Christmas Ghosts

She sat there by the fireside in her Grandmother's rocking chair. Her once lovely auburn hair was now as white as the snow outside her living room window. Across the room stood a small Canadian spruce tree decorated in antique ornaments that had been collected over a lifetime. On the tree hung several of her favorites.

There was the pink and white sugar plum with sparkling crystals, a small, cut glass bell that shimmered when the colored lights on the tree struck it's prisms, a china sleigh with a single horse and a tiny hand-beaded Christmas tree her great grandmother made from Austrian crystals of green and red. But, her favorite tree ornament was the single gold star atop the tree. It brought tears to her eyes whenever she attached it to the top of the tree.

The house seemed cold like a tomb, save for the warmth of the firelight. She stared into it with her grey eyes misting over. Oh, yes. She still made those sugar cookies...just in case. In case, she might hear a knock on her door and see the faces of her loved ones. But, she knew that was not to be.

Christmas was a time for joy, not sorrow. Staring into the amber and red flames in the fireplace, Christmas ghosts seemed to fly across her memory. So many years had passed since the first time she baked cookies for her children, decorated the tree with them and...she could almost see them stringing popcorn and stuffing whole cloves into oranges to put on the tree. She wiped a tear from her eyes.

"No, I won't cry. This is Christmas. It should be a time for happiness," she said to the silent room.

She sipped a cup of hot cider.

I always made hot cider for my husband and children for Christmas, she thought.

Then, we'd sing carols until the children were sleepy. My George and me...we would put out Santa's cookies and a glass of milk on the kitchen table. Then, we'd put the gifts beneath the tree and hang the stockings over the fireplace. When Christmas morning arrived, the sound of the children waking us was the first thing we heard. Oh my! But weren't they in a hurry to open their Christmas presents.

George and me...she thought.

It had been more than thirty years since George Emerick passed on. He was only fifty-seven when he was rushed to the hospital. He never came back home.

Lila Emerick could still see him standing beside the fireplace as he always had on Christmas Eve, proud of the bicycle he managed to put together in time to set it near the tree.

It was like their first Christmas. He still had a full head of chestnut hair then. He had stuffed a small box into the stocking she crocheted, one for him and one for her. He insisted she not open her gift until Christmas morning. It was a gold wedding ring. They never had the money to buy a gold ring when they married. Oh how she missed him.

Memories...What are they but reminders of how little time we have to be together? she thought.

When their two children, Ashton and Gabrielle, grew too old for toys, there were the latest do-dads teens always seem to want. George and Lila scoured stores, high and low, for weeks before Christmas to make sure their children had a few.

Crowded stores, packed shelves and display bins and a memory of togetherness as husband and wife to treasure for a lifetime.

Then, Ashton was called into the military. Lila had a bad feeling about her son going off to war in some faraway land. George pretended not to be worried. But, Lila knew he was more worried than she. After all, he had been in the thick of the Korean War and narrowly missed being captured as a POW.

Lila sipped her cider again. She could see Ashton Emerick standing by the Christmas tree as a young boy, so eager to tear into his presents and as a teen, being less than thrilled with "practical" gifts from his Mom like a knitted scarf to ward off winter's chill. Funny, but that was what he requested her to send him when he shipped out.

He was such a handsome young man. Tall and lanky with chestnut hair like his father and grey eyes like mine, she thought, as she imagined him standing beside the tree.

Tears rolled down her wrinkled face. Ashton never did make it back home from that awful war. He died a hero. Oh sure, George was proud as he could be when his son was given a full military funeral. Still, Lila knew deep inside the loss of their only son was taking its toll on her husband.

George and Lila's spirits soared when two years after their son's death, their daughter Gabrielle or, "Gabby" as they lovingly referred to her, married one of the young men who returned from his tour of duty in Viet Nam. Their new son-in-law, Terrence Connelly, was Ashton's childhood friend and a member of his troop. It was like having Ashton near again for George and Lila.

Lila smiled wanly as she remembered the happy couple standing near the tree admiring the antique ornaments.

"Mama, can I have one of these when we have our first child?" Gabby asked.

"Why certainly! Then, it will be a family heirloom, won't it?" Lila asked.

Lila was thrilled that finally she would have grandchildren to fill the house with the sounds of laughter and fun.

Gabby was true to her word. She had the first Emerick grandchild not one year later. And true to Lila's word, she handed one of the antique tree ornaments to her daughter as a Christmas gift. For a time, Gabby and Terrence lived nearby. Then, Terrence got a job in another state. Still, they and their son, Christian, made sure to visit "Grandma and Grandpa Emerick" every Christmas.

Lila imagined she saw little Christian, "Chris" as he was called, sitting atop a bright red tricycle George lovingly put together just days before. They all laughed when Chris, only four years old then, nearly rode his "trike" over the manger under the tree.

She thought she heard their laughter ringing in her ears.

She wiped away a tear when she recalled how George told little Chris how proud his Uncle Ashton would have been to have his very own nephew.

"Grampa? Who is Uncle Ashon" the little boy asked.

"Your Uncle Ashton was a very brave man who went off to war. He is your Mama's brother," George answered.

Gabby and Lila both wiped away tears at the mention of Ashton's name.

"Chris resembles Ashton, doesn't he, Gabby?" Lila asked.

"Yes...in more ways than appearance," Gabby had said then.

"What do you mean?" Lila asked.

"He asks nearly as many millions of questions as Ash used to do," Gabby said, with a laugh.

Lila stood up from her Grandmother rocking chair and gave the fire a poke with the long metal stoking rod. Then, she put another log on the fire. The bark on the log sent out crackles and a few hisses before it settled down. Lila sat down again.

When George passed on, Lila felt really alone for the first time in her life. Gabby and Terrence were living in New York City where they both found jobs. Chris was in sixth grade then. Gabby telephoned her mother at least twice a week and they stopped in on weekends. Lila looked forward to that.

One morning as Lila dusted the living room furniture, she heard a news break on the TV. She hurried to hear the rest of the news clip. Apparently, a plane had flown into one of the Twin Towers. Lila was in shock.

"It can't be true!" She said to the empty room.

She listened carefully. Then, the news came about a second plane hitting the other Tower. Tower Two was where Gabby and Terence both worked. Surely, they managed to escape.

The horror and awfulness of that moment was too much to bear. Lila felt an odd pain in her left arm, as it spread to her chest cavity. She called emergency services and was taken to St. Michael's Hospital. She needed surgery to repair a leaking valve in her heart. Much of the trauma of that horrible day and the fears for Gabby and Terence were hidden behind the anesthetic she'd been given.

When she awoke in the ICU, she knew the truth. Chris was standing at her bedside with tears in his eyes.

"Grandmother, Mom...Dad..." Chris broke down and sobbed.

Lila tried to soothe him; but, the gaping wound in her own heart made her feel imprisoned by surgical pain.

"Chris...you mean...they are...they were...?" she began.

"Yes."

'Those towers are still burning. There are thousands of people who are dead or missing. Thousands more are working to find survivors. It's been nearly four days and the entire place looks like a massive earthquake struck. Grandmother, I know this is not a good time to ask this of you. But, do you think it would be alright if I came to live with you?" Chris asked.

"Oh Chris. Why dear boy, of course you can! In fact, look there in my purse...it's in the little drawer next to this bed. Take the house key and ...How did you get here? By yourself?" Lila asked.

"No. Our neighbor managed to get me onto a water bus across the bay. Nothing is going in or out of New York City. Everyone is walking around like we are all zombies," Chris said.

"Our neighbor is downstairs in the waiting room. I'll tell him to call me a cab. Schools are closed indefinitely in the city. So, I don't have to worry about my classes for a while," Chris said.

Lila felt exhausted from the surgical procedure and the awful news Chris had relayed.

"I will be able to leave the hospital in two days. You go and stay put at my house. I'll have the hospital take me home by ambulance, if need be," Lila said.

The days after the horrible attack were as Chris had said. People all walking around in a daze. No one venturing out for fear of another attack. All broadcasting via TV or radio was blacked out.

Bridges and roads out of New York City were all under watchful eyes of the military and the skies were deadly silent. All airports were shut down. At night, people gathered together on street corners with candles lit to honor the dead.

Gabby and Terence would never even have a grave for Lila and Chris to visit. Lila tried not to think about the details of their death. It made her feel as if she was dishonoring them. Chris seemed as edgy as she felt. He jumped at the sound of a car backfiring or any other sharp noises. He made himself useful around the house and took on jobs that his grandfather would have done...just to keep busy.

The savagery of her daughter and son-in-law's deaths made her angry for the first time in her life. She knew she had to be careful of revealing it. She had to take care of her grandson. This she vowed she would do at all costs. She observed him cutting wood for the fireplace. He'd heft the ax against the logs as if he was exhausting his anger and feelings of grief and loss. He was an orphan who would be raised to adulthood by his only living relative, Grandmother Lila.

Lila remembered how Chris became overprotective of her. He worried each time she had an ache or a pain. She understood why. He was too old to hug and soothe. She recalled how he would give her a peck on the top of her head or a quick hug each night before he went to sleep in the room that had once been Ashton's.

Lila saw a picture in her mind of her grandson as a teenager, quite reserved and mature for his age. He chose a local college. Lila was glad. He would study engineering.

"Grandmother, I chose this college to keep my eye on you!" he said, laughing.

"You have two eyes and you need to keep both on your studies, young man!" Lila shot back with a grin.

She rose to go to the kitchen. It was a cup of hot tea she wanted now to soothe her old bones.

Hot tea...Chris's favorite drink, she thought.

She waited for the tea kettle to begin its shrill whistle, poured the boiling water into a cup with a teabag and made her way back to her rocking chair.

She laughed as she recalled how Chris thought using one of those "old fashioned" metal tea infusers needed "updating." That Christmas, he stuffed a box of tea bags into her stocking.

"I get your message, Chris," Lila laughed.

"Grandmother, just try using a teabag. You'll see. You'll love it," Chris encouraged.

"I am surprised that a young man so focused on the "environment' as you call it, wouldn't see that you can't recycle these tea bags. A tea infuser doesn't need to be recycled and the used tea leaves inside it, can be," Lila reminded him.

She smiled as she recalled the expression on her grandson' face. It was like the expression he had when his name was called during his college graduation exercise.

It wasn't long after college graduation that he announced he was enlisting in the military. Lila was scared. She remembered what George had gone through in Korea and how she lost her only son to war in Viet Nam.

"Oh Chris. Are you certain of this?" she asked.

"Grandmother, don't worry. I'll be okay. The military desperately needs good engineers. Besides, with experience in the military, I can do my tour of duty and then get my Masters degree. I'll be safe. I won't be on active duty," he said.

In the days before he was to leave for his tour of duty, Lila prayed hard for his safety. He looked so grand in his uniform.

"I'll write you every day, Grandmother. I'll be home before you know it," he said, as he boarded the transit bus.

Chris was in the military two years. He came home only twice before he was to return. Lila kept hearing the word "Iraq," over and over on TV and in the news.

She tried to remember where exactly it was. She even located it on the desktop globe in Ashton's room.

The phone rang in August of 2003.

"Grandmother? It's your wandering grandson? Your ONLY grandson?" Chris said.

"Oh goodness, Chris? Is it really you?" Lila said.

"Tis I in the flesh," he joked.

"Are you finished your time in the military?" Lila asked.

"That's why I called you. I am attached to a group headed for Iraq," Chris said, calm as ever.

"Iraq! Oh no! Chris, please...not Iraq!"

"Grandmother, I'll be just fine. I know the ghosts of Grandfather and Uncle Ash's military experiences haunt you. But, this is a different day and age. Wars aren't fought like they were in their day," Chris said.

"Well, I am sure you know what you are doing. Will I see you before you leave?" Lila asked.

"No, Grandmother. But, I am sending you my Christmas present a little early. I hope you like it and as Grandfather would say, "Do Not Open Until Christmas! I'll see you in due time," Chris said and rang off.

The house seemed so empty then. Lila kept busy by volunteering at the local military hospital. She'd done a bit of nursing before she married and thought she might help out a little.

When Christmas finally came that year, the phone rang and it was Chris. He called on Christmas morning to say "You can open your present from me now."

With Chris in earshot on the phone, she quickly unwrapped the gift. It was a Christmas ornament! It was a round medallion in cast pewter with all of their family names on it.

"Oh Chris, it's wonderful. Did you get my present? I sent it nearly a month ago."

"Not yet. Don't worry Grandmother, it takes a while to get anything through the military these days. Anyway, Merry Christmas and have a cup of hot cider for me. I'll be home before the next Christmas to get a cup of that wonderful cider," he said, ringing off.

The day after New Year's, Lila was in the kitchen reading the newspapers and having a cup of coffee. She heard a knock on the front door.

Who can that be? she wondered.

"Ooooh...Maybe it's Chris come to surprise me!" she said.

When she opened the door, she saw a tall man in a military uniform.

"Oh no...please God...Oh no...It can't be," she said.

"I'm so sorry to have to inform you, ma'am. Christian Connolly was killed two days ago. He was traveling with several others when their truck was hit by fire," the man said.

Lila fell over in a faint. When she came to, the young man was gone and two men from emergency services were tending her.

"I'm fine. I'm fine! Leave me be!" she screamed.

"Ma'am you should let us take you to the hospital," one of the EMTs said.

"I don't need a doctor," Lila said.

"Is there someone we can call for you?" he asked.

Lila barely managed to answer. Now, she was really all alone.

"No. No one. My last living relative was killed in some godforsaken wasteland. I just need rest," she said.

Lila remembered that day too.

Now, the fire was slowly dying. Lila felt a strong pain in her chest. She knew what it was. She knew this was her last Christmas. No. She wouldn't call for help. Too many Christmases alone with Christmas ghosts was more than one heart could bear. She closed her eyes and waited. The throbbing in her chest grew slower and slower. She opened her eyes for a single moment to see the golden star at the top of the tree shining as it never had before. It was the medal she received for being a Gold Star Mother when Ashton died. The light from the star was so bright that she closed her eyes again...for the last time.

Winter Star of Suceava

Wars have come and gone in the region of Bukovina. Men shed their blood for centuries to preserve their heritage and treasured traditions. Few remain today who know the legend of the Winter Star of Suceava.

When cold Carpathian winds rushed across the Suceava River, citizens in this ancient city, named for the river, steel themselves for long, dark, cold days ahead. Always they are reassured that without fail spring always comes, bright, colorful and warm.

In winter, night falls quickly in Brodina, a tiny village along the river. Women scurry about preparing meals and tending children, while men strive to keep their families warm against the biting mountain cold.

Children of Brodina wait with great anticipation for Christmas, with all its brightest colors and special treats to come. Swags and garlands of long needle pines, dotted with coiled pine cones and holly berries are hung indoors and out. Such festivities brighten an otherwise dark winter season.

Each family has its special traditions. Yet, they are united by the same Christmas rituals and rites handed down by their ancestors.

The flickering glow of candlelight in a window is a reminder of welcome to ancestral spirits who have gone on to glorious eternity.

As snow falls gently on Brodina, mountain winds roam down into the peaceful town, swirling about like a mystical genie. Now and then, curling winds rattle doors and windows like hallowed ghosts wishing to enter and perhaps, be warmed by the firelight within.

Anastasie Crimca was born in 1550. He was a serious, thoughtful young man who always felt a deep need to search for answers. He believed aligning himself closely to tradition was the path to a higher relationship with the Almighty.

To sate his need for deep thought, he joined a community of Moldavian monks. Quickly, his solitary, meditative nature elevated him among the other monks.

In the solitude of the monastery's scriptorium, Anastasie worked dutifully for twenty years producing codex of text with such impeccable genius, it was naturally attributed to the "holiness" he possessed in his soul.

Tall and lanky, the typical stature of men of Sucidava, Anastasie devoted his life to his writings. He rose to become Metropolitan of Moldavia in 1608. One year later, he founded the Dragomirna Monastery, a sprawling fortress-like enclave with a central bell tower over the church that rises high above the monastery's stone walls.

In those days, monasteries across the entire European continent were safe havens from enemies within and those from alien lands.

For many centuries Ottomans rampaged in massive armies throughout Moldavia and regions of Bukovina. Great leaders, most courageous, rose from humble beginnings in Moldavia and Wallachia and forced back Ottoman invaders. Many of these heroes are venerated to this very day.

Brodina lies at the border of Romania. In its history, this tiny village keeps its ways as it always has. Knowing well their daily duties and following a symbionic obligation to tradition, life here is ordered and tranquil.

In its early days, Brodina had much to fear. Not even the mountains surrounding Brodina were protection from the evil put upon these people, who so highly prize peace and tranquility.

As if tradition was a shield villagers wore for protection when threatened, this tightly knit community stood as tall as the stately, centuries old trees that dot the landscape. Their defensive strategies, simple and uncomplicated, might awe the most decorated defenders.

In the winter of 1655, the harvest rested safely in store houses near cottage homes of villagers. At harvest time, men labored to gather in coal, lumber from fallen trees and reeds, to secure buildings and roofs against the elements.

Women tended to their gardens, pickling, canning fruits and vegetables and making sure an ample supply of winter grains were threshed to provide flour for bread. They made their own cheeses and tended small flocks of chickens, goats and geese. What they couldn't grow, their men hunted in forests surrounding the village.

January 1656 was perhaps the cruelest, most frigid winter the people in Brodina ever endured. Tall pines were laden with thick blankets of snow piled so high, not even harsh winds could shake the snow loose from pine boughs. When sky could be seen at all in daylight, it was a relief to see the deep blue and white clouds overhead.

When snows came, nothing in this rural region stirred. Not a single human footprint marred the knee-deep snow drifts. Inside their cottages, families kept busy. Each day, water needed to be drawn from frozen ice and thawed near fireside hearths. When firewood or coal ran low, men ventured only as far as deep snow allowed...usually the cottage door.

Children spent their time reading or playing games, like working puzzles, given to them as Christmas gifts.

On the night of January 7, 1656, the traditional celebration of Christmas began with lighting of candles on every  table. A thick, hot, sour, soup dotted with tiny dumplings, bits of meat and dried mushrooms was placed in a large tureen in the center of the table.

The family Tomas prayed upon their feast for blessings for the good harvest and comfort of home and hearth.

Elisabet Tomas, the family matriarch, ladled steaming soup into bowls for each of her four children, Geza, Anca, Ioana and Stefan. With a nod from her husband, Valeriou, the children hungrily devoured their soup.

Elisabet blessed herself before passing the basket of bread around the table. She rose again and brought a platter of roasted meat and rolls of meat-stuffed cabbage to the table next. Plates of cheeses and Elisabet's own wine made from Tokay grapes was the next course.

The children were so full, they felt they'd fairly burst. Still, they had room for their favorite part of the Christmas meal: ginger cookies and delectable pastries.

The family would not attend Christmas Mass this night. Travel would be impossible with snow piled so high. There would be the usual stalwart villagers who visited from one neighboring door to the next and leave behind a hand made gift for the family or a freshly baked sweet.

This night, snow fell lightly on top of the snows that fell for three days and nights before. It was no longer possible to see the forest path that lead out of the village, so dense was the snow.

Valeriou, as head of his family, led his wife and children to the home of their neighbor Istvan Gabor, as was the Christmas night custom.

He held tight to Elisabet's hand while their children pranced on gleefully ahead, ignoring the depths of the snow beneath their feet.

Valeriou was a man who possessed an unusual sense of hearing. Some in the village were certain he could hear birds singing twenty miles away. Each cottage kept lanterns lit on this night to light the paths to their homes for celebration.

He stopped for a moment.

"Valeriou, what is it? Why you do pause?" Elisabet asked.

"Horses. In such deep snow?" he muttered.

"Pshaw! How could there be?" Elisabet asked.

"Be silent, woman. I hear them. I am certain."

Elisabet wondered if her spouse's hearing was becoming less accurate. The wide clearing that led to the path into the village was knee-deep in snow. Yet, she knew Valeriou's strange ability to "hear" the least audible sounds from such far distances was always correct.

"Elisabet, go to Istvan's home. Tell them horses are coming. We must pass the word among the people," Valeriou said.

"But, Valeriou, it is Christmas and the snows are deep. Are you certain you hear horses?" she asked.

"Do not question. There can be only one reason men would be upon their mounts at such a time," Valeriou said.

Elisabet did as Valeriou asked. Quickly word spread among the other villagers outside in the night visiting for Christmas celebration. One by one, their lanterns went dark.

The Tomas family hurried back to their own cottage and doused the lantern light. Iona and Anca peered out the window. They saw the lights in cottages go dark.

"Papa? Who is it who would be out in such weather?" Geza asked.

"Son, when an enemy strikes, it is always at times when villagers are too sure of their safety," Valeriou said.

"But, Papa...in such darkness, how will we see our enemy?" Stefan asked.

"Will we be attacked? On Christmas?" Geza asked.

Valeriou didn't answer. Deep within the blood in his veins, he sensed marauders, perhaps lost, wandered through the foothills of the mountains, looking for food and shelter. They may be bereft of provisions and water. He hoped they would be sated by whatever the villagers could offer them.

But, Valeriou knew better. In his own childhood, he remembered hiding away with villagers at the monastery when an Ottoman attack was upon the entire region.

"We have been too sure of our safety. Even on this night of nights, we cannot do that," he said.

"Are you so certain it is an enemy about to spring upon our village?" Elisabet asked.

"I am certain that who ever is out there on a such a night is cold, hungry and unwilling to trade only for food," Valeriou said.

Wind gusts swirled snow, while villagers waited for the horsemen to appear. The only lights inside cottages were those in fireplaces. Women pulled their shawls about them tighter, while children waited wide-eyed for the horsemen.

Defense strategies ran through the minds of village men. They defended their community before and if needs must, they would again.

As clocks struck the eighth hour, the sound of horses grew louder.

"There are three horsemen," Valeriou said.

"You are certain? Only three?" Elisabet asked.

Geza made his way to the cottage window. He peered from behind the cloth curtains, straining his eyes to see the enemy.

"Papa, it is not possible to see the enemy. The sky is heavy, even as snow falls," Geza said.

Anca and Ioana sat on the braided rug beside their mother. She read the Christmas Nativity story from the Bible. Her hands shook noticeably as she turned each page.

The two girls knew their mother's fear as if it was their own.

"Geza, keep watch at the window. I will load powder into the musket," Valeriou said.

"Papa, I see them! I see them! There are three strange looking men on large horses, much larger than our team of horses," Geza said.

"How do you see them so clearly now, when before you could not?" Valeriou asked.

"They come with a bright star over their heads!" Geza said.

Valeriou thought his son was imagining such a thing.

Geza stepped aside so his father might see the star in the sky over the clearing.

"It is so. I have never seen such a star amid a sky laden with snow," Valeriou said.

Elisabet looked up from her reading. Anca and Ioana looked at their Papa.

It was a Geza had seen. There were three very tall men on horses as large as bull elephants. As the three men entered the village, the star over their heads followed them. Villagers peering out of their darkened cottages were afraid.

Had these men come to kill them? It had been a long time since villagers worried about foreign marauders.

Nervously, Valeriou kept his eyes on the three men from behind the window curtain. They dismounted their horses and tethered them to a wooden pole.

Suddenly, there was a heavy knock on the Tomas cottage door.

Valeriou motioned to the women to hide themselves away.

"Papa? What should we do? Should we prepare the muskets?" Geza asked.

"Papa, I'm afraid," Stefan whispered.

"First, we will see what these strangers want. They are do not appear to be armed with weapons. That's a good sign."

Valeriou knew it rested with him to open the door to what might be three murderers.

"Geza, be keen about their presence. It will be you who must warn the others in the village, if these men mean us harm," Valeriou said.

"Yes, Papa. I understand," Geza said.

Another knock on the door. This time a little louder.

"Is anyone about?" the man's voice said.

Valeriou opened the door very slowly and cautiously.

"I am Valeriou Tomas. What is your business on this hallowed night?" he asked.

"We have traveled a long, long way. I am Gaspar. My companions are Melchior and Baltazar. We are cold and hungry. Might we come inside, ere we freeze to our deaths?" Gaspar said.

Valeriou bid them enter. They stood at the door shaking mounds of snow and ice from their great coats and boots. These, they removed.

"Geza, candles please. Elisabet, Anca, Ioana set the table with hot food before these men," Valeriou commanded.

He eyed the three men cautiously.

"Where are your arms in such dangerous woods?" Valeriou asked.

"We have no need of arms. We bring only good tidings and lowly gifts such as we possess," Gaspar said.

Melchior and Baltazar sat silently as Elisabet placed steaming bowls of soup in front of them.

"From whence have you come?" Valeriou said.

"We are men of the East. Ours is an ancient land filled with riches and...filled with many evils," Gaspar said.

"You are men of God then?" Valeriou asked.

"We are messengers. Not more," Melchior said.

"What message have you for the people of our little village?" Valeriou asked.

The three men glanced at each other.

"Your good wife has warmed our bellies and our hearts," Baltazar said.

Elisabet looked at the three strange men. Suddenly, she remembered from the Bible names like theirs in the days of  the birth of Christ.

"Is it possible? Can it be, Papa? These are the three wise men of old?" Elisabet asked.

"We are not those of whom you speak. They are long gone. We are named for them because in our land, we honor and celebrate their wisdom," Gaspar said.

"How come you to such holy names?" Valeriou asked.

"As your village has traditions, so ours does. It is our tradition to keep alive the peace of the three men of wisdom, so it may never be forgotten that peace, not war, is the true gift from the wisest among us" Melchior said.

"Papa, do you hear? Villagers are massing outside," Geza said.

It was true. Villagers emerged from their cottages curious to see the three men. Some of the men carried large torches and their muskets. Their voices grew louder as they neared the door of the Tomas cottage.

"Valeriou, you must warn the villagers these men come in peace. They believe we are all in danger. Say to them it is not so," Elisabet said.

"We must move on very soon. We do not want to inflame your villagers with the belief we are here to harm them," Gaspar said.

"I will speak to my fellow village men. I will assure them you come in peace," Valeriou said.

The elderman, Sergui, pounded on Valeriou's door. With the entire village at his back, he stood tall and stiffened, knowing the Tomas family could be dead, murdered, perhaps, by the three marauders.

Valeriou slowly opened the door. He was shocked by the number of the throng standing behind Sergui.

"Valeriou Tomas, are you and your family safe?" Sergui asked.

"We are. The three men within mean our village no harm. They come bringing tidings of peace as their ancestors tradition taught them," Valeriou said.

Gaspar, Melchior and Baltazar joined their host at the opened door.

"See for yourselves," Valeriou said.

He stepped aside to allow the villagers to see the faces of the three men.

Gaspar was first to speak.

"I am Gaspar. I come with my countrymen, Melchior and Baltazar. We lost our way. See the star overhead? It guided us to safety within your village," he said.

All in the crowd looked up at the star shining overhead, even as snow fell. As one, the village crowd, sighed loudly: "Ahhhhh!" at the sight of this most unusual star.

"These are the wise men of the East of which the Bible speaks!" Sergiu said.

"Nay. We are merely their ancestors come to honor and celebrate the peace and gifts they brought to the Christ Child so very long ago," Baltazar said.

"We bring your village three gifts we carry with us," Melchior said.

Gaspar stepped past the door of Valeriou's cottage toward his horse. The crowd stared in awe as he drew a large cloth bag from his saddle. Melchior and Baltazar joined him at his side and did the same. The crowd gathered around the three men.

"I bring you the gift of light," Gaspar said.

The crowd stood breathless as Gaspar withdrew a large, long white taper from his bag. He presented it to Sergiu.

"This taper will provide light for the long winter for the entire village. It is made from a special wax found in caves. It burns far longer than all others," Gaspar said.

"I bring you the gift of peace," Melchior said.

He drew from his bag a small metal urn filled with oil that emitted a strangely calming scent.

"The oil within this urn brings peace when the oil is placed in your lamps. It runs freely in the caves from which the wax is drawn. This scented oil calms the senses and brings great peace," Melchior said.

"I bring you the gift of wisdom which our ancestors knew and honored as their most cherished possession," Baltazar said.

From his bag, he withdraw a large, round crystal of such size as the head of a small child. The light from the star overhead made the crystal prisms dance in different colors.

"This crystal was drawn from the same caves as the special wax and oil. Study each of the colors slowly and carefully. Within each prism is an inspiration that brings wisdom."

The crowd of villagers were overcome with joy. Simple gifts from three men who traveled far.

A small child began to sing the traditional Christmas song known as the "Carol of the Star."

His pure, sweet little voice sang out, "The star has appeared on high. Like a big secret in the sky. The star is bright. May all your wishes turn out right."

In Brodina, villagers love to sing. They joined in the little boy's song as Sergiu lit the big village candle again. As if by magic, the snow stopped and a sapphire sky appeared overhead with one star shining over the village.

"It is time for us to take our leave," Baltazar said, to his two companions.

"Our duty is done," Gaspar added.

"Our blessings upon all in your village," Melchior said.

The three men mounted their horses and left by way of the large clearing with the sound of the villagers singing, "O ce veste minunata" ..."Oh Wondrous Tidings" and Trei Crai de la rasarit"..."Three Wise Men Coming from the East," ringing in their ears.

Craciun Fericit...Merry Christmas!