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Tobin mindlessly whistled Christmas tunes to herself as she wandered through the aisles of the druggist store across the street from their flat. Christen was feeling substantially better but had a lingering cough and requested herbal lemon tea and local honey to help soothe her throat. Tobin was more than happy to run an errand for her love and get a few lungfuls of crisp Manchester air.
The forecast called for days of dreary rain, this followed days of rain and would probably be followed by days of rain. The only marked difference in the weather was the gradual drop of temperature heralding the arrival of winter. Despite their best efforts at keeping busy, the thought of spending Christmas so far away from their families was difficult to accept. Thankfully the quaint, small-town feel of Manchester and the family atmosphere of the club helped lessen the loneliness. Christen in particular was struggling. She had been stuck inside for what seemed like weeks trying to shake a sinus infection that turned into a bad chest cold. She wasn’t necessarily grouchy at this point but Tobin could tell she was antsy to do something other than sit and watch the Crown again.
“Tobin Heath,” called a deep Liverpool brogue, “I thought I heard your cheerful whistle. How is your lovely wife?”
Tobin smiled, “She’s on the mend, Father, just a lingering cough. Thank you for asking.”
Father Brendan was a priest at one of the beautiful, historic Catholic churches in Manchester. He was also a huge United fan and one of the first people Tobin and Christen met when they moved to Manchester. He would frequently offer words of encouragement and a blessing before matches; and, despite not being Catholic, Tobin enjoyed the conversations they would have before and after games.
Today, Father Brendan was pushing a trolley filled with toys and games. In his hands were a stack of small paper angels covered in neatly printed lists.
“What are you up to today, Father Brendan? Finding entertainment for the college students?” Tobin chuckled.
“Ay, I wish,” he replied, “unfortunately, with the virus still holding us in lockdown there are still over 20 angels on the Chrismon tree,” he answered, holding up the slips of paper. “Mass attendance is down, and even if the parishioners could come so many of them have been laid off or furloughed during these many months I doubt they could give much. In fact, many of them have had to request aid from the church just to put food on the table. You know it’s a rough time when the most grizzled and stubborn of dock workers is asking for help. At least with the University closed I have time to help in ways I never thought- such as toy shopping you see. Traditionally, we would ask for clothing, books, and toys for the children on the tree. But this year I just hope we have enough in the church coffers to get them a toy apiece. Better something under the tree than nothing I suppose,” the Priest sighed.
Tobin stood quiet for a moment absorbing the information. Even in this direst of times, Father Brendan had been able to find a glimmer of hope, but to see him so despondent echoed the heavy gray skies outside.
Those who knew her best would have seen the actual spark of an idea flicker in Tobin’s mind. Those who knew her best would also know that spark usually leads to a frantic but amazing adventure. Christen, however, would know that spark means Tobin is a woman on a mission and it’s best just to go along. She had long been in awe of her wife’s generous and compassionate nature, if anything Christen was surprised if Tobin wasn’t involved in a charity or passion project.
“Father, Christen and I would like to help,” she responded.
“Splendid!” answered the greying Jesuit. “I can give you one of these. Would you like a boy or a girl? About what age? I think I saw a request for an art kit in here, and several footie fans. Would you like to take two?”
“Um Father,” she blushed, “I was thinking of helping on a much larger scale. Could we take all of them?”
Father Brendan looked at her in awe for a moment, not quite believing what she had said. “Are you madder than a box of frogs? That’s twenty children! I couldn’t possibly ask you to take on that much. What on earth will Christen say? She’ll never let you leave the flat again if you come back saying you took on such a task.”
Tobin just smiled, “trust me father, this is exactly what she needs right now. I’ll give you a ring later at the parish for more information.”
“I’ll say one thing about you Tobin Heath, you’ve got the generosity of Saint Nicholas himself.”
Tobin just gave one of her classic grins and wished the Priest a good afternoon as she paid for her purchases and jogged back to the flat.