Spirits of the Season

by Phoebe Rivers

  “Sara, sweetie, what’s your family making for Christmas?” Aunt Angela asked, after they’d gone over their elaborate menu.

  “Dad said we’d get a ham this year,” I said. “And mashed potatoes. He likes to make those.”

  “Who all comes over?” Angela leaned toward me, and I noticed her flawless French manicure was caked with dough.

  “Usually it’s just us two. Me and Dad.” I paused. “And I think Lady Azura this year.”

  If she and Dad stop fighting, I thought.

  “Where’s the rest?” Sophia, Lily’s ten-year-old cousin, asked.

  “There’s no rest. I mean, there’s my dad’s sister, Charlotte, and my uncle Dexter, but they live in California still. My dad’s dad, Gramp Steve, is kind of sick. He lives in a special place that takes care of old people out there. We never really see him.”

  “What about your mom’s family?” Angela asked. She handed a stack of dirty bowls to Lily’s mom at the sink.

  I shrugged and moved to help Mrs. Randazzo wash. “There’s not any.”

  “Everyone has family,” Angela said.

  “Some of us have too much!” Lily teased.

  “Lily, be nice!” Mrs. Randazzo scolded. She playfully flicked soapsuds toward her daughter.

  “Not me,” I explained. “My mom’s mom died when she was in college. I think her dad died before that. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters—”

  “Like you,” Lily pointed out.

  “Yep.” I passed Mrs. Randazzo a handful of cookie cutters to rinse. “Anyway, everyone on that side is dead.”

  Mrs. Randazzo shut off the water and turned to face me. She held the dirty cookie cutters in her hand. “Maybe not everything is as it seems,” she said in a soft voice.

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Mom?” Lily asked, wrinkling her nose.

  Mrs. Randazzo looked at me for a long time before answering. “You understand, Sara, don’t you? Sometimes it takes a special person to see and listen.”

  Did I understand? I wasn’t sure.

  I was over their house a lot. Had Lily’s mom somehow pieced together all my weirdness? Did she know I could talk to the dead?

  “Really, Mom! You’re freaking Sara out. Stop speaking like you’re in your yoga Zen class.” Lily tugged my sweater. “Let’s get out of here.” She headed toward the family room.

  “We can shake all the presents and guess what’s inside,” Sophia suggested, as she and their cousin Ally followed.

  I waited beside Mrs. Randazzo. Was I supposed to say something?

  “Go on, Sara.” She started to turn the faucet back on, then hesitated and spoke to me in a low voice so no one else would hear. “I . . . I’m here for you if you ever want to talk to someone, okay?”

  I hesitated, unable to leave her side. I wanted to ask what she meant.

  I reached for another dough-crusted cookie cutter lying on the counter. An angel with outstretched wings. I picked it up and felt the room spin.

  The kitchen went dark, and suddenly Lady Azura stood by my side, dressed all in black. She wore a black hat with a feather. Her shoulders shook, and she let out a cry of anguish. I looked down at my hands, and I was no longer holding the cookie cutter, but a small porcelain angel instead. The angel looked so familiar to me. Something tugged at the edges of my memory, but the thought stayed just out of my grasp.

  The fragile angel tumbled out of my hands and shattered.

  Jagged pieces covered the ground, littering the grass at my feet.

  Broken.

  “Sara, are you crying?” Lily’s mom surprised me.

  I blinked and felt tears. I was back in the Randazzos’ kitchen. The cookie cutter was in my hand. The tiled kitchen floor was empty.

  “What’s wrong?” Mrs. Randazzo spoke with such obvious concern for me that it made me want to cry even harder.

  “Just—just thinking about something,” I said lamely.

  Another vision. I’d had another vision I didn’t understand. Lady Azura was there again. Dressed in black.

  Someone had died.

  What was the deal with that angel?

  “Gingerbread house time!” Sophia called from the next room.

  “Coming, Sara?” Lily popped her head in the doorway.

  “Do you want to go home?” Mrs. Randazzo asked me softly.

  Lady Azura and Franklin were probably waltzing by our Christmas tree right now. Was I seeing images of Franklin’s death? His funeral?

  If so, why was I there?

  “I love it here,” I assured Mrs. Randazzo.

  I walked slowly into the other room, willing myself to get swept up in the holiday excitement that bounced off Lily and her cousins.

  But all the while, something nagged at me. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. But it was there, just out of reach.

  Chapter 12

  I was up in my crafts room, gluing the final shell on Dad’s box, when the doorbell rang Sunday morning.

  “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas . . .” floated up as I made my way downstairs. It was the guy with the deep voice who sang on all Lady Azura’s records. The music drifted out from under the double French doors leading to the sitting room. Those doors were rarely shut. Lady Azura must be inside, I realized. I hadn’t seen her yet this morning. I wondered if Franklin was still in there with her.

  I pushed back the faded curtains and peered out the small window by the front door. Jayden!

  He stood on our porch with his hands plunged deep in his jacket pockets. I looked closer. No present. Maybe Lily had been wrong.

  I pulled a hair band from around my wrist and twisted my messy hair into a ponytail. Luckily, I’d already changed out of pj’s and into sweats.

  “Hi,” I said as I opened the door to a rush of cold air.

  “Hi.” He looked uncomfortable.

  I didn’t know what to say next. It was strange having him standing at my door on a Sunday.

  “It’s really cold out.” He kicked his sneakers together.

  “Oh. Right. You can come in.” I opened the door wider.

  “And dream of sleigh bells in the snow,” the man continued to sing.

  “Who is it?” Lady Azura’s raspy voice rose over the music.

  “Jayden,” I called. I could hear the tinkle of ornaments being rearranged on the tree inside. I kept the double doors closed in case Franklin was around. Not that Jayden could see him, but still. It was better not to mix the living with the dead.

  Jayden stood awkwardly in the front foyer. “We’re going to Atlanta tonight.”

  “Right.” That was weird. He could’ve texted me good-bye. “Well, have a great trip.”

  “Yeah.” He swept his fingers through the piece of hair that always fell across his forehead. He seemed to be working up the courage to say or do something. Maybe there is a present, I thought. Suddenly I realized that I did want him to give me something.

  He was so cute, so nice.

  “Dina sent me something this morning. A video of you. . . .”

  My stomach dropped. She’d done it. She’d really done it.

  He dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolled down a bit, then turned it toward me.

  And there I was—talking to a spoonful of gummy bears.

  “I—I—” What could I say? My brain scrambled through several different options. All lame.

  I felt Jayden watching me. How could I have thought that he was getting me a present? No cute boy would buy something for a freaky girl like me. He’d probably sent the video on to his whole soccer team.

  I raised my eyes. The corners of his mouth edged upward, holding back his laughter.

  Great, I thought. He came all the way over here to laugh at me.

  “It’s awesome,” he said, his face breaking into a smile.

  “It is?”

  “Totally. It’s wicked how you play with Dina’s mind. How you talk to the gummy bears like you r
eally mean it.” He laughed. “You totally freaked Dina out, and man, someone needed to freak that girl out.”

  “So you thought it was funny?” I wanted to be sure. Really sure.

  “Hilarious!” He reached his hand up for a high five.

  I slapped his hand, blushing when we touched.

  “How many others did she send it to?” I was afraid to know.

  Jayden shrugged. “Nobody, I think. She said it was just for me. She said I should ‘watch and reconsider.’”

  “Reconsider what?”

  Now it was his turn to blush. “I guess liking you. She knew about that somehow.”

  “Oh.” He did like me!

  “Do you want me to delete it? I will.”

  I thought about it. If Jayden found it funny, others would too. Kids at school thought Jayden was really cool. Dina’s mean friends would tease me about it, but I’d be okay with Jayden and Lily by my side.

  “Not really,” I said. “It doesn’t much matter.”

  “Good. I’m going to keep it.”

  He wanted to keep the video because I was in it, I realized. Not to make fun of me, but because he liked it because I was in it. Because he liked me.

  Then he reached back into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small box wrapped in red-and-white paper, and handed it to me.

  The present! I stared nervously at it for a moment. It was my first present from a boy.

  “Should I open it now?” The paper was puckered, and lots of clear tape held the ends closed. He’d definitely wrapped it himself.

  “If you want.” He was having trouble looking at me. His eyes danced around the entryway, finally landing on an old framed photograph of the Stellamar boardwalk and beach from the 1930s that hung over the narrow table in the hall.

  I tore the wrapping paper and pulled out a slim, pale-blue enamel picture frame.

  “Because you’re always taking pictures,” Jayden explained in a rush as I studied the frame.

  “It’s so great . . . and it’s blue.”

  “Yeah. There were lots of color choices. But your eyes are light blue, so I thought you’d like that.”

  “I do.” I was blushing again. I already knew the photo I’d put inside. I’d taken it at a school soccer game. Of Jayden, of course.

  “I have a present for you, too, but I didn’t get to wrap it yet. Wait here.” I ran back up to my crafts room. I still held the blue frame in my hand. I glanced at the wall where more of my mother’s photographs hung, each in a thin silver frame. I’d taped a few of my photos next to hers. A swirly shell reflecting the glow of the setting sun. An overflowing trash can on the boardwalk.

  Like her, I used to only photograph objects.

  But that had changed in Stellamar. I was glad I had the photo of Jayden to go in his frame.

  I reached for the snow globe that lay on a pile of colored paper and hurried back downstairs. Jayden said he really liked it. He kept shaking it, causing a blizzard to engulf our town.

  Lady Azura’s off-key voice carried into the hall. She was trying to harmonize with her favorite singer—whose name, I’d learned from my dad, was Frank Sinatra.

  “Wow,” Jayden said. “She sounds . . .”

  “Happy,” I filled in. Things must’ve gone well with Franklin.

  “Well, I have to take off now,” Jayden said, moving toward the door. In one quick movement, he leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. And then he bolted out the door, turning once he was several paces away to yell, “Merry Christmas, Sara!”

  I stood at the door, smiling a big goofy smile.

  Later, after my heartbeat slowed back down, I pushed open the doors to the sitting room. Lady Azura was dressed in a silver lamé top and a long gold skirt. She looked even more sparkly than our tree. Her eyes sparkled too.

  “Is Franklin still here?” I glanced around.

  “No, his visits last only one day. One glorious day.” She reached into a box of ornaments and began to unwrap the tissue paper around one. “He’ll be back next year and the next until I’m no longer here. All thanks to you.”

  “You know, he scared me at first, when I didn’t know who he was,” I admitted. “But once I figured it out, I was happy to help.”

  “You help me in many ways.” She smiled and handed me a glass ball etched with hummingbirds. “Hang this, will you?”

  I placed the delicate ornament on the tree. “This is nice. So much prettier than those multicolored balls Dad bought and the ornaments I made at school when I was little.” I pointed to the box. “Are these all yours?”

  “Mine and Richard’s.” She unwrapped another. “Silly, really, all these birds, but that was Richard’s passion.” She held up a frosted-glass bluebird whose beak shimmered with silver glitter. “I haven’t taken these out in many, many years. We had such a beautiful tree and right in this spot.”

  She hummed along with the music as she unwrapped and I hung the ornaments. “This one we bought the year my daughter was born.” She held up a baby bird hatching from a turquoise speckled egg. The bird was decorated with tiny crystals.

  “What was she like?”

  “My daughter loved the outdoors—always hiking, skiing, and boating.” She shook her head. “Diana was smart but oh, so practical. To her, the world was black and white. We had trouble together, because I inhabited the gray areas, and Diana didn’t want gray areas in her life.”

  “The gray areas?”

  “That which is not easily explained.”

  “Does that mean your daughter couldn’t do what you do?”

  “Did she have our power? No. She was always her father’s daughter.” She touched the baby bird. “Diana died in a boating accident when she was only forty-six. Far too young.” Lady Azura placed the ornament gently on the tree. “She and Richard would be happy to see a tree up and decorated. It’s been too long.”

  “They both come back then?”

  “Richard comes back every Christmas Day. Diana visits less frequently. She often visits me in my dreams. I think she prefers it that way.”

  “Oh, can you convince her to come on Christmas so I can see her? I’d like to meet her. And Richard, of course.”

  Lady Azura stiffened. She pressed her lips together. “No, no, I think not.”

  “But I saw Franklin, so why not them?”

  “They’re just for me. It would better if you didn’t . . . well, you’ll be with your father that day. . . .” She fumbled for words. What was up? Why didn’t she want me to see them?

  “I won’t say anything to Richard about Franklin,” I promised.

  “Oh, Richard knows about Franklin. Of course, he never knew for all those years that Franklin came back to see me, but a woman must have her secrets.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “There are always secrets. Too many secrets.” She lifted an iridescent bird from the box. “Look, it matches my necklace.”

  “You can take that off now.” The opal still hung around her neck. “Franklin came back.”

  She rested a fingertip on the shiny stone. “He wasn’t the wish this opal’s being used for.”

  “You have another wish?”

  “A better wish. An even more important wish.”

  “More important than finding your true love? What is it?”

  “Secrets, like truths, must remain close to your heart.” Lady Azura pointed to the box. “All done, and the tree looks beautiful. A bit birdy, perhaps, but beautiful.”

  “Wait, we missed one.” An object wrapped in yellowed tissue rested on a side table.

  “Oh no, that’s not for this tree. That ornament came from Franklin.”

  “He brought you an ornament last night?”

  “No. He sent it to me from Germany while he was away at war. It was to be a Christmas present. By the time it arrived, we had already been informed by the war office that Franklin had been killed in battle.” She walked over to the table. “For years, I couldn’t even look at this ornament. It wasn’t until Diana’s death that I w
as able to appreciate and hold on to its beauty. Only then did I hang it at the holidays.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It’s a Christkindl. She’s from an old German legend. The folklore says that she enters homes through a keyhole on Christmas Eve to bring toys to children.”

  “Kind of like Santa,” I said, “but without the chimney.”

  “Exactly.” Lady Azura smiled. “It was made by a man in a German village Franklin passed through. Franklin was so taken with it when he saw it. The detail in the painting is meticulous. He knew it would speak to me. Since I was a young girl, I’ve gravitated toward the different, the unique, that which no one else has.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Of course, especially since Franklin now counts you as one of his favorite people.”

  Slowly I peeled back layer after layer of brittle tissue until the face of the Christkindl appeared. Round rosy cheeks. Wide blue eyes. A shiny gold crown resting on blond curls.

  I stripped back the rest of the paper and perched the porcelain angel on my palm. I marveled at her golden wings and long white dress. A fine paintbrush and a steady hand had recreated detailed embroidery around the hem and along the sleeves.

  I stared at her.

  She was the angel.

  The same angel I’d held and then dropped to the ground in my vision.

  I turned her about in my hand. She was solid. No cracks. I felt as if she was looking right at me with her painted eyes. And then I realized something.

  She had been watching me.

  She’d been watching me since I was born.

  I raced out of the room, the little angel still in my hand, and took the steps two at a time.

  “Sara! Sara!” Lady Azura called to me, but I didn’t stop.

  I reached my room and stood staring at the wall, at the framed photos. The photos I’d had since I was a baby. Photos taken by my mother. Her name—Natalie Collins—was signed at the bottom of each one.

  And there she was.

  The one-of-a-kind Christkindl ornament all the way from Germany.

  Lady Azura’s angel ornament.

  The ornament she’d had since 1944.

  The ornament that was now in my hand.

  So how could my mother have taken a photograph of it?