Coming Home for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “Absolutely. You were just venting, and I understand that. Look, Alice, I could never do what you do every day, day in day out. I tried and couldn’t do it. Ben is a fool for thinking you’re some kind of wonder woman. And, I don’t blame you a bit. That’s why I had to hire Mason. He’s the wonder in wonderful, and the boys really like him. So do the dogs.”

  “Hank.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shut up. I have to take responsibility for my actions. I’m okay with that, and I appreciate all you did and for . . . for Mason. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, but right now I have to find those bells. Oh, God! Here they are. Look! Look! Listen!” Alice shook the bells, and suddenly Hank shivered at the pure melodious sound. The silver bells themselves were tarnished, the red ribbon holding them together was tattered and faded.

  “Do you mind telling me what it is with the bells, Alice?” he asked gently.

  Alice sat down on an old trunk. “Three or four months ago Albert talked me out of filing for a divorce. I was packed and ready to leave. I had taken him for his chemo treatment that day, and he was so sick, Hank. I mean really sick, but he sat me down and read me the riot act. He told me stories about his own up-and-down marriage. He said you have to work at it to make it worthwhile. He told me other stories about you guys when you were kids. He told me how Mandy was suddenly gone from your lives. He never judged me, never told me not to leave. Somehow or other he convinced me to stay without saying the words. He kept me sane, Hank.”

  “I see.” And he did indeed see what she was talking about.

  “I’m going over to that porch at midnight and ringing these bells.”

  “I wish I knew where I put mine.”

  “They’re over there under the window in the box marked ‘Hank.’ Ben packed up your stuff after your parents . . . He said it was stuff you didn’t want anymore.”

  Hank thought his heart was going to explode right out of his chest. He ran over to the box, popped the lid. He saw all kinds of junk he couldn’t ever remember owning. The string of silver bells was wrapped in bubble wrap and tissue. They were just as tarnished, the ribbon just as tattered as the one Alice was holding in her hand. He shook them gently. Tears blurred his vision at the pure tone.

  If Mandy had her set, all would be right with his world now that he understood what Alice was talking about. If she didn’t, two out of three would be okay, too.

  Down on the second floor, Mason was carrying the twins into their bedroom. They smelled like warm sunshine as Hank bent down to kiss each one of them. They reached out to Alice, who took them both into their room. She settled them in their beds, covered them, then sat down to read a story they didn’t even hear; they were sound asleep. He watched her as she kept reading till the end of the story. She looked so motherly, so suddenly at peace he suddenly felt the same way.

  Later on, downstairs, the bells in her hand, Alice sat down in the kitchen. She looked at the slice of homemade blueberry pie and the glass of milk waiting for her. She looked over at Mason and smiled.

  “While you’re eating, Mason and I will set up the gifts under the tree. This way you can enjoy the quiet evening. I’m going next door to see Mandy. If you need me, just call my cell phone.”

  Alice nodded. “Thanks, Hank, for everything.”

  Hank pointed to the laptop on the little desk. She nodded sweetly. “Just so you know, Hank, I love Ben with all my heart and soul.”

  “I know that, Alice. I’ll see you later.”

  When Amy opened the door, she was holding a string of bells in her hand. “Oh, Hank, you aren’t going to believe what I found. Look!” She held up a set of silver bells and shook them. Hank laughed and pulled his set of bells out of his pocket.

  “Alice came home. She wants us to go over to Albert’s porch and ring the bells at midnight. You up for it?”

  “Oh, yes. I never decorated my tree, and I didn’t set out any decorations,” Amy said, pointing to the huge evergreen sitting in her living room in the middle of the floor. “I’m not sure what I was trying to . . . to find, to recapture. That time in my life is gone. This is a new beginning for me. I think for all of us. That in itself is a miracle as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I love you, Mandy Leigh. Always have and always will.”

  “And I love you, Hank Anders. I always have and always will.”

  When the clock struck midnight, three people stood on the Carpenter front porch. Silver bells rang, the sound clear, pure, and rich. High above, a kindly old gentleman ruffled his wings.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered above the sound of the bells that seemed to be ringing all about him.

  Snow Angels

  Chapter One

  Friday, December 19, 2008

  Eagle, Colorado

  Interstate 70

  Grace Landry glanced in her rearview mirror to check on Ashley and Amanda, her two “dates” for the evening. She’d been delighted when their mother, Stephanie, had allowed her to take the girls to see their first live performance of The Nutcracker at Eagle Valley High School. Both girls were sound asleep in the backseat of her van.

  They’d needed some fun and normalcy in their sad and empty lives, especially during the Christmas season. Grace’s eyes teared up as she summoned the images of their frightened little faces when the local police delivered them and their mother to Hope House on Monday, four days earlier.

  As a practicing psychologist, Grace had witnessed her share of abused women since receiving her doctorate nine years ago. Only five years ago, when her grandmother had left her a sizable estate, she’d started Hope House, a shelter for battered women and their children, and unveiled it to the proper authorities in Denver and the surrounding areas. It had been her hope that they would recommend her safe house to those women in need as a place to recuperate and plan for the future, and more than anything else, a place where they could feel safe. Gypsum was a small town off the beaten path, the perfect location for such a place. She’d been successful and never had any reason to question her decision. Her mother worried because Hope House was in such a remote area, but Grace assured her that was exactly what she’d been looking for when she’d bought the house and the surrounding land.

  A light snow began to fall. Grace turned on the wipers, making a mental note to have chains put on her tires. With many treacherous stretches along Colorado’s I-70, authorities forbade semis to pass without them. Every winter she had her mechanic install them even though they weren’t required for the van. She’d rather be safe than sorry.

  In the distance ahead, she noted red-and-blue flashing lights. Praying there wasn’t an accident, Grace turned on the radio, locating a traffic report on one of her preprogrammed stations. The broadcaster noted the light snow, but that was nothing unusual for this stretch of highway. Probably a broken-down motorist.

  What little traffic there was slowed to a crawl as she drove toward the glaring lights. After a few minutes of creeping along, traffic came to a standstill. Grace glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard. After ten. She’d promised Stephanie she would have the girls back by eleven. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make it before midnight.

  When Grace saw police officers knocking on the windows of the vehicles ahead of her, she assumed this was a random license check. Reaching across the seat for her wallet, she removed her license, awaiting her turn to prove she was a legally licensed driver.

  The expected tap, and Grace pushed the button to lower the window. A gust of icy air along with wet snowflakes smacked the side of her face. Before the officer asked, she handed him her license.

  “Thanks, ma’am, but this isn’t a license check. We’ve established several roadblocks in the area. We’re detouring traffic.”

  “Oh,” Grace said, surprised by his words. A roadblock this time of night seemed odd to her. Rather than question the young officer, she listened to him as he pointed ahead.

  “I hope there isn’t some crazy out terrorizing the roads,” she comme
nted.

  “No need to worry. We’re taking care of it. If you’ll take the next exit, 147 to Eby Creek Road, another officer will reroute you around the blockades. We’re trying to close this area of I-70 as quickly as possible.”

  “Of course, officer.” Grace rolled up the window and followed the taillights of the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her. Glancing at the backseat, she smiled when she saw that Amanda and Ashley were still sleeping. Most children were very resilient. She could only hope these two were also.

  Grace closely followed the other vehicles, making it look as if the slow-moving traffic were a train. The snowfall started coming down even more heavily than it had been. She adjusted the defroster to high to clear the fog on the windshield. Traveling downhill, she applied slight pressure to the brakes as she made her way off the exit ramp, stopping when she saw a group of police cars with their lights blazing.

  For the second time in what was becoming a frigid night, Grace rolled down her window as another policeman approached the van. Though she was well acquainted with many of Eagle’s finest, Grace hadn’t recognized the last officer; nor did she recognize this one.

  “Where are you heading?” he asked. “We’re trying to reroute everyone without creating bedlam.” He smiled, but Grace saw that it was just for her benefit because it never reached his eyes. His eyes were watchful, alarmed. Grace knew the look quite well. She’d seen it hundreds of times in her line of work.

  “To Gypsum,” she said.

  “Follow this road for the next seven miles or so. From there you’ll turn left on the road leading back to I-70, then that should put you on Trail Gulch Road. The railroad track runs parallel to Trail Gulch if you’re not familiar with the area.”

  After telling the officer she was somewhat familiar with the area, Grace repeated the correct directions before he motioned for her to move on. When she saw there were no other vehicles heading in the same direction, she felt a bit creepy being alone on such a remote stretch of highway. Hope House was out of the way, she reminded herself, which explained why most of the other vehicles were traveling in the opposite direction.

  Amanda muttered in her sleep, and Grace checked her rearview mirror again. It wouldn’t be a good time for the girls to wake up. Stephanie had told her about their intense fear of the dark. Without streetlights and the usual signs advertising Big Macs and Holiday Inn Express’s free breakfast, the two-lane road was totally dark, except for her headlights, which plunged forward into the night like two eerie cat eyes.

  After ten minutes of slow driving, Grace checked her mileage. She’d only traveled three miles. Careful to monitor the odometer so as not to miss the upcoming left turn, she reduced her speed to fifteen miles per hour. When the van slid off the road onto the shoulder, Grace turned the wheel to the left, quickly guiding the vehicle back onto the slippery pavement. Her heart fluttered against her rib cage, and her hands were damp as she clutched the steering wheel while continuing to look for the turnoff. She checked her mileage again, surprised when she saw she’d already gone five miles. Taking a deep breath, Grace tried to focus on the road, but with the snow falling faster and heavier, it was becoming almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of her.

  Hoping to soothe her nerves, she adjusted the radio to a station playing cheerful Christmas music. Grace sang along with the familiar tunes, but stopped suddenly, fearing her off-key singing might wake the girls.

  Realizing she must have missed the turnoff after she’d traveled another five miles, she stopped in the center of the road, telling herself it didn’t matter since she seemed to be the only one crazy enough to get lost on a back road when the weather was getting worse by the minute. Recalling the directions the police officer had given her, Grace did a three-point turn, checked her mileage, then slowly drove back in the direction she’d just come from.

  Glancing from side to side as she retraced the miles and careful to watch the odometer, she still didn’t see any sign of a road where she could’ve made a turn, left or right. Continuing to clutch the wheel and occasionally glancing back at the sleeping children, Grace kept the routine up for another fifteen minutes before concluding that there was no turnoff. The police officer must have given her the wrong directions.

  Wishing she’d upgraded to a van equipped with a GPS, she remembered that her cell phone had a less sophisticated version of one. She removed it from the side pocket on her purse. Instead of the welcoming green light that usually glowed, the small screen was as black as the night in which she was desperately trying to get home in. She tried to turn the cell off and on again. Nothing happened.

  Her cell-phone battery was dead.

  Wasn’t that one of the first rules she drummed into the women living at Hope House when she distributed the preprogrammed cell phones? Never allow your cell-phone battery to die because you never knew when you’d need to dial those three lifesaving numbers: nine-one-one.

  But there she was, out in the middle of the night, with two little girls in her care, and no way to contact Hope House.

  Deciding that the officer must have miscalculated the miles, Grace proceeded to drive down the two-lane highway, searching for an all-night gas station, anyplace where she could find a phone to call Stephanie to assure her the girls were fine. They’d been through so much, and Grace felt she was putting their safety at risk again.

  After driving for what seemed like forever, it was after midnight when she pulled the van off to the side of the road. Fearing what she had to do, yet knowing it must be done, Grace leaned over the front seat and gently shook Amanda and Ashley until they were awake.

  “Miss Grace,” came the sleepy voice of eight-year-old Ashley. “Where’s Mommy?”

  Five-year-old Amanda perked up when she heard Ashley asking for their mother. “Is Mommy okay?” Grace heard the fear in their soft little voices.

  “Mommy is just fine. She’s at Hope House, remember?” Grace knew she was stalling while trying to come up with a plan that would have no adverse effect on the girls.

  Both wide-awake, they nodded.

  “But we’re supposed to be home by now, aren’t we?” Ashley asked.

  “Yes, sweetie, we are. I seem to have made a wrong turn, and I’m lost. I’m sorry, I don’t want to alarm either of you. I just need to make a call to your mother to let her know we’re safe, okay?”

  Her words seemed to reassure both girls. Grace removed her jacket from the seat next to her. Slipping one arm at a time into the sleeves, she was glad she’d chosen the heavy parka since she was about to venture out into Colorado’s ever-dropping frigid temperatures.

  “So why aren’t you calling?” Amanda asked with a trace of anxiety in her high-pitched voice.

  Grace admitted to herself she was not the image of dependability and trustworthiness she’d presented to the girls when she’d convinced them a night away from their mother would be fun. In fact, she was just the opposite.

  Reluctantly, Grace said, “I’m afraid my cell phone isn’t working.”

  Over the top of the seat, two pairs of big brown eyes stared at her. Waiting.

  “You can’t leave us here by ourselves, Miss Grace! Mommy says we’re never to be alone. Right, ’Manda?”

  The younger girl nodded. “Yeah, Mommy says so.”

  Saddened at the look of distrust on their small faces, Grace leaned over the seat and brushed her hands over both the girls’ heads. “Oh, girls, I would never leave you alone! What I meant to say is you’ll both have to come with me. We can pretend it’s a . . . treasure hunt. Whoever finds a phone first gets to pick out and decorate the Christmas tree any way she wants to. Deal?” Grace asked as she saw smiles light up their eyes.

  “Deal,” they said in unison.

  “Then let’s get your mittens, coats, and hats on. It’s much colder now than it was earlier.”

  Grace bundled the girls up, grabbed a bottle of water and a flashlight from the glove compartment and tucked them inside her coat pocket,
then draped her purse over her shoulder so she could take both girls by the hand. It wouldn’t do for her to lose contact with them. The snow was so thick, Grace could barely make out the van as they stepped away from its familiar safety.

  Gazing up at the sky, Grace tried to determine which direction to head, but unlike the movies, there were no stars to guide her, nothing. She was on her own.

  Deciding to walk uphill in the direction she’d been driving, she clasped both girls’ mitten-clad hands in her own as they trudged through the deepening snow. Every few minutes they would stop to catch their breath. The high elevation and the effort it took to walk uphill would strain even some of the world’s best athletes.

  When they’d walked uphill for more than an hour, Ashley yanked her hand away from Grace and pointed to a light up ahead. “Miss Grace, look. Look!”

  Grace’s heart did a somersault. Thank God! At the top of the mountain she saw windows aglow with lights. She grabbed Ashley’s hand. “I believe Miss Ashley gets to choose the tree. Come on, girls, let’s hurry before—” She started to say before our luck runs out, but given the girls’ past, thought better of it, and said “—they go to bed,” instead.

  As they trudged through the snow, their shallow breathing created swirls of fog in the cool night air. Grace wasn’t sure how much longer the girls could stand the bitter cold and wind. Off to the left, Grace spied a road sign telling her they were approaching Blow Out Hill. Great, she thought as she pulled the girls along. She’d had a blowout all right. She’d blown the entire evening. Stephanie and the girls would never trust her again.

  Heart pounding with every step, Grace rehearsed what she would say to Stephanie. She had to be out of her mind with worry by now. It was almost two in the morning. Angry at herself for her stupidity, she calmed down enough to knock loudly on the door of the biggest log home she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Chapter Two