I didn’t need to be told the snow wasn’t helping the situation. I’d prayed all afternoon for the snow to hold off until after my boy was found. As I watched the gentle flakes fall soundlessly to the earth, I fought off despair. I couldn’t give up hope, I told myself. I had to keep believing. Believe that Taylor would find Miller. I had to keep praying that my sons would return home.
Taylor
The snow was falling steadily now, big fat flakes, the kind children liked to catch on their tongues. I wondered if Miller was sticking his tongue out now, doing just that. This might be the first snow he’d ever seen, and the thought made me smile.
I shook my head. I couldn’t get distracted. I took a deep breath and stretched. My muscles were tired; I was out of shape. But at least my migraine was gone. Looking down at the ground, I saw the snow was beginning to stick. That would cover the tracks. I was running out of time. I was losing the trail. I felt panic stir and had to fight it off.
“Dear God,” I said, my words catching in the wind. I paused and bowed my head. I was too ashamed to pray. It had been too long a time. I had seen so much horror, witnessed the heartless cruelty of man to one another, and denied God’s existence. What good were churches, I’d thought, if they inspired war? Instead I’d settled on the notion that all there was in this life was the here and now.
But here in the great woods I felt I was standing in God’s cathedral. The beauty and power of his creation were both intimidating and inspiring. I was insignificant in the greater universe. Who was I to doubt if God cared about the smallest of insects hiding under the moss? Or these giant longleaf pines that towered like great pillars to the sky? I needed only to pray that He’d take pity on this one miserable, sinful, and lonely creature.
“Please,” I said aloud, my voice piercing the deep hush of a forest snowfall, “I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for Miller. Help me to focus and be the Marine I once was. If You can do that, then I know I can find my brother.”
Bringing up my head, I looked around to get my bearings and collect my thoughts. I knew enough about hypothermia to know that Miler wasn’t near death. Unless he was wet, and there was no reason he should be, he had time. If he had his wits, he’d hunker down somewhere to keep warm. Miller was a smart kid. He knew the woods. Still, I was glad he had Thor with him.
According to my map, I was nearing the edge of the six-mile perimeter. But which direction had Miller moved in? I sensed I was close. That was the secret in the arsenal of the best trackers. Their intuition. I pulled out a whistle from my pack and blew it three times. The shrill sound echoed in the woods, sending birds fluttering and crying out. Again I blew. A moment later I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out, “Thor!” I counted to ten and shouted the dog’s name again. “Thor!”
I went still and listened. Around me the fat flakes swirled soundlessly in the crisp wintry air. I waited. Suddenly I heard a sound in the distance. I held my breath and lifted my cap past my ears. There it was again! A distinct bark.
“Thor!” I shouted again. “Thor!” I called, my heart pounding.
From the north I heard a great thundering, like a deer running. Turning, I saw a large black shape emerge from the woods. A dog . . . I lowered to my knees and opened my arms. Thor came running, eyes fixed, making a beeline for me.
“Thor!” I called again, and my dog was in my arms, whimpering with joy at finding me, licking my face, leaping like a puppy, behaving as though he’d not seen me in over a year. I didn’t know if I deserved such a welcome, but I felt the same at finding him.
I held his head in my palms, and Thor immediately calmed. We stared at each other, me and this stoic, loyal, brave-hearted dog. As I looked into his soulful eyes, I realized that this great animal had heard my call and come, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He had faith in me. In my decisions. In my leadership. I saw shining in his eyes trust and more, respect.
In that moment, standing in the cathedral of trees, we bonded. Man and dog, we were partners. I vowed that I would protect him, as I knew he would protect me.
“We’re battle buddies,” I told him, then pulled back and stood. “Now let’s finish this. Thor, where’s Miller? Find Miller,” I commanded.
Thor was ready to act and made a curt woof. He walked a few feet to the north, sniffing the air, turned around, then came to stand again in front of me. His brown eyes were alert and intense. He woofed. He walked again down the path, then stopped to look at me as though to say, Hurry up!
“Good dog.” I adjusted the pack on my back. I pointed. “Find Miller.”
Thor took off with a lurch down the path. He knew where he was going. I paced fast to keep up with him as he thrashed his way through the woods. We hadn’t gone far when he approached what looked to me like a burned-out hull of an ancient oak tree, so broad at the base a boy could hide in there. Then I saw the red scarf and I fist-pumped the air. Even in the dimming light the cherry red couldn’t be missed. Smart boy, I thought to myself with pride.
I ran to the base of the great tree and pushed back the pine branches that covered the opening. Some of them had already been knocked down, no doubt by Thor when he leaped out. I leaned inside the cave-like space. It smelled of pine and mold, and though the light was dim, I saw Miller lying on a floor of pine needles. His eyes were closed, and for a moment I was afraid I was too late. I reached out to shake his shoulder gently.
“Miller,” I said, loud enough to wake him.
To my eternal relief, his eyelids fluttered and then opened. His blue eyes met mine with a sleepy stupor, then widened with surprise. In a flash he leaped up and wrapped his arms around me, holding tight.
“I knew you’d find me,” he exclaimed over and over, crying in relief. “I knew you’d be the one to find me.”
I hugged him, not ashamed of my tears. When Miller pulled back, he was smiling, but I could see tears in his eyes, as well. And something more. Something far more compelling. I saw the pride that used to gleam in Miller’s eyes when he looked at his big brother. I’d earned it.
And that, I knew, was the best Christmas present I could have hoped for.
I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to every-body! A happy New Year to all the world!
—Scrooge, A Christmas Carol
Chapter 23
Taylor
The snow was collecting on the forest floor and along the tree branches, making the woods appear like a winter wonderland in the beam of my flashlight. We walked for some time in silence, listening to our footfalls crunching, with our breaths creating plumes of vapor in the cold air. I looked beside me often, checking on Miller. I worried that he was too tired. Frostbitten. We had no choice but to push on.
Suddenly I caught a whiff of something burning. I stopped and sniffed the air. I knew a moment’s excitement and quickly reached into my pack to pull out my whistle. I blew it three times, the shrill sound piercing the quiet. Thor looked up at me, his ears twitching. Then I waited.
Not a minute later I heard an answering three blasts from a whistle.
“Over there!” I shouted to Miller, pointing.
We both felt propelled by adrenaline. Miller was tired, but his nap had given him the endurance to plow on. I blew my whistle again. Again we got a response. Picking up the pace, I followed the direction of the sound through the maze of trees, faith and my compass guiding me. Before too long we heard a mass of footsteps approaching, a chorus of sound after so much silence. Suddenly a group of men burst through the trees, headed by my father.
“Miller!” he shouted. He was wrapped in his heavy navy peacoat, a fur hat, thick gloves. His cheeks were ruddy, this time from the cold, and his blue eyes shone bright in the light of my flashlight.
“Daddy!” Miller called out, and ran forward into our father’s arms.
Dad lowered to his knees in the snow and encircled my brother in his arms, his face burie
d in Miller’s shoulder.
“My boy,” he said in a choked voice.
No one missed the unspeakable joy and relief the Captain was feeling at finding his son. A few men stood watching with tears in their eyes. Others came to me to slap my back and congratulate me for finding the boy.
“Good job, Taylor.”
“That’s a Marine for you!”
“Where was he?”
“How’d you find him?”
I didn’t notice their questions. I could not move. My father lifted his head and his gaze sought me out. When he found me, he looked straight into my eyes, held them, and nodded in gratitude. Then he rose and strode toward me with his hand out. I moved forward and took it, feeling the strength in it. But this time he pulled me against his chest and wrapped his free arm around me and firmly patted my back.
“Thank you,” he said, his gruff voice shaking. “I’m proud of you, Son. Never forget that, no matter what. I love you.”
“They’re here!”
We walked into the house to an uproar of cheers. I stood near the entrance, stunned. It seemed to me most of the town was crowded into our house. It was déjà vu of my welcome-home party—was it less than a month ago? It felt so much longer in light of all that had happened.
“Miller!” Mama raced through the crowd directly to Miller and held him so long and so tight I thought he was going to pass out. But he held her just as tight.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” she said without a trace of anger.
“Oh, Mama, I didn’t know if I was ever going to get back home. But Taylor found me!” His eyes glistened. “I knew he would.”
“Yes, baby, I knew he would, too!” She kissed him twice more, grinning wide. Then she rose and came to me, and this time her movements were slow. Her eyes were flooded with tears as she reached up to cup my face in her hands. She stood and looked into my eyes for the longest time. I basked in the pride and the love in my mother’s gaze. All others around us seemed to disappear. At length, Mama said softly, “Thank you.”
My chest swelled. To me, it felt as if she’d shouted it off the rooftop. “I promised you,” I told her.
She hugged me and I caught scent of her perfume, the same she always wore. I would never smell that scent without thinking of my mother.
People were jostling us now, crowding in to slap my back, congratulate me. Smiling faces surrounded us, men, women, and children, tears in their eyes. Old Sheriff Cable was surrounded by people slapping his back and shaking his hand, telling him he was sheriff for life. He grinned and bore it with his usual good humor. The Old Captains beamed in the attention, fiercely proud of the role they’d played in the rescue. This was their town, after all. Forester Bill, the deputy, and other policemen were besieged with plates overflowing with food. A mug of beer was thrust in my hand. I raised it in a silent toast and drank thirstily. The joy in the room could not be contained. It was infectious. Each and every one came to hug the rescuers, then they began hugging each other, tears coursing down their faces, shouting out, “This was a Christmas miracle!”
“Merry Christmas!”
There was a fracas at the door and shouts of “Gangway!” My father, his face flushed and with snow on his cap, held the base of a tree in his arms. Some of his friends, also with snow on their caps and shoulders, held the tip as they plowed through the crowd across the room to the front corner by the window. They set the tree to a stand and I laughed out loud. It was the spindly tree that Miller had cut. Miller ran to the tree and stood spread-eagled, staring at it. His joy at seeing it could not be contained. And, too, his pride.
“I cut it down myself!” he announced to the cheers of all who heard. “It’s the best Christmas tree ever!”
My father and his friends exchanged glances and chortled. No one would ever say a word against that puny tree.
More people were coming in and it was a bedlam of joy, greetings, and smiles. From a quieter corner where I stood with Thor at my side and a beer in my hand, I spotted Mrs. Davidson entering the house with Dill at her side. Her eyes were bright as she scanned the room. In her arms she was carrying a big, brown-eyed Labrador puppy.
“There he is!” Dill shouted, and shot forward through the crowd, calling out, “Miller! Miller!”
I grabbed Mama’s arm and pointed her in the direction of Mrs. Davidson.
Her eyes widened and she looked around the room excitedly. “Oh my! Where’s Miller?”
I took her arm and guided her to the corner where Daddy and Miller were standing. Mrs. Davidson was making a beeline for them as well. We all met at the tree.
“Miller, look who’s here!” Mama exclaimed.
Miller already knew. His eyes were fixed on the puppy in stunned surprise. He looked as if he could’ve been knocked over by one of those soft, fat snowflakes.
Mrs. Davidson spoke to Cap. “I’d heard about what happened.”
Alistair cleared his throat and leaned closer to Mrs. Davidson. He spoke quietly, but standing so close to her, I couldn’t help but overhear.
“I’m, uh, sorry, but I wasn’t paid for the job yet. I can’t pay you till after Christmas.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mrs. Davidson grinned. “You don’t think I’d let a little thing like that stand in the way of your Christmas gift! We’re friends!”
I saw my father’s mouth slip into a crooked grin of humble gratitude. “I’m obliged” was all he could get out.
Mrs. Davidson slipped the puppy into Alistair’s arms. The puppy grunted and looked around the room with a bewildered expression. Thor came up to sniff the puppy’s bottom, which made the puppy press away from the mighty nose.
Mrs. Davidson said, “I think you’re the one who should hand over the puppy. It’s your gift, after all.”
Mama pressed Brenda Davidson’s arm. “What’s going on?” she asked sotto voce.
Mrs. Davidson’s face was filled with emotion. “Cap wanted it to be a surprise. He made a down payment on this puppy weeks ago. But bless his heart, he made me promise not to tell anyone. It wasn’t easy. I wanted to tell you that day Miller came to the house, but I just couldn’t.”
Mama put her fingers to her mouth and turned, eyes filling, to stare at Alistair. So did I. The jig was up. We all knew now why Daddy had been so devastated at not being paid before Christmas. The old Scrooge had planned a big surprise that would mean the world to all of us.
“Merry Christmas!” Mrs. Davidson said in a rush, and kissed Mama’s cheek.
Alistair’s smile was shaky and he seemed a bit shy as he turned to face Miller and held out the puppy. “Merry Christmas, Son.”
Miller’s face was pale with disbelief. Behind him, Dill was grinning ear to ear, no doubt relieved to be able to share the secret at long last. He nudged Miller forward. “Go on. Get him!”
Miller stumbled forward and reached out his arms. Alistair carefully shifted the puppy into them. Miller closed his eyes and laughed as the puppy began licking his eyes, his nose, his face, in excitement.
“Careful he doesn’t pee on you,” Dill said.
“I don’t care if he does,” Miller replied, laughing.
Mama walked swiftly to Alistair and put her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you for the best Christmas.”
Someone turned on Mama’s CD player, and Bing Crosby sang out “White Christmas” through the room. The irony was lost on no one as everyone burst out laughing and toasted the snow. Now that Miller was safe at home, we could all relax and enjoy the rare sight of the flakes gracefully swirling in the night air outside our windows.
Everyone started to sing with the crescendo of the song. I led Thor through the room, grabbed my coat from the back of a chair, and, slipping it on, walked out the front door. The crisp, cool air felt fresh and welcome after the press of the crowd. I couldn’t have endured it without Thor. My hand had never left the soft fur of Thor’s neck throughout the emotional scenes. But it was all good, I thought to myself, breathing out a plume of a
ir in relief.
The snow fell soundlessly around me. I appreciated the relative silence, broken only by the muffled sound of the party’s singing. I pulled up the collar of my coat and walked with Thor trotting happily at my side, down the front walkway to the sidewalk.
“Which way?” I asked Thor.
He looked up at me, total trust in my decision shining in his eyes.
I grinned. “Right, then.” I paused to look in the front windows of my home. I caught a glimpse of the spindly tree and, beside it, Daddy standing with his arm around Mama. Miller was still holding his puppy, and I laughed, imagining he wouldn’t let go of that pup all night.
I looked around at the dark night. The streetlamps illuminated the white flakes as they twisted and twirled in the air, so fat they looked like feathers falling from the sky. “A white Christmas,” I said aloud, hearing the disbelief in my voice. I stood and watched the flakes fall for several minutes, feeling the rarity of the moment. Even the magic. We all knew the snow wouldn’t last. It might even melt at sunrise.
But for tonight, everyone agreed it was a miracle.
I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!
—Scrooge, A Christmas Carol
Epilogue
CHRISTMAS EVE 2015
SEA BREEZE, SULLIVAN’S ISLAND, SC
Taylor
The doorbell of Sea Breeze rang. Thor jumped up and barked his warning, then immediately trotted off to the front door. The baby startled at the noise and commenced crying. Harper cooed and brought the baby up to her shoulder.
“That’ll be them,” Mamaw announced, setting down her knitting. The pink and white yarn was taking the shape of a petite sweater for her namesake.
I smiled in anticipation of our guests, set down my drink, and walked to the front door of Sea Breeze. The historic house has been in Harper’s family for generations. It was one of the early summer cottages on Sullivan’s Island and a family treasure. Each nook and cranny was filled with charm, memories, and history. I’d met Harper in this house. Fell in love with her here. Married her and had our first child here. My best memories were now embedded in Sea Breeze.
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