hristmas is right around the corner in Yellow Springs.

They had a gentle blanket of crisp snow earlier in the month, but rains and temperatures in the mid-forties washed away the brilliance and left historic Conestoga County with March-like mud. The soggy weather hasnt dampened the celebration of cherished Christmas customs. For years, Lloyd Ludwig has been grappling, unsuccessfully, with the conundrum of what he calls "peripheral donees". For longer than he can remember, he and Loretta had been giving either cash or cute, but otherwise useless and inexpensive, holiday gifts to a host of people in slotted positions: the paper boy, mailman, all of their four kids' teachers, Pastor Swench, their dry cleaners, his barber, her beautician, the trash collector, and the piano and trumpet instructors. In return, Lloyd, who teaches German at Millard Fillmore High, received roughly thirty cute, useless, and inexpensive trinkets from his students and their parents, some of which came off the reduced-for-quick-sale shelf at the Dollar Store, which he knew because he had given other items off that shelf to the paper boy and garbage man. And then there were those people who gave Lloyd a card telling him that a gift had been given in his name to a worthy charity. The only thing that got him was his name on the charity's mailing list for future beggings. Two years ago, Lloyd declared he had had enough. No more chinsey knick-knacks. No more self-righteous cards about financial donations made in someone else's name. Instead, he chose to give the gift of time: he sent notes to each of the people on his peripheral list inviting them to join he and Loretta for a home-cooked meal sometime in the year ahead. Only he forgot one little detail: he didnt tell Loretta.

Bill Kennedy

! 2002 William D. Kennedy 41 Birch Road Malvern PA 19355 (610) 695-9419 kennedyw@whiteandwilliams.com

Over that following year, on over twenty occasions, Loretta Ludwig had to prepare an original feast to honor one or more of these peripherals, each of whom expected that the Ludwigs would be genuinely interested in them. That was two years ago, so last year, Loretta got Lloyd back: she sent each peripheral donee a card promising that over the coming year, Lloyd would handcraft a wooden decoration or furnishing from downstairs in his woodshop, and would they kindly specify what they wanted? Lloyd worked through Halloween meeting the orders. This year, Lloyd and Loretta peacefully returned to the Dollar Store instead. This past weekend was the judging for the public decoration contest. In the Farm-and-Barn Division, Homer Himmelglump surrendered his title, but he at least kept the honor in the family by losing to his daughter Holly and her Lebonese husband, although there was a titter of laughter when new Mayor Danny Dauerditter announced the prize went to "Khali and Holly Jhali." The families on Damascus Road beat out twelve other streets for top honors in the Neighborhood Division. Their tasteful, uniform framing of homes in icicle lights and their lining of driveways and curbs with red and green luminaries suited the judges better than the array of illuminated plastic reindeer and Santas found among most of the other districts. Winning the contest seems to have elevated the seasonal excitement and expectations up and down the street. Expectations among the kids in the Brubaker home were already pretty high to begin with, so high that Brenda and Brady arent exactly sure they can lower them. At bedtime yesterday, seven year-old Buddy Brubaker cuddled on his parents bed, trying his best to be irresistible as he wished hed find a Harvey-the-Handyman Handy Helper Tool Box under the tree on Christmas morning. Buddy thinks its not that much of a long shot to ask for, not since he found a big,

unwrapped Harvey-The-Handyman box under a blanket in the back of the storage closet earlier in the day. Harvey-The-Handyman has been a dominant theme on Damascus Road this fall. Buddy Brubaker and his best-friend Paulie Portelung race home from First Grade to watch the Harvey-The-Handyman cartoon show on public television every afternoon. The theme for Buddys birthday was HarveyThe-Handyman, and he has accumulated several licensed toys from the series. At Halloween, Buddy and Paulie dressed up as Harvey and his loyal assistant, Woody Holder. Buddy seems to have thought he'd create a heartwarming moment for his parents by asking for a Christmas gift that he figured theyd expect him to want and which they had already procured for him. How nice, he thought, that he could make them happy by making them think they made him happy! And getting that Harvey-The-Handyman Handy Helper Tool Box was going to make Buddy Brubaker very happy, indeed! When Buddy told his mother that all he only wanted one gift, the Handy Helper Tool Box, he didn't notice his mother's distracted, lukewarm response. "We'll just have to see, Dear," Brenda said, glancing uneasily at her husband Brady. "Remember, Santa doesn't bring everything on children's lists." "Yeah, but I get presents from you guys, too, right?" Buddy asked. "Sure, Sport," Brady interjected, "but let's not worry about that, okay? You just work on being my good little Buddy!" They trundled him off to bed, but later, Brenda worried, "His little heart is set on that Tool Box, you know." "I know," Brady conceded, "but do you think he's ever stopped to notice that all of the Harvey-The-Handyman toys are found in our house, not in Paulies?"
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"Probably not," Brenda agreed reluctantly. "But he's going to be awfully disappointed if there's no Harvey toy under our tree." "Aww, he and Paulie play together everyday! He'll probably play with the tool set more over at Portelungs than he will here." "You don't think Buddy has been sneaking around down in the storage closet, do you?" Brenda wondered. "Oh, that's where you hid it? Hmm, I don't know. He might. I know I snooped around looking for presents when I was that age." "What will Buddy think if he's already seen the tool set and then he doesn't get it on Christmas morning?" "Well, if that's what's happened, I guess it will just be time for me to begin to tell him." "Tell him? Tell him what?" Tell him the truth about how Christmas is remembered in this household. Brenda nodded, "Yes, I guess you'll have to tell him -- at least in a way that a Second Grader can understand."
! "! "! "! "! "! "! " Brady Brubaker meant it might be time for his youngest to hear a story that his older two children heard once they reached an age of understanding. Brady told them something about himself -- something he wasn't particularly proud of, but something that explained why the Brubaker family operated differently than others. It helped explain why they didn't live in a big, executive mansion anymore, and why people sometimes looked at Brady funny and whispered about him behind his back. And why Brady never reacted to it.

Initially, Bradys older kids didn't want to believe what he told them. They looked at their father with uncertainty and caution -- but as they got used to who he was and what he had done, they also looked at him with greater appreciation for who he had become. It's always been a little hard for Brady to know where the story began, but the more he told it -- first to his wife, then his parents, brothers, sisters, business partners, and now, his children -- the more he began with the events of Christmas Eve a dozen years ago. At the time, Brady was a successful accountant, the youngest partner ever elected into Lejjer & Sommes. A few years earlier, over at Yellow Springs Methodist, Pastor Godfrey Swench had tapped Brady to succeed Chuckie Cechmanek as Treasurer and Chair of the Finance Committee. The Methodists, Little League, County Council, Masons, Lions, Optimists, Regional Planning Council, and Chamber of Commerce all laid claim to Bradys "spare" time. With looks, charm, education, status, a beautiful localgirl wife, two young children, and a bright future, Brady Brubaker was one of the most popular young men in town. Then came that fateful Christmas Eve. The Brubakers were throwing their annual lavish Christmas party, complete with catering, two bartenders, and a hired-out jazz pianist. The party was well under way when Brady heard the doorbell. "I got it," he called cheerfully to Brenda. Cocktail in hand, Brady opened the door. "Well, well," he greeted merrily, "Pastor Swench, Lenny Whitebrook, and Sherman Shuckover -- come on in! Welcome to our party!" Brady hadn't remembered expressly inviting his pastor and two fellow church members, but Brubaker parties were like that -- everyone was welcome, and you never knew who might just drop in. "Sorry to interrupt," Godfrey began politely.

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"We're not here to party," Sherman Shuckover interrupted ominously. "We need to talk with you, Brady. Privately. It's important," Godfrey continued meaningfully. "Now, boys?" Brady asked. "It's Christmas Eve! I know I'm missing services tonight, Pastor, but whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait until after tomorrow. Now come on in and let me get you something to wet your whistle." Sherman Shuckover sputtered, "For all I care, we don't have to talk at all!" To Pastor Swench and Lenny Whitebrook, Sherman reminded, "I told you this was a bad idea." Brady ignored him. Sherman Shuckover had been a thorn in Brady's side at Church for years. Shuckover was old-school: a rigid, retired Army MP. Brady had cringed when Sherman was appointed to Brady's Finance Committee for the coming year, and he hadn't expected to have to deal with the man until the new year. It was the unchanging impassivity in Lenny Whitebrook's face that froze Brady. With quiet, undeniable firmness, the chair of the Ministry and Mission Commission declared, "We must talk, Brady. Right now." Something in the way Lenny Whitebrook uttered the phrase told Brady that despite the music and merriment all around him, the party was over. With a sinking feeling, Brady took the visitors around to his study in the rear of the house. He cursed the hubris which had prevented him from ever believing he could get caught or that he'd ever need an escape plan. Pastor Swench started, "Brady, it's come to our attention that there have been some irregularities in the church finances." Brady tried to parry the thrust, launching into a spiel about the difficulty of reading financial statements, but Lenny -4-

Whitebrook held up his hand as a stop sign -- the same gesture his Leni-Lenape forebears used as a greeting of peace to the first Europeans in these parts nearly three hundred years ago. When the mouths were still and the eyes rested upon him, Lenny Whitebrook said simply, "We know." Brady blinked once, then twice, but he didn't bother to ask what they knew. He knew what they knew. He knew they knew he had been dipping into the funds of the Church, its nursery school, its memorial foundation, and its cemetery. Godfrey explained, "Sherman came to me a few days ago with some questions, Brady -- he wanted to come up to speed before his term on Finance began. I thought I understood everything -- it's always made sense to me when you've explained it -- but somehow I couldn't answer Sherman's questions. I assumed it was just me -- you know I'm not very fluent in financial matters." Sherman spat, "That's how this crook got away with it for so long!" Godfrey continued, "So we asked Lenny Whitebrook to help us today." Brady wasn't surprised they had looked to Lenny Whitebrook for guidance. He wasn't an accountant -- he ran a small homebuilding company -- but he was a sharp, sound, solid, senior citizen whom everyone liked and respected. Brady assumed that while Lenny Whitebrook might not have caught everything Brady had been doing, he surely would have figured out enough to knock down Brady's financial house of cards. Godfrey added, "Lenny's been working hard on this. He came to me this morning with his uh, concerns." "'Concerns' my left ear," Sherman Shuckover blasted. "I may not be a fancy, dancy, Ivy League number-cruncher like you, Brubaker, but I know a crook when I see one. You been

cooking our books, stealing people's hard-earned charity money. If you were in the Army, you'd be looking at twenty years in Levenworth!" Godfrey resumed, Sherman wanted to go down to the police station right now on Christmas Eve. I have to admit, he has good reason to do so. But," he added pastorally, "I also think we need to address the underlying problem, too. Lenny Whitebrook suggested we come over to speak to you first before taking that step." Brady noticed that they didn't say they had come to see him instead of going to the police, but rather just that they were coming first. Godfrey leaned forward earnestly. "Brady, why'd you do it? I just can't understand why you would steal in the first place, let alone from a church." Brady had nothing to say. He really wasn't sure why he began diverting contributions and fudging expense vouchers. Was it greed? Or pride? Or maybe because he had fallen into the trap of spending more than he made. Perhaps it was because it was so easy to take advantage of the unsuspecting Yellow Springers. Sidestepping the question, Brady lobbied for survival, "I've always meant to repay it. It's really not a matter for the police." "Brubaker, it's a felony," Sherman Shuckover reminded. Brady hated that his nemesis had the upper hand. "You don't understand," he began to plead with Godfrey. Again, Lenny Whitebrook's upheld hand stopped the dialogue. He met Brady's eyes. "Don't add insult to injury. Sherman is right to want to prosecute you. And you have harbored no intention of repaying what you've robbed. The church has a fiduciary bond on its officers, so it may have to reimburse the church if you cannot, but before it repays us, -5-

we would have to prosecute you. These things may yet come to pass." Desperately, Brady begged, "Listen, just give me a little time -- thirty days is all I need." "Thirty days?!?" Sherman Shuckover spewed. "You'd need half a decade to repay what you've embezzled." "You don't deserve time," Lenny Whitebrook challenged. Brady's head slunk into his hands as he agreed, "No. You're right. I don't." Collapsing into a chair, Brady unraveled what he had done. It took nearly five minutes for him to tell even a short synopsis of his crimes. Sherman Shuckover ranted, "I told you we should have had a tape recorder on us! Do you hear that confession?!?" "Quiet," Lenny Whitebrook commanded, and Sherman complied. Then, with the solemnity of the ancient chiefs of his clan, Lenny Whitebrook intoned, "Brady Brubaker, you have broken faith with your church and with your God. Your breach was deliberate and repeated. You have caused damage far beyond your ability to repair. By all measure, you deserve the full humiliation and penalty which will surely follow your arrest. What do you say to this?" Brady looked into the angry, vengeful face of Sherman Shuckover, then into the pained, hurt eyes of Godfrey Swench, and finally he met the stoic stare of Lenny Whitebrook. The lump in his throat was so full he could barely breath. He nodded and managed to admit, "You're right." Lenny Whitebrook continued, "You merit neither consideration nor consolation." Brady nodded. "I suppose not."

Lenny Whitebrook concluded, "We should, by all rights, adhere to Sherman's wishes and report this matter to the police this very night." Thoroughly defeated, Brady agreed. Then he asked, "So why did you come here then?" Nodding at the holiday party raging just beyond the closed, study doors, Lenny Whitebrook asked, "Why is it that you have a grand party on the night before the celebration of the Lord's birth?" Brady didn't understand the apparent change of the subject. He shrugged, "I guess to have a good time. To share some joy and fellowship with friends. You know, tidings of comfort and joy." "That is the depth of Christmas to you?" Lenny Whitebrook questioned. Brady was confused and embarrassed. His reasons for throwing a holiday party seemed both trivial and irrelevant in light of the financial crisis these men had uncovered. He muttered something about peace on earth, good will towards men. Lenny Whitebrook said, "You think that Christmas is a time for fellowship and good cheer, and that is well and good. But the birth of Christ was first and foremost an extension of grace to those who have fallen short, to those who, like you, who have breached faith with God deliberately and repeatedly." Godfrey nodded in agreement. "Which is why," Lenny Whitebrook announced, "we have come here. Grace shall be offered to you tonight." "What?" Sherman Shuckover argued. "We didn't agree on offering him anything!"

Lenny Whitebrook ignored him. "The grace offered to you, Brady Brubaker, is that without guile, you will reveal to your wife, to the congregation, and to your business partners the nature and extent of your breach. You will endure a full, independent audit of all your clients and accounts. And all sums removed will be restored immediately. Do this, and there will be no police, no prosecution, and no penalty." Brady was dumbstruck. Sherman Shuckover was outraged. "Listen here, Lenny. You have no absolutely no authority to do this! You can't let this man get away with embezzlement! Brady can no more repay his debt than he can flap his arms and fly to the moon!" Brady knew Sherman was right. Godfrey added, "You know, Lenny, even if the police aren't involved, once this becomes public, like you said, I don't know that Brady would be able to keep his job anyhow. So I'm not sure that a repayment plan is very, uh feasible." Ceremonially, Lenny Whitebrook asked, "Brady Brubaker, do you acknowledge your breach of faith, trust, and conduct?" With equal solemnity, Brady sat up straight and answered, "I do. " "Tonight, would you repay the amount you've robbed if you could?" "I would." "Will you then confess your sin to your wife, your church family, and those who have invested trust in you?" "I will." Sherman Shuckover could take it no more. "You're not letting him get away with this, are you?" he complained.

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Lenny Whitebrook quoted, "He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy." "I dont care about your old Indian sayings," Sherman objected. "It's not an 'old Indian saying," Lenny Whitebrook replied. "It's " "an old Hebrew saying," Godfrey interrupted as a smile of admiration crept across his face. "A proverb of Solomon, to be exact, Chapter 28, verse 13, I think. Right?" Lenny Whitebrook nodded to his pastor. He turned back to Godfrey. "You will reveal all this to your wife tomorrow, on Christmas, and explain the grace that has been offered to you. You will tell your business partners the next day. You will tell your church on Sunday. On Monday, assuming you have been discharged from your firm, you will report to work with my company at 7:30. I have a job in mind for you." "What about the money?!?" Sherman Shuckover demanded. "If we don't turn him over to the police, the insurance company will never pay on the bond." "What is the total amount of your theft?" Lenny Whitebrook asked Brady. "Three hundred fifty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars," Brady recited without hesitating. Ever the good accountant, he always knew exactly how much he had swindled. Oddly, he could not recall all the toys, baubles, gadgets, vacations, and perks that he had spent the money on. When they heard the amount, Godfrey Swench flinched and Sherman Shuckover gasped. That was more than twice what they expected. Lenny Whitebrook stunned all three men by reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a check. Made payable to -7-

Yellow Springs Methodist Church, it had been drawn in the exact sum of $357,250. He handed it to Godfrey Swench. "Payment," he said, "in full." Brady was amazed that Lenny Whitebrook had so quickly and accurately calculated the precise dollar damage that Brady had taken several years to surreptitiously inflict. Even more amazing was that Lenny Whitebrook had that kind of money to throw around. Why, the man lived in a four bedroom colonial out on Damascus Road -- hardly the kind of place you'd expect a man of means to live. Brady vowed to repay the loss, but Lenny Whitebrook wouldn't hear of it. "You'll never be able to, he said simply. "No, this was a gift, like the gift of the first Christmas: undeserved and unrepayable. Instead, you must work to show similar grace and kindness to others. And when your children are old enough, you will teach them of this." "They'll be ashamed of me," Brady thought aloud. Lenny Whitebrook disagreed. "If you have learned from this, they will be proud of who have will have become." ! "! "! "! "! "! "! "

That was all a dozen years ago. Brady did exactly what Lenny Whitebrook had instructed. He confessed his crime -and yet because the funds had been fully reimbursed, he received a suspended sentence and parole for his crimes. He was fired from his accounting firm, but went to work for Lenape Construction where Lenny Whitebrook immediately put him to work as an office manager and bookkeeper -- a role very similar to that which he had abused at the Church. The public revelation and shame of Brady's crime fundamentally changed him. The Brubakers sold their expansive home and moved back into an older, smaller neighborhood on Damascus Road, just up the street from where Lenny Whitebrook lived, at least until he died five

years ago. Since Brady couldnt repay his debt directly, he worked to fill lesser voids wherever he could. Which is why the Harvey-The-Handyman Handy Helper Tool Box came to be hidden in the storage closet. Next door, Peter Portelung was laid off from the Wheelworks fourteen months ago. A single father, Peter was about at his wit's end. Savings and hope rapidly dwindled, at least until the Brubakers began helping out. First it was a few bills here and there. Lately, Brenda and Brady have shouldered the Portelung mortgage. Brady knew that without help, Christmas would be barren next door, and so the Harvey-TheHandyman Tool Box bore a tag not for their son Buddy, but for his best friend, Paulie. On Christmas morning, Brady knows Buddy will be crestfallen not to find the tool box under the tree. There will be other presents, of course, but they'll be smaller and less costly than what Brady, now a co-owner of Lenape Construction, can afford. And sometime that Christmas day, once all the ripped wrapping paper is strewn and red ribbons unfurled, Brady will take little Buddy aside and begin to tell him all about Lenny Whitebrook and that Christmas twelve years ago.

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