she would have given him the flowers anyway, but that might be enough to buy something nice to eat on Christmas day. She looked down at the money in her hand.
And looked. Her eyes widened.
‘Hey!’ she called, ‘hey! Come back!’
But the young man was long gone. Margaret looked down at the notes. They weren’t dollar bills.
Her pulse hammered as she realised what this meant. She could afford to go to Maine for Christmas. But she would need to buy a ticket right away.
In a daze, Margaret rushed to the train station and bought a ticket to Crabapple Cove, on a train leaving in two hours. There was still plenty of money left over, so she splashed out on a taxi home, threw some clothes into a suitcase, ran to the store to get some food for the journey and headed back to the station.
December 24th
It was early evening and dark when Margaret got off the train in Crabapple Cove, still clutching her basket of poinsettias. She hauled her suitcase onto the platform and headed for the lone taxi on the rank. After her long journey to reach Crabapple Cove, it barely took five minutes to reach Hawkeye’s house. She stood on the doorstep for a moment, suddenly nervous.
She heard someone playing carols on the piano – that must be Father Mulcahy. And she heard Trapper’s exuberant voice, it sounded as if he was telling a joke. The laughing woman she guessed to be BJ’s wife, Peg.
Margaret took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door. It was several moments before she heard footsteps in the hall. The door opened and she looked into Hawkeye’s face.
He stared at her for a moment, then broke into a wide smile. She returned it joyfully and he stepped over the threshold to sweep her into his arms. She reached her own arms around him and hugged as tight as she could. For a little while they just stood, happy to be close to one another. Then they drew apart, still smiling.
‘Here, let me get that case, we’re letting the cold in,’ Hawkeye said, dragging her suitcase over the threshold and closing the door behind them.
‘Hawkeye,’ she began,’ I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming, I…’
He pressed a finger to her lips. ‘No need to explain,' he said, ‘everyone else is through here.’
He led her by the hand down the hallway and into the living room. ‘Look who made it!’ he cried.
Margaret looked around, a little overwhelmed. There was Colonel Potter, and Mrs Potter, Father Mulcahy at the piano, BJ and Peg, Radar, Trapper, Charles, and a man who was unmistakably Hawkeye’s father. The Colonel took her hat, BJ took her coat, Charles poured her a glass of wine, Hawkeye put the poinsettias on the table, there were kisses and hugs and greetings from everyone at once and in thirty seconds flat, she was sitting in the middle of the group, laughing and talking as if they had never been separated.
Margaret was tired from her long journey, so after a little while she was content just to sit in a corner and listen to the others talk. She had missed them all so much. It barely mattered what they were saying, it was enough to hear their voices, to let them wash over her. It was almost like coming home.
Hawkeye came to sit beside her and handed her a glass of wine.
‘You look sleepy,’ he said, ‘are you alright?’
‘I’m fine,’ she smiled, ‘I’m so glad to be here. You wouldn’t believe how glad I am!’
‘I might,’ he said.
He slipped his hand into hers and stroked her hair with affection. With a deep sigh, she laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
The clock struck midnight, and the room was suddenly filled with cries of: ‘Happy Christmas!’
‘Happy Christmas, Margaret,’ said Hawkeye.
‘Happy Christmas, Hawkeye,’ she mumbled, before falling asleep.
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