Louisa felt like she was right back where she’d been last winter, and it didn’t help to know that another winter was already knocking on her door. Perhaps it was time to do what her sister Beverly had done—move to Phoenix. Except the idea of baking in the summer and never seeing snow fly in the winter was not that appealing.
As Louisa dipped the tea bag up and down in the hot water, she reminded herself that she had always been a can-do sort of person. Sure, she missed Adam dearly, and she would miss Abby as well. But there had to be more to her life. Good grief, she was only sixty-three! Some people were saying that sixty was the new middle age, not that she bought into that nonsense. Yet for some reason the good Lord still wanted her here . . . although, for the life of her, she could not imagine why.
Who would really care if she were gone? Oh, certainly Matthew and Leah and the grandkids would be saddened at first. But they would get over it in time. And it might even make it easier for them to be living so far away. Nothing over here to tug and pull at them—nothing to feel guilty about.
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “Why am I still here?” she whispered. “What is it you want from me?” For a long moment, she stood there in her kitchen with her eyes closed, trying to listen, hoping to hear. But nothing came to her.
She opened her eyes and removed the soggy tea bag from her tea. Then, as she was dropping it into the trash compactor, she noticed her date book lying open on the counter. Unlike her modern young friends who loved their electronic pads and gadgets, Louisa was old-fashioned. She liked maintaining a date book where she wrote entries and checked regularly. It gave her a sense of stability, as if she had some sort of control of the crazy world she lived in—although she knew that was ludicrous. As she looked at this week, she noticed that Thursday was book group night, and it was supposed to be at Abby’s house. Well, of course, that figured. Now that Abby was gone, what would hold the book group together?
4
By Wednesday, Belinda was able to focus at work, and by midday, she had managed to create a surprisingly nice display in the front window. With Christmas around the corner, she’d decided to use only red, green, or white garments. To accent, she’d added some retro Christmas ornaments—ones she’d gleaned from her grandma’s collection many years ago—and some old-fashioned strings of what Emma used to call “gumdrop” lights. She’d also wrapped some boxes with cool retro wrapping paper, and the final effect was delightful.
Normally, she’d be thrilled to see a display coming together so cohesively. Today she simply felt relieved to have the task completed. As she put the remains of the wrapping paper and decorations back into a box, Savannah came over to see. “That looks fabulous,” she told Belinda. “Very fun.”
Belinda thanked her, then, noticing Clayton Wentworth parking his SUV outside and walking up to her shop, she handed the box to Savannah. “Want to put this away for me?”
“Sure.” Savannah glanced toward the door. “Abby’s husband?” she whispered.
Belinda nodded as the doorbell jingled, greeting Clayton as he came inside.
“I forgot to give this to you yesterday.” He held up a shiny silver bag with a glum expression.
“What’s that?”
“Something Abby put together. For book group. I guess you guys were supposed to be meeting at our house this week.” He handed her the bag.
“Thanks.” Belinda looked into his eyes. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t even know.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“My brother just retired from the Air Force,” he told her. “He wants to stay with me for a while . . . through the holidays.”
“That’s nice.”
“I guess he thinks I need help.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well, being alone takes some getting used to.” Of course, that was an understatement. After Emma left home for college, Belinda had been a basket case. If Abby hadn’t been around, she didn’t know what would’ve become of her.
“Well, Todd’s my favorite brother. He’ll probably be good company.” Clayton was already backing toward the door.
She held up the shiny bag. “Thanks for bringing this.”
“I know Abby really wanted you guys to have it.” He reached for the door. “I better go.”
“Take care, Clayton.” Belinda watched as he went back outside. His shoulders were slumped and his head hung down. He looked so lost and sad and alone . . . the same way she felt. Once again she wanted to shake her fist at God, demanding to know why he thought taking Abby away had been such a good idea. Instead she carried the lightweight silver bag to the counter and called Louisa, explaining that Clayton had stopped by and had left a bag for the group.
“What’s in it?” Louisa asked.
“I don’t know.” Belinda peeked in the tissue paper, only to see that the small packages were individually wrapped in more tissue paper. “You know how Abby always loved giving us gifts. She was so crafty. It’s probably something she made.”
“Book group was supposed to be at her house tomorrow night.”
“I know.” Belinda sighed. “I was just thinking about that.”
“Well, how about if I host the group at my house,” Louisa suddenly offered.
“I haven’t even finished the book yet,” Belinda confessed. “I thought I’d wrap it up this week, but with everything that happened . . . well, I sort of lost interest.”
“I didn’t finish it either,” Louisa said. “To be honest, I found it convoluted and hard to follow, and I really didn’t need that.”
“No . . .”
“So, can you come?” Louisa’s voice grew more hopeful. “I assume this could be our final get-together. Without Abby around to keep us going, well, I’m just not sure what will happen.”
“I’d had the same thought.” Belinda looked back at the bag. “At least we could find out what’s in this bag from Abby and kind of wrap things up—get closure.” Belinda cringed at that word—closure. What did it really mean?
“So we’ll have it at my house,” Louisa declared. “I could actually use something to keep me busy right now. I’ll even call the others. That is, if you’re really okay with this plan.”
“Fine by me. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Yes. At seven.”
As Belinda hung up, she thought this was probably a good idea. Not only did it seem to cheer up Louisa, but it would probably help everyone to sort of say goodbye. Somehow she doubted that anyone would want to continue book group now. Besides missing Abby, four members seemed too small. After fifteen years, perhaps it was time to let it go. She couldn’t imagine them continuing without Abby.
As Belinda walked up to Louisa’s impressive front door on Thursday night, she could see that Grace and Cassidy were already inside. Louisa had the swankiest home of all the book group members. It wasn’t necessarily Belinda’s cup of tea since she preferred older homes with more charm and personality, but Louisa’s one-story modern home was definitely beautiful—and expensive. Grace had been Louisa’s designer, and everything in the house looked coordinated and sleek—like a page from Architectural Digest.
“Welcome,” Louisa said as Belinda went into the spacious foyer. “You look chic and stylish—as usual.”
“Thank you.” Belinda attempted a smile as she started to peel off her long coat. “And as usual, everything in here looks beautiful. I sometimes wonder how you manage to keep all these light, neutral colors so clean and crisp, but as always, it all looks perfect, Louisa.”
“With no grandkids around . . . and no pets . . . it’s not that hard.” Louisa took Belinda’s full-length leather coat, hanging it in the generous hall closet where even the wooden hangers matched. “Come in and get something to eat. I’ve been cooking all day. It was good therapy.”
Belinda was greeted by the others, and before long they were seated, with filled plates, in Louisa’s great room, where the gas fireplace was warmly flicke
ring and several large candles in hurricane glasses were glowing.
“It’s so good to see you all,” Louisa said. “Thank you for coming tonight. And although I don’t know what our future as a book group will be, I must say that I’ve enjoyed all our years together.”
“What do you mean?” Cassidy demanded. “Are we disbanding?”
Louisa shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess the group will have to decide.”
“Four seems a little small for a book group,” Belinda said cautiously. “If someone’s gone or forgets, that means just three.”
“Maybe we should invite some new people,” Grace suggested. “I have a neighbor who’s been asking about joining a book group.”
“Do you like her?” Cassidy asked.
Grace shrugged. “I don’t know her that well. I guess she’s okay.”
Without much enthusiasm, they discussed the book group and whether or not it should continue. Really, were there many good books they hadn’t read? Should they open it to new members and, if so, how many? And should they continue to meet so frequently?
“Reading a book a month sometimes feels overwhelming,” Belinda confessed.
“I agree,” Grace chimed in.
“Unless you have no life,” Cassidy said in a gloomy tone.
Finally, the room grew quiet and Belinda remembered the silver bag. Picking it up, she made a stiff smile. “Clayton brought this by my shop yesterday. I guess Abby had put it together—to give to us tonight.”
“What is it?” Cassidy asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Well, let’s find out,” Louisa suggested eagerly.
Belinda reached into the bag, and the first thing she touched felt like an envelope. She pulled it out and read the front aloud. “To My Book Group Friends.”
“Please, read it,” Grace said anxiously.
So Belinda opened the envelope and extracted a single page. She unfolded it, the room silent. Belinda’s hands trembled slightly as she started to read.
Dearest Dear Friends,
I know I don’t always tell you all how much I love and appreciate you. Not nearly enough anyway. Life gets busy and I get distracted. But as I finished making these gifts for you tonight, I decided to write down how I feel. And I’m ready for you girls to tell me how corny I am when I read it to you. But that’s okay.
You girls have been my closest friends for years. You helped me through my cancer and chemo and radiation. Some of you held my hand when I was afraid, others held my hair while I tossed my cookies. Between the four of you, someone was always there for me. Whether it was bringing us meals, cleaning my house, doing my laundry, even walking my dog—you girls did it. Without you four friends, I don’t think I would’ve made it.
You four women have been my angels over the years. Yes, it’s true—in my eyes you, dear friends, are earth angels! I believe God sent you to me because he knew I would need angels—and all four of you came through. And in case I forget to tell you someday, you’ll have these little tokens of my love—something to remind you of how grateful I am for my four angel friends. Merry Christmas, Angels!
Love,
Abby
As Belinda slowly refolded the letter, no one spoke, but everyone had tears in their eyes. “Wow . . .” Belinda slid the letter back in the envelope. “I can’t believe Abby was calling us angels—she’s the one who was an angel.”
“Yeah,” Cassidy said quietly. “I was thinking the same thing. And I wish I could be more like her. You know?”
“Me too,” Grace said in a shaky voice. “Compared to Abby, I’m not the least bit angelic. Just ask Joel, he’ll set you straight.”
“I’m no angel.” Louisa sadly shook her head, then pointed to the bag. “What else is in there?”
Belinda pulled out a light bundle wrapped in white tissue and tied with gold ribbon. A small gift tag with the name written in gold ink was attached. “To Cassidy,” she read as she handed the package to Cass. She removed the others, all wrapped identically with each woman’s name on a tag. Finally they were all sitting there with their still-wrapped gifts in their laps.
“Let’s see what’s inside.” Belinda began to untie the ribbon, mindful of how her best friend had so prettily tied it—not so very long ago. The others began to open their parcels as well. The only sound in the room was the rustling of tissue paper being peeled away, followed by some oohs and aahs.
Belinda peered down at the delicate angel ornament in her hand. Made with satin and lace and glitter and ribbons, the small figure was lovely. But it was the hand-painted face on a large wooden bead that captivated Belinda. From the caramel-colored skin to the wavy dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes, this angel was clearly meant to resemble Belinda. She felt the familiar lump growing in her throat as she stared down at the dainty angel. Every detail was perfect.
“Did Abby know she was going to die?” Cassidy asked in a tear-choked voice.
Belinda looked up to see the others holding similar—yet different—angels. Each one resembled the woman holding it. Abby had obviously put a lot of time and thought into these gifts. “No, she couldn’t have known she was going to die,” Belinda told Cassidy. “She had an aneurism. No one can predict something like that.”
“But to write that letter—telling us thanks like that,” Grace said with surprising intensity. “And to make these angels so that we’d remember her. And calling us her angels . . . doesn’t it seem strangely coincidental? Like she had some kind of premonition?”
“It does to me,” Louisa declared. “It makes me believe that God’s hand was in this.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Cassidy held up her angel. “Like this means something—like this is something more than a nice memento to hang on my Christmas tree.”
“I agree,” Grace told her. “It means something more.”
“What do you guys think it means?” Belinda asked.
For a long moment, no one spoke, but it was obvious by their expressions that they were all thinking. Thinking hard.
“I think I know what it means,” Louisa finally said in a serious tone.
“What?” they all asked together.
Louisa looked from face to face. “I hope I don’t sound crazy, but I truly believe I know what this means.” She began to describe how depressed she’d been lately—trying to figure out why she was still here. “I was praying to God, asking him why he took Adam and left me here on my own. And why did he take Abby, instead of me? I would’ve been glad to go join Adam in heaven”—she paused—“instead of having Abby taken, when she had so much life left to live.”
Belinda blurted out, “But that doesn’t explain why—”
“Let me finish,” Louisa said firmly. “I believe that Abby had some kind of premonition—probably from God. She made these angels and wrote that letter to encourage us to—to become angels.”
“To become angels?” Grace frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Abby was an earth angel,” Louisa declared. “She was always touching others—whether with a kind word or a helping hand. You all heard people speaking out at her memorial service this week. Abby’s life was nearly twenty years shorter than mine to this point, yet she did far more than I’ve ever done.” She held the angel up by the satin ribbon, watching as the small gray-haired figure slowly spun around. “And I feel personally challenged by this. I don’t know how many years I have left in this world, but I suddenly feel like I must make better use of my time and energy.”
“What do you mean?” Belinda asked.
“I want to be like the angels that Abby described in her letter. And since this is Christmastime, I want to start doing it now.” Louisa grinned at them. “I want to be a Christmas angel.”
“I do too!” Cassidy said eagerly.
“So do I,” Grace echoed.
Belinda looked down at the angel in her hand, then slowly nodded. “Okay . . . I want to be a Christmas angel too.” As odd as the words sound
ed to her brain, they resonated deeply with her heart. She did want to be a Christmas angel. “But how do we do it?”
“By creating Christmas miracles,” Louisa said. “Angels should be capable of making miracles in other people’s lives. Abby did it all the time. That’s what we’ll do. In honor of Abby’s memory.”
Suddenly they were all talking, suggesting ways they might help others, good deeds they might do, ways to “pay it forward.” By the time they called their meeting to an end, without ever discussing the novel that they all confessed they hadn’t finished anyway, their previous sadness and gloom had been edged out by a cautious sort of enthusiasm and energy. Belinda wasn’t sure, but as they stood in the foyer, still kicking around some ideas, she felt like Abby might be smiling down on them.
“I think we should meet together regularly,” Louisa declared as she helped the women with their coats. “We can report on how our angel work is going and encourage one another.”
“Yes!” Cassidy agreed. “Instead of book group, we can have angels’ meetings.”
“Angels’ meetings,” Louisa repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
They agreed to meet again one week from tonight, with Grace insisting she would host the next angels’ meeting in her home. “Maybe it’ll inspire me to put up some Christmas decorations,” she said a bit glumly. “I haven’t felt like it.” They all commiserated with her, admitting they hadn’t been in the Christmas spirit either.
“I have another idea,” Belinda said as she buttoned her coat. “What if we keep this to ourselves—I mean, that we’re Christmas angels?”
“You mean we do our angel deeds secretly?” Cassidy asked. “Like a secret Santa?”
“Not exactly,” Belinda clarified. “Although that might be fun. I was thinking more about the four of us—the Christmas Angels—maybe we don’t tell anyone that part.”
“I like that,” Grace told her. “Kind of like a secret club.”
“Exactly,” Belinda told her.
“A club dedicated to Abby’s memory,” Louisa said.
The Christmas Angel Project Page 3
