Cara Colter
Page 17
“Oh, Mr. Theodore,” she said sadly.
“Come, dear, we’ll put the babe in the manger together.”
“The babe?”
He gently jiggled the bundle he was carrying. “I usually put Him out as soon as midnight strikes, but I’m getting old. I slept. I think the sound of your car arriving is what woke me.”
On that silent street, Mr. Theodore led the way to his lean-to stable. In it were life-size plywood replicas of Mary and Joseph. There was even a donkey.
Kirsten watched as Mr. Theodore tenderly lay the baby in the empty manger.
It wasn’t a real baby. It was a child’s doll wrapped in a blanket.
And yet when he laid that baby down so tenderly, she felt everything that baby had come to stand for being born within her.
It occurred to her, in a moment of illumination, that the world was rarely changed in meaningful or lasting ways by princes and princesses, by kings and queens, by celebrities with their star status.
No, the world was changed by ordinary men and women. It was changed by carpenters and fishermen, by housewives and caregivers, simple people who made a choice to rise above the ordinary by accepting the challenge of love.
No, it was not always storybook love, not always wine and roses and gowns and gifts. Sometimes, it would be better than that, stronger, more real, more resilient.
It would be love that forgave the argument. Love that found patience after the baby cried all night. Love that rose, strong and triumphant, above tragedy, above betrayal, above trial, above tribulation.
That was the true gift of the season: a rebirth of faith, hope, charity. And love. Yes, especially love.
“I wonder if I could find a tree at this time of night?” she pondered out loud.
“There’s a lot at the end of the street. They won’t be selling any more trees. I have a key to his door somewhere. For emergencies, which I’m sure this qualifies as.”
The Christmas tree lot was deserted, and Kirsten walked around it guiltily. She chose the best one that was left. She was probably going to get arrested.
She giggled at the thought of getting arrested in her Santa’s elf costume stealing a Christmas tree.
A month and a half ago it would not have been even a possibility in her well-ordered life.
And that’s what she loved about love. It took a well-ordered life and turned it topsy-turvy.
She figured if she was stealing a tree, it might as well be a good one.
The plan took hold. She would fill his house with love: a tree, decorations. Maybe they could have the Christmas turkey there with her sister’s family! Michael would know how to quickly build a ramp. She somehow managed to get the tree loaded into her car—it kept falling off the roof so she stuffed it in the hatchback.
When she got back to Michael’s the lights were on and Mr. Theodore had made himself at home inside, putting hot chocolate on the stove. Michael’s kitchen didn’t look as if anyone had cooked anything here for a long time. Kirsten walked around looking at the walls, the whole history of Michael’s family up there. She felt as if she could feel love gathering around her.
“I brought a few things from my own house,” Mr. Theodore said. “He didn’t even have milk in his fridge.”
Kirsten went and peeked in his fridge. It was nearly as sad a sight as no Christmas tree. All that time he’d spent making Christmas so special for everyone else, and he didn’t even have a stick of butter in his fridge.
“I brought a few other things, too.” A few things were boxes and boxes of decorations and garlands and candles. The two of them worked side by side until the house looked and smelled of Christmas. Mr. Theodore looked around and sighed.
“I think he’s going to make it, Kirsten. There have been times I doubted.”
“Why me?” she said. “Why did you send him to me? How did you know I was the one in worse pain than him?”
Mr. Theodore looked startled. “My dear, I didn’t know that. I sent him to help the children who needed presents. Speaking of presents, there’s nothing under the tree. I’ll be right back.”
She went and got the gifts she had purchased for Michael and put them under the tree. Mr. Theodore came back. In his hand was a framed photograph.
“I took this,” he said, “Right before they left for Alaska for the last time.”
He gave it to her. It showed a happy family, in front of this very house. Michael, his brother who was slightly shorter than him, older, but who had a look of mischief on his face, and merriment. The look was repeated in the father’s face. His mother looked so contented.
Kirsten’s own mother often said people ended up with the faces they deserved, and when Kirsten looked at Michael’s mother she saw a face of gentleness and strength, a face that radiated the happiness of a woman who was loved by the men in her life.
Not knights in shining armor, not one of them.
And yet each of them, something in their body language so fiercely protective of her, so fiercely loving, that Kirsten knew, even though they didn’t wear the costumes, even though they probably had not been chivalrous, but had left their socks on the floor and their crumbs on the counter, these men had been her knights.
She ran her fingers tenderly over the face of the woman she would only meet through her son, and went and placed the picture under the Christmas tree.
As a last touch, she lit luminaries—candles inside white waxed bags—and placed them on the walk so Michael could find his way home.
When all was done, Mr. Theodore wished her a Merry Christmas and left.
She curled up in Michael’s big chair, amazed that it could look so ugly and be so comfortable, and before she knew it she slept.
The next thing she knew, her cell phone was ringing.
“Kirsten,” her sister sounded panicked, “where are you?”
She shook herself awake. Morning light painted the Christmas tree gold. She was at Michael’s. He had never come home? Was he okay?
“Do you know where Michael is?” she asked without answering her sister’s question.
There was a pause. “Darling girl,” her sister said gently, “if you fall any more in love with that man, I think we’ll just cancel Christmas, because it can’t even compete with the show the two of you are putting on.”
Christmas! She was supposed to have gone to the hotel this morning to open gifts. But that didn’t even seem important.
“Do you know where Michael is?” she repeated. That poor man. Choosing to be all alone Christmas Eve, now Christmas Day. She had to find him. She had to let him know what she had found out.
That was what she loved about love. You wanted to share your whole world with another person, no secrets.
“I do know where Michael is,” her sister said. “I have orders to bring you to him. Can you meet me here?”
Kirsten was still dressed like an elf, and she didn’t care.
She ran out past the luminaries that had burned to puddles of wax during the night. She was at the hotel in less than five minutes.
“Turn around,” her sister ordered, when she arrived “and be quick about it. I’m going to be in so much trouble if we’re late.”
“But I don’t want any more surprises from him. It’s my turn!”
“Just shut up and enjoy it,” her sister said, and then muttered, “while it lasts.”
“A blindfold? Are you kidding?” Apparently she wasn’t.
She was put back in her car, her sister drove this time. She still felt giddy. Imagine if they got pulled over now. How were they going to explain kidnapping an elf on Christmas Day?
The car stopped. Kirsten could hear a whole lot of people, feel the chill of the morning on her cheeks.
And then she felt his lips and smelled his smell.
“Ah,” he said, “Santa’s favorite little elf.”
“What are you up to?”
He tugged the blindfold up, and for a moment all she could see was his eyes.
They wer
e not the eyes of a man who had wandered away Christmas Eve in loneliness and despair.
“I have a gift for you,” he said.
“You’ve given me enough—”
He put his finger to his lips, touched her shoulder, turned her around.
She turned. They were just around the corner from Washington Street. The street was nearly as full as it had been last night, even though it was Christmas Day. Many of the children were wearing brand-new coats. The smaller ones clung to new bears, the older ones had MP3 headphone wires dangling from their ears.
She saw she was staring at the building that had sold out from under her, before she had a chance to realize her dream for it.
It was completely refurbished. A sign hung above it, covered with a piece of canvas.
“Grant,” he said, “Pull the cord.”
Grant pulled the cord, and the canvas floated down over the street. Children laughed and ducked out of the way.
She read what had been revealed.
“The Grant Baker Reading Center.”
Grant was doing wheelies up and down the street. “Whooeee,” he yelled. “A building named after me.”
Her legs felt as if they were falling out from under her, but Michael was right there propping her up.
“You want to see what’s inside?” he asked in her ear.
All she could do was nod. He led her across the street. The doors opened.
Inside was heaven. Shelves of books, soft lights, wooden floors, rich area rugs, colorful pillows. The children were coming in behind her, like a river flowing around a rock. Soon the space was filled with them, reaching for books, finding a place to sit.
She looked at the walls, and gasped. They were the best of all. A whimsical hippo danced in a pink tutu. A mouse was passed out near a moon made of cheese. Sleeping Beauty’s castle was surrounded by a moat.
And there, in front of it, was Smedley, six feet high, riding his white horse, bending down to kiss Harriet’s hand. Only Smedley didn’t really look like Smedley. He looked like Michael. And Harriet looked like her!
“That’s the closest I’m ever getting to being a knight,” Michael said.
She just smiled, because she knew a different truth. True knights carried their strength and integrity inside of them, and then, for one special, very lucky person, they took the armor off, their heart exposed.
She whispered a goodbye to her sister and Grant, and turned to Michael.
“Now,” she said, “Michael, now it’s your turn. It’s time for us to go home.”
He was astounded when he saw his house, he became very quiet.
“Was it okay to do this, Michael?”
“More than okay,” he said, took her and hugged her to him. Then she made him sit down and open his gifts. He laughed about the dancing lessons. They ate fudge for breakfast. He opened the package with the underwear, and didn’t say one single word. He just stared at her until her face was glowing brighter than the star atop his tree.
Then he laughed. “That’s what I wanted for Christmas. Kirstie’s blush.”
He put the earplugs of the MP3 player in his ears.
“You want to dance?” he asked.
“Yes.” They had to dance very close to both be able to hear the player.
Then, finally, she brought him the lone photo from under the tree.
“From Mr. Theodore,” she said.
Michael studied it, ran his hands across faces he would not see again in this lifetime.
Kirsten looked at his hands. From the first moment they had told her everything about who he was: the hands of a strong, capable man. Hands that could make a woman so, so aware she was alone, and make her long for a different reality.
Now she could see he had taken his armor off, for her. She could see his heart. A man strong enough to take the worst life had to offer and to allow it to make him better, stronger, wiser, instead of broken, bitter, angry.
He put the picture down, not under the tree, but on the mantel.
“Welcome home,” she said softly.
“It’s not home quite yet.”
“No?” She looked around to see what had she left out of her decorating efforts.
His hands found her chin, brought her eyes back to his.
“You can give me the gift I want most of all right now,” he said softly.
She knew what was coming.
“I want you to marry me, Kirstie. I want to have you to love, to give you the gift my family left me.”
She could not even trust herself to speak. She nodded, and when she did he took her in his arms, kissed her, twirled around until her little green elf hat fell on the floor and she was blushing so hard it felt as though her face would catch fire.
“There it is,” he said with satisfaction. “What I wanted most of all, not just for this Christmas. I want to make you blush forever. Welcome home, Kirstie.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0690-2
THEIR CHRISTMAS WISH COME TRUE
First North American Publication 2007.
Copyright © 2007 by Cara Colter.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN