A Christmas Hope

by Joseph Pittman

  “Come in, slugger.”

  No admonition this time either for her use of a pet name, Travis just let a quiet smile hit his lips as he shuffled his way into the small bedroom. Maybe that had just been bravado, a kid stretching his growth into adulthood. Nora closed the lid on her computer, got into bed with her son, and held him tight.

  “You were quiet at dinner,” she said.

  “I was busy thinking.”

  “So, that’s what that noise was,” she said, attempting some humor.

  “I asked Dad if he was coming home for Christmas,” he said.

  “Oh Travis, I thought we discussed this.”

  “You and I did. But not me and Dad,” he said.

  “And what did he say?”

  “ ‘Not this year, big guy.’ ”

  Nora tried to deflect the words to the point that they didn’t affect her, but they sank beneath her skin anyway. Her heart felt empty, but not for her, only for a twelve-year-old boy who didn’t understand what a midlife crisis was. Dave couldn’t have just bought a red sports car like his wife had? No, he had to fly halfway across the world and hurt his son in the process. She didn’t say anything, bad-mouthing her husband solved nothing. She held her son tighter and kissed the top of his head.

  “We’ll celebrate Christmas here in Linden Corners, just like I told you. You, me, and Grandma, and if I know this village like I think I do, with a few very good friends, too,” she said, “and it will be more special than you can imagine.”

  “How do you know that?”

  How indeed? For many reasons. Because she remembered special Christmas mornings from her childhood, because she had heard stories over the years from her mother and father about the beauty that enveloped this tiny town at Christmastime, a white-lighted spirit that bathed the residents in its glow until their usual welcoming smiles became holiday embraces. Because a warmth spread across this open land, even as the cold winter came knocking, the two locked in a constant battle. Just like now, with the wind again knocking at her windowpane, at the shutters on the side of the house. Heavy rain began to pelt the window, a sudden November storm sweeping through Linden Corners, but Nora had a feeling that before Christmas found its way here the precipitation outside would be turned into a white blanket of snow.

  She said, “Because in a town like this, wishes dance in the wind until they come true.”

  But Travis hadn’t heard her, he was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 8

  BRIAN

  “I have two favors, one of which you can’t say no to, and the other ... you won’t want to.”

  It was an intriguing opening gambit for a Monday morning. Thanksgiving was just ten days away, and a relaxed feeling wafted through the cozy farmhouse, the sound of the telephone interrupting the calm. Answering it on the second ring, Brian Duncan couldn’t have been more surprised by either the task about to fall his way or the unlikely person behind the asking. He could almost see her through the phone line, her green eyes curiously keen but naturally suspicious. She also sounded out of breath.

  “Good morning to you, too, Nora.”

  “Sorry, hi, Brian,” she said, “but I don’t have time for niceties. I’ve got a busy day.”

  “You seem raring to go,” he said. “Thought Mondays were your day off.”

  “When you work for yourself, sometimes you make adjustments.”

  Brian didn’t have such luxuries as flextime, his and Janey’s schedules were pretty much set in stone, regulated by their usual activities. School for her, work down at the tavern for him, schoolwork for her, housework for them both, each day a set pattern that enabled Brian to maintain a level of stability he knew was important to his daughter’s well-being. And now with the end of the year fast approaching, all of that would have to be balanced along with the holiday traditions and trimmings that tossed even chaos theory a challenge.

  “What can I help you with?” he asked.

  “First of all, I need to borrow your truck,” she said.

  “Is that the favor I’m not allowed to say no to?”

  “You did rear-end my prized Mustang.”

  “You weren’t paying attention . . .”

  “Brian?”

  “And besides, Gerta has a car, one she barely uses.”

  “Brian.” Not a question this time, just a telling statement that quieted him down.

  Stifling the urge to laugh, he heard Nora sigh on the other end of the phone as though she were standing right next to him; her eye rolling could not have been more evident. Her actions reminded him of Janey—all bark, no bite, and just slightly adorable. And like Janey, he had a feeling that Nora was right, he wouldn’t be able to say no to her request. She wanted the truck, fine, it was hers. He wasn’t going to argue. Still, he was curious about why. So he asked her.

  “It’s actually a potentially good business opportunity for A Doll’s Attic,” she said. “I got a call over the weekend, Saturday, from this elderly woman who lives down around Hudson, she wants me to appraise her daughter’s belongings.. . . Look, I don’t know the full story, but I do know there’s a bunch of boxes and if I’m inclined to take them on—you know, on a consignment basis—then I’ll need the truck to transport everything back to the storeroom. I doubt even Mom’s car would fit the boxes.”

  “Okay, the truck is yours. When do you need it?”

  “Today,” she said. “This morning.”

  “Gee, talk about short notice.”

  “Sorry about that, Brian, but it’s my first inquiry of this kind and I have to act fast or lose out, you know . . . the early bird and the worm? If this works out, it might help spread the word about the new girl in town,” she said. “Sorry, do you have somewhere you need to be?”

  Did he? Were there errands to run, or places he needed to be? Mid-November, it was too early to bring down the Christmas decorations, even though he’d contemplated going up into the attic to start pulling boxes out. Monday morning for him was generally quiet, so while Janey was off at school, he usually just toiled about cleaning up after whatever weekend fun they had indulged in. The afternoon looked like more of the same nothingness, at least until time came to open up George’s Tavern; it was his night to manage, with Mark busy at his waiter job down in Hudson. And with Janey spending the afternoon where she usually did, next door at Cynthia’s, helping out with little Jake, no, he had nowhere to be. An idea struck him. “Actually, Nora, my schedule is pretty clear today, so yeah, I guess you could take the truck. Can you leave me that Mustang? I’d love to give it a test run out on Route 22.”

  “Up that winding, twisting road? I don’t think so. I was thinking how nice it would look sitting idle in your driveway,” she said with an easy laugh.

  “Let’s table that for now, what’s the other thing you need?”

  “Like I said, you won’t want to say no.”

  “Color me intrigued,” Brian said, wondering where this conversation was going.

  There was a long pause on the other end, and he was about to ask if she was still on the line, but then she jumped in, words tumbling out. “As you know, I’ve been looking into Mr. Van Diver’s request, trying to find that book he lost when he was a kid, and it’s led me to a series of questions about the history of Linden Corners, more specifically about the farmhouse and maybe even the origins of the windmill. So naturally I thought of you—I mean, don’t they call you the Windmill Man?”

  “Among other things,” he said, a comforting smile coming to his lips as he thought about how welcomed he’d been to a place he’d never heard of until he’d stumbled upon it. And Nora, back in town only a few weeks, already she’d heard stories about him. Elsie, Martha, Sara, and the Five O’ crew, they sure knew how to talk a good game. “I’ll tell you what, Nora, why don’t you ask me your questions while we head down to Hudson to assess that estate or whatever it is the woman wants you to look at. My day is pretty light until late afternoon, we should be able to make it back in time for me to open the bar.�
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  “Oh no, Brian, I couldn’t impose. . . .”

  “You’ve already done that by asking to take my truck and leave me stuck at home. What’s the fun in that? Come on, I’ll pick you up at Gerta’s, say ten o’clock? We’ll make a day of it, maybe stop for lunch at RiverFront, the resort up on the hills of the river, I’ve got a connection in the kitchen, he’ll get us a good table on short notice.” He paused, listening to the studied silence on the other end. Like she was having a debate with herself.

  “Okay,” she finally relented.

  He brightened at the idea of breaking up his routine; it was a new week, suddenly fresh with new opportunities. “Great, it’s a date, I’ll see you soon.”

  Brian didn’t mean for those words to come out the way they did, but once out and exposed to the open air they lingered awkwardly over the line until both of them were forced to say their good-byes. Nora’s last words were tinged with nervousness. “Oh, uh, Brian, sure, I’ll be ready.”

  Putting the cordless phone down on the counter, he shook his head. Why the heck had he said that word? Date.

  A four-letter word with far more impact than any coarse word he’d ever heard.

  Well, he thought, this day together ought to be interesting. Whatever they called it.

  The historic, rustic village of Hudson, New York, was south of Linden Corners, located only about fifteen minutes away along county roads that today lit the lush countryside with the vibrant colors of nature, their rocky shoulders strewn with downed branches as a result of recent storms; accompanying green fields had fallen into burnt palettes of autumn. With the wind having moved out all lingering clouds, the high sky was left a bright blue, with temperatures climbing into the mid-fifties making for an unseasonably mild and pleasant November day. While the Thanksgiving holiday loomed around the corner and the region had already seen its first snowfall a few weeks ago, right now there was no sign of wintery weather.

  “Unseasonable might be the word meteorologists would use,” Nora stated, window open and the breeze flapping at her untethered locks, her hand occasionally pushing stray strands away from her face. “But Travis would just say the weather was totally wacked. The day we arrived it was snowing and since then, I think we’ve seen everything Mother Nature can throw at us.”

  “Come on, that Halloween snowstorm was nothing for Linden Corners, you of all people should know that,” Brian said with a dismissive wave. “You grew up in this region, you know how fierce the blizzards can be, how much snow they can dump. Heck, even last year we got hit with a whopper of a storm right on Christmas Eve. Practically buried the village.”

  “Yes, and what I remember is Mom telling me how you and Janey sledded your way through snow-covered streets to make sure she didn’t spend a lonely Christmas by herself,” Nora said. “That was nice of you.”

  “Anything for Gerta, she’s amazing,” Brian said. “Not to mention her pies.”

  “Aha, so the truth comes out at last, that’s why you like to spend time with my mother.” Still, an easy smile came to Nora’s lips. Brian, concentrating on the driving, managed to sneak a look over at his passenger, glad for her company and thankful she’d accepted his offer to join her, even if he’d goofed by referring to their harmless excursion as a date. Nora seemed to have forgotten all about it, filling the drive with nonsensical conversation that came with no pretenses or undercurrents of unspoken words. She hadn’t even gotten around to her other set of questions, the reason for her initial call. She was natural, both in appearance and attitude, with barely a hint of makeup on her cheeks and a fresh attire of jeans and light blue sweater, her easygoing nature making Brian relax, both when he opened the truck’s door for her after picking her up, and later when he hit the highway. His only misstep was when he gazed into the rearview mirror as they left town, the image of the stalwart windmill standing tall but lonely amidst the backdrop of that big empty sky. It had left him with a nagging sense of betrayal. Annie’s windmill, Annie’s house, her daughter and her truck . . . now populated by Nora.

  With roadside signs directing them toward Hudson, they were content to talk about Travis and Janey, noting how well the two kids were getting along, and how invaluable Janey had been in introducing the new kid in town to the other preteens at school. That made Brian feel good. Janey had such a big heart, and while it had suffered its share of sorrow, it had this rejuvenating, almost magical spirit that showed just how strong she was, how big her heart could swell.

  “By the way, Brian, thanks again for this. I appreciate your company today. You didn’t have to volunteer yourself, I’m a big girl,” Nora said.

  “I’ve seen the way you drive, why should I risk my truck?”

  “Gee, and I was beginning to believe all that good press my mother gives you.”

  They both grinned, just as the truck made its way into downtown Hudson, a small, rustic village of landmark buildings and small mom-and-pop businesses, comfortably ensconced along the mighty waters of its eponymous river. It was a place well known for its artists and writers, its boutiques specializing in antiques and art galleries alive with fresh talent, all of them celebrating a region’s history and heritage. For Brian, this was only his second visit to Hudson since moving to Columbia County, but the business district was small and easily manageable, with a square-shaped park laid out in the center, offset by the majestic Saint Charles Hotel looming to its north on Park Place. The entire town gave off a feeling of old-world America, a piece of yesterday living today. They journeyed down the main artery, Warren Street, headed toward the river, only to turn down a side road and travel beyond the Amtrak train station that picked up and deployed passengers along the Northeast Corridor, down to New York or onward to places like Albany, Chicago, and Montreal. A few more turns and they were high up on a hill, a series of old-style Victorian homes coming into view. Nora’s client lived in the last one on the dead-end block, and as Brian pulled into the driveway he was struck by the lovely, expansive view of the river down the cliffs, the waters calm today after yesterday’s storm. Again, he thought of Annie, who had loved the river, watching its languid flow from atop her own bluff.

  “Wow, what a beautiful house,” Nora said. “I mean, it’s a bit run down, but think of the possibilities.”

  “This woman lives alone here? That’s a lot of upkeep.”

  “So she says. Come on, let’s see what awaits us.”

  Brian hopped out of the cab and before he could get around to opening the passenger door for Nora, she had already bounded down and was now halfway up the winding pathway. He had to walk briskly to catch up with her. Crabgrass grew wildly between cement squares, a clear indication the lawn was among those things not being well maintained. Like the rest of the blue-painted structure.

  “You don’t have to keep opening doors for me, Brian, I’m pretty independent.”

  “So noted,” he said.

  They walked up a series of stairs that were in desperate need of a coat of paint to the covered porch. The front door opened with a loud squeak, and out stepped an elderly woman, balancing herself on a wooden cane. Willowy wisps of gray hair stood out in all directions, and while the wrinkles on her face indicated she might have been around Gerta’s age, mid-seventies, it was quite possible she was older. She wore an inviting smile with her ratty, red cardigan.

  “Mrs. Wilkinson?”

  “Yes, dear, are you Ms. Rainer?”

  “Nora Rainer, yes,” she said, and then turned to Brian. “My associate, Brian Duncan.”

  “Ma’am,” he said with a polite nod.

  “He does the heavy lifting,” Nora said by way of explanation, with a wink at him.

  He didn’t comment, merely accepted his role as the hired help. Not that his body was built that way, but being a laborer with a lot of land to tend in Linden Corners had hardened this one-time city boy. They were ushered inside a musty home that felt like it hadn’t been aired out in months. Brian looked around for a cat or four, but so far stumble
d over none. Into the living room they went, settling onto a pair of fabric-worn chairs. On the table before them was a silver tray, again in need of a polish, like much about this house. A pot of tea and two cups were set out. Thick, voluminous draperies hung over the windows, keeping sunlight at bay. There was a gloomy sense not just to this room but the whole house, matched only by a detached sadness in the old woman’s eyes.

  “I apologize for only setting out two cups for tea, but I wasn’t expecting a third person,” Mrs. Wilkinson said.

  “No problem,” Brian said. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to serve then?”

  She nodded once, looking approvingly over at Nora. “A gentleman, how very nice. He’s a keeper,” she said with a sudden faraway look that gave light to her otherwise gray eyes. Like her comment had sparked an old memory. “Young man, if you go down the long hallway to the kitchen, you’ll find another cup in the cupboard. Oh, and maybe you could bring in that box of chocolate cookies. I couldn’t carry everything and then suddenly . . . here you were. I heard your car pull up. Thankfully I’ve still got all my senses working.”

  Brian accepted his task, returning only to find Nora and Mrs. Wilkinson already engaged in conversation. Nora said something about how glad she was to have called her store, asked how she had heard about A Doll’s Attic.

  “Oh, I’ve known Elsie Masters for years, she helped my husband furnish this house,” she said. “When I phoned her a few weeks ago, she informed me she had sold her business, that the new owner was changing its focus a bit. So I was curious, and waited a week or so before calling, give you a chance to settle in. But always I thought you were the right person to handle my needs.”

  “A Doll’s Attic is all about the past, Mrs. Wilkinson, it’s about keeping memories alive.”

  “Call me Katherine,” the old lady said.

  “And please, I’m Nora. So, how can we help you?”

  For the first time, Nora had included Brian with her use of the word we, busy as he was serving tea and chocolate biscuits. He looked up, noting her inclusion.