A Gift to Last

by Debbie Macomber

  “I’ll be home Christmas Eve in time for dinner,” he’d promised, not meeting her eyes. “My flight gets into LAX at four, so I’ll be back here by six.” He spoke briskly, reassuringly.

  Silence.

  “Come on, Pam, you have to know I don’t like this any better than you do,” he said, and forcefully jerked the zipper on his garment bag closed.

  “You’re going to miss Jimmy in the school play.”

  He was sorry about that, but there were worse things in life than not seeing his six-year-old son as an elf. “I’ve already talked to him about it, and Jimmy understands.” Even if his wife didn’t.

  “What was he supposed to say?” Pam demanded.

  Matt’s shrug was philosophical.

  “You were away when Rachel had the lead in the Sunday-school program, too.”

  Matt frowned, trying to remember missing that. “Rachel was in a Sunday-school program?”

  “Three years ago…I see you’ve already forgotten. It broke her heart, but I notice you’ve conveniently let it slip your mind.”

  Matt had heard enough. He folded his garment bag over his arm and reached for his coat and briefcase.

  “You don’t have anything else to say?” Pam cried as she stormed after him.

  “So you can shovel more guilt at me? Do you want me to confess I’m a rotten father? Okay, fine.” His voice gained volume. “Matthew McHugh is a rotten father.”

  Pam blinked back tears. Matt longed to hold her, but they’d gone too far for that.

  “You aren’t a bad father,” she said after a moment, and his heart softened. A fight now was the last thing either of them needed. He was about to tell her so when she continued. “It’s as a husband that you’ve completely failed.”

  Matt swore under his breath. Any tenderness he’d felt earlier shattered.

  “You’re leaving me to deal with Christmas, the shopping, dinners, everything. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Take it?” he shouted. “Do you know how many women would love to be able to stay home with their families? You have it easy compared to working mothers who’re out there competing in a man’s world. If you think shopping and cooking dinner is too much for you, then—”

  Pam’s expression grew mutinous. “My not working was a decision we made together! I can’t believe you’re throwing that in my face now. If you’re saying you want me to get a job, fine, consider it done.”

  Matt’s fist tightened around his briefcase handle. That wasn’t what he wanted, and Pam knew it.

  “All I’m saying is I could use a little support.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to support me, either,” she snapped.

  They glared at each other, neither willing to give in.

  “Have a good time,” she said flippantly. “Just go. I’ll do what I always do and make excuses for you with the children and your parents. I’ll be at the school for Jimmy, so don’t worry—not that you ever have.”

  If Matt heard about this stupid Christmas pageant one more time, he’d blow a fuse. Rather than continue the argument, he headed out the door. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Don’t bother,” she exploded, and slammed the door in his wake.

  Matt had taken his wife at her word and hadn’t phoned once in the past three days. It was the first time in fifteen years on the road that he hadn’t called his family. Pam had the number of his hotel, and she hadn’t made the effort to call him, either. They’d argued before, all couples did, but they’d never allowed a disagreement to go on this long.

  Now as he stood in the crowded depot, waiting for the train to arrive, Matt was both tired and bored. For a man who’d purposely avoided any contact with his wife, he was in an all-fired hurry to get home.

  This should be the happiest Christmas of Kelly Berry’s life. After a ten-year struggle she and Nick were first-time parents. She liked to joke that her labor had lasted five years. That was how long they’d been on the adoption waiting list. Five years, two months and seventeen days, to be exact. Then the call had finally come, and twenty hours later they’d brought their daughter home from the hospital.

  In less than a day, their entire existence had been turned upside down. After the long frustrating years of waiting, they were parents at last.

  This would be their first trip home to Macon, Georgia, since they’d signed the adoption papers. Brittany Ann Berry’s grandparents were eager to meet her.

  The infant fussed in her arms and let loose with a piercing cry that cut into Neil Diamond’s rendition of “Jingle Bells.” A businessman scowled at them; Nick, muttering under his breath, grabbed the diaper bag. Doing the best she could, Kelly gently placed the baby over her shoulder and rubbed her tiny back.

  “She’s all right,” Kelly said, smiling to reassure her husband while he rummaged through the diaper bag in search of the pacifier.

  As Nick sat upright, he dragged one hand down his face, already showing signs of stress. They hadn’t so much as left the train depot and already their nerves were shot. Despite their eagerness to be parents, the adjustment was a difficult one. Nick had proved to be a nervous father. Kelly wasn’t all that adept at parenthood herself. She smiled again at Nick, accepting the pacifier. Everything would be easier once Brittany slept through the night, she was sure of that.

  Her two older sisters were much better at this mothering business than she was. Never had Kelly missed her family more; never had the need to talk out her fears and doubts been more pressing.

  This flight home was an extravagance Nick and Kelly could ill afford. Then the storm had blown in, with all its complications, and they’d been rerouted to Boston by train.

  A whistle sang from the distance, and the sound of it was as beautiful as church bells.

  The train was coming, just like the man at the ticket counter had promised. She listened to the announcement listing the destinations between here and Boston as people stood and reached for their bags. Nick automatically started gathering the baby paraphernalia.

  They were headed home, each and every one of them. A little snow wasn’t going to stand in their way.

  Two

  “I Wonder as I Wander”

  T he train filled up quickly, and Len was fortunate to find a seat next to a grandmotherly woman who pulled out her knitting the moment she’d made herself comfortable. Mesmerized, he watched her fingers expertly weave the yarn, mentally counting stitches in an effort to keep his mind off the time and how long it was taking his fellow passengers to get settled.

  The nervousness in the pit of his stomach began to ease as the conductor, an elderly white-haired gentleman, shuffled slowly down the aisle, checking tickets.

  “Will we reach Boston before noon?” That question came from the woman with the baby seated across from him.

  Len was grateful she’d asked; he was looking for answers himself.

  “Hard to say with the snow and all.”

  “But it has to,” she groaned, again voicing his own concerns. “We’ll never catch our flight otherwise.”

  “I heard the airports are closed between Bangor and Boston,” he said amiably. He scratched the side of his white head as if that would aid his concentration. “The train’s running, though, and you can rest assured we’ll do our best to see you make it to Boston in time.”

  His words reassured more than the young couple with the baby. Len’s anxious heart rested a little easier, too. Glancing at the older woman in the seat next to him, he decided some conversation might help distract him.

  “Are you catching a flight in Boston?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, tugging on the red yarn. “My daughter and her family live in Boston. I’m joining them for Christmas. Where are you headed?”

  “Rawhide, Texas,” Len said, letting his pride in his state show through his words.

  “Texas,” she repeated, not missing a stitch. “Ron and I visited Texas once. Ron wanted to see the Alamo. He’s my husband…was my husband. He died this Oct
ober.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” she murmured with such utter sadness that Len had to look away. She recovered quickly and continued. “It’s mind-boggling that people can fly across this country in only a few hours, isn’t it?”

  It was a fact that impressed Len, too, but he was more grateful than astonished. He felt even more appreciative when the whistle pierced the chatter going on about him. Almost immediately the train started to move, then quickly gained speed. Everyone aboard seemed to give a collective sigh of relief.

  Len and the widow chatted amicably for several minutes and eventually exchanged names. Cathy asked him a couple of questions, about Texas and the navy, and he asked her a few. After a while, their conversation died down and they returned to their own thoughts.

  The train traveled at a slow but steady pace for an hour or so. The unrelenting snow whirled around them, but the passengers were warm and cozy. For all the worry this storm had caused earlier, it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating from inside the train. Relaxed, Len stretched out his legs, confident that with a little luck, he’d connect with the flight out of Logan International.

  The train stopped now and then at depots on the way. Each stop resulted in a quick exchange of passengers. Len noticed that the storm appeared to have changed people’s holiday plans; far more exited the train than entered. The brief stops lasted no more than ten minutes, and soon there were a number of vacant seats in the passenger car. Before long Len heard the conductor say they’d be crossing into New Hampshire.

  Len figured you could fit all of these tiny New England states inside Texas. He’d seen cattle ranches that were larger than Rhode Island! The thought produced a pang of homesickness. The song sure got it right—there’s no place like home for the holidays. His life belonged to the navy now, but he was a Texas boy through and through.

  “Do you have someone at home waiting for you?” Cathy asked him.

  “My family,” Len told her, and added, prematurely, “and my fiancée.” Saying the words produced a happiness in him that refused to be squelched.

  “How nice for you.”

  “Very nice,” he said. Then thinking it might help ease his mind, he opened the side zipper of his carry-on bag and pulled out Amy’s most recent letter, dated two weeks earlier.

  Dear Len,

  I waited until ten for you to phone, then realized it was eleven your time and you probably wouldn’t be calling. I was feeling low about it, then received your letter this afternoon. I’m glad you decided to write. You say you’re not good at writing letters, but I disagree. This one was very sweet. It’s nice to have something to hold in my hand, that I can read again and again, unlike a telephone conversation. While it’s always good to hear the sound of your voice, when we hang up, there’s nothing left.

  Everything’s going along fine here at home and at work. For all my complaining about not finding a more glamorous job, I’ve discovered I actually enjoy being part of the nursing-home staff. The travel agency that didn’t hire me is the one to lose out.

  Did I tell you we had quite a stir last week? Mr. Perkins exposed himself in the middle of a pinochle game. All the ladies were outraged, but I noticed that the sign-up sheet for pinochle this Thursday is full. Mrs. MacPherson lost her teeth, but they were eventually found. (You don’t want to know where.) I still have my lunch in Mr. Danbar’s room; he seems to enjoy my company, although he hasn’t spoken a word in three years. I chatter away and tell him all about you and me and how excited I am that you’re coming home for Christmas.

  I was pleased that your mother asked me if I wanted to tag along when she and your dad pick you up at the airport on Christmas Eve. I’ll be there, you know I will—which brings me to something else. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time.

  Do you remember my joke about sailors having a woman in every port? You laughed and reminded me that, as a submariner, you didn’t see that many ports above water. Bangor’s a long way from Rawhide, though, isn’t it? I guess I’m asking you about other women.

  Well, I’d better close for now. I’ll see you in two weeks and we can talk more then.

  Love,

  Amy

  Len folded the letter and slipped it back inside the envelope. Amy shouldn’t need to ask him about other women. He didn’t know what had made her so insecure, but he’d noticed the doubt in her voice ever since he returned in September.

  The diamond ring should relieve her worries. He smiled just thinking about it. He could hardly wait to see the look on her face.

  Cathy set her knitting aside and stared sightlessly out the train window. The snow obliterated everything, not that the scenery interested her. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about Ron.

  Other years, she’d been working in her kitchen Christmas Eve day, baking cookies and pies, getting ready for the children and grandchildren to arrive. As a surprise—although it had long since ceased to be one—she’d always baked Ron a lemon meringue pie, his favorite. And he’d always pretend he was stunned that she’d go to all that trouble just for him.

  Christmas had been the holiday her husband loved most. He was like a kid, decorating the outside of the house with strand upon strand of colorful lights. Last year he’d outdone all his previous efforts, as if he’d known even then that he wouldn’t be here this Christmas.

  She remembered how, every year, Ron had wanted to put up the tree right after Thanksgiving. She was lucky if she could hold him off until it was officially December.

  It took them an entire day to decorate the tree. Not that they ever chose such a large one. Trimming their Christmas tree was a ritual that involved telling each other stories about past Christmases, recalling where each decoration came from—whether it was made by one of the girls or bought on vacation somewhere or given to them by a friend. It wasn’t just ornaments, baubles of glass and wood and yarn, that hung from the evergreen branches but memories. They still had several from when they were first married, back in 1957. And about ten years ago, Cathy had cross-stitched small frame ornaments with pictures of everyone in the family. It’d taken her months and Ron was as proud of those tiny frames as if he’d done the work himself.

  Memories…Cathy couldn’t face them this Christmas. All she could do was hope they brought her comfort in the uncertain future.

  Since he’d retired from the local telephone company four years ago, Ron had used his spare time puttering around his wood shop, building toys for the grandchildren. Troy and Peter had been thrilled with the race cars he’d fashioned from blocks of wood. Ron had taken such pride in those small cars. Angela and Lindsay had adored the dollhouse he’d carefully designed and built for them. The end table he’d started for Cathy remained in his wood shop unfinished. He’d longed to complete it, but the chemotherapy had drained away his strength, and in the months that followed, it was enough for him just to make it through the day.

  Ron wouldn’t be pleased with her, Cathy mused. She’d made only a token effort to decorate this year. No tree, no lights on the house. She’d set out a few things—a crèche on the fireplace mantel and the two cotton snowmen Madeline had made as a craft project years ago when she was in Girl Scouts.

  Actually Cathy couldn’t see the point of doing more. Not when it hurt so much. And not when she’d be leaving, anyway. She did manage to bake Madeline’s favorite shortbread cookies, but that had been the only real baking she’d done.

  Resting her head against the seat, Cathy closed her eyes. She tried to let the sound of the train lull her to sleep, but memories refused to leave her alone, flashing through her mind in quick succession. The sights and sounds of the holidays in happier times. Large family dinners, the house filled with the scents of mincemeat pies and sage dressing. Music, too; there was always plenty of music.

  Madeline played the piano and Gloria, their oldest, had been gifted with a wonderful voice. Father and daughter had sung Christmas carols together, their voices blending beautifully.
At least one of their three daughters had made it home for the holidays every year. But Gloria couldn’t afford the airfare so soon after the funeral, and Jeannie was living in New York now and it was hard for her to take time off from her job, especially when she’d already asked for two weeks in order to be with her father at the end. Madeline would have come, Cathy guessed, if she’d asked, but she’d never do that.

  Dear God, she prayed, just get me through the next three days.

  Matthew McHugh’s patience was shot. The cranky baby from the station was in the same car and hadn’t stopped fussing yet. Matthew’s head throbbed with the beginnings of a killer headache. His argument with Pam played over and over in his mind until it was so distorted he didn’t know what to think anymore.

  If Pam was upset about his being gone this close to Christmas, he could only imagine what she’d say when he arrived home hours later than scheduled.

  He could picture it now. His parents, Pam and the kids, all waiting for him to pull into the driveway so they could eat dinner. When he did walk in the house, they’d glare at him as though he’d stayed away just to inconvenience them. He’d seen it happen before. As though he were somehow personally responsible for weather conditions and canceled flights.

  As for Pam’s complaining about having to do all the shopping and cooking herself, he didn’t understand it. If she preferred, they could order one of those take-out Christmas dinners from the local diner. She didn’t need to do all this work if she didn’t want to. The choice was hers. He couldn’t care less if the jellied salad was homemade or came out of a container. Pam was putting pressure on herself.

  The same thing applied to inviting his parents for Christmas Eve dinner. He wasn’t the one who’d asked them. That had been Pam’s doing. His mom and dad lived less than an hour away; they could stop by the house any time they wanted. To make a big deal out of having a meal together on Christmas Eve was ridiculous to him, especially if Pam was going to bitch about it.