A Christmas Hope

by Joseph Pittman

  “No, it’s okay, Cynthia, I appreciate it,” Nora said, feeling a little hot beneath the collar. Of course Brian had told his best friend about what had happened that day in his driveway, how foolish was she to think he’d keep it bottled up inside. Unlike her, who hadn’t told a soul. Who did she have to tell anyway?

  “Brian is a helper . . . a fixer. When he came to Linden Corners, he was a bit of a mess, he didn’t know who he was or what he wanted from life, he was just passing through—that’s where the nickname came from, coined by our own Martha Martinson over there. He could easily have blinked twice and been driving out the other side of town, but instead something called to him here. When his weeklong stay became a month and then a whole summer, he did nothing but help out others. What he did for your mother after George passed away, what he’s done for Janey, the sacrifices he’s made in order to make others happy, it’s a rare quality. But in all this time, I still don’t think Brian has rediscovered himself. He helps everyone but himself. I think you’re his latest reclamation project.”

  “I didn’t ask for that.”

  “See, that’s the thing, you don’t ask, he just does.”

  “So what you’re saying is, don’t mess with Brian.”

  “Be his friend, as you said. Just don’t mess with his heart.”

  Nora nodded, words forming on her lips. “That’s why I did it, Cynthia, kissed him. So we could remove that element from our relationship . . . gosh, that sounds so lame the way I say it. Like a man and a woman can’t be friends without romance getting in the way? Not very evolved for a defense attorney.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nora. Remember, you’re not a lawyer anymore, you’re a person.”

  Nora allowed herself one last, wide smile. “Thanks for that. I think you’re funnier than Martha. This was actually nice, girl talk, something I’ve missed.”

  “Then we’ll have to do it again, soon,” she said. “But for now, I think the storm is doing all the talking.”

  As they settled their tab and made their way into the fresh falling snow, they parted with a hug. Nora watched as Cynthia got into her car, settling little Jake into his car seat, and that’s when she realized the tyke had slept through the entire conversation, about weddings and love and relationship issues and kissing men when it wasn’t appropriate to do so. In a half hour’s time, Jake had learned a valuable lesson: When the ladies start to chatter, just roll over and sleep. Nora found her mood improved as she made her way back to A Doll’s Attic, the bells above the door jangling, announcing her presence. They didn’t bother her.

  When Travis came running out of the storeroom, she realized she’d completely forgotten to order his hot chocolate, a wave of regret washing over her. What kind of mother was she? But her son didn’t seem to mind, as his face was lit with an enthusiasm she had rarely seen in him lately, his hand dangling a glass ornament before her.

  “Mom, look what I found among Mrs. Wilkinson’s boxes,” he said.

  She looked closely to see what had so intrigued him, and what she saw inside the round glass globe was a snow-coated windmill, its sails turning as white lights blinked on and off, on and off. A small inscription said SINTERKLASS, THE NETHERLANDS.

  “Just like in Linden Corners,” he said.

  No matter where she went in this town, Nora Rainer couldn’t escape Brian Duncan, nor the specter of that old windmill. Just then the howling wind rocked the windows of the store, and Nora gazed out to see snow being blown sideways; the lights inside the store flickered. The storm had hit fast, its fury increasing exponentially with each passing second, it seemed. As she and Travis gathered up their stuff, she thought about the real windmill alone on that open field, and how its mighty sails would be answering nature’s call. She hoped it would be safe, it and the people who lived to see it spin.

  CHAPTER 12

  BRIAN

  “Wow, Brian, it’s not even Christmas and already we have so much snow.”

  “We sure got walloped.”

  “Walloped? What does that mean?”

  “It means Linden Corners took a beating from Mother Nature.”

  “You mean, like getting so much snow.”

  “Like you said.”

  “So why did you have to use that big word to say what I said?”

  Brian didn’t know how to respond to that, he often didn’t to Janey’s unique sense of expression, so he just looked at her exasperated, freckled face and decided the debate wasn’t worth it. When a nine-year-old girl got an idea in her mind, it was best to just let her alone to work it out. She’d be on to another topic in a matter of minutes, if not sooner.

  “Can we go sledding?”

  A related topic, sure, but different enough to know their morning was progressing. Brian just laughed at his daughter’s spirit, reaching for her empty plate of pancakes as she continued to stare out the window at the drifts of fluffy white snow. “Maybe later, okay, and we can make snow angels, too. There’s just a few things I need to take care of this morning. What do you say you head on over to Cynthia’s, Jake probably needs to learn a lot about snow.”

  “He has a lot to learn about everything,” she said.

  “Well, baby steps.”

  “Well, duh, he’s a baby.”

  Some expressions just didn’t need translation, so Brian let the conversation die off, with Janey hopping off her chair and running upstairs to get her stuff ready for a visit over at the Knights’ house. It was one of her favorite places to spend time of late, and while Brian could easily have been jealous of the attention she paid over there, he knew it was important—not only did Jake give her an excuse to play older “sibling,” but there was no denying the strong influence Cynthia had over a girl with no mother, one who had to rely too much on a hapless legal guardian, one Brian Duncan . . . me, he thought with a gulp. Some days he wondered how all of this had happened, feeling like he’d been on autopilot since the moment Janey had come under his supervision, and as much as he loved her, and he did . . . tremendously, feeling that his heart was bigger than his entire body when it came to providing for her, he would have traded it all to have Annie back. Annie and Janey together, as it should be, he the man Just Passing Through.

  As though hearing him, the clock on the kitchen wall struck, the windmill’s sails at nine and twelve. He stole a look at the pile of dishes waiting for him in the sink, decided they could wait. There was too much to do, and none of it could get off the ground without him, and so after dropping Janey off next door—a hike itself, through the dense drifts of snow that had Janey’s cheeks glowing a bright red both from the anticipation of playing with Jake and from the cold—Brian returned to the quiet of the farmhouse and began to think about Christmas. Last year he and Janey had begun the holiday preparations too late, not chopping down the tree until mid-month, and even then it had taken a few days for them to decorate it as he and Janey were going through a rough patch. He was thankful there were no signs of any this year. It was smooth sailing for her, if not for him.

  Why then did he still feel a sense of incompleteness enveloping him? It was the same lingering notion that had attacked his gut the day his mother had called to say there would be no Thanksgiving, not at the Duncan household anyway. He had not heard from her since, nor had he heard from his sister, Rebecca, less of a surprise. She popped up when she felt like it. Divorced, she used her son as a tool against her ex, and frankly, Brian was glad to be spared her drama. So that just left Brian and Janey fending for themselves this holiday season. Even Gerta was missing in action, since she had Nora and Travis living with her, and not that Brian begrudged the sweet lady time with her family, truth was . . . he missed her company, the way she would just drop by with lunch and a home-baked pie for dessert. That hadn’t happened since Nora returned to town. As for Nora, he tried not to give her much thought and aside from a post-Thanksgiving dinner at Gerta’s house, he hadn’t even seen her.

  She had her Christmas mission, helping Thomas find
his antique book.

  Brian had his assignment, too, helping to plan a joyous wedding celebration at the annual George’s Tavern Christmas Party, not that he’d done much on it yet. He was still waiting to hear from Mark about how his proposal had gone over with Sara. He reminded himself to call Mark later, if it was going to happen then they needed to coordinate some ideas. For now, he had a job to do in the attic.

  Before heading upstairs, Brian caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror and stopped. He studied his face, the lines around his eyes a bit more pronounced; where had those come from? He was only thirty-six. What was he doing in this crazy town—caring for a nine-year-old girl, planning a wedding, accepting friendly kisses from a married (albeit separated) woman. Who was this Brian Duncan, the man who had once dreamed of climbing the corporate ladder alongside Maddie Chasen, a Southern beauty who by now should have been his wife. He had traded the dreams for the ones that spun magic inside an old windmill. It had been an eventful two years since he’d left New York, and now here he was, feeling like a virtual stranger in this house he called home. If he was going to be any good for Janey, he had to finally solve the question of himself: just what did he want from life? Running a tavern a few nights a week just wasn’t cutting it anymore, he needed to show Janey that happiness came from fulfillment, and what that was . . . well, therein lay the problem. He didn’t know what he wanted to be when he grew up. Even though he’d donned the cap of responsibility real fast the moment Annie had left them and Janey had come into his care, he still felt cold.

  But all those life questions could wait until the New Year, couldn’t they? Concentrate on the here and now, Christmas and the annual tavern party and Mark and Sara’s imminent wedding, wasn’t that enough purpose for the last month of the year? With that in mind, he started up the stairs to the second level of the farmhouse, unlatching the ladder that allowed access to the attic. He figured it was as good a time as any to start bringing down the Christmas decorations—not just for the house but for the tavern, whose exterior he would populate with colorful lights. This year he was determined to beat Martha over at the Five O’, who last year had kidded him but good for his tardiness.

  He climbed up the stairs, ducking his head as he made his way into the attic. It was musty, as attics tended to be, and cold, and for a moment he was reminded of Nora’s store, an entire business dedicated to the items regular folk kept hidden away in rooms hard to get to. The image of Katherine Wilkinson came next, she who was parting with her daughter’s gifts from around the world, and wondered how she had been brave enough to let them go. With all that Brian and Janey had in their attic, he knew he couldn’t possibly give any of it away, for sealed in several boxes was a history of the Sullivan family, Dan, who had been Janey’s father, and Annie, with picture album after album recording the limited images of the three of them as a family. Which got Brian’s mind thinking, an idea sparking his imagination. Quickly he made his way to the back of the attic where the Christmas decorations were stored, boxes containing the tree stand, strings of lights, an array of ornaments, among them two very special “name” ornaments.

  Wiping away a year’s worth of dust, tearing back the duct tape, he opened the lid and found right on top two rectangular white boxes, and he withdrew them carefully, one at a time, resting them on the floor. Opening the first one, he picked it up and watched as the red glass caught the glow of the exposed lightbulb over his head. “Janey,” it read in sparkling glitter, as beautiful as the girl whose name adorned it. It had been a special gift last year, and Brian smiled at the memory of her bright face, mixed as it was with tears and joy as she dangled the ornament before her. Returning it to the safe care of its cotton bed, Brian then opened the other box and pulled out the ornament with his own name written in silver glitter, the glass a shiny green that looked as new as Janey’s and that’s because it was. He’d needed to replace the original; this year the new orb would make its debut on their tree, having arrived too late for last Christmas. The drama of last year was more easily replaced with the growing excitement he was feeling now. Because this year, Brian knew, his ornament wouldn’t be the only new one.

  As he set his ornament back inside the box, he heard the telephone ringing throughout the house. Making a quick dash down the steep stairs, wondering if it might be Janey or Cynthia, he grabbed it just before the answering machine clicked on.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Brian, it’s Mark.” His usual chipper tone was missing.

  “Mark, hi . . . uh, something wrong?”

  “Man, you’re good.”

  “I can hear it in your voice, practically see your sour expression over the phone,” he said. “Let me guess, Sara’s not pleased with your idea of a bar wedding?”

  “To say the least.”

  Secretly, Brian had been expecting this, it was why he hadn’t planned anything yet. “Sorry, Mark.”

  He let out a frustrated huff. “She said the setting wasn’t magical enough and that if we wanted a Christmas wedding than we should just get married on Christmas Day, or on the Eve,” he said. “Not like other people have traditions of theirs to see about on those two days, the last thing our friends need is a wedding to distract them, too. Look, I really don’t have time to get into it now, I’ve got to get down to RiverFront, they’re short-staffed and are depending on me, the storm really socked them in down there. They lost power for a few hours. So I just wanted to call to give you the heads-up, okay, don’t plan for a wedding, just have the tavern party like you would.”

  “Everything okay, Mark . . . I mean, between you and Sara?”

  “Oh yeah, we’re still nuts about each other. But now she knows hopeless romantic is not one of my qualities.”

  “You’ll think of something,” Brian said.

  “What I think is I should just let her do everything and then just show up.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first groom to adopt such a strategy,” Brian said with an attempt at humor that fell flat. Mark just said his defeated thanks and hung up, leaving Brian with an empty receiver and an even emptier heart, not only because their wedding would have been a capper to the holiday party but now it gave him one less thing with which to occupy himself. He wouldn’t have minded the distraction.

  Returning to the attic, he put away the Christmas ornaments, feeling almost as though he were packing away a bit of magic himself. Instead, he carried down a box of colored lights, and walked outside, placing them on the passenger seat of the truck. Cold wind circulated around him, making him rethink what he had been planning to do, but then realized no snowstorm could stop a true resident of Linden Corners. And wasn’t that what Brian Duncan was, no longer Just Passing Through, he was the Windmill Man, and as such he kept life spinning in this little burg, for himself and for a little girl named Janey and a sweet old lady named Gerta, both of whom were responsible for instilling within him the renewal of hope.

  In fact, the entire village had been supportive of him, welcoming him into their fold, their families, and so it was time for him to return the favor. Another idea was forming in his mind, and so with fresh determination, he hopped into the truck and made his toward downtown Linden Corners.

  “Should I cook up some worms for you?”

  “The Early Bird Special, huh? Might be an improvement on that chicken noodle soup I had the other day,” Brian said, tossing a conspiratorial smile Martha’s way.

  “Geez, what’s with everyone attacking my food lately, first Cynthia, now you?”

  “When did you see Cynthia?” he asked.

  “Just yesterday, she was having coffee with our newest business lady, Nora.”

  That surprised Brian, he didn’t even know the two women were on friendly terms. “Are you sure? Did Cynthia and Nora come in together, or did they just happen to show up at the diner at the same time?”

  “Seated in a booth, swapping stories, advising poor Sara about her wedding.”

  A lightbulb went off over Brian�
�s head. Mark’s phone call now made complete sense, and he had his old friend and his new one to thank for it. As for Brian, parked in the lot of the tavern and in the process of unloading the box of lights, that’s when Martha had come upon him and seen that he was the first among the business owners to start putting up decorations; soon the entire village would be bathed in colors, flickering blues and vibrant greens, scarlet reds and golden yellows, the holiday spirit bright and alive to residents and passersby alike. Brian knew he’d first need to shovel a path to the front entrance before he could attempt to put up the lights, might take him all afternoon just to remove the snow.

  “You sure you’re gonna put those up today? Mighty cold out,” Martha said.

  “What, I should stop, only to come in tomorrow and see that you’ve put up yours?”

  “Nah, last year was last year,” she said. “I was testing you, Windmill Man.”

  “So that means I passed?”

  “Oh, you passed long ago, kid,” she said. “So, when’s the party this year?”

  Just then Brian saw a car pulling into the lot of the Five O’, saw Elsie Masters and a couple of the ladies from The Edge emerge. They walked hesitantly on the salted sidewalk as they made their way inside the warm, cozy diner. Brian saw that Martha had noticed him watching, said, “Hey, you’re not answering me . . . what, you got a thing for the older set? Thought you said I was too much woman for you. That means Elsie would have you crying uncle in no time.”

  “Ha ha, Martha,” he said, returning his gaze to his neighbor. “No, it’s just . . . I’ve got this idea about Christmas, but I need to run it by a few people, Elsie’s as good a one to start with.”