A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “As you wish, madam,” Ezra said in a courtly manner.

  He lifted the tree by the trunk, stand and all, and placed it on a marble-topped table that stood in front of a bay window, an antique in the Eastlake style.

  “Very nice,” Lillian murmured. “Now for lights. I don’t care for too many, and make sure we don’t put on any twinklers. Sara bought a package of those last year, and they gave me a migraine.”

  “No twinkling lights. Got it.” Ezra plugged a string of lights into the outlet and tested it. “Good one right here. It looks plenty long enough, too. That should cover it.”

  While Lillian held one end of the strand, he worked the other around the tree, hooking it onto the little branches.

  “A touch lower there,” she told him. “Let it drape more, a little looser . . . Not that loose.”

  He stepped back and handed her his end. “You try. I’m going to sit the rest of this strand out.”

  She glanced at him then focused on the tree again. He sat on the sofa nearby, rubbing his arm.

  “What’s the matter, Ezra? Did you pull a muscle or something?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied. Lillian didn’t like the way his voice sounded. She turned to look at him, then put the lights down.

  “You shouldn’t have moved the table by yourself. You must have strained something. I said that I would help you. Do you want some liniment? I’ll go get it.”

  “It wasn’t the table. I don’t think so, anyway.” His complexion looked ashen, and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

  “You don’t look well, Ezra. Do you want some air?” Lillian rushed over to the bay window and pulled one side open. “Maybe you should loosen your collar, open your bow tie.”

  Oh, she didn’t like the looks of this. He didn’t look well at all. Now he was rubbing his chest in a most alarming way.

  “I . . . I don’t feel very well, Lily. I have a sharp pain in my chest,” he told her, each word pronounced very carefully. “You need to call an ambulance. Dial nine-one-one.”

  “Yes, I will,” she said, feeling a burst of fear.

  She quickly walked to the telephone, dialed the emergency number, and spoke to the operator. “I’m at 33 Providence Street. We need an ambulance right away. My friend Dr. Elliot, he’s having a heart attack or a stroke or something. Please come right away.”

  Ezra’s eyes locked on hers a moment as she walked back toward him, then his eyes closed and his head dropped forward.

  “Oh, good God!” Lillian cried. “Ezra, please! Wake up. Say something. . . ”

  She sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulders and her hand on his clammy cheek. Thank goodness he hadn’t fallen off the couch and onto the floor.

  He opened his eyes a moment but couldn’t speak.

  “Hang on, dear. They’ll be here in a minute. They come very quickly,” she promised.

  She knew very well how fast the emergency calls were answered in this town; she’d made enough of them lately. Lillian had a sudden chilling fear that this time the response to her call would be delayed. That someone would hear her name and think it was another false alarm.

  Oh, dear heavens, she prayed that was not the case. She prayed that they would come right away and take care of Ezra. What had happened to him? She didn’t even want to think of the possibilities as she supported him in her arms.

  His breath was labored. At least he was still breathing. But he looked so horribly pale, and his eyes had drifted closed again, his hand pressed to the middle of his chest.

  Was she losing him? Dear Lord, that couldn’t be. How would she ever stand it?

  “Ezra, please. I beg of you . . . hang on, dear. Don’t leave me, please. I couldn’t bear it. You must try to focus and hang on. Help is coming. They’ll be here any second now.”

  His eyes fluttered opened for a moment and his gaze met hers. He didn’t say a word, not even a murmur. But she could tell he had heard her.

  A split second later, she heard the sirens coming down the street. Her body sagged with relief. She helped Ezra lean back against the couch and made her way to the front door as quickly as her old legs and cane would carry her.

  The ambulance driver and paramedic came running up the walkway and through the open door. “He’s in there.” She pointed to the living room. “On the couch.”

  She followed them and continued talking even after they were out of view. “We were putting up the tree and he had to sit down and suddenly looked very pale. He said he had a pain in his arm, his left arm. Then he sort of fainted. Nearly collapsed.”

  The two men hovered over Ezra. They quickly had him positioned so that he was lying on the couch. Lillian heard one of them talking to him in low tones and heard Ezra answer.

  At least he was still conscious. “Thank God,” she sighed under her breath.

  There was a big medical kit open on the parlor floor. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what they were going to do to him next.

  While one man remained with Ezra, the other took her aside and coaxed her to sit down. “Mrs. Warwick, how are you feeling? Do you want me to call someone?”

  She nodded quickly. “Yes, please call my daughter Emily. Tell her to come right away. Tell her what’s happened. Tell her I said it’s a real emergency this time.”

  BY THE TIME EMILY ARRIVED, THE HOUSE LOOKED AS IT ALWAYS DID. She did not see an ambulance or any sign of an emergency. She found her mother sitting in the foyer, with her coat on, her purse in her lap.

  “Mother, what happened? How is Ezra?”

  “They’ve taken him to the hospital in Southport. You have to take me there, Emily. Quickly. I don’t want him to be alone there,” her mother said as she stood up. “I’ll tell you everything in the car. We have a long ride,” she added.

  They did have a long ride. The Southport hospital was nearly an hour away. Emily had not expected her mother to go along so willingly—Lillian hated long car rides—but she had rarely seen her mother this concerned over anyone.

  They had hardly pulled away from the curb, when her mother began to speak. “It was all my fault. I wanted the Eastlake table in front of the bay window, the way I have it every year. I offered to help him move it, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said it wasn’t any problem, he’d slide the table on the rug.” Lillian shook her head. “I think it was too heavy for him. That’s what did it.”

  “It’s impossible to say, Mother. Dr. Elliot could have been sitting at home doing a crossword puzzle and had this heart attack—or whatever it is. You can’t blame yourself. You just don’t know.”

  Her mother sat staring straight ahead, her hands gripped in her lap. “Well, perhaps. We’ll have to see what the doctor says. Poor Ezra. Life is fragile, Emily. Not just for old people like us. For everyone. Things can change, just like that.” She snapped her thin fingers. “You never know.”

  When they reached the hospital, Ezra was being worked on in the critical care unit and was not permitted any visitors. Emily did most of the talking with the hospital staff in the emergency room. Her mother was too upset and agitated.

  Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing wait, a doctor came out to speak to them. Dr. Bourghard was somewhere between Emily’s age and her mother’s, in his early sixties, Emily guessed. That was a good thing, she thought. Her mother never trusted a doctor who was under fifty and thought that anyone much older was in danger of senility. Which left a very narrow window for trust in the medical profession.

  “Are you Mrs. Elliot?” he asked Lillian.

  “I’m Mrs. Warwick, Dr. Elliot’s friend. His very good friend,” she quickly added. “How is he? Did he have a heart attack?”

  “Yes, a mild one. He’s very lucky. He got here quickly and we were able to prevent further damage.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  “He’s going to need more tests. We want to see what’s going on with the arteries in his neck and legs, and in his heart, of course. Then we’ll be able to determine if
he needs any intervention.”

  “An operation, you mean,” Lillian clarified. She still had a good ear for sugarcoated euphemisms, Emily had to grant her that. “Like bypass surgery, or that Roto-Rooter job that cleans out your neck.”

  Dr. Bourghard fought a smile but finally gave in. “Yes, that’s what I mean. You’ve got the picture.”

  “Yes, I do,” Lillian said crisply. “May we see him? Is he awake?”

  “You can see him for a few minutes, not too long.”

  “We just want to say hello,” Emily promised.

  A few minutes later, they were led back to Ezra’s bed, in a private room with a big glass wall so that the nurses outside could watch him every minute.

  He was hooked up to a lot of tubes and machines, and Emily could tell the sight frightened her mother. But Lillian just paused a moment to get a breath then sailed in, her head held high.

  “Ezra, we’re here—Emily and I.” She walked over to his bed and took his hand. “How are you?”

  “Hanging in there, Lily. Hanging in. You did me a good deed, calling for help so quickly. You always did have a cool head in a crisis.”

  “Nonsense. You frightened me to death. I did what I had to do.”

  “The doctor tells me I’ve had a heart attack, a minor cardiac episode,” he said. “Imagine that. The irony of it.”

  “I did imagine it, watching you eat all that gravy and whipped cream on Thanksgiving,” she scolded him. “There will be no more of that once you get out of here.”

  “Whenever that will be. I hope I don’t need an operation,” Ezra confided.

  “He didn’t say you did for sure. Let’s hope for the best,” Lillian added, patting his hand again.

  “Hope for the best?” Emily echoed in a kind of delighted disbelief. She could not remember ever hearing her mother say anything so positive. She wished she had a tape recorder.

  “Oh, Emily . . . I forgot you were here, too,” Ezra said. “Hello, dear. Thank you for bringing your mother all this way to see me.”

  “We wanted to check on you, Ezra,” she said honestly. “Mother had to see you with her own eyes.”

  Emily thought he looked small and frail in the big bed, the hospital nightgown gaping open around his neck.

  “She did, did she? Well . . . that’s something. I thought she came just to scold me,” he added, making both women laugh.

  A nurse walked in, carrying a plastic water pitcher and a small paper cup of pills. “I’m sorry, but you two need to go now. The patient needs to rest.”

  “Having too much fun were we?” Lillian asked tartly. She looked back at Ezra. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m not sure when visiting hours start. I suppose I’ll go to church first.”

  “You don’t need to come back tomorrow, Lily. It’s a long drive. Who will take you?”

  “I’m sure I can find someone.” She shrugged and glanced at Emily. “Everyone wants to help me lately. Helpers are falling out of the trees.”

  “Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dr. Elliot looked so cheered by the idea, Emily knew that she would have to drive her mother, or enlist one of Lillian’s sons-in-law to be a chauffeur for the day. “Bring us a crossword puzzle from the Sunday paper, will you? And some nice sharp pencils.”

  “I already thought of that,” Lillian promised.

  She paused at his bedside a moment, gazing down at him. Then she leaned over and brushed his cheek with her own. It wasn’t exactly a kiss, Emily noticed. But close enough for her mother.

  Emily had to admit, of all the people of her mother’s acquaintance, she could think of no one more deserving of the honor.

  ON SUNDAY, THE SAWYERS STARTED THEIR COUNTDOWN. ONLY FOUR more days to Christmas Eve. Then they would close the tree farm at five and be able to enjoy their own holiday.

  The weekend rush had been frantic. Friday night’s nasty weather had kept a lot of tree shoppers at home, Jack reasoned, and a herd of them rushed the place on Saturday morning.

  On Sunday morning, Jack and Julie woke up at the usual time but felt so tired, they decided to skip church. Julie made a big breakfast, pancakes with bacon on the side.

  Katie finished her pancakes quickly and ran off to the family room to watch TV. Jack took his time enjoying his breakfast, then read the paper at the kitchen table, not in any rush to run out and open up again.

  “Look at all the ads and coupons in the newspaper today. Guess I’m not the only one behind in my shopping.” Jack started tearing a piece off the page he’d been reading then got up to look for the scissors. “All the coupons. Who can keep track of this stuff? I’d need a filing cabinet in my truck.”

  “I already bought Kate a few things on her list,” Julie said. “Did you have anything special in mind? I can pick up something for you.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “There was something special she asked me for—if I can find it in time. Not at the mall, though,” he added with a slight smile.

  “Jack, I know that look by now. What are you cooking up?”

  He smiled even wider, returning to the table with a fresh cup of coffee. “She told me she asked Santa for a pony.”

  “A pony?” Julie kept her voice low, but her eyes were wide as pot covers, he noticed. Beautiful blue pot covers.

  “You can’t get her a pony, Jack,” she quietly insisted.

  “Why not? She really, really wants one,” he replied, pleading Katie’s case in almost the same voice his darling stepdaughter might have used.

  “Every five-year-old wants a pony. That doesn’t mean they get one. You’ll spoil her impossibly.” Julie’s voice was firm, but in her eyes he could see a certain amused light that told him he had hope of winning this argument and granting Katie’s wish.

  “She’s not spoiled. She’s as sweet as pie,” Jack insisted. “Every kid needs a pet, Jules, and we have plenty of property. I could put up a little corral. I’ll find a little saddle and bridle somewhere. She sure would look cute riding a pony.”

  “If you want to get her a pet, get her a puppy,” Julie suggested.

  “A dog is nice. I love dogs. But you can’t ride it. A pony is just like a big dog, Julie. There isn’t that much difference.”

  “You aren’t seriously thinking it’s going to come in the house, are you?” Now she looked shocked for real.

  He laughed and put his arms around her. He loved this woman so much. He didn’t know what he would do without her. “What do you want for Christmas?” he whispered in her hair. “You didn’t even give me a clue. I want to spoil you, too. How about jewelry? Would you like that?”

  Julie sighed and hugged him back. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t need jewelry. Anything you get me will be nice, Jack.”

  “Come on. There must be something,” he coaxed her.

  He pulled back so he could see her face. She smiled up at him shyly.

  See, there was something on her mind. He liked that. He wanted to get her something she really wanted, too. Not just any old thing he could find at the mall.

  “Jack . . . I’ve been thinking. I really want us to have a baby,” she said finally. “Maybe for next Christmas?”

  Jack felt his head snap back. He couldn’t help it. If she had given him even a little warning, he would have tried harder to hide his reaction. He could see she wasn’t pleased by his immediate, unguarded response.

  “A baby . . . wow. I never would have guessed that one,” he admitted.

  “You wouldn’t have? Gee, I thought I’d been giving you plenty of hints lately.”

  He glanced at her, still holding her in the loose circle of his arms. He’d thought about it, a little. There was always the possibility it could happen just by accident, right? But he had never really dwelled on it. Or thought it might really happen.

  “Maybe . . . but we never really talked about it.”

  “No, we haven’t,” she agreed. “Not directly. We’ve been so busy lately with David and the tree farm. I’m sorry if this just seemed to hi
t you out of the blue.”

  She slipped away from him and walked toward the sink to do some dishes.

  He felt bad. Her feelings were hurt. He hadn’t meant for that to happen at all. He just wanted to know what she wanted for Christmas. But a baby? He was just . . . blindsided.

  He didn’t know what to do. He watched her work on the dishes for a moment or two. She had her head down and wouldn’t even look at him. Jack knew he had to do something.

  “Let’s talk now. Come on, stop fussing with the dishes.” He walked up behind her and made her come away from the sink and sit down at the table. Julie looked upset, though she was obviously trying hard to be calm.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Jack began. “I never thought about having more children. For one thing, I’m too old. David’s in his twenties. I could be a grandfather soon, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Of course you’re not too old. You’re in your early forties, Jack. Don’t you watch TV or read the newspaper? A lot of men are just getting started at your age.”

  “They’re pretty slow off the block then, if you ask me,” he replied quickly. He hadn’t meant to make a joke out of it, but he couldn’t help it. The entire subject made him nervous.

  A baby? A tiny, helpless infant? At his age? He just couldn’t see it.

  “You’re great with Katie. She adores you,” Julie reminded him. “She’s only five.”

  “Yeah, well, five is pretty grown-up. That’s not a baby in diapers and all of that.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but he had to be honest. “I was never real good with David as a baby. I don’t think I changed his diaper more than once or twice,” he admitted. “I don’t want to disappoint you and be a bad father.”

  “Jack, I know you, and you couldn’t be a bad father if you tried. Maybe you didn’t do the diapers and bottles and all that when David was born, but I think you’d get more involved now. Wouldn’t you?”

  He took a breath and nodded. It was true. He would get involved, not leave it all to his wife. That had not been right or fair, though Claire had never complained. Then again, Claire never had a full-time job like Julie did, and it was a more traditional kind of marriage. And he was young and different then, too, he realized. Very different.