One Imperfect Christmas

by Myra Johnson

  Natalie collapsed against the footboard, a sob catching in her throat. She felt her father's arm go around her shoulder, his whiskery cheek brush hers. She found his hand and squeezed. “She made it to Christmas Day, Daddy. She kept her promise.”

  “She sure did, honey. God is good.”

  As she stood watching her mother sleep, that elusive truth Natalie had been avoiding crept forward, growing and gathering strength, crystallizing in her understanding like the pure, bright ring of the tiny glass bell Dad had hung on the tree the night of her birthday.

  She knew now what she had to do. It would be a perfect Christmas after all.

  21

  Daniel had just climbed out of the shower when the phone rang. A towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping onto the carpet, he snatched up the receiver at his bedside. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it's me.”

  At the sound of her voice, his jaw dropped. His grip on the towel faltered, and he almost dropped that too. “Natalie?”

  “Daniel, I'm so sorry for how I treated you after … after Mom got so sick.”

  “It's okay, I understand. How is she?” He was almost afraid to ask. “Any change?”

  “The worst is over. She's resting quietly—no more coughing or fever.”

  “That's great news.” He cleared his throat. “And you? Are you doing okay?”

  “Hanging in there. It's been a rough couple of days, but now that Mom's past the crisis, Dad and Lissa and I are getting dressed for the Christmas church service. I'm … I'm calling to invite you to spend the day with us.”

  He noted something different in her tone, a lightness, a freshness he hadn't heard in almost a year. His pulse quickened.

  “Can you meet us at church,” she asked tentatively, “then come over for dinner?”

  He scrubbed a hand through his wet hair and mentally scrambled to take in this unexpected development. “Are you sure? I mean, I didn't expect anyone would be going.”

  She sighed. “Mom would never want us to skip church on Christmas morning. And … ”

  He could sense the struggle in her hesitation. His stomach muscles tensed. His grip tightened on the receiver.

  “And it wouldn't be the same if we didn't go together—you and me and Lissa, as a family.” Her tone softened even more. “I don't think I could bear it if the three of us missed even a single Christmas together.”

  He sank onto the edge of the bed and replied throatily, “Thanks, Nat. I'll be there.”

  An hour later he met Natalie, Lissa, and Bram on the front steps of the church beneath the tall, white bell tower as Christmas chimes rang out across the rooftops. With Lissa between them, Daniel and Natalie followed Bram down the aisle to where Hart and Celia and the boys were holding places for them in the Morgans' usual pew. The eight of them completely filled one row, except for the place Belinda Morgan would have taken. They did not spread out to absorb her space but sat shoulder to shoulder, each drawing strength and hope from the other.

  Glancing at his wife's serene profile over the fair head of their daughter, Daniel felt more certain than ever that something had changed in Natalie. Her impenetrable shell seemed to have cracked, and instead of crumbling with despair as he so feared, she seemed somehow stronger, more alive, more at peace than he'd ever known her to be in all the years they'd been married.

  At the conclusion of the service, the pastor requested special prayers for Belinda Morgan and family. “Our dear sister in Christ survived a serious setback over the weekend, but I understand she is much improved this morning, a true blessing on this glorious Christmas Day.” The pastor gave a soft chuckle. “And we all know how much Belinda loves Christmas.”

  Natalie's chin lifted almost imperceptibly, and Daniel glimpsed her sniff back a tear. He ached to reach around Lissa and place a reassuring hand on Natalie's shoulder, but something told him to wait.

  At the closing hymn, “Joy to the World,” the whole church resounded in voice and song. The last chords faded, and Daniel watched in admiration as the woman he loved graciously accepted expressions of concern from the family's many friends. Deannie Garner, looking as quiet and reserved as he'd ever seen her, walked over to their pew and gave Natalie a tear-filled embrace.

  Natalie's annoyance with the girl had been no secret, but clearly something had changed there too. Had they managed to settle their differences during Natalie's last few days at the print shop, or had their flighty former babysitter finally grown up? Seeing Jeff Garner walk over, Daniel couldn't help but notice the open affection and pride in Jeff's eyes when he rested his arm on his niece's shoulder. Apparently, something had changed for the better in that relationship as well.

  The family slowly made their way down the aisle amidst the many well-wishers. Among them were Miss Fellowes, who owned Moonbeams Bookstore, and Hart's veterinary clinic receptionist and her family. Even the grumpy Mr. Craunauer from The Apple Cart awaited his turn to offer words of encouragement to Natalie and the family.

  “How you holding up, man?”

  Daniel recognized the voice of his friend Carl Moreno and turned to greet him. “Better than a couple of days ago,” he answered shakily, gripping Carl's hand. “Your family having a good Christmas?”

  “Oh, yeah. Got the usual feast at my folks' house later.” Carl coaxed Daniel aside. “You and Natalie, you back together … or is it just, you know, temporary because of Christmas and all?”

  “Wish I could answer that. But I'm hopeful.”

  “I'm pulling for you.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  Carl returned to his family, and the congregants gradually moved from the church foyer into the cold but brilliant noon sunlight.

  “So good to see all of you here together,” Pastor Mayer said as the Pearces and Morgans approached him on the front steps. He gave Bram Morgan a warm embrace. “When I visited with you yesterday, things were looking pretty grim. I certainly didn't expect to see you at worship this morning.”

  “Natalie insisted.” Bram gave his daughter a weary smile. “So here we are, right where Belinda would expect us to be.”

  A lump formed in Daniel's throat when his daughter spoke up. “It's my grandparents' fiftieth Christmas together,” Lissa said. “I prayed so hard for Grandma to have Christmas with us, and I knew Jesus wouldn't let us down.”

  The pastor lightly touched her cheek and smiled knowingly. “He never does, sweetie. We may not always understand his ways, but he never, ever lets us down.”

  When Natalie returned to the farm with her family, the tempting aroma of roasting turkey greeted them as they stepped through the kitchen door. Until two days ago, she had been planning this dinner with great anticipation, a celebration of her mother's return to them and the fulfillment of a promise kept. When the crisis hit, she'd all but given up hope—hope of ever receiving her mother's forgiveness, hope of restoring her marriage, hope in the power of God.

  Dad tossed his felt Western hat onto the coat rack. “I'll go check on your mother and let Carolyn know we're home.”

  “I'll go with you, Grandpa.” Lissa kicked the back door closed with the heel of her suede boot.

  Natalie strode to the stove and pulled open the oven door. “Give Mom a kiss for me. I'll be in as soon as I check on dinner.”

  Seeing Dad and Lissa's expectant faces, she knew she'd done the right thing by going through with her plans. Early that morning she'd peeled the potatoes, mixed the stuffing, and started the turkey roasting. After giving the turkey a quick basting, she tied one of her mother's aprons over her green wool jumper and set the potatoes on the stove. As she set the timer on the coffeemaker, Hart and his family arrived, the twins making a boisterous entrance through the kitchen door.

  “Careful,” Hart chided, one of Celia's pies balanced on each hand. “You boys make me drop one of these and you'll be eating Cheerios for dessert.” The twins made way, and he slid the pies onto the counter.

  Celia draped her coat and shoulder bag over
a hook near the door. “How can I help?” she asked, pulling an apron from a drawer.

  Natalie stirred the potatoes. “Would you like to make the gravy? You're the only person I know whose gravy rivals Mom's.”

  “That's quite a compliment.” Biting her lip, Celia turned to the pantry for the flour canister.

  “How about me?” Hart asked as he washed and dried his hands at the kitchen sink.

  Laughter bubbled up in Natalie's throat. “You know what your job is.”

  “Mash the potatoes. How could I forget? It's the only cooking function my family trusts me with.” Taking the spoon from Natalie, he stirred and tested the potatoes for doneness. “I'm an expert after all these years.”

  “Kurt and Kevin,” Natalie instructed, “you guys can set the table.” She and Dad had already added the extra leaf, brought in more chairs, and covered the scarred oak table with Mom's favorite Christmas tablecloth, the one with the festive red border of poinsettias. “You know where Grandma's Christmas china is and the silver.”

  The gangly blond boys nodded in unison and strode to the corner-style china cupboard.

  Daniel stepped closer, his hands stuffed self-consciously into the pockets of his suit pants. “I don't have a job yet.”

  Natalie blew a strand of hair from her forehead. “Would you get the casserole dish from the fridge and stick it in the microwave?” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “Ten minutes on high should do it. Then you can open the sparkling cider.”

  She set a pan of rolls in the oven and set the timer before pausing for a deep breath. Had she forgotten anything?

  Lissa trotted into the kitchen, her face beaming. “Grandma's eyes opened for a minute. I think she's waking up.”

  Natalie's heart lifted. She cast a harried glance around the kitchen, torn between the myriad dinner preparations and a sudden need to go to her mother.

  “Go on,” Celia urged with a cheery wink. “The rest of us can get dinner on the table.”

  She smiled her thanks, tossed her apron across a chair, and hurried with Lissa to her mother's room. Her father sat next to the bed and tenderly stroked Mom's hand. She stepped closer and touched his shoulder. “How's she doing, Dad?”

  He smiled up at her, his eyes moist. “Still dozing. But feel her face. No trace of fever. And Carolyn says her lungs sound clear.”

  Lissa squeezed Natalie's waist. “It's a miracle, Mom.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” A wave of emotion swelled, awe and humility and gratitude so powerful that Natalie feared her knees would buckle. She nudged her father's arm. “Daddy, would you mind if I spent a few moments alone with Mom?”

  He glanced up with a questioning smile, then rose and nodded. “Lissa, let's you and I go see if we can help with dinner. Carolyn, want to join us?”

  The door closed behind them, and Natalie sank into the chair her father had vacated. She pressed her mother's hand between her own and leaned close. “Hi, Mom. Can you hear me?”

  Her mother's eyes fluttered open. The blue-gray gaze shifted toward Natalie, and a single tear slid down Mom's pale cheek.

  “I just wanted to tell you, I understand now. I know what you were trying to tell me.”

  Several blinks. Another tear. A semblance of a crooked smile curled her mother's lips before her eyes drifted shut again.

  Natalie rested her forehead upon the soft cotton quilt, soon wet with her own tears. Gracious God, thank you for letting my mother see one more Christmas. Thank you for giving me the chance to show her how very much I love her, how much I love all my family.

  Rising, she pressed her lips to the wisp of silver hair curling at her mother's temple. One very important Christmas tradition had yet to be fulfilled, and she felt sure Mom wouldn't mind delegating the task this year.

  In the kitchen Natalie found Lissa fiddling with a poinset-tia-shaped napkin ring. A tingle of anticipation racing up her spine, she drew her daughter toward the hallway. “Come with me. I need your talents for something special.”

  The living room lay in afternoon shadows, illuminated by only the twinkling Christmas-tree lights and the glow from the wood stove. Natalie quietly closed the door to the kitchen, and the clatter of dishes and cooking utensils faded.

  Lissa paused in front of the nativity scene, her eyebrows quirked in a questioning frown. “So what are we doing?”

  With a secretive smile, Natalie crossed in front of her bewildered daughter and into the alcove. She rummaged through her mother's paint supplies and handed Lissa a thin sable brush. “How would you like to paint a star?”

  The pungent smell of oil paint tickled Lissa's nose as she bent over the starry backdrop. She dipped the brush into a swirl of white and yellow paint, then bit her lip, her hand poised in midair.

  “Mom, I can't. This is Grandma's job.”

  Mom tucked an errant strand of Lissa's hair behind her ear. “Grandma's still pretty tired from being sick. And she's already kept the biggest promise to Granddad, don't you think?”

  Lissa quirked a smile. “Yeah, she made it to their fiftieth Christmas. But still … ”

  “I know, painting the star is Grandma's tradition. But traditions are for sharing, and I don't think Grandma will mind at all passing the job to her artistic and very determined granddaughter. After all, you're the one who reminded everyone how important this Christmas is.”

  Though Mom tried to sound cheery, Lissa couldn't miss the tremor in her voice. She fought extra hard not to cry herself while her heart overflowed with a confusing mixture of love and sorrow and pride.

  Mom studied the backdrop. “Look, here's a good spot, right near the center. Make it a nice fat one, okay?”

  Tentatively, Lissa touched the paint-coated brush to the midnight-blue backdrop in the spot Mom had indicated. With delicate strokes she fashioned an elongated star of palest yellow, then highlighted it with a light touch of shimmering teal blue. She sat back and blew out her pent-up breath.

  “Beautiful,” Mom whispered.

  “I don't know.” Lissa frowned and shook her head. “It's not as good as Grandma's stars.”

  Her mother's lips brushed the top of her hair. “It's perfect. Your grandmother will be so proud of you.”

  Lissa shivered with happiness. She reached for her grandmother's stained paint rag and wiped the excess paint off the brush before swirling it in a jar of brush cleaner. “Grandma's proud of you, too, Mom.”

  Her mother cast a bemused smile. “I know she is. For a long time I'd forgotten, but I'm finally beginning to believe it again.” After another inspection of the newest star, she nodded with satisfaction. She lifted the backdrop from the easel and set it reverently in its place behind the nativity scene.

  Lissa joined her next to the library table, silently intertwining her fingers with her mother's. Her gaze fell upon the ceramic baby Jesus, sleeping in the manger between the kneeling figures of Mary and Joseph. “I guess Jesus is the only kid in the universe who never goofed up and did something stupid.”

  “I bet Mary and Joseph would disagree.” Mom released a gentle laugh. “I can just imagine how worried they were the time they searched and searched for him, only to find him talking with the teachers in the temple.”

  Lissa's stomach tightened. “Like you and Dad worried when I ran away and hid in Granddad's barn?”

  “Exactly.” Mom fixed her with a sad-eyed stare and squeezed her hand. “I worried, yes, but more for selfish reasons, because I didn't think I could handle one more problem. I was hurting so badly myself that I didn't even try to understand the pain you were going through after your dad and I separated.”

  Lissa curled her tongue over her upper lip. “I didn't try very hard to understand how you were feeling, either. You were so upset about Grandma, but I just wanted to find a way to get you and Dad back together. Mom, I … ” She drew in a shaky breath, afraid to meet her mother's eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Lissa, you know you can tell me anything, don't you?” Mom gul
ped suddenly, her lips flattened into an embarrassed frown. “Okay, maybe you don't know that. I haven't been very easy to talk to for quite a while now.” She led Lissa to the chair and ottoman, where they sat facing each other. She clasped Lissa's hands. “But I'm listening now. What is it, sweetie?”

  Taking courage from her mother's reassurance, Lissa inhaled deeply and poured out the same story she'd confessed to her father two days ago. Only when she finished did she lift her eyes to meet her mother's stunned gaze. “Are you mad? Will you ever forgive me?”

  Long moments of silence passed while Lissa tried to read the expressions flitting across her mother's face. Everything she'd expected was there—shock, disbelief, confusion, regret. Then, finally, understanding.

  Mom squeezed her hand. “Remember what Grandma told me the day she got so sick?”

  Lissa spoke softly as the remembered terror of that afternoon ripped a wider hole in her heart. “She said it wasn't your fault. She told you to forgive and learn to love.”

  “It's taken me until this morning for those words to sink in. Grandma never once blamed me for not being there to help her the day she had her stroke. But I wouldn't listen to the truth—about what happened to her, about what forgiveness means, about how much you and your dad needed me.” Her voice became breathy. “About how much I needed your dad and you. I didn't believe I deserved to be loved, so I pulled away from everyone I cared about most.”

  Lissa sniffled. “I kind of feel that way, too, after what I did to you.”

  “Then it's time we both learned that's not what families are all about.” With misty eyes Mom glanced toward the nativity scene. “God gave his most precious gift to us by creating a special family. I'm sure it was so Jesus could learn firsthand about loving and forgiving.” Her eyes twinkled. “Even when we really, really goof up.”