A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  When she got far enough away from the house so that no one could hear her or see her, she sank down against the trunk of one of the apple trees. Sitting on the cold ground, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head cradled on her arms, Miranda finally let herself cry.

  MIRANDA DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG SHE HAD BEEN sitting in the orchard when she saw the detective’s car pull into the driveway. She wiped her eyes and her tear-streaked cheeks, feeling torn between the need to see Adam one more time and say good-bye, and the urge to hide until he was gone.

  Finally, she walked down to the house. As she slipped in the side door, she heard voices in the living room. She drifted quietly into the room and saw her grandmother and Detective Lester standing together. Adam stood a short distance away, his expression grim. A woman stood next to him, staring up adoringly. Miranda didn’t need to be told that was his fiancée, the woman who had come to take him.

  Strangely, Adam wasn’t looking at his fiancée. His eyes roamed the room until he caught sight of Miranda, then he looked at her as if he were drinking in her image. Miranda stared back, unable to look away. She couldn’t just stand there gazing at him; she knew that if she did, she would burst into tears again.

  Instead, she walked closer, coming to stand next to her grandmother. She studied the attractive woman who stood by Adam’s side, her arm around his waist, squeezing him close, as if she could hardly believe he was real.

  Miranda knew she would act the same way in her place. She felt a sudden unexpected pang of sympathy for the woman, realizing that she must have been out of her mind with worry these last few weeks. Miranda also felt a reluctant curiosity—this was the woman whom Adam had fallen in love with. What was she like?

  As Miranda studied her, the first thing she realized was that they were almost complete physical opposites. Adam’s fiancée was petite with curly black hair and—Miranda nearly gasped as she made the connection. The woman’s hair was the same color and length as the café hostess’s in Newburyport.

  Oh, I was such a fool, Miranda thought. I should have guessed then that Adam was remembering his significant other. Instead, I downplayed the moment, even made a joke about it. She had been in denial, blinded by her own feelings for him and the chance to spend one carefree night in his company.

  She and Adam had had a few precious hours alone together. This woman would be with him for the rest of her life.

  “This is Miranda,” Adam said to his fiancée. “She’s the one who found me. Miranda, this is Lisa,” he added.

  Adam’s fiancée extended her hand, and Miranda had no choice but to shake it. She drew on all her training as an actress, struggling to keep her expression relaxed and friendly. “Great to meet you, Lisa. What a happy day for you. For both of you.”

  “I’m so thrilled!” the other woman told her. “I can’t believe it. I finally found Eric! You can’t imagine how I worried.”

  Eric, Miranda thought. His name was Eric.

  “I’m so grateful to you both,” Lisa went on. “How can I ever thank you two?” She turned to Sophie, taking her hand. “You must let us pay you back for your trouble, for the medical bills at the very least. I hate to think of what could have happened to him if he had just been left to…to wander around…homeless…”

  “We didn’t do so much,” Sophie said, patting her arm. “We’re just thankful that he’s going home now. I’m sure once you’re both back in your own routine, his memory will return.”

  Miranda felt sure of that, too. From what she could see, Lisa was a bright, caring woman and he must be happy with her. Now that they had been parted and reunited, they would probably be even more eager to get married. When Miranda could stop feeling sorry for herself for a second or two, she actually felt happy for him. And even for Lisa, who, she reasoned, must love him, even more than she did.

  Once he regained his memory, the time at the orchard would seem like a crazy aberration, something as strange and isolated as his period of memory loss. And that’s the way I’ve got to see it, too, Miranda decided.

  He was quiet, she noticed, barely responding to all the attention. He seemed to be in shock as he gazed over Lisa’s head at Miranda.

  Their eyes met again, and she held his gaze for a long, breathless moment.

  Then Sophie reached up and embraced him again. “Good-bye, Adam…I mean, Eric. You know you’re always welcome here. You come back and visit sometime, all right?”

  “Yes, Sophie. I will. I promise,” he said as he let her go.

  He stepped back and faced Miranda. She didn’t move toward him, though her spirit willed her to. Her feet felt like two bricks.

  She couldn’t say good-bye to him. Not with all these people watching. Especially not in front of his fiancée. She wouldn’t be able to hold herself together. She was just barely hanging on as it was.

  He made a move forward, as if to hug her, too. But she quickly took his hand and forced a smile. “Good-bye, Adam.” She realized her mistake at once, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to call him by his real name. To her he would always be Adam. She tried again. “Good-bye and good luck.”

  “Good-bye, Miranda…and good luck to you.”

  He stood staring at her a moment, then Lisa touched his arm. “Is this all your stuff, honey?”

  He looked down as if he had forgotten she was in the room. “Yes, just that one shopping bag.”

  Miranda noticed he carried his journal, which had grown to three notebooks.

  “Okay, I’ll take you two back to town. It’s getting late,” Detective Lester said.

  He herded the couple out of the house and into his car. Miranda and Sophie watched from the front door as they drove away, headed back to town and back to Adam’s real life.

  “Well, that’s that.” Sophie shut the door and turned to her granddaughter. “I knew when he got the call, it would happen suddenly. But I didn’t think he would be gone that fast.”

  “No, neither did I,” Miranda said honestly.

  “His fiancée seems nice. Seems devoted to him.”

  “Very nice,” Miranda agreed. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  “I think he will, too.” Sophie walked into the living room and lowered herself into a favorite armchair. She made a sound as she sat down, as if her body ached. Miranda realized that all this excitement was probably wearing on her as well.

  Miranda followed her into the living room but didn’t sit. She needed to be alone. She needed to absorb the reality of what had just happened. She felt the loss keenly, like a knife slicing into her side and leaving a big gaping hole. She wanted to cry, to scream and rail against fate, which had been so cruel to offer a man she could love, unequivocally, then just snatch him away.

  Her grandmother glanced at her and sighed. “I know you’re hurting, honey. But in time, it will get better. You won’t be the same. I’m not saying you’ll forget. But somehow you’ll put the broken bits back together and keep going.”

  Miranda didn’t answer. She just nodded and headed out to the cottage.

  The big empty studio was eerily quiet. She noticed the blank places where Adam’s belongings had been and looked away, the sight painful.

  She had the place all to herself now. She could spread out her materials and take over, without worrying about his schedule. Of course, that change gave her no satisfaction at all.

  Miranda sat at her table and forced herself to pick up the necklace she had started that morning. The design was influenced by the jewelry of the Ancient Egyptians and very intricate. She strung one bead and then the next, as if in a trance, stopping every now and then to wipe her eyes.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had been working. She glanced out the window and realized it was dark outside. A while later, her grandmother poked her head in the door, asking if she wanted any supper.

  “Not right now, thanks. I’m not very hungry.”

  Her stomach hurt from crying so much. Her broken heart made her feel as if she would never want to eat again.
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  “I’ll save something for you on the stove. You can heat it up later if you like,” Sophie said.

  A few moments later, Sophie was back, a little breathless. “There’s a phone call for you, Miranda. Want them to hold, or should I take a message?”

  Miranda’s heart beat double time. She had a wild impossible hope that it was Adam, calling to say he couldn’t live without her.

  But, of course, her grandmother would have recognized his voice.

  “Is it Greg? I forgot to call him back.” Adam’s departure had distracted her from everything. She knew Greg would be wondering why she hadn’t returned his call.

  “No, it’s not Greg. I know his voice by now.” Sophie started toward the door. “I’ll just take a message for you.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll come and get it.”

  Miranda walked quickly into the house and picked up the phone, which was sitting on the kitchen counter. “Hello?” she said cautiously.

  “Is this Miranda Potter?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Yes, it is. Who is calling?”

  “This is Alan Halpern, with the New City Theater Company.”

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Halpern. How are you?” Miranda heard her words come out in a rush. She supposed it was better to play it cool with these directors, but she was out of practice in that area.

  He was finally getting back to her about King Lear. Would he be calling if it were bad news? She didn’t think so, but nearly everything about a life in the theater was notoriously unpredictable.

  Halpern laughed. “I’m fine. I’m just calling to follow up on your audition. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for us to make a decision, but our producer, Dick Winston, has been in London the last few weeks. He’s finally returned and we’ve finalized our decisions. We’d love to have you join the company, Miranda, to play the role of Cordelia, if you’re still available.”

  Available? She had never felt more available in her life. Like a helium balloon cut loose and floating far up over the trees and houses, into the sky.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m not under contract for any other roles right now.”

  “Good, just what I wanted to hear. I’ll go over the offer with you right now, if you like.”

  “Yes, of course.” Miranda grabbed a pad and pencil and began jotting down notes as the director outlined the contract. The pay was even better than she expected, definitely more than what she had been getting when she lived in New York.

  Part of her wanted to accept immediately. To pack her bags and run away from all the poignant reminders of Adam. He would never come back here, come back to her. And staying here without him suddenly seemed so bleak and painful.

  The offer seemed a blessing, just the ticket out she needed.

  But another part of her counseled her to take her time. To think it through. All the angles and consequences. This show wasn’t going to run for a weekend or even a week. It was a huge commitment, nearly a year on the road. She would be putting all her eggs in the acting basket again. Giving up her fledgling business, her relationship with Greg, her promise to help her grandmother, and her life in the orchard—among the trees at the top of the hill, the place that had restored her.

  Finally Halpern was done. “So…how does that sound to you?”

  Miranda paused. “It’s a great package. But it’s hard to make a big decision on something like this over the phone. I’m sorry. I just need to think it over a bit…if that’s okay.”

  “Is it the money? I can speak to Dick. Maybe we can do better.”

  “No, it’s not the money. The salary is fine,” she said honestly. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to offer me the part. It’s sort of a shock.”

  A stunning shock. The second in one day.

  “Of course. I understand, Miranda. I’ll send the contract overnight mail. You take your time, look it over. Call me if you have any questions. Can you give us a decision the week after Christmas?”

  “That would be fine. And thank you…I feel really honored that you asked me.”

  “You’re a very talented actress, Miranda. We’d be thrilled to have you join us.”

  Theater people were known for hyperbolic, over-the-top compliments. Miranda tried to keep the director’s comments in perspective. But it felt good to hear the words from someone who was at the top of her field, someone she respected.

  They wished each other happy holidays and Miranda hung up. She sat back in her seat, feeling stunned. Miranda knew she should share the good news with her grandmother and maybe even ask for some advice.

  But her first thought was to tell Adam.

  And he was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS A VERY BUSY WEEK AT CHURCH FOR BEN. Christmas Eve fell on Monday, and Christmas Day, on Tuesday. Counting the usual Sunday service, he would be preaching three days in a row, a marathon of services and sermons.

  On Sunday, the church was full, but cleared out quickly, the congregation taking an abbreviated coffee hour afterward. Everyone seemed to be rushing around, eager to find the last items on their Christmas lists.

  Ben was also eager to get home. He and Carolyn were having their own family gathering on Christmas Eve, and his wife had a long list of jobs for him to do. Tucker Tulley was in charge of closing the church today, so Ben didn’t feel he needed to stay until the building was empty.

  He returned to his office to remove his vestments and pick up his hat and coat. He was halfway out the door when he remembered he had left some notes on the pulpit. With a sigh, he returned to the sanctuary. He grabbed his notes and headed down the aisle. Just as he drew even with the last row of pews, he felt a heavy hand on his arm.

  Ben turned to face a tall man, well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a tuft of white hair around his bald head. He wore a long, dark blue overcoat and a dark red muffler. Ben had noticed him at the service, another visitor drawn to the angel statue.

  He appeared to be in his late seventies but he looked fit, and the single touch on Ben’s shoulder hinted at undiminished strength. His blue eyes were sharp as he gazed down at Ben. “Excuse me, Reverend. May I speak to you a moment?”

  Ben nodded and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses a bit higher on his nose. “Can I help you with something?”

  “That angel statue. I read about it in the newspaper. Do you know where it came from? The newspaper didn’t say.”

  “I believe it was donated to the church sometime in the early 1950s, though no one in the family who gave the gift is still a member here. I have good reason to believe the statue was once in a church in France,” Ben answered, watching the man’s expression. “A long time ago, before World War Two.”

  The man didn’t answer at first. “I have good reason to say you’re right, Reverend.”

  “And why is that?” Ben asked, somehow anticipating his answer.

  The man hesitated a moment, as if deciding how to answer. “During the war, I was drafted into the army. My family is originally from Quebec, so I spoke French fluently. I was sent to the French countryside to aid the Resistance and gather intelligence for the allied invasion. That’s where I saw this statue, in the church in that village. She saved my life,” he added.

  Ben felt stunned, even though at the sight of this visitor he had felt a premonition of the connection. “Can you tell me the story?” he asked. “I would like to hear it.”

  “All right. It’s a bit unbelievable, but every word is true.” The man looked down a moment, as if gathering his thoughts—or perhaps getting hold of his emotions. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright, but his voice steady.

  “The army placed me with a family. I worked in the father’s shop and lived in their small house behind the store. They had a daughter, Marie-Claire. She was a few years younger than me but brave. And very beautiful. We fell in love. She was also part of the Resistance group. The group rarely met, for safety’s sake. But when it was necessary, we gathered late at night in the village church. One night during a
meeting, the church was bombed. A traitor must have tipped off the enemy. Marie-Claire and I ran to a side chapel and huddled together. The church fell down around us, just about every stone. But by some miracle, we survived. When I looked up, I realized that we had been kneeling in the shadow of this angel. Hovering over us, she had saved our lives. We couldn’t leave her there, so we bundled her up in some tapestries that had fallen and we took our protector with us.”

  “You didn’t want the Germans to get the statue,” Ben added.

  The man glanced at him in surprise. “That’s right. We knew they would ransack anything that was left. It was a dreadful time. My sweetheart had lost her father in that explosion. I wanted to stay with her, to protect her. But a few days later, I got my orders. I was sent to another village to continue my mission. It just about broke my heart to leave. I even thought of going AWOL, but she wouldn’t let me.”

  “It sounds as if she was a very honorable young woman.”

  The man shook his head. “She was…remarkable. I promised that I would find her after the war. But I was never able to. I tried everything—the Red Cross, refugee groups. I even went back to France, to the village where she’d lived. Her family was gone. No one knew where to. I often wondered if she even survived the war,” he said sadly.

  Ben could hardly speak. “She did survive,” he said slowly. “I know where she is. She came to see the angel, too, and told me the same story.”

  The man stared at him, his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide with shock. “She’s alive? Marie-Claire? Are you sure?”

  Ben nodded. “I’ll show you how she proved it.” He walked to the front of the sanctuary, straight to the angel. The visitor followed closely behind. Ben stepped closer and pointed to the injured hand. “She showed me the one bit of damage from the explosion, how the angel lost her finger.”

  The man lifted his chin, his mouth quivering. He whisked a big hand over his eyes and blinked. “Do you know how I can find her? Did she leave an address?” His voice was choked with emotion.