Tangled Lights and Silent Nights

by Kelly Stone Gamble

  “I can’t believe you know who I am. I was so nervous you wouldn’t believe me or wouldn’t want anything to do with us,” Rodney says, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Your mother was my baby sister, and even though we didn’t see eye to eye, I still loved her.” Miss Sally stops and takes a deep breath. “I will always regret not reaching out to her to mend our fences after our disagreement. I kept tabs on her though. Your dad wrote me letters for years and kept me updated on your lives. He tried telling her, but she became so angry with him, he kept it from her. Once the internet came around, I found you online. I am sorry about your mother’s death. I know she loved you.”

  Rodney wraps his arms around Miss Sally and gives her another hug. “Mum wanted us to reconnect with you. It was her dying wish. She regretted being so stubborn and, in the end, became too weak to travel and make amends.”

  Tears stream down Miss Sally’s face, and we’ve drawn the attention of several onlookers. Mr. Hanks, the owner of The Handy Oak, walks over and puts his arm around Miss Sally’s shoulders. She straightens and takes a deep breath, getting hold of her emotions.

  “Everyone, I would like to introduce you to my nephew, Rodney Howard. He is here all the way from England, and I couldn’t be happier to see him,” Miss Sally announces to the crowd.

  People approach Rodney and welcome him to the town. Shaking their hands, he looks a bit dumbstruck by the overwhelming inclusion of the town.

  Miss Sally gushes over the children when his family joins the group, and she invites them to stay with her. I overhear Rodney and Susan make the decision to stick around for Christmas.

  “Oh, Lee, this is so wonderful. I’ve always worried about Miss Sally. She’s had no one, and my family has invited her to dinner on several holidays only to be shot down. She gets offended when she thinks people are offering charity. Still, I hate for anyone to be alone during Christmastime.” Hannah has such a tender heart.

  Hugging her close, I kiss her forehead. “Angel, it looks like everyone is going to have a Merry Christmas this year, even Twin Oaks’ grumpy Santa looks happy.”

  Mr. Joey has a toddler on his shoulders and a little girl on his knee. The man looks like he’s in heaven as he laughs at something one of the children says.

  The mayor taps the microphone a couple of times to get everyone’s attention. “I would like to welcome the Howard family to Twin Oaks.” Claps and cheers follow her announcement. “I am officially declaring the end of the Christmas Festival. Merry Christmas, everyone!”

  Books by Reece

  Twin Oaks Series

  Mama Knows Best

  Bless Your Heart

  Chin Up Buttercup (coming soon)

  About Reece

  Reece has always been an avid listener to people’s stories and has loved telling some of her own. When she became a teenager, her grandmother gave her a romance novel (very G-rated) and this began her love of reading. She has dabbled with writing for years and never committed to just doing it. Finally, she made up her mind and decided to try due to the fact there were so many stories in her mind that wanted out. She lives at the beach with her husband and dog in Alabama.

  Get in touch

  Website: www.reecetaylorwrites.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorReeceTaylor

  Instagram: @authorreecetaylor

  Twitter: @readreecetaylor

  The Christmas Jacket

  by Diane Byington

  Every Christmas is magical in its way, but the Christmas I want to tell you about happened in 1967, when I was fifteen. My parents and I had moved from Ohio to a small town in the center of Florida—Valencia—three months before. We were poor, and my dad drank, so Christmas wasn’t going to be much at our house. In fact, if I hadn’t thrown a fit, we wouldn’t have even had a Charlie Brown Christmas tree that year. My dad was a migrant farm worker and my mom cooked and took care of the old couple who lived in the big house on their farm, while we lived in the tiny cottage beside it. For my parents, Christmas was just a day when they didn’t have to work. Mom usually spent it watching sappy Christmas movies on television and Dad would play whiny songs on his guitar and drink beer.

  This was going to be a different kind of Christmas for me. For one thing, I’d always experienced snow on Christmas. I knew it wouldn’t snow that far south, but Christmas day was forecast to be cold. It would have to do. But hanging Christmas lights on palm trees just felt… wrong.

  Because money was so tight, Mom didn’t bother to ask what I wanted for Christmas, and I didn’t offer. I figured I would get something small, as usual. I hoped for a record album or a book, maybe even a sweater, but that was about all I could expect.

  I didn’t dare ask for it, but I was dying for a Valencia High athletic jacket. The jacket was maroon and white and was just the right weight to keep me warm without being too heavy, and it had the school’s name embroidered on the back. Some of the athletes also had letters sewn on the front. I was on the track team, but I hadn’t been running long enough to earn a letter. Even though my parents didn’t approve of my running (that’s another story), I was an athlete and I wanted to prove it by wearing one of those jackets. The problem was that they cost $25, which was a lot of money in those days and always would be for poor people like us. I knew I wouldn’t get one, so there was no use whining about it. “No use whining about it” was a standard phrase in our house, attributed to everything from store-bought clothes to staying in one place long enough to finish out the school year.

  I planned to give my parents a pelican I had carved from cypress wood during the slow days at my after-school job. My friend Francie’s Uncle Stan owned the store where I worked, and he had taught me how to carve—sort of. It was my first effort, and I hoped my parents would take that into consideration when they unwrapped it.

  On Christmas morning, I woke up early and tiptoed into the living room. “Santa” had left a few things beneath the tree. A quick glance at the shape of the boxes told me I had guessed right. Record, book, probably sweater. I’d open the gifts later, and ooh and ahh over them, but first I wanted to go for a run. I dressed in my usual shorts and tee-shirt but realized my mistake as soon as I walked outside. Brrr. Too cold for those clothes. Back inside, I pulled on sweat pants, but I didn’t have the right weight jacket. My winter coat was too heavy. What to do? Rummaging through my closet, I found a wool sweater that I’d worn when we lived in Ohio. Moths had eaten holes all over it, so it wasn’t fit to wear in public, but it might work for running.

  Francie, my running partner and friend, lived a half mile away. I was surprised to see her stretching outside her house when I ran by. “Merry Christmas,” I said, running up to her, “I thought you wouldn’t be able to run today.”

  “Hi, Faye. Merry Christmas to you, too. Mom told me to be back in half an hour to start cooking, so I’ve only got a little while.” She peered at me. “What is that you’re wearing?”

  I felt myself blush. Francie’s family was rich. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a holey sweater. “I know. Ugly. But it’ll keep me warm. Come on, let’s go.”

  We ran into town and back. When we returned to her house, Francie said, “Come in for a minute. I want to show you something.”

  “All right.”

  She led me into her bedroom and stopped before a large bag that appeared to be filled with clothes. “Mom had Kyle and me go through all our clothes and pick out a bunch of stuff to give to a Cambodian refugee family that are new here. They had to leave their country so fast that they couldn’t take anything. Can you imagine? Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to go through it and take what you want before we give it to them.” She shrugged. “Mom said it would be okay.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Francie’s parents were so nice that I didn’t think about them being rich very often. Francie and I were about the same size,
so her castoffs would be better than my best clothes. But was it the right thing to do?

  I was about to decline when I noticed, on top of the bag, what looked like a Valencia High jacket. I couldn’t help myself. I walked over to it and picked it up. Yep. I hadn’t even told Francie how much I wanted one of those.

  “You getting rid of this?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Not me. It’s Kyle’s. Now that he’s in college, he doesn’t want stuff that reminds him of high school.” She shook her head. “You’re welcome to it.”

  Oh, gosh. I had only met Francie’s brother once before, at their house a couple of months earlier. But he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen and I had a huge crush on him. Now I doubly wanted it. It might smell like Kyle, and I could pretend I was his girlfriend when I wore it. And everybody would know I was an athlete. I’d be warm, too. The jacket was perfect.

  But how could I possibly accept this gift? My mom constantly harped that we didn’t take charity. Sure, we shopped at Goodwill all the time, but that wasn’t charity, she said. It was just smart shopping.

  But oh, how I wanted that jacket. I said, “Are you sure it’s okay to take this? What about the Cambodian family? Won’t one of them want it?”

  “I don’t know. Mom said I could give you first dibs. There’s a couple of other jackets in there, too.” She hesitated, as though she was thinking about saying something else. Finally, she said, “I think you should take it. Call it a Christmas present from Santa.”

  We laughed. I’d stopped believing in Santa at least ten years before.

  “All right. Thank Kyle for me, okay?” I peeled off the holey sweater and dropped it on the floor. “Will you throw that away?” When Francie nodded, I slipped on the jacket and twirled in front of her mirror. It was a size too large, but that felt exactly right. The jacket’s arms went past my hands, which would be great when it was cold. And it was long enough to cover my tee-shirts. I would be toasty warm without sweating. The deep maroon color even set off the highlights in my red hair. I held it up to my nose and sniffed. It smelled a little like pine needles. Probably not Kyle’s smell, then. It must have been recently dry-cleaned.

  I hugged Francie then walked home, luxuriating in my good fortune. Even though I didn’t believe in him, Santa had definitely visited me that day.

  Mom was making breakfast when I got home. She looked at me with that squinty expression I dreaded. “Where’d you get that jacket?”

  I was stuck. If I said it was an old one of Kyle’s, Mom would tell me I couldn’t take charity and make me give it back. If I said Francie had given it to me, she would tell me it was too expensive and make me give it back. As I saw it, I had no choice but to lie. My mind worked feverishly. Finally, I said, “Francie loaned it to me. I didn’t realize how cold it was outside.”

  She nodded. “That’s sweet of her.” Turning back to the griddle, she said, “Pancakes will be ready in a couple minutes. Wash your hands and set the table, will you?”

  I felt bad about lying to my mom, especially on Christmas. But I wanted—needed—that jacket. I hung it up in my closet and ran my hand down the sleeves. The fabric was so soft that I wanted to rub my cheek on it. I would take the jacket to school and leave it there, so Mom would never know that I hadn’t returned it.

  We ate pancakes and opened our gifts. Just as I’d thought, I got a Beatles album, a Nancy Drew book that I’d read years before, and a pretty green sweater. I hugged my parents and told them to thank Santa for me. It was a longstanding joke in my family that Santa brought the gifts, so if I didn’t like something I was supposed to blame Santa, not them. They meant well, and I was far mellower about everything since I had that jacket.

  They unwrapped the bird. Dad said, “It’s a pelican, right? Nice.” I was so relieved that I nearly cried when he recognized what it was and liked it. Dad was usually either working or drunk, so he rarely paid any attention to me. At least so far, he was neither, so it was a good day.

  I washed the dishes then went to my room to listen to my album while my parents read the newspaper. Afterward, we ate lunch and got ready to go to Francie’s house. We’d been invited to join their family for dessert.

  Kyle barely noticed my existence, because he was hanging out with his girlfriend, Linda, who turned out to be charming. I tried not to show my disappointment. Francie’s dad and her Uncle Stan told stories about the war. They had been best buds all their lives and had been army pilots together. They’d gotten shot down and captured by the Germans. The ordeal had made them even closer friends. The whole afternoon was like a Norman Rockwell painting. Except that Dad got drunk, told off-color jokes, and embarrassed everybody. Same old, same old. Mom took him home early, but she allowed me to stay at Francie’s for a while. After they left, Francie’s mom, Laney, pulled me into the kitchen, just the two of us. She saw that I was about to cry and handed me a tissue.

  “Sit down, honey, I want to talk to you.” I sat, fearful of what was going to happen. In a gentle voice, she continued. “Faye, I know it’s hard having such a difficult dad. But what he does, whatever he does, is not your fault. And just because he’s like he is doesn’t mean that you’re going to be like him. Not at all. You’re your own person, and you can choose how you want to be. You get to decide. Don’t forget that, all right?”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  She said, “Now please get Francie. We’re ready to leave to see the Christmas lights.”

  Valencia was known for its display of Christmas lights. I hadn’t seen them yet and was so excited I had a hard time sitting still as Francie’s dad drove us into town and parked. Kyle had gone over to his girlfriend’s house, so it was just the four of us. The town square had been transformed into fairyland—thousands of blinking lights adorned all the trees, the bushes, and buildings. I didn’t care that most of the trees were palms. They looked beautiful. The town had even trucked in a little snow so kids could throw snowballs at each other. I walked around, transfixed by the magic of the evening.

  The cold had settled in, with the temperature hovering around freezing. If you haven’t experienced that level of Florida cold, you won’t understand. But it seemed colder even than in Ohio. My new jacket was perfect. I zipped it up and felt warm and toasty.

  We walked around the square, marveling at the lights. Three quarters of the way around, Francie’s dad yelled, “Nisay! Over here.” He glanced at Francie and me and explained. “That’s the Cambodian man and his family we’ve been helping get settled. Laney and I took them some things this morning. Come say hello.”

  Walking toward us were a small man and woman, and four children ranging in sizes from around my age to first-graders, all holding hands. Every one of them had a look on their faces like they were afraid they were going to be kicked, and they seemed to cower under our attention.

  The oldest boy looked to be about my age. He was my height and skinny. He probably weighed even less than I did. I might have seen him at school, but he flitted around the edges of the classrooms like he was always in hiding. Tonight, he appeared to be wearing three or four shirts of different sizes, but even so, I could see that he was shivering.

  Nisay introduced his wife and children to us. I could barely understand his strongly accented English, but I nodded politely. He grabbed Francie’s dad’s hand and pumped it. “Thank you, Mr. Ivey, for the food you brought. We had nice meal. And thank you for the clothes. They are very helpful.”

  I could hardly breathe. I had taken this jacket, even though I had a winter coat, merely because I wanted it. I didn’t really need it, despite the fact that I had convinced myself I did. But this boy, whatever his name was, needed it for real.

  I thought about Francie’s mom telling me I could make my own choices, and I realized, if I were going to be different from my dad, I needed to make a different choice than the one I had made earlier in the day. Th
e world wasn’t all about me and my ideas of what I needed to feel accepted.

  Understanding what had to be done, I rubbed my hand one more time down the sleeve of the jacket I loved. I knew I would remember the feel of the soft cloth on my skin for a long time. Then I slowly unzipped the jacket, pulled it off, and handed it to the boy. He gave me a questioning look. I gestured that it was his and he should put it on. He did. A smile filled his face. That coat must have been warm from my body heat as well as from its padding.

  Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long while. Finally, the boy’s dad said, “Thank you, little miss.” They all bowed a little and moved on. “Happy Christmas,” he called over his shoulder.

  “That was nice of you, Faye,” said Laney. “But now we should get you home before you freeze to death.” Francie squeezed my hand but said nothing. We turned toward the car.

  Strangely, I didn’t feel the least bit cold as I walked to the car. I had made my own choice. I wasn’t my dad. And I understood how great Santa probably felt when he handed out gifts.

  Other things happened in the next few months that would change my life. But that’s another story I’ll save for another time. I just want you to know that that Christmas was the most magical one I can ever remember. I never regretted giving up that jacket.

  It was just a jacket, after all.

  Books by Diane

  Who She Is

  The Second Time Traveler

  coming soon from Red Adept Publishing

  anthologies included in

  166 Palms (2018)

  166 Palms (2017)