Addie was in a cheerful mood, humming along with the kitchen radio while she supervised the opening—with a suitable flourish on Lissie’s part—of that day’s calendar box. Inside was a miniature gift, wrapped in shiny paper and tied in a bow.
Henry scrunched up his face, intrigued. “Is there anything inside it?”
“No, silly,” Lissie responded. “It’s supposed to represent a Christmas present.”
“I’m getting presents,” Henry said. “From my dad. He sent a box.”
“You need a Christmas tree if you’re going to get presents,” Lissie reasoned. “Dad’s getting ours tonight, after work.”
Henry looked questioningly at Addie. “Are we getting one, too?”
“Sure are,” Frank put in, before Addie could answer.
“A real one?” Henry asked hopefully.
“The genuine article,” Frank promised, hoping he wasn’t stepping on Addie’s toes in some way. Maybe she wanted buying the tree to be a family thing, just her and Henry. It took some nerve, but he made himself meet her eyes.
She looked uncertain.
“You two put on your coats and head for the car,” Frank told the kids. “I’ll drop you off at school on my way to work.”
They dashed off.
“Everything okay, Addie?” Frank asked quietly, when the two of them were alone in the apartment kitchen. She was dressed for another day at the Wooden Nickel.
She hugged herself. “I wasn’t really planning on Christmas,” she said. “And I’ve been so busy since Henry got here, I haven’t really thought about it.”
He wanted to cross the room, maybe touch her hair, but things were still a little awkward between them. Had been since Maggie’s mug had struck the floor. “I shouldn’t have said anything about the tree.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t have ornaments, though, or lights.”
“A lot of your father’s stuff is still in the storeroom,” he reminded her. “I’m pretty sure there are some decorations.” He paused, shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn, Addie, I’m sorry. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.”
Her smile faltered a little. “I vaguely remember strings and strings of those old-fashioned bubble lights,” she said wistfully. “And lots of shiny ornaments. They must have been packed away when Mom died—Dad didn’t care much about Christmas. Said it was a lot of sentimental slop, and way too commercial. He used to give me money and tell me to buy what I wanted.”
Frank’s spirits plunged like an elevator after the cable breaks. Way to go, Raynor, he thought. First, you put Addie on the spot in front of the kids, and now you remind her that her childhood Christmases wouldn’t exactly inspire nostalgia.
He found his voice. “Look, you helped me out yesterday when I needed somebody to look after Lissie. I’ll spring for an extra evergreen. We could make a night of it—hit the tree lot, then have supper at the Lumberjack, afterward. The kids would like that.”
She grabbed her coat off the back of a chair and shrugged into it. “Sure,” she said, but she sounded sad. “Thanks, Frank.”
He spent the rest of the day kicking himself.
The box from Toby was waiting on the doorstep when Addie arrived home from work late that afternoon. She’d picked Henry and Lissie up at school, and Henry was beside himself with excitement.
“Can I open it?” he asked, peeling off his coat. Lissie had gone to let Floyd out, but she’d be joining them in a few minutes for hot cocoa.
Addie’s mood, bordering on glum ever since morning, lifted a little. She smiled as she hung up her own coat. “Let me peek inside first,” she suggested. “Just in case the stuff isn’t wrapped.”
“Okay,” Henry said. The two of them had wrestled the large box over the threshold, and it was sitting on the living room floor, looking mysterious. “I didn’t think he’d really send it,” he confided. “Sometimes Dad says he’s going to do stuff, and he forgets.”
Addie ruffled his hair. “Well, he didn’t forget this time,” she said. She got a knife from the silverware drawer and advanced on the box. Henry was fairly jumping up and down while she carefully cut the packing tape.
“I know about Santa Claus,” Henry announced, out of the blue. “So you don’t have to worry about filling my stocking or anything like that.”
Addie stiffened slightly and busied herself with the box. She didn’t want Henry to see her face. She pulled back the flaps and looked inside, relieved to find packages wrapped in shiny, festive paper and tied with curling ribbon. “It’s okay to look,” she said.
Henry let out a whoop of glee and started hauling out the loot. He had the packages piled around the living room in an impressive circle when Lissie and Floyd came in. Lissie was carrying her tinsel halo in one hand.
“Whoa,” she said, beaming. “You really cleaned up!”
Floyd made the rounds, sniffing every box.
“I wish today was Christmas,” Henry said.
Lissie sagged a little. “Me, too,” she confessed. “Then that stupid play would be over, and I wouldn’t have to feel bad about not being an angel.”
Addie brought out the cocoa she’d been brewing in the kitchen, the old-fashioned kind, like Eliza used to make for her and Frank on cold winter afternoons. “Feeling bad is a choice, Lissie,” she said. She’d made a few calls that day, when things were slow at the Wooden Nickel; her plan was coming together. “You could just as easily choose to feel good.”
Lissie frowned. “About what?”
“About the fact that there are other ways to be an angel,” Addie said.
The kids zeroed in on the hot chocolate and looked up at her curiously, with brown foamy mustaches.
“What other way is there,” Lissie inquired, “besides getting hit by a truck or something?”
“That would be a radical method,” Addie allowed, eyeing the sewing machine and her thrift-store creation of peacock blue taffeta. “I spoke to someone at the hospital today. At the nursing home, too. There are some people there who would really like a visit from an angel, especially at Christmas.”
Lissie’s gaze strayed to the sewing project, and the light dawned in her eyes. “You made me an angel dress?”
Addie nodded. “It’s pretty fancy, too, if I do say so myself.”
Lissie crossed to the card table, where the sewing machine was set up, and laid a tentative hand on the small, shimmering gown. Except for the hem, a few nips and tucks to make it fit perfectly, and some beads and sequins rescued from the scorned wedding dress, it was complete.
“Would I have to sing?” Lissie asked in a voice small with wonder.
Addie laughed. “No,” she said. “Not if you didn’t want to.”
“There aren’t any wings,” Henry pointed out, ever practical. “You can’t be an angel without wings.”
“I think I could rig something up,” Addie said. The wings wouldn’t be as fancy as Tiffany Baker’s feathered flying apparatus, but the skirt of Jessie’s wedding dress would serve if she bent some coat hangers into the proper shape.
“Do they need a shepherd, too?” Henry asked hopefully.
“A shepherd would be the perfect touch,” Addie decided.
Lissie was standing on the coffee table, halo askew but on, looking resplendent in her blue angel duds, when Frank rapped at the door, let himself in, and whistled in exclamation. Addie, with a mouthful of pins, offered a careful smile.
“I get to be an angel after all,” Lissie told her father.
Frank looked confused. “Don’t tell me. Tiffany Baker has been abducted by space aliens. Shall I put out an all-points bulletin?”
Lissie giggled, though whether it was Frank’s expression or the concept of her rival being carried off to another planet that amused her was anybody’s guess. “I’m going to visit people in the hospital, and the nursing home. Addie’s making my wings out of coat hangers.”
Frank smiled. “Great idea,” he said, looking at Addie. He took in the array of Christmas prese
nts lying all over the room. “Looks like Santa crashed his sleigh in here.”
Addie, who had been kneeling to pin up Lissie’s hem, finished the job and got to her feet. “Want some coffee?” she asked Frank, and then wished she hadn’t. Now he’d be thinking about the broken mug again, missing Maggie. She blushed and looked away.
He made a show of consulting his watch, shook his head. “We’d better get to the tree lot,” he said. “Everybody ready?”
Floyd yelped with excitement.
Addie’s gaze flew to Frank’s face. So did Henry’s and Lissie’s.
“Can Floyd go, too?” Lissie asked.
Frank sighed. “Sure,” he said, after a few moments of deliberation. “He can sniff out the perfect tree and wait in the car while we’re in the Lumberjack having supper. We’ll bring him a doggy bag.”
How many men would include a beagle on such an expedition? Unexpected tears burned in Addie’s eyes. That was the moment she realized the awful, wonderful truth. She’d fallen in love with Frank Raynor—assuming that she’d ever fallen out in the first place. The downside was, he still cared deeply for his late wife. She’d seen his stricken expression when the cup was broken.
The children, naturally oblivious to the nuances, shouted with joy, and Floyd barked all the harder. Addie’s hands trembled a little as she helped Lissie out of the gown.
“You’re an amazing woman,” Frank said quietly, standing very close to Addie, while the kids scrambled to get into their coats. “Thank you.”
Addie didn’t dare look at him. The revelation she’d just undergone was too fresh—she was afraid he’d see it in her eyes. “We’d better take my station wagon,” she said. “It probably wouldn’t be kosher to tie a couple of Christmas trees to the top of your squad car.”
He didn’t answer.
A light snow began as they drove to the lot, Frank at the wheel. From the backseat, the kids sang “Jingle Bells,” with Floyd howling an accompaniment.
Within half an hour, they’d selected two lusciously fragrant evergreen trees, and Frank had secured them in the back of the station wagon. When they pulled up in front of the Lumberjack Diner, Floyd sighed with patient resignation, settled his bulk on the seat, and went to sleep.
“This feels almost like being a family,” Frank said quietly, as the four of them trooped into the restaurant. “I like it.”
The waitresses were all wearing felt reindeer antlers bedecked in tiny blinking lights. “Blue Christmas” wailed from the jukebox, and various customers called out cheerful greetings to the newcomers. There were a couple of low-key whistles, too, and when Addie stole a look at Frank, she was amazed to see that he was blushing.
“About time you hooked up with a woman, Chief,” an old man said, patting Frank on the shoulder as he passed the booth where they were seated. “Good to see you back in Pine Crossing, Addie.”
She felt warm inside, but it was a bruised and wary warmth. Don’t get your hopes up, Addie warned herself in the silence of her mind. When she sneaked a look at Frank, unable to resist, she saw that he was blushing again. And grinning a little.
The meal was delicious, and when it was over, there were plenty of scraps for Floyd. He gobbled cheerfully while they drove home, the car full of merriment and the distinctive scents of fresh pine and leftover meatloaf.
Frank sent Lissie and Floyd into the house when they arrived, and Henry plodded up the apartment stairs, worn out by a jolly evening. He didn’t even protest when Addie called after him to start his bath.
She hesitated, watching as Frank unloaded the trees. The snow was falling faster, stinging her cheeks.
“It’ll need to settle, and dry out a little,” Frank said, setting the tree Addie had chosen upright on the sidewalk, stirring that lovely fragrance again.
Addie laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Frank,” she said very softly. “For the tree, for the meal at the Lumberjack, and for caring about a dog’s feelings.”
He looked surprised. “I’m the one who should be doing the thanking around here,” he said, and when she started to protest, he raised a hand to silence her. “Lissie’s wearing her halo again. For one night, she gets to be an angel. I can’t begin to tell you what that means to me, Addie.”
Addie’s throat tightened. If she stayed one moment longer, she’d tell Frank Raynor straight out that she loved him, and ruin everything. “I’d better make sure Henry doesn’t get to looking at his presents, forget to turn off the tap, and flood the bathroom,” she said, and hurried away.
She felt Frank watching her and would have given anything for the courage to look straight at him and see what was in his face, but she couldn’t take the risk.
The stakes were suddenly too high.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“It’s an angel,” Lissie said dismally, before Henry got that day’s matchbox open. The day of the pageant had come, and while the little girl was ready to play the innkeeper’s wife to the best of her ability, Addie knew it wouldn’t be any fun for her.
She glanced at Frank, then laid a hand on Lissie’s shoulder. “We’re booked at the hospital and the Sweet Haven Nursing Home,” she reminded the child. She’d found an old white boa, on a second trip to the Goodwill, and planned to glue the feathers onto the clothes-hanger wings on her breaks and during her lunch hour. Lissie’s wings wouldn’t be as glorious as Tiffany’s, but they would be pretty and, Addie hoped, a nice surprise. “Tomorrow night, six o’clock. The patients are looking forward to it.”
Lissie nodded.
Frank took the kids to school that morning. Addie had an extra cup of coffee, then set out for work in the station wagon.
At three-ten that afternoon, Lissie burst into the Wooden Nickel, setting the silver bell jingling above the door. Addie, taking her break at her desk, quickly shoved the half-feathered wing she’d been working on out of sight.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
Lissie beamed. “Tiffany got another commercial,” she blurted. “She had to be in Denver today, and there’s no way she can get back in time for the pageant. Miss Pidgett got so upset, she had to go lie down in the principal’s office, and Mr. Walker, the teacher’s aide, said I could take Tiffany’s place!”
Stella and Mr. Renfrew applauded, and Addie rounded the counter to hug Lissie. “It’s a miracle,” she said.
“How come your fingers are sticky?” Lissie wanted to know.
Addie ignored the question. “Do you know the angel’s lines?”
“ ‘Be not afraid,’ ” Lissie spouted proudly, “ ‘for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy!’ ”
“Guess you’ve got it,” Addie said, her arm around Lissie’s shoulders. “Have you told your dad?”
Lissie shook her head. “He’s on patrol,” she replied, and suddenly, her brow furrowed with worry. “Tiffany took her costume with her. I’ve got my dress—the one you made—but the wings—”
“There will be wings,” Addie promised, though she didn’t know how she was going to pull that off. There were still two hours left in the workday, and the pageant was due to start at six-thirty.
“Great!” Lissie cried. “Henry’s over at the library. Are you going to pick us up, or is Dad?”
“Whoever gets there first,” Addie said, her mind going into overdrive.
Lissie nodded and went out, setting the bell over the door to ringing again.
“Another angel gets its wings,” Stella said with a smile.
“We’d better get to gluing,” Mr. Renfrew added, eyes sparkling.
“Do you suppose there’s anything seriously wrong with Miss Pidgett?” Addie fretted, gratefully parceling out feathers stripped from the thrift-store boa and handing Arthur Renfrew the second wing, which was made from the skirt of Jessie Corcoran’s wedding gown.
“She’s run every pageant since 1962,” Stella put in. “Maybe she’s just worn out.”
“More likely, it’s a case of the ‘means,’ ” Mr. Renfrew said, opening a p
ot of rubber cement and gingerly gluing a feather onto an angel’s wing.
Frank arrived at St. Mary’s at six-thirty sharp, fresh from the office, where he’d filled out a lengthy report on a no-injury accident out on the state highway, and scanned the crowd. Miss Pidgett, sitting in a folding chair toward the front of the small auditorium, fanned herself with a program and favored him with a poisonous look.
He smiled and nodded, just as though they were on cordial terms, and she blushed and fanned harder.
A small hand tugged at his jacket sleeve, and he looked down to see Lissie standing beside him, resplendent in her peacock blue angel gown and a pair of feathered wings.
“I thought you were the innkeeper’s wife,” he said stupidly. The fact was, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and he was afraid to hope she’d landed the coveted role of lead angel. He checked his watch, wondering if he’d somehow missed the pageant, and Lissie had already changed clothes to make an unscheduled visit to Sweet Haven.
“Tiffany’s in a toilet paper commercial, up in Denver,” Lissie said, glowing. “She took her wings with her, but Addie made me these, so I’m good to go.”
Addie. Frank felt as though the breath had just been knocked out of his lungs. He crouched, so he could look straight into his daughter’s eyes. “Honey, that’s great,” he said, and the words came out sounding husky.
“Did you bring a camera? Henry promised his dad some pictures.”
Just then, Addie arrived, looking pretty angelic herself in a kelly green suit. Her hair was pinned up, with a sprig of mistletoe for pizzazz. “I’ve got one,” she said, waving one of those yellow throwaway numbers. “Hi, Frank.”
“I’d better go,” Lissie told them. “Maybe angels are like brides. Maybe people aren’t supposed to see them before it’s time!”
“Maybe not,” Addie told her.
Lissie put up her hand, and the two of them did a high five.
The audience, mostly consisting of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings, shifted and murmured in their folding chairs, smiling holiday smiles.
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