by Dan Walsh
The captain gasped. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. If my grandson was out there to be found, I’m sure your men would have found him. Please take the money and express my thanks to everyone who helped. I’ve only got one request to make.”
“Anything,” the captain said.
“Would you personally escort Mr. Jeffries home, so he can spend Christmas Eve with his family, and make sure he gets home safely carrying so much cash.”
“I certainly will,” the captain said.
“I’ve got a request of the captain,” said Mrs. Fortini.
“What?”
“I’d like Katherine to be able to spend Christmas Eve and have Christmas dinner with us tomorrow. She has no family in town. Could you have someone drive her back to her apartment to pick up a few things and bring her back?”
“Happy to,” the captain said.
Forty
It was late afternoon on Christmas Day.
After enjoying a wonderful night of restful sleep and a very pleasant Christmas morning, Ian Collins, Patrick, Mrs. Fortini, and Katherine all sat down to a Christmas feast prepared by Mrs. Fortini. Patrick was sitting next to his grandfather, laughing and talking as if there had never been anything between them but love and affection. If Katherine hadn’t seen such things with her own eyes, she would never have believed them possible.
She looked toward the living room at the wooden soldier stationed proudly once more on the coffee table. Except for meals, he hadn’t left Patrick’s side since the moment his grandfather had given it to him.
Patrick asked her something, and she was just about to turn toward him when she heard a noise outside in the vestibule. Then a shadow appeared in the door window. Then a loud knock.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Mrs. Fortini asked Collins.
“No.”
“Did you give the extra reward money to the policemen?”
“They came back for it last night after they dropped off Miss Townsend.”
Once again, a knock at the door, a little louder.
“I’ll get it,” said Patrick. He jumped up and ran to the door before anyone said a word. He opened the door and screamed, “Daddy!”
Mrs. Fortini gasped.
Collins’s eyes opened wide, and he dropped his fork.
Katherine looked up. It was almost beyond taking in. How could this be? But she recognized Captain Shawn Collins instantly from his picture.
“I knew God would find you,” Patrick said as he buried his face in his father’s overcoat.
“I’m sorry if I surprised you,” said Shawn as he picked Patrick up in his arms. “I sent two telegrams, but I guess they didn’t get through with the storm.” Shawn looked down at the wooden soldier on the coffee table. He shook his head slowly back and forth, then looked up at his father, tears welling up in his eyes. For a few moments, no one spoke. “Dad . . . he’s beautiful.”
“Grandpa made him for me,” Patrick announced.
“Did he?”
Ian Collins got up from his chair and all but ran toward his son. “Shawn,” he said, erupting in tears. Shawn gently put Patrick down and they embraced, the elder Collins’s shoulders now heaving with sobs. “I’m so sorry, Shawn. So very sorry . . . for Elizabeth, for all I’ve done, all of it. I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“I love you, Dad,” Shawn said, now crying too.
Patrick came beside them both, hugging one leg each.
By now Katherine and Mrs. Fortini had joined in the tears, holding each other up as they watched the scene unfold. After several minutes, Mrs. Fortini said, “So, Shawn, you must be hungry after your long trip.”
“I am starving. I haven’t eaten all day, just trying to get home.”
“Well, you’re home now,” the elder Collins said, making good use of his already wet hankie. “Mrs. Fortini’s made a wonderful Christmas dinner. Come and get some.”
As Shawn walked into the living room, he stopped as he passed by Katherine. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” said Collins. “Where’s my manners?”
“This is Miss Townsend,” Patrick blurted out. “She’s been taking care of me while we waited for you to come home.” And then added, “With Grandpa and Mrs. Fortini too.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Katherine said, wiping her tears in a handkerchief. “Please, call me Katherine.”
“Hello, Katherine. I’m Shawn. Thank you so much for all you’ve done for Patrick.”
“Really, it’s been my pleasure,” she said, letting go of his hand. “No, that’s not enough.” She looked down at Patrick. “You have the most remarkable boy I’ve ever met.” She felt the tears about to unleash again.
“Well, I want to hear all about it,” he said as they made their way to the table. He picked Patrick up again. “I have missed you so much, my little man.”
“I’ve missed you too, Daddy.”
“I hope you’re going to tell us about how you made it home,” Katherine said. “When you’re up to it, I mean. It must be an amazing story. The last thing we heard was a telegram saying you were shot down and missing. Somewhere over Germany.”
“I’m really sorry you didn’t hear what happened next,” Shawn said, taking his seat. “Actually, I’ve been safe for a couple of days now. After our plane went down, we made it back through enemy lines to England. That’s when I found out about . . . about Elizabeth. After that, I caught the first plane home. It’s really a long story, and I promise I’ll tell you all about it some other time. But tonight . . . tonight I’d rather just think about Christmas.” He looked down and said, “I can’t believe I made it home for Christmas.”
“I know why, Daddy,” Patrick said.
“You do?”
“I prayed harder than I ever prayed. And I told God I didn’t care if I got anything else for Christmas except you. And look what he did. He gave me you and the only other thing I wanted . . . the wooden soldier Grandpa made.”
Forty-One
New Year’s Eve, 1943, 10:45 p.m.
Resting on a doily, perched atop a hardwood end table, a General Electric table radio connected the Collins’s living room to the big events now underway in New York City. The radio announcer, in that familiar drone, relayed his observations to millions of listeners nationwide. In the background, a big band played a slow dance number.
The crowd in Times Square is growing by the minute, already numbering in the tens of thousands. The multitude is happy and peaceful, yet somewhat subdued from years past, considering we are a nation at war. And because we are, it’s been decided—now for the second year in a row—that the Big Ball will not descend from its post high atop the Times Tower to ring in the New Year. Still, come midnight, we do expect the cheering throngs to scream, the chimes to sound, and church bells to ring throughout the land. But all the while, not far from anyone’s mind, will be thoughts of a husband, a son, an uncle, a brother. And for every cheer, two prayers will likely be said. God, keep him safe. God, bring him home.
Shawn Collins looked down at Patrick’s angelic face, sound asleep on his lap, and smiled. Patrick had spent the better part of the day pleading to be allowed to stay up till midnight. Each time he drifted off, Shawn had nudged him, and each time Patrick replied, “I’m not sleeping,” and sat right up. This time, though, Shawn knew, he was down for the count. His father had already conceded defeat and went upstairs about thirty minutes ago.
But Shawn didn’t mind spending New Year’s Eve in this quiet place. He’d take it any day over the fear and terror he’d known and lived in almost every day this past year. He still found it hard to believe he could go to sleep and not worry about waking up to bombs exploding, machine guns firing, and flak cannons going off in his ears. He was glad to just be sitting there not wearing a uniform. Not having every second of his day regimented and on a schedule.
He looked at the radio, then his eyes drifted toward the Christmas tree. Hi
s father had agreed to leave it up until tomorrow. Even that, Shawn thought, so unlike him. The change in his father was still holding, one week later. He still didn’t understand all that had transpired to bring it about. They hadn’t talked anything through yet, but it was clear all the animosity between them was gone. He’d picked up some of the story from Mrs. Fortini and Miss Townsend the day after Christmas; which reminded him, he needed to try and reach Miss Townsend to thank her again for taking such good care of Patrick. One of the most surprising parts of the tale they told was how his father had pulled out all the stops to find Patrick, even paying out ten thousand dollars in reward money.
Shawn smiled . . . another shocker. His father was rich. One might even say . . . filthy rich. Shawn had no idea.
He knew his dad had sold his business when his mother became ill, but he assumed it provided just enough money for him to retire in some comfort. Yesterday, his dad had told him about the deal he’d made with Carlyle Manufacturing and then asked Shawn if early in the new year, he’d meet with his banker and lawyer to sort out his affairs, to “make sure these uppity types aren’t robbing me blind.” Even before meeting with them, Shawn could do the math in his head. The deal with Carlyle was made before the war. The money had been pouring in ever since, and the interest had just kept compounding.
Shawn thought about this morning. He scratched the last item off his checklist for the week. He got to personally meet with the policemen and firemen who’d searched for his son, and thanked them all for their hard work. But he especially enjoyed meeting and thanking Ezra Jeffries, the black man who’d actually rescued Patrick from the snow and kept him safe until the storm let up. Shawn couldn’t imagine how he’d survive if he came home to find he had lost Patrick too.
He smiled as he remembered the look on Patrick’s face that morning as they drove up to the Jeffries’s apartment. Shawn wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a bigger or brighter smile than what he saw on Ezra Jeffries’s face that day. Ezra shook Shawn’s hand almost a solid minute and refused to hear anything about what he did for Patrick being anything special. “Just did what anyone do,” he’d said. “You do the same for my young’uns.” Shawn said that he surely would. Then Ezra brought him upstairs and, while Patrick played with his two boys, told him all about how he and his wife Ruby were going to use the reward money.
First he showed Shawn all the presents under their tree. “Hadn’t but one apiece ’fore your daddy gave me all that money.” He went on to explain how early in the new year they were going to open up a little corner store and restaurant one block away, specializing in foods colored folks like to eat, food he’d bring up from the South. “Stuff our folks can’t get up here no more.” Shawn told him it sounded like a wise plan and wished him well.
Just then, Shawn heard a loud bang outside, jarring him from his thoughts.
He tensed up until he heard sounds of laughter and drunken singing. That’s right. It’s New Year’s Eve . . . not someone trying to kill me. He looked down, but Patrick didn’t bat an eye. How he wished he could have Patrick’s outlook on life right now. So simple and secure. They both shared in common the same uncertain future. But Patrick enjoyed such a simple faith, made even stronger now that “God brought his daddy home from the war.”
He relaxed a little farther into the couch. The guy on the radio had stopped talking for a bit. Shawn closed his eyes, listened to the music, and stroked Patrick’s hair, trying to get in touch with what everyone else seemed to be experiencing. He knew God had certainly brought him home from the war like Patrick said; no other explanation could explain the events that unfolded after his plane had been shot down. But how would God help him face the new year without Elizabeth? Did he even want to try?
But he must. For Patrick, for their future.
God, he prayed, help me find your will and see the good in all this, to face this new year and find some kind of way to be happy again . . . without her.
“What, Daddy?”
Shawn looked down to see Patrick’s eyes staring up at him. Had he prayed aloud? “It’s nothing, Patrick, I was just praying.”
“Praying about what?”
“The new year.”
“Did I miss it?”
Shawn laughed and rubbed Patrick’s head. “No, silly, you didn’t miss it.”
“Is it midnight?”
Shawn looked up at the clock on the mantel. “Not yet.
You awake?”
Patrick sat up. “I think so.”
He moved next to Shawn on the couch. Shawn put his arm around him and drew him close. “Then let’s go through the new year together.”
“I like that idea,” said Patrick. “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re home.”
Dan Walsh is the senior pastor of Sovereign Grace Church
in Daytona Beach, Florida, a church he helped found 23 years
ago. Walsh lives with his family in the Daytona Beach area.
This is his first novel.
Don’t miss the sequel to
The Unfinished Gift,
coming June 2010!
a division Baker Publishing Group Available wherever books are sold.
www.RevellBooks.com
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a dog appears on her doorstep, Betty learns an important
lesson about what Christmas is all about.
Experience a Christmas miracle wrapped in fur
from bestselling author Melody Carlson.
a division Baker Publishing Group Available wherever books are sold.
www.RevellBooks.com
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
