A String of Blue Beads – Day 12 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series

December 12, 2020 Trevor Montgomery

A String of Blue Beads

Fulton Oursler

Peter Richards was the loneliest man in town on the day Jean Grace opened his door. You may have seen something in the newspapers about the incident at the time it happened, although neither his name nor hers was publicized, nor was the full story told as I tell it here.

Pete’s shop had come down to him from his grandfather. The little Christmas front window was strewn With a disarray of old-fashioned things; bracelets and lockets worn in days before the Civil War; gold rings and silver boxes; images of jade and ivory, porcelain figurines.

On this winter’s afternoon a child was standing there, her forehead against the glass, earnest and enormous eyes studying each discarded treasure, as if she were looking for something quite special. Finally, she straightened up with a satisfied air and entered the store.

SEE OTHER “25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS” STORIES:
‘Tis Better To Give – Day 11 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series
Pepper’s Last Gift – Day 10 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series
A Brother Like That – Day 9 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series
A Rifle for Christmas – Day 8 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series
The 1914 Christmas Truce – Day 7 in the “25 Christmas Stories To Warm Your Heart” Series

The shadowy interior of Pete Richards’ establishment was even more cluttered than his show window. Shelves were stacked with jewel caskets, dueling pistols, clocks, lamps, and the floor was heaped with andirons and mandolins and things hard to find a name for. Behind the counter stood Pete himself, a man not more than 30 but with hair already turning gray. There was a bleak air about him as he looked at the small customer who flattened her ungloved hands on the counter. “Mister,” she began, “would you please let me look at that string of blue beads in the window?” Pete parted the draperies and lifted out a necklace.

The turquoise stones gleamed brightly against the pallor of his palm, as he spread the ornament before her. “They’re just perfect,” said the child, to herself. “Will you wrap them up pretty for me, please?” Pete studied her with a stony air. “Are you buying these for someone?” “They’re for my big sister. She takes care of me. You see, this will be the first Christmas since Mother died. I’ve been searching for the most wonderful Christmas present for my sister.” “How much money do you have?” asked Pete warily. She had been busily untying the knots in a handkerchief and now she poured out a handful of pennies on the counter. “I emptied my bank,” she explained simply. Pete Richards looked at her thoughtfully. Then he carefully drew back the necklace.

The price tag was visible to him but not to her. How could he tell her? The trusting look of her blue eyes smote him like the pain of an old wound. “Just a minute,” he said and turned toward the back of tile store. Over his shoulder he called: “What’s your name?” He was very busy about something. “Jean Grace.” When Pete returned to where Jean Grace waited, a package lay in his hand, wrapped in scarlet paper and tied with a bow of green ribbon. “There you are,” he said shortly. “Don’t lose it on the way home.” She smiled over her shoulder as she ran out the door. Through the window he watched her go, while desolation flooded his thoughts. Something about Jean Grace and her string of beads had stirred him to the depths of a grief that would not stay buried.

The child’s hair was wheat yellow, her eyes sea-blue, and once upon a time not long before, Pete had been in love with a girl with hair of that same yellow and with large eyes just as blue. And the turquoise necklace was to have been hers. But there had come a rainy night–a truck skidding on a slippery road–and the life was crushed out of his dream. Since then, Pete Richards had lived too much with his grief in solitude. He was politely attentive to customers, but after business hours his world seemed irrevocably empty. He was trying to forget in a self-pitying haze that deepened day by day.

The blue eyes of Jean Grace jolted him into acute remembrance of what he had lost, The pain of it made him recoil from the exuberance of holiday shoppers. During the next ten days trade was brisk; chattering women swarming in, fingering trinkets, trying to bargain. When the last customer had gone, late on Christmas Eve, he sighed with relief. It was over for another year. But for Pete Richards the night was not quite over. The door opened and a young woman hurried in. With an explicable start, he realized that she looked familiar, yet he could not remember when or where he had seen her before. Her hair was golden yellow and her large eyes were blue.

Without speaking, she drew from her purse a package loosely unwrapped in its red paper a bow of green ribbon with it. Presently the string of blue beads lay gleaming again before him. “Did this come from your shop?” she asked. Pete raised his eyes to hers and answered softly: “Yes, it did.” “Are the stones real?” “Yes. Not the finest quality–but real.” “Can you remember who it was you sold them to?” “She was a small girl. Her name was Jean. She bought them for her older sister’s Christmas present.” “How much are they worth?” “The price,” he told her solemnly, “is always a confidential matter between the seller and the customer.” “But Jean has never had more than a few pennies of spending money. How could she pay for them?” Pete was folding the gay paper into its creases, rewrapping the little package just as neatly as before. “She paid the biggest price anyone can ever pay,” he said. “She gave all she had.”

There was a silence then that filled the little curio shop. In some faraway steeple, a bell began to ring.

The sound of the distant chiming, the little package lying on the counter, the question in the eyes of the girl and the strange feeling of renewal struggling unreasonable in the heart of the man, all had come to be because of the life of a child. “But why did you do it?” He held out the gift in his hand. “It’s already Christmas morning,” he said. “And it’s my misfortune that I have no one to give anything to. Will you let me see you home and wish you a Merry Christmas at your door?” And so, to the sound of many bells and in the midst of happy people, Pete Richards and a girl whose name he had yet to learn, walked out into the beginning of the great day that brings hope into the world for us all.

This article sponsored by:

With breaking news articles, videos, podcasts, opinion pieces and more, Law Enforcement News Network has all the latest news and information related to law enforcement issues across the nation.

For more information, contact Bill Tyler at Century 21 Full Realty Service.

Contact the writer: [email protected]

Trevor Montgomery, 49, moved in 2017 to the Intermountain area of Shasta County from Riverside County and runs Riverside County News Source and Shasta County News Source. Additionally, he writes or has written for several other news organizations; including Riverside County based newspapers, Valley News, (the now defunct) Valley Chronicle, Anza Valley Outlook, and Hemet & San Jacinto Chronicle; as well as Bonsall/Fallbrook Village News in San Diego County and Mountain Echo in Shasta County.

Trevor spent 10 years in the U.S. Army as an Orthopedic Specialist before joining the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department in 1998. He was medically retired after losing his leg, breaking his back, and suffering both spinal cord and brain injuries in an off-duty accident. (Click here to see segment of Discovery Channel documentary of Trevor’s accident.)

During his time with the sheriff’s department, Trevor worked at several different stations; including Robert Presley Detention Center, Southwest Station in Temecula, Hemet/Valle Vista Station, Ben Clark Public Safety Training Center, and Lake Elsinore Station; along with other locations.

Trevor’s assignments included Corrections, Patrol, DUI Enforcement, Boat and Personal Water-Craft based Lake Patrol, Off-Road Vehicle Enforcement, Problem Oriented Policing Team, and Personnel/Background Investigations. He finished his career while working as a Sex Crimes and Child Abuse Investigator and was a court-designated expert in child abuse and child sex-related crimes.

Trevor has been married for more than 30 years and was a foster parent to more than 60 children over 13 years. He is now an adoptive parent and his “fluid family” includes 13 children and 18 grandchildren.