Mr. Donnelly strode to the microphone and called for silence; the crowd hushed. The principal said a few words about proper assembly behavior and the dire consequences for anyone not heeding the rules. Then he introduced Miss Butterfield and the fifth and sixth grade choirs, who stood at attention in their black slacks and white shirts, waiting for Cleo’s signal. When Donnelly walked off stage, the lights dimmed and twinkle lights came on, transforming the gym into the night of the Savior’s birth. Jillian heard Jimmy Brown’s murmured “Wow,” an accolade if ever she’d heard one.
Cleo raised her baton, nodded toward the curtain, and Tristán began a beautiful rendition of “Silent Night.” Both choirs joined in, with a gradual crescendo to the spectacular end. Applause filled the gym, and the choir took a bow.
Then a spotlight appeared across the wooden floor. The audience followed it visually to the side of the gym where Mary and Joseph entered, walking alongside a rather suspect donkey. The audience giggled, then settled when Mr. Donnelly stood up for a moment.
Another spotlight moved to showcase a narrator in a white robe, who stood holding a scroll. The boy began to speak in a clear, strong voice. “In those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the world should be enrolled, so Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea and the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, to be enrolled with Mary, who was with child.”
Mary and Joseph disappeared through the opening in the barn, and the donkey was tethered outside. The narrator continued, “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
Then the spotlight switched to the shepherds and their sheep, all asleep now and snoring loudly. The narrator hesitated and glanced at Cleo, who nodded for him to begin. “And in that region, there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear.” The shepherds and their sheep rose from their slumber and stared at the sky, trembling very convincingly with fear.
Then Gracie appeared in the sky in all her glittery splendor—on a ladder, Jillian suspected, covered with dark cloth so she would appear to float in the clouds. She took a deep breath and said, in a clear, even voice for all to hear, “Be not afraid; for behold, I bring good tidings of a great joy which will come to all people; for to you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”
And then Tristán, joined by the choir, began to play “Angels We Have Heard on High.” The students poured their hearts into the song, and Gracie’s solo, among the clouds, was spectacular.
Graciela also appeared over the top of the manger when the shepherds arrived to worship the Child. They opened the doors to show Mary and Joseph kneeling next to the baby Jesus in a cradle. Some of the sheep got a little frisky, and one shepherd tripped over his robe, but the play went off without any major hitch. Even when the three Wise Men came along, tugging their gifts laden on a reluctant camel that probably couldn’t see very well in the darkened gym, the crowd loved it.
Cleo’s Christmas Concert was a stupendous success! From Jillian’s spot along the gym wall, not far from her students, she could see the man behind the curtain. How would she be able to keep from engaging her heart again? That traitorous organ was proof positive she still had feelings for him, and his daughter was a delight. But to be honest, Tristán hadn’t treated her any differently than he had treated her friends. There were moments, terrifying moments, when she felt her heart yearn to love again. But could she open herself to the possibility of pain, dare to take the same risk again?
She wasn’t an inexperienced girl anymore, so she’d be wise to keep her feelings to herself and prepare for the worst. The man could still be married, for all she knew. At this very moment, his wife could be on her way to Green Earth.
Jillian scrubbed at her face. Why was she driving herself crazy? She had to get ready for her caroling party. She had students to dismiss for Christmas break. Plus, she still had to deal with Oprah-slash-bag-lady-slash-Carmen-Miranda-slash-Melah. And…still no snow for her favorite holiday.
As Donnelly dismissed the students room by room, Jillian made herself review her menu for the party tonight. Then she searched the crowd and saw Melissa, with Sadie and Wendy, round the folding screen that hid Tristán. A few minutes later, Mel appeared again and headed toward her with the two kids in tow.
“Hey, Jillie, great show, huh?” Melissa had one girl on each arm. “I’ll keep Sadie for Tristán until he’s finished here. Nola gave me the whole afternoon off. I hope I didn’t step on your toes, but the girls would like to play for a while. Okay with you?”
“Sure, no problem. Uh-oh…Donnelly just called my class. I’ll see you later tonight, okay? Six o’clock sharp.”
“We’ll be there. I can drop off Sadie when I head to your house. C’mon, girls.” Melissa tugged the girls toward the exit.
Jillian stood at the end of the bleachers with one hand in the air, so her students would line up in front of her, and wondered when her life had gotten so complicated. Usually, she taught school, went home to Buster, and had the occasional date. Easy peasy—if not too exciting. No highs, but no lows either. There hadn’t been anyone in the last eight years who engaged her heart. No one since Tristán. She’d dated Brian for the last three months, but with him and the few others before him she had always kept it simple. In her subconscious, she must have known he wasn’t the one to make her forget her old childhood friend. Maybe she was a one-man kind of girl, and it was over for her.
She blew out a deep breath. Jeez…she hoped not. But you can’t make someone love you. So if Tristán was not of the same bent, she’d be foolish to cut herself off from the possibility of meeting someone who could love her back. She’d already wasted a lot of years, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Just the other day, while they waited in line for the dismissal bell, one of her students had asked if she had plans for the weekend. When she answered that she didn’t have plans, the student had replied, “You need to get a life, Miz Magee.”
How pathetic. With a mental note to kick herself in the pants, she waved her students to follow her out of the gym.
Chapter Ten
Inspired by her strange new friend, Jillian had muffulettas ready instead of the subs she’d planned for the party. A huge bowl of potato salad chilled in the refrigerator. A tray of Christmas cookies covered with plastic wrap sat on the dining room table, and ingredients for mulled wine lined the kitchen counter, along with wine glasses and cocktail napkins that stated “Santa, I can explain…”
When they returned from caroling, Jillian would light the kindling and logs she’d already placed in the grate. Mistletoe hung over the foyer archway, and fake poinsettias—fake because of Buster—lined up on the mantel. While he wasn’t her favorite pet of choice, she didn’t want him to eat any of the poisonous leaves and get sick, or worse.
Snowflake-stamped gift bags lined up along the coffee table. Each held a small cache of cookies, a mini-loaf of banana bread, a Christmas picture frame, and one of the red woolen scarves Jillian had knitted back in July—thinking of all her carolers in red Christmas scarves against a background of snow. It would make for a great picture for the frames—or at least, that’s how Jillian had pictured it in her mind back in July. Optimistically, she’d knitted fifteen scarves. So, Mrs. Daily and a few others would receive red scarves this year from Santa. Now, if only the gray clouds would dump some snow, she’d be a happy camper.
“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played in the background as she waited for her friends to arrive. She pulled out the caroling list from her pocket and looked it over. They were expected at two different nursing homes, and then on to six shut-ins and the rectory at Sacred Heart, finally arriving around eight-thirty or nine o’cloc
k at Mrs. Daily’s house.
She always thought her caroling party was a great way to kick-start the holiday festivities, but this year all her family members would be missing. Noah and Karen had always participated, even after they moved to Boston, and of course her parents, who would be sailing the Mediterranean about now. Funny how things worked out. The year her family couldn’t come for Christmas, Tristán moved back in across the street—not that he could take their place, of course. Besides, he’d hardly spoken more than a few words to her, so she had to stop building castles in the sky, dreaming things that would never come true.
By the time the doorbell rang, she had worked herself into a Christmas funk.
****
Two hours later, the proverbial straw broke the camel’s back. Father Stevens had taken Jillian aside after they caroled at the rectory and told her the Christmas Jar meant for Henry Williams had been stolen off the man’s stoop. From his window, Father Stevens had seen a hooded young man steal the money, but not well enough to identify him.
Trying not to add to the young priest’s dismay, she assured him the boy must have needed the money more than Mr. Williams. But it was hard not to feel a modicum of resentment. She’d been very diligent collecting coins from her purse for an entire year. Maybe she could still do something for Mr. Williams—not easy on a teacher’s salary—but she’d have to give it some thought.
So by the time they arrived at Mrs. Daily’s house, Jillian was in full snit. The carolers emptied out of their four-car caravan and onto Mrs. Daily’s lawn. Lights were on in Loretta’s living room, and Jillian could see several people milling around inside. A fresh balsam wreath with a big, red velvet bow hung on the door, and a twinkling Christmas tree proudly illuminated the large bay window. Her group crowded in front of the porch steps and began to sing.
From inside, Jillian saw Mrs. Daily point to the door and wave for her guests to follow. The elderly group squeezed onto the porch, a few of the ladies wrapping their shawls around their shoulders. Jillian recognized several of the guests, one a widow friend of Mrs. Daily’s, and counted six in all. But one elderly gentleman stood aside. Even at this late hour, he was dressed in a dark, three-piece suit. The few hairs on his head were slicked back, and matching his tie, a red handkerchief peeked out of his jacket pocket. He seemed moved by their music and pulled out the hanky at one point and dabbed at his eyes.
About half way through their repertoire of four songs, Jillian heard a new voice join in the singing. She glanced back at the members of her group. Tristán, with his daughter in tow, stood in the back row. He nodded at her, and Sadie raised her small, mittened hand in a shy wave. She had a winter coat over her pajamas and a red knit cap pulled low over her forehead, her black curls spilling over her shoulders.
Jillian jerked her attention back to their rendition of “Silent Night” and then proceeded to belt out a lively “Jingle Bells.” After their performance, Mrs. Daily and her group thanked them profusely and waved them on. Everyone headed next door to Jillian’s house and filed in, all but Tristán, who stopped at her door.
“I hope you don’t mind that we joined you,” he said, taking her aside.
“The more the merrier. Would you like to come in for a bite and some mulled wine?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she added, “I’ve got muffulettas.”
“Ah, very enticing, the New Orleans special. Sounds good, but I was reading Sadie a bedtime story, The Night Before Christmas, when we heard your music and looked out the window. I’d love to stay, but this little lady has had a big day and is ready for bed.” As if to emphasize her father’s point, Sadie yawned broadly.
“Sure, no problem. If you’re here next year, I’ll be sure to invite you.” Oh, boy. Why do I turn into a blithering idiot every time I speak to him?
Tristán seemed nonplussed by her faux pas. “I’d like that, and I’m here to stay, Jillie. I know it must be hard for you to believe, given our history.”
Our history? Had he regretted leaving so abruptly—a short, simple goodbye and an unkept promise to call? She tried hard not to misconstrue his words and told herself not to waste one moment worrying about the possible meaning.
“So…” he said, “I need to go, but we never did set a time to catch up. Are you free tomorrow night? You’re off school now, until after the first of the year, right?” He shifted Sadie to his other hip.
“Yes, I mean no…I mean, no, we never did catch up…and…” Her breath whooshed out—foolish, foolish, foolish. “Yes, I’m free tomorrow night. What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner and a movie? How does that sound?”
“Great. Great. Sorry, I seem to be repeating everything I say. What time?”
“Does six o’clock work for you? Graciela has offered to babysit Sadie any time I need her, but I don’t want to go too far away, just in case.”
“Sure, I understand. Six works for me.” She backed up a step.
“Okay…I’m going now,” he said, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll see you at six, then.” When he bent to kiss her on the cheek, Sadie giggled and then put her little hands on his cheeks until he planted a kiss on her tiny mouth too.
When Jillian closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, she noticed her group of faithful carolers staring at her with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.
“What?”
They all burst into laughter and applause. It’s really hard, Jillian thought, to have a private life with this crowd.
****
After she let the last of the carolers out the door, Jillian decided to give the kitchen a lick and a promise and finish cleaning the house tomorrow. No need to rush. She was off until after New Year’s Day. After she stuck the leftovers in the refrigerator and made sure nothing had been left out that Buster could get into trouble with, she glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. Midnight. She yawned broadly, put the last glass in the dishwasher, and turned out the lights.
When she turned around, she almost jumped out of her skin. “Do you have to do that? You scared the bejez—”
“Don’t you say that word! I’ll have to report you.” Melah, or someone who looked like her, was dressed in bib overalls—Carhartts, Jillian thought, and work boots. She reclined on the kitchen table.
Jillian wagged her finger back and forth at the woman. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m dead tired.”
“Don’t say ‘dead tired’ to a dead woman, Cher. Now, this won’t take long, but I’m on a schedule. Do you think you’re my only assignment? I got people to see and places to go by.” She hopped off the table and magically opened the kitchen door without touching it. She waved her hand in a come-on motion and then cocked her head when Jillian didn’t move.
“Does it have to be tonight? I’ve had a rough evening.”
“Nope. You just got discouraged again when you heard about the Christmas Jar, and then you got nervous when Tristán asked you out. I know these things.”
Damn.
“Quit cussin’. I have sensitive ears.”
“I didn’t say it out loud!” Jillian cried. “You do know you’re a pain in—”
“Do not say it.” Melah circled her index finger and drew out the words in a way Cleo would have been proud of.
Jillian blew out a longsuffering sigh. “Okay. Let me get my coat.”
“No time. You’re fine.”
And the next thing Jillian knew, she was back at Mrs. Daily’s, peeking in her bay window at the group of her elderly friends. “We were just here a few hours ago. What am I supposed to see?”
“See the old man in the suit?” Melah pointed through the window. Literally, her finger poked through the glass.
“How do you do this stuff? I’m going crazy.” She pointed a finger at Melah. “You’re making me crazy.”
“No, you’re not goin’ crazy. And I can do about anything my mind can come up with. It’s one of the perks.”
Jillian rubbed her temples. “Why did you want me to notice the old man?
I’ve seen him around Mrs. Daily’s a couple of times.”
“He’s a good man. We gonna follow him.”
“Will this take long?”
“Not too long, but you ever waked up tired the next morning after you were with me?”
“Well…no, but I have a lot to do in the next few days. Christmas Eve is only three days away.”
“In that case, we better get goin’. Hold on.” Melah held out her arm, and Jillian clamped on, closed her eyes, and held her breath.
“What are you doing?”
Jillian opened one eye. “I thought, you know, the roller coaster ride again.”
Melah laughed. “I do that one when I want to get your attention, Shug. Pretty good trick, huh?”
“No. Where are we go—?” And before Jillian could get the rest of the words out, she found herself in front of a modest bungalow a few streets from her own home. The drapes were drawn closed, but the yard was still illuminated with multicolored twinkle lights. “Whose house is this?”
“Mr. Griparis. We’re goin’ in.”
“Hey, he’s not home. He’s still at Mrs. Daily’s.”
“Look at your watch.”
“Yikes! It’s two in the morning. How do you manage to do stuff like this?”
“I done tol’ you—”
“Yeah, yeah…I know, you can do anything. So, what am I supposed to learn here?”
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady. Mr. Griparis needed our help tonight. He lost his Mary, the love of his life, years ago, and he never remarried. His chillens is grown and most moved away, though they’re still close. But none came back for Christmas this year.”
“I know how that feels,” Jillian muttered. “How can we help him?”
“You and your group of singers already did. I wanted to see if he’s all right. Christmas, it’s hard for him.”
Before Jillian could blink again, she found herself in Mr. Griparis’ living room. The old man sat in a worn corduroy recliner with a thick picture album on his lap. Light from one dim lamp over his shoulder illuminated the room. Everything else was in shadow. He spoke softly to one of the pictures.
All Hearts Come Home for Christmas Page 8