For A Father's Love

by JoAnn A. Grote

  Gram darted him a sharp glance and pressed her lips together hard before answering. “Yes, but it’s best to set good eating habits right off.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He turned back to Beth. “Another thing I’m doing to make my heart healthier is exercise. Jason bought me an indoor bike and a treadmill. Maybe you’ll come up and exercise with me sometimes.”

  Beth’s face brightened. “Okay. That sounds like fun.”

  “Can I exercise with you too?” Bonnie asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  The girls grinned at each other.

  Jason glanced around the table as the group ate and visited, watching the simple interaction between his family and Mandy’s family, the sharing between generations. In New York he seldom spent time around children. His work brought him into contact with adults of every age, but he seldom saw them in their roles as parents and grandparents.

  I’ve missed that. Missed being part of a family.

  He’d dated a number of women through the years but no one other than Mandy whom he’d wanted to bring into his grandparents’ home or with whom he’d wanted to raise children. Spending the last few weeks close to her only reinforced the correctness of his decision not to marry any of the other women. A lonely thought, since marrying Mandy isn’t in my future.

  He glanced across the table at Beth and Bonnie. What was Zach thinking, leaving his family? If I had two fantastic daughters like these, nothing could tear me away from them.

  The Thanksgiving meal lived up to prior years’ tradition in satisfaction in spite of overcooking. Everyone agreed they’d appreciate dessert more later.

  Gram turned down Mandy’s and Ellen’s offers to help with dishes. “I’ve no intention of going from table to sink. The dishes will clean up just as well later. Go out in the living room and visit with the others. I’m going to start some egg coffee before I join you.”

  Mandy and Ellen wandered over to the Christmas tree, which stood in a place of honor by the front window. Gramps went from the table directly to his recliner. The girls checked on the dolls they’d left on the sofa. Jason leaned against the doorjamb between the dining room and living room and watched the others.

  Mandy looked over her shoulder at the girls. “Did you check out the Christmas tree yet?”

  “Yes,” Bonnie answered. But she and Beth picked up their dolls and walked over to the tree anyway. Bonnie leaned against Mandy’s side, gazing up at the tree, and Mandy gave Bonnie a hug with an arm about her shoulders.

  He’d seen them that way together a dozen times in the last two weeks, Jason realized. Bonnie seemed as comfortable with Mandy as with Ellen, her own mother.

  Beth held herself more aloof. Even when she ventured near Ellen, she kept a little distance. Trying to protect herself. She might take someone’s hand or allow them to touch her or hug her for a minute, but she never leaned into someone with complete abandon the way Bonnie leaned against Mandy now. And Beth didn’t allow a hug to last for long.

  He recognized himself in her. He suspected Beth recognized herself in him too, though likely not at a conscious level.

  Bonnie made herself more vulnerable. Bonnie trusted. And in doing so received both the physical and emotional comfort that Beth denied herself. Mandy and Bonnie were a lot alike that way.

  Gram stopped beside Jason in the doorway. They stood together in amiable silence, watching the others.

  A soft plunk-plunk-plunk sounded from the kitchen. Jason grinned at Gram. “Sounds like you got the coffee started.” Gram always preferred egg coffee perked in a large old pot on the stove to coffee made in a modern coffeemaker. “You spoiled me with your egg coffee. Specialty coffees and coffee shops are big with my coworkers in New York, but I’d put your coffee up against any of the specialty coffees.”

  “Flatterer.”

  He could tell his comment pleased her.

  She inclined her head to indicate the group in front of the tree. “They’re a nice little family, aren’t they?” She spoke low, her voice not meant to carry beyond the two of them. “I’m glad Ellen and the girls moved in with Mandy. Gives her someone to wrap her heart around.”

  Jason glanced from Gram to Mandy in surprise. Did Gram mean that Mandy might be lonely without her sister and nieces? Mandy always impressed him as the least lonely person in the world. Her sincere interest in others drew people to her, created a circle of warmth and welcome.

  “I know you must feel Seth and I betrayed you,” Gram continued, “letting Mandy move into the barn and us not telling you. But it’s been good for us, having her there. Until she moved in, I didn’t realize how quiet things had grown around here after you left.”

  Guilt slipped into Jason’s chest with her words. She and Gramps had lost their only daughter, taken him into their home, then lost him when he moved to New York. For family oriented people like Gram and Gramps, that was a lot of loss. The guilt twisted tighter. What could he do? His career was in New York.

  “I don’t mind that you let Mandy move into the barn. Just don’t expect us to get back together.” He darted a glance across the room at Mandy, reassuring himself no one but Gram could hear him.

  “Don’t expect anything,” she retorted. “But you can’t keep me from praying the good Lord brings a woman into your life for you to love.”

  Jason grinned. “Hope that prayer’s answered. Just as long as the woman loves me too.”

  “So what’s not to love?”

  “A little prejudiced in my favor?” He gave her a one-armed hug. “It’s nice to spend time with you and Gramps again.”

  “It’s nice to have you here again.”

  “Say, girls.”

  Jason and Gram quit talking at Gramps’s attempt to gain Bonnie’s and Beth’s attention.

  “Can you tell what kind of tree that is, girls?” Gramps leaned forward in his recliner and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “I think so.” Beth gently touched the needles. “Is this a Fraser fir?”

  Gramps smiled. “Is that a guess, or do you have a reason for saying a Fraser?”

  “J. P. taught us to look at the needles. These needles are green on top and silvery underneath. I think that’s what he said makes it a Fraser.”

  “You’re right. Very good,” Gramps approved.

  Beth beamed.

  “How old are you now?” Gramps asked.

  “I’m eight. Bonnie is six.”

  “You know, when Jason was a boy, he loved Christmas trees. He’d follow me all over the farm, just like a puppy, right on my heels all the time.”

  The girls giggled.

  “Like a puppy?” Bonnie repeated.

  “Just like my hound dog, Butch, used to do. Jason was a right smart boy. He could identify every kind of fir and pine tree on the place by the time he was five.”

  “That’s littler than me.” Bonnie pointed to her chest.

  Beth sat on the arm of Gramps’s recliner. “Tell us more about J. P. when he was a boy.”

  “Let’s see.” Gramps rubbed his fist across his bearded chin and appeared deep in thought. “There’s the time he ran away.”

  Jason burst into a laugh. “I never ran away. Where’d you come up with a tall tale like that?”

  Beth grinned at him, then turned to Gramps. “Did J. P. run away?”

  “Seemed like. It happened on a cold November night.”

  “This is November,” Bonnie interrupted, coming to sit on the floor in front of the recliner.

  “That it is,” Gramps agreed. “Jason and his parents had dinner with us. After dinner we adults sat around drinking coffee and visiting, the way adults tend to do.”

  The girls bobbed their heads and gave matching smirks, as if to say, “Yes, that’s what adults always do.”

  “It was dark, it being evening and all. Jason was just a little whippersnapper.”

  “Whippersnapper.” The girls repeated the word, exchanging grinning glances.

  “Yep, just a wee tyke, no more than
three years old. We thought Jason was in this very room, playing with his trucks—he especially liked a big yellow dump truck. Filled it with small Christmas trees a friend of ours carved out of wood.”

  Jason caught Mandy grinning at him and shook his head, embarrassment bringing a smile to his face.

  Bonnie moved to her knees, all her attention focused on Gramps. “But he wasn’t playing with his trucks, was he?”

  “Nope. He sure wasn’t. Well, we looked through the whole house. Looked in the closets, cupboards, clothes hampers—everywhere.”

  “Did you look under the beds?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yep, sure did. Well, by the time we got done looking through the house, we were pretty worried.”

  Beth picked at the edge of the chair arm. “Mom says we’re always s’posed to tell her where we go. She says some people steal kids, so we need to be careful. Did you think someone stole J. P.?”

  Jason felt Gramps’s hesitation.

  The older man cleared his throat. “No, can’t say we did. We figured he went outside to find a real Christmas tree to put in his truck.”

  Bonnie giggled. “A real Christmas tree would be too big.”

  “A baby tree might fit,” Beth suggested.

  “A brand-new baby tree, maybe. As I was saying, it was dark out and cold. Jason wasn’t wearing a jacket. We didn’t know which direction he went.”

  Bonnie inched closer to the chair. “Were you scared?”

  “Scared stiff.”

  Beth picked at the chair arm again. “Were J. P.’s Mommy and Daddy scared?”

  Gramps darted her a curious look. “So scared they could hardly stand it.” He cleared his throat. “Well, we looked in the barn and didn’t find him.”

  “Our barn?” Beth asked.

  “Yep. Wasn’t a Christmas store then. He wasn’t in the barn. We called our neighbors and the men who worked for us. Everyone came with lanterns and flashlights. We spread out and walked through the groves, calling out Jason’s name. We walked for hours and hours. Almost all night. We had to walk slow so we wouldn’t miss him, because he was little, you know.”

  Bonnie nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Near dawn, I heard Butch howling.”

  “Butch your dog?” Beth asked.

  “Yep. See, Butch wasn’t more than about three himself at the time. He and Jason were buddies. So when Jason ran away—”

  “I didn’t run away.”

  The girls laughed.

  “When Jason took off,” Gramps amended, “he took Butch with him. When I heard Butch howling, I headed straight for that mournful sound. Sure enough, Butch and Jason were together. Jason was curled up snug as a bug in a rug, sound asleep beneath a Scotch pine. Butch was practically laying on top of him. Figure Butch probably saved Jason’s life that night. Kept him warm.”

  “ ’Cause Jason didn’t have a jacket, right?” Bonnie asked.

  “That’s right.” Gramps nodded. “You never saw a boy get as much attention as Jason the next day. Someone was always hugging on him: his mom or dad or Gram or me.”

  “Or Butch?” Beth grinned.

  “Well, Butch didn’t give hugs, just sloppy kisses. But we gave Butch lots of hugs.”

  Ellen walked across the room from the tree to the recliner. “Let that story be a lesson to you girls. There’s a reason I always ask where you’re going. I don’t want to spend a night looking for you, scared out of my wits.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom.” Beth slid off the arm of the recliner. “Bonnie and I won’t spend any nights under a Christmas tree. Not an outdoor Christmas tree, anyway.”

  Bonnie stood up and hugged Ellen around the waist. “Can we have a puppy like Butch for Christmas?”

  “Can you imagine what a mess a puppy would make in the Christmas store?”

  “We could keep it in the loft,” Bonnie suggested.

  “Yes,” Beth chimed in.

  “It would get lonely up there, don’t you think?” Ellen nodded to encourage their assent.

  Bonnie shook her head. “But—”

  “No puppy this year,” Ellen declared.

  “There’s a picture of Jason from the year he ran away on the Christmas tree.” Gram headed toward the tree in an obvious attempt to divert Bonnie’s attention from the puppy-for-Christmas idea.

  “I didn’t run away,” Jason repeated, following Gram.

  Amusement danced in Mandy’s eyes. “I don’t think you’re convincing anyone.”

  “Here it is.” Gram removed a crocheted ornament with a small picture in the middle. She handed it to Beth. “That’s Jason when he was three. His mother made that ornament for Jason’s Christmas present to Seth and me that year.” She smiled, deepening her wrinkles. “It was our favorite present.”

  Mandy stood between Jason and Beth, and the floral scent of Mandy’s shampoo blended with the pine scent of the tree. Mandy looked over Beth’s shoulder at the picture, then back at Jason. The smile in Mandy’s eyes when her gaze met his was so tender, his heart felt like it flipped over.

  Beth held the ornament as though it were a fragile piece of glass. Bonnie stood beside her to get a look. “That’s J. P.? He doesn’t look like J. P.” She looked up at Jason. “You had chubby cheeks.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  Beth handed the ornament back to Gram. “Thank you for showing it to us.”

  Gram hung it back on the tree. “The woman who made it is the same woman who makes the crocheted ornaments you sell in your store, Mandy.”

  “I don’t recall selling any photo ornaments like this among her items.”

  “Why don’t you have pretty ornaments like we do at the Christmas barn, Grandma Tillie?” Bonnie asked. “All your decorations are old.”

  “Bonnie, you apologize,” Ellen scolded.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma Tillie. But it’s true.”

  Gram nodded. “It is true. I wouldn’t trade one of these ornaments for a whole tree full of new ones, no matter how pretty.”

  “You wouldn’t?” Bonnie frowned.

  “No. You see, these aren’t just decorations. They’re memories. Each one is a memory of a special person or a special time or a special love.” Gram removed a cotton-ball snowman. “Jason made this for me.”

  The girls grinned over their shoulders at him.

  He shrugged. “What can I tell you? The world lost a great artist when I went into finance.”

  “Oh, right.” Beth’s tone let him know she didn’t believe him.

  Gram removed another decoration. “Jason made this angel from a toilet paper roll.”

  “I can’t believe you kept all these things.” Jason spoke over the girls’ laughter.

  “Of course I kept them. You were very proud of this angel at one time.”

  “That’s because you and Mom treated everything I made like it was a masterpiece and displayed it all. I was a college freshman before I discovered I wasn’t the world’s next Picasso.”

  “All children should be so fortunate,” Mandy commented softly.

  His gaze followed hers to Beth and Bonnie. Mandy was right.

  Jason and Mandy watched while Gram pointed out more family heirloom ornaments and explained their history to the girls. Waves of memories washed over Jason, memories of Christmases before his parents died when he’d been too young and innocent to know how precious those times were as they happened.

  “We need a tree like this.”

  Mandy’s voice brought Jason from his memories. “There isn’t space for one more tree in your store.”

  “Not in the store. In the loft. In our home. We need a tree Beth and Bonnie can hang their own ornaments on. Things that are important to them, not only beautiful or glittery.”

  “An ornament doesn’t need to be made from a toilet paper roll to be special to someone. I expect a lot of the ornaments you sell will wind up being someone’s treasures. Twenty years from now a grandmother will tell her grandchildren who gave her the handmade pottery ornament
from your store and why.”

  Mandy studied his face. “That is unexpectedly sweet of you to say.”

  Sweet. Just the kind of compliment a man liked to hear from a woman. He shrugged. “Guess holidays put me in a saccharine mood.”

  Her gaze slid from his face back to the tree. He saw her eyes widen and glisten with sudden unshed tears, saw her mouth open in a soft gasp. Why? He turned to find out.

  Fourteen

  Jason immediately recognized the cause of Mandy’s shock. Gram held another ornament, showing it to Beth and Bonnie. The ornament was a wooden bench with a white-haired couple seated upon it, holding hands and gazing at each other.

  His throat tightened painfully. He remembered he and Mandy selecting that for Gram and Gramps’s Christmas present the first year Mandy spent with him and his family. Mandy had held it in the palm of her hand, smiling up at him. “This will be us one day. Old and gray and still holding hands. Young couples will walk past us and say to each other, ‘Will we still love each other that much when we’re their age?’ ”

  He cleared his throat and tried to push the memory away. “The couple on that bench look even more like Gram and Gramps today than when we gave it to them.”

  “Yes, even more in love.” Mandy’s smile looked tight. Her pain-veiled gaze held his.

  He recognized that pain: pain at the loss of their own love which began with such intensity, such hope and promise. Her pain intertwined with his own sense of loss, leaching life from his heart like two vines twining about a branch.

  “Anyone ready for pie?” Gram asked.

  Her question brought a chorus of affirmatives.

  Jason tore his gaze from Mandy’s, glad for the interruption. The dream of their love had been beautiful and powerful once upon a time. But the dream was over. There was no retrieving it. Mandy had chosen that ending.

  Zach’s nonarrival hadn’t affected the pumpkin and pecan pies. The only complaint came from Gramps.

  “You call this a slice of pie? A pine needle is bigger.”

  He received no sympathy.

  After dessert, Gram finally agreed it was time to do the dishes. While the women cleared the table, Jason retrieved his grandfather’s old chess set. It was a holiday tradition for the men to play chess after the meal. Setting the chessboard on the dining room table, Jason felt guilty remembering they hadn’t played since the previous Christmas. How had he allowed almost a year to pass without visiting Gram and Gramps?