“Richie, what can I get you?” she asked.
“Nothing, I’m fine. Just got to see a man about a horse,” he replied with a short laugh.
He disappeared from the room, and small talk resumed, the Connors talking about their plans for the holiday, Didi and Kevin remarking how lovely Linden Corners was awash in holiday lights, how convivial everyone in town seemed, and Trina found her mind wandering. Feeling even more awkward without Brian or Richie in the room, she fidgeted in her seat, and then she started to gather empty mugs and glasses and, despite a protest from Didi, brought them into the kitchen. As she set them in the sink, she gazed out the window, where in the near distance she could see the light emanating off the windmill. It wasn’t the only thing she saw, the glow coming off the horizon highlighting the shadow of her father as he hesitantly made his way across the field.
“Richie Ravens, what are you up to?” she asked aloud.
“Talking to yourself, I see. Do you do that often?”
It was Brian who had snuck up behind her, slipping his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck, the sensation so sweet, so unexpected, she felt herself melt against him. How strange was this, she and Brian inside this house, and upstairs slept Janey, a girl who’d lost so much but still believed in and dreamed of the perfect Christmas morning, where presents awaited her, all while in the other room was her extended family, their close friends. It was just as Christmas was supposed to look, one of those postcards found on the spinning racks inside Marla and Darla’s Trading Post. The scene so perfect its unfamiliarity rang inside Trina.
“Janey asleep?” she asked.
“Not yet; she’ll get there.”
“Do you really have a special tradition?”
“We talk sometimes, and I think tonight she needed me.”
“Your mother is . . . intimidating?”
“Why does our conversation always turn to her?”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“How’s Richie doing?”
She decided not to say anything about his nocturnal excursion to the windmill. “Typical, not saying much about what happened at the motel.”
“What do you think he’ll do? Rebuild?”
Trina immediately shook her head. “That’s not Richie’s style. If I’ve learned one thing about Richie Ravens, it’s once something is done, it’s time to move on. Just as he did with his failed marriage, the notion of fatherhood. He abandoned both, leaving the ruins behind.”
Brian nodded. “Seems to me he’s coming around on the idea of being a father.”
“He’s trying, which is more than he did when I first got here.”
She felt Brian’s tender lips against her neck, reminding her of the one afternoon they’d spent together. Their one and only time. It felt so right being in his arms, but yet his next words reminded her that nothing was really real, nothing ever lasted.
“You know, you’re both welcome to stay the night. We have plenty of rooms.”
“Oh, Brian, that’s so generous of you . . . but, no, we couldn’t possibly.”
“Your choice; the invitation is open-ended. It might be more comfortable . . .”
“Richie in one bedroom, and me . . . Where do I sleep?”
He paused, then said, “Yeah, okay, really soon. And maybe . . . confusing.”
“For Janey.”
He nodded. “And for us.”
“Can you give me a minute? I’ll rejoin the group soon.”
“Uh, sure. Everything okay?”
She paused before saying, “What I think is that everything happens for a reason.”
Brian kissed her on the lips this time, his tender touch lingering until she felt like she needed to lock it inside her heart. A kiss lasted only a moment, a memory far longer. As Brian disappeared back into the holiday warmth of the living room, she once again stole a look outside the window. Richie was long gone from view, yet the windmill was not done with its revelations of the night. What she saw surprised her so much she nearly called out to Brian.
Janey Sullivan, dressed in a thick overcoat, was crossing the field, not unlike Richie had done moments ago. She seemed to be hugging something, as though protecting it from the cold. Trina could not make out what it was.
What was the allure of the windmill, and on a night such as this?
Did Janey do this often, sneak out at night?
Trina had to imagine Brian wouldn’t approve. She was ten; wandering off wasn’t safe.
Taking matters into her own hands, Trina quietly snuck to the foyer, grabbing her coat off the hook, wrapping her scarf around her neck, and, after glancing back to ensure her escape had gone undetected, she slipped out of the farmhouse and into the cold night of an approaching Christmas. Stars lit her way, twinkling. She wondered what surprises awaited her.
“Oh, Ms. Janey, you surprised me.”
“Sorry. I’m supposed to be sleeping. Or at least, I should be in bed.”
“Yes, that’s what I understand. And yet, here you are.”
“I saw you from my bedroom window; you were walking toward the windmill.”
“But that’s not where I ended up, is it?” he asked.
“I prefer the windmill,” Janey said. “It’s where I talk to Mama when I need to.”
“And what did you say to her tonight?”
“I didn’t get there yet. I came right here. I followed your footprints.”
“Very clever of you,” he said.
“Why did you come here?”
“This bridge holds many memories for me.”
Trina was listening from behind a tree, she too having trailed their footsteps with a stealth-like quality. She’d followed them and couldn’t say why. Was it because she felt responsible for Richie, a sense that she was fulfilling the obligation that had originally brought her to Linden Corners? If that were true, she would have chased him the moment she saw his unsteady frame making its way across the wide field. It wasn’t until she had seen Janey mirroring his actions that Trina had sprung into action, and even so, she didn’t understand her motives. Why not just go to Brian and tell him about Janey’s escape?
Fearing discovery, she opted to remain where she was, hidden behind the thick trunk of a tree. The old stone bridge was in easy view, and she was within earshot of both the swirling current from the stream and the conversation taking place. She didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but she didn’t want to discourage what truths were being laid bare tonight. Janey had come here for a reason; she’d admitted as much. She wanted to talk to Richie, and obviously, privately.
“You knew my dad?” she asked.
“Now, Janey Sullivan, you’re a lucky girl; you’ve been blessed with two dads.”
“Brian’s great; he’s the best,” she said. “But I meant my other dad.”
“Dan Sullivan,” he said.
“I see him in my dreams, and for the past couple of months, ever since I turned ten, I’ve been wondering about him and my mama. Can you tell me about him? Do you know how he and Mama met, and why they got married, and then why . . . why they can’t be with me anymore?”
“Well, that last question I cannot answer, and I doubt anyone can. Life likes to hold on to its mysteries, young Janey. It likes to tease us with things like wishes and hopes. It’s how you come out the other end that defines your character.”
“I like wishes, and I’m always full of hope. But lately, my dreams confuse me.”
“Christmas will do that, makes us think anything is possible,” he said. “We experience so many emotions, we often don’t know what we’re thinking from one moment to another.”
“Christmas is so wonderful, but really . . . it’s just one day. When it’s over, the lights dim.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, Janey Sullivan.”
“That’s what Brian . . . I mean Dad says.”
“You have trouble calling him Dad?”
“Not really, just sometimes I slip. Sometimes I feel . . . disloyal, to
my real dad.”
“Dan Sullivan would have liked Brian. I’m sure he’s happy you’re in such good hands.”
Trina wasn’t sure she could hear more, this conversation between wizened old Richie and the wise-beyond-her-years Janey hitting far too close to home. Fathers and daughters should not miss out on moments, and here were two people who had lost both, the only difference being that Richie could turns things around. Trina herself had been given a second father, even though her first one hadn’t died; he’d just . . . disappeared. He’d found a life beyond hers, and only after coming to town had she begun to understand what had made him leave. Perhaps she would gain further insight here, and so, despite the guilt she felt about overhearing them rushing through her system, she listened further.
“I met Dan right here. Did you know that?”
“Here, on the bridge?”
“Oh, he loved hanging out here; he liked to fish.”
“Fish? I don’t think there are fish in this stream.”
“Well, he fished for things other than fish.”
Trina heard a pause, imagining Janey trying to process such a dichotomy.
“How can you fish for something else?”
“See that stuffed animal in your arms?” he asked.
“Sure, he goes everywhere with me. He was my first-ever Christmas present.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Because your father used to find frogs in the stream.”
“He did?”
“Sure, he was . . . what, thirteen, fourteen years old when I met him. The same age that Travis is now.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when I first came to Linden Corners, I kind of lived around here.”
“How can you kind of live around . . . the bridge? Did you live inside the windmill?”
“No, I pitched a tent in the woods.”
“Weren’t you cold?”
“It was summer, and I used to fall asleep while counting the number of times the sails of the windmill spun.”
“So you do like the windmill!”
“Of course I do. It’s what made me stop. I wasn’t supposed to. I just kind of... found it.”
“Just like Brian!”
“And your mama before him.”
“Mama loved the windmill.”
“Did you know that it was because of the windmill your parents met?”
There was no response. Trina, crouching behind the tree, let out a sharp breath, hoping her sound hadn’t alerted them to her presence. She hoped they thought it was the wind. She imagined that Janey was processing this information, perhaps shaking her head. It was Richie’s voice that continued, as he told the young girl the story of her parents’ first meeting.
Annie had been living nearby, he said, caring for an elderly aunt, and she’d gone out for a drive one afternoon when she came upon the windmill, and she had stopped to admire its beauty and its simple majesty, never thinking such a move would forever change her life, but that it did. As she walked ever closer to the spinning sails, she heard the joyful cry from nearby, and rather than run far for fear of being discovered, she advanced further toward the woods, eventually finding her way to the stone bridge.
“Dan was there, and of course this was years after I had first met him and settled into Linden Corners. He was a grown man by this point, saddled with the responsibility of running the family farm. His parents were gone already. So who could blame him, forced to grow up so quickly, holding tight to the things that reminded him of more innocent times. So there he was, grabbing frogs, and don’t you know, he had just pulled one out when Annie showed her face. He turned to her, smiling at what he told me was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he presented her with the squirming frog in his hand, and what happened next defined the rest of his life. Rather than squeal at a big bullfrog being thrust at her, the woman reached out and took it in her hands. Dan told me that he would never forget what she said next.”
“Which was?”
“ ‘Does that make you a prince?’ ”
The bitter cold of the night was insinuating itself beneath her jacket, chilling her bones, but at this moment Trina felt such warmth spread throughout her body. Not only was Richie’s story magical in its truth, but the way in which he revealed its details was rife with drama and surprise, and she could imagine the joy spreading across Janey’s freckled face.
“So that’s why they got me a frog for Christmas,” Janey exclaimed, “because that’s when they fell in love, and after that they got married and Mama gave birth to me, and they lived here. All the while I thought it was the windmill they bonded over.”
“This bridge was your father’s,” Richie said. “It’s where he came to dream.”
“Can you tell me more about him? What kind of dreams did he have?” she asked. “That mean man Chuck Ackroyd said bad things about him the other night at the tavern, and I’ve been thinking about them, mostly when it’s nighttime and I’m supposed to go to sleep, but I can’t. Like tonight.”
“You, Janey Sullivan, were Dan Sullivan’s dream,” he said, “you and Annie.”
“So his dreams came true?”
“For a while, yes.”
“Nothing lasts,” she said.
“If you know that, then you already know to appreciate it when you have it,” he said, “and while life forces you to move on, it cannot lessen all your heart knows.”
“Mr. Ravens?”
“Yes, Ms. Janey?”
“I’m sorry about your motel. I heard it was ruined.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet. The world hasn’t yet handed me a sign,” he said. “So sometimes you just have to look to the stars and see how brightly they are shining.”
“Or which way the wind blows,” she said.
“Now, that, Ms. Janey, is very wise indeed,” Richie said. “And I also think it’s a fine way to end our philosophical discussion. I cannot remember one so rich, so filled with truth. Seeing you here, where you father dreamed and in the shadow of your mama’s passion, it is no wonder you are the angel you are. Besides, from what Brian said, Santa Claus doesn’t like to show up when little girls are still awake, and so we must get you back.”
“Don’t tell Brian I snuck out.”
“He may not like it, but I bet he’d understand, especially on this special night. Janey, you have a chance tonight to live out your dreams as you wish them. Whether it’s your wishes for the best Christmas yet, where gifts you didn’t even expect to receive fill your life with renewed joy, or a perfect dream where you see your parents together, the sight of them bringing comfort to the memories your heart carries.” He paused until only the blowing wind could be heard, before saying, “Like your friend here; he’s your connection to your parents, and while they may no longer walk the earth, their spirits live on . . . right inside this purple frog.”
“He’s getting older,” she said. “Like me. But he’s still dependent on me.”
“And you’re not dependent?”
“Brian says I’m too independent.”
“Can you tell me one last thing about your frog?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Does he have a name?”
“No,” she said, “although I’ve been thinking he needs one.”
“A name will make him feel more alive,” Richie stated.
“He’s just a stuffed animal,” she said. “He’s not real.”
“Oh, but, Ms. Janey, that’s where you’re wrong. He’s stuffed with so much more than life. Dan Sullivan filled him with love.”
Trina watched as Janey hugged Richie with tight, deep-felt affection, and then she went dashing off toward the farmhouse. Her little legs moved quickly, and soon Richie was alone at the stone bridge, and Trina was nearby, fighting the urge to reveal herself and do just as Janey had done, embrace the man she knew as her father. It was something Janey couldn’
t do. It was something Trina could.
She turned away, fighting tears, and she locked eyes with the turning sails of the windmill, her mind transfixed, her heart overwhelmed with emotion. First at the loving family that had once lived here and lived no more, then at the transition and tragedy this young girl had been forced to endure, and then at her bright spirit, which powered the windmill when the wind could not. Suddenly Trina Winter knew what she needed to do.
Family was everything, and if she didn’t act fast, time could take it from her.
She edged her way out of the woods, coming face-to-face with her father.
“Trina,” he said.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you’d like to share tomorrow with me.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s already here.”
“Then let’s stop wasting time. I think it’s our turn to start tilting at windmills.”
Midnight had arrived, which meant so too had Christmas Day.
CHAPTER 20
BRIAN
“What do you mean . . . you’re leaving? Back to Mark and Sara’s apartment, right?”
From her tone, he knew he was wrong. He knew the word held deeper connotations, of permanence, of loss. At least it did for him, because despite how her announcement sat with him, he could tell there was a glint of excitement in her eyes, noticeable even here in the dark of night. Still, the ache in his heart when she spoke rattled him.
“No, leaving Linden Corners,” she said. “Me and Richie.”
“When?”
“Today, now.”
“Now? But it’s midnight.”
“Which most people see as the end of the day, when really, it’s the start of a new one, and I see no better time.”
“Slipping away when the sun can’t catch you?”
He felt her hands to his cheek, soft, like the one time they’d been together. “You’re always so poetic, Brian Duncan; it’s one of the things I like about you. You’re so open . . . and giving.”
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