A Warmth in Winter

by Lori Copeland

“I’m here, Vernie.”

  She looked up, meeting his troubled gaze. “You know how you said I didn’t need you?”

  His eyes softened. “Ayuh.”

  She drew a long shuddering breath, chills assaulting her fevered body. “Well, right now I couldn’t need you more.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  On the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, Annie dropped her last pair of new shorts and summer blouses into her suitcase. Outside her window, snow fell in heavy sheets while the radio played holiday music as a prelude to Christmas Eve. She kept one ear alert for weather reports as she packed. The promised storm was on its way.

  The D. J. segued out of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with a weather bulletin, so Annie leaned forward to turn up the volume. “A few flights have been delayed, but most airlines are still operating. Snow totals estimated to be between eight and ten inches before this system passes. Well, folks, we’re usually begging for a white Christmas, but this year we’re gonna get a doozy!”

  Annie’s thoughts drifted to Frenchman’s Fairest. Caleb would be in the kitchen, probably stuffing the turkey and making his famous fat-free pumpkin pie. Olympia would be wrapping the old butler’s gift, tying a candy cane into the ribbon. Caleb loved peppermints.

  Annie’s gifts for Caleb and her aunt sat on her pillow, wrapped and ready to be delivered the moment she returned from the cruise. Neither Olympia nor Caleb would mind the delay, and a little festivity after the holiday would only extend the season . . . wouldn’t it?

  Melanie had already called twice to remind her that their group was meeting at the airport gate. The flight left Portland at 6 PM, then they’d change planes in Boston and fly through the darkness to Miami. By this time tomorrow, Annie would be sitting on the deck of the Glorious sipping a tall glass of tropical fruit punch decorated with a tiny umbrella.

  So why wasn’t she doing handsprings?

  She tossed a bottle of suntan lotion into her bag, then sat down on the side of the bed and stared at the suitcase.

  “Go on the cruise, dear. And have a wonderful time.”

  Throwing her head back, Annie shut her eyes. “Don’t do this! Keep packing.”

  She pulled herself off the bed, then moved to the closet and added another pair of dress slacks. “The ferry isn’t running,” she reminded herself. “You couldn’t get there if you wanted to.”

  Pulling her favorite pajamas from beneath her pillow, she tossed them in the suitcase.

  Just think—dozens of single men, unlimited food, dancing under the stars.

  Her gaze fell upon the framed picture on her nightstand— a photo of Caleb and Olympia, snapped in happier days. Staring at the picture, she could almost smell Caleb’s turkey and dressing, see the joy on his face when he gave her his Christmas present . . .

  She turned away.

  “Snorkeling,” she muttered. “Swimming with the manta rays. Shopping—lots of wonderful shopping!”

  She bent to rummage through her sock drawer, and Dr. Marc’s face flitted through her mind. “You are coming to my Christmas Eve party, aren’t you? You and Alex would hit it off.”

  “Sorry.” Annie thrust an extra pair of hose into her bag. “Can’t get there—tried, honest. Can’t make it.”

  She straightened and ticked off her list on her fingertips— clothes for dining, dancing, playing, swimming. Underwear, socks, pajamas, toothbrush. Makeup, of course. Hairbrush. Shoes, lots of shoes.

  Done. She glanced at the bedside clock and smiled. Packed and ready with hours to spare. Time enough to call . . . Her eyes traveled to the phone.

  No. No sense asking for trouble.

  She closed the lid on her suitcase, picked it up . . . and set it back down.

  She was a sentimental fool cursed with a devilishly good memory. Aunt Olympia hadn’t remembered Crazy Odell, but Annie couldn’t forget him. And she couldn’t go on a cruise without at least trying to reach Heavenly Daze. It’d been years since she’d heard anything of Crazy Odell, so it would serve her right if the man had developed a sudden attack of good sense and preferred the warmth of his own home and hearth on Christmas Eve. The only thing Annie knew for certain was she had to try to be with Olympia this Christmas before she could think of herself.

  She slipped into her coat, then walked to the phone. “Melanie? Don’t freak out on me, but I’ve got to do something before I leave.” She explained her dilemma. “If I’m not at the gate by flight time, leave without me. If I can’t get to Heavenly Daze, I’ll keep driving and meet you in Boston.”

  A moment later she packed a smaller bag, flipped off the lights, and locked the door. She carried both suitcases and her Christmas gifts to the car, then stowed them in the trunk.

  And as she turned the key, one thought flashed across her brain: she should seriously consider getting professional help.

  Perkins Cove was deserted and sheeted with snow when Annie arrived just before six, and, as she’d suspected, the ferry was moored to the dock and Captain Stroble’s office sat empty. A laminated sign in the window advised that the ferry would not run until adverse weather conditions abated.

  Annie drew a deep breath and turned toward the row of small houses lining the street leading to the Cove. She had expected this obstacle. Now, if only Crazy Odell were still alive . . . and reckless.

  Odell proved to be not only alive, but also thriving. Ninety-two, he told her when she knocked on his cottage door, and still kicking.

  Even more surprising, the old man remembered Annie. “Olympia’s niece, right?” he said, pulling on his gloves. “Lost your parents in that plane crash back in ’82?”

  “That’s me,” she said, shivering. “And I’d be happy to pay you thirty dollars if you can get me out to the island.”

  He cackled a laugh and tugged on another glove. “Keep your money, child, and Merry Christmas. I can get you there as long as you don’t mind being scared out of your britches. I only ask one thing.”

  Annie lowered her head as he glanced furtively left and right. “Don’t tell my granddaughter. She’ll have my hide.”

  Because she valued her britches, Annie wavered, then Odell assured her the passage would be cold, wet, and safe.

  “Old Sally’s seen worse,” he said, referring to his thirty-foot lobster boat. The wooden vessel had to be fifty years old, had peeling paint and a deck heaped with lobster traps, but Odell assured her the boat would get her to Heavenly Daze. “Why, last week I took Stanley Bidderman across without any trouble.”

  “Stanley Bidderman?” Annie frowned. “I thought he was dead.”

  The old man chuckled and winked. “Might be now. Vernie’s bound to have torn into him, and I ain’t seen him come back across.”

  Annie waited in her car while Odell rowed out to get the boat. The Sally rocked in the harbor, dusted with snow and looking anything but eager for the trip.

  When she saw Odell climb aboard the vessel, Annie dragged her small suitcase from the trunk, along with a shopping bag containing Caleb’s and Olympia’s Christmas gifts, Vernie’s cat food, two clanking bags of nutmeg tins, and five five-pound bags of sugar. She’d ditched the no-longer-fresh cranberries in Portland.

  She tucked her scarf around her neck and chin, pulled her knitted cap low on her head, and picked up her burdens. Balancing her load between two hands, she started toward the dock, wading through snow up to her ankles.

  While she picked her way through the slippery parking lot, another car pulled in and braked. A moment later a man got out, clothed in a heavy coat, hat, gloves, and sensible snow boots. Annie squinted, not recognizing the car or the figure. This could be Odell’s granddaughter’s husband, come to fetch the old lobsterman home.

  No. The stranger moved to his trunk and retrieved a suit bag and small duffel. He slung the suit bag over his shoulder, then strode toward the ferry.

  “Hello, there!” Annie called. “The ferry isn’t running!”

  The man halted in midstep. “What? I need to reach Heavenly Daz
e tonight!”

  Annie pointed toward the crowded harbor. “I’ve found a boat to take me across. You’re welcome to share, if you don’t mind riding with Crazy Odell.”

  Odell wouldn’t mind the extra passenger, and Annie knew she’d feel safer with a younger man aboard. She didn’t relish the prospect of The Sally going down and ninety-two-year-old Odell trying to save her. Or vice versa.

  Walking with a long and easy stride, the stranger approached. “Thanks. I had an emergency, so I arrived later than I’d planned. I had hoped to catch the six o’clock ferry.”

  Annie stood stock still as the voice reverberated in her ears. She knew that voice. She squinted into the growing darkness, trying to decipher the man’s features.

  “A. J.?” The name slipped out like a wish.

  He came closer. “Could that be Annie?”

  Stunned, Annie shook her head. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

  “You’re not Annie?” Was that disappointment in his tone?

  She burst into laughter. “No, I am. I mean, yes, it’s me.” She dropped her bags as a pair of strong arms swept her into a friendly embrace.

  “What are you doing here?” A. J. asked, his eyes snapping joyfully.

  She breathed in the scent of his crisp, clean, and oh-so-familiar aftershave. “I live here—when I’m not in Portland, that is. What are you doing here?”

  His hold tightened possessively around her waist. It was the most pleasant sensation Annie had experienced in—well, ever.

  “Trying to get to Dad’s for Christmas.” A. J. paused, his eyes sobering. “Oh, no.”

  Stepping back, he held her at arm’s length, his eyes slowly perusing her.

  Annie frowned. “What?”

  A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You wouldn’t be tomatoes-in-winter Annie, would you?”

  She groaned as something clicked in her brain. “Oh, no. You aren’t Mr. Great Catch from New York . . . are you?”

  His smile deepened. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid, if you believe my father.”

  “Me, too. I’m Tomato Annie.”

  And as she stood there, with A. J.’s hands lightly holding hers, Annie thought that God had just given her the best and most unexpected Christmas surprise ever. She might have given up a Caribbean cruise, but she’d received her own Mr. Perfect on a cold, snowy Christmas Eve.

  Thank you, God.

  Reluctantly dropping A. J.’s hands, she smiled up at him in the light of a street lamp. “Dr. Marc told me his son was named Alex.”

  “Alexander James,” he said, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “My friends call me A. J. My patients call me Dr. Hayes. Dad is the only one who calls me Alex.”

  While they stood there, relishing the pleasant surprise, a taxi pulled into the parking lot. A figure got out of the backseat and bent to count out change for the driver. A moment later Annie saw that the passenger was a man, hatless and gloveless in the cold. He jogged toward them and yelled out a greeting. “Is the ferry running?”

  “Not tonight.”

  Annie was aware that A. J.’s arm had slipped around her waist, a perfectly wonderful feeling. She leaned closer to his protective warmth, fitting snugly under his arm.

  When the man came closer, Annie pointed to the harbor. “The ferry won’t run in this weather, but Crazy Odell’s about to pull up and take us aboard. You’re welcome to come along . . . if you’re up to battling rough water.”

  The man shoved his hands in his pockets, glanced toward the sea, then gave Annie an abrupt nod. “Yes, I’m up to it. Thank you.” He seemed to think a moment, then extended his hand. “Patrick Gribbon.”

  “Annie Cuvier.” She shook the man’s hand and found it cold and trembling. “And this is Dr. Alex Hayes.” She smiled up at A. J., realizing that his name slid off her lips like rich, sweet molasses.

  A. J. shook Patrick’s hand. “Merry Christmas.”

  Patrick lifted his shoulders and hunched inside his coat, then turned his gaze toward the black horizon where Heavenly Daze lay just out of sight. “Do you believe in miracles?” he asked, glancing back at Annie for a brief instant.

  “I do, Patrick.” Annie smiled up at A. J. “Of course I do.”

  A moment passed, then Patrick nodded. “I wasn’t sure I did . . . until a moment ago.”

  As an air horn echoed in the harbor, the trio moved toward the dock. Though The Sally plowed through the waters more like an arthritic Tyrannosaurus rex than a cruise ship, Annie thought it the most beautiful boat in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Oh come, all ye faithful . . .”

  Salt turned in the pew to watch the children enter through the back of the church. Edith Wickam had done a wonderful job of outfitting Bobby, Brittany, and Georgie in short white baptismal robes accented by floppy red neck bows. As each child carried a candle down the center aisle, accompanied by the strains of the beloved carol, Salt felt the joy of the season echo in his heart for the first time in years.

  Beside him, Birdie slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He squeezed back, then felt a sudden burst of gratitude for the lowered lights in the sanctuary. Oh, how Olympia’s and Vernie’s tongues would clack if they caught him blushing while holding Birdie Wester’s hand!

  With all the reverence due a nativity scene, the children walked to the candelabra at the front of the church and fitted their candles into the holder, then slipped to their places on the front pew. Charles and Babette drew Georgie to a spot between them, not quite willing to let him wriggle out of their grasp.

  Outside, the rising wind howled and whistled through the belfry, but in the sanctuary all was cozy and warm.

  Salt glanced around at the assembled villagers—100 percent attendance, if he figured correctly. Bea played at the piano, her face lit by candlelight, while Olympia de Cuvier and Caleb Smith sat on the front pew, with Tallulah occupying her mistress’s lap. The Grahams, Brittany, and Bobby filled the other seats, and across the aisle Edith Wickam sat with Buddy Franklin. The Lansdowns and Higgses occupied another pew, followed by Dr. Marc and the Klackenbushes. Vernie sat on their right, accompanied by Stanley Bidderman, who kept solicitously handing her tissues for her sniffles. At the rear of the church, an entire pew was filled with Smiths—Abner, Micah, Yakov, Zuriel, and Elezar.

  Salt settled back against the pew, struggling against the snugness of a sports coat he hadn’t worn in ten years. Birdie had declared that he looked right handsome, and the praise had warmed him more than he wanted to admit.

  Winslow Wickam stood from his seat on the platform and walked to the pulpit. “Brothers and sisters, fellow citizens of Heavenly Daze,” he said, his round face beaming a smile over the congregation, “we are gathered here tonight to celebrate a most miraculous birthday. For without it, we would be forever lost on this planet, helpless in our sins. But God had mercy upon us.”

  Winslow opened his Bible and began to read:

  In the beginning the Word already existed. He was with God, and he was God. He was in the beginning with God. He created everything there is. Nothing exists that he didn’t make. Life itself was in him, and this life gives light to everyone. The light shines through the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. . . .

  But although the world was made through him, the world didn’t recognize him when he came. Even in his own land and among his own people, he was not accepted. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. They are reborn! This is not a physical birth resulting from human passion or plan—this rebirth comes from God.

  So the Word became human and lived here on earth among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the only Son of the Father.

  Salt felt his soul expand as the minister read of the light and the glory and the One who had come. He had seen that light! He had beheld that glory! And he, who did not deserve it, had seen the One who came, the one
he’d met as a child and neglected for so many years.

  “Jesus was born so you and I might be reborn,” Winslow said, closing his Bible. “Without the miracle of Christmas, there would be no mercy at Calvary. Without the miracle of the virgin birth, there would be no miracle of a spiritual birth for you or me. We owe our blessed hope to the Child in the manger.”

  As Winslow bowed his head, the double doors at the back of the sanctuary swung open, sending a blast of Arctic air into the comfortable room. The candles sputtered and went out, but Bea had the presence of mind to lean over and flip the switch near the piano.

  Light flooded the church, revealing three bewildered strangers in the aisle.

  “Alex?”

  “Annie?”

  Dr. Marc sprang from the pew to embrace his son, while Olympia and Caleb rose to welcome Annie. And slowly, Salt stood and stepped into the aisle, ignoring the hubbub of greetings.

  The third man, a stranger to Heavenly Daze, lifted his head and met Salt’s gaze head-on.

  “Dad—I’ve come to ask your forgiveness . . . and the forgiveness of my kids.”

  “Patrick.” The word slipped from Salt’s tongue of its own accord. Reflexively, he took a half-step back toward the front pew where Bobby and Brittany sat transfixed.

  “Dad?” As Patrick took a shaky step forward, silence fell over the sanctuary. Olympia and Annie stood frozen in an over-the-pew embrace, and Dr. Marc released his son.

  “Patrick.” Salt said the name again, and this time his voice trembled. He extended his hand. “Welcome home, Son.”

  Then he ran forward on legs that trembled more violently than they had when he was lost and cold in the water, and suddenly Patrick was in his arms and his son’s tears were wetting his shirt, then Bobby and Brittany were hugging his legs, all four of them swirling in a tumultuous embrace as the church smiled and the residents of Heavenly Daze lifted their hands in spontaneous applause and joyous laughter.

  And Salt Gribbon’s heart swelled with emotions he’d thought he’d never feel again.