A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  He slowed his step and looked down at her. Miranda met his gaze. She felt there was so much she wanted to say to him, so much in her heart. But she looked away quickly.

  They walked on for a few moments until Miranda paused in front of a small café. “This is a great place, not expensive either. Want to stop for a bite to eat?”

  “Sounds good.” Adam smiled at her. “Being hypnotized works up an appetite—who would have guessed?”

  Miranda laughed as he held the door open for her and they walked inside. The little café was cozy on a winter night. They had arrived well before the dinner rush and practically had the place to themselves.

  They sat at a table near the window and ordered dinner, with Miranda suggesting her favorite dishes. They didn’t talk at all about Adam’s memory loss or even his visit with Dr. Carter. It was as if they had made an unspoken pact to take a break from Adam’s problem.

  Adam asked her questions about her family and about her past, the years she’d lived in New York and worked as an actress.

  “So, you haven’t mentioned anything about a boyfriend, down in New York, I mean,” he said finally. “There must have been someone.”

  “There was a someone, another actor,” she admitted. “It was pretty serious for a while. But he…Well, eventually it fizzled out.” She shrugged.

  “Is that when you came up here?” Adam asked.

  “More or less.”

  “You must have been very disappointed.”

  “I was heartbroken, to be perfectly honest about it. But looking back, I’m relieved. Jake wasn’t right for me. It was all for the best.”

  “And what about Greg? Is he right for you?”

  Whoa, he cuts right to the chase, doesn’t he? Miranda wasn’t sure what to say. “I like Greg. We get along…But we don’t have a serious commitment yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Adam didn’t say anything for a while. He filled her cup with more tea, then poured some for himself. “You’re a special person, Miranda. It sounds to me like that guy Jake didn’t appreciate you. Or deserve to be with you.…I’m not sure Greg really appreciates you either.”

  Miranda gave a nervous laugh. “You make me sound like some sort of…prize.”

  “You are a prize. You’re an amazing woman. Don’t ever forget it.”

  Miranda felt embarrassed. She wasn’t used to such compliments. He sounded sincere, too, which made it even harder to handle.

  Jake had not really understood or appreciated her. That much was true. She wasn’t sure about Greg. Greg liked her and was attracted to her, but he didn’t really “get” her completely.

  Adam did, though. Maybe more than any man she had ever met. She felt good with him, as if he connected to the deepest part of her. It was easy, just for tonight, to pretend that a future between them was possible.

  Once they had finished eating, Miranda paid the check and they left their table. Just as they reached the door, a hostess stopped them. “Miss, is this your glove? I think you dropped it.”

  Miranda turned. “Oh, thanks. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

  Adam stood staring at the woman. Petite, with curly black hair that touched her shoulders, she was very pretty. But Miranda sensed that Adam’s intense interest in her had to do with something else altogether.

  Miranda touched his arm. “Do you remember her?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “Not really. Though there is something so familiar about her.”

  “Maybe we should ask her if she recognizes you?”

  He stared at the hostess, thinking about it for a moment. “All right. I guess I should.”

  The hostess had been seating a couple at a nearby table and now returned to the front of the restaurant. “Excuse me, miss,” Adam began. “You look very familiar, but I can’t remember where we may have met.” That much was true, Miranda thought. “Do I look familiar to you?” he asked hopefully.

  The woman looked confused, staring first at Adam and then briefly at Miranda. Miranda realized that the woman was wondering if Adam was trying to pick her up and couldn’t quite figure out how Miranda fit into the picture. Miranda smiled at her encouragingly until the woman looked back at Adam.

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t know you,” the hostess said. “Maybe you’ve seen me here?”

  “Sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else,” Adam said.

  Adam sighed as they stepped outside. “Another red herring.”

  “More of a brunette herring,” Miranda corrected him. She glanced his way and he smiled, then slipped his arm around her shoulder.

  “Let’s walk down to the water,” he said. Miranda fell into step beside him then slipped her arm around his waist. She knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t stop herself. It just felt right to be close to him.

  The waterside was chilly, but there was no wind. The sky was an inky blue-black color, studded with tiny pinpoints of lights. A thin crescent moon hung above the dark water. The harbor was nearly empty. A large white boat, trimmed with lights, drifted some distance from the shore.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Adam said quietly. “I can see why you don’t want to leave.”

  “I still might,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I feel as if my life is just as confused as yours. And I know my name and remember my past. Too much of it,” she added.

  He turned his head and smiled down at her. “You’ll figure out the right thing to do. I have faith in you.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I’m certainly not in any great position to give advice, but trying to figure out my identity has made me see something really important. I could be…anything. An insurance salesman, a brain surgeon, an astronaut. People have a lot more choices than they realize or even want to consider. Just figure out what will make you happy, Miranda, and follow your heart.”

  Miranda winced, unable to help thinking that the expression was a cliché.

  “Did that sound sappy?” Adam asked her, a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “It’s the right thing to do anyway,” he said. “That’s about the only thing I’m sure of.”

  Miranda didn’t answer. She turned her head against his shoulder and looked up at his strong profile. He was right. All these choices were unnerving to say the least. But the right choice would emerge, if she could sort out her true feelings.

  Right now, her heart was leading her to Adam. He was not the right choice, but the one she wanted.

  Just for this moment, he was here. She was close to him, in his arms, and she willed herself not to think about what might happen tomorrow. Or even an hour from now.

  Adam turned, so that they stood face-to-face. He put both arms around her and touched his lips to her forehead. When she lifted her head to look at him, he kissed her on the mouth. Softly at first, then deeper. It was as wonderful as Miranda had ever imagined a kiss could be. Even better. She felt perfectly in tune with him, as if their minds and souls were merging in a graceful dance.

  She had never felt so right with anyone. Certainly not with Jake, or even Greg.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stood there together. It might have been minutes, or hours. Out at sea, a foghorn sounded, calling her back to reality.

  She pulled away slowly. Adam seemed reluctant to let her go but finally did. “That wasn’t an accident,” he said softly.

  “No,” she agreed.

  “I have strong feelings for you, Miranda. You must know that by now. And not just gratitude, either.”

  “I know that,” she said simply. “I care for you, too. I know I shouldn’t,” she added. “But I do.”

  He took her hand. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I would give anything if things were different. I don’t have anything to offer you, Miranda. I have no idea of who I am, or what my obligations are. But I can’t imagine feeling any happier with anyone. I feel…right with you. I feel as if you were meant to find me, to just…wake me up and lead
me to a new life.”

  Miranda pressed her fingers to his lips, willing herself not to cry. “You don’t have to say any more. I wish it were different, too. You have a life somewhere, people who love you. Who miss you. You belong there, not here with me. We need to remember that.”

  “I’m trying to. But it isn’t easy.”

  Miranda didn’t answer him. It wasn’t easy, not for either one of them.

  MIRANDA STOOD AT THE KITCHEN SINK THE NEXT morning, washing the breakfast dishes, and thinking of what Adam had said the night before. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so elated and at the same time, so achingly sad. She couldn’t even bear to think about the kiss. That was something she needed to forget, and quickly. Remembering the touch of his lips on hers was overwhelming. It made her feel as if she would never be happy again.

  Fortunately, Adam was upstairs now. He had woken early and he and Sophie were already working on the ceiling in one of the guest rooms. Miranda was glad to have missed them. She wasn’t quite ready to face Adam again. The phone rang and she answered it, welcoming the distraction.

  “Good morning,” Greg said, and her heart sank. This wasn’t the distraction that she wanted. “I know it’s early but I’m going to be out all day on a job, and I wanted to make sure I caught you,” he explained.

  It took Miranda a moment to make sense of that, and then she remembered. They had a date for that night. Her first impulse was to make some excuse, to say she didn’t feel well or needed to do something for her grandmother. But she hung tight, feeling that would be dishonest. Greg deserved better.

  After the usual small talk, Greg brought up their plans for the evening. “I hate to cancel on you at the last minute, Miranda, but my ex has to go out of town to help her sister. She asked if I could pick up Lily and bring her to an ice-skating party tonight. I’m really sorry, but parenthood calls. I hope it’s all right?”

  “Of course it’s all right. Don’t even think about it. Lily needs you. I totally understand.” Greg didn’t suggest that she come along to the party and keep him company, and Miranda understood that, too.

  Greg had mentioned introducing her to his daughter sometime soon, but he didn’t want to confuse Lily and introduce Miranda unless he felt it was a serious, long-term relationship. Right now their relationship seemed headed in that direction, but wasn’t quite there. Miranda could hardly argue. As much as she wanted to meet the little girl, she knew it was a big step, one that she didn’t take lightly either.

  They talked for a few more minutes, then Greg said, “Look, the next couple of days are going to be busy for me. How about if we don’t make any plans right now, but I’ll call you during the week? My calendar should be clearer then.”

  “That’s fine,” Miranda told him. She was hoping that in a few days, her feelings would be clearer, too.

  THE DEACONATE ASSEMBLED AT A LONG TABLE SET UP IN Fellowship Hall on Saturday morning, with eight of the ten members responding to Ben’s call. He thought it was a good showing for such short notice.

  Tucker Tulley, the senior deacon, called the meeting to order. “Sorry to put a kink in everyone’s Saturday plans, but this is an important situation. We need to discuss it and devise some plan to handle it. Reverend, do you want to get us started?”

  Ben shook his head. “Actually, I called you all here because I wanted to hear your opinions. I have very conflicted feelings about this situation, so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to listen for a while.”

  “Fair enough.” Tucker turned to address the group. “I’m sure by now you’ve all seen the statue in the sanctuary. Reverend Ben found it in the basement about two weeks ago and thought it would make a nice Christmas decoration. The very next day my stepbrother, Carl, claimed that a pretty serious cut on his hand was healed by just touching the statue. Digger Hegman says the angel cured his arthritis, and there are other people making similar claims.” Tucker paused and looked down at his notes. “We also have folks from out of town coming to our church just to see the statue. They pray by it and leave written petitions. The church is getting pretty full on Sundays, which I suppose is the upside,” he added, glancing at Ben. “But do we want our church filled with folks looking for a miracle? Do we want to be known as the church with the magic angel?”

  Harry Reilly spoke up. “Guess that depends on whether or not we think those claims are true. I mean, what if people start to say it’s a hoax? Then we’re known in a different way. Why risk it? I say we just take the statue down and forget about it.”

  “We certainly don’t want the reputation of the church to suffer, but there’s another, more serious dimension here,” said Arthur Hinkle, who did surveying for the county. “What if someone stops chemotherapy because they think the angel is going to cure their cancer? That’s the kind of situation I’m wary of.”

  Isabel Englehart, a librarian at the high school, rose and asked to be heard. Most of the other deacons respected her opinion, and Ben was interested to hear what she had to say.

  “Arthur has a point,” she conceded, “though I think if someone’s going to give up on their medical treatment, they’ll do it with or without the angel. To me, it’s a blessing to have so many visitors drawn to our church. Maybe that’s the miracle of this statue after all. Maybe people come to see the angel, but they end up staying for the service. Next Sunday, maybe they’ll come again. I think anyone who prays to a statue realizes that their prayer might not be answered, so they aren’t going to blame our church. Meanwhile, the congregation is growing. And we all know that’s a good thing.”

  Now there was a point Ben had never even thought of. Maybe the angel’s purpose was to bring new members to his church.

  “All that might be well and true,” Tucker countered. “But I say it’s sort of sad if we need to resort to using some cheap trick to build our membership. I don’t think that’s a very good way to grow the congregation.”

  Sam Morgan had been atypically quiet, Ben noticed. Now he rose to speak. Sam was a modest man who earned his living as a woodworker. He was younger than many of the other deacons, but had many friends in town and was well respected. He was more than a carpenter, too, Ben knew. Sam was an artist, able to form rough hunks of wood into beautiful pieces of furniture, his own one-of-a-kind designs. Perhaps he appreciated this statue in a different way, Ben thought, as an artist.

  “I’ve been listening to everyone’s point of view,” Sam began. “I think most of you raise some good questions and have some valid concerns about how outsiders see our church. But what I don’t understand is, what’s the harm if people come to visit this statue? If they want to pray or even leave petitions? Isn’t their expression of faith the important thing? Wouldn’t it be wrong to deny or discourage that?” He paused and looked around. No one interrupted him, Ben noticed.

  Sam glanced over at Tucker. “Sure, they’re coming to see the angel because they heard the stories. I don’t think we can ever say for sure if those stories are true. But aren’t all these people really coming because they want to communicate with some greater power? Not just the angel. They’re looking to heaven for help with their problems. I don’t think that hope should be taken away, especially not at Christmastime.”

  Sam’s simple point hit home with Ben. It seemed to score a bull’s-eye in his very heart. Maybe he had been wrestling with the issue logically, with practical and even theological questions that entirely missed the spiritual essence of the situation.

  People came to the angel, seeking help from God with their problems. Their expression of faith was the important thing. The most important thing.

  Ben rose and looked around. “I’ve been confused about this situation, which is why I called you together to discuss it. Now Sam has reminded me of one very crucial point. In the midst of all the fabricated holiday cheer, the TV commercials and store decorations, there are so many people who are privately hurting, even people who may seem as if their lives are carefree. People who are, as Sam says, carrying some secr
et burden. Carrying it all the way to our church in the slim hope that this statue will help them communicate their need to God. Can we take that away from them? At Christmastime? That seems very wrong to me, too.”

  Ben looked around at the group, noticing some disgruntled faces and others nodding in agreement.

  When no one spoke, Ben added, “I think we should leave the statue up, at least until the holiday is over. Can we agree on that much?”

  A few of the deacons exchanged glances, but no one objected. Ben felt they had reached a conclusion to the discussion, if not a consensus.

  “Since there’s no further comment, I’ll take that to mean you all agree to this plan,” Tucker looked around the room. “So the statue stays up until the holidays are over. Which actually, won’t be too much longer.”

  Ben thanked them all for coming, and the deacons quickly dispersed, eager to get back to their Saturday routine and errands. Ben shut off the lights in Fellowship Hall and closed the doors. He was about to leave the church himself, dressed in his coat and hat, when he decided to detour into the sanctuary.

  He peeked in the doorway. There were three worshipers present, all kneeling near the statue, each looking absorbed in their private prayers.

  He quietly walked closer and looked up at the angel, trying to figure out its remarkable appeal. There was an eerily human look of faith in the angel’s expression, a calm courage in her eyes.

  He felt a calming energy settle into his very center, soothing his anxieties. He suddenly felt clearheaded about the entire issue.

  He wouldn’t remove the angel or make any statement about its alleged powers. Sam had been right. People were coming to the church seeking help, with hope and faith. Not just from the angel, but from God above. He shouldn’t worry about the gossip or the negative judgments some might make about the church. Or even about himself, for that matter.

  Expressions of faith and hope and yearning toward the powers above shouldn’t be discouraged. Especially at Christmas.

  CHAPTER SEVEN