A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I was helping Molly put some groceries away…and the door closed behind us.” He glanced at Molly for backup.

  She didn’t dare look at him. Her darling husband couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. She had a feeling the girls would know before the night was out.

  A few hours later, after the dance troupe had exhausted themselves, and Bud, the contractor, and his merry crew had thoroughly insulated the entire foundation, and their three daughters had each retreated to their separate rooms upstairs, Molly found the profound silence in the house almost deafening.

  Matt had nearly slipped a few times during dinner, but miraculously, their secret was still safe. And all she could think about now.

  She toted a basket of laundry into the family room and plunked down on the couch near Matt, who was in his reading chair, engrossed in a medical journal.

  She always thought he looked awfully cute in his reading glasses. Now, though, it just reminded her that they weren’t young. Not that old…but still, not really young. How could they be having a baby?

  “Molly…” Matt looked up from his journal and put it aside. “I’ve been thinking about your big news all night, honey. I have to say, you don’t seem that excited about it. Is there something wrong? Something you’re not telling me that worries you?”

  He meant something amiss medically. It made sense that he would think that way; he was a doctor.

  Molly shook her head. “I feel fine…except for being tired and sort of cranky…and way too old for this.”

  “Old? You’re not old. Women are having babies at your age all the time. And even older, well into their forties—their first babies, too. Why, you’re an old pro at this. You won’t have any trouble at all.”

  Molly’s eyes widened. “See, you just said it yourself. You said I was an old pro.”

  “Molly, you know what I meant. Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not being silly. Our girls, my daughter and yours, are going to college next fall,” she reminded him.

  “Well, that may be true, but I don’t feel too old for a new baby. Look around, honey. We have this huge house now. It’s going to feel very empty once Amanda and Lauren go away to school. A new baby is just the thing to liven things up. Come to think of it, I hope it’s twins.”

  Molly stared at him, unable to find the words to respond. She burst out crying, tears running down her cheeks. “Do twins run in your family?” she sobbed. “You never told me that!”

  She could see Matt was confused at her reaction. He still didn’t get it. “Molly…” He moved over to the couch and put his arms around her. “What is going on? I just don’t get it. Aren’t you happy about the baby? I certainly am. I think it’s the best news I’ve heard since you agreed to marry me.”

  Molly didn’t know what to say, how to start.

  He was so happy, happy enough for the both of them. She wasn’t sure he would ever get it, even if she did try to explain.

  She took a deep breath and forced a reasonable tone into her voice. “Matt, I’m glad that you’re happy. I know I should feel the same. But it’s different from when I had the other two. I feel as if I’m at a completely different stage of my life now. I worked hard to get here, too. While Lauren and Jill were growing up, everything was for them, for their welfare. Then, when I met you, I finally started having a life for myself. Using my…potential…”

  “I understand all that,” he assured her.

  “But after all my hard work, it just feels like I’m being forced to go backward. Diapers, formula, feeding schedules…Been there, done that. I just can’t see myself, sitting at the sandbox again, zoning out.”

  Matt softly stroked her hair. “Molly…it will be different this time. Completely different. We can afford help, a live-in nanny if you want. We can even pay someone to zone out at the sandbox.”

  Molly appreciated Matt’s efforts to understand her feelings. It was true that they had the means to hire help, even a live-in nanny. But that wasn’t the solution for her.

  “Look,” she said. “I know a lot of people put their children in day care so they can work. I know a lot of people have no other choice. But it seems to me that since we have the means for me to stay home with a baby, it wouldn’t be right to pay someone else to take care of him or her all day. I’m sorry, I’m still old-fashioned. I don’t want to pay someone to raise my child—to hear their first word or help them learn how to walk. What sense does that make?”

  Matt sat looking at her, considering her words and her dilemma. “All right. I get your point. But why don’t we try to table the big decisions for now and just focus on the happy news?”

  It was more or less Betty’s advice. Don’t panic. You have nine months to figure it out.

  Matt was so happy about the news—happier than she ever expected—she didn’t want to ruin this moment for him. Even though it felt as if he hadn’t really heard a word she’d said.

  She sighed and rested her head on his strong, warm shoulder. “I’m happy, too. Honestly. I never expected to have a baby with you, Matt, but now that it’s happened, I know it will be a great thing for us. A real blessing in our lives.”

  She wasn’t just saying it. She loved Matt with all her heart and was thrilled to be carrying his child. At least, when she could stop thinking about how the baby would turn her present life upside down.

  Matt kissed the top of her head. “Don’t fret, Molly. You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”

  Molly didn’t answer. She wanted to believe him. But he was so blindly optimistic, and she was a realist. She would keep a lid on her real feelings for now if that’s what Matt wanted. But she couldn’t deny her apprehensions forever. Even for her husband’s sake.

  THE STRANGE SOUND WOKE HER FROM A DEEP SLEEP. Miranda sat up in bed, listening. She heard it again—someone calling out. She couldn’t make out the words, but realized it must be Adam.

  She grabbed her robe and ran downstairs barefoot. Moonlight cast blue shadows in the empty rooms. She found her way to the back parlor where Adam lay in bed, groaning and shouting in his sleep.

  “Adam?” She leaned over and shook his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re having a dream.”

  He gasped, waking with a start. Then he jumped up and grabbed her. His hands dug into her shoulders, and he held her as if defending himself, about to push her down.

  “Adam, it’s me. Let go!” She pushed back, struggling against his strength, but he held on.

  Suddenly, he pulled back and released her, staring at her with wild eyes.

  “Miranda…I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t move at first, just waited for her own pulse to return to normal. She was certain that he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  Adam turned away from her, as if ashamed, and walked over to the window. He stood there silently, gazing out into the night. A full moon rose high in the winter sky and lit the room, giving everything inside the parlor a soft silvery glow. Miranda could see Adam running a hand through his thick, dark hair. She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. “It’s okay,” she said. “You obviously had a nightmare.”

  “Yeah, a bad one.”

  She reached over and touched his arm. “What was it about? Maybe there’s something you were remembering from your past.”

  He sighed and sat down next to her. “It did feel real. More like remembering something that actually happened to me than just a dream,” he said. “It was so vivid. Everything was in that kind of high-relief you only get in dreams—or bizarre movies. And it wasn’t good.” She felt a shudder ripple through him. “I was running behind these buildings. I felt as if I was searching for a hiding place, and I was desperately scared. It looked like maybe a warehouse or a factory. It was nighttime, very dark. There were gunshots.” His voice broke and he hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I was shooting a gun. I saw a man fall by the side of a car. Then I was running away, carrying a big canvas bag. I zipped it open and it was full of money.�
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  Miranda felt him sitting tensely beside her, waiting for her to respond, expecting her to draw away. “It was just a dream, a nightmare,” she said, trying to convince herself. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What if I was remembering something I really did? What if I’m…a criminal?”

  “You aren’t,” she said. “You couldn’t live like that, Adam. You’re not a criminal. I just know.”

  He turned and faced her, his expression softening. “You can’t possibly know that. You’ve only known me…two days. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

  It was true. She barely knew him and what she did know was under the most bizarre circumstances possible. Still, she had a strong feeling about the kind of person he was.

  He reached out and touched her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “I didn’t hurt you before, did I? When I grabbed your arms?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. The soft light from the window cast his face in shadows. His dark eyes seemed large and bright. They captured her gaze and held it. He cupped her cheek. “I’m not sure of anything right now. What’s real. What isn’t. Maybe you’re the dream. You…and this place. And the other is reality.”

  He leaned forward and she was sure he was going to kiss her—at that moment she wanted him to kiss her—but he pulled back. “I-I’m sorry,” he said.

  She didn’t answer, couldn’t. She felt as if she could barely breathe.

  “I—” He hesitated, searching for words. “I need to find out who I am, where I came from. Until then—”

  “I understand.” She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. She was, after all, seeing Greg, she reminded herself. And she certainly didn’t need to add to Adam’s confusion. She got to her feet. “I’m going back upstairs. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He nodded. “I think I’ll stay up and read for a while. No sense in trying to fall asleep right now.”

  Did he mean because of the nightmare…or because of their almost-kiss? Miranda didn’t dare ask.

  She turned and headed up to her room. She passed her grandmother’s door and heard Sophie’s deep, even breathing, feeling grateful that Adam’s cries hadn’t woken her, too.

  Settled back under her covers, Miranda stared up at the ceiling. Adam’s confession disturbed her. Was his dark dream a memory? Or perhaps not an exact memory but something that held some truth about him? She knew she wanted it to be a dream. She didn’t want him to have a dark past. But maybe he did. Maybe his real life was nothing like the way he seemed when he was with her.

  Would she still care for him if he wasn’t a “good” person? Would her feelings matter at all once his real life caught up with them? Or perhaps, she mused, the real question was: even if she learned the worst, would she ever be able to make herself stop caring about him?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “REVEREND? SORRY TO BOTHER YOU. SOMETHING happened that I think you ought to know about.”

  Carl Tulley stood in the doorway of Ben’s office. He had just arrived at church to start his workday. His green parka was zipped up to his chin, a gray knit cap pulled down low over his forehead, and thick wool gloves covered his big hands.

  Ben stood with his coat on, his hat in his hand. He was on his way out to a monthly meeting of the local clergy and had come to his office early this morning to answer a few calls and e-mails before he set out.

  “Come in, Carl. What’s going on?”

  Considering Carl’s background, Ben knew it could be anything from problems with the law to the assorted ailments that plagued Carl’s battered body. The man had been through so much and taken care of himself so little, it was a wonder he was fit for work at all.

  “It’s my hand, see?” Carl pulled off a glove and held out the hand that had been bandaged for the past few days. Ben could see the vague outline of the cut that had been stitched by Dr. Harding. The stitches had melted away to leave a neat, thin scar. Other than that, it looked fine.

  “I don’t see anything wrong,” Ben confessed.

  “Yeah, well, that’s just it. I go to change the bandage last night, and there it was. All healed, good as new.”

  Ben still didn’t get the man’s meaning. “Why is that so surprising? You saw Dr. Harding, and he stitched the cut. Why wouldn’t it be healed by now?”

  “You saw me yesterday, trying to move them boxes. It was sore as anything. You said yourself that it might be infected and I ought to see the doctor again.”

  Ben remembered that now. “Yes, I did. Well…maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought. Maybe it just felt sore in the morning for some reason.”

  Carl shook his head. “No, sir. I looked underneath the bandage yesterday, and it was all red and swelled up, sort of oozing around the cut. I called Dr. Harding and was supposed to go in there today.”

  Ben didn’t know what to say. He was glad Carl’s hand had healed quickly but wasn’t sure why Carl seemed so in awe of the situation. Carl had never talked much about any of his injuries. He wasn’t the type to go on this way even if his hand fell off completely.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Carl went on, “what I know, in my gut. I say it was the angel. I knew it the minute I touched it. I felt the power but I didn’t say anything.”

  Ben couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Was this really Carl Tulley talking? For a moment, Ben wondered if the man was mentally sound. Perhaps he’d had a minor stroke? But Carl looked and sounded perfectly normal. In fact, he sounded completely sincere.

  “I don’t understand, Carl. What are you talking about?”

  “The healing power. Of the angel. Be honest, Reverend. I won’t tell nobody. You must have felt it when we picked up the statue, or when you were cleaning it. I saw the look on your face. You can tell me the truth. I’m no snitch.”

  Ben was confounded. The angel had affected him emotionally, but that was to be expected. It was a fine and unusual piece of art.

  Had he felt any special power? Anything supernatural? No, he could honestly say he had not.

  He summoned a serious, respectful expression. “Carl, if that was your experience, if you had some special feeling while handling the statue, then who am I to contradict you? I think the statue is unique and quite beautiful. Personally, though, I didn’t feel anything unusual at all.”

  Except that his lower back hurt a bit from moving the heavy crate. But he didn’t want to sound as if he was making light of Carl’s experience.

  Carl didn’t answer. He looked down to the floor, his cap in hand. Ben saw he was disappointed by his answer.

  “Perhaps your hand was doing better than you thought,” Ben suggested.

  Carl shrugged. “Maybe it was. Sure, that must be it.” He held up his hand again and looked at it. “It was coming along quicker than I thought.”

  He met Ben’s gaze for an instant. “All right. Just thought I’d let you know. I better start work now.”

  Ben smiled gently at him, but felt unsettled by the exchange. It had taken a lot for Carl Tulley to make that unusual confession. Carl had looked to him for validation, but he honestly hadn’t felt any strange power while handling the statue.

  Ben checked the time. He was running late. He headed for the sanctuary to retrieve a folder he had left on the pulpit. He pushed open one heavy wooden door and walked in. The sanctuary didn’t get much light at this time of day. Dim and shadowy, a few pale yellow beams filtered through the stained glass windows on one side of the church, the side where the angel statue stood, up near the altar.

  Backlit by beams of light, it did look mysterious. Ben stood for a moment at the top of the center aisle and gazed at it. Could Carl’s story have any credence at all?

  No, of course not. It was Carl’s imagination, a wishful-thinking sort of thing.

  It was also exactly the opposite of what Ben would expect from their church sexton, a man who had been tried and convicted of second-degree murder, who had spent fifteen years in prison and many years af
ter, living on the streets, a homeless drifter.

  Carl was not exactly a warm and fuzzy character. And that was exactly what made his confession even harder to brush aside as some fantasy.

  Ben looked up at the angel’s face, her expression smooth as a placid lake, revealing nothing.

  No, it couldn’t be possible. What in the world was he thinking?

  He found his folder on the pulpit and walked quickly down the center aisle to the door. He didn’t look back at the angel again, determined not to give it another thought.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, MIRANDA SAT IN THE cottage, comparing Krista’s list with her own stock of supplies—beads and gemstones and pearls, silver wire and clasps, crimp and spacer beads. There wasn’t enough time to reorder the things she was out of—labradorite beads, for example. She wouldn’t be able to make the necklace that combined black opals, rainbow moonstones, and labradorite. Maybe Krista would accept a substitution. She did have extra garnet. Miranda began a list of her own. She could definitely make the earrings, more than half of the bracelets, and a few of the necklaces as well. She hoped it would be enough.

  Twenty minutes later, when Miranda returned to the house for breakfast, Adam was already at the table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.

  “Morning,” he said, looking pleased to see her.

  “Good morning,” Miranda replied. She was keenly conscious of the night before, of the way he had held her and of that moment when they had almost kissed. Was he thinking about it, too?

  Her grandmother stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl. She glanced at Miranda over her shoulder. “I feel more snow coming today. I feel it in my bad knee and I could smell it in the air when I let Dixie out.”

  Her grandmother’s sense of smell and her famous knee rivaled any forecast made with the most high-tech, sophisticated equipment. Miranda peered out the kitchen window. The sky was gray and heavy. They probably would get snow.

  Miranda poured herself a mug of coffee and sat at the table opposite Adam. “I’m going to call the Golden Moon and start on their order today. But I’ve got a few hours before they open. How would you feel about working inside today?”