He took my hand and placed it in the bend of his arm as we walked toward the deserted town square. Though a layer of snow crunched beneath our feet, the flakes had stopped falling. I looked up to a sky filled with more stars than I had ever seen in my life, and thanked God for suspending the snow and replacing the dark, gray cold with an ideal night.
“How did you know my name?” I asked at last.
He gave me a shy, sideways look. “Everyone knows the name of the prettiest girl in Angel Ridge.”
I blushed at his compliment. My heart beat so loudly, I feared he must surely hear it. “Thank you,” I managed. “What’s your name?”
“John.”
John. Such a common name. His name should be Michael or Gabriel, I thought. For this man was far from common.
When we reached the center of town square, he invited me to sit on the park bench near the bronze angel monument. I did and spread out the skirt of my dress. He watched me and smiled. “You look very fetching tonight, Mary. Your grandma is the best seamstress in Angel Ridge.”
I frowned. “How’d you know my grammy made this?”
He shrugged. “All the folks who can afford it hire her to make their dresses at Christmas and Easter, don’t they?”
“Yes. That’s how she manages to give all her twenty-seven grandchildren Christmas presents.”
“She’s a good woman. You’re blessed with a fine family, Mary.”
I thought he must be missing his parents somethin’ fierce tonight. “Would you like to come back to my house for dinner? Mama always puts out a big spread on Christmas Eve.” One more would hardly even be noticed.
“Thank you, but I’ll have to be gettin’ on.”
“Where do you live, John?”
“Up in the tall pines.” He nodded to the hills just north of town.
“You know, it’s strange. I’ve lived here all my life, but the only time I’ve ever seen you and your family was on Christmas Eve.”
John smiled sadly. He slid his arm around behind me, resting it against the bench. “My pa didn’t like comin’ into town or goin’ to church. But my ma, she always said that as long as we were alive and able, we ought to honor the Creator at least one day a year.” He turned away then, but not before I saw the wistful look in his pale eyes. “Christmas was her favorite time of the year. She so loved seein’ the town all gussied up. It was nice livin’ with them these past years.”
He made it sound as if he wasn’t really a part of their family. “Were you adopted?” I asked.
“I guess you could say they took me in,” he said evasively. “Come on. There’s somethin’ I’d like to show you.”
I thought I should be getting back, but couldn’t bring myself to leave him. Not yet, anyway. He drew me close. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He seemed to radiate an inner light that made me all warm inside. Made me want to stay with him now, and always.
I stood and placed my hand in his. It was soft and warm, his fingers long and well-shaped, like a musician’s. I felt safe with John, despite the fact that I knew next to nothing about him, and instinctively knew I could trust him with my very life.
We entered the woods and followed a well-worn path to a clearing, where we stopped and gazed up at the starry night sky. Tall trees surrounded us on all sides, creating an opening that looked like it could take a body straight to Heaven.
“It’s beautiful,” I said reverently.
“Close your eyes.”
With my hand still in his, and my head tipped back, I did as he asked.
“Listen.”
I tried, but heard nothing more than the sound of my own heart beating. He moved around behind me and wrapped his arms about my waist. I rested my head on his shoulder, my eyes still closed.
“Now, breathe in . . . deep and slow. Then breathe out.”
I placed my arms atop his and moved my fingers along the back of his hands. His cheek felt like the smoothest silk against mine. A sense of contentment came over me such as I had never known. Absolute serenity. Perfect peace.
“Do you hear it now?” I felt his lips brush against my ear when he spoke.
It was when I felt his breath on my face that I heard it . . . A chorus of perfectly blended voices singing praises. It floated down on us in a charmed moment suspended in time.
I wanted to open my eyes, to look into his and tell him of the joy I felt, but a pleasant lethargy that dictated I keep them closed overcame me.
The voices lifted to a distant hum almost like the sound of crickets in summertime. John’s warm, soft lips caressed my cheek, murmuring words of love that he wrote on my heart. His beautiful hand trailed up the curve of my neck to tilt my head slightly until his lips hovered above mine. When our lips at last touched, our souls eternally intertwined. In that moment, I knew I belonged to John. Then, and forevermore.
Wanting to share my feelings with him, I at last opened my eyes. To my profound dismay, I found myself alone in the woods, my hands holding nothing more substantial than a bough of mistletoe.
“John?” I called out, as I looked all about the clearing. The cold of the chill December night pressed in on me, making me shiver uncontrollably. “John!” I called again, but the sound of my voice echoed and fell into the oppressive silence that surrounded me.
Next year . . . the wind seemed to whisper the words from the tall pines. On Christmas Eve . . . always on Christmas Eve.
As I made my way back to the church on legs numbed by the cold, I puzzled over what had just happened. I should have been desolate, having found my one true love, only to lose him. But instead, the contentment and peace I had experienced while in the clearing with John, remained with me.
When I re-entered the church, I walked to the third pew and sat next to my father.
“Where’s your Bible, sweetie?” he asked just as Miss Ruth finished singing her carol.
I looked about the church and frowned. The Jones children squirmed as their mother scolded and their father just looked tired. The two pews behind them were filled. The back pew was filled as well, save the one spot at the end where John and I had sat.
“Did you leave it at home?” Papa pressed me when I didn’t respond.
I looked back to him and said, “Yes. I must have.”
He squeezed my cold hand and said, “That’s all right. You can look at mine. Where’d you get the mistletoe?”
“What? Oh.” I looked down at the rich green sprig I held in my hand. “Outside.” I smiled a secret smile and touched my fingertips to my lips as I remembered the kiss I’d shared with John just before . . .
The preacher stood and began to read the Christmas story. The sermon about God’s gift of love at Christmastime held a new meaning for me. I thank God for showing the world His love, and for giving me John’s.
He came to me again the next Christmas Eve, and every Christmas Eve since. The gift of John’s love has sustained me all the days of my long life. Although I only have him with me one day a year, he’s never far away. When I need him, his presence surrounds me like a comforting hug. When I long to see him, I catch a glimpse of him as he disappears around a corner. When I ache for him, he comes to me in my dreams.
He promises that someday we’ll be together for eternity. Oh, how I long for that time to come when, at last, our love will be complete. But until then, we'll have Christmas Eve.
Meet the author
A life-long resident of East Tennessee, Deborah Grace Staley is the youngest of four children. Since there were not a lot of neighborhood children to play with and no siblings close in age, she learned to amuse herself by creating stories that played out in her head. For some reason, she never gave a thought to committing them to paper.
Her love of romance novels was born between high school and college by reading as many as one per day. After earning her degree, she tried out a couple of careers before settling into the legal field. Meanwhile, she kept reading romance while her own stories kept spinning around in her head, but now
were demanding to be written. So she took a couple of novel writing courses, joined Romance Writers of America, and began attending conferences for romance writers.
It took nine years before Deborah's dream of being a published romance novelist became a reality. Still, she never doubted that it would happen when the time was right. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1.
Today, Deborah has retired from the life of a paralegal and works in higher education. Married to her college sweetheart, they make their home on five acres in Maryville, Tennessee in a circa 1867 farmhouse with gingerbread trim that has Angel's Wings. She has one son whom she loves to watch play baseball.
Now that her stories are out of her head and on paper, she's so thankful for the opportunity to share them! She loves to hear from readers via e-mail at [email protected] or via snail mail at P.O. Box 672, Vonore, Tennessee, 37885. Visit her website at www.deborahgracestaley.com
Dixie’s Reading Group Discussion Questions for
A Home for Christmas
1. In a Home for Christmas, Janice Thornton wants something so badly, she’s afraid to even hope for it, much less seriously consider it a possibility: a home and a family. Have you ever wanted something that much? How did you overcome the fear and go after it?
2. Blake Ferguson has dreams, too. Dreams of a home filled with a large, loving, traditional family. Discuss his methods for going after Janice and winning her heart despite the reality that a traditional family with her would not likely be possible.
3. Miss Estelee sure is an interesting character with a lot of unanswered questions surrounding her like how old is she really? Where did she come from? Why did she never marry? Who broke her heart, or did she do the breaking? And what about her and Doc Prescott? What do you think that’s about?
4. Blake and his brother, Cory, have a sibling rivalry. Have you experienced this or do you know someone who has? How do you deal with sibling rivalry? Is it possible to avoid sibling rivalry in a large family?
5. Blake has anger management issues. Why do you think he has anger issues?
6. Having gone grown up together, Dixie is long-time friends with the town sheriff, Grady Wallace. What do you think the future holds for these two characters? Will Dixie find love with Grady?
7. What Christmas traditions did you enjoy as a child that hold warm memories for you? Are there any in A Home for Christmas that you’d like to adopt for your Christmas celebrations?
8. Do you believe that Christmas is a time for miracles? Have you ever experienced a Christmas miracle?
9. Which do you prefer at the top of your tree and why? An angel or a star or maybe a ribbon. If you have an angel this year, will you make a wish on it?
10. Discuss storylines and characters you would like to see in the Angel Ridge Novels. Designate a person in your group to write them up, send them to Deborah Grace Staley, P.O. Box 672, Vonore, TN 37885. If your idea is chosen to appear in a book, you reader’s group will receive an acknowledgement in the novel!
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A Home for Christmas Page 23
