Then Mrs. Wilson motioned for us to come down and take our places at the piano. She announced, “And now, our choir will sing ‘Go, Tell It on the Mountain.’ We chose this song because it’s appropriate for the play. But the most important reason we’re singing this song is because a little birdie told us it is Mr. Lafferty’s favorite.”
H clapped again. And when we began to sing and sign, he joined us. I never saw him smile so much. I motioned for him to come to the piano, and he did. I signed This is for you.
And I sat down and played my jazzy version of his favorite carol and then played “Joy to the World.”
All the time I was doing that, Piper was putting on her angel costume. When she was ready, Mrs. Wilson announced it, and Piper’s mom turned on the boom box. The music sounded like I imagined the music on the High Mountain would sound, and Piper floated off the top of that mountain in her white costume. She looked like she had wings. She danced from one side of the room to the other. She was beautiful. When she finished, and her arms were spread wide like the smile on her face, Mrs. Wilson just all of a sudden started singing “Gloria, in excelsis Deo” and everyone joined her. That was not in our plan, but it was just the right thing to do.
Mrs. Wilson turned to me. I knew it was time for me to sing. I shook my head. “I don’t need to sing, Mrs. Wilson.”
She looked puzzled. “But you have the special song, and you’re going to sign it?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was a special gift for Mr. Lafferty, and I already sang it for him.”
Then she motioned for my dad to come up and say a few words. Dad came by Mr. Lafferty and shook his hand. “First, I want to thank Mr. Henry Lafferty the Second for opening his home and his heart to us this evening. Sharing your beautiful house with us is quite a gift.” He turned to Mrs. Wilson. “And thank you, Mrs. Wilson, for all your hard work to get the choir ready. And thanks to all of you who brought Christmas goodies and Christmas cheer tonight. And I’d say it’s time for some of those goodies. But before that, I have one more person to thank.” Dad looked at me. “I want to thank my daughter, Julia. This whole party was her idea. She has worked for weeks. She wanted this to be a very special evening for everyone, and especially for you, Mr. Lafferty.” Everyone started clapping again, even H.
After that, everyone went for the refreshments. H was a little shy at first, but then he started communicating. He went to Mrs. Wilson and to every child and said Thank you for coming and for learning some of my language. And people came up to him and said very nice things. Mrs. Walker’s hands were so busy that night, making sure Mr. Lafferty understood everything that was going on. She told us later how much it meant to him that others would try to learn his language.
As people left, H told them he hoped they would come back next year. I hoped that meant he was not planning to fire Dad and that I was still his friend.
We were the very last ones to leave. G-Pa and Dad had already loaded the mountain into the truck, and Grancie and Mom helped Mrs. Schumacher tidy up. I stayed with H, and we had a conversation on the computer about Christmas and the play and Piper and everything that had happened.
At last, I heard Dad’s voice. “Time to go. We don’t want to wear out our welcome.”
My whole family stood at the front door saying our goodbyes. I told H I would call him tomorrow.
He raised his hands to me. Every child in the whole wide world knew what that meant. He took my face in his hands and kissed me on each cheek, then he hugged me hard for the first time ever. I hugged him back.
Finally, I had taught H to hug.
Sixteen years after the first Christmas party, 2018
My life is what it is because of a moment on an autumn afternoon in 2002 when I first met Henry Lafferty the Second. I often wonder how different it would be if I hadn’t met H and watched his hands move and slipped into his garden room to play the piano with real ivory keys.
And who could forget that first Christmas party? H’s life is different too, because that was a moment that changed the way the townspeople related to him.
I hear voices in the kitchen—Grancie and Mrs. Schumacher chattering away like they do every Christmas. “So another year of pound-cake cookies? Red sprinkles this year?” I ask.
Mrs. Schumacher, now eighty plus, shakes her head. “Oh, Julia, your grancie’s pound-cake cookies need nothing to make them more delicious or more elegant.”
“I agree. I know the party’s being catered, Mrs. Schumacher, but I’m so grateful you two will carry on some of our Christmas-cookie traditions.” I hug Mrs. Schumacher and kiss Grancie on the cheek. “And Grancie, you’ll get to see your annual Christmas-at-Emerald-Crest poem in print this afternoon. Mom’s bringing the programs out after she finishes her volunteer work at the hospital. I need to check with Mr. Hornsby and Mrs. Finch about a surprise.” I wink at Grancie and leave the kitchen.
I walk through the dining room and spy Mrs. Finch in the foyer in her bare feet, arranging fresh holly in a large crystal vase. “Oh, that’s lovely, Mrs. Finch. Would you like a pair of warm socks? That marble floor must really be cold.”
She immediately slides her feet into her red stilettos. “Of course this is lovely. I designed it to be lovely. And no. I have no need for socks.” She refuses to look at me.
“Well, you are certainly doing a good job.” I am grateful she’s unaware of my eye-rolling. “I thought I should let you know that my dad and Jackson will be arriving in a few minutes with a rather large prop that will be placed in the north end of the great hall.”
“I do hope it’s not some unattractive monstrosity.”
“Oh, I can assure you that it is, but a necessary and memorable monstrosity. Now I should alert Mr. Hornsby. He can hardly wait for its arrival.” I try hard not to grin.
Mr. Hornsby and his wife are empty-nesters now, and they live in the cottage H had built for them next to his studio. Mr. Hornsby knows every inch of this property, and he would die protecting H or Mrs. Schumacher. I see him headed to the studio and open the door to the garden.
“Afternoon, Mr. Hornsby. Just wanted you to know that Jackson and Dad are moving a mountain this afternoon. I can’t believe that Dad found that thing he and G-Pa built sixteen years ago for our very first play. Found it among some rubble in the back of the shed. Remember that one?”
“Oh, I remember that mountain where the King lived. I helped them move it the first time, and I’m here to help today.”
“Piper will be here to dance again. I don’t care how she dances on Broadway, it won’t be more beautiful than seeing her float down from the top of that mountain in the great hall.”
“Like an angel she was. So, your brother’s coming?”
“Yes, sir. Jackson can write his sports column from anywhere, so he and Linda and the two boys will be here for several days. I’m the world’s best aunt, you know.”
“Yessiree. You just have a way with children, Julia. Gotta go—I hear a car out front. Probably Derrick. He’s coming out to do a final walk-through of the building.”
“Great. I’ll speak with him when he finishes.”
That’s another life-changing moment—the moment when Derrick broke H’s window and fell into the cave. He’s never forgotten H’s kindness in taking care of medical bills and his education, and now he is the architect and designer of all the new buildings at Emerald Crest. And today he’s doing a final walk-through of Cardinal Crest, a boarding school where in just a few weeks we will open our doors to students who are deaf.
Our Christmas gala for the grand opening is day after tomorrow, and the staff is ready for the twenty-eight children who will be arriving in January.
H is seventy-six now, and he’s still carving birds, reading, and expanding his world, and now he will be formally teaching. He will be our very best teacher. I say that with years of experience as his student. Oh, he’s still the town’s benefactor, and he thinks it’s all in secret. But the good people of Sycamore Hill know, and they allow him his p
rivacy, except at Christmas.
Henry rubs on the last bit of stain, holds it up to the window, and smiles with satisfaction. He covers the piece with a towel and heads for the elevator. No time for fancy wrapping. He has made Julia wait long enough.
The elevator opens and when he looks up, there she is at the piano. He pauses, allowing his eyes to survey the room and Julia. He wonders how many hours she has spent there since her first appearance at his door years ago, bursting into his life with her natural curiosity and so many questions. She has learned his language, sat with him in the garden, carved birds in the shop, and visited the gravesites of his family. Julia couldn’t bring sound, but oh how much music and life and companionship she has brought to him.
The warm memories spill from his heart as he sees her now, a beautiful young woman who has become the daughter he never had. Because of her he will have a legacy.
He sees her head turn toward him, those once bouncy blonde curls tamer now, but the same searching blue eyes, and always that impish smile.
I sit at the piano and do what I often do here, but I hear the elevator. That means H is finished and I finally get to see it—my early Christmas present. Something covered in a mahogany-stained towel is perched in his lap as he rolls into the room and approaches the piano. He raises his eyebrows and then looks at the object. I sign It’s finished?
H smiles and hands it to me. This work of art is worthy of a gold satin cloth and a public unveiling in the finest of galleries, but this is another moment—just mine and H’s. I hold it at eye level and drop the stained towel to the floor, revealing a hand-carved, hand-rubbed pair of cardinals. It’s not like the one cardinal ornament he has carved for me for the last sixteen Christmases. I am surprised but not disappointed. A pair of cardinals, one male carved with perfection, and a juvenile female sitting on the limb next to him, looking up at the male. It’s a replica of the Cardinal Crest logo, and it will have a prominent place on my desk forever.
Our hug is a beautiful benediction for this moment.
H rolls away, and I move to the window overlooking the garden, and my memories shower me like that blanket of snow that covered Emerald Crest sixteen Christmases ago. That December night was the beginning of a friendship that directed my life in so many ways. Grancie always told me about moments, but with H, I learned the importance and the sacredness of the moment when two human beings connect in a deeply spiritual way—the way H and I did.
I watch the snow falling through the bare branches of the sycamore tree and remember many afternoons with H, learning his language and how to carve birds, and how H taught me to be patient, and how to be quiet, and how to think about words and language, and how to turn can’ts into cans. I think the only time we were separated was when I went off to Texas to college so that I could get a degree in deaf studies and then stayed to get my law degree.
I am now the Russell family’s next generation attorney, and I’ll be here to take care of H and to run Cardinal Crest as executive director and teacher. I manage to get to Washington, DC, frequently, where I am an advocate for people who cannot hear and who need a voice.
I move my hand to my necklace, remembering when H lifted the lid of the box that held the first Christmas gift I gave him. I still can see his round little eyes filled with tears as he pulled that red and green lap quilt from the box. I fully expect him to get it out again this Christmas as he has done every Christmas since I gave it to him.
Sometimes I look around these halls and rooms and out these framed windows, and I wonder about the life-changing moments that have happened here. I twirl the chain of my necklace around my left index finger, and I see my twelve-year-old self opening my birthday present from H—a special gift that I rarely remove. The necklace that was his mother’s, with a small emerald set in a gold heart.
I run my right hand over the smooth wings of the hand-carved cardinals. H has given me so much, but his greatest gift to me is himself. Rich are the memories I have of the silent days I spent with him. Most of all that one holy night in December so long ago.
As always, I begin by acknowledging you, the reader. More than likely, you’re reading this during the Christmas season, perhaps the busiest time of the year. Yet you made a choice to spend some of your hours with this book. Thank you. My hope is that it was worth your time. Maybe for you, reading this book was an escape, or a reminder of some truth, or just a few hours of relaxation to get you in the mood for Christmas. If it has enriched this Christmas season for you in some way, then I am a most happy writer.
You’ve heard it takes a village. It does. The team at Gilead Publishing is the best. Thank you, Becky Philpott, Jane Strong, Jordan Smith, and Katelyn S. Bolds for all the work you do behind the scenes that puts this book in the hands of the reader. You’re so responsive, and you’re bold with creative ideas and answers.
Every author dreams of an editor like Leslie Peterson—one who knows her commas and colons and makes suggestions with delicate compassion. Thank you, Leslie, for asking all the right questions and for your precision and patience. You’re the best.
I’m so grateful for friends and family who do not abandon me because I need solitude to write. You do know you’re the source of many ideas, don’t you?
As always, I am so grateful for my Bill. He makes living easy when I’m working. He’s always there when I ask, “What do you think about … ?” And then his biggest encouragement is the way he eagerly awaits when I emerge at the end of the day and he wants me to read to him the next installment.
And there is my heavenly Father, the Author of life, stepping down out of His heaven and bringing us Christmas. How grateful I am You came. Your coming changed history, and Your coming changed my life story. Thank you, Father, that because of You, all our stories can have a happy ending.
This recipe is so easy, and the ingredients are ones we always have on hand. It’s a great little buttery cookie like Grandma used to make. Enjoy!
Ingredients
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened (Don’t even think about a substitute.)
1 cup sugar
2 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract (I also like ½ teaspoon vanilla and ½ teaspoon almond extract.)
2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Stir in the egg yolks. Add in the vanilla and flour and mix until combined.
Taking about a heaping tablespoon of dough into your hand, roll it into a ball and place it on an ungreased cookie sheet or one lined with parchment paper. Flatten it with a fork to about 1 ½ inches in diameter. Repeat with the remaining dough.
Bake in a 350-degree oven until the edges are brown, about 10 minutes.
Makes 3 to 4 dozen cookies.
Variations
Sometimes I use this recipe as a base with another ingredient to make a variation on this cookie. Try these—just one at a time, please.
• ½ cup chopped pecans
• ½ cup coconut
• ⅓ cup maraschino cherries, drained and chopped (I decorate the top of this cookie variation with ½ of a cherry.)
• Sprinkles (Before baking, brush the top of the cookie lightly with milk so the sprinkles stick. Doing this over a large sheet of wax paper makes for easy clean-up.)
• Chocolate ganache (Drizzle over the top of the cookie. Again, wax paper is a work saver.)
This morsel of goodness is a soft and moist cookie that begs for a cup of tea on a fall afternoon. Or really any time. A couple of these in a snack bag make delicious Halloween treats too. Oh, and they smell so good!
Ingredients
2 cups sugar
2 cups (4 sticks) butter, softened (That’s right, 4 sticks!)
1 16-ounce can pumpkin puree
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon b
aking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
½ teaspoon allspice
2 cups raisins
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts
1 cup powdered sugar
Milk
Instructions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a large cookie sheet (or line with parchment paper).
In a large bowl, cream the sugar and butter until fluffy. Add the pumpkin, eggs, and vanilla extract and blend well.
In another large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice.
Slowly add the dry ingredients to the creamed mixture and blend well. Stir in the raisins and nuts.
Drop the dough by tablespoonful 2 inches apart onto the cookie sheet. Bake in a 350-degree oven until lightly browned, about 12 to 15 minutes.
Place the cookies on a rack to cool before glazing.
Glazing
In a small bowl, combine the powdered sugar with the milk one teaspoon at a time until the sugar is the consistency to spread easily with a knife. If the glaze is too thin, add more sugar. If too thick, add milk just drops at a time.
Place the cookies on sheets of wax paper (it makes for a much easier clean-up). Use a spoon to drizzle the glaze on the tops, then the back of the spoon to smear the glaze enough to cover the top of the cookie. Allow the glaze to harden, then place the cookies in an airtight container for storage.
Makes approximately 5 dozen cookies.
Phyllis Clark Nichols’s character-driven Southern fiction explores profound human questions using the imagined residents of small town communities you just know you’ve visited before. With a strong faith and a love for nature, art, music, and ordinary people, she tells redemptive tales of loss and recovery, estrangement and connection, longing and fulfillment … often through surprisingly serendipitous events.
Silent Days, Holy Night Page 20