When she entered the living room, her brother-in-law, Sammy, whistled. “Don’t you look beautiful?”
She curtsied. “Thank you. I needed that.” Dina and Miriam and her husband, Jack exchanged hugs with her, too.
“You do look pretty, little sis.” She smiled. “I think this is going to be the best Christmas you’ll ever remember.” She looked around the living room. “The decorations look great, Mal.” She hugged her again. “I’m so proud of you.”
Jodi entered and handed Mallory a glass of punch. “This is a champagne punch,” she said.
“And the girls…”
“Not to worry. I made them a virgin punch.”
Mallory released a sigh of relief. The doorbell rang, and she sashayed over and greeted more friends. Giving Dina a wink, she wanted her to know that she was pleased that she’d been able to find people to come to the party at this late date. Dina acknowledged with a wave.
An hour later, the sound of laughter and busy chatter in her house sounded wonderful to her ears. Her daughters were having fun with their friends. Glancing at Jodi’s son who was standing by the window, she could tell something was happening because he was calling out Santa’s name and gesturing for the kids to come to the window. When Dina caught on, she was directing everyone outside.
“Holy cow, Santa’s here. Let’s go out on the porch and see him.”
Everyone flocked outdoors, jiggling around, trying to keep warm. As soon as Santa stopped in front of the house in his horse-drawn sleigh, everyone applauded. Mallory turned to Dina. “Did you arrange this?”
“No, but I wish I had.”
They watched as Santa got down off his sleigh and carried a small bag over his shoulder. Lacey was the first to grab his hand and lead him into the house. He nodded to everyone along the way. At first glance, Mallory thought Santa’s build was similar to AJ’s, and her heart took off like a shot. But when he opened his mouth to speak, her heart dropped—he sounded nothing like AJ. Deep disappointment settled in her chest, but she forced herself to stop the pity party before she ruined a wonderful evening.
Santa was like the Pied Piper with the kids all flocking around him. Once inside the warm house, he put the small bag he was carrying down and passed out candy canes to all the kids at the party. He was doing his best to control the kids.
“Ho, ho, ho. Now, kids,” he said, “I promise…you’ll get your turn when I visit your house, but right now, I’m here for the Gardners. Now, I don’t usually deliver these gifts when you children are awake, but I have a lot of gifts I need to give out this year, so I had to start early.”
Walking in front of Mallory, he motioned for the two girls to gather near her. Jenny and Lacey were smiling as they watched Santa remove something from his pocket and set it down on the table. Inquisitive, Mallory checked to see what it was and noticed it was a recorder just as Santa clicked it to the off position. Even before he removed his beard and hat, she knew it was AJ. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She’d missed him. But where had he been?
He pulled three small boxes from his bag and handed one to each of them. Mallory heard one of the boys say, “Hey, he’s not Santa,” and one of the mothers shushed him.
Lacey squealed with delight. She almost tripped, trying to sit down she was so excited, but she managed and immediately ripped the paper off.
“Wait just a minute, sweetie. I’d like you to open them all at the same time.” Mallory gave him a puzzled look. “Go ahead,” he said. “Now.”
When Mallory opened her present and noticed it was from Simons Jewelers, she smiled. How’d he know that was her favorite jewelry store? Lacey and Jenny both squealed when they opened their box until they realized they each had a replica of their mother’s gift, a marquis setting of a beautiful diamond ring. AJ reached for their hands and clumsily got down on bended knee. The room was completely silent as everyone waited with anticipation.
“Mallory, Jenny and Lacey, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I knew the moment I saw the three of you we were supposed to be together. And I promise to spend the rest of my life making you happier than you’ve ever known. Will you marry me?”
Mallory was speechless. Looking from one daughter to the next, she searched their faces trying to figure out how they felt.
“Say yes, Mom,” Jenny said. “Say yes.”
“Mommy,” Lacey said, “I want to marry AJ.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” she said rushing into his arms. Looking over his shoulder at her two daughters, she watched them give each other a ‘high five’.
“We did it, Jen,” Lacey squealed.
AJ bent down and pulled the girls into his arms. “We sure did, girls.”
Miriam stepped forward. “Hmm, still think my readings are hokus pokus?”
~ End ~
The Gift of the Magic
Gina Ardito
Polina Kominski is on a mission: her mother’s dying request was that Polina spend the Christmas holiday in her ancestral hometown of Krakow, Poland to discover the magic of the city. Along with her non-refundable plane ticket is a list of tasks she must complete before she can break free of her mother’s lifestyle and finally become her own person. That doesn’t mean she has to believe all the superstitions and allusions to magic Mom wants her to experience. And what’s with number eight on the itinerary, Kiss a Stranger?
When international banker, Rhys Linsey, literally runs into Polina on a Krakow street, he knows that fate’s brought them together. No matter how much she denies believing in magic, he’s determined to prove her wrong.
Christmas in Krakow weaves a powerful spell, and Rhys manages to pierce the armor around Polina’s heart. But can the magic of the holiday and the love of this special man overcome her painful past? For true love should never tie a heart down. True love allows two people the freedom to fly together!
OTHER BOOKS BY GINA ARDITO
Eternally Yours
Nobody’s Darling
Nobody’s Business
Nobody’s Perfect
A Run for the Money
A Little Slice of Heaven
The Bonds of Matri-money
BOOKS BY GINA ARDITO WRITING AS KATHERINE BRANDON
Echoes of Love
Kismet’s Angel
Kismet’s Revenge
Kismet’s Salvation
©Copyright 2012 by Victoria Ardito
All Rights Reserved
The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I was a child, Christmas Eve was the most important holiday of the year. My mother was of Polish descent, and while she didn’t know the reasons for all the holiday traditions she instilled in us, she honored them every year. I’m grateful for those memories and have chronicled many of them in Polina’s story for others to enjoy in the future.
To all my readers, I hope you create your own traditions with your loved ones during your holiday season. Wishing you peace, love, and joy!
—Gina
Dedication
For my dear friend, Shelby Reed, who always challenges me to write better, if only so I can compete with her amazing talent. You are the warmest, most generous person I know, and I wish you a lifetime of love and happiness.
Pronunciation Guide For Polish Terms
Babcia: BOB-cha
Bardzo dobry: BART-so DO-bray
Bigos: VEE-gose
Choinka: HO-yink-a
Czy jesteś dobra: too YES-day DO-bra
Dobry rano: DO-bray RON-o
Dziadek: JA-dek
Gesiorka: gay-SHOR-ka
Jak są wy: yok so vay
Motyle: MO-tee-leh
Olimpijski: o-lim-PEE-skee
Paczki: POTCH-kee
Pozdrawiam: pose-dra-vee-OM
Przepraszam: zhi-PRA-zham
Serce: SEER-tse
Sernik: SEER-nick
Smocza Jama: SMO-cha YA-ma
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Smok Wawelski: smoke va-VEL-skee
Szopki: SHOP-kee
Tadeusz: TA-da-oosh
Tu przyjść: TOO preescht
Ukochana: ook-o-HONN-a
Wawel: VA-vell
Wigilia: Vee-GEEL-ya
Wywiady: VIV-ee-a-da
Zlotys: ZLOT-is
Chapter 1
Polina Kominski snuggled into the meager warmth of her down jacket as she strode through the ancient city of Krakow, just another face in the crowd. Her plaid plastic boots crunched the snow under her feet, but did little to buffer the cold or moisture seeping into her socks. Why couldn’t her mother have come from Miami Beach? Or, at least, someplace that didn’t require a trip halfway around the world?
Interminable delays and transfers at three different airports while reaching Poland from Alabama had drained the last dregs of energy. Coffee would only screw up her sleep pattern, already skewed by the time difference. To counter the exhaustion and regain balance in her tumbling emotions, she breathed in the crisp December air and picked up her pace. She had to reach Planty Gardens in the Old Town historical district before dark.
Last time, she vowed. This was the last time Mom could rearrange her daughter’s plans to suit her whims. Pain mingled with relief at the thought. Mom’s dying wish, that her ashes be buried in her homeland, had caged Polina into a trip to Europe two weeks before Christmas. Her mother, always meticulous with details, had planned every bit of the itinerary, right down to her non-refundable return flight, which wouldn’t leave Krakow until the twenty-sixth of December. Like it or not, Polina was stuck here until then.
“Spend this Christmas in Krakow, ukochana, sweetheart,” Mom had whispered that last afternoon. “The beauty, the magic, will refresh you. After you do this one last thing for me, you’ll be free.”
Free. Free to pursue her own life at last. A normal life. At twenty-eight, she would no longer be forced to live her mother’s dreams. Maybe she could find a job that didn’t involve working with society’s outcasts. And then, someday, a real home with a white picket fence, normal pets like a dog or a cat or both, maybe even a husband and children.
One last task. She could do this. Head down, she propelled herself forward with the single-mindedness of a charging bull.
Street performers littered the sidewalks like trails of popcorn on a county fair midway. Every corner seemed to host a singer with a guitar, but she also came upon less common and more varied acts as she pressed on toward her destination. Marionettes, carved and costumed to resemble famous pop stars, “lip synched” and danced to the Top Ten hits of their celebrity counterparts, which blasted from the tinny speakers of a boom box. Several accordion players, dressed in traditional red and white Polish garb, performed polka music. A string quartet played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Three young hippie-looking dudes thumped bongos. In Market Square, where multi-storied buildings housed Krakow’s international business interests, employees scurried past her, headed for their cars after a long day at work.
Polina stifled her impatience at the craziness around her. No wonder Mom had sent her here; the city represented everything her mother had loved: chaos, color, and cacophony.
She, on the other hand, craved peace. After years of bright lights, loud music, and never sleeping in the same city for longer than a week at a time, Polina wanted nothing more than a quiet place where she could plant roots that dug deep. As deep as the ancient, gnarled trees lining the sidewalks here.
Even in the grip of winter’s chill, the grounds at the Planty Gardens were lovely. Snow painted the tree limbs in pristine white, sparkling on branches that reached to touch the lavender sky. On the other side of the gardens, ivory and gray stone buildings with high arches buffeted most of the wind. Dusk had fallen, and yellowish light from the nineteenth century oil lamps washed the grounds in liquid gold.
At last, she reached the center of the ring-shaped park and stopped on a bench across from the fountain. Rifling through her backpack—her only luggage—she pulled out Mom’s itinerary. What next? She scanned the list, ignoring the more bizarre instructions like, (5.) Follow the dog, and (8.) Kiss a stranger. Mentally, she crossed off (3.) Visit Planty Gardens and her finger stopped at (4.) Have your fortune told.
Naturally. Because Mom would continue to push her interests in the paranormal, the abnormal, even from beyond the grave.
Last time, she reminded herself again. Those two words, now a mantra, kept her moving forward.
Okay, fine. Get her fortune told. Where? As if on cue, a young girl, dressed in scarlet and tangerine scarves dripping with gold medallions, peered out from the closest alcove and crooked her finger in Polina’s direction. There, of course.
After replacing the list and zipping up the backpack, she made her way toward the archway where the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl with skin the color of Arizona sand waited. Inside the stone apse, the girl had set up a long wooden shelf littered with hand-painted wooden dolls and sequined trinkets. Polina hated sequins and spangles, hated anything anyone used to make shoddy products shiny. True quality didn’t need spotlights or halos, a lesson she learned early in life.
“I tell your future?” the girl asked in stilted, but understandable English. “Ten zlotys?”
“Yes, please.” She passed over the money, roughly three American dollars.
The girl stuffed the brass and black coins into a brightly colored woven box and shoved it under the shelf, then took Polina’s hand. The gypsy didn’t ask Polina to remove the glove or even attempt to read her palm, she simply riveted her dark gaze into Polina’s blue eyes. “You have suffered great loss,” she intoned. “But don’t weep. Someone very special waits around a corner. Follow the dog.”
“Follow the dog,” Polina repeated with a sigh. The same instruction her mother had given her. “What does that mean?”
“Sometime this evening, you will hear a dog barking. Walk in the direction of the sound to find your future.”
Great, Polina thought. That sounds exactly like something Mom would say. Did every fortune teller in the world use the same schtick?
“I am sorry. That is all I can tell you,” the gypsy girl said, dropping Polina’s hand.
Oh, big surprise. Well, at least she hadn’t spent a fortune for a worthless fortune. “Thanks.” Polina turned away to hide her disgust. Really, what had she expected? She’d grown up around these charlatans, knew all the gimmicks and cons they used to get marks to ante up more cash. Follow the dog. Next, the girl would tell her someone had placed a curse on her, and for ten thousand zlotys, the gypsy could wrap an egg in a handkerchief and remove the ill will.
When had she become so naïve? Time to smarten up and remember. Mom didn’t invent the con; she’d just perfected it.
Jet lag was probably inhibiting Polina’s brain from functioning logically. She needed a chance to regroup before tackling the next item on her mother’s To-Do list. The mysterious barking dog would have to go on without her. Or find her tomorrow. Right now, she planned to check in to her room, a five or six minute walk away, and collapse for the night. A hot bath and several hours’ sleep would rejuvenate and prepare her for whatever Mom had planned for tomorrow.
Leaving the gardens, she crossed the thoroughfare and strode past the rows of storybook storefronts, all painted in rainbow hues. Funny. Whenever her mother talked about Krakow, Polina had always envisioned a bleak existence of dust and rubble, of poverty and grit. She’d never imagined this fairyland of twinkling lights on a primavera palette, music filling the air, and happy people everywhere. For heaven’s sake, the notorious Auschwitz concentration camp lay only forty miles away from this charming city. Then again, that was Mom’s true nature. Never see reality, cover up anything sad or unpleasant with garish colors and glitter.
When she turned the next corner, she spotted the now familiar copper spires of the Pulaski Hotel’s roof piercing the twilit sky. Soon, she’d be warm and comfortable. She passed a bakery, and the yeasty aromas that sce
nted the air brought sharp reminders from her stomach that she hadn’t eaten in hours. Just another few blocks, she told herself and her rumbling empty tummy. Thank God, she still had half a sandwich in her backpack.
Woof! Woof!
She stopped in mid-step. No. It couldn’t be.
Woof! Woof!
Yes, it was. A barking dog. Gloved hands fisted at her sides, she steeled herself to ignore the animal. Her gaze remained pinned on the hotel looming only a few blocks away. Thoughts of a soft bed in a warm room filled her mind, pushed her feet forward. Food, bath, sleep. In that order. No dog.
The barking, however, grew louder and, crazy as it seemed, even more insistent. Follow the dog. Woof! Woof! Follow the dog.
Exasperated, she threw up her hands. Okay, okay. Apparently, the dog was in cahoots with Mom and the gypsy girl. A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she turned around to follow the barking sounds, but she consoled herself with the thought that she’d only walk back one block. After that, if he had something to show her, the dog would have to run up and introduce himself.
Once again, she passed the bakery. God, she was starving! Maybe she should splurge on a real dinner tonight. Grab a cheeseburger deluxe with fries and onion rings. And some fresh apple fritters for dessert.
This time around, she couldn’t help but stare longingly at the glass display case where lighter-than-air pastry shared a starring role with loaves of freshly baked bread. Gaze riveted on the goodies in the shop window, she turned the corner.
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