A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Yes, I have her address. Come with me, I’ll write it down for you.”

  The visitor followed Ben through the sanctuary doors to the narthex, where Ben opened the guest book and copied down Marie-Claire’s address. “Will you also sign? I haven’t even asked your name. I’m Reverend Ben,” he added.

  “Gerald Martin,” the man said. He finally smiled, and Ben caught a glimpse of the handsome young soldier he had once been. He held out his hand and Ben shook it. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for this, Reverend.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank the angel,” Ben said.

  Then he wondered about his response. Did that mean he’d become a believer, too?

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE MORNING, MOLLY STAYED HOME from the shop. She had booked the delivery of several dinners around town but no major parties that required her supervision.

  Matt could hardly believe it when he found her in the kitchen, still in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. “No work today?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head, barely looking up from her list. Which was actually color-coded. “I have my own party to work on. Betty is helping out at the shop. Then she’s coming over here later.”

  “Good plan.” She could tell he was pleased to see her cutting back on work.

  He looked very handsome, she thought, setting off for his day, his dark hair combed back with a slight wave on top, his cheeks smooth from a fresh shave. He wore a dark blue sports jacket and gray pants with a pink oxford cloth shirt and a patterned tie.

  Did he always look that good in the morning? She was usually too busy to notice, she realized. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, his travel mug of coffee in one hand and his overcoat in the other.

  “We’re closing the office early. I’ll be home soon enough to help you,” he promised. “So don’t try to do everything yourself. The house already looks like a magazine layout. I don’t think there’s another inch left to decorate.”

  Matt always had good intentions when it came to their entertaining. But his idea of getting the house ready for a party was to clear any dirty glasses, socks, and shoes from the family room and set out some bowls of pretzels and chips.

  Hers was a little more elaborate.

  He kissed her good-bye on the cheek and she clung to him a bit longer than usual. He gave her a look, but only said, “Call my cell if you want me to pick up anything at the store.”

  “I will,” she promised. Once he was gone, Molly sprang into action. She ran upstairs, showered and dressed in her comfy, work-around-the-house clothes. Then she ran down to the mudroom where she had stored boxes of ribbons, pine branches, and holly to make her own centerpieces in the beautiful brass urns she’d found in a thrift store. The day before, she had picked up armfuls of fresh flowers at the florist, red and white roses and large white lilies and long strands of ivy that would trail down the urns.

  She set to work, snipping, trimming, sticking and arranging. But she soon found the scent of the flowers and florist foam riled up her stomach.

  “Oh…drat. Not this again.” Molly stuck with it, arranging through her discomfort until, finally, she couldn’t last a second longer. She ran into the half-bath and got sick.

  The girls had all been sleeping late. Amanda was the first one downstairs. “Molly, are you okay?” She ran into the bathroom and helped her up. Then she dampened a washcloth and handed it over.

  “Oh, honey, thanks.” Molly wiped her face, nearly crying with frustration.

  “You don’t look so good. Want me to call Dad?”

  “Oh no, honey. Don’t do that. I’ll be okay,” Molly said quickly. “I have so much to do today for the party. I don’t want to worry your dad.”

  Amanda grinned. “He’ll make you go back to bed—and he’ll order out for Chinese.”

  “Something like that,” Molly said glumly. She started to stand and felt her head spin, but forced herself up anyway.

  Amanda grabbed her arm and led her out of the bathroom. They made it to the kitchen, where Molly dropped into a chair, swallowing back the sour taste in the back of her throat.

  “Sit there.” Amanda handed Molly her list of things to be done before the party. “Just tell us what to do. We’ll help you,” Amanda promised, speaking for her stepsisters, who weren’t even awake yet.

  Molly gazed back at her dear face. Amanda looked a lot like her father. She was growing up to be a beautiful young woman, with a certain quiet manner her own daughters didn’t share. They were all like flowers in a garden, Molly thought. It was impossible to say which was the loveliest. Their new baby sister—or brother—would be still another variety.

  “Let’s see,” Molly didn’t think the girls were capable of doing half the tasks, but she tried to find one anyway. She started with setting her tables. The long dining room table sat twenty when fully extended. Then she had two long folding tables, to be set up in the family room. She had red and gold patterned tablecloths and matching china and silverware.

  And cloth napkins. Heaven forbid Lillian Warwick dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. Especially at a family party. Molly had learned that the hard way.

  No, this party was going to be perfect. Her “coming out” soirée. She was going to show her entire family she was a success, that she had arrived. Even Lillian Warwick would finally have to acknowledge her.

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, MOLLY FINALLY SURRENDERED. She simply had to accept that she wasn’t going to last for more than five minutes in a vertical position without a visit to the bathroom. She lay across her bed, practically crying with frustration, but holding back for the sake of the girls, who had been working hard, following her orders for hours and hours.

  At noon, she had tried Matt’s office, but he had closed early as planned. She tried his cell but kept getting a funny beeping sound and couldn’t even leave a message.

  It was about three o’clock when Lauren came upstairs for a visit. She brought a tray with ginger ale and crackers. “We set up the garlands and little candle holders just the way you said,” she reported. “What’s next?”

  Molly scanned the list. Only food-related jobs remained, and none that the girls could do. “I think that’s it for now. I’ll be down in a little while and start cooking.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “You’d better wear nose plugs or an oxygen mask or something. This is not going to be pretty…”

  “Lauren, give me a break,” Molly pleaded. “For once, think positively.”

  “Think positively…but carry a big bucket.” Her daughter had a way with words. Molly would have laughed if the advice wasn’t so apt.

  “Okay, kid. It’s now or never. Watch out, I’m coming downstairs.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lauren said. “I’ll take the bucket.” She grabbed the bucket by the side of the bed and followed her mother out of the room.

  Molly climbed down the stairs and gingerly began to walk around the first floor to see what the girls had accomplished. She felt her throat tighten with horror. Absolutely nothing looked the way she had planned.

  The garlands were hanging in all the wrong places, at all the wrong angles. The candleholders were bunched in a stiff little row. Her wonderful, creative flower arrangements looked a total mess, each worse than the last.

  She wandered from room to room, as if in a nightmare. Her guests were due to arrive in less than three hours. Everything was either half-done or a decorating disaster. She took a few deep breaths, trying to control her distress. The girls had been trying so hard to help her, working all day when they could have been goofing off, starting their vacation.

  But she couldn’t help it. Nothing looked the way she had imagined it, the way she had planned. She had spent so much time and gone to so much expense to bring it all together, and now it was too late to even try to get it right. She felt so frustrated, she wanted to scream.

  She sat in a chair at the head of the dining room table, which was set with dishes and a smattering of silverware. No forks, she noticed, the napkins folded
any which way, and half of them on the wrong side of the dishes.

  She could make everyone else’s parties look perfect. Why couldn’t she do it in her own house? She held her head in her hands, feeling sick and tired and filled with disappointment.

  “Mom…Do you feel sick again?” Lauren was standing behind her. Her hand rested on Molly’s shoulder. “Do you want the bucket?” she asked quietly.

  Molly shook her head, struggling to hide her tears from her daughter. “I just feel a little dizzy, honey. You go wait for me in the kitchen. I’ll be right there.”

  Lauren left her and Molly snuck a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

  She knew she was being silly. Vain and petty. For most of her life, she had just about despised the type of women who acted as if table settings and centerpieces and linen napkins folded like swans were important. Had she turned into such a person? She was making a career out of it, she realized.

  But still, this was her big party. Couldn’t it be nice? For once? She would never make such a fuss again, she promised the powers above. It just didn’t seem fair.

  She heard the front door open and Matt call out hello. The girls ran out of the kitchen to greet him.

  “Wow, the place looks great!” Matt exclaimed. “You must have been working all day.”

  “Yeah, we were. Mom’s feeling sick again,” she heard Lauren say in a hushed tone.

  “Well, you’ve done a great job. You’ve been a huge help. This is what I love to see.…”

  Molly pulled herself together and walked out to meet her husband. She managed a smile, but she could tell from his expression he wasn’t fooled.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Feeling sick again?”

  She nodded. The girls ran upstairs, and she and Matt walked back into the kitchen.

  She sat down at the table and rested her head in her hands. “Don’t even look at me,” she told him. “I’m a complete disaster! This house is a disaster. Nothing looks right.”

  “What are you talking about? Everything looks great.”

  Molly raised her head to stare at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding? The table isn’t set. The decorations are all a mess. Oh…I wish I wasn’t such a big pregnant wreck. I can’t get out of my own way…”

  Matt’s sympathetic expression hardened. “It doesn’t matter, Molly. We’ll all have a good time. You’re being too fussy. And driving everyone crazy.”

  She swallowed hard and looked at him. Okay, admittedly, she was driving everyone crazy. But he was upset because she was complaining again about being pregnant. Even Matt’s long-lasting patience was wearing thin, she realized.

  Matt took a deep breath and she could almost see him searching for another shred of patience. “Now, why don’t you just go up and rest some more?” he suggested in a relatively calm tone. “I know what to do. You can come down later, when the guests get here.”

  That was the last thing she wanted to do. But she knew that arguing with him would start an even bigger fight. The truth was, she felt weak on her feet again, and her stomach was churning.

  “All right. The list is on the table. Most of the appetizers are in the fridge. They just need to be put out on trays so they can come to room temperature. And the desserts—”

  “Molly, go to bed. Now,” Matt said firmly. He stared her down and she didn’t say another word. Just picked up her bucket and headed back upstairs.

  SHE HADN’T MEANT TO FALL ASLEEP. SHE HAD PLANNED to stay in the bedroom for a little while, just to satisfy Matt, then dress and come down around five, with an hour to work in the kitchen before her guests arrived.

  She was awakened by the sound of the doorbell and her sister-in-law Jessica’s cheerful, “Merry Christmas, everybody!” echoing up the stairwell.

  Molly sprang up out of bed and immediately regretted the move.

  It was too late for a shower, so she quickly washed up, dabbed on some makeup, and pulled on her hostess outfit—a big satin blouse in a deep forest green and the ubiquitous black pants. But these were velvet and looked very classy, she thought. Especially with her new pointy leather slides that were very much in style this season. Molly decided she looked almost…sexy. Well, at least from her ankles down.

  She took the stairs slowly, holding on to the handrail, a smile plastered on her face.

  “Hi, everyone. Merry Christmas!” Her brother Sam and her two nephews looked up at her and smiled. Sam was surrounded by bags of gifts, and the girls were helping him take them to the living room and place the boxes under the tree.

  Jessica met her at the bottom of the steps and gave her a hug. “You look great. The house looks beautiful, too.”

  Molly waved away her compliment. “Please. Everything is a disaster. The girls tried to help me today, but nothing came out right,” she confided quietly. “But they did try,” she added.

  “Everything looks very pretty,” Jessica insisted. “You can see their hand in it and that makes it even nicer, don’t you think?”

  Now that Jessica had pointed it out, Molly could see the handiwork of her girls and their good intentions in the awkward decorations. She did feel touched by their efforts, but suspected that wouldn’t count for much with everyone else.

  “What can I do to help? Just point me in the right direction,” Jessica said. “See, I even brought my own apron.”

  “God bless you, Jess,” Molly said sincerely. “Come with me. I have no idea what I’m going to find in here,” she whispered, leading the way back to the kitchen.

  She and Jessica hadn’t gotten along when Sam first started dating his future wife. Molly had gone to high school with Jessica and thought she was not only Little Miss Perfect, but a perfect snob. She suspected the high and mighty Jessica Warwick had no intention of marrying a lowly carpenter like Sam, and was only using her brother for a fling that would break his heart. Even after they got engaged, Molly still didn’t approve of the match. Neither did Lillian Warwick, who ironically became Molly’s ally in trying to break up the couple.

  Jessica, though, had stood up to her mother and changed her entire life to be with Sam. You misjudged Jess, Molly now reminded herself as she accompanied her sister-in-law into the kitchen. And you promised yourself that you would give people—that means Alex Cole, too—a fair chance and not jump to conclusions.

  Molly and Jessica found Matt and the girls in the kitchen trying to sort out the food. Was this her worst nightmare, or what?

  The cold seafood platters, laden with shrimp, crab claws, and a marinated seafood salad drifted by, headed for the living room. Molly gasped, noticing that everything was still in little plastic containers and aluminum tins and had not been arranged on her beautiful ceramic trays, molded in the shape of fish.

  “Hey, wait…Hold up with that!”

  Jillian stopped short and a shrimp rolled out of its container.

  Molly sighed out loud. Jessica took the food from her niece and placed it on the table. “You have trays for this stuff, I assume?”

  Molly pointed. “They’re all in a pile on the counter. I even labeled them.”

  “Whoa, so efficient.”

  “Right.” Molly fought off an attack of wooziness and looked around to see what else was going haywire. Betty appeared and gave out holiday hugs all around.

  “Everything went great today in the shop. You would have been proud of me,” she boasted. “I guess you finally trust me. You didn’t even call.”

  She hadn’t called, Molly suddenly realized. Wow, that was amazing.

  “Of course I trust you.”

  Betty smiled. “Well, what can I do in here? Need any help?”

  There was more than enough work to go around. Molly put Betty to work on the appetizers that were still straggling out of the fridge. Molly had rescued the seafood platters, but somehow a plastic bowl of plain old potato chips was being passed around the living room, instead of the silver platter of pâté and French bread rounds.

  “Hi, honey, sorry we’re late.” Molly�
��s mother swept into the kitchen and gave kisses and hugs to anyone she could reach. “Your father drove so slowly. He was afraid of jostling his tiramisu.”

  “Merry Christmas, honey.” Her father tried to kiss her but a huge dessert bowl got in the way. “Where do you want this?”

  “Oh, in the extra fridge, out in the mudroom, Dad. I think there’s some room in there.”

  “What should I do, honey? Want me to take care of these roasts?” her mother asked, eyeing the filet mignon roasts that were lined up on the counter.

  “Good idea, Mom. They need to be timed perfectly—”

  “I know, don’t worry.” Her mother waved away Molly’s concerns. “Smells like something’s already burning though…”

  “My spinach-cheese spring rolls!” Molly gasped. With all the confusion in the kitchen, she had forgotten all about them. She grabbed a pot holder, pulled open the oven door, and yanked out the pans, but it was too late. Burnt to a crisp. She sadly tossed them in the garbage.

  “Oh dear, what a waste…” Betty looked genuinely sympathetic. “Do you have anything I can whip together to make a dip? Like some sour cream and soup mix?” she asked innocently.

  “Quickie dip with sour cream? At my party?” Molly shrieked. “Sorry, Betty,” she said quickly. She ducked into the fridge and emerged with a roll of herbed goat cheese. “Why don’t you put this out? There’s a nice marble cheeseboard in that cabinet next to the fridge.”

  As Jessica hovered over the oven while a tray of miniature crab cakes baked, Molly felt a familiar horrible feeling returning. The food smells, the noise, the sight of her beautiful party in shambles—it was all too much. She was going to be sick again.

  “I have to go upstairs for something. I’ll be right down,” she fibbed.

  Molly sprinted to her bedroom and made it to the bathroom just in time.

  Then she lay facedown on her bed and cried, muffling the sound in her pillow.

  IT SEEMED A LONG TIME LATER WHEN SHE SAW A FIGURE in the doorway. At first she thought it was Matt, then realized it was a woman. Not Betty or Jessica. Amanda maybe?