Wishes for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “What? You think that’s funny?”

  Toots wiped her eyes on a napkin. “Bernice, first, you did everything you could to stop Ida and Daniel from getting married. Now you’re worried about whether adopting a little girl will have an adverse effect on the same marriage you were so determined to keep from happening in the first place.” Toots started laughing again. The thought of Bernice being worried about something going wrong in a marriage she was so against in the first place gave her another round of giggles.

  Both women jumped when they heard Phil enter the kitchen. “What’s so funny?” He sat next to Toots, gave her a kiss, then poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Bernice’s face was as red as the throw rugs on the shiny kitchen floor. “Nothing!”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Phil raised his eyebrows at his wife, indicating he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the two of them.

  Bernice grabbed the coffeepot, filled it with water, added fresh coffee to the filter in the coffeemaker, dumped the water in the tank, then pressed the BREW button. Toots knew this was her way of saying she needed a few minutes. She gave Phil a slight nod.

  When the coffee finished brewing, Bernice filled the carafe on the table, then brought out a fresh container of half-and-half and clean spoons for the bowl of sugar. She poured each of them another cup, then sat down. “Phil, I might as well tell you, too.”

  “Tell me what? You’re feeling okay, aren’t you? Your last checkup was excellent, according to your new doctor. He called me.”

  “No, this is worse. Much worse, believe me.” She took a deep breath, then said, “Daniel and Ida are thinking of adopting an eight-year-old orphaned girl. And I am concerned that it will cause problems in their marriage.”

  The words were hardly out of her mouth before Phil, too, started laughing. His laugh was hearty and rich, a man’s laughter. He slapped his hand on his khaki-covered knee. “I think that’s fantastic news!”

  Bernice looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Tell me you’re not serious. Phil, Ida is almost twenty years older than Daniel! She’s old enough to be his mother, for crying out loud! And now they are going to adopt a child? Becoming a father in his fifties is bad enough. But Ida as a first-time mother in her seventies? It’s unnatural!”

  “Listen up, Bernice. I’m talking to you as a friend, not a doctor, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “In my line of work, I saw all kinds of people. Young people dying, old people wishing for one more day, family members wishing they’d taken the time to do all the things they had planned on doing later and didn’t think about until it was too late. Look, what I’m trying to say is, let them spend their time together as they want to. Who cares about age these days, anyway? It’s a number, nothing more. Having a child to raise could make their marriage even richer than it already is. What about you and Robert? Would a child in your lives be so terrible if it happened for some reason?”

  Toots observed the two, but more than that, she really listened. Phil was right. No one knew when their last day was coming. Even Sophie, being psychic, couldn’t predict the exact time a person would die. It wasn’t like you were given a choice. Toots believed your destiny was determined at the moment of conception. Life was too short not to live it to the fullest. If Daniel and Ida’s fullest was adopting a child, then why the hell not?

  “He’s right.” Toots said this, knowing Bernice was giving serious thought to his words. She had that look she always got when she was serious. Her brows were scrunched in a frown; her bottom lip was sticking out more than normal.

  She crossed her hands over her chest. “I don’t suppose I could stop them from doing this. Hell, they’re seniors. Daniel isn’t yet, but he’s getting there. Shit, piss, damn! I really don’t have a say, do I?”

  Toots and Phil said, “No!” at the same time.

  Sighing, Bernice shook her head.

  Chapter 13

  Sophie picked Abby up as soon as the sky turned from a hazy bluish black to a pastel pink. The sun was just starting to show itself as Abby ran out the back door. Chester barked when he saw Sophie’s car.

  “Okay, I did get a tidbit of information from Josh,” Abby said when she jumped in the car. “He called right before you got here. It seems that Lamar, Charlotte’s husband, is more than just a jarhead. He’s involved in a special mission, and according to Josh’s source, it’s top secret.”

  Sophie peeled out of the gate. “I don’t know if that’s really important just now. Okay, let’s suppose that it is. Would this have anything to do with what I saw? Felt? Not to mention the fact that she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “I agree, but he did find something. He’s doing what I pay him to do.”

  “Good for him,” Sophie said. “Let’s just get to that apartment. We’ve waited long enough. I just hope that it isn’t too long. I need to see for myself that the girl is at home, safe and sound.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sophie pulled alongside the same curb where Goebel had parked just last night. The apartment complex looked even shabbier in the light of morning. It was made of red brick, and the mortar had turned black. Rickety metal stairs led to the second and third floors. The courtyard was covered with soda cans, and trash and cigarette butts dotted the dried-out ground like dirty polka dots.

  They both stopped on the sidewalk, each lost in her own thoughts. Shabby didn’t begin to describe the place.

  “I had no idea Charlotte lived in such . . . squalor. Gosh, Sophie, have I been so wrapped up in my life that I just assumed everyone else has . . .” Abby raked a hand through her hair. “Let’s go find Charlotte.”

  Sophie nodded, leading the way. “They’re in fifty-five-E.”

  Weaving around the garbage, broken bicycles, and empty food cartons, they trod lightly when they found the metal steps leading to the third floor. At the top of the steps, Sophie said, “To the right.”

  When they reached apartment 55-E, Abby tapped on the door. Within seconds, the door opened. A little girl with big green eyes looked up at them. Abby’s heart fell to her feet. She saw Sophie’s eyes fill with tears.

  “Rhonda! Don’t ever open—” Charlotte stopped when she saw them.

  “It’s just me and my godmother, Sophie. The one you met yesterday.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I remember.”

  “You’re okay? You haven’t been hurt? The children?” Abby asked, almost dumbfounded.

  Charlotte stepped out onto the balcony and closed the door. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  Sophie cleared her throat. “I’m . . . I have . . . I see things.”

  Abby laughed. “Good grief, Sophie, Charlotte is going to think we’ve lost our minds.” She looked to Charlotte, who didn’t seem the least bit amused. “Sophie has visions. She’s a psychic.”

  Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “Okay.”

  “She isn’t going to make this easy. Look—” Sophie placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm. As Charlotte reached for her hand, Sophie went completely limp, crumpling in a heap on the small cement balcony.

  Abby screamed, “Call nine-one-one!”

  Charlotte hurried inside. “Of course.”

  Abby stooped down and lifted the top half of Sophie from the cement. Sophie moaned and tried to sit up.

  “Please,” she whispered, and Abby knew this was the psychic Sophie, not the crazy, oddball, lovable godmother she knew.

  “Charlotte, hang up the phone! She’s fine,” Abby shouted.

  Charlotte instantly appeared. “I called. They’re on their way.”

  “I want you to call them back, tell them something, but we don’t need their services. This is why we’re here. Sophie had some sort of vision yesterday, and it was about you. She’s in a trance state now.”

  Octavia pulled her hand away, frightened when she felt another gush of somethin’ warm comin’ from her woman parts. She clenched her teeth and felt a crampin’ sensation in her belly. Then, as fast as the pain came, it stop
ped an’ was just a dull ache, like she got when she ate too many peaches. Fearin’ that Mr. Clayton an’ the missus had heard her hollerin’, she knew she had to act fast. Not wantin’ to, but knowin’ she had no other choice, she pushed herself up into a sittin’ position. The thing was still attached to her, an’ she remembered Momma sayin’ somethin’ ’bout this. She couldn’t remember what her momma had called it, but she knew she had to cut the thing loose from her.

  The kitchen was dark, but Octavia didn’t mind; she was glad for the darkness. She didn’t wanna see that thing in the light. Workin’ in the kitchen, she knew her way around with her eyes shut. She remembered usin’ the butcher knife just this mornin’, when she’d shown Telly how to cut up a chicken. Next to the pump on the choppin’ block. All she had to do was slide across the pine floor with the thing stuck to her; then she could reach the knife.

  Not knowin’ how she was gonna get across the floor with that devil thing o’ Mr. Clayton’s crawlin’ atop her, Octavia gathered the warm bundle in her skirt an’ wrapped the thing up. It was whimperin’, an’ she felt sad, but she had to cut it away an’ get to Momma’s. With one hand holdin’ the thing, she used the other to push across the floor.

  “Sophie, can you hear me?” Abby shouted.

  She felt another gush of hot liquid spill from her insides an’ knew somethin’ was wrong. When she reached the choppin’ block, she used her free hand to feel for the butcher knife. Carefully, she ran her slim, honey-colored hand along the edge of the choppin’ block, then felt the heavy wooden handle of the knife. With her fingers, she grabbed the knife an’ held it tight in her shakin’ hand. In the darkness, she could see the heavy steel blade glistening in the moonlight coming in through the big kitchen window. The thing made a sound again, an’ Octavia thought it sounded like a wounded polecat.

  Her hands were shakin’ as she unfolded her bloodied dress. The missus would lash her, for sure, when she saw it. As her belly had grown, her housedresses had squeezed her so tight, she was sure they’d strangle her. That was when the missus had given her that bolt of cloth, told her to sew a new dress. An’ she had, an’ now it was ruined.

  Octavia smelled the coppery smell of her own blood, felt the stickiness thickenin’ on her skin. The thing cried out again, only this time it wasn’t a meow like a kitten made or a strange sound, like the ones she made when Mr. Clayton clamped his hand over her mouth when he crawled on top o’ her. This was a real cry, like a baby’s, like her little brother’s, Abraham. She remembered her momma birthin’ him. She had been scared for her momma when she’d heard her moanin’ an’ screamin’. Like her, she stopped, an’ then the cryin’ started. Now Octavia felt tired an’ weak, like all she wanted to do was rest, jus’ for a minute. She closed her eyes, driftin’ off, remembering when she was a little girl....

  She jerked up, the knife still in her hand, the thing still nestled between her legs, on her bloody dress. Before she blacked out again, she touched the thing, found the shiny snakelike part that grew out of its tiny belly. Without another thought, she took hold of the sliminess an’ quickly hacked through the piece of snake. Frightened, she dropped the knife on the floor, the noise soundin’ like glass shatterin’. . . .

  “Sophie, please listen to me!”

  Moaning, Sophie pushed herself into a sitting position. “Where is Charlotte?”

  “I’m right here, ma’am,” Charlotte said in a soft voice.

  “Abby, we need to get to your place, pronto. I need to see that book you had yesterday. Do you know what book I’m talking about?” Sophie said.

  Puzzled, Abby nodded. “The one Mother gave me?”

  “I don’t know where it came from, but I need to see it.” Sophie looked at Charlotte. “Do you realize that you have a connection to all this?”

  “No. I’m getting more confused by the minute. Come in. I have to get the kids ready for school, get their breakfast. We can talk inside.”

  Abby helped Sophie to her feet. Together, they entered the apartment.

  “Have a seat in the kitchen,” Charlotte told them.

  They sat at an antique wooden table that seated four. Knowing antiques, Abby saw that this old table wasn’t some flea-market find. Charlotte had good taste. The matching chairs were old oak but were polished to a high sheen. A pretty gold vase filled with evergreens and a poinsettia was positioned in the center of the table. Plastic place mats with colorful pictures of snowmen, Santas, and snowflakes circled the tabletop. The apartment building was shabby, but Charlotte’s apartment, at least what she could see of it, was very well decorated and clean.

  The three kids had remained silent, sitting in the living room, on the sofa, as their mother had requested. Abby fervently hoped that when Amy and Jonathan were a few years older, they were as well behaved as this adorable little trio.

  Charlotte busied herself scrambling eggs and popping toast in the little toaster oven. “You all want juice or milk?”

  “Juice,” they all called out at once.

  After plating the eggs and toast, Charlotte called the children to come into the kitchen. There, the kids waited for Sophie and Abby to get out of the chairs.

  “You guys can take your plates into the living room, but let’s eat as fast as you can. We don’t have much time before the bus arrives and Rhonda goes to day care,” Charlotte told them.

  Sophie felt better than she had since she’d experienced those emotions after bumping into Charlotte. Images from times past assaulted her, and she now knew why she’d been experiencing them.

  Thirty minutes later, Abby drove Sophie and Charlotte back to her home. Sophie wasted no time at all in locating the book. She immediately closed her eyes and rubbed her hand on the worn leather, but now she was prepared to allow whatever or whoever she needed to contact to make contact with her.

  Chris had taken Amy and Jonathan to Bernice and Robert’s for the cookie bake off.

  Once they’d arranged themselves in the formal living room, splendorous in all its Christmas glory, Sophie closed her eyes and began to meditate.

  Her mother took a large leather volume an’ opened it carefully. They was letters on the front of the book, but she didn’t know what they say. Her momma took a piece of a bird feather an’ a glass bottle of ink an’ dipped the feather into the ink. “This is The Book of Life an’ Death, Octavia. I been writin’ in it all my life. I’s learned to read an’ write when old Mr. Clayton’s missus was here. She teached me to read an’ write. She tell me to always write down what was most sacred.”

  “What you sayin’, Momma?”

  “A minute, chile, an’ I’ll read it to you.”

  Her momma wrote in the big leather-bound book for a few more minutes. “I gots all the names wrote here, all them borned an’ died. I write your son’s day of birth an’ day of death. I called him John Thomas Clayton, you Octavia Charlotte Clayton, an’ Mr. Charles Garland Clayton.

  “Now, you never speak this day again, you hear? The missus gone come fo’ you soon, an’ you jus’ say you scared ’cause your baby dead when he came out. Missus don’t want no one-armed baby to care fo’. Now, you jus’ rest until the missus gets here. This be The Book of Life an’ Death, Octavia. You must always take this wherever you be goin’.

  Sophie knew what this meant. “Charlotte, I’m sure these are your ancestors, too.”

  Abby thought for a moment. “Why would you say that?”

  “Old Mr. Clayton fathered what I’m guessing was Charlotte’s great-great-grandmother’s firstborn.”

  Nothing more needed to be said.

  Epilogue

  Christmas morning

  The twins hooted and hollered when they saw the custom-built playhouse Nana Tootsie and Poppo Phil had ordered from Santa. They ran in and out of the small rooms, laughing and sitting on the mini-beds, which fit them perfectly. A little table with four chairs would provide many hours of tea parties and a place for them to play the board games they loved so much.

  “Mom, this
is perfect. I never would have even thought of something like this. I can’t wait until the summer so they can really enjoy it.”

  Toots and Phil were so excited at the kids’ reaction that they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. All morning, while they opened silver and gold packages with red ribbons, they’d acted like newlyweds. Toots gave Phil a first-print edition of Shakespeare. He gave her a locket with pictures of Amy and Jonathan inside.

  Chris and Abby drank too much coffee, smiled too much, and couldn’t stop thanking everyone for their gifts. Mavis and Wade, Bernice and Robert, Ida and Daniel, and Sophie and Goebel sat back and enjoyed opening their own gifts and watching the reactions everyone, especially the little ones, had to what was happening all around.

  Then Phil took the floor and indicated that he was ready to announce the surprise that all the gang, except Toots, already knew about. “Toots, love of my life, when I was on the book tour, one stop was in Washington, D.C., where I had a discussion with a woman named Maggie Spritzer, the former editor in chief of the Washington Post. While we were talking, I happened to mention how you were starting Hope for Heroes and what it was about. She became very interested and said that she would really like to do an interview with you sometime after the New Year. She opined that a feature article in the Washington Post would probably help get the ball rolling big-time. What do you think?”

  When Toots did not respond immediately, Phil asked, “Honey, is something wrong? Did I let the cat out of the bag when I shouldn’t have?”

  Toots ran over and gave Phil a big hug and a kiss. “No, honey, it’s just that your surprise seems to explain my surprise. You see, a little while back, I remember now that it was after you returned from that book tour, I got a letter from the owner of the Washington Post, someone named Annie de Silva. It seems that she is a very wealthy woman who also happens to control a large pool of money, along with some other people, that they allocate to worthy causes in need of funding, and she wanted to speak to me about funding Hope for Heroes. I guess that this Maggie Spritzer must have said something to her about what you told her. How about that?”