A Christmas Promise

by Thomas Kinkade

  She looked up at the darkening sky and the web of bare branches above, then pressed her fingers to her eyes.

  Dear Lord, this is so hard for me. I’m sorry I can’t seem to love this boy the way Sam does. It doesn’t seem right to take him if I feel the way I do, but I also can’t bear hurting Sam. I don’t know what to do. Please show me some way through this. Please let this question pass.

  LEIGH OFTEN HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING, GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH the weight of the baby inside her and with her many worries flocking around her bed once the lights were out. Sunday nights, for some reason, seemed particularly hard, and tonight was no different. It was worse, in fact, since something she had eaten for dinner wasn’t settling quite right.

  She pulled on her robe and crept down the stairs, planning to make some more of Vera’s foolproof remedy, the ginger tea. But at the end of the staircase she saw all the lights in the kitchen still on.

  In the kitchen, Leigh found Vera standing at the table, her eyes downcast.

  “Vera? Are you all right?”

  Vera nodded her head vigorously but couldn’t answer. Her mouth was filled with straight pins.

  That’s the first I’ve ever seen her at a loss for words, Leigh thought with merry affection. She noticed scraps of cloth on the table, satiny white stuff and some other type of fabric that appeared to be fake fur. In her right hand, Vera was holding a long pair of shears at an odd angle, looking as if she was afraid of it.

  She put the shears down and took the pins from between her lips. “Would you look at this mess? Such a waste of good material . . . I’ll be so embarrassed.”

  She shook her head sadly, and Leigh suddenly saw that this was no laughing matter; Vera was truly dismayed.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” Leigh stepped beside her and surveyed the table. “Are you trying to make something?”

  “Costumes for the pageant. I don’t know how I got stuck with the job. I told the committee I’m all thumbs when it comes to sewing. But they insisted it would be easy. ‘Just cut it and pin it, then bring it in to the meeting and we’ll all help you sew,’ they said.” Vera shook her head. “Well, it’s well past midnight, I’m almost asleep on my feet, and I’ve cut this stuff out all wrong and have no idea how to get it together and—”

  “Don’t give up yet.” Leigh patted Vera’s arm, which felt thin and fragile as a bird’s through her flannel robe. “It may not be as bad as you think.” She picked up some pieces of the white material and held them in the air. “Is this supposed to be some type of tunic?”

  “Angel’s clothes. This fur stuff is for the shepherd and maybe the kids who play the animals, too. I got it all mixed up.”

  Leigh studied the chaotic array of fabric, notions, and tissue-paper pattern pieces that covered the table. “Do you have a picture or something?”

  At the counter Vera showed Leigh the pictures of the costumes that had come with the patterns. “Then I have all these measurements of the children in Sunday school. So you need to adjust, but I wasn’t sure which lines to follow, once I started snipping.”

  “I see. . . . Well, I think I could do something with this. It won’t look exactly like the pictures, though.”

  Vera’s expression grew a hundred watts brighter. “Could you, dear? You told me you knew how to sew, but I didn’t want to bother you. I thought it was beyond all hope, quite frankly.”

  “Not at all. I think I can make something angel-like out of it. When is your meeting?”

  “Tomorrow night, down at the church.”

  “So we have some time, then. Dr. Harding goes to Southport Hospital on Monday afternoons for his rounds. So I can help you some more tomorrow, when I get home.”

  “Bless you!” Vera leaned over and gave her a quick, tight hug. Then she hopped across the kitchen and grabbed the teakettle off the dish drainer. “I’ll make some tea. Or would you prefer some hot cocoa or warm milk maybe?”

  “Some ginger tea would be perfect. I couldn’t sleep and I was coming down to make some.”

  “The good Lord answered my prayers and sent you down. That’s what happened.”

  Leigh smiled to herself as she made a rough sketch on the back of the pattern package and then sorted through the pieces of material. She doubted that God had sent her down to the kitchen tonight—it was more like her secret worries and upset stomach—but she didn’t bother to debate Vera about it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES SAM PASSED THE SIGN THAT said NEW HORIZONS, he would always think of the place as the Cranberry Cottages. Some of the old cottages were still standing, now renovated as sleeping quarters for the students and counselors. Luke McAllister had bought the property on a whim, simply because he’d spent summers at the place as a boy and it brought back fond memories.

  Luke had been at loose ends back then, with the rest of his life ahead of him and no clear plan. Injuries from a shooting had forced him to quit the Boston police force and left him bitter and scarred, inside and out. The town had been deeply divided when he announced his intentions to build a rehabilitation center for troubled city kids. Many in town had wanted him to take his “troublemakers” and ideals elsewhere. They tried to drive him out, but Luke had stuck with his plan.

  Sam was one of those who had taken Luke’s side, and one of the only workmen in town willing to help him renovate and put up the new buildings that now held classrooms, offices, and a gym.

  Once the center opened, Sam kept coming back, New Horizons’ on-call Mr. Fix-it. Gradually, that role expanded to volunteer counselor and sports coach. It wasn’t always easy to connect with these kids—some had real issues and seemed unreachable—and it wasn’t always clear that the help he offered made any difference. But he tried to keep in mind what Luke had once told him: “Even if one little thing you say or do reaches one kid, that’s enough. You’ve changed someone’s life, and that’s a lot.”

  Sam hadn’t come today to change anyone’s life around. He was here to repair a broken gutter. He also hoped to ask Luke whether he had found about more about Darrell’s situation with foster care. Sam had never gotten a chance to mention it last Friday when he came to coach basketball. Or maybe, he reflected, his conversation with Jessica that afternoon had made him hesitate to bring it up.

  Sam felt caught. He thought Darrell was a terrific kid in a terrible situation. He wanted to help him, but now he was worried about where that help might lead. What if it all just added up to another disappointment for the boy? He prayed to heaven that wouldn’t be so.

  The truth was, the situation wasn’t looking good. Jessica still hadn’t really warmed to Darrell, and Sam couldn’t blame her. She wanted a baby, their own child. He did, too. But he had gotten so involved with Darrell, he was just seeing it from a completely different angle. The look on her face Friday when she admitted her real feelings had finally broken through. He was just starting to understand her side of it.

  And he finally realized he couldn’t ignore it anymore—or hold out great hopes that it would change.

  Still, he wanted to talk to Luke and find out what he could. Jessica thought it was okay to go ahead that much at least.

  He found himself on a path leading to the main building, where Luke’s office was located. Then he spotted some kids playing soccer on the nearby athletic field. Except for himself, Sam had never known a guy less suited to sitting behind a desk than Luke. He knew there was a good chance he would find his friend outside, watching the game or maybe even kicking the ball around.

  Sure enough, Luke stood with a whistle around his neck, watching from the sidelines. He saw Sam and grinned.

  “Hey, Sam. Want to play? The red team could use a sub.”

  Sam shook his head. “I’m here to work, remember?”

  “Oh, right. The gutter. It’s the one on the back of the building, just over my office window. Need me to go with you?”

  “I can find it. . . . Listen, I was wondering if you learned anything more about Darrel
l. Is he going into foster care when he leaves here?”

  “Oh, right.” Luke nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you on that. I called the social worker who’s dealing with the family and basically, the situation is still undecided. It sounds as if Darrell’s mother has more or less faced the fact that she can’t take care of him right now. She’s thinking about signing him into foster care, but she hasn’t gone through with it yet.”

  “Oh . . . I see.” It wasn’t the answer Sam had hoped for, but it wasn’t the worst. “Wasn’t there a grandmother or a neighbor taking care of him too? How do they fit into the picture?”

  “There’s a grandmother but she’s not well. The boy is a little too much for her to handle. She could possibly apply for custody, but the social worker doesn’t think she will. There was also a neighbor who got involved with him, but she has children of her own to care for. Darrell and her son are friends, and she was just trying to help out.”

  “Darrell told me about the neighbor,” Sam said. “He talks to his buddy on the phone a lot. He hasn’t heard much from his mother lately, though, and I know that’s hard for him. He tries to understand, saying she’s sick and needs to get better before he can go home again.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. The least painful for him, I guess.” Luke stared out at the soccer players, his arms crossed over his chest. “His mother has a serious problem. She’s in and out of rehab. It’s hard to give a child up to foster care. I don’t know if I could do it. But the counselor working with her thinks that’s what Darrell needs right now—some stability, a real home life. Even being here a few weeks has helped him. You’ve helped him, Sam.”

  Sam shrugged. “Darrell is special. We just seemed to click.”

  “Well, there’s no doubt you’d be a great guardian for him. I’ve already told the social worker about you, and I’ll be the first one to help you fill out the forms to apply. But what about Jessica? How does she feel about the situation?”

  Sam dug his hands into his pockets. He didn’t know how to answer. He knew it might hurt his chances, but he had to be honest about it, especially with Luke.

  “Jessica and I are still talking this over. She’s very focused on getting pregnant and having a baby. I’m afraid the whole idea just sort of sideswiped her. She and Darrell haven’t really gotten to know each other that well, either. I’d love to say they get along great, but it just hasn’t worked out that way . . . so far.”

  Luke considered his words. “I’m sorry to hear that. It won’t really work if you’re not both willing—more than willing, I’d say.”

  “I know.” Sam nodded. “I haven’t given up hope yet, though.”

  “I hope not. There’s a lot of ball game left, pal. Darrell is scheduled to be here until January. A lot could happen by then.”

  Sam felt grateful for his friend’s encouragement. That was one thing he had always liked about Luke—he wasn’t a quitter. Sam knew he wasn’t a quitter, either. He wouldn’t give up on Darrell. He wouldn’t turn into another grown-up who abandoned him. He knew it was hard for Jessica, but he prayed that by some small miracle, she would come around to the idea.

  EMILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING A LITTLE WARY AS SHE ENTERED HER living room, where Dan sat on her couch, her two cats snuggled on either side of him like fur bookends. Dan seemed oblivious to the cats as he stared down at a yellow legal pad with a grim expression. His pencil was poised just above the paper, swooping down every few seconds to jot a note or two. He was reviewing the guest list she had made for their wedding, as if it were copy about to run on the front page of the New York Times. She loved him to the stars, but when he got into this cranky editor mode it made her sort of crazy. Besides, she’d had a wretched day at the village hall, trying to get a squabbling committee to agree on the size of new street signs. She had left her office at six, with the debate still raging, only to find that Dan was set on coming over to discuss the wedding list. It was a Monday in spades.

  She watched him a moment then went to tend the fire. She poked the logs around, making them spark, and tossed on another log. She started back to the couch but didn’t sit down.

  “Do you want some more coffee or something?”

  “I’m fine.” The pencil swooped; another guest knocked off the list—or, at least, put into the doubtful category.

  “I’m sorry, Dan. . . . I know it looks like a lot of people. But half of them probably won’t even come.”

  “Then why invite them at all?”

  Emily sighed. They had been through this so many times. Why couldn’t he understand?

  “I have to,” she said, enunciating every word. “If we’re inviting certain people that we do want, then we really have to invite other people that maybe we don’t want or we’ll end up insulting them.”

  “If we don’t really want them at our wedding, why would we care if they’re insulted?”

  “Dan, come on. This always happens with a big party.”

  “That very well might be true, dear. But I recall a certain person who agreed in this very room—on this very couch, no less—that she would keep the guest list down to fifty.” He held up the pad and flipped the sheets of names. “This is not fifty guests, Emily. It’s more like five hundred.”

  She cringed and looked away. “It’s actually a hundred and twenty-three.”

  “And that’s not even counting our immediate families, who are the only people I really want or need to be with us in the first place. That would be seven, a perfect number. My two kids and son-in-law, Jessica and Sam, Sara and your mother.”

  “Sara would want to bring Luke.”

  “All right, Luke is invited, too. I have no problem with that.”

  “What about Betty?” she asked quietly, mentioning her best friend. “I can’t leave Betty out. And she’ll probably want to bring a date along.”

  Dan glanced at her over the edge of his glasses. “Okay, Betty Bowman and date. Counting us, that’s still only twelve. We could all sit at the same table in some nice restaurant.”

  “Just a little gathering at a restaurant? That’s all you want to do for our wedding? That doesn’t sound like . . . like much of a celebration to me.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so forlorn, but their wedding was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives . . . well, one of the happiest at any rate.

  “Oh, Emily, please. Don’t look at me like that. Please?” Dan stood up, took her hand, and led her back to the couch. For a moment they just sat watching the fire, leaning into each other in contented silence.

  “I don’t want you to be unhappy, sweetheart,” Dan finally said. “But we just can’t seem to find a common ground. We agreed on a medium-sized party, and you make up a guest list suitable for the inaugural ball.” He leafed through the pages on the pad and she finally had to laugh.

  “All right . . . maybe I did get a little carried away,” Emily said. “But I knew you’d do a real hatchet job. I had to overcompensate.”

  “Oh, that was just a trick then?”

  “Not really. But if we don’t decide on something soon, we’ll have to push back the date of the trip, and I know you don’t want to do that.”

  He looked alarmed now, sitting up straight. “We can’t change the trip, honey. You know that. I’ve got the boat all lined up. Those weeks are the only time it’s available until next fall and it’s all paid for. At least our honeymoon is planned.”

  “And you’ve done a great job of it,” she admitted.

  She had to give him credit. While she muddled over the wedding arrangements, coming up so far with zilch, Dan had figured out their entire six-week trip. Then again, he’s been planning a trip like this for years and only had to make a few adjustments to accommodate me, his unexpected traveling companion, she thought. They would fly to St. Martin and pick up the sailboat Dan was renting from a friend. The thirty-five-foot, three-mast boat was quite beautiful but looked like a lot to handle. Dan had been teaching her how to sail and promised
she would be able to sail it herself before their trip was through.

  It was going to be a perfect trip, a perfect adventure to start their married life together, she thought. If only they could get through the getting married part. . . .

  “Which is why you should let me plan the wedding, too.” Dan drew close and whispered the last words, tickling her ear. “Why don’t we just elope? Then we can have the big party you seem so set on in the spring when we get back.”

  Emily settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh . . . I don’t know. That might work. I would hate to hurt everyone’s feelings, though. Like Jessica and Sara and your kids, I mean. They might feel left out.”

  “And your mother will be apoplectic. You forgot to mention that.”

  “That, too.” She glanced at him and grinned. The thought had crossed her mind, of course, but it seemed so obvious it didn’t bear mentioning.

  “Will you at least think about it? Won’t it be great to finally be married? Isn’t that what we really both want?”

  Marriage to Dan was exactly what she wanted. She had waited a long time to meet someone like him. She had thought she would never marry again or have anyone to share her life. Their love was a precious gift, a true blessing. She had to focus on that, she reminded herself, instead of on how and when and where they would celebrate.

  “All right, I’ll think about it,” she agreed. “It would certainly cut down on the list making.”

  She pushed the legal pad aside and it fell on the floor. Dan watched her, looking very pleased by the gesture. “That’s the spirit. I knew you’d see this my way sooner or later.”

  Then he pulled her close for a deep, warm kiss, and Emily decided she didn’t want to think about party planning any more. She was going to like being married to Dan. She just had to keep focusing on their future. This wedding glitch would sort itself out one way or another.