by Leah Atwood
When the light changed, she drove through the intersection at her turn. Made the trip across town and to the post office. The drive isn’t nearly as treacherous as last night’s. She’d prayed for safety the entire way home last night. This evening, she hadn’t hit any slick spots, only had that one encounter when she’d unwittingly stepped on a snow pile.
Gathering her purse, she saw the door to the building open. A man walked out with a stack of mail. Who checks their mail at this hour? Her imagination kicked into overdrive, and she created a variety of explanations while she waited for him to leave. Once he’d entered his car, she went inside, as though, she too was checking her post office box.
She kept her head down, away from the clear view of any security cameras. Only after she saw him drive away did she pull out several candy canes and place them on the platform that held labels and pens. She hung two from pushpins already in the wall near the post office boxes then hurried to her car. On the way out of the parking lot, she dropped a card in the drive-thru mailbox and hooked a candy cane to the door latch after it had closed.
The familiar joy filled her. She said a prayer for each unknown person who found one. The only downfall of maintaining her privacy was not knowing who discovered each candy cane and how they might have been touched by its message. Maybe she could start an anonymous website on which people could share their story. Would it be of any interest to anyone but her? She’d have to ponder on it a while longer.
Lights on a nearby house flashed in rhythm to Frosty the Snowman. She’d heard the music playing when she left the post office. Driving slowly past the house, she took the time to look at all the decorations in the home’s yard—not just a quick glance, but a lingering examination meant to enjoy the sight.
How many other houses have lights up already? She thought the snow would have delayed many, but she’d momentarily forgotten the spirit of Nativity. Most of the town had their outdoor decorations up a week ago even if they didn’t turn the lights on until last night. She estimated three-quarters of the homes she saw had some form of decorations up, and if she had her guess, fifty percent of the remaining quarter would decorate by next weekend.
You couldn’t live in a town called Nativity and shun Christmas.
She’d decorate her apartment tomorrow after her volunteer shift at the homeless shelter. A laugh escaped. She’d graduated high school early, and by the time she’d turned twenty-two, she’d worked hard to earn a bachelor’s degree from Columbia University and an MBA from Yale, yet she’d spend her morning tomorrow doing laundry for other people. The irony—she received more satisfaction from her shifts at the shelter than her entire two-year employment with a Fortune 500 company.
Christmas lights never failed to put her in a festive mood, and she took multiple detours on the way to the fire department. Why hurry when only her cats awaited her. Knowing Snowball and Coal, they were curled in balls on opposite ends of her sofa. She’d long ago accepted that the cats had minds of their own and the habit couldn’t be broken.
The firehouse stop didn’t take long, neither did the police station a block away—another tricky endeavor due to the constant presence of on-duty first responders. She stopped at a few of the smaller churches in town and then circled to the mall.
Her final stop was the park. No one should be there now. Until next week’s tree lighting and then advent ceremony, the park wouldn’t see many visitors during daylight hours with the weather this frigid, let alone near midnight.
She pulled in, wishing she still had hot chocolate left. The park kept her outside the longest since she walked the entire perimeter, leaving candy canes on each bench. She wouldn’t leave that many every night, but always put out more the first few days after Thanksgiving and the last week leading to Christmas.
“Awfully late to be out and about.”
She jumped backward, scared by the disembodied voice. Her heart pounded, even once her brain connected recognition of the voice to a familiar person. Sure enough, when she shifted her gaze to the direction of the voice, she saw Donovan Byrne. Once she caught her breath, she responded. “I could say the same about you.”
He shrugged but didn’t respond directly to her reply. “You’re behind the candy canes, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Her blood ran cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
“Your story earlier at church didn’t add up, and I put the pieces together.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And just now I saw you putting them around the park.”
She froze in place. How could she deny the truth? She’d been caught. By a journalist no less. Defenses rose in the form of anger. “You were spying on me?”
“No.” He didn’t bat an eye at her hurled accusation. “When I had my suspicions, I took a guess at where you might show up.”
“Same difference,” she muttered, all joy zapped.
“Why the cloak-and-dagger act?” Creases formed around his eyes and he stepped forward. “And why do you do this?”
She shook her head. “This is something I do for myself, all right? I know you work for the newspaper—but please, don’t turn this into a story.”
The wrinkles deepened. “It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t know you very well outside of seeing you at church, but I’m begging you, please keep my secret.” She held her breath, afraid of his answer.
Close enough to touch her, he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “I work for the newspaper, yes, but my company’s motto—and my own—has always been people first. I would never disclose your identity without your consent.”
“Thank you.” Her chest sank with a relieved exhale. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s cold.” He jutted his chin toward his car, in the opposite lot from where she’d parked. “I’m going to get home.”
“Me, too.”
He pivoted on one foot then paused. “I’ll see you at church on Sunday.”
“See you then.” Her conversation skills lacked in the aftermath of being discovered.
She watched him leave, wondering if he could really be trusted. Sinking onto an icy metal bench, memories flashed in front of her. In her experience, the media had no scruples, no concept of boundaries. She found it hard to believe a newspaper would abide by a people-first policy. Usually, money or ratings came first.
“Please, Lord, help Donovan to respect my wishes and keep my identity a secret.”
The lights on an angel ornament hanging from a lamppost twinkled. Zoe clung to it as a sign God had heard her prayer and answered with a definite yes.
Chapter Four
Donovan hung up the phone, a smile plastered on his face. Sometimes he hated technology and longed for simpler times, but other times he loved it. Like when he got to video chat with Brody through an app on his cell phone. Brody’s enthusiasm for life was contagious, and Donovan prayed he never lost it.
Optimism came easy for a four-year-old. Not so much for a thirty-two-year-old jaded by life. He wasn’t that cynical, was he? Sure, Deana’s abandonment had scarred him, but the wounds had healed. He had a good life despite the loneliness. His career fulfilled him, and he had a solid group of friends from his co-workers and church family. His parents were still living—only several blocks away—and his brother lived an hour away. They saw each other frequently.
He had a lot going for him, and when world-weariness got to him, he reminded himself of all those things. Life was hard and had thrown him lemons. He hadn’t made lemonade with them, rather he handed the lemons over to God and let Him do with them as He pleased.
It didn’t take long to answer his question. He wasn’t jaded, just knocked down a time or two. But the important thing was that he’d gotten back up every time. He needed to acknowledge his own successes in that matter to keep his spirits up. To know defeat wasn’t an option the next time he found himself knocked down by life. That with God, he could get through anything. And if he could pass that onto Br
ody as his son grew and inevitably faced his own obstacles, then Donovan would consider his parenting a success.
Resting his gaze aimlessly on the kitchen counters, he saw the candy cane from Zoe lying on top of a stack of mail—only he hadn’t known at the time it had come from Zoe. What should he do with the information? He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. Her identity as the candy cane distributor remained safe with him. Yet, he couldn’t shake a feeling.
The only problem was, he couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. Was he supposed to reach out to her? Help her with the project? Would she let him in on it? Did he even want to be involved with the project? Too many questions flew at him from every direction.
He grabbed a pen and piece of paper. Writing down his thoughts helped him to sort them. At the top of the page, he wrote Zoe Daniels. Under her name, he wrote what he knew about her, which wasn’t much. Moved to Nativity five years ago. Attends Nativity Community Church. Volunteers at homeless shelter. Anything else?
A moment of conviction hit him. Their church had grown in recent years to be the largest in town but hadn’t become that big—he should know more about her after five years. Especially since he was a reporter. He specialized in finding out information about people and knowing the citizens of his community.
Without much to go on, he wrote possible motivations for her kind act. Did she do it simply to bring cheer, or had events in her life prompted her to it? How did she decide what to write? And how many did she give away each year? Did she begin the tradition when she moved to Nativity, or had she carried it out in her previous location?
His mind wouldn’t rest until he received answers. But if she won’t give them to you, then what? He’d have to accept her wishes in that case, but he hoped, with his promise not to breathe a word, that she’d allow him insight into her actions. Whatever approach he took would have to be well considered. Fortunately for him, he’d learned to read people well during his tenure at the newspaper.
If he called her, she’d make excuses not to talk—if she even answered her phone. He could show up at her place, but he risked appearing too pushy. He had the option of texting or emailing her, but those options were too easily ignored.
Going to her apartment proved to be the best option, but he wouldn’t show up empty-handed. He’d take a peace offering of sorts, something to assure her he wouldn’t spill the beans. Nothing too fancy, or she’d think it was a bribe. Hot chocolate? That was safe enough, and everyone enjoyed the beverage on a cold winter’s day. He could even add some peppermint bark to the gift.
Mind made up, he put the plan into action. Why wait when his curiosity wouldn’t relent? Besides, he hated weekends alone in the house. The off weekends without Brody were too quiet. He threw on his coat and ran out to the car.
Backing out of the driveway, he realized he had no idea where Zoe lived. He shifted into park and googled her address. Nothing came up. He could run to the office and utilize the advanced searches the newspaper offered, but that felt too intrusive.
Wait a minute. The church made a directory two years ago. Maybe it’s in there. He’d forgotten all about it because he’d rarely needed it, had only used it once or twice since its creation. The information of people he contacted was already stored in his phone, and when he met a person and needed their contact info, he added it immediately.
He jogged to the house, went to his office and retrieved the directory from the file cabinet. He flipped through the pages, holding his breath in hopes he’d find his answer. Five pages in, he spotted her name. He slid his finger down to her listing and read her address.
Village Luxury Apartments? Those were high dollar living arrangements. Not that it mattered, but it provided another clue into her life. Now that he thought about it, she often dressed in expensive clothes. For all he knew they could have been secondhand from the thrift store, but the materials, seams, and lines all spoke of high dollar and quality. He’d noticed before but had tucked away the information as unimportant.
After scribbling the apartment number on a scratch piece of paper, he ran to his car for the second time. He took a short detour to stop at Bethlehem Brew, ordered a hot chocolate and the peppermint bark, then added a coffee for himself.
His nerves knocked against each other as he neared the apartment complex. What’s wrong with me? He’d cold-called for stories many times and never had a problem. But this isn’t for a story.
He reached the gate and entered the entry code, thankful he knew the code because his good friend Thad Glover lived there as well. The gate swung open at a snail’s pace, and Donovan drove through. He stole a glimpse in the rearview mirror and watched the gate close. Made sure no one snuck in behind him who didn’t belong there—ignoring that fact that, technically, he didn’t either.
He found the building Zoe’s place should be in. Let her welcome me in. Armed with the drink carrier holding the coffee, hot chocolate, and candy, he climbed two flights of stairs, careful not to let any liquid slosh out of the cups.
Her door had a wreath hanging from the top and a lit garland over the frame. Christmas music drifted from inside—a piano version of Angels We Have Heard On High. He let the song finish playing before he knocked. Partly to gather his wits, and also because he loved that version of the song.
Here goes nothing. He lifted a hand and knocked.
The wait seemed interminable. He checked his watch—not even a minute had passed.
The familiar shuffling of feet, scratching of the lock being released—and seconds later Zoe opened the door. Her eyes widened before turning into a scowl. “Can I help you?”
The weather outside wasn’t as frosty as her tone.
“I wanted to talk to you.” He put out a hand to ward off the objection he saw immediately form in her tightened features. “I’m not going back on my word. I promise anything you say will stay strictly between us.”
An arched brow accented her wary expression. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you want to share about your candy canes.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrowed as if appraising him for sincerity. “If you don’t plan on sharing the information, why is it so important for you to know?”
“Let’s just say one of your candy cane wishes helped me through a dark season of my life.” When he saw her features soften a notch, he held out the drink carrier. “I brought you a hot chocolate and peppermint bark. Even if you don’t want to talk, it’s yours as a gesture of goodwill.”
A faint smile surfaced. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Does that mean I’m in?” He flashed a boyish grin in hopes of bolstering his chances.
She sighed. “I’ll be honest—I don’t have a good history with the media. Past experiences have shown me they can’t be trusted.”
His heart sank. “I’m sorry on behalf of those who broke that bond of trust.”
“Thanks, but it wasn’t your doing.” She grazed her teeth against her bottom lip. “I’ve heard only good things about you at church. I might regret it, but come in. I’ll share, but on the condition, this stays between us.”
“You have my word.” To seal his promise, he handed her the hot chocolate and peppermint bark.
She took it then let him through the door. “Excuse the mess. I’m in the middle of decorating.”
He scanned the area and saw the floor littered with boxes and garlands. A nutcracker caught his attention. “May I pick it up?” After she gave permission, he set down his coffee and lifted the figurine. Examined the wooden toy soldier. “This is excellent craftsmanship. It didn’t come from a department store, did it?”
An odd expression flittered across her face and she shook her head. “My dad bought it for me in Germany. It’s handcrafted and painted by a family business who’s been crafting them since the early 1800’s.”
Awe struck him. “I love handmade items. The small imperfections remind me of the hard work and dedication that went into making them.”
&n
bsp; Appreciation showed in her smile. “I agree.”
He set down the nutcracker and reached for his coffee. Now that he was here and inside, his nerves relaxed. “Do you set up a tree?”
“Of course.” She scoffed, then smiled. “I always get a live one. Growing up, my parents never allowed it, said they created too much of a mess, but I wanted the experience. I thought my R.A. my freshman year of college would faint when I brought in a small one, but she let me keep it.”
He waved an arm over the boxes. “You’ve always been a Christmas fan?”
She scrunched her nose. “Yes and no. I’ve always loved it, but not for the right reasons. Even that tree my freshman year was partially an act of defiance against my parents.”
“Gotcha.”
“Anyway, come in to the living room.” She gestured for him to follow her. “Watch your step, so you don’t trip over the mess.”
The layout of her apartment was similar to Thad’s. Zoe’s had a fireplace, Thad’s did not. Apparently, she’d started her decorating at the front door and worked backward. The living room didn’t have any Christmas decorations yet, save a holiday plaid fleece throw draped over the white leather sofa.
After they’d sat down, Zoe broke off a piece of peppermint bark and offered it to him.
“No, thanks.” A solid white cat jumped on his lap and made himself at home. “Hello there.”
“That’s Snowball, and you’re in her seat.” She laughed lightly. “She thinks she owns the place, but if you give her a nudge, she’ll get down.”
“She’s fine.” He stroked the cat’s back. “My son’s been begging me for a cat or dog. His mother’s allergic, so I’m his next plan of attack.”
“I’ve never been much of an animal person, but the cats have grown on me. They’re low maintenance but good company.” Her eyes held questions, but for whatever reason, she didn’t ask them.
He figured he’d offer the answers—partial ones at least. If he wanted her to open up to him, it only seemed right he should divulge a slice of personal information. “I’m divorced, and my son lives with his mom most of the time. On our first Christmas apart I found one of your candy canes, which told me I wasn’t alone and had a Bible verse to look up. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.”
