by Anna Schmidt
“Need I remind you that the day after Christmas, Sarah’s off to her new mission for the next six months?”
Grace’s laugh was more of a hoot. “Did they brainwash you over there or what? Here’s an idea: ask her not to go.”
“What? I couldn’t do that. I mean, her work is important—to her and to those she serves. She’s not going to just throw that aside on the off chance that . . .” He had said way too much. He realized it the minute that Grace started laughing. “Okay, hanging up now.”
“You know there’s another option,” Grace said.
“And that is?”
“Go with her. Sarah told me she had a vacancy on the team. She wondered if maybe you might be interested. I told her it would be perfectly okay to ask you. So, did she?”
“Say good night, Gracie.”
Max clicked off his phone and set it to recharge. Sometimes his sister could be beyond ridiculous. Take the job after everything he’d experienced over there? Ask her not to go? “Yeah, that’ll work,” Max muttered.
But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered what Sarah would say if he asked her to stay. He’d never do it, of course. He respected her and the work she did too much to put his needs ahead of that. As for going with her, he had promised to keep an open mind, but he was pretty sure there wasn’t a pamphlet in the universe that could persuade him to go back to that part of the world as anything other than the soldier he’d been. And that was highly unlikely because he was battle weary and burnt out, and there was nothing left to give.
Clearly he had allowed his sister to mess with his mind, creating images of things that would never be—could never be. Him with Sarah? Not likely. And yet . . .
* * * * *
To Max’s surprise, Molly took the entire idea of volunteering very seriously. A few days later, on their way to the church soup kitchen they’d finally settled on, Molly peppered her mother with questions—questions that Grace kept directing at Max. “Yeah, Max, how come these people without homes don’t go to a hotel like we do when we go away on vacation?”
He wished Jack were there—or better yet his grandfather. Now there was a man who had been a master at answering a kid’s tough questions without giving them nightmares.
“Here’s the thing, Molly. These folks don’t have a lot of the things that we have. They don’t have a job like your dad does, and that means nobody is paying them money for the work they do.”
“Like sometimes I forget to do my chores, and then Mom won’t give me my allowance till I do?”
“Sort of like that. Anyway, if they don’t have money, they can’t pay for things—like a place to stay or warm clothes or food.”
“You see, sweetie,” Grace chimed in, “they want to work and have all those things but . . .” She stopped talking, clearly at a loss to explain things further.
Max tried again. “You remember when the big hurricane came and lots and lots of people’s houses got broken up and their stuff got wet and ruined and they had to start again?”
“Yeah. We brought cans of food to school. Gramma Karen said we would have to keep on doing what we could until everybody got back on their feet.”
“Well, this is sort of like that. These people need our help and because we know that our friends and neighbors would help us if something bad happened like a hurricane or fire or something—”
“Not that anything is going to happen,” Grace interrupted.
“Mom, it might. You just never know.”
Max thought he had never in his life been happier to see Sarah walking toward them. For reasons he couldn’t define, he was quite sure that Sarah would know exactly how to answer Molly’s questions.
“Sarah!” Molly bounded forward to greet her. “Guess what? We’re on our way to feed the hungry just like Jesus taught us to do.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Grace muttered, but Max saw tears of pride glistening in his sister’s eyes.
“I know,” Sarah was saying. “Could I come along and help?”
“Sure. Uncle Max says these are people like those ones we helped after the big hurricane. But”—Molly frowned—“if they really don’t have a place to live, I don’t suppose they even have a Christmas tree, and I know they don’t have any presents.”
“Well, maybe not, but tonight they are going to spend time in a warm place eating good hot food, and in a way, that’s the best kind of a gift.”
Sarah took Molly’s hand as they walked down the outside steps that led to the church basement-turned-soup kitchen. Max and Grace followed. Max noticed that while he and Grace could not seem to meet the eyes of the men and women already lined up outside the church, Molly had no such reservations.
“Don’t worry,” she told one young man. “We’re going to feed you good stuff.”
The man looked a little taken aback, as if it had been too long since anyone even noticed him at all. And then he smiled at Molly, revealing a missing front tooth. “Thank you, miss.”
Molly’s eyes went wide with surprise as she stared at the man and then slowly she gave him a huge smile—revealing her own missing front tooth. “It’ll grow back,” she whispered as she hurried down the church steps and inside.
In the church’s kitchen, there were large pots of soup steaming on top of the restaurant-style stove, while a woman removed several trays of rolls from the double ovens. Within minutes Grace, Max, Sarah, and even Molly had their assignments. They were to serve the food once the doors opened and the people began streaming in. Around the church hall there were card tables and chairs set up where their guests could sit down.
“Molly, you hand each person this napkin wrapped around a spoon,” the lady in charge instructed. “Then, Grace, you can dish up the soup. Max, you give them a roll, and Sarah, you’re on coffee.” She moved toward the door. “Everybody set?”
“All set,” they assured her.
Max kept a wary eye on Molly, prepared to rescue her if—as he expected—the crowd of people waiting in the cold should suddenly rush the doors in their zeal to be first in line. But to his surprise, they entered in an orderly fashion, nodding—if not smiling—at the church ladies and minister waiting to greet them. When they were all inside, the minister said a prayer, and then their guests began working their way down the line. First they accepted the napkin-wrapped spoon that Molly gave them and then the bowl of soup—barley thick with vegetables—and the roll before finding a place to sit. He saw Sarah moving among the tables offering coffee and hot water for tea. Each table was set with a cloth as well as with cream, sugar, and butter. They might have been at any church supper except for the fact that most of the people ate without speaking, their heads down, their eyes focused on their food.
As soon as Molly completed her assignment, she started working the room. Max saw Grace make a move to stop her, but he restrained her. “She’ll be fine,” he said.
And indeed she was. Along with Sarah, the little girl moved from table to table. At first she mimicked Sarah’s questions about whether or not the person wanted more coffee or tea or perhaps another roll. But then Max noticed that both Molly and Sarah were engaging people in conversation—Sarah would kneel next to someone’s chair and ask a question and gradually the people began to respond. Not in the monosyllables with which they had received their food but in sentences animated with hand gestures, smiles, and in one case tears.
After several minutes, Molly returned to her mother. “Well,” she huffed, “they tell me they never, ever have dessert. We have to do something about that. I’m going to ask Gramma Karen to help me bake cookies for them. Sarah said she would help. And we need a tree, Uncle Max. That woman over there? She hasn’t had a real Christmas tree in nine years. That’s longer than I’ve even been alive. And Mom, there just have to be presents. Even baby Jesus in the stable got presents.”
“Maybe we could arrange to do a special Christmas Day celebration,” Sarah suggested. Her eyes shone with the same childlike enthusiasm with which
Molly greeted new ideas that she liked.
“Pretty short notice,” Max said and immediately regretted throwing a damper on the idea. “I mean, maybe we could get something together for New Year’s.”
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. “One, New Year’s is not about baby Jesus and trees and presents. And two, Sarah won’t even be here.”
Max had not yet gotten used to the way his niece could sometimes sound more adult than the grown-ups in the room.
“I’m sure that everyone in the choir would help if they are in town, and then they all have friends and well—if the church will permit us to use the space . . .”
Max was beginning to see why Sarah must be so very good at her job. Nothing fazed her when she set her mind to accomplish something. He spotted the pastor of the church moving among the people, offering words of comfort. “Let me talk to the minister about using this place. That’s step one.”
The truth was, at that moment he would have walked over hot coals the way Sarah looked at him as if he and he alone could move mountains. He was beginning to think that just maybe Grace was right—just maybe he should ask Sarah to stay, or at least come back to him as soon as possible.
* * * * *
Sarah had tried hard to keep her spirits up as Christmas Day approached, just a week away. She’d love to join her parents as they traveled the Southwest, but it wouldn’t work with her leaving the day after Christmas for the Middle East. She was facing her first Christmas without any real plans—other than packing for the trip. Mary and Ned would spend Christmas Eve and part of the day itself with family and friends in Connecticut, and no doubt Max would be involved with family traditions as well—whether he liked the idea or not. She knew that he would not disappoint his grandmother.
So when Molly talked about a tree and presents and cookies for the homeless people gathered in the hall, Sarah simply took things to the next logical step—a celebration like the ones these folks might have known as children—or perhaps only just dreamed about as children. Why shouldn’t they have the joy of the day with all its trimmings?
As the homeless people slowly—reluctantly—made their way back outside, she and Grace helped clear away the paper dishes and plasticware their guests had used. The church women scoured the soup pots and coffee urns and replaced them on the shelves in the large kitchen. Sarah kept her eye on Max and the minister. She was pleased to see that Max was clearly making a strong case for the cause. On the other hand, it was equally clear that the minister had some concerns.
Oh, please let him see the value of this, she prayed silently.
As she tied shut the last of the large garbage bags, she saw the minister and Max shaking hands—and both of them were smiling. The fact that Molly was hopping up and down and clapping her hands told Sarah the party was on.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Grace warned, coming alongside Sarah and taking in the scene. “We have less than a week to pull this off.”
Not to mention the choir concert on Christmas Eve, Sarah thought. But she refused to be rattled. “Well, maybe this is what people mean when they talk about the season’s hustle and bustle.”
Grace laughed. “You always did go looking for ways to complicate your life, Sarah. But in the end you always make it work,” she added fondly. “Look at her.” She pointed to where Molly was talking nonstop to Max as they crossed the large hall together holding hands. “You have absolutely made her day and in the process taught her the true meaning of Christmas. Thank you.”
“As usual you are giving me way too much credit,” Sarah replied as Max and Molly joined them. “Here’s the person you should thank.”
Max held up his hands. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got one enormous project on your hands.”
“We’ll be fine, won’t we, Sarah?” Molly asked. “We should probably make a list. When Gramma Karen has a party, she always makes a list.”
“I thought we were going ice skating,” Max reminded her.
Molly looked up at him. “Oh, Uncle Max, could we go another day? There’s just so much we have to do for the party.”
“Mission accomplished,” Sarah murmured as she handed Max the garbage bag filled with trash and nodded toward the rear exit. “If you don’t mind.”
“We are going to eat,” Max said firmly. “And Molly, what about your dad? He’s planning to meet us for ice skating.”
Molly reached into Grace’s purse and pulled out the phone. “I can call him. Where are we eating? How about that pizza place Dad loves on Amsterdam? It’s near the station house and he can meet us there.”
Max glanced at Grace and Sarah.
“She seems to have us all organized,” Sarah said with a grin.
“Yeah. I think maybe having her hang out with you might have created an organizational monster.”
* * * * *
Even holding a large bag of garbage, Max couldn’t help but smile. He was really proud of Molly and the way she had embraced the charity work. He carried out the garbage and then stopped in the kitchen to wash his hands and thank the church ladies before picking up Sarah’s jacket. He held it while she shrugged into it. “Thank you,” he said softly, allowing his hands to linger on her shoulders.
She looked back at him and smiled. “I’m glad it’s all worked out. Molly is an incredible little girl. I think maybe she takes after her uncle a little.”
Max couldn’t believe it, but he was actually blushing. He hadn’t blushed in front of a girl since his senior year. And come to think of it—that girl had been Sarah Peterson.
Chapter Six
• • • • • • • • • • • •
With less than a week to go before she left for her next mission, Sarah’s days began early and lasted well into the late night. But where only a few days earlier she had been melancholy, now she could not remember a Christmas season when she had felt more alive—more blessed. In truth, these days she was spending more time at the Wolzak house than she was at her own loft.
Each day she went there straight from her work at the United Nations for whatever Molly had scheduled—with her great-grandmother’s help—as preparation for the party. Tonight they would decorate dozens of sugar and ginger cookies, and she looked forward to an evening spent with Karen Wolzak, Grace, and Molly. “A girl’s night in,” Grace had titled it.
“What about Max . . . and Jack?” Sarah asked.
“They’re off to a Knicks game. We’ll have the place to ourselves—hope you aren’t disappointed,” Grace teased.
“I’m looking forward to it—as I recall, your grandmother makes the best cookies in town.”
“Come as soon as you’re free. We’ll decorate the cookies early so Molly can get to bed, and then we can have an old-fashioned gabfest.”
So as soon as she could break away from the meetings and details that surrounded preparing for the coming mission, Sarah took a subway uptown and walked the last few blocks to the Wolzak home. Outside, a sleek town car was just pulling away, and a man and woman whom she recognized as Grace and Max’s parents walked up the stone steps and entered the brownstone.
Neither Grace nor Max had mentioned that their parents would be back from their travels in Europe today. Sarah hoped they had decided to surprise everyone and at the same time wondered if she should call Grace and see if it would still be all right for her to stop by. After all, Max hadn’t seen his parents at all since he got home from Afghanistan. Sarah was reluctant to interrupt a family reunion.
She called Grace’s cell phone and was surprised when Max answered. “Hi,” he said softly, obviously having seen her name pop up on caller ID. “Where are you? Please tell me you are not calling to cancel. Molly will be really disappointed.”
“I’m actually across the street.” She saw a curtain in the front window move, and then a minute later Max came outside, still holding the phone. “Come on,” he said, motioning her forward and still speaking into the phone.
She crossed the street. Max was standing
by the open front door waiting for her.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she began.
“Trust me, it’s a wonderful idea,” he said.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Michael, you left the front door open when you brought the luggage in,” a woman called out, and Sarah heard the click of high heels on the tiled floor as she stepped inside. The woman was tall and willowy, tanned and beautifully dressed in a classic suit made in the Chanel style. Or perhaps it was a Chanel original, Sarah reminded herself.
“Honestly, Maxwell, your father would forget . . .” She looked at Sarah and then back at her son.
“Mother, you remember Sarah Peterson?” Max said as he closed the front door. “Her family lived next door to Gramma Karen. She and Grace were good friends.”
It was clear that the woman had no memory of her whatsoever. Sarah stepped forward and offered her a handshake. “It’s so very nice to see you again, Mrs. Wolzak.”
“Marilyn—please,” Max’s mother replied. “My mother-inlaw is Mrs. Wolzak in this house.” She studied Sarah for a long moment and then turned to Max and arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Evidently she was waiting for further explanation for Sarah’s presence.
Just then Molly raced in from the kitchen. “Sarah! Finally. Gramma Karen has made a bazillion cookies, but Nana is here now and that gives us an extra pair of hands—that’s what Gramma Karen says anyway.”
She looked at her grandmother with the critical eye of a seven-year-old. “You’d better put on an apron,” she said, “and flat shoes. I’ll get your slippers.” She took off then, bounding up the curved stairway.
Sarah noticed that Max was having difficulty hiding a smile.
“Do not laugh at the child, Maxwell,” his mother instructed. “It only encourages her rambunctious behavior.”
A man—an older version of Max—stepped into the front hall. “Hello,” he said, and Sarah immediately liked the way his eyes twinkled with interest and curiosity. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Mike Wolzak, and you are . . .”