A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  “A baby wouldn’t be so bad,” Jillian reasoned aloud. “I mean, that’s sort of cool to have one at your age.”

  Molly laughed. “Thanks a lot. You sound like I belong in the Guinness Book of World Records. I’m not that old.”

  “I don’t get it,” Lauren said. “Amanda and I are nearly in college, and Jill is already in middle school. What do you want to go and have a baby for?”

  Good point, Molly nearly replied. I don’t get it myself.

  When she didn’t answer, Lauren added, “Guess it was an accident, right?”

  Molly saw Matt’s head snap back and felt her own do the same.

  Matt was the first to react. “This baby is a blessing. Not an accident. Don’t ever say that again,” he told Lauren. “We didn’t plan on expanding the family, but we’re grateful and happy about the news.” He looked over at Molly and covered her hand with his own.

  Molly knew he expected her to jump in and back him up, but this was one of those rare times that she found herself at a loss for words. “Sometimes…these things just happen, honey,” she finally managed to say. “You have to…accept it.”

  She could tell from the look on Matt’s face that she had given the B answer.

  “Wait a second. Does this mean I get stuck with all the babysitting?” Jill turned to her mother, looking stricken. “There goes my social life.”

  Lauren laughed. “What social life?”

  Jill just glared at her. Molly realized that her point was totally valid. With Amanda and Lauren away, Jill was going to be their only built-in sitter.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll let you out of the house once in a while,” Molly promised. “We don’t want you to end up going to a therapist over this.”

  Even Matt had to laugh at that. “All right, girls, help clean up. We’re leaving for church in half an hour,” he said.

  Molly was glad for the abrupt interruption. She had felt like a high-level politician, holding a press conference. She thought she had come prepared, but some of the questions had been rough.

  “You sit. Finish your tea,” Matt said, using his firm, doctor voice.

  For once, Molly stayed put and watched as he and the girls cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. They ran upstairs to change, and suddenly, she was alone with Matt.

  He came back to the table, and she could see that he was upset. She knew why, too.

  “How do you feel—any better?” he asked as he sat down again.

  “Somewhat. My stomach seems to have settled down.” The truth was she still felt queasy, but she didn’t want to sound like a complainer. She wasn’t the first woman to get morning sickness and she wouldn’t be the last.

  “Why don’t you stay home? I’ll take the kids to church. I’ll take them out for lunch after, too. You can just relax.”

  He really was so thoughtful, trying to make things easy for her.

  “Lunch is a good idea. Better take them someplace where they can all order BLTs,” she added with a small smile.

  His expression was serious. “I know you don’t feel well, Molly. But you could have sounded a bit more positive about the baby. Even if it was just for the kids.”

  Molly winced at that. Basically, she agreed with him, and at the same time she couldn’t help feeling a little resentful.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I should have sounded more upbeat. Spending the morning in the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl may have drained my enthusiasm.”

  He gave her a reluctant smile. “Okay. I understand. This is just the first family conversation about it. We have nine more months to sound more upbeat. Right?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  She wished she did feel upbeat about the pregnancy. Then she wouldn’t have to act. It wouldn’t feel like such a strain—or such an issue between them.

  He looked as if he were about to say something more then seemed to change his mind. “So, why don’t you head back up to bed? I’ll bring you the Sunday papers and some more tea before I go.”

  “That’s okay, honey. I’m just going to sleep,” she said. “I’m sure that will make me feel better.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will, too. I think you’re just tired and overworked. You’ll feel better if you sleep.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Molly rose and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the sweetest and most handsome doctor I’ve seen in a long time. Your patients must be lined up around the block.”

  He hugged her close. “I love you. And I don’t say that to all my patients…only a very, very few,” he teased.

  The phone rang. Molly didn’t budge. She knew the girls would pounce on it.

  A few seconds later, Amanda called down the staircase, “Molly…it’s for you. Sonya, from the shop.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Matt said. “Let me. I’ll tell Sonya you’re not feeling well.”

  “Don’t be silly, I have to answer it. We have a big party going on today.”

  Molly glanced at her watch, trying to gauge the stage of preparations. Normally, she would have called to check in by now. But what with feeling sick and then talking to the girls, she had lost track of time.

  She picked up the extension in the kitchen. “Hi, Sonya. What’s up?”

  “Sorry to bother you at home. But it’s a disaster. This client…this Mrs. Norris…she’s driving me crazy. Did you promise dendrobium orchids in the centerpieces? Because we didn’t get dendrobium, just plain old white ones…and she’s going bananas. And that’s the least of it…”

  Sonya was a terrific cook, extremely creative and hardworking. She was Molly’s best employee and a potential first lieutenant if ever she had one. But Sonya was not great with clients and all their seemingly impossible demands. She tended to lose her patience with women like Mrs. Norris, and quickly.

  “Sonya, don’t worry. Put her on the phone, will you? Is she around?”

  “She just took a break from beating up on me. She’s out, getting her nails done. I pity the poor manicurist.”

  “Okay, hold tight. I’ll be right over.”

  “Thanks, Molly. I don’t want to end up as a headline in the Messenger tomorrow—if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. If she comes back before I get there, just…hide in the van or something. Tell her I’m coming.”

  “Will do. See you later.” Sounding relieved, Sonya hung up.

  Molly took a deep breath. She looked like a wreck and felt even worse. Even a fast shower and makeup weren’t going to help much. But there was no help for it.

  She got up from her chair and headed upstairs. Matt was in the family room, reading the paper while he waited for the girls. She had a hunch that he had overheard every word and tried her best to sneak up the staircase before he noticed.

  “Molly, you’re not going out, are you?”

  She turned and tightened the belt on her robe. “Well…it looks like I have to. Sonya is having trouble with an important client. She can’t handle it. I have to go and bail her out.”

  Matt rose and came toward her. “Just talk to the client over the phone. Tell her the truth. Tell her you’re sick and that you trust Sonya to run the party.”

  That was the problem. Molly didn’t really trust Sonya to resolve things.

  Mrs. Norris was a new client and an important one. If she recommended Molly to her friends, it would open up an entire new business territory. A territory monopolized by her larger, established competitors, and one Molly had been trying to edge her way into.

  “Look, I just have to go. Yes, Mrs. Norris is throwing a hissy fit over nothing. But she wants me to handle it. If that’s what it takes to win her over, I’m there.”

  Matt shook his head. “I can’t stop you. I know that by now. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to draw the line, Molly. You’re going to have to make some tough choices.”

  She stared at him but didn’t answer. She knew that already, thanks very much. Wasn’t that the very reason she had been unhapp
y about getting pregnant?

  Twenty minutes later, Molly climbed into her car and headed for the problematic party. Mrs. Norris lived in the heart of the village, in a large Victorian on Mariner’s Way, one of the loveliest streets in town. The house, which faced the bay, was restored to perfection and beautifully decorated. Mrs. Norris was forever reminding people that her house was on the historic register and that her ancestors had come across on the Mayflower. This only made Molly feel great sympathy for the other Mayflower passengers.

  Molly tried to center herself, summoning her game face. Normally, she could deal with the Mrs. Norris–type without blinking an eye. But today she felt her force field down, her energy low. It didn’t help at all that normally unnoticeable smells in her car—the leather seats, the heater, the scent from the engine coming through the air ducts, some traces of perfume on her scarf—were setting off her stomach again.

  Molly opened the windows and felt the cold bracing air sweep in. She took in a few deep, gasping breaths. But it seemed a losing battle.

  “Don’t get sick again. Do not get sick again…” she told herself over and over.

  Her mantra did not prevail. She pulled over just in time and ran out of the car, sticking her head in a bush. Luckily, it was vacant property. She stood up and wiped her mouth with a bunch of tissues then ran back to her car.

  Matt had been right. She was too sick today to run around and put out fires. She should have handled the whole thing over the phone. Now what was she going to do? She was too far from home to run back and change her clothes. If she called now claiming to be sick, Mrs. Norris would think she was lying.

  She was so close, too. The house was just up the hill and over a few streets.

  Suddenly she realized that so was her best friend, Betty. That’s what she would do. She would clean up at Betty’s house, then plow on.

  Molly pulled out her cell phone, punched in Betty’s number on speed dial, and started the car. She sent up a quick prayer of gratitude as Betty picked up on the first ring.

  “Betty? It’s me. I’m so glad you’re home. Can I stop by for a minute? I’m having a little emergency.”

  “Sure, come on by. What’s going on?” Betty sounded concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really,” Molly admitted. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  “Should I come pick you up? Can you drive?” Betty sounded worried now.

  Molly tried to soothe her. “I’m fine to drive. I just have bad morning sickness.”

  “Then come right over. I’m here for you.” It was a much used and even over-used saying, but Molly knew Betty really meant it.

  Less than five minutes later, Molly found Betty waiting for her at the front door. “You poor thing. Come into the living room and lie down on the couch.…”

  “Do I look that bad? I just want to use the bathroom and maybe borrow a blouse.”

  Betty took Molly’s coat. “You’re pale as a sheet. You can’t just run in and out of here. How about some tea?”

  Why was everyone always offering her tea lately? Molly didn’t even like the stuff, and it had never once settled her stomach.

  “I’ll have some ginger ale if there’s any handy.”

  “Coming right up. My mother used to say it had to be flat to do any good for an upset stomach.”

  Molly took a seat at the kitchen table and watched as Betty poured some ginger ale into a glass then added a drop of tap water.

  Betty handed her the glass. “Where in the world are you going in such a panic?”

  “Sonya called. Mrs. Norris is throwing a hissy fit over the centerpieces. She’s just annoyed because I didn’t do her party personally.”

  “Oh, Madeline Norris. Say no more. That woman makes a fetish out of bullying the hired help. I was at a luncheon once and she made a huge scene about finding a minuscule crack in her soup cup. I mean, you needed a microscope to see it. Drove the waiters crazy.”

  “Sounds about right. So, you know her?” Molly asked.

  “We were on some board together. The historical society, I guess it was.” Betty knew everyone in town, especially Cape Light’s high society.

  Betty found a box of plain crackers and brought them to the table. She sat down across from Molly. “If you don’t have an upset stomach before you deal with Madeline, most people get one during or after.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel much better.” Molly sipped her soda and took a bite of a cracker.

  “I just call ’em the way I seem ’em, honey.”

  Molly knew that by now. It was one of the reasons she and Betty, who seemed so opposite in many ways, got along so well.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you send me? I know her. I can deal with her, board member to board member.”

  “Oh, that’s a tempting suggestion,” Molly said. “And I’m sure you could deal with her, but, no offense, you don’t really know anything about catering. She might get even angrier if I sent you to sort things out.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve been to parties. I know a canapé from an entree,” Betty teased. “Bread dish on the left, beverage on the right? Besides, I’ve been hanging around your shop so much lately, I feel as if I’m already on the payroll.”

  “True,” Molly said. She sometimes felt that way, too. While Betty hung around, taste testing, Molly often got her involved in some question or little business problem. Betty was always either helping her work out the staff schedule or revising her ad copy.

  But, no…It wouldn’t work.

  Molly felt a sudden surge in her stomach that sent her running to the bathroom. When she emerged a few minutes later, Betty had a cold cloth ready for her face. “Come on,” she said. “You need to lie down.”

  Betty led her upstairs to the quiet, dimly lit guest room. Molly gratefully stretched out on the bed, two pillows stacked beneath her head and a rubber bucket at her side.

  “Case closed,” Betty said, pressing the cool cloth to Molly’s brow. “Don’t worry. I can handle Mrs. Norris. She’ll be calling you tomorrow, thanking you for my visit.”

  Molly doubted that would happen. The best she could hope for was that the problem with the centerpieces would be resolved and the party would run relatively smoothly. But she knew Mrs. Norris would never call her again, and certainly not to thank her for Betty’s visit.

  Molly grinned at her friend. “Check all the soup cups for cracks, now that I’m thinking of it.”

  “Will do. You know me, I was born to manage. It doesn’t take much more than that.” Betty leaned over and tucked an afghan around her shoulders. “Should I call Matt, tell him you’re here?”

  Molly shook her head. “I’ll tell him.” Later, she thought. Much later.

  Betty headed toward the door. “If you decide to go before I get back, just close the front door. It will lock behind you.”

  “All right. I’ll remember…Betty?”

  Betty stopped by the doorway to look at her. “Yes?”

  “If it’s a girl, we’re naming her after you,” Molly croaked.

  Betty grinned. “I’m touched. But what are friends for?”

  Molly didn’t answer. Betty disappeared and she closed her eyes.

  There are friends, and there is Betty, she thought. That’s the difference.

  THE CHOIR LED THE CONGREGATION IN THE CLOSING hymn as Ben made his way to the back of the church. When the hymn was over, he raised his hands and delivered the final blessing over the rows of worshipers who stood with heads bowed.

  “…and let us now go forth and live the faith we’ve proclaimed here today. Amen.”

  Even before the introit had ended, the pews began emptying. It was interesting the way the congregation members who regularly attended the Sunday service always sat in the same places, almost as if the church had assigned seating. Or perhaps it harkened back to the days when each family owned their own “box” in the old New England churches.

  Lillian Warwick, the village’s reigning grande da
me, was not old enough to remember those days, but she had often told Ben of the box her Brahmin ancestors claimed in one of Boston’s “best” churches. She made a point of always sitting up front on the pulpit side and usually had some member of her family with her. Now Ben noticed her coming down the aisle. Her daughter Emily Warwick, the town’s mayor, was at her side. Emily’s husband, Dan, and their adopted daughter, Jane, followed. Jane was in her terrible twos, Ben had noticed, but managed to last for most of the service. Her father only had to take her out twice.

  Matt Harding, on the other hand, sat in the back, along with his daughter and two stepdaughters. The three girls were all growing so tall and lovely, Ben hardly recognized them from week to week. He didn’t see Molly, but knew that her work often conflicted with Sunday service. She got to church when she could and that was fine, too.

  Sophie Potter sat toward the middle, near the aisle, alongside her granddaughter Miranda. Ben had read about the man they found on the Potter Orchard, the man with amnesia, but he didn’t see anyone fitting that description sitting near them. It appeared that even Sophie, with her powerful talent for persuasion, had not been able to lure her houseguest to church.

  He couldn’t help but notice Lucy Bates with her bright red hair and her two sons sitting in a back row. Tucker Tulley and his wife, Fran, sat next to her. Unlike his buddy Charlie, Tucker was an active member of the church. He was the senior deacon now and usually came early to help set up.

  Ben had been looking for him this morning, hoping to have a word about Carl and the angel story. But it wasn’t Tucker’s turn to serve so he had slipped in late, during the announcements. Ben decided that if he missed Tucker this morning, he would give him a call. After all, Tucker had been the first to repeat his brother’s story. He could have told half the town by now.

  The weeks before Christmas usually brought new faces into church, but there were many more today than the holiday could account for. Ben had noticed it from his pulpit view. As most of the congregation lined up to greet him, he also noticed how many hung back and collected around the angel.

  Some sat in the nearby pews to pray. Others reached out to touch it. He noticed more than one person tuck a little piece of white paper under the statue’s base. A prayer petition, he guessed.