All They Want for Christmas

by M. K. Stelmack

  On the seven ones are twinning, when a modest fourteen dollars landed into the crate, Bridget broke into tears, and napkins fluttered along hands to her, their arrival giving more rise to their need.

  The song grew to its rousing conclusion of twelve hundred coming, a sum that had Bridget waving her hands in amazed refusal, laughing, crying, blowing her nose.

  As the carol concluded with the rowdy volume of a stadium singing the anthem, Mel came over with the loaded crate. “We heard about your troubles,” he said, “and a bunch of us got together to help. The same way you’ve helped out the town over the years, Bridget. You and your aunt. And I guess your mom, Jack. Though I’m still getting used to that, I got to admit.

  “Point is, here’s what we collected. It’s not just from us. We’re just the ones who could make it this morning. Daphne’s got a list going. She set up on the web a—” He looked over at his wife.

  “A GoFundMe page,” Daphne said. “I’ll manage it for you. I used the picture from the Christmas concert of you two with your family. Our goal is twelve thousand dollars, and—” she waggled her phone “—we are set to hit it by noon.”

  Bridget touched his arm. “You talk to them,” she whispered, “I can’t.”

  Jack set down the coffeepots on a table, a flurry of hands sweeping aside plates and cutlery to make room. Jack shook Mel’s hand as he accepted the crate.

  “Could you look here?” The reporter snapped their picture. Raised phones everywhere also immortalized the moment.

  “Thank you,” Jack said to Mel and then again, louder for the whole restaurant to hear. “I swore I’d given up making speeches when I left my job, but this one needs saying.

  “I think I speak for both Bridget and myself when I say that this is a complete surprise. I mean, look at her.”

  The crowd laughed good-humoredly at Bridget’s teary state. “I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking that she doesn’t deserve what you’ve done this morning.” He nodded his thanks to Daphne. “Now, we all know that while she makes the world’s best cinnamon buns, she’s wrong about this.”

  Laughs and murmurs rippled through the restaurant. “She loves this town. Loves the people. It’s her story to tell but I will say that our cinnamon girl had a rough start in life. A start that would’ve shriveled many of us. Instead, she chose to open her heart over and over again. She would do anything for Spirit Lake. She has done everything. There’s no one more deserving of your generosity this morning than this crying mess right here.”

  Applause crackled through the restaurant. Bridget was indeed a mess, but something in her posture, a softening and a quietness, like she was an observer of a beautiful scene, caught his breath, made him hope.

  “It’s me you might have your doubts about.” He paused. “I know Marlene does.”

  “Teach him what topping up means, Bridget, and we’re good,” Marlene called.

  More laughter.

  “I’m the new kid on the block. My mother—Mel, you think you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around Penny having a kid, try being that kid. She willed me her half ownership in this restaurant. I saw it as a way to make money to support my two girls. That was it. But the restaurant came with Bridget. The woman who agreed to marry me twelve years ago. But then I chose my career abroad over her. Stupid, right?”

  “You’re telling me,” Carson muttered to general murmurs and claps of approval.

  “But I’m back, and I’ve got my head screwed on straight now.”

  More claps, a couple of hoots. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know I don’t deserve your generosity, your goodness. I don’t deserve her generosity, her goodness. But she deserves ours.”

  All eyes turned to Bridget. Jack had hoped to save her from having to speak, but the crowd seemed to expect something.

  He edged to her side, ready to do whatever she asked of him. She wiped away her tears and slipped her arm around his waist, holding him tight against her. Perfect.

  To the hushed crowd, she said, “I didn’t know—I had no idea. But now, now—” she smiled up at him “—now I totally, absolutely, forever get it.”

  She turned her smile to the crowd and waved to them like the small-town hero she was. “Thank you. Thank you, all.”

  Jack had one more thing to add. “Coffee is on the house!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THAT AFTERNOON, THE entire Montgomery household headed down to the lake to skate. Or, as in the case of Mara and Deidre, to watch the others. Bridget knew Mara felt nervous on the crowded ice with skaters sweeping along the edge of her vision, though she said that she’d rather keep Deidre company.

  Their mother hardly lacked for company. Skaters sliced to a stop to speak to her, others called and waved, young and old. Her leadership with the Christmas Crates campaign had opened up old and new acquaintances, and her outgoing nature had thrived. She’d already signed herself up to captain the campaign next year, if Bridget didn’t mind. And at lunch, she’d even chattered about a part-time position at the seniors’ center that had her name written all over it.

  Bridget knew there was no better person to inherit Penny’s community legacy than her sister. Deidre’s eyes had welled up, and Bridget felt tears prick her own eyes, and she might have slipped into her second crying jag of the day if Jack hadn’t burst through the front door with a large cardboard box, declaring that he had the best news ever.

  Better than a crateful of money from caring people? Better than fifty-three families assured of a Christmas celebration? Yes. Used skates for the girls and a couple of pairs for Krista and Mara. And brand-new Frozen helmets for Isabella and Sofia!

  And since it was Christmas Eve and the rest of the day was theirs, they’d trooped down to the lake. Isabella and Sofia took to the ice like it was in their blood, which was good because Jack wibbled and wobbled, and was of little instructional use to the girls beyond posing as a living example of what not to do. Once the girls had firmed up their ice legs, Bridget searched out a distant corner of the ice for herself.

  She wanted to try something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She glided backward, did three back crossovers and gathered her momentum into a tight spin.

  As she twirled out of it, Jack crashed into her and they were obliged to grab hold of each other to stay upright.

  “That was pretty,” he said, his hands lingering at her waist. “You spinning. All legs and hair and...pink.”

  She was wearing her pink sweater, pink toque and mitts from their first date. The good date. “Thanks.”

  He pulled out his phone. “The paper uploaded a story about the flash mob this morning. Krista’s with the girls so I can show you.”

  The glare of the sun and snow made the screen hard to read, and they had to cave their heads and shoulders together to create enough shadow. It was a picture of her when she’d slid her arm around Jack’s waist. He had the crate in one arm and was smiling down at her. They looked...together, every bit the happy couple.

  And here they were, still looking the part. She needed to keep her promise to him from last night and tell him her plans. She tried to glide away, but he snapped her back to his side.

  “And here’s Daphne’s text,” Jack said. “‘We just hit fourteen grand! We will keep the page open until the New Year to allow everyone the opportunity to give.’” He grinned at her. “Remember three days ago when I would’ve called it a miracle to have come up with fourteen hundred?”

  She gave a second determined push away, this time opening enough space for his arm to fall away from her waist. “That’s wonderful. I couldn’t be...happier for you.”

  His smiled faded. “Bridge. This is for us. For all of us.” He glided to her on shaky legs. She glided back and held up her hand.

  “Last Friday, when I told you I had an appointment, I did something.”

  His eyes, bl
ue as the sky above, stayed fastened to hers. She forged on. “I went to my lawyers and I arranged for them to sign over my share of Penny’s and the house to you.”

  He reached for her, stumbled, steadied his footing. “No, Bridge. No. Why?”

  “Because I was stuck up that tree house. Stuck at the house and the restaurant. I always made my family, my sisters, come to me. And when you didn’t want to come to me, Jack, I cut you out of my life.”

  “I was at fault, too. Can’t we agree that we were both to blame and leave it all in the past?”

  “That’s what I want, but I can’t just say that and not do anything.”

  He shook his head. “Isabella was right. You’re dead set on fixing your mistakes.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “It’s wrong when you give up everything you have, and give it to me. I didn’t ask for your every worldly possession, Bridge. I don’t want it. I don’t accept it.”

  She had expected his resistance. “Jack, listen to me. I decided the night of the Christmas concert and moved on it the very next day before I lost my nerve. But it was easy. I didn’t realize how...sore I was always feeling. How much I was holding on to for most of my life. I don’t have to do this. I want to do this.”

  “But you earned your share. I got it for free. How can you ask me to take what you’ve given money and time over for?”

  She glided to almost within reach. “You will if you love me.”

  His eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s the dumbest expression of love I’ve ever heard.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’m not accepting your share of anything.” He stripped off a glove and shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. “If you are really unstuck like you claim you are, you’ll let me put this on you.” He pulled out the ring, the diamond glittering bright in the sun.

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve been walking around with that in your pocket.”

  He grinned. “After what you hinted at last night and this morning’s fortune, I intend to capitalize on the momentum.”

  “You plan to propose here on the lake in front of everyone?”

  “Get while the getting’s good. Or, as in our case, while the taking’s good.”

  Bridget’s heart leaped. “I will take your ring, if you take my shares.”

  “You don’t have to pay for this ring, Bridge. It was always yours for the taking.”

  “My offer stands.”

  He stood solid, the ring glinting. Beats of silence passed. Skaters passed. From the other side of the skating area, Bridget could hear the Montgomery women cheer on Isabella and Sofia. Could they see the sparkle of Jack’s ring from across the way?

  “It’s your turn to make a move, Jack.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You offered the ring to me a week ago. I’ve come back with an offer to give you shares in exchange for the ring. You come back to me again with your original offer. You need to counteroffer, if we hope to move negotiations forward.”

  A glint to match the ring appeared in his eye. He gazed out over the lake. Slowly smiling, he turned back to her. “Fine. I will accept your shares as a condition of our engagement, providing you accept my shares as my wedding gift to you.”

  “That is the dumbest expression of love. We’ll just be back to square one.”

  “No,” Jack said softly. “Square one is us saying goodbye twelve years ago. We are so many squares beyond that.”

  They were. And no going back. No staying put, either. Not a change of address, but a change of heart.

  He wiggled the ring. “Whaddya say?”

  She bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “That all you got, Jack?”

  “I’d go on bended knee again except I’m afraid I’ll trip, break a bone and lose the ring.”

  “I’d better take it quick, then.”

  “Definitely.”

  She removed her left mitt and offered her hand, then pulled back. “You told me you loved me. And I never said it back.”

  “You want to give me everything of yours. I figured as much, Bridge.”

  “You shouldn’t have to figure it. I love you.”

  “I believe you.” He brought the ring to the tip of her finger. His fingers, like hers, trembled. He slid the ring to her last knuckle.

  “Do you believe me?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said and kissed him, long and slow, where nothing, absolutely nothing, was held back. She felt him slip the ring on all the way, felt his words drop from his lips onto hers. “Love you, partner.”

  * * *

  ISABELLA WOKE EARLY on Christmas morning as she did every morning, the room pitch-black except for the greenish glow from the night-light over the bedside table. It gave off enough light for her to glide open the bedside drawer and gather up the contents into her school backpack, which she’d stowed by the bed last night. Jack-pa and Sofia didn’t stir, though Sofia wouldn’t last for too much longer. She wasn’t good at sleeping alone.

  Isabella crept down the stairs past Bridgie’s sofa bed. Bridgie-ma’s bed, now that she promised to marry Jack-pa. From the back-door closet, she put on her coat, toque and mitts, and pulled on her boots. She stuffed the bags of sunflower seeds, unshelled peanuts and cereal from her backpack into her coat pocket, and opened the back door. Cold rushed at her, stabbed through her brand-new pajamas. She’d wondered how she’d get used to the cold, but she had. Anyway, she wouldn’t be out for long.

  In the glow from the deck light, she crept down the stairs and stamped through the crusted snow to Gabriel, misshapen and ready to lose its head. From her bedroom window, Isabella had watched birds pluck at the clothing, nestle on the soft shoulders of the jacket. Once she’d seen a sparrow pop out of the jacket pocket. She opened up her bag of sunflower seeds and cereal, and tossed them at Gabriel’s feet. She pressed unshelled peanuts into the snow angel’s head, laid them along the shoulders, dropped a few into the pockets, then scattered the rest.

  The kitchen light flicked on. Ah, good. Bridgie-ma was up. She was kneading the bread dough at the kitchen island when Isabella stole back in. “Heard you leave. Are you ready to help?” Bridgie-ma whispered.

  Isabella nodded. She had wanted to make this alone, but she couldn’t find a way to pull it off without Bridgie-ma’s help. Isabella was glad she’d asked because it made planning easier and Bridgie-ma seemed as excited to be part of it as Isabella had been to deliver the Christmas Crates.

  While Bridgie-ma rolled and flattened the dough, as she always did when making her cinnamon buns, Isabella took the jar of olives and raisins from her backpack. She tapped the jar lid to break the seal. It still didn’t open and Bridgie-ma leaned over and twisted it open without Isabella having to ask. She didn’t need help to slice up the olives. Bridgie-ma opened the ham and cut off a thin slice. “Like this?” she whispered to Isabella. It was thicker than Isabella remembered from last Christmas. Better.

  Bridgie-ma layered on the ham. She’d be done soon and Isabella had yet to finish with the olives. Footsteps on the stairs. Sofia and Jack-pa. Ha, Isabella thought, neither could sleep without her.

  “What’s happening?” Jack-pa whispered.

  “Pan de jamón,” Sofia whispered excitedly. “Ham bread. From where I come from.”

  “But you would’ve had to get up hours ago to make the dough,” Jack-pa said to Bridgie-ma.

  Isabella had not thought about that. She had caused trouble. Bridgie-ma grinned. “Nah, I couldn’t sleep, anyway. Too excited thinking about today, tomorrow, every day.”

  She and Jack-pa shared another of their endless secret smiles that more than once ended with embarrassing kisses. “I need help with the olives,” Isabella said quickly.

  Together Jack-pa and Isabella did t
he olives, while Sofia scattered the raisins on the ham. Isabella spread the olives. And then they all watched Bridgie-ma tightly roll the bread and slice it onto a pan and brush on egg white. She slipped it into a hot oven and set the timer.

  She turned to them. “How about we all have a little cuddly nap in my bed while this bakes?”

  They all crawled into Bridgie-ma’s bed like all the mice in the storybook. Jack-pa and Sofia dozed off easily enough, but Isabella couldn’t. And neither could Bridgie-ma who gazed at the brightly colored tree.

  “It’s my first time making pan de jamón,” she whispered.

  Isabella understood completely. “You don’t want it to burn.” She left the bed and tiptoed to her backpack in the kitchen. She took out the last of her stash, juice boxes and granola bars, and returned to Bridgie-ma.

  She held out the juice boxes, and Bridgie-ma chose one. The same with the granola bars. Isabella knew Bridgie-ma had picked for herself the flavors she thought Isabella didn’t want. Isabella did the same with Sofia all the time.

  Not that it mattered what Bridgie-ma had chosen. She could tell from the bready smell filling the air, the presents under the tree and the four of them underneath the same blanket, that there was more, far more to come.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Montana Wishes by Amy Vastine.

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  PROLOGUE

  BLAKE COLLINS STOOD in the Harrisons’ driveway with arms waving above his head like he was trying to flag down a rescue vehicle. Thirteen-year-old Amanda was stuck in the back of the minivan with her younger sister Fiona, who couldn’t stop touching the new stud earrings in her ears. Amanda didn’t have earrings, but she wouldn’t dwell on it or she’d cry.