For the past two hours, the three of them had journeyed in near darkness, with only the headlights of the Mustang guiding their way. Few other cars were on the road, and why would they be, this was a night in which to travel the sky by sleigh, powered not by six-horse engines but by eight magical, flying reindeer—nine, if you were to believe another fanciful, magical tale of overcoming adversity. Brian concentrated on the road, Nora sat with her head turned, focused on Thomas’s face, encouraging him to keep telling his story. The way they both looked at him, with such comfort settled within their giving eyes, he held nothing back, letting go his tight grip on his controlled life. How good it felt to share his life, and not just with anybody. With these two, two souls who had given so much of themselves to provide him his dreams.
“And so she agreed to marry you on Christmas Eve?” Nora asked.
“Just a few of us, my mother and a friend, under a star-lit sky, where Missy and I exchanged our vows. Not unlike tonight—without the fire engine, of course,” he said, his face glowing with the memory of that long-ago night. He spoke of the way her hand had felt in his, their connection unlike anything he had ever felt, her kiss when they were pronounced man and wife as thrilling a feeling as any, sweeter than any strawberry pie. “We never had any children, not in all those years together, and I suppose neither of us ever questioned it—sure, we wondered why our little world continued to grow ever smaller, but we left our lives up to the fates, as it had seemed they were in control from the very beginning anyway. We lived a lovely life together, we traveled and we taught—she at the elementary level, trying to instill in students a good study ethic, me at the college level trying to undo all the bad habits from the middle years—and we made a good team. The best team. We traveled and we celebrated the joy of having found each other each and every Christmas, and I was determined that this year would be no different. No, that’s not exactly true.” He paused, holding the book in his grasp, still unbelieving that after the mistake of eighty years ago, leaving it behind in the attic, that it was once again in his possession. He had gained something, even as he stood to lose something more precious.
“Perhaps our Christmas Eve wedding was a way for us to mark all our celebrations in a short period of time—as you know, I am a Christmas baby, and Missy was born on New Year’s. So in the span of two weeks we could dispense with all yearly celebrations, then spend the rest of our days doing as we wished without the burden of gifts. That’s how in sync Missy and I were, how much she knew me, and I her. She need only look deep into my eyes to know what I was thinking, and indeed last Christmas she saw something new. Neither of us was getting any younger, that’s what she said, and so she urged me to finally search for the book—‘before it’s too late, Tommy.’ Did I tell you that she called me Tommy? I never thought of myself as anyone but Thomas, strait-laced, thoughtful. But that’s how much another person can change you, can claim you . . . Tommy and Missy, childlike names in adults who had never given rest to a lost past.”
“She was the woman,” Nora finally said.
“What woman is that?” Thomas asked.
“The woman Elliot mentioned,” she said. “He told me of this woman who had called him asking about the Casey edition of Twas, but she never identified herself... oh, last summer or so, wouldn’t you say, Brian? She inquired about the antique edition.”
“He said six months ago,” Brian said.
Thomas smiled. “That would be my Missy.”
“Elliot said he never heard from her again,” Nora said. “What happened?”
“That, my dear,” Thomas said, “is what you’re about to find out.”
“And soon,” Brian added. “We just hit New York.”
The view was different from that of the train rides he had taken the past months, as Brian eased them over to the East Side of Manhattan. Thomas could see the tight look on Brian’s face, almost as though he knew in which direction to drive but his body was resisting it for some reason. He knew Brian had lived here once upon a time, but Thomas didn’t know the details and as he’d said before, we all have stories within us, we tell them when the time is right. Tonight, the tale belonged to Thomas, and more so to his beloved Missy, and he felt his heart beat with fresh anticipation. For so long he had imagined this night when they came together in wedded harmony, neither of them knowing what the future held, not beyond the next minute or hour, day or coming year. Now somehow here he was, ninety minutes from the clock forcing his eighty-fifth year upon him and he didn’t know how he’d gotten so old, much less how his Missy had landed in her condition. One day you wake to sunshine, then you blink and the rain has begun to fall . . . or in the case of Linden Corners, the snow.
Only a light snow was falling over the city, the skyline bright against dark clouds.
Brian swept the car off the exit ramp of the FDR drive, making his way toward the Upper East Side. Thomas directed him at Ninety-sixth Street, and it was almost like he didn’t need to, Brian’s instincts taking over, on the ramp and onto the turn to the usually busy thoroughfare, tonight nearly empty as the city that never slept dozed. Down Second Avenue they drove, looking past buildings where lights dotted balconies that rose far into the sky, at businesses that were shutting down for the night; at Ninetieth Street, a vendor of Christmas trees was packing up the few remaining unsold trees. Christmas Day was just a short while away, plans were made, decorations in place. All that waited the world were gifts to be opened.
Thomas directed them to First Avenue and Seventy-eighth Street, Brian easily finding a parking spot along the street; only a major holiday would afford him such a lucky privilege. As Thomas made his way onto the street with the aid of Nora, Brian came around to join them. He looked up, all around him, let out a heavy sigh.
“You okay, Brian?”
“I lived here . . . not far from here. For many years before Linden Corners came calling.”
Nora came up to him. “You miss it?”
A cab drove by, honked its horn at another.
Brian laughed. “Not at all.”
Before they took a step toward the building on the corner named the Melton Home for the Aged, all three of them stopped. Thomas clutched the book again, ensuring it was still with him. Still real. As he went toward the entrance, he saw both Brian and Nora remain in place.
“Thomas, I think this is as far as we go, the rest of the night . . . it’s yours.”
Brian looked at Nora, who agreed, although with a bit of reluctance.
Thomas knew it couldn’t end like this, he couldn’t leave the two of them on the street, not after the story he had told. It had no ending. “Nonsense, you’ve come this far, I can’t just send you back to Linden Corners now.” He smiled broadly, as though he had truly just opened up his world. “Brian Duncan, Nora Rainer, come upstairs and meet my Missy.”
So they followed him into the tastefully decorated lobby, where an eight-foot Christmas tree glistened in the corner; all three of them were greeted warmly by the staff inside the nursing home, were guided toward the elevator. Up to the seventh floor they went, the doors opening up and allowing them a chance to step out. Thomas walked with determined strides down to the very end of the hall, not even stopping to say hello to the nurses on duty; it was a skeletal staff tonight anyway, so they arrived at the room without even being noticed. Thomas wasn’t sure of the visiting hours for guests, but rules were his least concern now.
He opened the door to a near-darkened room, a lone night-light throwing off a soft glow upon the quiet figure lying in the bed. A machine beeped, air seeped out with a gentle hiss. Making his way beside her, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Happy anniversary, my dear,” he said in hushed tones that somehow held joy. A fresh tear trickled down his cheek. “And merry Christmas.”
Taking up his usual seat beside her bed, he set the book down on the table and reached for her hand. His warmth spread to her cool touch, and he believed he could feel her blood pulse anew beneath h
er sallow skin. Her eyes were closed, as they always were; she hadn’t opened them in months, not since the first stroke had silenced her. Yet he still clung to the hope that she could hear him, that with each visit to her side he kept her living that much longer. He felt the touch of hands upon his brittle shoulders, looked up to see Nora. Brian was next to her, and the expression of sorrow on his face made Thomas wonder if this was evoking some other memory within him. Was he recalling Annie, the woman he and that sweet Janey had lost? Had he been selfish in bringing Brian here, Nora, too? She was not without loss, her father a couple of summers ago. She should be home with her son, and Brian with his daughter, not with an old man with only the past to cling to.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said.
“No, no,” Nora said, “it’s us who are sorry. For what you’ve had to endure, and alone.”
“Such is my nature, for as long as I could remember, it was me, and then me and Missy.”
“That’s no longer true,” Brian said. “You have us, you have Linden Corners.”
“Ah yes, Linden Corners. It was Missy’s idea to go back, though of course the plan was for us both to live there, that was . . . until the first stroke. She couldn’t survive on her own, and so once I decided to follow through with her idea of finding my childhood again, I knew she had to be as close to me as possible. This was the best facility I could find within easy travel,” Thomas said. “Well, since you’re here, allow me to make some introductions.”
So he did, Missy Van Diver quiet as Brian, then Nora said hello.
Thomas smiled as new connections were made, a strong bond made stronger by a world created by the windmill. Yes, he had seen it glowing once again when they left town, and he felt he could feel its power now, reminding him of the boy who used to run like the wind down the hill, that boy being himself, and then he thought of the young girl who embraced the same magic, how on this night when she should have been with her family she was alone, and it was his fault. He had wanted so badly to be with his Missy, he had selfishly forgotten that other people had loved ones to be with.
“Brian, Nora, I think this is where our stories must come to an end,” he said. “I have one last promise to keep to my wife, and you have promises of your own. Christmas Day is here, the clock has just struck midnight, and hours away sleep your children, both of whom are still filled with the wonder of Christmas morning, and so I urge you . . . please, go be with them. I will be fine. This night has held so many unexpected surprises already, playing Santa to the children of Linden Corners and being a part of another Christmas Eve wedding . . . and most of all, sharing with everyone my memory of this book . . . one I treasured when my father presented it to me . . . one I tossed away in anger against the world, without regard to how I would one day feel. Hang on to what’s precious in this world, just as I am doing here. I have my Missy. You, Nora, you have Travis and he needs you, even as he claims to how grown he is. And Brian, that sweet piece of preciousness that is Janey Sullivan, how lucky you are, you and she and that old home that has shared so many memories, you have so many more to make. The windmill that spun back before I was a child and continues to do so, bridges generations as it seeks out the link between past, present, and yes, future, keep its spirit alive. So go and share your holidays, and I will see you soon . . . I promise. You blessed an old man with so much, with today, and with the hope of tomorrow, but mostly,” and then he paused to pick up the antique edition of The Night before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas, then said, “but mostly, what you gave me was what I was seeking all along. The past.”
Nora kissed Thomas on his cheek. “Happy birthday, Thomas.”
“Merry Christmas, Thomas,” Brian added.
And as Brian Duncan and Nora Rainer made their way toward the door, Thomas stole a look back at them and the twinkle that was in his eyes was not unlike another gentle soul who traveled on a cold night such as this, following the path of stars and spreading the magic that is the gift of life.
Then, with the book in his trembling hand, he turned to the woman who loved Christmas and who loved him, and he began to read and he didn’t finish until he turned the last page and, with a kiss to her lips, said, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
EPILOGUE
TOMORROW
Just as nobody knows the future, nobody need fear the past. So the only choice left was to live in the present, with a guiding light called hope leading you through your days. That’s how I see it, my dear, but of course that’s hardly news, not to you. You who know me so well.
Speaking of hope, let me tell you about the place I’ve found . . . or is that rediscovered? A sense of promise lives here, inside unfulfilled dreams of unwritten tomorrows. Powered by love and family and by the wintery whims of the wind, we called this magical little village Linden Corners. It’s a place that some are born to and never leave, while newcomers accidentally stumble upon its borders, soon charmed by its welcoming sense of community. And others, like me, return to the land after many years away, looking for something that may no longer exist.
But that’s getting ahead of myself. To understand then, you need to know about now.
So much has happened since the night and subsequent morning we shared, when snow fell from the sky and bathed the city in its crystalline glow. Christmas Eve came and went, our anniversary, my birthday, Christmas Day, which I must tell you about. And now, it is just hours before you turn another year, a new one for the world, but in truth, what about you? Missy, my dear, do you live inside there, listening to my stories? There’s one more to tell, listen carefully. It’s about this fellow named Brian Duncan, he’s a smart one, quite cunning in his heartfelt way, because even with all he accomplished for the Christmas Festival, and that was a lot, it was Christmas morning where his goodness was truly felt.
He’s a giving soul, but on this day he realized just what he had received.
It began when Brian and Nora returned to Linden Corners in the early morning hours.
“Brian, you did it again!”
Brian was asleep on the sofa inside the farmhouse; the fire had burned out, leaving only orange embers and the colored light reflecting off the tree. He had carried young Janey home at three o’clock that morning, she’d barely stirred when he’d brought her home and tucked her beneath her warm blankets. He’d fallen asleep, too, on the sofa, forgetting to set gifts under the tree, and while Janey, poking at his shoulder to wake him, thought he had forgotten . . . again, Brian knew better. He had a plan; oh, this man, he is always thinking up something, and usually for the better of others.
“I did not,” he said. “This time, it’s on purpose.”
“Not accidentally on purpose?”
“No, Janey, that was last year.”
So the man she called Dad urged her to get into her warm pajamas and winter clothes, and he did the same, the two of them venturing outside and down the hill, she in the red sled, he pulling the frayed string until it snapped and she went sailing down the snowy hill until coming to a rest beside the base of the windmill. Yes, the lights were still lit, repaired by some magic trick by Chuck Ackroyd, though it was hardly necessary on this sunlight morning. The windmill had a glow all its own, no doubt inspired by Janey’s presence. Brian opened up the door to the windmill, and the two them scrambled up the winding staircase to the second floor, and that’s when Brian pulled out two simple, square packages.
“I know there are more gifts to be opened, back at the farmhouse, for you and for me, those can wait,” he told her, “but these . . . they cannot.”
They were wrapped in brightly colored paper, snowmen and Santa (in red suit) patterns all over, not that you could discern them after she tore at them with an eagerness that belongs only to the youth. He asked her to be careful, and that’s when Janey’s eyes grew wide with tears, because, after all, she’s a smart girl and she remembers last Christmas and the loving gift he had given her and now she knew what these gifts were . . . yet she confe
ssed that she had no idea what names would possibly be on them. Not until she opened the first and read the name “Dan,” in silver glitter letters on a shiny ball of blue glass; and not until she opened the second and read the name “Annie,” again, silver glitter spelling out its name, and this one . . . it was golden, and it blazed with light when the sun’s reflection hit it just right. Brian tells of how speechless Janey was, a rare feat for her, he had said with a laugh. Her hug lasted almost as long as the time they had spent together as a team . . . no, a family.
When at last she broke from her embrace and the two of them had wiped away tears, they trekked back through the snow, and after waving toward the windmill and receiving back a giant wave from the four hands that spun on its axis, Brian helped Janey find the perfect place on the tree for them, near her own name ornament, and for as long as the tree remained up that season, the names Dan, Annie, and Janey hovered near each other; Brian’s was not far away, either.
That’s the start of Christmas, my dear.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Gerta Connors was hosting a Christmas feast that night, and her daughter Nora was sitting beside the fire with a glass of red wine in her hands, still musing over the generous gifts they had received that day. Her boy, Travis, was that much closer to being a teenager, and like all kids his age his life revolved around electronics, toys that made beeps and whistles and other sounds, games that landed him in virtual worlds that, as far as I’m concerned, my dear, pale in comparison to what we have here. He also received a science kit about the weather, since he’d taken such an interest in all things about the sky since coming to Linden Corners. Nora, as promised, had been determined to give the boy without a father the best Christmas she could.
And so when Brian and Janey arrived late afternoon to partake in the holiday spirit with their good friends, it was Nora herself who greeted them with an almost childlike enthusiasm, heightened when she presented Brian and Janey with not just one gift but three. Gerta grinned and Travis jumped around even though he knew as well as Janey what was inside those presents. And when Janey opened up the first, and Brian the second, and together tearing apart the paper to reveal the third, both of them easily fell silent. Like the wind had knocked out their own sails, and if that’s not a metaphor for the moment, my dear, well, nothing could be. They were staring at three picture frames, all poster size, and each of them represented a stage of the windmill as it had been built, by, of all people, my ancestors.
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