A Knight to Remember

by Yvonne Lehman

  Gloria shook her head. “Clara’s the one who told me that.”

  Clara shrugged. “My sister told me.”

  Gloria’s mom laughed. “I think the saying has been around for a while.”

  Frank sighed. “Just can’t stop those creative minds.”

  “But,” Thomas said, “before I seriously consider flowers, I’ve been thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Seely’s description of those needy little children and how their eyes are haunting. Paintings of them and the missionaries who sacrifice to give them physical and spiritual life sounds to me like a worthy theme.”

  Gloria could think of only one night that could top this one and that was when she and Thomas had sat in there alone. Everyone in the group related well. Thomas’s friends and her family.

  Ted could be serious, but he also was a joker and soon had them all laughing while Libby gazed at him like he was the cat’s meow. He entertained them with Christmas jokes and true stories, like his getting stuck in a pipe. He had everyone laughing.

  Blackston rolled in a cart laden with goodies and drinks. Several of the group went over, including Gloria to refill her glass. Next thing she knew she heard Ted exclaim, “Look who’s standing where?”

  Everyone looked, and he held mistletoe over her head and that of the person standing next to her. Thomas!

  Libby poked Ted. “I told you not to do that.” Everyone seemed to still be in the lighthearted and fun mood that Ted had set. Thomas was the hero of the night, but Ted was the life of the party. This fit in naturally with what Ted would do, and with her and Thomas being the only single persons there.

  Gloria didn’t know what to do. Just laugh and lean forward for Thomas to lightly touch her lips with his? Right here in front of all these people? She kept the smile pasted on her face but didn’t meet Thomas’s eyes. To back away and say no would put tension into the festivities, and what kind of impression would it give? That she didn’t want to kiss Thomas and embarrass him? That she did and was afraid it would look too serious? Or too trivial? This was supposed to be a silly, fun time.

  Thomas seemed hesitant, too. He said something silly to Ted, and everyone laughed. Then Thomas said, “My grandmother always told me, remember who you are. You’re a Knight, so behave like one. So, in deference to my grandmother, I shall give the fair lady a proper kiss.”

  He reached for her hand, lifted it, and pressed his lips to the back of it. Then he made a mock bow, and she had no choice but to laugh lest she cry. She felt color rise in her cheeks and forced a smile. She tried to curtsey, and it must have looked something like one because they all applauded.

  Ted said, “Guess I’ll have to show you how it’s done.” He moved over to Libby and held the mistletoe over them, and Libby eagerly obliged for their sweet kiss. “Now,” Libby said, “get rid of that before we get thrown out of here.”

  “Back where I got it.” He stuck the fake mistletoe into his jacket pocket. Everyone turned to the food and drink. Heather said something to Gloria about the coconut macaroons to which Gloria replied, she wasn’t sure with what, but she didn’t want a macaroon, only something to moisten her dry throat.

  Everyone was busy with food and drink and conversation and had no reason to give further thought to the funny little incident by which they’d been entertained. But she was thinking only someone like Thomas could pull off what he did and make a flopped play look like a smash hit. He had a creative flair. Eccentric. The audience liked the twist instead of the expected. But she knew, even if no one else did, Thomas did not want to kiss her. Not even in a playful way. Not even a little innocent peck.

  thirty-two

  Where do I go from here? Gloria wondered

  Arlene said she’d like to look at the ornaments on the Christmas trees. James replied he hadn’t seen them in over three years.

  “James, you maybe know what some of them mean more than I do since you’re older,” Thomas said.

  James gave him a mock-mean look at the older remark.

  Thomas just laughed. “There’s another tree with ancient ornaments in the dining room.”

  “Jim and I have been here for dinner around Christmastime,” Clara said. “I’d love to hear about the ornaments.” James led the way. Jim, Clara, Gloria’s parents, Frank’s wife, and Arlene followed him. Ted, Libby, Caleb, and Heather returned to the couches. Gloria thought of sitting with them but heard them start talking about their children. Thomas and Frank stood off to one side, so she strolled around, looked at the decorations, admired the crèche, moved to the front window, and peeked out. She thought that might be a few flakes of snow.

  She walked over to the glass doors that opened into the entry then unlocked the front door and went out onto the porch. She set her glass on the banister and put her hands on the railing. The sparsely falling snow began to lie on the ground.

  Not wanting to entertain negative thoughts, she thanked God that she’d learned so much in the past months. She had job opportunities now, but even if she didn’t, she could stay with Clara and Jim as long as needed, help at the shelter, and feel she had purpose. Your will, Lord. I willed Raymond, and he wasn’t best.

  She heard the door open and the screen squeak. Someone else was coming to watch the snow fall. Feeling a chill, she hugged her arms and looked over her shoulder. Then Thomas stood beside her. They both held on to the railing.

  “Gloria,” he said, and the sound was like the softly falling snow. “I haven’t kissed a girl in over three years. I don’t intend to play at life anymore, which means I’m not even going to play at kissing because someone prompts me. I know it would have been fun, but I didn’t want it to be something in jest.”

  “Oh, that’s fine.” She shrugged.

  “I understand those who enjoy having a little fun with things like that, and I see nothing wrong with it. But it would have been wrong for me.”

  She hoped her smile had frozen.

  “And another reason—”

  She turned. “Thomas. Stop! You don’t have to explain. What’s a stupid little kiss under some. . .some. . .fake parasitical berries? Even in fun?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Another reason is because I wanted to.” His voice stayed soft. “My first kiss in over three years mustn’t be just for fun or so casual. I may even have forgotten how.”

  She was thinking that she might only be a typist, but perhaps she could help him.

  She could not look away. His face came closer. The warm breath in the cold air was on her lips, followed by his own. They were warm, tender, moving against hers, making her eyes close, her arms go around his neck, and her heart beat against his, and her lips felt as if they’d been lonely all her life, until now.

  Finally, he moved back, but she could still feel the wonder of the kiss.

  She stared into his eyes for a long time and finally found her voice. “You haven’t forgotten how.”

  His smile was as warm as his gaze. “Wouldn’t have mattered. This was unlike any of the others anyway. I don’t care to remember any of them.”

  She smiled right back. This time she didn’t think she’d lost her mind.

  She’d lost her heart.

  They turned to watch the snow for a moment. She remembered he said there was more than one kind of kiss. She didn’t need a dictionary to figure this one out. Of course it was a physical act. And they were two single people. He hadn’t had female companionship in three years. And the last kiss she vividly remembered was the one Raymond and Stephanie shared in the storeroom back in February.

  My goodness, why shouldn’t she and Thomas share one, too? They’d worked together, gotten to know each other, shared the negative and positive things about their lives. They’d come to. . .like each other.

  A man should be kissed at his own party when celebrating a huge success and with a great future ahead of him and on a softly falling snowy kind of evening. And, too, she’d been lovely in her green sundress. This was black satin with rhinestones an
d the snow was on her shoulders and in her glass. . . .

  She lifted her hand to brush away the snow, and he helped.

  “Your guests will be wondering what happened to us.”

  He nodded. “I can almost hear the whispers and see the raised eyebrows. But if they were more important than you, I would still be in there instead of having come out here to you.”

  He moved to the front door with the Closed sign on it. He could open a wooden and glass door, and she could choose whether or not to walk inside. But one couldn’t walk into another’s heart without their invitation.

  Someday, when she was an older spinster, she’d take her nieces and nephews to an art gallery and create in them a love for painting. And she would think about having been kissed by a famous artist, even if it was. . .only physical. She would never forget. He was sensitive, kind, gallant, rather like one of those chivalrous fellows who rode on a white horse.

  He was a Knight to remember.

  thirty-three

  Thomas wasn’t sure how to handle his feelings for Gloria. He didn’t know whether he was moving too fast by having kissed her, although he didn’t regret that. Or if he was moving too slow. However, his life had changed drastically and many demands were being made on it. His time wasn’t his own yet.

  He had many obligations to fulfill. A few days after his party, there were the holiday activities for the Wildwood residents. He didn’t want them to feel he would abandon them, and he continued his cooking and providing special dishes and joined in their festivities.

  In conversation he mentioned in Gloria’s hearing that he’d be spending much of Christmas Day with James’s family, which included being there for opening presents, and Frank, who would be talking business regardless. He was going to invite her, but she said she was looking forward to spending Christmas with her parents and Jim and Clara.

  “You have plans for Christmas Eve?” he asked.

  “Not really. Other than being with family.”

  “Would you like to attend a Christmas carol concert in Silver City?”

  “Sounds nice.”

  He told her the time and thought he should add, “I have a little present for you.” He had his forefinger and thumb about half an inch apart and decided to be more specific. “Well, not that little.” He formed a square with his hands about 3x4 inches. “But it’s just a small thing.”

  He didn’t want to give any false impressions. Last Christmas she’d expected a ring from her boyfriend and was later devastated. Not that she was expecting or wanting anything from him.

  She laughed lightly. “I have a little present for you, too.” She formed a square about 2x4 inches. “And thicker than yours.” She measured about two inches with her finger and thumb.

  After the concert they went to the Percolator for coffee. He gave her his present first. She slowly loosened the taped paper, and the smile faded the moment she saw it. He thought the gold-jeweled, ornate picture frame was perfect for the small painting. “Oh,” she whispered. “This is wonderful, Thomas. It’s like the sketch you made on their invitation. Except this is a painting, not a sketch.”

  “I got several pictures of your parents from Clara.”

  She looked at it lovingly then at him. With her looking at him like that, he thought he perhaps should have given it to her on the porch of the hotel. On second thought, this was safer.

  “I truly love it,” she said and held it to her heart for a moment, and then she looked at it again. She sighed. “Compared with this, my present is. . .silly.”

  “No present is silly.”

  She slid it from her purse, and he tore off the paper. He gasped, looking at the box. He took out the Christmas ornament, a knight in full armor brandishing his sword.

  She spoke self-consciously. “The sword is supposed to represent your paintbrush.”

  He looked across at her. “Do you remember what I said about my grandmother saying to remember who I am?”

  She nodded. “That’s why I thought of this.” She made a little huff. “I told you it was silly.”

  “No way,” he said. “It’s perfect. Something I will set out to remind me who I am and what I should be.” He reached over and took her hand that rested on the table. He brought it to him as he leaned over and held it and kissed the back of it. “Thank you.”

  At the Christmas party she’d had a fake smile and didn’t meet his eyes. Her smile now was not fake, and her gaze met his, but he detected a hint of uncertainty.

  But he smiled at her and soon drove her home. She said, “Don’t get out,” so he didn’t walk her to the door and kiss her good night. Because he wanted to so very much.

  Christmas Day with James’s family was fun and exciting. Four-year-old Valerie was a great age for delighting in all that Christmas was about, from the story of baby Jesus to opening presents that made her eyes as big and shiny as the baubles on the tree.

  Blake loved it, too, and had to be put into a playpen to keep him out of things. It was obvious Frank and Jan spoiled their grandchildren. During dinner James said, “I should apologize, Thomas. At times I’ve thought of you in terms of the Prodigal Son.”

  “That’s okay,” Thomas said. “I looked at you as the stodgy, pious, judgmental, older son.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  “But you’re not prodigal. You’ve done a good thing, finding a purpose, not giving up. I admire you for that. I followed my dream, but I didn’t take chances.”

  Thomas nodded. “Maybe that’s why I could. I knew you’d be here for me.”

  “Yes, I would. And you’d take me in if needed.”

  “Yeah James, I would. Or at least put you in a loony bin and make sure you get a little food once in a while.”

  James laughed. “I always knew I could count on you.” He grew serious and looked at the painting over the fireplace. “You did that painting of Mom and Dad. While they were alive, I didn’t think much of it. Now it’s one of my most prized possessions.”

  Thomas looked away from him, but James brought his attention back to him. “Thomas, I know you felt like Dad had his heart attack because he lost his money.” He shook his head. “You didn’t stick around for the autopsy report. He died because of his heart condition. He would have even if he hadn’t lost his money.”

  “I should have known that,” Thomas said. “He loved us. I think that was just a way of handling my grief. I had to do something besides miss him so much.” He tried to shake away the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

  Instead of concentrating on a past that couldn’t be revived, he needed to think about his family right here. “James, with all that’s going on with me, I could use a good attorney.”

  “I happen to know one,” James said. “I would be honored.”

  Thomas felt like he’d really come home. And yet, something was missing. He had plenty to do, but no huge painting projects to work on, although Ted wanted a family portrait, and Frank was getting requests for portraits, too.

  But he had to get on canvas what his photographic memory wouldn’t forget. The beautiful woman in a black dress on the porch with snow in her hair and on her shoulders. A black-and-white picture except for her gray eyes with a touch of blue that held a hint of uncertainty, as if questioning who and what they were to each other. And the slight tinge of color in her cheeks from the cold. Or was it from inner warmth? The coral lips that had not protested when he had not resisted their lure.

  He wandered into the living room where a fire glowed in the cozy room. His mind and heart filled with memories. Of his friends and family. And yet, he felt a chill as if he were out there in the icy rain. The room was empty.

  However, he counted his numerous blessings. In ways he couldn’t have known, while wandering the streets, the New Year looked very promising for his career.

  New Year?

  A stab of concern raced through his mind.

  He might be too late.

  thirty-four

 
The next morning right after the men were served breakfast, Thomas went into the office and stood at the back of Gloria’s computer. She looked up with uncertainty in her eyes, eyes that matched her blue sweater. The lips were coral, as he remembered.

  “Did you take the bookstore job?”

  He must look as pale as he felt. She said, “Pull up the chair, Thomas.”

  He did and sat opposite her.

  She shook her head. “It was tempting, but I felt like I’d be taking steps backward to the way my life was before. I’ve learned to be”—she paused—“a giver and a receiver. Like you said, the givers are among the happiest people. I need to think seriously about God’s plan for my life. It may be at a bookstore, but I don’t know that right now. So I’ll give here at Wildwood, and I’ll receive from Clara and Jim. That makes them happy.”

  Painting a picture was a lot easier than finding the right words to say. “Will you go to the hotel with me?”

  She stared like he’d lost his mind, but he heard someone step into the room and Jim’s voice said, “She can go now if she wants to. There’s not much work going on right now and the RA is helping more.”

  She got her jacket and went with him. When they went inside the hotel he said, “I’d like to show you all the rooms.”

  He showed her one bedroom on the second floor and said the others were like it. They went into his studio, and she glanced at the pictures on the easels and noticed the clutter on the tables, although that was his filing system.

  “Amazing that a person can be creative in”—she grinned—“such a mess.”

  “It’s up here and here.” He touched his temple then his chest. “Just like the book you and Frank created with a camera, a screen, and a keyboard.”

  Yes, whether one wore a black satin dress in the snow or a blue sweater or a T-shirt and jeans, the important things were in the head and heart.