OZMA'S GIFT
By Erin McCarty
Copyright © 1999
"I h-hope it w-warms up b-before t-too long," Ozma shivered through chattering teeth. The red shawl she wore was torn and faded, and it had grown so thin that it was transparent in places, providing little protection from the icy winter winds that whipped through her small hole in the Church of the Good Shepherd.
It was a drafty old church, but Reverend Simmons was very kind to any creature who ventured into his parish, so Ozma had taken up residence there despite the chill. She was a lovely young mouse with soft brown fur, sleek black whiskers, and a dainty pink nose. But her most striking feature was her eyes, which looked like tiny emeralds. They were deep and beautiful, and they twinkled like the stars in the night sky.
Her mother had named her after the empress in the Emerald City of Oz and had told Ozma that green eyes in a mouse are a mark of wisdom and beauty. But the other mice gasped when they saw Ozma, for her eyes were the eyes of a cat -- clearly a mark of the devil. The Great Council of Mice convened immediately and determined without hesitation that the youngster had to go. She had been permitted, due to her mother's pleading, to stay in the community until she had been weaned, but no longer. Now she was alone, and the winter seemed almost unbearable.
Ozma's greatest pleasure during these cold winter months was listening to Reverend Simmons preach each Sunday. His soft, gentle voice appeared to mesmerize the entire congregation, but Ozma always felt as though he was speaking directly to her. Fire and brimstone was not his way; instead he preached God's loving kindness and urged everyone to follow that example. His crystal blue eyes sparkled with love every time he talked about God, and Ozma came to think that if her eyes were the eyes of the devil, then his must be the eyes of God. Each night before she went to sleep, Ozma prayed fervently that her eyes would miraculously change color overnight, because as much as she liked Reverend Simmons, what she wanted more than anything else in the world was to be with her mother again.
One night as Ozma was just curling up to go to sleep, she heard a very strange noise right outside her hole. Sniff! Sniff! Sniff! Apprehensive yet intrigued, Ozma crept stealthily towards her entryway with pricked ears and whiskers twitching with anticipation. The sound grew steadily louder until it reached Ozma's ears like the crashing of thunder. SNIFF! SNIFF!...SNIFF! SNIFF! Ozma gathered up every ounce of courage she possessed and gingerly batted her paw at the object lodged in her doorway.
It was jet black, bumpy, and covered with slime. Ozma squealed and plunged back into her bed of straw.
"So you're the one my nose has been telling me about," chuckled a grizzled old voice.
"Wh-who is that?" Ozma whispered.
"Come out of your hole and I'll introduce myself," replied the voice. Ozma watched as the object disappeared, leaving her front door open. After a moment of uncertainty, she marched out into the open room of the sanctuary.
"The name's Pete," the voice began. "I live here with Reverend Simmons." After a brief look in the direction of the voice, Ozma was soon able to locate its source. It was an old, bedraggled, black-and-brown beagle. His skin seemed to be too big for his body's framework, and his once sleek and shiny fur was now rough and mangy. He had long, floppy ears and wore a golden heart-shaped key on a silver ribbon around his neck.
"I'm Ozma," Ozma offered with more assurance.
"What an unusual name," remarked Pete. "It isn't every day that I get to meet an empress."
"How did you know that?" Ozma demanded.
"You'd be surprised at how much I know," answered Pete with twinkling eyes.
"You wouldn't happen to know how I can change the color of my eyes, would you?" Ozma asked hopefully.
"If you did that, your name wouldn't make much sense anymore," observed Pete.
"I don't care!" shouted Ozma, stamping her paw. "I'll just change my name. I never liked it much anyway. But I've got to get rid of these green eyes!"
"Well," Pete said thoughtfully, "if you really want this, there is a way."
"Yes! I do want it, Pete - I need it - and I'll do whatever it takes!" Ozma insisted.
"All right," Pete began, "There is a woodchuck living in the field behind this church who practices sorcery - "
"A woodchuck?!" Ozma asked incredulously.
"Well, he wanted to do something different from the other woodchucks," Pete explained. "Anyway, he has this thing for quilts. Can you sew?"
"Only a little," Ozma admitted.
"It will have to do. You must make a quilt for this woodchuck and leave it on the old tree stump," Pete instructed. "I like you, Ozma, so I'll find the material for you."
"When will my eyes change color?" Ozma asked eagerly.
"You have to take the quilt at night the day you finish it and then go to bed. Your eyes will change while you are sleeping," Pete promised. "I'd better go now so I can start looking for material. Goodnight!"
Ozma watched him walk away and then settled down into her straw for a deep and contented sleep. When she awoke, her modest little room was filled with material, needles, and thread. She groaned and wondered how she could ever get it done, but she started immediately. After a few pricked paws and entanglements, Ozma got into the rhythm of things and began to make her quilt. She worked steadily throughout the day, stopping only for a few minutes at a time. She decided to make the quilt several inches thick, and before too long she was able to sleep on it at night. She still had a long way to go before the quilt was big enough for a woodchuck, however.
As Ozma worked tirelessly, she still looked forward with great anticipation to the Sunday church services when she could hear Reverend Simmons speak. Ozma noticed that the sermons had changed since she had been working on her quilt. Now Reverend Simmons always spoke of a baby who was going to be born. His name would be Jesus, and he would be a very special baby because he was the son of God.
Ozma was amazed when she heard this, and she listened very attentively while Reverend Simmons talked about Jesus. After listening to this, she felt very strong inside and was able to work four times more quickly than before. Because of this, she was able to finish her quilt in a little less than a month. On December 24th, she carefully stitched the very last stitch and fell into an exhausted slumber until late that evening.
That night, the church was still and quiet. Ozma had to push very hard to get the quilt out, but it finally shoved its way through. Ozma looked around. It was dark, but everything was covered in a pale blue glow. Ozma sighed. It looked so beautiful. Ozma could hardly believe that her eyes would soon be the color of this room. She made her way to the back of the church and was about to leave when something caught her eye. Looking closer, Ozma realized that it was Jesus, the baby Reverend Simmons had talked so much about.
She saw that he was very still and quiet, and his face looked pale. Suddenly Ozma noticed how cold it was and knew that it must be much worse for a baby. Once more, she gazed longingly at the blue light in the church. Then she took her quilt, gently placed it on the baby in the manger, and curled up on it and went to sleep.
Ozma rubbed her eyes, and everything she saw was bathed in a sea of deep green. Standing before her was her entire mouse community.
"Ozma," the leader of the mice began, "we were wrong. We can see now that you are no more evil than any of us and that your eyes are a thing of beauty that should be appreciated. Please accept our apologies and rejoin us."
"Oh, thank you!" Ozma cried. "I will! I will!" And with a grateful glance back into the church, she turned and followed the other mice back home.
And from where he was sitting in the shadows, Pete smiled. For he knew that there had been no magic which a woodchuck could work to change eye color, only the magic of a soul willing to give up her greatest dream for the safety and comfort of a child, even if that child was not what she thought it was. He knew that Ozma now knew that she, too, was beautiful and outward appearances really don't matter at all. Satisfied with a job well done, he walked towards the light, growing larger and more handsome by the step, until the key he held melded with the light. The room blazed bright for a moment, and when it had faded Pete was gone, back at his post showing again and again that the key to Heaven is the heart.
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