by Kat Martin
“He's getting married, Judge.” Syl's voice spun him around in his seat. “Joe and I... we're getting married.” She looked at him and he could read her uncertainty and her determination.
He had hinted at marriage a couple of times but Syl had always changed the subject. He knew she loved him, just as he loved her. He'd just been giving her time to figure it out.
His heart filled with joy. He hoped she could see the love in his eyes as he dragged his gaze away from her and fixed his attention on the judge. “That's right, Judge Halloran.” He couldn't stop smiling like a fool. “We're getting married just as soon as we can make the arrangements.” He looked at Syl. “Maybe even this afternoon.”
Syl grinned and nodded and people started clapping. There were shouts of congratulations, stomping feet, laughter and whistles. Charlie reached over and slapped him on the shoulder.
The judge gave up a sigh of resignation. “Well, then, seeing as half the town of Dreyerville has come here in the belief that you are the best man for the job of raising this boy, I am going to make an exception to the rule. There will be official visits, of course, just to ensure that things are going along as they should. But assuming there are no unforeseen problems, I am going to grant your petition and place Teddy Sparks in your care—beginning as soon as you and Ms. Winters are married.”
The courtroom erupted and again the judge rapped madly. Everyone ignored him. Joe spotted Teddy running toward him and scooped him up in his arms. People were cheering and clapping, giving him their congratulations.
Joe searched the mob of people around him, frantically looking for Syl. Making his way through the crowd, Teddy clinging to his neck, he finally reached her and hauled her into his arms. “I love you, Syl. God, I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Both of you.” She kissed Teddy's cheek and smiled and Teddy grinned.
“Are you gonna be my mom?”
“Yes, Teddy. We're going to be a family.”
Joe's heart squeezed. A family. Eight years ago, he had lost Syl and the dreams they had shared. Today, those dreams had all been given back to him.
As they made their way out of the courtroom and down the courthouse steps, friends and neighbors flowing out behind them, Joe ruffled Teddy's hair and reached for Syl's hand.
He thought of the incredible gift he had just been given, of the wrongs that had miraculously been righted and the gleaming future ahead of him. At the bottom of the courthouse steps, Joe looked up and whispered a silent prayer of thanks.
12
Lottie sat in front of the Christmas tree. She didn’t recall how the little tree had gotten there but with all the lights and shiny ornaments, it certainly was pretty. And the little boy seemed to like it. She used to remember his name but not anymore. She didn’t tell him that, of course. He called her Gramma, so she figured they must be related but she didn’t really recall. She liked him, though. He was such a sweet little boy.
“Aren't you gonna open it, Gramma? Mrs. Culver helped me wrap it real pretty.” He was there with his parents, a handsome black-haired man with lovely blue eyes and a woman with tawny brown hair and a pretty face. They were sitting on the sofa a few feet away, watching as the boy gave her his gift. She didn't remember either one of them but they seemed like a very nice couple.
She smiled at the boy. “Thank you.... I love the silver paper and this beautiful red bow.”
It was a big present and rather heavy, so the boy helped her take off the paper and open the box. “I paid for it myself, Gramma. I saved my money all summer.”
She looked down at the box and lifted off the lid. Inside was an old Victorian gingerbread clock. Something stirred inside her, a memory from the past. Her mother cooking in the kitchen, steam rising from a pot boiling on the stove. There were cookies in the oven. The aroma of chocolate filled the air, and she remembered licking the batter off the spoon her mother handed her.
“Do you like it, Gramma?”
She looked back down at the clock. There was one just like it in her family's kitchen when she was a little girl. She hadn't remembered that for so long ... so very long. She didn't remember very much anymore but that day in the kitchen with her mother ...
She turned to the boy. “It's wonderful. It makes me remember nice things. Thank you very much.”
She gazed at the clock. She must have been staring at it for quite some time because the woman— Lottie kept forgetting her name—came in and said it was time for her nap. The house was empty except for the two of them. It seemed as though someone had been there earlier but maybe she was wrong.
She looked at the clock sitting in front of her and caught sight of the lighted tree. It was Christmas.
It had been Christmas that day in her mother's kitchen. Lottie remembered that day ... so very long ago.
And so it was that Christmas in 1994 that set the stage for the man I became. As I walk across the platform and accept my college diploma, I think of my grandmother, Lottie Sparks, and the clock that led me to the people who became my family, the people I love. My grandmother is no longer living but I will never forget her or the things she taught me.
My name is Theodore Dixon now, but everyone still calls me Teddy. My mother and father have been married fourteen years and every day, I'm grateful they were willing to open their hearts and give me a loving home.
I have three brothers and sisters, all of us adopted. Of course, I like to think I'm the favorite since I was the first, but I know Randy, Jimmy, and Amy are loved as much as I am.
We're a family, no matter where we came from, and for all of us, our favorite holiday is Christmas.
In the heat of this bright summer day, the holidays seem distant, but soon the leaves will begin to fall and snow will be on its way. Christmas will come, a time of celebration, joy, and grateful prayers.
A time I give thanks for the miracle I was blessed with that day at the courthouse so many years ago.
Afterword
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed The Christmas Clock. As I considered how best to tell this story, setting it a few years back in time to a softer, less hectic era seemed somehow right. The inspiration for Dreyerville came from the small Michigan town of Ionia. With a population of less than 10,000 at the time the book took place, it is a lovely little village filled with turn-of-the-century homes, steepled churches, and a main street lined with old-fashioned street lamps and nineteenth-century businesses that look just as they did back then.
Of course, I took liberties with the businesses themselves but anyone who has read The Christmas Clock will see a lot of Ionia in Dreyerville.
If you decide you would like to revisit the town, I hope you’ll watch for A Song For My Mother. You’ll meet a few more of the locals and catch up with a few old friends.
Till, then happy reading and all best wishes,
Kat
Q & A With Kat Martin
The Christmas Clock is a departure from your usual writing. What inspired you to write this story?
My husband's mother, a wonderful lady, had Alzheimer's disease. I saw firsthand what a terrible disease it was. Watching her slip away became the kernel of an idea for this story.
What meaning does Christmas have for you? What are some of your family’s traditions?
We always have a real Christmas tree. There is something about the scent of pine and candles. We cook a turkey and have the whole family over on Christmas Day and also plan something special on Christmas Eve.
Is there a clock in your life that has special meaning to you?
My mother collected antique clocks. They all had special meaning for her. Though she is no longer with us, I felt that the clock in the story could have a similar meaning for Lottie.
What glimpses of Kat Martin are there in this book?
Well, I love Christmas and to me, it's a very special time of year. I am a true romantic and I love happy endings. You will find one in every one of my
books.
The book begins and ends with an adult Teddy recalling a series of significant events that forever impacted his life and the lives of those around him. Can you describe a time in your life when all the pieces fell into place at the right time?
I would say that meeting my husband was the significant event that changed my life. Because of him, I started writing. With his encouragement, I've continued a career that I feel is my life's calling.
One theme throughout The Christmas Clock is returning—Sylvia Winters returns to her hometown, Joe Dixon returns after prison, they both return to college, Sylvia and Joe return to each other, as do the Culvers. What significance does the idea of returning have to you?
Sometimes returning to a place completes the circle. Unfinished problems are resolved. Unfinished relationships are made whole. Returning can be a healing process.
Home also serves as a significant theme throughout the book. Syl moves home. Teddy needs a home. Joe and Syl want to create a home. Even the Culvers find each other by creating homes for birds. What does home mean to you?
Home is a place that lives inside us! A place where we can feel safe, somewhere we feel connected to our past. Some of us go home, some of us don't, but the notion of home stays with us throughout our lives.
A third theme involves the loss of significant relationships— grandparent; parent, child, lover, even the loss of self through disease and prison. How have you learned to deal with loss?
People deal with loss in different ways. My way has always been to look forward, to think of the future, rather than dwell in the past. I would hope that is what my lost loved ones would want me to do.
The Culvers, who have been married for many years, live estranged lives. In your opinion, what does it take to keep a marriage healthy, happy and fulfilled?
Spending time together. Being able to forgive each other. We are all bound to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing at one time or another. Love each other unconditionally. That is the key.
What unique challenges did you encounter in writing The Christmas Clock?
I did a great deal of research on Michigan, cervical cancer and, of course, Alzheimer's disease. Putting it all together was also a challenge.
How does writing fulfill you?
It's like putting puzzle pieces together. Once the story is completed, there is a terrific feeling of satisfaction. It is even more gratifying when readers enjoy the book.
A Song For My Mother
Mom, I miss you every day.
Foreword
I wrote a song for my mother, but I never played the notes. It spoke of the love I felt for her, my gratitude for all she had done. It told her how much I owed her for the years of her life she gave me.
I wrote a song for my mother, but I never sang the words.
Now she is gone and the song is only a fading memory, a soft ache that reminds me of the unsung melody locked away in my heart.
1
Dreyerville, Michigan
April 1995
Marly Hanson didn't want to go home. It was Katie, her ten-year-old daughter, who wanted to visit Dreyerville, the small Michigan town where Marly had been raised. Katie had begged for months to finally meet the grandmother she had never known and Marly had finally agreed.
The day was cool but sunny, a light breeze blowing over the fields and whispering through the verdant forests at the edge of town. Main Street loomed ahead. Unable to resist a look at the place she had left behind twelve years ago, Marly pressed on the brake, slowing her old blue Ford sedan to make the turn. It was a beautiful little town, like something out of a picture book with its sycamore-lined streets, old domed courthouse, and ornate clock tower in the middle of the square.
She remembered Tremont’s Antiques in the block to her left and next to it, Brenner’s Bakery. She and her mom had made it a tradition to go to the bakery on Saturday mornings. Marly could almost see Mrs. Culver standing behind the glass counter in her pink-and-white uniform, her gray-blond hair tucked neatly beneath a matching pink cap, smiling and chatting as she took their order. The place smelled of yeast and cinnamon and patrons sat at little round, white wrought-iron tables.
Of course, that was all before.
Braking again, she turned the car onto Fir Street. This time of year, the entire town was a lush garden of shrubs and plants, the trees all leafed out, the grass so green it made your eyes hurt.
She drove a couple of blocks and pulled up to the curb in front of a gray-and-white, wood-frame house built in the twenties, the paint a little faded and in places starting to peel. Katie slept in the passenger seat, her head tilted against the window. Looking at her daughter, Marly felt a tug at her heart. Katie was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She was sweet and smart and loving.
And Marly had almost lost her.
Reaching down, she turned off the engine, sat for long moments just staring at the house that had once been her home. The house she had fled that awful night.
After so many years, just being in Dreyerville made her stomach churn. Where she gripped the steering wheel, her palms were sweating. Her pulse thumped dully. Years of emotional turmoil threatened to surface. Marly took mental hold of herself and firmly tamped it down.
She had made the decision to come. Now she was here. For Katie, she would handle it.
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. She hadn’t seen her mother since the night she had left twelve years ago, on the night she had run off with Burly Hanson, one of the town bad boys. Even when they were dating, Burly drank too much and flirted with other women but she wasn’t afraid of him and Marly was desperate to escape. When Burly offered to marry her and take her out of Dreyerville, she had jumped at the chance.
She had sworn that night she would never return but she had a daughter to think of now, a child who had just survived a series of brutal radiation and chemotherapy treatments for brain cancer. Still fast asleep, Katie breathed softly, her bald head gleaming in the sunlight slanting down through the window.
Marly had considered shaving off her own shoulder-length blond hair the way people did when a loved one was fighting the disease but Katie had begged her not to.
“Please don’t do it, Mom. It’ll only remind me of how ugly I look.”
So instead, Marly had tamed the soft curls that were her secret vanity into a modest French braid and silently thanked her brave little girl.
She glanced again at the child sleeping peacefully next to her. The prognosis was good, the doctors said. With luck and time, Katie should recover. Marly clung to those words, refusing to consider any other outcome. She couldn’t imagine a life without Katie. She couldn’t stand that kind of pain.
Still, it was too early to be certain the treatments had succeeded.
Which was the reason she was back in Dreyerville, sitting in front of the little house she had run away from all those years ago.
After what Katie had suffered, the child deserved her most fervent wish: to meet her grandmother, Winifred Maddox, Marly’s mother, one of the few relatives Katie still had. Burly’s mother, already an older woman when she had borne her only child, had died four years ago. Mrs. Hanson had no use for children other than her son and Katie had only seen her once.
Grandmother Hanson was dead and Burly and his good-for-nothing father were both in the wind. Marly had no idea where Burly had gone when he abandoned them and she didn’t care. Burly had served his purpose and saved her. She had escaped her life in Dreyerville and started on a new path that held far more promise.
Distant memories surfaced, the trip east to Detroit, Burly landing a job as a trucker and Marly starting night classes. It took a while since she was working as a waitress to help pay the rent but eventually, she had gotten her GED. By then she was eighteen and handling her new life fairly well—until she had gotten pregnant.
The thought stirred a faint thread of anger. A baby was the last thing Burly had wanted—as he’d told her in no uncertain terms. The
bigger her belly grew, the later he came home. He took long-haul jobs that kept him away for weeks and she knew he had begun to see other women. When she came home from night school early, found a pair of red panties on the living room floor and a woman in the bed she and Burly shared, the relationship came crashing to an end.
Marly divorced Burly—which wasn’t difficult, since she had never really loved him—and surprised herself by discovering how capable she was. With her job as a waitress, she managed to take care of her newborn baby without Burly’s income, then put herself through two years of college. A student loan took care of the next two years. With a small grant and a lot of hard work, she had finally graduated with a teaching credential. For a while, she had worked as a substitute teacher, waiting for a chance at a full-time job.
Then Katie had been diagnosed with cancer.
Marly looked up at the old wooden house. For a moment, she just sat there trying to work up the courage to get out of the car, to march across the uneven sidewalk and climb the front porch steps. She tried to imagine knocking on the front door, tried to guess the greeting she would receive.
Her mother knew they were coming. Winnie had cried when Marly had phoned after so many years. Only a few words were exchanged, just the information that Katie was recovering from cancer and that the child’s dearest wish was to meet her grandmother.