Miracle at Midnight

by Stacia Wolf

  But her heart still felt as if it were trapped in stone. Had she ever known true love? No. She’d been desired for her beauty and her family’s power, but never truly for herself. She’d find no answers from inside.

  At least she hadn’t lost her temporary home. Nick had left it unlocked for her to return. She’d wondered, for a moment, if he’d use this chance to rid himself of the “crazy woman”. Maybe, just maybe, he’d started to believe.

  She heard some voices and a key being inserted into the entry door. Amara hastily wiped away an errant tear, stood up, straightened her sweater, planted her fingers in her back pockets as she’d seen Sami do and pasted a welcoming smile on her face.

  Only, when she saw Nick and Sami happily chattering as they entered, the smile became genuine.

  They’d seemed so distant to each other when she’d first met them. Now they truly enjoyed each other’s company.

  Nick caught Amara’s gaze. “The good father any help?”

  Amara shrugged. “It’s up to me.” She continued to smile, but knew she didn’t hide her disappointment well.

  Sami crossed to her, setting her bag near the kitchen. She took Amara’s chilly hand. “It’s okay. It’s Christmas time. Miracles happen at Christmas, don’t they?” She looked up at Nick, who nodded. Amara thought he hid his doubts well.

  “You’re right,” she said, grinning at the little girl, so beautiful in her childish simplicity. “Let’s make a cake, okay?”

  * * *

  “No, we had no electricity. Or indoor plumbing. Or running water. I like all of that.” Amara laughed. Sami giggled as she carefully stirred flour into some beaten egg whites.

  Nick, sitting on a kitchen stool, watched his daughter’s face as she and Amara worked on the Christmas cake. She seemed so happy, and what about Amara? With the weight of her future on her shoulders, she seemed as carefree as Sami.

  Nick still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she’d ever been a statue, that she came from five hundred years ago or that she needed to break a curse with such a ridiculous question. How hard could it be to define love?

  Yet even as he thought it, he knew he’d never quite succeeded. The only love he’d ever been sure of came from his parents, now in Florida with his sister’s family. Sami—well, he knew he loved her and, before this visit, thought she loved the idea of a daddy but not really this daddy. But when she’d hugged him this afternoon while traipsing through Manhattan, he’d felt her love emanating from her.

  So he could sympathize with Amara’s plight. He wanted to help her himself. Maybe go online and find some definitions of love?

  Then he mentally shook himself. Was he starting to believe all of this? Sami believed, but she thought she’d seen something through tired eyes and a blanket of falling snow. The priest believed, but he’d bought into some French legend that had come with the statue. Nick didn’t have any of that cluttering up his head.

  Yet he’d let her in his house, near his daughter. A crazy woman or a cursed woman stood in his kitchen teaching his little girl how to make a Christmas log.

  He nearly snorted. Maybe his cynicism had melted a tiny bit.

  Amara spread the no-stick aluminum foil down on the cookie sheet and carefully poured the batter while Sami scraped the bowl. Small splatters of chocolate batter dotted the little girl’s face and Amara’s hands. Then Sami opened the oven door—the oven that rarely saw anything more than frozen pizzas—and slid the cake in.

  Amara straightened up and smiled. “You’re sure about the temperature?” she asked Nick for the tenth time.

  He shook his head. “Now who’s the cynic? That’s what the recipe called out for.”

  They’d printed a half-dozen recipes off the Internet, and Amara had chosen one she considered fairly simple. But for a woman who’d grown up with wood ovens, the idea of his electric one seemed to fill her with doubt.

  “Now we set the timer,” Sami said very matter-of-factly.

  “A timer?” Amara looked at her in confusion. “What’s a timer?”

  Nick smiled, stood up and punched the timer button on the stove. “What does the recipe say for how long to cook?” he asked.

  Amara searched the print-out. He still marveled over her reading skills—if she were from France, how did she know English? Her explanation of a magical wafer seemed rather far-fetched.

  But so did her very existence.

  And the clothes. He’d seen that bundle. He’d lifted it himself. There could be no way that fat jacket, those jeans and sweater had been in that package that had been barely two inches thick and the size of a phone book. No way.

  Then, where had it come from?

  He shook himself mentally. He was a doctor, damn it. He dealt in scientific facts. Nothing in his life had prepared him for any of this.

  “Ten to twelve minutes,” she said.

  Nick set the timer for ten and sat back down.

  He watched as the two of them started making something called marzipan. Amara looked up at him and her half-smile and the twinkle in her eyes made him forget that none of this could be real.

  All he knew was that with one tiny smile his cares melted away.

  * * *

  “Sami, hand me another plate, will you?” Nick glanced at his daughter, wearing an oversized apron, as the three of them served up scrambled eggs at the local homeless shelter. He and his co-workers did this every year, and this year was no different. This year marked the first time he’d ever brought anyone with him, and they’d greeted Sami with welcoming smiles and “she’s adorable”, and Amara with questions in their eyes.

  He’d had no answers for them.

  Amara, despite her purported royal bloodline, pitched right in, pouring glass after glass of orange juice and doling out smiles to everyone. It didn’t matter that very few returned the smile, she still beamed at them. Especially at the children. She would also hand them a tiny candy cane that the shelter had piles of.

  Yet somehow she carried a aura of sadness. When the line died down a bit, he stepped around his daughter and leaned into her.

  “Why so sad?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  She bowed her head. “These people—they remind me of the villagers under my rule. Sad, hollow eyes, without any hope. It reminds me of how cruel I’d truly been.” She lifted glittering eyes to him. “I imprisoned a man for stealing food for his family on Christmas Eve. I threatened his children. Little children, who only wanted food.”

  “Amara…” He didn’t know what to say. She’d not shown any hard-hearted tendencies around him.

  “I was a monster.” She grabbed another glass of juice, gave out another smile.

  “Obviously you’ve changed a lot,” he said. “Maybe that’s the whole point of this. To change into a better person.”

  Although he could only see her profile now, he couldn’t miss the tremble of her hands. “This change—how do you think it will help me when I’m frozen into stone?”

  * * *

  Christmas carolers belted out a rock-beat version of “Silent Night” as Nick and Sami held hands, with Amara on Sami’s other side. None of her anguish showed on her beautiful face, and she laughed with the crowd when children sporting antlers and large noses acted out “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer”.

  Then Santa appeared, doing a solo of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and Amara stopped smiling. She stared up above the singers, at the huge Christmas tree, and Nick wondered why. He’d noticed a similar reaction in her when they’d been admiring the window displays.

  She called Nicholas, Daddy. She was calling for you. No, she hadn’t. She’d been calling for—Saint Nick?

  Was that who’d done this to her? A jolly old elf had turned her into a statue?

  I threatened his children. Saint Nick’s legend spoke of protecting the children. Had this been his way of stopping their suffering?

  Oh gawd. He was starting to believe all of this.

  They walked toward home, and
Nick pondered all of it. Amara, Saint Nick, the statue, her predicament. Somehow, it all made sense. In a crazy, bizarre way, it did all fit together.

  He wanted to talk to the priest again, ask him more about the legend. Somewhere in there might be a way to free Amara.

  Chapter Five

  “Was it good?” Amara looked around expectantly, and her childish need for approval caused Nick to laugh.

  He swallowed a bite and said, “Yes, it was wonderful. Amazing what you can do with ham.”

  Amara shook her head. “I’ve never seen such a thing as a canned ham. Who would have thought? But I will miss the bone.” She shook a fork at him. “Good soup with the bone.”

  Even as she said it, it struck her—she wouldn’t be here tomorrow to have used that bone in soup. These last two days, they’d been wonderful, like an amazing gift. But she knew that in six hours, it would be over. She fingered the little necklace Sami had made her out of beads and given her that morning. Made with childish fingers, it was rough and crude, nothing like the jewels that had adorned her as Comtesse, but she found them more beautiful than anything that had ever touched her skin, because they came with love.

  Her heart filled with warmth as she gazed at the little girl. Then she glanced at Nick, found him watching her. His eyes held questions, but also admiration. He was so handsome, and when he laughed, she felt her pulse jump. All day thoughts of kissing him flitted through her mind, and she determined right then and there that before midnight she’d steal a kiss. It would be something to cling to if she once again became stone.

  The thought of kissing him brought heat and a smile to her face. He looked at her questioningly, and she could only smile larger.

  “Who wants dessert?” She scooted away from the table, grabbing plates to clear as she went. Nick stood as well, picking up some items.

  Once they entered the kitchen, he asked her, “What was that smile about?”

  She shook her head. No way would she tell him what she wanted. “I’m happy. You and Sami—you make me happy.”

  He eyed her with doubt. “I’m not quite buying that, Comtesse. You’re up to something.” He finished scraping his plate and set it in the dishwasher. Another appliance she adored. “But it can wait until later. For now, let’s get that dessert.”

  “Oh, no. I worked very hard on this after you two went to bed. Go sit down. I want to make an entrance.”

  With a faint protest, Nick let her shove him back into the dining room. Then Amara went to the fridge and pulled out the cake she’d hidden under a tent of aluminum foil. Peeling it off, she gazed at her creation.

  It looked wonderful, just like a log, with marzipan mushrooms, leaves and holly berries. She grabbed the powdered sugar and placing some on her palm, blew on it gently, causing it to rain down over the cake like frost. Grinning happily, she picked up the platter and carried it into the dining room. She wanted to see the joy on their faces at what she’d done.

  And when they ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the creation, it filled her with such warmth that all she could do was laugh.

  * * *

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.” Amara leaned over the sleeping Sami and, caressing her hair back off her cheek, kissed her. The little girl had fallen asleep while her father had read her one of the new books he’d gotten her for Christmas. She’d tried to stay awake until midnight, to find out what would happen to Amara, but she’d not come close.

  It was almost eleven. A little over one hour.

  Amara returned to the living room to find Nick sitting on the couch, watching her. She sat next to him.

  “So, how does this work? Do you return and he magically appears?”

  She nodded. “If I don’t return, he calls me there, right at midnight. Then I give him my answer. If I fail, I return to being the statue. If I succeed—” Her smile felt weak. “I’ve never succeeded, so I don’t know what would happen.”

  “Don’t say ‘if’. Say ‘when’.’”

  She didn’t want to hope too hard. And she didn’t want him to worry. “Whatever happens, it will be as it should be.” She spread her hands. “I’ve had a wonderful two days, Nick. Thank you for that gift.”

  “You’re welcome.” He picked up one of her hands. “You gave me a gift as well. You gave me my daughter back.” His face became somber. “We’d grown so far apart, and now, I feel we have a good shot at a real relationship.

  “Thank you for that.” His words were another blessing.

  He smiled and Amara decided to take her one last gift from him.

  With a swiftness born of nerves, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Then pulled back. Even in that brief touch, a shock wave entered her, and things inside her bubbled up. As if her life had finally come to fruition. She could only stare at him in wonder.

  But Nick didn’t waste any time staring. His hand cupped the back of her head and he pulled her to him.

  And caught her lips in a searing kiss.

  If she’d thought things bubbled before, now they boiled in ways she’d never experienced. She moved against him, pressing her body into his, wrapping her arms about him and soaking in everything she could. The roughness of his stubble against her face, the feel of his fingers in her hair, the smell of his skin.

  All of it would be burned forever in her memories.

  His tongue pressed past her lips, and she moaned. It felt exquisite, it felt like she’d waited just for this moment.

  But when his hand traveled to her breast, she knew it had to end. She understood now that sex would be like a promise to him of a future, and she had no future to give him.

  She pulled away and, with a small smile, stood. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.” With that, she went into her room and shut the door.

  Then she sat down and wrote Sami a note, telling her how their time spent together had meant so much. When she finished, she glanced at the little clock in her room.

  Less than an hour to go.

  Nick looked out the window at the empty statue base. Would she really end up back there at midnight, or was this all a far-fetched hoax?

  He wouldn’t know until after midnight, if even then.

  “Daddy.”

  He whirled around and saw Sami standing there, rubbing one eye.

  “Honey, what are you doing up? You should be in bed.” He scooped her up and carried her back to her room.

  “Where’s Amara? She’s still here, isn’t she?”

  He laid her back on her bed and pulled the covers over her. “Yes, sweetheart, she’s in her room.”

  “I want her to stay.”

  Her words tore into Nick. How could he promise her anything when he didn’t know himself what the truth was?

  He thought of the kiss he’d shared with Amara. It had been incredible, bringing alive feelings he’d thought he’d long out-grown. But how could any of this be real? That empty base outside. How could she be who she claimed to be?

  All his doubts raged forward as he struggled for an answer to Sami’s demand.

  “Honey, she can’t stay. She’d not like a puppy we can simply adopt. If she’s telling the truth, then she might become a statue. If she’s not—well, then we need to get her some help.”

  Sami stared at her father. “Mom’s right, you don’t believe in nothing!”

  Sami’s angered shocked him. “Your mom said that to you?”

  “She said that to Roger.” Roger, her step-father. “And she was right. Amara’s heart isn’t stone. Yours is!”

  “Sami…”

  “Just go away!” Sami twisted away from him and, pulling the covers up, slid all the way under them. “I don’t want to be here any more. I want to go home.”

  Nick sat there for a moment, wishing he knew what to say. But no brilliant answer came to him. One thing he did know.

  If his heart had been made of stone, it wouldn’t ache so much.

  Sami waited until she heard her door shut, then dressed quickly. She didn’t want to stay around and wat
ch Amara turn into a statue again, and she didn’t want to stay with her dad. He was hateful and mean. She’d go home. To Mom.

  She knew how. She’d done it many times with her father. She’d catch a cab to the airport, then a plane home. She’d talked to her mother earlier, and she’d sounded like she would love Sami to come home, so she would.

  She packed up her small backpack with a few pieces of clothing. She looked out the hallway then, after shutting her door silently, she crept to the front door. She could hear voices in Amara’s room. While fighting tears, Sami left the apartment in search of a way home.

  “Could you watch Sami for a few minutes? I want to go talk to Father Lattigan.” Nick had looked outside and seen the priest sitting at the bench by the statue, as if waiting for the outcome to Amara’s story.

  Amara nodded as she glanced at the clock. All her clothes lay neatly folded on the bed, which was perfectly made. The room looked like nobody had ever stayed there. “Please don’t be gone too long. I don’t want her alone when I—”

  She didn’t finish, but he knew. One way or another Amara would be gone.

  “I won’t be long.”

  He closed the door and resisted an urge to look in on his daughter. Either she’d be awake and angry or sleeping with a broken heart. Either one he couldn’t deal with right now. Right now, all he could hope was that between him and Father Lattigan, they could come up with a solution.

  “So that’s it? We just wait and see?” Nick’s frustration boiled at the priest’s answer to his question—how they could help Amara.

  Father Lattigan nodded. “It’s up to her now. The answer she needs is inside her.”

  Nick wanted to pound on something. “She’s answered this question nine times. She’s failed nine times. How is this time any different?”

  “Eight times.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She answered eight times. Once she…refused to answer. And what’s different this time is that she’s met you. You and Sami. I believe that’s changed her profoundly.”