by Donna Ball
Headlights flashed on the window and Derrick said, “That might be him now.”
Paul turned, and then practically sagged with relief as he recognized the profile of the vehicle. “No. Thank God, it’s the van.”
Derrick put down the tray with a clatter and the two of them ran out into the cold without their coats to greet the wayward travelers.
“Thank goodness!” Derrick exclaimed as the first passenger door slid open and the two teenagers climbed out, their hands filled with plastic shopping bags. “We were so worried!”
“Mildly concerned,” corrected Paul, ushering the two girls up the steps, “only mildly concerned. We knew you were safe in the very competent hands of our highly insured driver.”
Angela Phipps climbed out next, and her hands were also filled with bags. Moreover, she was laughing. Neither Paul nor Derrick could remember seeing her laugh since she’d been here. She was followed by Geoffery Windsor, who had apparently made the remark that made her laugh, because he was smiling too. His hands were also filled with shopping bags.
“Mr. Windsor!” exclaimed Paul, gripping his hand, “Welcome back! We’re so glad you changed your mind.”
“Actually,” Geoffery began.
“We missed our flights,” said Cici, who was the next to emerge.
“All of us,” added Lindsay.
“The van broke down,” Bridget explained.
Dismay swept both men’s faces as they stared at their rumpled, disheveled friends. They were also carrying plastic shopping bags.
“Oh, no!” Derrick exclaimed. “Oh girls, how horrible!”
“We’re so sorry!” Paul added, distraught. “I don’t know how this could have happened! The van is only six months old! How could this have happened?”
“Actually,” Bridget said cheerfully, “it was quite an adventure. And you know what they say—everything happens for a reason.”
“We just feel bad that you went to so much trouble for nothing,” Cici said.
“And I hope those tickets are refundable,” added Lindsay.
“We asked your driver to stop here first,” Cici said, “because we knew the girls’ parents would be worried.”
“And I could use a bathroom,” Lindsay put in.
“And we wanted to deliver these,” Bridget said, holding up her two hands filled with packages.
“Well, you’re staying for supper, no arguments or questions,” said Derrick. He spread his arms and ushered them through the door like a hen herding chicks. “And Christmas dinner tomorrow without question. I’m just devastated your flights fell through!”
“We’ll call the airlines,” Paul promised, following close, “and get you on the very next availables. Don’t you worry, you will be with your loved ones this holiday season, I promise you that!”
“Really,” said Lindsay, “a bathroom would be just fine.”
They arrived in the parlor just as the girls were piling their shopping bags at an astonished Mrs. Hildebrand’s feet. “We thought it would be cool to get some stuff for those kids in Haiti,” explained Pamela. She punctuated her words with a lift of her shoulders that was designed to indicate complete detachment. “You know, some toys or video games or something, stuff they can’t get over there. Since it was Christmas and all.”
“But then all the stores were closed,” explained Kelly. “The good ones, anyway. So we ended up going to Walmart.”
Pamela’s parents stood a little way off, their hands entwined, staring at their daughters as though they had never seen them before.
“It was Mrs. Phipps’s idea,” Pamela said. “She said kids that don’t have their own room need a place to keep their stuff.”
“So we got backpacks,” said Kelly.
“And things to put in them,” Pamela said. “Books, mostly, because, well …” She glanced at the older woman, looking suddenly shy. “We figured they liked stories.”
“But other things, too,” Kelly said, upending one of the bags. “Fingernail polish and hairspray for the girls …”
“Tee shirts and model airplanes for the boys,” said Geoffery, adding his bags to the pile.
“Sketchbooks and colored pencils,” said Lindsay, placing her purchases among the other, “and crayons and coloring books for the younger ones.”
“And what’s Christmas without candy?” said Bridget, adding her bags. “Along with a few more practical things, like glittery toothbrushes and fun-flavored toothpaste.”
“We really did have the best time,” said Cici, placing her bags among the others.
Angela was the last to add her bags. “It’s been so long since I went shopping on Christmas Eve,” she said, “I’d forgotten how much I loved it. And shopping for children … well, I may have discovered a new tradition.”
Behind her a voice said, “It sounds like something I’d enjoy sharing.”
Angela turned to see her husband standing at the door, still wearing his coat, the wool scarf loose around his neck. She straightened up slowly and walked to him.
“I got some glitter markers,” Kelly was saying, “I thought we could write each kid’s name on her backpack. But you’ll have to tell us what they are.”
“Girls,” said Mrs. Hildebrand. “I really … just don’t know what to say.”
There were tears of pride in Leona Bartlett’s eyes as Angela passed her, and she heard Carl murmur to his wife, “I think our girls are going to be okay after all.”
Angela stood before Bryce, who still smelled of the cold night and leather car seats. He said, “By the time I got your note the van had already left. I went to every airport and train station. I tried to call every ten minutes.” He dropped his gaze briefly. “I didn’t want … don’t want to spend the rest of my life remembering Christmas as the time I lost you, too.”
He looked at her, and then, gently, reached out and took both of her hands in his large cold ones. “I shouldn’t have said what I said the other night. I love you, Angela, and it doesn’t even matter whether you love me back. I’m not ready to give up on us yet. I thought I was. But I’m not.”
She said, “I’m glad. Because I’m not ready to give up either.” Her grip tightened hesitantly, and then with more boldness, on his. She searched his eyes. “I want to talk, Bryce. I want to talk to you about what happened. I want to talk about David, about our marriage, about everything. I realized this afternoon that in all these years, after everything we’ve been through, we’ve talked to a lot of people—counselors, therapists, pastors, family, friends—but we’ve never really talked to each other. Can we do that now? Would that be okay?”
Everything in his face softened: his eyes, his smile. He lifted a hand and caressed his wife’s neck gently. “Yes,” he said. “I think that would be okay.”
Paul and Derrick hovered at the edge of the room, anxiously looking over the goings-on. “Everything seems to have worked out okay,” Derrick said. “Everyone’s home safe and sound, no one was arrested …”
“No one’s suing us,” Paul was quick to point out.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Derrick.
“I’m just broken-hearted about the girls,” Paul said. “What kind of Christmas is this for them? They spent the entire day on the side of the road, their loved ones are thousands of miles away …”
“They’re being good sports about it,” Derrick said, “but I can’t imagine how disappointed they must be. I almost think it would be better if we’d never gotten their hopes up.” He caught his breath sharply and his eyes lit up with a sudden idea. “Do you know what we should do? We should set up a video chat with everyone! A Christmas in cyberspace!”
Paul drew a breath for a reply when his phone rang. He held up a finger for patience as he took out his phone, but Derrick ignored him.
“Cici, Bridget!” he called excitedly. “We have a simply marvelous idea! Where’s Lindsay?”
Paul answered his telephone to Lori’s irate voice. “Uncle Paul!” she demanded. “Where is e
veryone?”
Paul had to plug one ear with his finger to block out the chatter and the laughter, certain he had misheard. “What? Lori?”
“We’ve been traveling for hours!” she exclaimed. “And then we get here and the house is all dark, and even Ida Mae’s not here!”
“She’s at church,” Paul replied absently. Then, more alertly, “What? What did you say? Where are you?”
“Home!” she replied impatiently. “And believe me, it wasn’t easy, either. But after Noah called we felt so bad that everyone was going to be alone on Christmas, and to tell you the truth we were getting a little tired of Cabo—it’s so hot!—and it is our first Christmas together as a real family, so I called Dominic, because it’s his first Christmas as a married person too, and it turns out his daughter had been begging him to go home and spend Christmas with Lindsay, and guess what?” She paused, more for breath than for effect. “Her company has a corporate jet! And her boss let her use it! Well, not her exactly, because she does still have a broken leg, but us! So here we all are, but where are they? And, oh,” she added, again sucking in a breath, “there was a message on the answering machine from Carol in Chicago for Aunt Bridget, saying that the doctor had cleared her little girl to fly so they’ll be coming in the day after tomorrow. So I really, really hope they all haven’t taken a notion to go on a cruise or something. Because we’ve been traveling for hours!”
A slow delighted smile spread over Paul’s face and he murmured, “Well, well. Sometimes things really do work out for the best.”
“What?”
He said, “Light the fire and plug in the Christmas tree, darling. Your loved ones will be home momentarily.”
He disconnected and tucked his phone back into his pocket, then raised his hand for attention just as Lindsay came out of the bathroom. “Oh, ladies!” he called. “Do I have a Christmas surprise for you!”
~*~
December 25
Merry Christmas, Everyone!
May the joy of the season be in your hearts today and forever.
Your hosts,
Paul and Derrick
6:00–10:00 a.m. Coffee, stollen, fruit cake and Christmas wreath cinnamon rolls available in the dining room
8:30 a.m. Christmas breakfast buffet in the dining room
10:00 a.m. Join us for eggnog and cookies by the Christmas tree in the parlor
1:00 p.m. Buffet luncheon in the dining room
3:00 p.m. Christmas concert by the Killian Hills Boys Choir
5:00 p.m. Gala Christmas cocktails served in the front parlor
7:00 p.m. Candlelight Christmas dinner in the dining room
~*~
EIGHTEEN
Angels We Have Heard on High
The candles were lit, the fire crackled in the parlor, and miniature white lights twinkled on every Christmas tree. A large bowl of Paul’s famous eggnog was the centerpiece of the parlor buffet, surrounded by platters of colorfully decorated Christmas cookies and—a last minute addition that had arrived at seven o’clock that morning—one of Ida Mae’s Christmas Angel Cakes. The old inn was awash in the fragrance of evergreen and cinnamon and the sounds of muted Christmas carols.
The guests had all gathered around the parlor Christmas tree after the breakfast buffet, some still in their slippers, to open the gifts they had brought from home and admire the treasures of others. Pamela Bartlett cried out loud in delight when she opened a surprise gift from Mrs. Hildebrand and found a new iPhone inside. Then, with her expression sobering, she said, “But if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll trade it in for a cheaper model.” She glanced at her father who returned an encouraging smile. “We could kind of use the money.”
“A wise decision, my dear,” agreed Mrs. Hildebrand, looking with approval at the girl’s parents. “Very wise indeed.”
Geoffery Windsor brought the older woman a cup of eggnog. “You again,” she said with a downturn of her lips. But she accepted the cup in good grace. “I suppose you’re here for an interview.”
He raised an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
She took a sip of the eggnog, held the cup out for an appreciative look, and sipped again. “What’s this new book of yours about?”
“Everyday heroes,” he replied.
She sniffed. “There are plenty of people you should be interviewing before me, then. Some of them right here in this room.”
“I agree,” said Geoffery. His glance fell upon Bryce and Angela Phipps whose voices he had heard murmuring behind closed doors far into the night, and moved to Carl Bartlett, who would be called many things—including hero—by many people over the next few months. Even his daughters, who had tried for one brief moment to reach beyond themselves into the lives of others, had a story to tell. He said, “And I’m going to talk to all of them. But,” he added, and his eyes twinkled as he glanced down at her, “given your age, I thought it would be smart to start with you.”
She chuckled. “There may be hope for you yet.” She sipped her eggnog, watching him shrewdly. “Let me ask you something. What would you say if I told you there was an angel with us the whole time in that building in Haiti?”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then took a sip from his cup. “Do you know something? I just might believe you.”
“Is that right?” Her eyes narrowed a fraction, sizing him up. “And what would you say if I told you I saw that same angel right here at the Hummingbird House? Talked to him, too, more than once.”
Geoffery nodded slowly and replied, “Then I’d say we just might have something in common.”
The faint hint of a smile curved one corner of her lips. “Well then.” She finished off her eggnog and handed the empty cup to him. “Bring me another one of these, and we’ll talk.”
Paul pushed aside the silver wrapping paper and undid the flap of the box Derrick had given to him. A slow and quiet smile spread over his face when he saw the antique wooden train nestled inside.
“I explained to the children that they needed a licensed broker to ensure they received full price for a treasure as valuable as this,” Derrick said. He frowned a little as he lifted his glass to his lips. “The little hooligans robbed me blind.”
Paul put the box aside and reached under the Christmas tree for another package. “I just offered them ten dollars,” he said, and presented it to Derrick.
Derrick unwrapped the package and released a long breath of relief as he pressed the copy of Emily Dickenson’s Poems to his breast. “Thank you, Jesus,” he said. And then to Paul, quickly, “And you of course, my dear.” He beamed. “Thank you!”
Carefully, Derrick put the book aside and added, “Purline said she had a long talk with the children about how important it is to ask permission before helping oneself, even when the Lord is on one’s side. She wanted to return everything this morning, but I told her we were sincere about our wish to donate.”
Paul looked at him sharply, “Even my crepe pans?”
“Well,” Derrick pointed out blandly, “a gift isn’t really a gift without sacrifice, is it? And it’s for the children.”
Paul scowled into his drink. “That village is going to be swarming with goats.”
“It’s like Purline always says,” replied Derrick contentedly, “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
Paul grumbled, “I don’t even know what that means.”
The subject of discussion had been sailing through the house for the past half hour, snapping sheets and fluffing pillows, grinning and humming Christmas carols under her breath and losing absolutely no opportunity to fling her bracelet-adorned arm into the air so that the gemstones caught the light. Apparently, even Purline was not immune to the old-fashioned pleasures of a jewelry-based Christmas.
Derrick slipped his arm through Paul’s. “It means,” he said, “that I treasure you.”
Paul slanted him a dry look that, despite his best intentions, turned to tenderness. “And I, you,” he said.<
br />
They raised their glasses in a moment of smiling, mutual toast. Then Paul’s brows drew together in mild concern. “I’m sorry Mick left last night before we had a chance to give him his gift card.”
“Or his paycheck,” added Derrick, with an even deeper frown. “Surely he’ll be back for it.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“On the other hand,” mused Derrick, “he was rather a lone ranger type, wasn’t he? A little odd, altogether. Pleasant, though,” he was quick to add.
“Very pleasant,” agreed Paul. “And a huge help to us. He should have at least allowed us to write a reference.”
“It would have been glowing.”
“Absolutely vivid,” Paul asserted.
“Pawsladder! Dekarrenson!”
The two men turned to see Park Sung standing at the door, grinning broadly and waving them over with big, sweeping gestures. Paul and Derrick exchanged a puzzled look, then left their glasses on the mantle and followed as Park Sung, still grinning excitedly, led the way out of the room to the spa.
Earlier that morning Derrick had tried to explain the festively wrapped gift card he had presented to them, receiving only polite but baffled looks until he finally retrieved the gift card, exchanged it for cash, and said simply, “Tip.” That was apparently a word they understood because both faces cleared as they began to smile and bow their gratitude. Feeling rather festive himself, Derrick had booked a massage for both himself and Paul later that afternoon; he hoped they hadn’t misunderstood the time.
Kim Gi, dressed in her white working kimono and black slacks—feet bare, of course—stood outside the spa door. Her hands were tucked formally into her kimono sleeves, but she was grinning with as much excitement as was Park Sung, who practically skipped the last few steps. Kim Gi bowed when she saw them, and opened the door to the spa.
“Oh dear,” murmured, Derrick, glancing at his watch, “I’m afraid they did misunderstand the time. I scheduled for three.”