Cedric the Optimist

         Author’s Note: Written for those who would like some inspiration to get through a dreary January. Requests to republish this short story should be sent to the attention of the author via the Contact form on this Barnaby Druthers website. Comments welcome about this story. Please consider sharing your thoughts below.

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities between any parties or situations are completely coincidental.

Cedric the Optimist By J. Timothy Quirk ©2024

 A blanket of charcoal hid the path of Apollo’s chariot as it sped all too quickly across the heavens while below, the once beautiful cover of white soured into a dark wet carpet of dirty snow and ice that clung to the boots of all who tread upon it. The days were cold, the nights were colder, and the happy days of yuletide and the high expectations of a new year gave way to the drudgery of daily toil.  The exact cause of the citizens’ general malaise to outright misery was ill-defined and often left unexpressed, but to be certain, a feeling of quiet discontent permeated the souls of all those who felt the promise of Spring was a lifetime away. In short, it was late January, the uncompromising, irredeemable late January.

As he sat with his wife Elizabeth at the dinner table, Cedric Temple announced they would host a party on the night of January 31st.  

“Isn’t the 31st a Wednesday? That’s midweek.  Our friends will be busy.  Surely, we should wait for a weekend.”

Cedric was undeterred. It must be the 31st or not at all and “not at all” was not an option.

“Why? It is not your birthday and not my birthday and not the day of our wedding. Is it any other anniversary?”

“It is the end of January,” he said, “and we must celebrate it’s departure.”

“We don’t have the money for it,” Elizabeth said with kindness.

It was true that crushing debts hovered over the household budget like a guillotine waiting for one false step, but Cedric was resolute to his cause.

“By God, we must have a party. How else can we endure?”

His coworkers were not enthused with the prospect of leaving their homes in the midweek of January.

“I shall have to review my calendar,” lied one clerk.

“I’ll try to be there,” lied another.

The neighbors believed Cedric had gone mad for they knew his tiny home could barely hold the family of three, let alone the entire neighborhood. Still, they reassured him they would bring a dish if they could attend, while quietly preparing to lock their doors and silently retire early for the evening, lest they offend a troubled man who resided in close proximity to their own families.

The weekend before the party, Cedric and Elizabeth scrubbed the floors and dusted the shelves.  On Monday, Cedric sent his son Peter to market to purchase the largest goose they could afford, but they could not afford a goose for the goose club to which they belonged had already provided a bird for Christmas and funding would take all year to provide for next year’s feast. Peter settled upon some cheese, watercrests and the smallest pork in the shop which was still burdensome to their finances.

            The morning on the last day of January arrived without ceremony. Cedric was required to work and though his employer knew of Cedric’s quixotic quest, there was no accommodation made for his workday. His coworkers were extremely busy and had no time for idle discussions, so the party was not spoken of aloud and Cedric returned home when the evening of January 31st was dark and cold and quiet.

            Upon opening his door, he found the parlor illuminated by candlelight and the fire roaring in the fireplace. The table was set for the modest feast while Elizabeth and Peter looked at his expression expectantly.

“Has anyone been by?” he asked.  

“Not yet,” she replied. “But it’s early.”

But it was not early, not for a Wednesday evening at least.

“It is a fine cut of pork, father,” said Peter.

“Of that I’m certain,” he said, “but we shall save it for our guests.”

An hour passed without incident or merriment and conversation in the home dwindled into a kind of silence only the dead could recognize. Cedric moved from the window and sat down at the table and refused to eat. When all was lost, he finally broke the silence.

“Open the door, Elizabeth, if you please,” he asked without keeping his head aloft.

“It is far too cold, Cedric. Can’t keep the heat in with the door open,” she advised.

“They don’t know the party has started,” he said. “And they won’t know until the door is open. That must be it. So please, my dear, open the door.”

She nodded to her son and Peter dutifully opened the door and a chilling wind became the first guest to enter the home.  Peter could not see any lights on in any of their neighbors’ houses and he decided not to mention it. A half hour came and went while Cedric looked at the table when he found the motivation to raise his eyes above his chin at all.

The Parkers lived three doors down and across the street from Cedric and his family and Mrs. Parker loved to bake. She took every opportunity to make bread or simple pies and on very rare occasions, she made little cakes and on the last day of January, Mrs. Parker chose to bake little cakes in case the Parkers attended the party. Mr. Parker thought the entire concept of a party without purpose was nonsense although he approved of the smell of baking in his home. The little cakes were cooled, and Mr. Parker ate his fill but there were still five little cakes that remained on the counter near the stove.

“I suppose there is no sense letting these few little cakes go to waste,” Mrs. Parker said as she put on her coat.

“If you insist on going out, I will go with you,” Mr. Parker replied.

As the Parkers stepped out of their house with a covered basket and walked toward the open door that was three doors down and across the way, their movement did not escape the eye of Guilford Bennet, the bachelor gentleman who lived next door. Guilford had no intention of attending any celebration, but he had not eaten anything all day and as it just so happened, he had ensured his clothes were presentable and his face and hands were clean and though he had no food to bring to a party, he did have his English fiddle. He waited until the Parkers reached the threshold to Cedric’s home before running across the street with his fiddle so that he stood behind Parkers and they all entered the Temple’s home together.

 “I brought my fiddle, if you care for a song,” Guilford offered and the offer was accepted.

The Parkers had no intention of staying at the party but as their basket was warmly received and Guilford Bennet began playing his fiddle, they were handed a plate with some pork, water crests and cheese, so they felt obliged to engage in some conversation and within a few minutes, an unintentional joke by Peter set the Parkers and the Temples to laughter.  

The sound of merriment did not go unnoticed by the Temple’s next-door neighbors, Margaret and Ambrose Butterfield, and Ambrose Butterfield loved to dance. They could hear the fiddle, but it was too faint for Ambrose to coax Margaret to join him in a dance.

“I bet they’re dancing next door,” he sulked.

“Go next door, then,” she said.

“Perhaps I will. But only if you come with me,” he pleaded.

“Very well,” she sighed. Before the song ended, the Butterfields were dancing in the Temple’s house.

The children at the Henderson’s house saw the excitement at Temple homoe and believed incorrectly there were presents for children there if they could only convince their parents to take them. At first, they were told it was only party for adults, but the children remained undeterred, vocal, and steadfast in their unwarranted beliefs. To satiate their own curiosity and to satisfy the children’s pleadings, the Hendersons found enough scraps in their pantry to make some semblance of a dish, put on their coats, and walked two doors down to the Temples while their children exclaimed boisterously with delight in the evening air.

The Henderson children thundered down the street with such enthusiasm that every household in their vicinity seemed to come alive as they passed, and lights began to flicker in every window.  When the Parkers began to plan their departure, Mrs. Calloway stepped in with little cakes of her own and Mrs. Parker wanted to learn her recipe.

The party grew and grew until some of the neighbors felt obligated to open their own doors. Soon each guest went house to house as the neighborhood came alive.  Every friend and acquaintance celebrated the fact that the uncomromising, irredeemable month was coming to an end.

The morning of Thursday, February 1st arrived, and Cedric Temple rose with the hint of the sun behind grey clouds that promised to not overstay their welcome. He surveyed the table, and every shelf he had spent the prior weekend dusting was filled with plates or baskets of food donated to the celebration.  Although every guest left the party with full hearts and stomachs, the Temples now possessed more food than they owned just two nights before.

“Are you happy?” Elizabeth asked.

“I think so,” he replied as he readied himself for work. Upon reflection, he added, “I will be.”

“I didn’t expect so many people,” she confessed with a yawn that turned into a smile quickly.

He nodded as he ran a brush through his hair. He knew the workday would be interesting as a few of his coworkers had actually attended the party after all and he would thank them for coming when he saw them. Word would spread through the workplace and no doubt every coworker would ask to come to the party the following year.

As her husband stood at the door, Elizabeth Temple asked, “Why on earth made you think of it?”

He threw the scarf loosely around his neck.

“January tricks us. The cold and the darkness deceives us into believing we experience all of it alone,” he said. “We need to be reminded sometimes that January is not forever, that February goes fast, and soon there’ll be Spring.”

She fixed his scarf so that it was neatly presented and would keep him warm. “We’ll ask the goose club if we can put a deposit in for a goose in January next year,” she said.

They kissed and he smiled as she closed the door behind him.

The charcoal grey still covered the sky in the early days of February, but Cedric didn’t mind it as much as he used to and soon Apollo’s chariot took longer to cross the heavens and the icy mush finally yielded and vanished as green seemed to awake from its slumber and reclaim its domain. When the happy days of March arrived, the long dreary days of January lay distant in his mind, redeemed in memory by the fellowship of friends and neighbors by candlelight with a door open and the sound of an English fiddle playing in the night air.

-Fin

1819-1820 by Francis Guy