Nick had almost given up hope himself—and then they received the phone call about Brittany. That five-minute conversation had changed their lives forever.
He found himself grinning at the memory. Kelly was the one who’d been cool and calm while he’d sat there trembling. He’d never experienced any excitement even close to what he’d felt when he learned they finally had a baby.
The first instant he saw Brittany, he’d been swept by a love so powerful it was beyond comprehension. Yet here he was, three months later, acting like a dolt and snapping at his wife in public.
That wasn’t his only offense, either. For most of the afternoon, he’d ignored Kelly and the baby, wanting to escape them both. He wasn’t proud of himself; he’d ignored their needs, leaving Kelly to care for their daughter on her own while he brooded and behaved like a spoiled child.
With that in mind, he boarded the train, walked down the narrow aisle and got the baby seat down from the storage compartment. Kelly’s arms must be tired from holding Brittany. He wished he’d thought of this sooner.
Hauling in a deep breath, he walked back into the station and stomped the snow from his boots. When he looked up, he discovered Kelly staring at him, her lips tight, but her eyes forgiving.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he sat beside her. He gazed down at Brittany, who gazed back at him, her blue eyes wide and curious. His daughter seemed to recognize him, and she, at least, didn’t know enough to realize what a cantankerous fool he’d been the past few hours. He offered her his finger, which she gripped eagerly with her little hand.
“I’m sorry, too,” Kelly whispered back, sounding close to tears.
Nick set the baby seat on the floor and placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders. She leaned her head against him. “I don’t know what came over me,” he murmured. “I wish we were anyplace but here.”
“Me, too,” Kelly said.
“Amy?”
Len felt a surge of relief and unmistakable joy at the sound of her “hello.”
“Are you in Boston?” she asked excitedly. “When can you catch a flight home?”
“I’m still in Abbott,” Len said, his happiness evaporating quickly with the reality of this long day. He was trapped, a hostage to circumstances beyond his control.
“You’re still in Abbott?” Amy sounded ready to weep. “Oh, Len, will you ever get home for Christmas?”
“I don’t know,” he told her, trying to keep his own hopes alive—and failing. It seemed everything was against him.
“Yes,” he said suddenly, emphatically. For a moment he didn’t know where this optimism had come from. Then he did. It was his overwhelming need to be with Amy. “I will get home for Christmas.” He wasn’t about to let the storm, the damaged tracks or anything else ruin his leave. “I’ll be home for Christmas, Amy. You can count on it.”
He could almost feel her spirits rise. “Your girl in Rawhide will be waiting for you, sailor man.”
“You’re more than my girl in Rawhide,” Len said. “You’re my one and only girl. Period!”
She said nothing after his declaration. “Do you mean that, Len?” she finally asked.
“With all my heart.” He was tempted to tell her about the diamond, but that would ruin his surprise, and he didn’t want to propose over the phone. It just didn’t seem near good enough. He wanted her to see the love in his eyes and watch her face when she saw the ring.
“Oh, Len,” she whispered.
“Listen, would you call my mom and dad and tell them I still don’t know when I’ll be home?”
“Sure. Listen, since you can’t be here, I’ll go back to the nursing home tonight and play the piano for everyone. They wanted to sing Christmas carols but couldn’t find any staff willing to take time away from their families.”
Len loved her all the more for her generous heart.
“I can’t see sitting around home and moping,” she explained.
“Sing a Christmas carol for me.”
“I will,” she said, and her voice softened.
There was a beep in his ear and Len knew he had only a couple of minutes left on his calling card.
“Oh, Len,” Amy said. “Time’s running out.”
“Remember, I’ll see you as soon as I can,” he said, ready to hang up.
“Len, Len…”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Len,” she said, her voice catching, “I…love you. I was going to wait until tonight to tell you, but I want you to know right now. You might be in New Hampshire and me here in Rawhide, but that doesn’t matter, because you have my heart with you wherever you are.”
The line went dead. Len wasn’t sure if she’d hung up or if the time had simply expired.
“I love you, too, Amy,” he said into the silent phone, knowing she couldn’t hear the words. Somehow he was certain she could feel his heart responding to hers. Soon she’d know how very much he loved his Amy Sue.
Len replaced the receiver and turned around to face the room. Everyone seemed in a dour mood.
The door burst open just then and a smiling, lighthearted Clayton Kemper walked in. He glanced around and beamed proudly at the group of weary travelers.
“I was on my way home when I ran across this,” he said cheerfully. He stuck his hand out the door and dragged in the sorriest-looking Christmas tree Len had ever seen.
One side of the evergreen was bare, the top had split and two branches spiked in opposite directions, resembling bug antennae.
“The man in the Christmas-tree lot gave it to me for a buck.”
“You got overcharged,” Matt McHugh muttered. His words were followed by a few short laughs and a general feeling of agreement.
“That may well be,” Kemper said, not letting their lack of enthusiasm dampen his spirit. “But it seemed to me that since you folks are stuck here on Christmas Eve, you might as well make the best of it.”
“That tree looks like it’s in the same shape we’re in,” Elise Jones said dryly.
“The tree is yours to do with as you wish,” Kemper told them. “Merry Christmas to you all.”
No one thought to thank him, Len noticed.
The sad little tree stood in the center of the room, bare and forlorn, wounded and ugly. He’d have to go along with Elise. The Christmas tree did resemble them—and their attitude.
Five-year-old Kate Jones walked over to it and stood with her arms akimbo, staring at the limp branches. Then, apparently having come to some sort of decision, she turned to confront the disgruntled group.
“I think it’s a beautiful tree,” she announced. “It just needs a little help.” She removed the red bow from the top of her head and pinned it to the nearest branch.
Despite himself, Len grinned. On closer examination, the kid was right. The tree wasn’t nearly as ugly as he’d first thought.
Chapter 6
“Sing We Now of Christmas”
Most everyone ignored the Christmas tree, Cathy Norris mused sadly. Except for Kate… Then Kelly walked over and silently added a rattle. She took her time finding just the right spot for it, choosing to hang it directly in the middle, opposite Kate’s hair bow.
Turning to the others, she smiled and said, “Come on, you guys, it’s Christmas Eve.”
“She’s right,” Nick said, and joined his wife. He bounced the baby gently in his arms, and Brittany grinned and reached for his bright green muffler. Nick removed it, handed the baby to Kelly and placed the muffler on the tree, stretching it out as if it were the finest decorative strand. He wove it between the lower branches of the fir, the wool fringe dangling like green wool tinsel.
Len surveyed the tree, then stepped up and added his white cap, settling it near the top, where it sat jauntily.
The elderly black man moved forward next and added his tie clasp. He clipped it to the branch in an upright position like a clothespin, stepped back and nodded once, apparently pleased with the effect. “Hey, this tree doesn’t look so bad.�
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Soon others became creative about decorating the Christmas tree. Cathy cut strips of red yarn and with Kate’s help draped the strands over as many branches as they could reach.
Even the grumpy salesman pitched in. Cathy saw him with the small pair of scissors on his Swiss Army knife, folding and cutting memos into paper snowflakes, then hanging them on the tree with dental floss. Actually they looked quite attractive against the backdrop of red yarn.
It wasn’t long before every branch sprouted some sort of odd decoration. True, it wasn’t a traditional Christmas tree, but it seemed to possess amazing powers. The scowls and complaints of moments earlier were now replaced by smiles and animated chatter.
“I think my daughter’s right,” Elise said, walking over to more closely examine their handiwork. “This is actually a beautiful tree.”
The little boy, around three or four, who’d stayed close by his parents the entire day, clapped in delight.
Cathy noticed several smiles.
“I’m hungry,” Kate whispered to her mother.
Worrying about their situation as she had for most of the day, Cathy hadn’t given any thought to food until the youngster mentioned it. She apparently wasn’t the only one.
“What about dinner?” Cathy asked, glancing about the room. It looked as though they’d been left to fend for themselves. Mr. Kemper had said someone would come by to check on them, but so far no one had.
“Nothing’s going to be open tonight,” Matt McHugh grumbled. “Not on Christmas Eve.”
“Especially not with the storm and all earlier,” Len put in.
Cathy could feel the mood of the room, so recently elevated, plunge. Already those who’d moved closer to the Christmas tree were sliding away to slump on benches by the walls.
“Now, that does bring up an interesting prospect,” Cathy said, speaking to the entire group for the first time. “I’m Cathy Norris, by the way. I’m going to visit my daughter and her family in Boston, and I just happened to bring along four dozen of her favorite shortbread cookies. Somehow, I don’t think she’d mind my sharing them with all of you.”
She brought out the tin and pried open the lid.
“My wife and I have several oranges,” the elderly black man said. “We can share those. Since we’re going to be eating together, it’s only appropriate that we introduce ourselves. My name’s Sam Givens and my wife’s Louise.”
“Thank you, Sam and Louise,” Cathy said. “Anyone else?”
“I’m Matt McHugh. I was given a fruitcake on my last sales call,” Matt surprised her by saying. “I would’ve thrown the damn thing out, but one of my kids likes the stuff. I can cut that up if anyone’s interested.”
“Well, I’m quite fond of fruitcake,” Kelly Berry said.
Although the depot office was locked, the counter was free and Cathy placed the tin of cookies there. Matt took out the fruitcake and sliced it with his Swiss Army knife. Sam Givens brought over the oranges, then peeled and sectioned them.
Elise Jones collected paper towels from the restroom to use as napkins. Soon more and more food appeared. It seemed almost everyone had something to share. A plate of beautifully decorated chocolates. A white cardboard box filled with pink divinity and homemade fudge. Then a tin of peanuts and a bag of pretzels. Len added a package of cinnamon-flavored gum.
A crooked line formed and they all helped themselves, taking bits and pieces of each dish. It wasn’t much, but it helped do more than dull the edge of their hunger. It proved, to Cathy at least, that there was hope for them. That banding together they could get through this and even have a good time.
“My mother’s serving prime rib right about now,” Elise lamented as she took an orange segment and a handful of peanuts.
“And to think she’s missing out on Matt McHugh’s fruitcake,” Cathy said, and was delighted by the responding laugh that echoed down the line. Even Matt chuckled. An hour ago Cathy would have thought that impossible.
“I never thought I’d say this about fruitcake,” the young sailor said, saluting Matt with a slice, “but this ain’t half-bad.”
“What about my peanuts?” the guy with long hair asked. “I spent hours slaving over a hot stove to make those.”
Everyone smiled and the silly jokes continued.
“Quiet,” Nick said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “I hear something.”
“A train?” Matt teased.
“‘Do you hear what I hear?’” someone sang.
“I’m serious.”
It didn’t take Cathy long to pick up the faint sound of voices singing. “Someone’s coming,” she announced.
“Carolers?” Kelly asked. “On a night like this? For us?”
“No night more perfect,” Cathy murmured. Years ago she and Ron had been members of the church choir. Each holiday season the choir had toured nursing homes and hospitals, giving short performances. They’d been active in their church for a number of years. Unfortunately their attendance had slipped after Ron retired, then stopped completely when he became seriously ill. And afterward…well, afterward Cathy simply didn’t have the heart for it.
For the first time since the funeral, she felt the need to return. This insight was like an unexpected gift, and it had come to her at the sound of the carolers’ voices.
The door opened and a group of fifteen or so entered the train depot.
“Hello, everyone.” A man with a bushy gray mustache and untamed gray hair stepped forward. “I’m Dean Owen. Clayton Kemper’s a friend of mine and he mentioned you folks were stranded. This is the teen choir from the Regular Baptist Church. Since we weren’t able to get out last night because of the snow, we thought we’d make a few rounds this evening. How’s everyone doing?”
“Great.”
“As good as can be expected.”
“Hangin’ in there.”
“I love your Christmas tree,” one of the girls said. She was about sixteen, with long blond hair in a ponytail and twinkling eyes.
“We decorated it ourselves,” Kate said, pointing to her hair bow. “That’s mine.”
“Would anyone mind if I took a picture?” the girl asked, pulling a digital camera from her coat pocket.
“This is something that’s got to be seen to be believed,” Matt whispered to Cathy. “Actually I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself.”
“Me, too.”
“Shall we make it a family photo?” Elise asked.
A chorus of yes’s and no’s followed, but within a minute the ragtag group had gathered around the tree. Cathy ran a comb through her hair and added a dash of lipstick. Others, too, reviewed their appearance as they assembled for the photograph, jostling each other good-naturedly.
What amazed Cathy were the antics that went on before the picture was taken. They behaved like a group of teenagers themselves. Len held up the V for peace sign behind Nick’s head. Even Matt managed a crooked smile. For that matter, so did Cathy. Someone joked and she laughed. That made her realize how long it’d been since she’d allowed herself to be happy. Too long. Ron wouldn’t want that.
The girl took four snapshots. Before long, she had a list of names and email addresses to send copies of the photo. Cathy’s name was there along with everyone else’s. She wanted something tangible to remember this eventful day—the oddest Christmas Eve she’d spent in her entire life.
“We thought we’d deliver a bit of cheer,” Dean said, once the photo arrangements were finished.
Their coming had done exactly that. The travelers gathered around without anyone’s direction, positioning the benches in a way that allowed them all to see the singers.
The choir assembled in three rows of five each and began with “Silent Night,” sung in three-part harmony. Cathy had heard the old carol all her life, but never had it sounded more beautiful than it did this evening. Without accompaniment, without embellishment, simple, plain—and incredibly lovely. With the beautiful words came a sense of camaraderie and joy, a
sense that this night was truly special.
This was a holy night.
“Silent Night” was followed by “The Little Drummer Boy,” then “Joy to the World,” one carol flowing smoothly into another, ending with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
While Cathy and the others applauded loudly, Kate, in a burst of childish enthusiasm, spontaneously rushed forward and hugged Dean’s knees. “That was so pretty,” she squealed, her delight contagious.
Len jumped to his feet, continuing the applause. Soon the others stood, too, including Cathy.
The small choir seemed overwhelmed by their appreciation.
“This is the first time we ever got a standing ovation,” the girl with the camera said, smiling at her friends. “I didn’t realize we were that good.”
“Sing more,” Kate pleaded. “Do you know ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’?”
“Can you sing it with us?” Dean bent down and asked Kate.
The child nodded enthusiastically, and Dean had her stand in front of the choir. “Sing away.”
“Join in, everyone,” he suggested next, turning to face his small audience.
Cathy and the others didn’t need any encouragement. Their voices blended with those of the choir as if they’d sung together for weeks. “Rudolph” led to other Christmas songs—“Silver Bells,” “Deck the Halls,” and the time passed quickly.
When they finished, the choir members brought out paper cups and thermoses of hot chocolate. No sooner had the hot drink been poured than the station door opened again.
“So Clayton was right.” A petite older woman, with a cap of white hair and eyelids painted the brightest shade of blue Cathy had ever seen, entered the room. Two other women filed in after her.
“I’m Greta Barnes,” the leader said, “and we’re from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Women’s Auxiliary.”
“We’ve brought you folks dinner,” another woman told them.
“Now you’re talking!” Len Dawber shouted. “Sorry, folks, but a slice of fruitcake and a few pretzels didn’t quite fill me up.”
The Perfect Christmas Page 20
