“Prying,” Thomas said. “It’s a Linden Corners tradition . . . in the best sense of the word.”
“We do like to look out for one another.”
“I’d be delighted to accept your offer, and I will see you both Friday night,” Thomas said with a polite nod and perhaps the barest hint of a smile. And now the time had come and he still had that glint in his eye. His bow tie affixed and a red cap placed atop his head to protect against the cold, he was ready to make that long-awaited journey back in time, to a place he recalled more in the creations of his mind than he did in true memory.
Ambling slowly, Thomas made his way to the front entrance of Edgestone, bypassing all of the other residents who were either making their way to the dining room or away from it. Most liked to eat early, others like Thomas were night owls. As the seven o’clock hour approached, so, too, did his ride, pulling up alongside the curb just as he stepped out into the brisk night air. It was Brian himself, who had volunteered to fetch him and bring him back, no matter the hour.
Thomas attempted to step up into the front cab of the truck, Brian coming around to the passenger side to aid him. It was a big step up. Once settled inside the truck, seat belt fastened, Brian returned to the driver’s side and they set off.
“You look quite dapper,” Brian said. “Love the bow tie, the look suits you.”
“I know they are a bit old-fashioned. Then again, young Brian, so am I.”
Thomas rode in easy silence, just taking in the shadow on the roads as they made their way past the downtown area and toward the western edge of the village, turning up Crestview Road, melting piles of snow pushed over to the shoulders, as though the plows had been by recently to clear for them a fresh path. As though they knew to make way for its returning hero, a Linden Corners version of rolling out the red carpet. Feeling his heart beat with newfound apprehension, he looked over at his concentrated driver. Brian stole a look his way.
“You okay?”
“Just hard to believe, after all these years.”
“We have a bit of a homecoming waiting for you,” Brian said, words meant to make him feel better, but all they served to do was make Thomas feel even more nervous. What kind of surprise had this young lad planned, and just who else had he dragged into his little plot? He’d seen that irrepressible Janey Sullivan at the Halloween Spooktacular, practically reigning over the junior set, so it would come as no shock that Brian had enlisted her help. Were there others? He was about to find out. They’d turned up the drive, tires crunching against snow-coated gravel. For a moment all color slipped away, and under the cover of darkness, Thomas was five years old again, in the backseat of a truck not too dissimilar from the one he rode in, his parents in the front, their mouths moving in conversation, but no sounds were coming forth, like a silent movie reel was unspooling in the mind. That’s how he felt, distanced from them while still, somehow, feeling their presence in this black-and-white world.
“Here we are,” Brian announced.
They went in through the front entrance, Thomas taking in every detail: the wainscoting above the doorway, the layout of the foyer, the long hallway that led into the main living area of the house; he knew instantly that the kitchen was to the back of the house, the living room to his right, the staircase that led upstairs to his room and even farther up, to the attic in which he loved to hide, he remembered it all in seconds. He looked above, down, and all around, his eyes widening at how familiar it all looked, finally saying, “My goodness, so little of it has changed, I can almost smell the wood burning from the hearth.”
“Well, that part is real,” Brian said with a chuckle. “It grew cold again today, so I thought the fire would both warm the house and give off a sweet scent, perhaps evoke some memories for you. Come in, our other guests await us.”
And so they were, all of them gathered in the living room, standing up no doubt when they heard the truck pull up outside. Thomas took in the guests, realizing he knew them all, at least by sight, some by name. Nora Rainer was there, and beside her was her son, whose name he didn’t yet know, and beside him was the young girl who, while no longer dressed like a glowing windmill, nonetheless produced a bright smile on her face when he appeared. She must be Janey Sullivan. The only other person assembled was a lady who fell more into his age group, one with a kind expression and soft, welcoming eyes.
“Mr. Van Diver, we are so glad you could join us,” the elderly woman said. “We’ve not been properly introduced, but I’m Gerta Connors, Nora’s mother. And this handsome young lad is my grandson, Travis, and of course you already know Nora.”
“Good evening, Mr. Van Diver,” Nora said, “glad you could join us.”
“I’m quite surprised, actually, to see you all here. I thought it was just a simple dinner.”
“Dad likes to make an impression,” Janey said, stepping forward and extending her hand.
“As do you, young lady,” he said, accepting her handshake.
Janey giggled.
Introductions complete, Thomas settled into the proferred recliner positioned near the fireplace, accepted a glass of red wine that Nora poured for him, making sure to refill hers as well. The kids were drinking sparkling apple cider and acting like the floating bubbles were champagne; Gerta and Brian both appeared to be drinking seltzer water. Thomas was thankful for Nora, he found a drink at such a gathering to be not only civilized but a necessity. It helped relax both the body and the mind, and at the moment that’s what he needed. Reality had turned surreal, his past somehow alive within him, even eighty years later. He felt a slight chill come over him. A sip of the wine warmed his insides, the nearby fire his hands.
“Well, I must thank you all for making such an effort on behalf of an old man,” he said.
“When I heard the name Van Diver,” Brian said, “I knew I just had to meet you.”
“Me, too,” Janey said. “You used to live in this house? Really?”
“When I was even younger than you are now,” Thomas said.
“Wow, that’s a long time ago.”
“Janey!”
“Oh no, Brian,” Thomas said with a hearty, good-natured laugh. “Never deny a child’s honesty, they keep us all on our toes, ha ha. Yes, it was quite a long time ago, Janey, but even after all that time my mind can still see the little boy racing up and down the stairs and hiding in the attic, waiting for my mother to find me. The attic was always my favorite place, where I felt on top of the world. My mother always knew where I was hiding. Mothers are like that.”
There was a moment of silence in the room, a sudden awkward scent enveloping them. Thomas looked at the crowd, saw the worried look cross Brian’s face as his eyes quickly hit Gerta’s. Both of their gazes then fell to Janey, who looked like she was searching for the right words, and it was then Thomas remembered that Annie Sullivan, who was Janey’s mother, was no longer among them. A gaff of major proportion, and Thomas felt fresh pain strike him. He could relate and for a moment cursed his insensitivity.
But then Janey saved the day, miraculously, with a simple sweetness that belied her years. “Me, too. I have a favorite place, too,” Janey said. “My mom always knew to find me inside the windmill. I think you’re right, Mr. Van Diver, mothers do have special minds.”
“And hearts,” he said, with a gentle tap to Janey’s pert nose.
She giggled.
“Do you want to go see the attic?”
“I don’t think these old legs of mine would make those stairs,” Thomas said. “So, I’ll have to be content visiting your favorite place. What do you say, perhaps you would like to show me the windmill?”
Janey’s eyes lit up just as Brian, shaking his head, said, “Let her do that, Mr. Van Diver, and you’ll have a friend for life. I know from experience. But what do you say we wait to do that until after dinner? I think the food is ready, and besides, we’d all like to get to know you better and I’m sure you’ve got questions for us. Everyone, shall we sit down to the table?�
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“I’ll help you serve,” Gerta said.
“Mom, I’ll do that, you get settled,” Nora said.
“Well, if you insist. Travis, will you escort your grandmother inside?”
“Sure, Grandma.”
While the otherwise silent Travis attended to his grandmother’s request and took her arm, and as Brian and Nora retreated to the kitchen to start serving, Thomas was left alone with Janey. She was looking at him curiously.
“Yes, young lady?”
“Do you like that everyone calls you mister?”
“What else would they call me?”
“Thomas. It is your name, right? That’s what I’d like to call you.”
“Well, little lady, to be on such familiar terms with someone, anyone, especially one so many years apart in age from you, there must exist a very special bond,” he said, a twinkle to his eyes, “and I have a sense we already have that, don’t we, Janey Sullivan?”
“You were born here and so was I, and I think we both love the windmill.”
“You know what else we share,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“We both lost people important to us, and at a young age,” he said quietly.
Janey’s lips quivered ever so slightly, leaving Thomas wondering if he’d gone too far in his effort to win over the affections of this young girl. For a moment he felt bad, he knew her story, but she was unaware of his. Just when he thought coming here had been a bad idea, she rushed into his arms, a big, inviting smile gracing her freckled face. “I think I’m going to like having you living in Linden Corners, Mr. Van Diver,” she said. “You’re just what we all needed, and just in time, too.”
“In time for what?”
“Why, for Christmas, silly.”
“Christmas,” he said with a faraway sigh. “I thought you were going to call me Thomas.”
She giggled, almost to herself. “I used to call Brian silly, too, except once I tried Briany, but his name doesn’t sound good with a y on the end. Do you like Tommy?”
Flames lit his eyes, reflecting from the fireplace. “No, no one calls me that,” he stated.
“Okay, Thomas it is. All this talk of names, you know what? It’s . . .”
“Silly?”
“Brian once made snow angels with me, trying to be silly. But he just looked like he was having a seizure.”
Now it was Thomas’s turn to look away, pain flaring up in his watery eyes. Questions were hard, answers even more so, and Thomas wondered just how he would get through this night. That’s when Brian rescued them both, showing his face around the corner of the hallway. “And I’m going to call you both late for dinner. Silly.”
Dinner plates were cleared and dessert was set out, two pies, one peach, the other strawberry.
“A strawberry pie?” Thomas asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Have a slice and you’ll never stop talking about it,” Brian said.
“There’s truth to what my dad says,” Janey said, much to the amusement of all, not only for the half-formal way she spoke, but also because she knew Brian so well.
Seated around the dining room table as they were, they very nearly resembled a complete family, three generations gathered to break bread, share stories of yesteryear amidst lots of laughter. Thomas and Gerta, Brian and Nora, Travis and Janey, the six of them representing three separate families that had been brought together over a mutual sense of community, conscious of all they had lost in the past, embracing whatever the future held.
“As much as I would love to dig into that pie,” Thomas said, setting down his napkin after a gentle wipe at the corners of his mouth, “after such a filling, delicious meal, I confess I could use a breath of fresh air first, assist my digestion. A man of my age knows of such things. And I would like to appreciate that luscious-looking pie as best I can. So perhaps now, before it gets too late, Janey could show me her windmill.”
“Yay!”
“It’s kind of late,” Brian said, “not much to see.”
“It’s a clear night, stars all over, I think you’ll see just fine,” Nora said.
“Dad, please, can I?” Janey asked.
“You showing off your windmill, I think I’d be crazy to say no,” he said. “But I think I should accompany you both.”
“Maybe I could go with them,” Travis said.
Looks were exchanged, between Nora and Brian, between the kids, between Thomas and Gerta, all eyes finally resting on Brian.
He looked resigned to letting the kids take charge. So he said, “Sounds like a good idea, thanks, Travis. Let the adults clean up and get some coffee brewing,” he said, “while the kids of all ages go play in the backyard.”
Thomas stood up with as much enthusiasm his tired body could muster, announcing that there was no time like the present to get going, so he began to shuffle off, Janey taking up on one side of him, Travis on his other. Brian cautioned them to look after Mr. Van Diver, “it’s dark and the ground can be uneven. Janey, remember to flick on the outside lights to help guide you.”
“He’s such a parent,” Janey announced to Thomas, who found that greatly amusing.
So the three of them ventured outdoors, bundled up against the cold night. The wind had picked up considerably on this cold night, Janey stating that was just the way she liked it, it gave the sails of the windmill a chance to spin, “to stretch their arms high into the sky.” As much as he had bonded early with Janey, it was Travis who captured Thomas’s attention now. The young lad had been mostly quiet during dinner, leaving him wondering just what he was thinking. This dinner was probably the last thing a twelve-year-old wanted to do on a Friday night. Maybe hang with his friends, wasn’t that the lingo the kids used today? Thomas reminded himself, Travis was new to town, perhaps he hadn’t secured the kind of friends you could depend upon. Maybe that’s why he had asked to join them, just a way to get away from the adults. As they trekked slowly across the snowy back lawn, Thomas said, “You know, Travis, you and I, we, too, have something in common.”
“What’s that?”
“Moving.”
“Yeah, but I moved here, you moved away from it.”
“But it’s the same thing, we did what our parents were doing, we had no choice,” he said. “Youth have minds, but little authority to exercise what they are thinking. It’s why kids struggle so much, they have an independent spirit that can’t quite take to the wind yet. There’s always someone else directing the breeze.”
Travis appeared to be considering these words, ultimately deciding not to say anything, letting them float into the night sky, toward the twinkling stars for further exploration. Perhaps wishing they would not sink in, the reality being too harsh. But Thomas could see the wheels in motion inside the boy’s brain anyway, contemplating their deeper meaning, and understanding. Thomas happily grinned, knowing he’d made an impact on the boy. Gave him something to think about.
A moment later, they reached the edge of a hill, the drop-off considerable during the day, precipitous in the hard-to-see dark night. Thomas looked around the open countryside, the silver glow from the outdoor light of the farmhouse reaching out only so far, the sparkling stars above like thousands of night-lights, none able to fully power the sudden blackness that encased them. He thought he’d gone far enough, his old eyes not as good adjusting to the darkness as they once were. He’d have to wait till daylight to be reunited with the windmill.
But then he saw them, dancing shadows, flickering as they hit the ground, disappeared, only to reappear, again, again, like gentle revolutions of sparkling light. He focused his eyes and that’s when he saw it, the large tower jutting into the sky, four giant sails spinning, spinning, the wind powering them. He’d heard stories for years about the old mill, how his ancestors had built it in the middle of their farm, the energy from its sails aiding in clearing excess water from the low-lying land where they grew their needed crops. By the time Thomas had been born, the
farming of the once-arid land was mostly over and the previous generations had died off, leaving the windmill alone to the elements, and at age five, when finally they had left Linden Corners, the old mill was as silent as death, impervious to even the strongest wind.
“Oh my, look at how beautifully, how naturally, those sails spin,” Thomas said with a breathless wonder. He put a hand to his heart, felt it beat beneath the fabric of his coat. For a moment he channeled his long-departed mother and thought, too, of his father, the final image he had of him. The windmill’s large sails spun, again, again, as though turning back time to the point where Thomas was a boy again, again, an equal peer to the two charges beside him. “It’s so marvelous, perhaps one of the loveliest sights to ever lay my eyes upon . . . thank you, Janey, and thank you, Travis, for taking me here and showing me the windmill.”
“It’s pretty cool,” Travis said, his way of agreeing with the more poetic Thomas.
Janey turned to look up at Thomas. “It’s where Brian and I met, he was passing through town one day and he stopped to look at it, and there I was, tumbling down the hill.... Momma wasn’t happy that I was talking to a total stranger, but look at how that turned out, he’s hardly a stranger anymore, he’s the best, and you know what else?”
“What’s that, Janey?”
“For Christmas last year, he decorated the windmill with all sorts of bright white lights,” she said. “I can’t wait for him to do it again, Thomas, you have to see it. Promise me you’ll come back and I can show you again.”
Thomas nodded, not sure young Janey could see his subtle move in this darkness. But he was in complete agreement, he did wish to see such a sight, and perhaps, perhaps by doing so he might be able to complete his own journey back to this world of Linden Corners, back to the windmill and one last chance to relive that special holiday, the final one he ever spent with both his ever-patient mother and war-bound father. He stole one last look at the redoubtable Janey Sullivan, realizing all that she had lost, amazed at her remarkable spirit, as though the wind fed it, her heartbeat in line with the revolutions of the sails.
A Christmas Hope Page 8
