The Yorkshire Wassail by Andreas Vollenweider
The moon faintly glows above a dark street; only the silhouette of a sleepy town can be seen in the distance. Wind blows the fallen snow into drifts over the cobblestone roads, blanketing the scene in a pale white. A solitary streetlight stands on a street corner, casting its warm yellow glow around it.
A single man comes into view, walking down the moonlit street. His boots crush the snow, and he comes to a stop beneath the street lamp. The tall, red-haired man is draped in a long, dark coat and blue woolen scarf. He takes his gray hat with his fingers and tips it up.
MIOKO
Vance Edwards was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that... This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wondrous can come of the story I am going to relate...
With a wide grin, he turns around to face the growing light of dawn as it peaks over the rooftops and chimneys. At last, the sun rises over the scene, and at once, the streets of Fortanya awaken in the new day’s light. He begins to walk down the street as townspeople pass him, busily on their way.
MIOKO
Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—Steven “Scrooge” Edwards sat busy in his counting house.
The narrator stops before a dim building, displaying the names “Edwards Brothers” on a worn plaque near the door. The man tilts his head and looks at it curiously.
MIOKO
Scrooge never painted out the ‘Brothers’ name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the shop door. The firm was known as “Edwards Brothers.” Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge “Scrooge,” and sometimes “Vance,” but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him.
Without another look, Mioko steps through the door, appearing on the other side. He steps past a dark-haired man in worn clothes busily writing away on a stack of books and papers with a fatigued look to his face. From there, Mioko gazes ahead as a man with long, black hair and a graying goatee sat behind a desk with a foul expression. This was Scrooge Edwards.
MIOKO
Oh, but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. He carried his own low temperature always about with him, and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.
As if on cue, the clerk lets out a shivered sigh, wringing his hands together to coax some warmth out of them. But the grunt of a throat clearing in Scrooge’s room jolts the man out of the action, and he quickly returns his pen to his hand to continue writing.
MIOKO
The door of Scrooge's counting house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who, in a dismal little cell beyond, was copying letters.
And then, a knock is heard at the door. The clerk looks up as the door promptly opens, revealing a young man with a brown ponytail holding a Christmas wreath. He grins cheerfully, nodding to the clerk before bursting into Scrooge’s chamber.
AMADEUS
Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!
Scrooge looks up from his work, his face lacking in emotion as he gazes upon his nephew, Amadeus—his only living relative.
SCROOGE
Bah! Humbug!
AMADEUS
Christmas a humbug? Surely, you don’t mean that...
SCROOGE
Wanna bet?
He grumbles as he eyes the wreath in his nephew’s hands.
SCROOGE
Christmas only encourages the weak-minded into throwing away hard-earned money for the temporary happiness of others. “Merry Christmas”...Bah. What reason do you have to be merry? You’re poor enough!
AMADEUS
What reason do you have to be dismal? You’re rich enough!
Scrooge frowns, unable to find a decent comeback. His nephew smirks at him.
SCROOGE
Humbug!
AMADEUS
Oh come on, Uncle, don’t be cross!
SCROOGE
Nephew—you keep Christmas in your way and I’ll keep it in mine.
AMADEUS
Keep it? But you don’t keep it!
SCROOGE
Exactly! So, leave me alone!
AMADEUS
Uncle Scrooge, please... There are a lot of things that I enjoy that I don’t profit from—and Christmas is one of them. And Christmas doesn’t have to be one time or one place—it can be a spirit that lasts all the time! Christmas is a feeling of caring about others, and I gain so much happiness from it!
Scrooge eyes his nephew again, but he notices his clerk looking on with a surprised smile on his face.
SCROOGE
Harley, get back to work!!
The clerk jumps in his seat and looks back down at his papers. Amadeus glances behind at him, shaking his head.
AMADEUS
Oh well. If you won’t listen to me, at least come dine with me and Clara tomorrow. She’ll be cooking a proper Christmas feast with turkey and dressing and—
SCROOGE
Why on earth did you get married?
AMADEUS
Why... because I fell in love!
Scrooge repeats his nephew’s words in a derisive tone.
SCROOGE
“Because I fell in love”... Bah! Good afternoon, nephew.
AMADEUS
It’s not like you ever came to visit before we got married!
SCROOGE
Good afternoon!
AMADEUS
I don’t want your money or your sympathy—why can’t you at least treat me as a friend??
SCROOGE
Good afternoon!!
Amadeus finally throws his hands in the air.
AMADEUS
Fine! Far be it from me to convince my dear old uncle to spend time with his own family...
He glances at the wreath in his hands and places it on Mr. Harley’s desk.
AMADEUS
Merry Christmas, James!
JAMES
M-m—merry Christmas, Amadeus!
AMADEUS
And a happy new year!
SCROOGE
GET OUT!!
Scrooge leaps to his feet moments before Amadeus skirts out the door and shuts it behind him. James winces, trying desperately to get back to his work as Scrooge paces across the creaking floor. He snatches the wreath from James’ desk and opens the door to throw it out.
He stops short. Two Kalgaran men now stand at his door, looking at Scrooge expectantly. The younger has a mop of blue hair upon his head, while the elder’s hair has thinned and grayed. After a pause, the elder of the two men speaks.
HUBERTO
Ah—Good afternoon! Am I speaking to Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Vance Edwards?
SCROOGE
Vance has been dead for seven years—seven years to this very night.
Scrooge speaks plainly, still grasping the wreath in his hand.
HUBERTO
Ah, my apologies, sir. Mr. Scrooge, at this festive time of year, it is customary to make a charitable donation to assist those who are less fortunate than ourselves—those who suffer particularly at this time.
The younger man steps forward, nodding.
MATTHEW
Many in The Tallelands are in want of common necessities; even more are in want of common comforts, sir.
SCROOGE
Are there no prisons or poor houses?
MATTHEW
Uh, yes?
SCROOGE
Oh, good; I was afraid you were here to tell me they had all closed down!
The two gentlemen glance at each other, left uneasy by Scrooge’s demeanor.
HUBERTO
Well... a few of us of the church are endeavoring to raise a fund for their benefit.
MATTHEW
What can we put you down for?
SCROOGE
Nothing.
HUBERTO
You wish to remain anonymous?
SCROOGE
I wish to be left alone! My taxes support the prisons and poor houses—let the poor go there!
MATTHEW
But sir, many can’t go there—and many would rather die!
SCROOGE
Then let them! There’s too many people around here anyway!!
The two men are stunned. Matthew takes a cautious step back, while Huberto offers a curt bow.
HUBERTO
Good day, sir.
He grabs his grandson’s arm, and hurry away as Scrooge yells after them.
SCROOGE
I am accosted by people like you every year and I’ve yet to see any return from it! How do I know you’re not lining your own pockets??
Scrooge growls as he tosses the wreath after them. With a second growl, he steps back inside and slams the door, passing an equally stunned James at his desk.
The day wanes on in a cold silence, and finally, as the darkness of evening falls, it is time to close up the shop. As James rises from his stool, he nervously holds his hands together and steps towards Scrooge.
JAMES
M-mister Scrooge?
The cold hazel eyes of his boss glare back at him. He swallows again.
SCROOGE
I suppose you’re wanting the entire day off tomorrow.
JAMES
Yes... yes, sir.
SCROOGE
And I suppose you’re wanting the day’s wages, too?
JAMES
W-well... well, it’s Christmas... and it’s only once a year... and my family... um...
As the dark-haired clerk stammers, Scrooge folds his hands on his desk.
SCROOGE
What a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every December the twenty-fifth... Fine. You may have the day off. But be here all the earlier the next day!
James lights up at once.
JAMES
Oh—th-thank you, Mister Scrooge—thank you! I will!
With that, the two part ways: James to tidy up his desk for closing, and Scrooge to gather up his hat and scarf to leave the shop. He gives no word or nod to his now cheerful clerk as he exits, and he starts his cold, lonely trek back to across town.
Mioko glances at James with a smile, and then he drifts through the door after Scrooge.