“I know the holidays must still be hard for you, but you’re doing an amazing job with Christophe. I hope you know that. He’s truly one of the happiest kids I’ve ever seen, you know?”
David smiled. “He is, isn't he?”
“You’re giving him everything you never had. You’re a good father, David.”
David sighed. “I worry about Lucas, though.”
“You’re doing your best,” Stephen reassured.
“I'd say that's up for debate.” He took a drink. “What did you think about all those balloons on cranes at the parade today?”
Stephen shrugged. “Government restrictions on helium this year, I heard. They did look silly, didn't they?” He gave David a tenuous grin, still wanting to comfort his friend about the more difficult matter, but also minding David's obvious change of subject. With an understanding sigh, he turned his attention toward the front lawn.
“Thank you,” David said.
Stephen glanced back at him. “For what?”
“You know how much that means to me.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I find myself second-guessing everything I sometimes do because Lucas is the one part I don't want to screw up, you know?” His voice faltered. “I’ve lost so much time already with both boys. When I’m gone, I want both of them to have many precious memories to remember Amy and me by . . . fond ones. But I also want them to have all the nice things I never had, too. That's why I keep taking on commitments that keep me away for weeks on end.” David shut his eyes tightly, fighting back angry tears. “God!”
“You're being too hard on yourself, my friend,” Stephen smiled. “I see two boys who are very happy with themselves at the moment.” He nodded as Lucas, humming to himself, dutifully brought a giant carved turkey and placed it on the dining table in the adjoining room.
The two turned the conversation toward this afternoon's football game, placing an ante of ten dollars each. Before they knew it, Sandra and Amy were calling them into the dining room, where a sumptuous dinner had been set, graced by fine china and crystal goblets. The mouth-watering aroma even pulled Christophe and Jeremy downstairs without the usual dinner bell.
David made sure he was first to compliment, “Ladies, Lucas—this is the most amazing meal I've ever seen. How did you do it?” He couldn't be sure, but he thought he caught a flicker of gratification pass across Lucas's face.
They each took their places around the table—to make the unspoken tradition before digging into their meal—bowing their heads, holding hands and saying grace. David's wasn’t the most spiritually adept or lengthy prayer, but it served to continue their yearly custom.
The three boys looked at the feast in wonderment, trying to decide which serving dish they wanted to pass first. From juicy, sweet-butter rolls and bursting red Jell-O to succulent mashed potatoes with gravy, the two younger boys grabbed each other’s arms, trying to reach everything all at once. Sandra and Amy called the boys to order.
“Napkin in your left, pass to the right,” Sandra quipped.
“Which one's my left?” Jeremy asked.
“The other one,” Lucas muttered.
Within a few moments, everyone had hearty piles of food on their plates. David poured the adults glasses of sparkling white wine and made his annual toast.
“To another year—full of laughter and joy, even during those moments we weren't so sure about. Each of us sits here as reminders that family and friends are the most important connections we have in this life, and this day is our symbol, our special time to be grateful for it. Furthermore, I toast to you all a new year ahead, hopefully, filled with more laughter than tears, with the intention that we find ourselves here at this table to celebrate once again.”
“Here, here!” Stephen and Sandra called out in unison, raising their glasses. Amy raised hers, as well, smiling at David over it.
Any mixed emotions David had experienced earlier that day took furlough during the delicious dinner. Between light jests and conversation, he met Amy's adoring gaze. Even Lucas seemed not to mind the younger boys' rowdy silverware sword-fights, actually sharing a playful woe-is-me exchange with his dad. As they finished Amy's famous cherry pie and settled back with their coffee, the sun was already setting, night descending quickly. Christophe and Jeremy asked to be excused, anxious to catch the next television episode of The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin.
Amy nodded at Lucas. “You go with them, Luke. Sandy and I can take care of the dishes.”
Lucas, stacking the plates with an indifferent diligence and separating the used silverware from the clean, couldn't disguise his appreciation. “Really?”
“Of course,” Amy said. “But you have to tell me about how Rin Tin Tin handles the epidemic, okay?”
David didn't help but notice how Lucas simply beamed at her before taking off for the living room. He adored his mother.
While the two men made their way to the back patio to indulge in smokes, the women cleared the table. A full moon splashed their faces with silver light, and they tugged on their jackets, as this Thanksgiving was the typical bone-chilling cold. After a few unsuccessful tries, they finally lit their cigars against the blustering wind and settled down into two wooden Adirondack chairs on the porch. Stephen had been pestering David all month for insider's scoop about his next book.
“So—tell me, Mr. Best Seller—what's the next one all about? It’ll take a lot to outsell your last, I think. I nearly fell off my recliner when I read the final paragraph!”
David puffed on his cigar and smiled. The lone gunslinger riding alongside his father's ghost in the Wild West had worked for him, too, he thought. Although he could never tell Stephen what had really inspired him to write that story- his personal longing to make some things right with his deceased father.
Stephen leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear all about his friend's next masterpiece.
David hesitated. Would the idea sound as good as he hoped it would?
“I want to set this next story in Europe, something completely opposite. I think enough time has passed since Hitler's horrifying occupation and exploitation of Western Europe.”
Stephen's eyes widened. “War crimes?”
David shook his head. “No, no. I'm thinking about a good, honest tale without so much death and destruction. A story with more beauty, one that restores faith in humanity.”
“'A Christmas Carol'?” Stephen ribbed.
David snorted. “You do know how to pick 'em, don't you?”
Both men innately understood, however, the direction David wanted his next story to go. The war effort had taken a hard toll on their country, and the economy was still far from recovered. America and Europe alike were doing their best to move forward after staggering losses, endeavoring to honor their dead. Reeling from war, both continents and their populace were seeking solace for deep wounds—and perhaps, David hoped an escape into a written world that didn't feel so frightening.
As the two men smoked and conversed on the patio, the boys finished watching television. Christophe and Jeremy went in search of Battleship; a board game Christophe recalled seeing somewhere in the cellar while Lucas retreated to his room and his comic books.
The smell of mildew and damp papers hung thick in the air when they opened the door to the cellar, and both boys wrinkled their noses in disgust. This cellar was over one hundred years old, Christophe had explained to Jeremy, since this was the house where his dad grew up, once belonging to his dad and his dad. Armed with only a crotchety flashlight that took several shakes to flicker on, the two made their way down the creaky wooden stairs toward the bottom. The cold, dank air sent chills through their spines as they inched their way forward. Old furniture covered in dust sheets lurked at every corner, sending long shadows up the cellar's stone walls. The boys imagined monsters ambushing them from every nook and cranny, frequently startling and clutching one another as they edged deeper into the cellar. Jeremy tried to be brave, but he found himself pressed firmly up against Chr
istophe's shoulder just in case anything scary leaped out to devour them. The moments crept by as the two carefully made their way around cluttered shapes that seemed to leer at them, literally stumbling over the trunk containing games and books.
“Found it!” Christophe squealed.
The two quickly forgot their fears as they ripped open the trunk's lid and started plundering the contents. Within a minute or two, Christophe spied the game—Dad's Christmas surprise intended for Lucas two years ago—still in its wrapping paper, shuttered away in the trunk. Christophe held it overhead in victory as the two boys whooped.
“Righto, scooch!” Jeremy yelled. He knocked over a stack of boxes grabbing for Battleship.
“Watch it, guy! You’ll mess things up, and we’ll be in trouble,” Christophe warned. He relinquished the game, however, ready to be out of the cellar. “I'm cranked! Are you? Let’s cut outta here.”
About that time, Christophe's flashlight went dead, leaving the two boys standing in total darkness.
“Rats,” Christophe muttered, shaking the flashlight. “Here, hold onto my belt, and we'll punch it outta here.”
Christophe lurched forward, cascading over the gewgaw, Jeremy stumbling after him. The two knocked over a spinning loom that crashed to the floor, and Christophe's flashlight flickered on.
“Hold on a second, Jer.” Christophe had stubbed his toe on something. He crouched to inspect it. The flashlight flickered a couple more times before holding a steady, low glow.
Jeremy—still hanging onto Christophe's belt loop—bent over his friend, curious to see what had caught his attention. “What is it?” he whispered, moving his free hand to his friend’s shoulder for better balance as he peered closer.
“Beats me.” Christophe stood, shining the low beam of the flashlight aimlessly around the floor. “It was right here, I think.” He motioned for Jeremy to stand back, and his friend did as he was told. They fell into their own form of code, a team of silence with hand signals where one boy covered for the other, creeping along the cellar floorboards.
Christophe straightened, held his flashlight aloft and hopped, his feet landing with a dull thud on the floor. Jeremy softly teeth-whistled behind him, but Christophe ignored him. Jeremy whistled again, motioning for him to come closer.
“With me,” Jeremy said. “Right here.”
Christophe smiled and squatted, preparing to jump. Jeremy counted to three, and both boys jumped, landing simultaneously near the same spot. A dull, hollow sound rewarded them that time. They looked at each other with unrestricted glee, anticipating what they had just found. At first, neither boy spoke, both concurrently weighing the odds.
“Treasure!” they both yelled and dropped to their knees.
Jeremy tossed aside Battleship for another day. “What do you think it is?” he asked, wondering if Christophe had any idea.
“I dunno. Maybe it could be bones. Or-or a body.”
“Unreal! Uh—but wouldn't it smell like rotten eggs or something?”
Christophe shrugged. “Beats me.”
They spent the next minute knocking around on the floorboards with their fists, listening. Finally, one particular rap produced an exceptionally hollow sound.
“Here,” Christophe whispered, running his small fingers over the wood planks on the floor under his feet. “There’s something right under here.” He held his flashlight over where they were.
Where the hollow sound was most prominent, they saw a faint mark on the floorboard. Christophe used his sleeve to wipe away a layer of dust, and between his feet was a small and simple metal cross—not totally flat, yet not prominently raised.
“It's beautiful,” Jeremy said.
“Look,” Christophe lowered his voice. “It’s embedded in the floor, isn't it?”
“That’s so cool,” Jeremy whispered. The two boys stood in awe of the tiny emblem a moment longer before Christophe started picking at it with his finger.
“It’s come loose in this one corner, here. I wonder why?” He ran his index finger along the edge where the metal protruded just above the floor. “Must be something under here, you think?”
Jeremy nodded.
Christophe went back to the trunk, produced a cartridge pen, and tried to wedge the nib under the corner of the cross.
“Be careful! Don’t break it!” Jeremy whispered loudly.
“Don't go ape on me; I know what I’m doing. Here, hold the flashlight!”
After several minutes of prying, Christophe managed to break a corner of the metal cross loose from the floorboard.
“Now look what you've done,” Jeremy groaned.
“No, no—we're cool,” Christophe argued, adjusting the flashlight Jeremy was holding. “It's—the top of something.” He pulled firmly with both hands, and the cross separated from the floor. With it emerged a wooden box. Jeremy reached over and lifted the cross—with the lid—and it fell to the floor with a loud thud. They both jumped, looking at the lid lying on the floor. In his hand, Christophe held a dusty, old box filled with cobwebs. “You do it,” he instructed Jeremy.
“Are you crazy? I’m not reaching in that.” Jeremy backed away, swinging the beam of the flashlight in several directions, returning with an old ruler. “Here,” he said, sweeping out the cobwebs with the ruler and flinging the mess on the floor. “Cotton candy for The Thing,” he said with a cackle.
Both boys suddenly grew quiet when they looked inside the box, though, lying neatly at the bottom . . . was an old book. It looked old enough, in fact, to belong on the set of Land of the Pharaohs.
“It looks like treasure,” Christophe said.
“What’re you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Open it, I guess.” Christophe reached into the box and ran his fingers around the edges of the cover. They stood there for a moment, their discovery held proudly before them.
“What if—what if there're rubies in there?” Jeremy asked.
“We'll split them fifty-fifty,” Christophe said.
The boys began to giggle with excitement, only to be cut short by the sound of chimes, which caused Christophe to fumble the box. Jeremy grabbed the box with him, and they both caught the book in their hands. The box fell to the floor with a loud thud, followed by the flashlight. They stood pensively, holding the leather book in their hands.
“Come on,” Christophe whispered. “Let's go.”
“Christophe?” Amy called from the living room. “What are you boys up to?”
“Nothing, Mom!” he called, signaling Jeremy to follow—quickly.
Hugging the book tightly to his chest, Christophe grabbed the flashlight and scrambled up the stairs with Jeremy on his heels, neither stopping until they reached Christophe's room on the second floor. Once there, the boys laid the book on the floor, kneeling down beside it to catch their breath. Christophe grabbed a sock from the clothes hamper at the foot of his bed and began wiping off years of dust and grime that covered the book's taut leather jacket.
As more and more of the book jacket became visible, the boys gasped in awe. Embedded with gems and at the dead-center on the leather was a small clock face.
“Where do you wind it?” Jeremy asked. Christophe shrugged. Their curiosity piqued by the strange cover, Christophe opened the book, Jeremy leaning in close for scrutiny. The two boys remained pin-drop silent as they thumbed through the illuminated manuscript, titillated by its brilliant and decorative gold- and silver-leaf artwork.
“What is this?” Jeremy asked.
“Don't know yet,” Christophe replied. He stopped at a handwritten section near the front of the book, passing his hand over beautifully scripted letters.
“Sophie von Bayern,” he read. Her name was unfamiliar to him, but he liked the way it sounded when he whispered it, the way it lightly rolled off his tongue. As the two flipped through hundreds of vellum pages dressed with amazing illustrations, Christophe realized that they had found something very special. Inserted between some of the pages w
ere frail black-and-white photos of menacing and imposing ancient buildings, maps, and more.
Without thinking or consulting his friend, Christophe leaped to his feet. “Dad!” he yelled and took off down the stairs. He was in such a hurry; he didn’t see his mother carrying a tray of coffee into the living room and almost collided with her. Christophe tripped over his own feet and tumbled through the doorway.
The commotion brought David to his feet. Christophe clutched the book tightly to his chest as he scrambled upright, his eyes never leaving his father.
“Christophe! What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I-I think I found a secret treasure!”
A curator treasures aged books, but the wise treasure the wisdom within.
Chapter Two
Sneak Peek
When Christophe stumbled into the living room with the book, David's Uncle Franz, who had just arrived a few minutes prior, immediately beckoned the boy to come closer.
“What's that you have there, Christophe?” he asked, setting his coffee aside.
“Oh, hi, Uncle Franz,” Christophe grinned at him as he thrust the book into David’s hands, the unsteady movement causing its unusual clock to chime again. David’s throat tightened as he stifled a gasp. Glancing at Franz, he could see that his uncle was equally moved; tears had already formed in his eyes.
“Could this be what I think it is?” David asked Franz. His uncle nodded.
Amy, Sandra and Stephen exchanged glances. “I thought I heard them in the cellar earlier,” Sandra offered.
“Yep, we sure were,” Jeremy said as he leaned into the doorway, Lucas right behind him.
“Hello, Uncle Franz,” Lucas said, letting his guard down in lieu of his own curiosity.
“Boys,” Franz greeted. A German immigrant, Franz Kocher was old-school when it came to formalities, more inclined to treat children as unnecessary appendages. For reasons unknown to David, he'd always seemed to warm up to Lucas over Christophe. Regularly declining to join them for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, he followed some obscure custom that he claimed only permitted him to join extended family afterward for dessert and coffee.
The Dawn of Grace :: A Mystery and Suspense Christian Historical Fiction Comprising of Enduring Love and Glory (Revelation Book 1) Page 2
