This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters
Places, and incidents either are products of the
Author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
Resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
Living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design and photographs by
Jay Donald Wiseman
Copyright © 2018 by Jay Donald Wiseman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,
or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: September 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 9780996384612
To My Wife Barbara,
Whose love and understanding makes me a better person and enlightens my life.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgment
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Acknowledgment
First and foremost to my wife Barbara, who is willing to surrender into the pursuance of my dreams with her never ending support. I would also like to thank Richard Peterson for his genuine concern as he allowed me to exploit his editing and writing skills which gave me insightful direction. I would also like to thank my good friends and family members for further corrections and polishing touches.
While this book is wholly a work of fiction-as are its characters-the experiences are taken from mine and my wife’s experiences along with the experiences of our friends and family. I am grateful for these experiences as they open windows of understanding in dealing with life’s challenges.
Preface
Spiritual insights are the stardust of the eternities which give evidence of the truth and power from which they come. What greater witness can we ask than a witness from that Great Supreme Being of Creation of which all things testify?
It is my wish that all who read this story will take note of the sometimes small witnesses that happen in all of our lives and give significance to their importance. The events that followed the first Christmas will forever have effect on our lives, and it behooves each of us to learn of our Savior and receive of his way.
Chapter 1
Fourteen-year-old Rachel McTavish and her little brother, Ben, were home alone in a drafty old house in the village of King’s Park on Long Island, New York. It was Christmas Eve, 1942, a Tuesday that year, and they were waiting for their father, Donald, to come home from New York City where he needed to attend a training meeting as he was being schooled to become the local bank manager. He hadn’t expected to go into the city for a meeting that day, he planned on doing the last minute shopping, but he received a call to attend an unforeseen meeting that was mandatory. As he was leaving that morning to drive to the commuter train station he promised the kids he would be home as soon as possible. He also whispered to Rachel that he would be bringing with him the Christmas presents.
It was 5:30 P.M. later on that day and snow had begun falling from the gathering of black clouds that made it darker than usual for that time of day. The area where they lived was still largely rural and the falling snow flakes were highlighted by the lone street light just down the lane from their house. A stiff wind drove some of the snowflakes sideways, but they were plenty others beginning to add a fresh white blanket on top of the existing dingy snow. It was also starting to stick to the boughs of the dark forest of trees across the graveled country road.
Rachel’s brow was wrinkled as she contemplated some of the problems that could arise from the storm in their dads efforts to get back home on time as she opened a can of soup and made some toast to go with it for dinner. Then, after she had cleared the table and done the dishes, she turned on the radio to pass the time. It was a late model, polished wood Philco set and the only new piece of furniture in the house. She and Ben listened to a report on Santa’s progress from the North Pole. She knew it wasn’t a real report but watched Ben’s eyes widened as he pictured the flight of the sleigh and reindeer. Being in the middle of a snow storm only added to the believability of Santa and his Reindeer. Ben was seven years old and on the verge of not believing in Santa Claus, but this close to the great day he surrendered again to the childhood fantasy. They also listened to another of Gabriel Heatter’s pessimistic reports about the progress of the war “The United States forces and the Allies are not doing well, either in the Pacific or European theaters,” came rasping out of the radio from the static of a weak signal, because of the storm. Rachel was old enough to be frightened by the war. She could easily imagine German soldiers with their rifles and wearing those long woolen coats and scary helmets, marching down the dark road outside their house. This made her want to check outside through the windows just to calm her imagination, so she cautiously, but deftly stepped over to the window trying to not draw attention to her efforts to quell her inner fear. The scene before her was the blowing snow in the wind which created a little anxiety, but it was void of any dark foreboding soldiers. She felt a veil of relief cover her.
She walked over to get her favorite blanket and she wrapped tightly around herself and sat on the window seat, staring out the frosted living room window pane at the blustery storm that was continuing to gain in strength while it unleashed its wintry fury. It was 10 P.M. now and she had already turned off all of the lights to conserve energy. Her blond hair was highlighted by the single candle she had placed in the front window in hopes of making a signal for her dad to see amidst the dark fierceness of the storm. The reflection of her face in the frosted window revealed a pensive and worried expression. It was way past the time when her dad was scheduled to arrive from the city and because of the storm, she wondered if he would make it at all. If he didn’t, how would her younger brother Ben react to not finding anything under the tree? Ben had succumbed to the fatigue of Christmas anticipation and was asleep on the couch under a quilt. She would need to get him up and into his own bed but for now she was content to have him nearby. She drew the thick quilt more tightly around her shoulders and neck and tried to ignore the growing panic that made her feel like crying.
Enjoying this time of year and being happy were challenging enough for Rachel in the aftermath of her mother’s death, Amelia, the previous Christmas. She missed her mother more than she could have ever imagined. Unlike Rachel, her mother never allowed an anxious moment to cause any outward show of fear. She had a calm, cheerful confidence that was contagious. If she were here, she would take Rachel in her arms, rock her gently, soothing away any anxiety, and assure Rachel that all would be well in the end. That was her mother’s way.
Chapter 2
Rachel began reminiscing back to her mother’s passing on what had been a bright and beautiful December day. Her mother had weighed next to nothing and died peacefully in bed with the twilight rays filtering through the sheer curtains, casting dancing shafts of shimmering light that gently bathed her mother’s sweet face in a rich amber glow. It almost seemed as though the rays of light were a conduit from heaven. The disease that had ravaged her mother’s frail body for so many months had spared the beauty of her face. In that soft light, she resembled an angel with sparkling star dust glistening on her hair.
Her mother had never succumbed to discouragement, and Rachel had dared to think her mother would in fact overcome her cancer and get well. At Christmastime, one might hope for miracles to happen. On one of the rare occasions when Rachel’s mom did concede that the disease might be too much to handle,
she murmured with a weak smile, “Christmas is a good time to go through the veil!” It wasn’t but a few moments later that the frail woman whispered, “I love you all, so very much” then slipped away as the pale, winter sun quietly slid below the horizon, taking her and its rays somewhere into the realm beyond this earth.
Rachel had never shared the intensity of her mother’s belief in God. For one thing, she was too young to have concerned herself much about heaven and religious things. From the time she was a little girl, she had been taught to pray; but her prayers were always superficial and self-centered. Kneeling by her bed with her mother seated next to her, she only went through the motions, thanking Heavenly Father for her toys, her food and clothes, and asking him to bless Mommy and Daddy and her little brother Ben. She tried to imagine God, sitting on his throne listening to her prayer, while she secretly wondered how he could possibly hear and answer all the prayers that were being offered all over the world.
When her mom became ill, Rachel was eleven and as the illness progressed her prayers became more intense and pointed. At first she would only ask for her mother to be healed, but as time went on, she demanded that God make her mother well. If He was listening, He was apparently too busy to care about Rachel’s pleadings. The disease lingered and intensified, regardless of how much Rachel asked Him for her mother to be healed. For two, long years her mom languished in bed, unable in the third year to even take care of any of her personal needs. At first Rachel’s father depended a lot on his only daughter to help care for his stricken wife but eventually he had to hire a part-time nurse to take over the main responsibility.
Because she was expected by her father to do many of the household chores her mother would have normally handled, Rachel also felt undo pressure and somewhat picked on. While her friends lingered to participate in after-school activities or to walk slowly home, she always needed to hurry home to help care for her mother or do the washing or begin preparing dinner or babysit her brother. She felt as though she were being cheated out of her childhood and when she began attending junior high school she became even more resentful. Other girls had boyfriends or tried out for the school play or other activities. She still loved her mom, but the responsibility to care for her often seemed unfair and over time Rachel became occasionally impatient and even a little rude in dealing with her mom’s constant needs.
For the last couple of years she had listened to her mother’s expressions of faith and even gratitude with increasing disdain. If religion couldn’t help her get better, Rachel thought, what good is it? When her prayers did no good, Rachel gave up asking for a blessing that was not forthcoming and began instead to resent the powerful Heavenly Father who had so little interest in her and her needs.
When her mother finally passed away, Rachel was awestruck and disoriented confronting the stark reality of her mom’s lifeless body. Even in her sickness she had been able to talk and see and hear. Now all the animation was gone and what was left was still and cold. It was hard to imagine how cold and still her mother’s body had instantly became as though she had never been a living being. She was only thirty-six years old. It wasn’t fair!
Rachel’s mother was a Mormon, converted by the missionaries when she was eighteen. She had married Rachel’s father three years later, who was not a member of her Church. Rachel’s mom had always thought he would eventually see the light. In the meantime, she took her children and went to church most often alone, without him. Rachel’s dad was a kindly man, and Rachel loved him dearly. He always insisted the important thing was to live a good life; raised as an inactive Catholic, weekly church attendance was not high on his agenda. He worked hard during the week, but spent his Saturdays and Sundays in his yard or remodeling the old house he and Amelia, Rachels mom, had bought with the idea of fixing it up. He did however attend Church on Easter and at Christmas time with his family to their meetings. Rachel had been taken to midweek Primary, and on Sunday, to Sunday school, and Ssacrament meetings by her mother, but the teachings didn’t root firmly with the conviction of faith. Since moving to the country Rachel had a hard time making friends with the girls in her small branch of the Church, whom she thought were immature and silly. After her mom’s illness progressed, it became a convenient excuse to stay home from church to help take care of her and cook the Sunday meal.
During her mother’s prolonged illness, Rachel listened to her mother talk of heaven, the Atonement, the Resurrection, and following the Light of the Savior through service to others. What good, Rachel asked herself, had all of that done? Now, with her mother gone, she questioned again what life was all about or if it had any meaning? As far as she could see in this point in her life, you’re born, you live a while, and then you die. Yet, even though her mother knew she wouldn’t survive, she exemplified her beliefs with unwavering dedication to her “Testimony” as she called it, which made Rachel feel there may be more to her religion than she had heretofore assumed.
Though her mother had been seriously ill, Rachel had never really considered the overwhelming hurt and isolation of losing her. Now she wished she had inquired of her mother more about these matters. However at the time, she didn’t feel a pressing need because she hadn’t really envisioned life without her mother and didn’t want to accept the possibility that her mother could actually die—as though it wouldn’t happen if she didn’t believe it could happen. She was in total denial and delusional.
During the first year of her cancer, Rachel’s mother radiated her normal hope and patience, never complained, and always saw the bright side of every situation. She thought she would get better and happy days would return. But the relentless cancer cells had ultimately taken their awful toll. As the ordeal wore on, she became less optimistic and expressive. She was often listless and too weak to care about anything but her own pain and other physical needs. She used to take such an interest in Rachel’s activities and so often expressed her love, but by the end she had lost all exuberance and inquisitiveness. Rachel hated that aspect of the illness; it had robbed her of her mother’s love and cheerful companionship.
Being very practical minded and responsible, it wasn’t long after the funeral that Rachel seemingly squashed the lonesome hurt and turned mourning into action, which meant assuming the role as the woman of the house. Even though a year had passed and she had matured immensely didn’t mean she was incapable of crying or feeling the immense hollow void left in her heart. Thinking about her mother and waiting nervously for her dad to return from the city, she gave way to her tears as she relived those painful last precious moments of her mother’s life, when lying on her bed the dying woman uttered those puzzling words—“Christmas is a good time to go through the veil.” What did that mean? Or were they the ramblings brought on by incoherency because of the pain pills? Why, with all the supposed joy associated with it, would Christmas be a good time to die? Her mother had told how wonderful it was each year to celebrate Christmas, but the meaning and its significance was over-scored with the anticipation of making special treats and what would be under the tree. Now that she was older and the mystic of the presents no longer ignited her imagination as she focused upon the festivities of making treats and decorating. It sometimes felt as though she was going through the motions and being numb to the reality surrounding her in an emotional whirlwind hovering just inside her realm of consciousness.
Rachel yearned to understand her mother and know the source of her mother’s strength. She sometimes thought about her mother’s belief in God and His plan about which her mom often talked as contained in the scriptures. To Rachel the scriptures were not that easy to understand. She’d always had trouble forcing herself to read them and complained they really didn’t fully explain everything. Why hadn’t God made things plainer without having to search in a hundred places? If the plan was so important why weren’t things explained more clearly and in one spot?
In her quiet moments, Rachel sometimes debated in her mind that there must be more ben
efit than what this life offered. Was there really an afterlife and if so what would it be like? She struggled with the difficulty in perceiving something that couldn’t be seen with one’s eyes. The whole situation just didn’t seem fair as she considered her mother’s parting—that someone so good and valuable in her life would be taken away, to go where? What benefit was there for the rest of the family in her passing and why was Christmastime a good time for her mother to go through the veil? Why had God not answered her prayers? Did he really care? Was he really there?
She felt disappointed and cheated of one of life’s most cherished blessings, that of sharing love and life with her mother. Rachel was torn between wanting to have that powerful conviction so she could really believe that they would be together forever in the end and the risk of trying to obtain it and failing. She had concluded that it was going to take something more than reading, but she didn’t know what ingredients to add to the recipe or did she have the ingredients already and just didn’t know what to do with them?
Chapter 3
As she gazed at the storm raging outside the window, fierce snowflakes continued striking the glass which intensified her worried thoughts about her father’s safety coupled with his delay in arriving. Her lips pressed more tightly together. The snow, driven by a howling wind continued to blow horizontal. The entire landscape was almost pure white as the snow was now well over a foot deep. There were no cars or tracks to be seen on the poorly lit lane and she wondered if he would even be able to drive from the commuter train station where he had left his car. She knew the tires on his old Ford were bald. Wartime rationing made it neigh impossible to buy new tires, even if you had the money. Her concern for him was turning into frustration that threatened to transform itself into resentment. It was almost eleven o’clock, and she felt helpless. That feeling scared her. It made her feel so vulnerable and uncomfortable. She had so wanted this Christmas to be joyful like when her mother was alive as though through some miracle she might be there and heal all of her family’s heartache of the previous season. Now her dad was late arriving home and her little brother might have to deal with not getting any presents. It was not the Christmas spirit she had envisioned nor was it, she thought what her mother would have wanted for them. Merriment was nowhere to be found and she was only a heartbeat away from an emotional meltdown.
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