Christmas Jars Reunion

by Jason F. Wright

  Clark wiped off the jelly with his index finger and laughed loudly. Then he licked it off and laughed again.

  ~~~

  I am left speechless. With all we have dealt with over this last year, this truly came to my family as a blessing. My thoughts and prayers go to the anonymous givers. They truly have blessed me in being able to provide my children a holiday.

  —J.C.

  Twelve

  ~~~

  Leaving at sunrise on your honeymoon by train. So romantic.”

  Marianne hugged Hope. “All Nick’s idea. Every detail.”

  Hope had convinced Hannah, the twins and their mother, Lauren, and their husbands, and even Gayle to send off Marianne and Nick on their thirteen-year-delayed honeymoon.

  Only Clark was missing.

  Hope noticed.

  Always the emcee in any crowd, Hope gathered everyone on the train platform in a tight circle and stood between the honeymooners. “We couldn’t send you off without a few things to remind you of home while you’re a gigshmillion miles away.”

  “Gigshmillion?” Hannah laughed.

  “Hush, girl. This is my show.” She put a finger to her lips, and when she pulled it away, she quickly stuck her tongue out.

  Hannah returned the gesture.

  “As I was saying,” Hope continued, “we brought gifts. Hannah, you first.”

  Hannah pulled a wooden Restored, Inc. luggage tag from her pocket. “Dad made these one year for Christmas. By hand. He gave them to his repeat clients.”

  “It’s lovely,” Marianne said. Then she handed it to Nick who immediately replaced her suitcase tag with the new version.

  The twins presented Nick with a tiny stuffed Christmas tree with a gold star sewn on the top. “Marianne won’t admit it, but she’s going to get homesick,” one of them said. “And when she does, you pull this out.”

  “And she’ll be even more homesick,” Nick said and the rest laughed.

  “All aboard!” the conductor yelled.

  The twins’ quiet husbands, Tyson and Braden, never known as big huggers, gave both Nick and Marianne a hug good-bye and wished them well.

  Marianne caught her breath. “You boys are so sweet. Thank you.”

  Lauren came next. She reached into a bag at her feet and pulled out two leather-bound journals and two ink pens in thick, dark wood cases. She handed a set to both of them.

  “Oh, my,” Marianne gasped. “They’re exquisite.”

  “These are journals Adam and I bought in San Antonio years ago. The pens were—”

  “Made by him?” Marianne interrupted.

  “Good guess,” Lauren answered and they hugged tightly.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called for the second time.

  Nick picked up the bags.

  “Wait!” Hope said. “Gayle and I have something.”

  Gayle handed Marianne a small box. “Open it on Christmas Eve in Jerusalem.” When they hugged, Gayle whispered in her ear, “It’s a cross pendant.”

  Thank you, Marianne mouthed back to her through heavy-laden tears.

  Nick took Marianne’s hand. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.”

  “We’ll miss you,” Hannah said, hugging both Marianne and Nick good-bye. “Christmas at Chuck’s won’t be the same without you.”

  Marianne turned to Hope. “She’s right. You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “Please. You’re at the train station. Your groom is holding your bags. Get outta here.”

  “I just feel so—”

  “Go!” Hannah and Hope both pushed her playfully from behind.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Marianne said as Nick took her hand and led her up the steps to the train.

  The small crowd blew kisses and waved, and Marianne disappeared into the train car. Suddenly Hope called out, “Wait! Wait! Your jar!” But the train had begun to roll slowly down the tracks.

  Marianne opened her window.

  Hope ran alongside, holding an empty Christmas Jar with Chuck’s distinctive label on the bottom. “Fill this there and give it away in Bethlehem!” Hope shouted as she delivered the jar through the open window into Marianne’s outstretched hands.

  “We will! Thank you!” Marianne blew another round of kisses to the laughing gaggle of friends and family on the platform. They waved back and stayed until the train disappeared down the tracks.

  Across the street, Aaron “Al” Allred watched the scene unfold through a frosted window at his table for one and ate his free continental breakfast at the Best Western.

  ~~~

  A Mason jar full of coins epitomizes the spirit of the holidays and will be forever cherished in this family.

  —Courtney

  Thirteen

  ~~~

  Many drive-by diners had mused aloud how, even during the thickness of summer, it always felt like Christmas at Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits. But those same patrons needed to see the diner on any given night between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The energy was palpable, even to the most hardened Scrooge.

  Decorations adorned every inch of every counter and all four corners of every window. Lights in red, green, white, and gold. Fake snow piled everywhere there wasn’t a stove to set it on fire. Three-and-a-half nativity scenes of varying sizes, including one whose donkey had been replaced by a plastic chicken. Most passers-by thought it was distasteful to leave up, but the one with his name on the restaurant thought it was perfect. “The chicken stays,” Chuck had said in mock sternness each time someone protested.

  Even the menus were decorated with special cover inserts. Each year Chuck invited children who ate at the diner to color a picture of what Christmas meant to them. They drew Christmas trees, snowmen, snowflakes, snow angels, and the occasional baby Jesus playing in the snow. Then Chuck or Gayle would insert the construction paper drawings into the plastic sleeve on the front of each menu. It was a tradition that had started, quite coincidentally everyone noted, the year Hope was discovered as a newborn in Louise’s favorite booth.

  Hope decided to stay busy the night Marianne and Nick left for Israel. “Just in case,” she told Gayle, “something weird happens and I miss that crazy old lady.”

  Gayle swatted her behind with a menu.

  “This is going to be a tough one for both of us, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Gayle said as she handed her a dry-erase marker. Weeks earlier someone had written “The Board” in thick, alternating red and green block letters at the top of the four foot by two and a half foot dry-erase tote board that hung on the wall. It had been called the Board ever since.

  “You haven’t been alone on Christmas since the year Louise died.”

  “That’s right,” Hope said as though she hadn’t realized it. In truth, she’d been processing that fact since the moment Marianne announced her journey to Israel. “I’m glad I have you.”

  “And I’m glad I have you,” Gayle said.

  Hope erased the number on the Board with a napkin. “What’s the new total again?”

  “Two ninety-nine.”

  Hope wrote the number in bold, fat lines just below the words: Goal: 1,001.

  “Think we’ll make it?” Gayle asked.

  “I sure hope so. If ever there was a year to break the record, it’s this one.” Hope turned from the Board to find Gayle sitting at the counter, cradling her face with her tired hands. “Gayle?” Hope sat next to her on a red stool. “Gayle? Are you OK?”

  The newly-minted widow nodded, breathed deeply, but kept her hands over her eyes.

  “It’s alright,” Hope said. She put her arms around Gayle and placed her head against her friend’s shoulder. She felt Gayle’s upper body quivering.

  “I know it’s hard,” Hope offered. “I know. I know.”

  Gayle’s breathing didn’t slow and it sounded as though she was struggling for air.

  “Let it out. It’s OK, Gayle. You know I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”

  A woman and her husband approa
ched, but Hope waved them off.

  Gayle finally pulled her hands away from her face and wiped her eyes and nose with a napkin. She never wore much makeup, but the little she’d applied that morning was not where she’d put it.

  “Better?” Hope rubbed her back with one hand and put the other on Gayle’s forearm.

  Gayle nodded and wiped her eyes again, this time with her index fingers. “I’m sorry, Hope.”

  “Shush.”

  “I don’t know where that came from. I’ve held it together so well the last couple of days.”

  “Not held together,” Hope offered. “Held in.”

  Gayle nodded again. “You’re probably right.”

  Hope’s instinct was to say, Of course I am, but instead she said, “It’s not hard to see you’ve been in defense mode.”

  Gayle took a long deep breath and sat up. She pulled her pretty, straight hair back behind her ears. “I’ve just tried to manage the sadness, I guess.”

  “Manage sadness?” Hope repeated. “I don’t think you manage sadness. Certainly not when you lose your sweetheart.”

  “And best friend,” Gayle said.

  “That’s right. And best friend.” Hope got up and walked around the counter. She poured a glass of ice water for Gayle and placed it in front of her.

  As Gayle took a long drink, Hope watched as a couple walked in the door with a little girl between them. The parents were Caucasian, but the girl was obviously Asian, and as adorable a child as Hope had ever seen.

  Eva greeted them and motioned to a booth.

  “Actually, we’re here to leave this.” The husband pulled a small jar from a brown paper bag. “Is Hope Jensen here?”

  Hope, hearing the exchange, widened both her bright eyes and her attractive smile. She moved toward them.

  “Hi, I’m Hope Jensen.” She shook the parents’ hands, then bent down and shook the girl’s hand, too.

  “I’m Pete and this is my wife, Kim.”

  “My name is Hannah Joy!” the girl chirped.

  “Hi, Hannah. My best friend in the whole world is named Hannah.”

  “Really?” the girl asked, her mouth open wide. “I’m your best friend?” Her curious eyes were locked on Hope’s.

  “No, dear, I meant another Hannah.”

  Hannah Joy’s expression fell like a vase to the floor.

  “But she’s just a boring grown-up,” Hope recovered. “You can be my best kid friend named Hannah.”

  Hannah Joy’s countenance brightened once again. “Awesome!”

  Hannah’s mother patted her sweetly on top of her head.

  “We heard you on the radio the other day—yesterday maybe?” Pete said to Hope, and his wife, Kim, nodded in agreement. “We’ve had a jar on our kitchen counter, another on our dresser, and another on top of the washer for years. We’ve been collecting money for Hannah’s college fund. But when we heard you on the radio, we thought, why not? This must be a better use of it.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Hope said, admiring the jar in Pete’s hands. “Your daughter’s education is an excellent cause.”

  Kim took the jar from her husband’s hands and placed it in Hope’s. “It wasn’t our idea, Ms. Jensen, it was Hannah Joy’s. She was in the car when we heard you talking about your ministry here and how a Christmas Jar can bless someone. Even change their lives. She insisted that we gather all the coins and bring the jar to you.”

  Hope knelt in front of Hannah Joy. “Is that true, sweetheart?”

  “Yep!” Hannah Joy blurted proudly. “We don’t need it like someone else does.”

  Pete put his arm around his wife and gave her a squeeze. They exchanged a can-you-believe-how-lucky-we-are glance.

  “Why won’t you need it, Hannah Joy?” Hope asked.

  “Because Mee Mee says I’m so smart, I’m going to get ships.”

  Hope looked up at Pete and Kim.

  “Scholarships,” Kim laughed.

  “I bet you will,” Hope said, tapping Hannah Joy on the nose. She stood again and examined the jar. “We’ll be sure this jar gets placed with just the right family on Christmas Eve. In fact . . . you know what?” She bent down again to Hannah Joy’s level. “I know exactly which family I’m going to bless with your jar. They have a little girl just like you but not very much money for gifts.”

  Kim and Pete shared the look again and Hannah Joy pulled on her mother’s hand. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

  Hope led them to a table, handed them menus, and thanked them profusely for the jar. Then, while they waited for their chicken platters and tots, Hope led Hannah Joy to the Board. Hope helped her onto a chair and assisted as the little girl replaced the numbers 299 with 300.

  “That was fun!” Hannah Joy said.

  “Sure is!” Hope said as she looked up at the Board. “Watching that number grow is the very best thing about Christmas.”

  ~~~

  We received the most amazing, thoughtful gift in the entire world last night—a large jar of coins. I was speechless and in tears for fifteen minutes. I have no idea who our “angel” is, but we are truly blessed to have such a special person watching over us.

  —Nicki

  Fourteen

  ~~~

  The hotel pillows were so thin Al needed to stack three of them to get any measurable elevation for his leg. He’d slept better than expected both nights he’d been in town and couldn’t decide whether to attribute that to a comfortable bed or still feeling exhausted from the train. Or maybe I’m just plain old, he thought.

  After a day of watching sports on television and three kung fu movies, Al was ready to venture into town and make his way to Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits. At 10:30 a.m. he called the front desk and asked for a cab. Fifteen minutes later they called back and Al swung his way to the lobby on his metal crutches.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked as Al plopped into the back seat.

  “Downtown.”

  “More specific?”

  “I don’t really know. I want to end up at Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits, but I’d like to see the town first.”

  “My pleasure,” the cabbie answered, and Al realized he might have just met the only cab driver in America who wouldn’t have answered with the words, “What do I look like, a tour guide?”

  “Name’s Tracy,” the cabbie said, turning toward town on U.S. Highway 4. “What brings you to town?”

  “Vacation.”

  Tracy nodded and looked at Al in the rearview mirror. “Excellent. Don’t get many vacationers in December. You from the city?”

  Al smiled. “Not exactly.” He watched out the window as they passed Rhode’s Family Bakery, Plaugher’s Pizza and Pie, a drive-in movie theatre, and a TV station with two white vans in the parking lot with “Channel 29” painted across the sides in bright blue paint.

  Tracy stopped at a light, and Al watched as two women in front of an industrial park forced a cardboard box into the back seat of a car that said “Clean Police.”

  “Mind if I ask about your leg?”

  “I took a spill.”

  Tracy looked at Al again in the mirror. The light turned green. “Must have been some spill.”

  “Ice.”

  “Ouch.”

  “On stairs.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Running at full speed.”

  “Wow!” Tracy covered his mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh, buddy, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” He laughed anyway.

  “That’s alright,” Al said. “My fault. I was in a rush.”

  “They get it all fixed up for you?”

  “I figure we’ll see. I’m full of metal right now.” Al looked back over his shoulder as they passed a driving range; he wondered how long it had been since he’d held a golf club.

  Tracy wanted to ask what kind of person goes on vacation after breaking a leg, especially to someplace without a beach. “Ever been to Chuck’s?” he asked instead.

  “Never
.”

  “You’re in for the best chicken you’ve ever had. I mean it. Most of the locals will tell you it’s all about the chicken, but for me everything he makes . . . well, used to make—you heard Chuck passed on recently?”

  Al lied, but he wasn’t sure why. “No, sorry to hear that.”

  “Sad times. Died Thanksgiving. Right in the kitchen. Good man, he was. I heard the funeral was something else.”

  Al realized the lights were now closer together and the buildings were growing slightly taller with each new block, but he couldn’t see anything taller than eight or ten stories across the skyline.

  “Chuck’s wife, Gayle, my oh my, there isn’t a finer woman in town. Such a good woman, she is.” Tracy looked at Al again. “I don’t think I got your name.”

  “Al.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  Al wasn’t sure of much anymore, but he was sure Tracy meant it.

  The rolling tour continued in and around town. Tracy pointed out the historical sites, the hotspots, the radio stations—two of them—the schools, and Andie O’s Steakhouse, the one he claimed people drove all day and night to visit. “Chuck’s is still the best deal in town, you can quote me on that, but Andie serves up the best steak you’ll find anywhere. And I mean anywhere. Eat here before you leave town; your stomach won’t regret it.”

  They drove on to the far side of town and passed the telephone company, a newspaper called The Daily Record, several small strip malls, and a community college campus.

  “That’s Mayor Oringdulph’s house.” Tracy slowed and pointed at a gorgeous antebellum mansion on a hillside.

  “Oringdulph?”

  “Strange name. Great mayor.”

  A mile later Tracy pulled to the shoulder and rolled to a stop. “That’s city hall.” Tracy nodded to a brick building sitting in the back of a spacious courtyard which was filled with a nativity scene and a tall Christmas tree secured with ground wires. “Come by here at night while you’re in town. This spot lights up something special.”

  “Maybe I will,” Al said.

  “Christmas still means something in this town. But maybe you know that already.”