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Pantheon -- Blade Frisch -- Senior

April 1, 2011
By Evan Back of Whitmer High School



     Opening the door to a blast of frigid air and snow, he wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and stepped into the tundra. Turning around to lock the shop door, he glanced inside with a sigh. Though he was the best clockmaker this side of the Thames, business was very poor. He was trying to earn a little extra money to buy his son a Christmas gift. The doctor said it could very well be his last, so he wanted to make it count.

     Trudging through the thick layer of snow, he pondered about what he could do to make some extra money. As he was so preoccupied, the two block walk seemed to last only a blink of an eye. Only opening the door a crack to keep the heat in, he slipped into the smell of roasting meat. His son's favorite meal.

     "Welcome home, Love," his wife said kissing him on the cheek as he walked into the kitchen.

     "You know we don't have the money for roast, Helen," he said with a sigh.

     "I know, William," Helen said dejectedly, placing her hand over her mouth, "but he had another spell of dizziness today, as well as coughing up blood. He fell off his bed when he tried to sit up, darling. He's getting worse. But he's resting now, and I wanted to try to cheer him up."

     "Oh, Lord help him...my poor Robert. Well, then I cannot say that I frown upon this meal. If you are finished I will go and fetch him."

     "I just have to mash the potatoes, but that will only take a tick. Bring him down, Love."

     As his wife set up Robert's reclining chair by the table, William went upstairs to carry him to the table. Robert was his only son, and he was deathly ill. He coughed up blood, had bouts of dizziness when he strained himself too much, and was so weak nowadays he could barely lift a spoon. The doctor said it was pneumonia, and the medicine to treat it cost 50 pounds. That was more than three week's wages. William prayed everyday for his son, that He would provide a miracle this Christmas season. Giving up His only Son, God would surely understand William's pain and distress.

     Christmas was only three days away. He opened the door to Robert's room to find him asleep in his bed. While sleeping he looked so peaceful, without any hint of pain. William placed his hand on Robert's forehead and whispered a quiet prayer.

     "My Father, grant me the health of my only son. This is a season of giving, so please grant this one request to your faithful servant. Either touch him Yourself, or provide the money for his medicine. Amen." William finished, removing his hand from Robert's burning forehead, "Robert, wake up, my son. Your mother made your favorite meal: roasted beef with mashed potatoes and carrots. She even made some fresh bread, just for you!"

     Stirring and stretching, Robert lazily opened his eyes. Once they locked onto William, he smiled brightly. Robert was only 10 years old, and his father was his hero. William had already begun teaching him the basics of clock making, as William's father had done with him when he was 10 years of age, and Robert wanted nothing more than to be like his dad.

     "I thought we didn't have enough money for good food like this?" Robert asked as William lifted him from the bed into his arms. Carrying Robert as if he were a fragile glass treasure, William carefully descended the stairs. His son has lost so much weight it was like carrying a sack of bones. Almost everything he ate he threw up afterwards. William's heart broke for his sick child, and he prayed for a miracle.

     William placed him gently in his chair and then sat in his own chair across the table. Helen sat next to Robert in case she needed to feed him. They enjoyed a delicious meal as a family, and Robert was happy. Though after his first plate he was too weak to feed himself, he never threw up the wonderful meal. They talked and laughed and told stories, and for one night they were carefree.

------------------------------

     Christmas Eve always promised some last minute shoppers. Not enough, however, to earn enough money for Robert's gift. He had picked out a wonderful piano months ago, and he paid a little money every week. Robert loved music, he always had. Ever since he was a baby they took him to concerts when William sold more clocks than usual, or when Helen could get odd jobs cleaning houses. There was still 100 pounds to go until it was fully paid for, and there was no possible way to find the money with only an hour and a half left before William closed the store.

     The door opened, ringing the bell suspended over the doorway. William looked up from the shop counter to see a stranger's face, not someone from around town. He was an older gentleman with grey hair and kind, blue eyes. No hat, but a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a long brown coat reached down to his ankles. It was late, and this man would most likely be his last customer.

     "Good evening sir," William said in a rehearsed jovial tone, "what can I do for you?"

     "Are you William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man asked, looking directly into William's eyes. Such eyes, the likes of which William had never seen before. Hypnotizing and so deep, they looked bright and full of such wisdom.

     "Yes, I am he. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

     "I am looking for you. I know how sick your son Robert is. I also know what you want to do for him, how you want to make this Christmas special for him. Please, take this," the man explained as he placed an envelope on the shop counter. Shocked at this stranger, he slowly picked it up and opened it.

     Hands shaking, he pulled out 150 pounds. Not only was this enough to pay for the piano, but the expensive medicine Robert so desperately needed as well. Tears poured down his face, and he simply stared at the man, stammering like a fool. His Christmas miracle had just happened.

     "God bless you, sir," William whispered once he found his voice, "God bless you, you kind-hearted sir!"

     "No, Master William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man said as he walked to the door, joy apparent on his smiling face, "He's just blessed you. Merry Christmas." He stepped out of the door and into the snowy night, leaving an ecstatic father to close up early and go buy his son the gifts of his dreams.

     Opening the door to a blast of frigid air and snow, he wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and stepped into the tundra. Turning around to lock the shop door, he glanced inside with a sigh. Though he was the best clockmaker this side of the Thames, business was very poor. He was trying to earn a little extra money to buy his son a Christmas gift. The doctor said it could very well be his last, so he wanted to make it count.

     Trudging through the thick layer of snow, he pondered about what he could do to make some extra money. As he was so preoccupied, the two block walk seemed to last only a blink of an eye. Only opening the door a crack to keep the heat in, he slipped into the smell of roasting meat. His son's favorite meal.

     "Welcome home, Love," his wife said kissing him on the cheek as he walked into the kitchen.

     "You know we don't have the money for roast, Helen," he said with a sigh.

     "I know, William," Helen said dejectedly, placing her hand over her mouth, "but he had another spell of dizziness today, as well as coughing up blood. He fell off his bed when he tried to sit up, darling. He's getting worse. But he's resting now, and I wanted to try to cheer him up."

     "Oh, Lord help him...my poor Robert. Well, then I cannot say that I frown upon this meal. If you are finished I will go and fetch him."

     "I just have to mash the potatoes, but that will only take a tick. Bring him down, Love."

     As his wife set up Robert's reclining chair by the table, William went upstairs to carry him to the table. Robert was his only son, and he was deathly ill. He coughed up blood, had bouts of dizziness when he strained himself too much, and was so weak nowadays he could barely lift a spoon. The doctor said it was pneumonia, and the medicine to treat it cost 50 pounds. That was more than three week's wages. William prayed everyday for his son, that He would provide a miracle this Christmas season. Giving up His only Son, God would surely understand William's pain and distress.

     Christmas was only three days away. He opened the door to Robert's room to find him asleep in his bed. While sleeping he looked so peaceful, without any hint of pain. William placed his hand on Robert's forehead and whispered a quiet prayer.

     "My Father, grant me the health of my only son. This is a season of giving, so please grant this one request to your faithful servant. Either touch him Yourself, or provide the money for his medicine. Amen." William finished, removing his hand from Robert's burning forehead, "Robert, wake up, my son. Your mother made your favorite meal: roasted beef with mashed potatoes and carrots. She even made some fresh bread, just for you!"

     Stirring and stretching, Robert lazily opened his eyes. Once they locked onto William, he smiled brightly. Robert was only 10 years old, and his father was his hero. William had already begun teaching him the basics of clock making, as William's father had done with him when he was 10 years of age, and Robert wanted nothing more than to be like his dad.

     "I thought we didn't have enough money for good food like this?" Robert asked as William lifted him from the bed into his arms. Carrying Robert as if he were a fragile glass treasure, William carefully descended the stairs. His son has lost so much weight it was like carrying a sack of bones. Almost everything he ate he threw up afterwards. William's heart broke for his sick child, and he prayed for a miracle.

     William placed him gently in his chair and then sat in his own chair across the table. Helen sat next to Robert in case she needed to feed him. They enjoyed a delicious meal as a family, and Robert was happy. Though after his first plate he was too weak to feed himself, he never threw up the wonderful meal. They talked and laughed and told stories, and for one night they were carefree.

------------------------------

     Christmas Eve always promised some last minute shoppers. Not enough, however, to earn enough money for Robert's gift. He had picked out a wonderful piano months ago, and he paid a little money every week. Robert loved music, he always had. Ever since he was a baby they took him to concerts when William sold more clocks than usual, or when Helen could get odd jobs cleaning houses. There was still 100 pounds to go until it was fully paid for, and there was no possible way to find the money with only an hour and a half left before William closed the store.

     The door opened, ringing the bell suspended over the doorway. William looked up from the shop counter to see a stranger's face, not someone from around town. He was an older gentleman with grey hair and kind, blue eyes. No hat, but a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a long brown coat reached down to his ankles. It was late, and this man would most likely be his last customer.

     "Good evening sir," William said in a rehearsed jovial tone, "what can I do for you?"

     "Are you William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man asked, looking directly into William's eyes. Such eyes, the likes of which William had never seen before. Hypnotizing and so deep, they looked bright and full of such wisdom.

     "Yes, I am he. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

     "I am looking for you. I know how sick your son Robert is. I also know what you want to do for him, how you want to make this Christmas special for him. Please, take this," the man explained as he placed an envelope on the shop counter. Shocked at this stranger, he slowly picked it up and opened it.

     Hands shaking, he pulled out 150 pounds. Not only was this enough to pay for the piano, but the expensive medicine Robert so desperately needed as well. Tears poured down his face, and he simply stared at the man, stammering like a fool. His Christmas miracle had just happened.

     "God bless you, sir," William whispered once he found his voice, "God bless you, you kind-hearted sir!"

     "No, Master William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man said as he walked to the door, joy apparent on his smiling face, "He's just blessed you. Merry Christmas." He stepped out of the door and into the snowy night, leaving an ecstatic father to close up early and go buy his son the gifts of his dreams.

     Opening the door to a blast of frigid air and snow, he wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and stepped into the tundra. Turning around to lock the shop door, he glanced inside with a sigh. Though he was the best clockmaker this side of the Thames, business was very poor. He was trying to earn a little extra money to buy his son a Christmas gift. The doctor said it could very well be his last, so he wanted to make it count.

     Trudging through the thick layer of snow, he pondered about what he could do to make some extra money. As he was so preoccupied, the two block walk seemed to last only a blink of an eye. Only opening the door a crack to keep the heat in, he slipped into the smell of roasting meat. His son's favorite meal.

     "Welcome home, Love," his wife said kissing him on the cheek as he walked into the kitchen.

     "You know we don't have the money for roast, Helen," he said with a sigh.

     "I know, William," Helen said dejectedly, placing her hand over her mouth, "but he had another spell of dizziness today, as well as coughing up blood. He fell off his bed when he tried to sit up, darling. He's getting worse. But he's resting now, and I wanted to try to cheer him up."

     "Oh, Lord help him...my poor Robert. Well, then I cannot say that I frown upon this meal. If you are finished I will go and fetch him."

     "I just have to mash the potatoes, but that will only take a tick. Bring him down, Love."

     As his wife set up Robert's reclining chair by the table, William went upstairs to carry him to the table. Robert was his only son, and he was deathly ill. He coughed up blood, had bouts of dizziness when he strained himself too much, and was so weak nowadays he could barely lift a spoon. The doctor said it was pneumonia, and the medicine to treat it cost 50 pounds. That was more than three week's wages. William prayed everyday for his son, that He would provide a miracle this Christmas season. Giving up His only Son, God would surely understand William's pain and distress.

     Christmas was only three days away. He opened the door to Robert's room to find him asleep in his bed. While sleeping he looked so peaceful, without any hint of pain. William placed his hand on Robert's forehead and whispered a quiet prayer.

     "My Father, grant me the health of my only son. This is a season of giving, so please grant this one request to your faithful servant. Either touch him Yourself, or provide the money for his medicine. Amen." William finished, removing his hand from Robert's burning forehead, "Robert, wake up, my son. Your mother made your favorite meal: roasted beef with mashed potatoes and carrots. She even made some fresh bread, just for you!"

     Stirring and stretching, Robert lazily opened his eyes. Once they locked onto William, he smiled brightly. Robert was only 10 years old, and his father was his hero. William had already begun teaching him the basics of clock making, as William's father had done with him when he was 10 years of age, and Robert wanted nothing more than to be like his dad.

     "I thought we didn't have enough money for good food like this?" Robert asked as William lifted him from the bed into his arms. Carrying Robert as if he were a fragile glass treasure, William carefully descended the stairs. His son has lost so much weight it was like carrying a sack of bones. Almost everything he ate he threw up afterwards. William's heart broke for his sick child, and he prayed for a miracle.

     William placed him gently in his chair and then sat in his own chair across the table. Helen sat next to Robert in case she needed to feed him. They enjoyed a delicious meal as a family, and Robert was happy. Though after his first plate he was too weak to feed himself, he never threw up the wonderful meal. They talked and laughed and told stories, and for one night they were carefree.

------------------------------

     Christmas Eve always promised some last minute shoppers. Not enough, however, to earn enough money for Robert's gift. He had picked out a wonderful piano months ago, and he paid a little money every week. Robert loved music, he always had. Ever since he was a baby they took him to concerts when William sold more clocks than usual, or when Helen could get odd jobs cleaning houses. There was still 100 pounds to go until it was fully paid for, and there was no possible way to find the money with only an hour and a half left before William closed the store.

     The door opened, ringing the bell suspended over the doorway. William looked up from the shop counter to see a stranger's face, not someone from around town. He was an older gentleman with grey hair and kind, blue eyes. No hat, but a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a long brown coat reached down to his ankles. It was late, and this man would most likely be his last customer.

     "Good evening sir," William said in a rehearsed jovial tone, "what can I do for you?"

     "Are you William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man asked, looking directly into William's eyes. Such eyes, the likes of which William had never seen before. Hypnotizing and so deep, they looked bright and full of such wisdom.

     "Yes, I am he. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

     "I am looking for you. I know how sick your son Robert is. I also know what you want to do for him, how you want to make this Christmas special for him. Please, take this," the man explained as he placed an envelope on the shop counter. Shocked at this stranger, he slowly picked it up and opened it.

     Hands shaking, he pulled out 150 pounds. Not only was this enough to pay for the piano, but the expensive medicine Robert so desperately needed as well. Tears poured down his face, and he simply stared at the man, stammering like a fool. His Christmas miracle had just happened.

     "God bless you, sir," William whispered once he found his voice, "God bless you, you kind-hearted sir!"

     "No, Master William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man said as he walked to the door, joy apparent on his smiling face, "He's just blessed you. Merry Christmas." He stepped out of the door and into the snowy night, leaving an ecstatic father to close up early and go buy his son the gifts of his dreams.

     Opening the door to a blast of frigid air and snow, he wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and stepped into the tundra. Turning around to lock the shop door, he glanced inside with a sigh. Though he was the best clockmaker this side of the Thames, business was very poor. He was trying to earn a little extra money to buy his son a Christmas gift. The doctor said it could very well be his last, so he wanted to make it count.

     Trudging through the thick layer of snow, he pondered about what he could do to make some extra money. As he was so preoccupied, the two block walk seemed to last only a blink of an eye. Only opening the door a crack to keep the heat in, he slipped into the smell of roasting meat. His son's favorite meal.

     "Welcome home, Love," his wife said kissing him on the cheek as he walked into the kitchen.

     "You know we don't have the money for roast, Helen," he said with a sigh.

     "I know, William," Helen said dejectedly, placing her hand over her mouth, "but he had another spell of dizziness today, as well as coughing up blood. He fell off his bed when he tried to sit up, darling. He's getting worse. But he's resting now, and I wanted to try to cheer him up."

     "Oh, Lord help him...my poor Robert. Well, then I cannot say that I frown upon this meal. If you are finished I will go and fetch him."

     "I just have to mash the potatoes, but that will only take a tick. Bring him down, Love."

     As his wife set up Robert's reclining chair by the table, William went upstairs to carry him to the table. Robert was his only son, and he was deathly ill. He coughed up blood, had bouts of dizziness when he strained himself too much, and was so weak nowadays he could barely lift a spoon. The doctor said it was pneumonia, and the medicine to treat it cost 50 pounds. That was more than three week's wages. William prayed everyday for his son, that He would provide a miracle this Christmas season. Giving up His only Son, God would surely understand William's pain and distress.

     Christmas was only three days away. He opened the door to Robert's room to find him asleep in his bed. While sleeping he looked so peaceful, without any hint of pain. William placed his hand on Robert's forehead and whispered a quiet prayer.

     "My Father, grant me the health of my only son. This is a season of giving, so please grant this one request to your faithful servant. Either touch him Yourself, or provide the money for his medicine. Amen." William finished, removing his hand from Robert's burning forehead, "Robert, wake up, my son. Your mother made your favorite meal: roasted beef with mashed potatoes and carrots. She even made some fresh bread, just for you!"

     Stirring and stretching, Robert lazily opened his eyes. Once they locked onto William, he smiled brightly. Robert was only 10 years old, and his father was his hero. William had already begun teaching him the basics of clock making, as William's father had done with him when he was 10 years of age, and Robert wanted nothing more than to be like his dad.

     "I thought we didn't have enough money for good food like this?" Robert asked as William lifted him from the bed into his arms. Carrying Robert as if he were a fragile glass treasure, William carefully descended the stairs. His son has lost so much weight it was like carrying a sack of bones. Almost everything he ate he threw up afterwards. William's heart broke for his sick child, and he prayed for a miracle.

     William placed him gently in his chair and then sat in his own chair across the table. Helen sat next to Robert in case she needed to feed him. They enjoyed a delicious meal as a family, and Robert was happy. Though after his first plate he was too weak to feed himself, he never threw up the wonderful meal. They talked and laughed and told stories, and for one night they were carefree.

------------------------------

     Christmas Eve always promised some last minute shoppers. Not enough, however, to earn enough money for Robert's gift. He had picked out a wonderful piano months ago, and he paid a little money every week. Robert loved music, he always had. Ever since he was a baby they took him to concerts when William sold more clocks than usual, or when Helen could get odd jobs cleaning houses. There was still 100 pounds to go until it was fully paid for, and there was no possible way to find the money with only an hour and a half left before William closed the store.

     The door opened, ringing the bell suspended over the doorway. William looked up from the shop counter to see a stranger's face, not someone from around town. He was an older gentleman with grey hair and kind, blue eyes. No hat, but a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a long brown coat reached down to his ankles. It was late, and this man would most likely be his last customer.

     "Good evening sir," William said in a rehearsed jovial tone, "what can I do for you?"

     "Are you William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man asked, looking directly into William's eyes. Such eyes, the likes of which William had never seen before. Hypnotizing and so deep, they looked bright and full of such wisdom.

     "Yes, I am he. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

     "I am looking for you. I know how sick your son Robert is. I also know what you want to do for him, how you want to make this Christmas special for him. Please, take this," the man explained as he placed an envelope on the shop counter. Shocked at this stranger, he slowly picked it up and opened it.

     Hands shaking, he pulled out 150 pounds. Not only was this enough to pay for the piano, but the expensive medicine Robert so desperately needed as well. Tears poured down his face, and he simply stared at the man, stammering like a fool. His Christmas miracle had just happened.

     "God bless you, sir," William whispered once he found his voice, "God bless you, you kind-hearted sir!"

     "No, Master William Edgedale, the clockmaker," the man said as he walked to the door, joy apparent on his smiling face, "He's just blessed you. Merry Christmas." He stepped out of the door and into the snowy night, leaving an ecstatic father to close up early and go buy his son the gifts of his dreams.


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