A Proposal for Christmas: State SecretsThe Five Days of Christmas

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Hey, Charlie! You’ve got a visitor....” She looked up at Colt as she steered him to the man’s bedside and drew out a chair for him to sit on. “Your name, sir?”

  “Colt,” he told her uncomfortably as he sat down.

  “Charlie, meet Colt.” The nurse leaned over and patted the sixty-year-old vet’s stooped shoulders.

  Charlie gave her a slight smile. He lifted his long, thin arm, his large-knuckled fingers extended outward. “Hey, Colt...where are you, son? Nurse Jones here was promising me that someone would read my boy’s letter to me.” He gripped the badly wrinkled letter in his other hand. “I’d be mighty appreciative if you could do that.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. Charlie had obviously hung on to that letter like life itself; it was wrinkled and worn from the old vet handling it so much. Colt felt panicked when Nurse Jones hurried away. Turning his full attention to the vet, he saw that Charlie’s eyes were a milky, opaque color. He was totally blind, Colt realized. Mouth tightening, he lifted his hand and met Charlie’s outstretched one. The old man’s fingers wrapped strongly around his.

  “Good to meet you, Colt. They said Morgan Trayhern’s people were comin’ in this morning. We’ve been pretty excited all week. We don’t get many visitors, you know? I’ve been here for five years now.” He grimaced. “This diabetes is killin’ me inches at a time.” He managed a sour smile, trying to make a joke despite the serious nature of his illness.

  Squeezing Charlie’s hand, Colt released it as if it was a hot poker burning him. He looked up to see Abbie chatting excitedly with vets on the other side of the ward. Each man lit up like a lightbulb beneath her effusive warmth and care. Uneasily, he returned his attention to Charlie. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. When he realized that Charlie had one leg missing up to his knee beneath the mass of blankets, Colt winced. When diabetes was serious, gangrene would set in, and then that part of the body had to be amputated or the person would die. The man’s skin was washed out and he was gaunt looking. His hair hung in a semicircle, like a halo, around his bald, shining head. Silvery hairs stuck out like a hen’s nest, in need of a combing. Despite the old soldier’s medical condition, Colt couldn’t resist the smile on his nearly toothless mouth. It was clear the man had been through hell, and yet he was still in good spirits.

  “What war did you serve in, sir?” Colt asked.

  Charlie sobered. “I was in Korea with the marines at the Frozen Chosin.”

  “Helluva place.”

  “Helluva place,” Charlie agreed grimly. “Got my legs shot up there. Nearly froze to death. One of my buddies paid with his life to get me help.” His smile dissolved. “I’ve been in and out of VA hospitals since then. About twenty years ago, I got diabetes. My son, who’s serving in the Army M.P.s—military police—over in Kosovo, is real worried about me. My wife, Wanda, died five years ago, and now—” he sighed “—I’m a full-time resident here.” He brightened and held up the badly worn white envelope. “This is from Stephen, my son. It would be a heck of a Christmas gift if you could read it to me. I’d be forever grateful. Nurse Jones usually reads his mail to me, but they’ve had emergencies going on for the last two days and no one has had time to spend with me to read it. Maybe you could?”

  He held out the envelope to Colt. His hand was trembling badly.

  Colt hesitantly took the crinkled letter. It was still sealed. He saw hope burning in Charlie’s heavily lined face. “Sure,” he rasped, “I’ll do that for you....” And he slowly opened it as if it were going to bite him. He didn’t want to know what was inside that envelope. A frisson of fear ran through him.

  “I’m so proud of my son,” Charlie said. “He’s an officer, you know. A captain. A chip off the old block here.” He managed a strained laugh. “Well, I wasn’t too happy at first that he chose the Army over the Marine Corps. I’d have liked him to have been a marine, but it was his choice.” Opening his hands, he added, “I worry atrociously about him. He’s up there on the front lines tryin’ to keep peace between the Serbs and the Kosovars. The people hate each other over there. And over what? Religion, of all things! Whatever happened to ‘love thy neighbor’? Where is tolerance? They’re a crazy bunch over there, if you ask me.”

  His conscience eating at him, Colt felt his mouth drying up. He longed for a glass of water, anything to ease the pain forming like a fist in his chest region as he slowly opened the typed letter. “It’s bad over there,” he managed to say in a strained tone.

  Charlie sat forward, attentive, his face glowing with expectation at having the letter read.

  Taking a deep, ragged breath, Colt began to read out loud to him.

  “Hi Dad...I hope this reaches you by Christmas. I’m sorry I can’t be there. I know Frannie is sending you a box of goodies, so let me know if it arrives in time? She said she was making you some sugar-free cookies that you could eat a little of once a day. Just be sure and clear it with your doc first, okay?”

  “Frannie is his wife,” Charlie said excitedly. He rubbed his hand together in anticipation. “Ain’t got the box yet. Bet it will arrive today...I hope....”

  Colt heard the excitement in his voice. There were tears glimmering in Charlie’s eyes. Shutting his own eyes tightly, Colt dragged in another breath of air. He felt like he was suffocating. Forcing his eyes open once more, he went on.

  “I don’t know what to do, Dad. This place is hell on earth. The people hate one another. I never knew what hate was till me and my company came over here. They keep telling us to keep the peace, but Dad, it’s worse than any nightmare I could concoct. I survived the Gulf War and felt lucky, but this place is worse....”

  Colt hesitated. His voice became choked. Glancing up, he saw Charlie’s face go slack and heavy with concern. Colt’s heart began to pound in earnest as he forced himself to go on.

  “Yesterday, we found the body of a dead Kosovar girl. She’d wandered into a Serb part of town, chasing her little puppy, which had gotten loose. They’d stoned her to death before we could reach her because she was on their property. She was just fourteen, so pretty...what a waste of life.”

  “My poor son,” Charlie whispered. He ran his hands across his face and sniffed. “Oh, my poor boy...how awful. And that little girl... I just can’t believe it...I just can’t. An innocent child...”

  Colt fought his own reaction. The words blurred on the paper. The letter trembled in his hand. Flashes of what he’d seen—the blood, the screams, the terror— avalanched through him. Sweat popped out on his deeply furrowed brow as he sat there trying to get a handle on his escaping emotions. In an effort to avoid feeling, he looked up at old Charlie. The man was sitting there, his hands tightly clasped in his lap, tears streaming down his face.

  “Finish it,” he told Colt in an unsteady tone. “I need to hear the rest. My son...he’s hurting, and I know that hurt. Damn war...”

  Colt stood up and sat down on the side of Charlie’s bed, his back to the rest of the ward. He didn’t want anyone to see his face or the tears glittering dangerously in his own eyes. His hip grazed Charlie’s. The old man reached out, found his hand and squeezed it—hard. He continued to hold on to Colt’s hand with a clinging grip.

  “Please...read the rest?” he quavered.

  Shaking his head, Colt forced himself to read the rest of the letter in a low, ragged tone that only Charlie could hear. Colt wasn’t sure he could finish it; each word ripped more scar tissue off that bleeding wound within him from his own experiences in Kosovo.

  “Dad, I’m sorry to send this letter to you so close to Christmas. You don’t need to hear this, but I have to talk to someone about it before it eats me up alive. My men can’t see me cry...and I don’t ever want to tell Frannie about this. You’re my only outlet, and I know you understand because of all that you went through in Korea. I got out of the Humvee and ran over to where the little girl was lying in the middle of that cobblestone street. I hoped she was still alive. Her puppy was sitting next to he
r, howling. It just tore me up, Dad. I leaned down and felt for a pulse. She was gone. All I could do was pick her up in my arms. She was so pretty. I just stood there with her in my arms, holding her and thinking of our own daughter, Tracey, who is almost the same age. I kept thinking about this poor dead girl’s parents and what they would do when they found out she died like this. I wanted to cry so bad, but I knew my men were watching me.

  “The street was deserted. The Serbs were hiding inside their homes, but I could feel them watching me...watching us from behind the curtains over the windows. I could feel their hatred and I could feel that they weren’t sorry they’d taken this child’s life. I mean...my God, she was only fourteen and innocent. She had her whole life ahead of her. I took her back to the Humvee and we wrapped her in a blanket. I didn’t want to let her go, so I sat in the passenger side and held her in my arms. I didn’t want her to be left alone. I wanted her to know someone cared. Some of the guys started to cry, Dad. I tried to stay firm and brave for them. I tried to tell them it was all right, when nothing was, really. I felt so damned helpless and useless to them—to myself.

  “And then the puppy started toward us. I ordered my sergeant to grab the little guy. He was about the size of a cantaloupe, and my sergeant stuffed him inside his parka because it was so cold. I figured the Serbs would kill him, too, because he belonged to a Kosovar. I couldn’t save the little girl, but we could save her puppy. And then we left and went back to H.Q.

  “Back at our bivouac of tents, the puppy has become our mascot of sorts. One of the guys named him Toto, because the little girl reminded all of them of Dorothy from Oz. She’d been wearing a rainbow-colored skirt and a white blouse. In some ways, the puppy has helped us. But he reminds me daily of what I saw. All I can remember is holding her...her face so clean, so unlined and innocent. I go to sleep seeing her. I dream about her, and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do. I was hoping you could help me...let me know what will get rid of her face in my nightmares.

  “I’m sorry to burden you with this. I wish I could be there with Frannie and Tracey to celebrate Christmas with you, but I can’t. Maybe next year, if the army sends me stateside, we can make it. Just know I love you. I wish you were here so we could visit. I always liked the times when we’d sit down and just talk. I know you’d have something to say that could help me through this. Merry Christmas, Dad.

  Your loving son,

  Stephen.”

  Colt heard the old man sob. He looked up, and found Charlie blurred before him. The old vet had covered his face with his hand, and was sobbing loudly. Shocked that he would cry so openly in such a public place, Colt sat there frozen for a moment. The words from the letter ripped him apart. He’d seen similar travesties over in Kosovo.

  Setting the letter on the bed stand, Colt released Charlie’s hand and awkwardly patted the old man’s shaking shoulder as he wept unashamedly. Then, driven by something deep within him, Colt opened his arms, drew the thin old man forward and held him while he cried for his son’s painful experience. As Charlie laid his head on Colt’s shoulder, his weeping grew harsher and deeper. He gripped Colt with his thin arms. Colt closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but it was impossible. The world skidded to a halt for him as he sat there holding a man crying for his son’s pain.

  Tears jammed into Colt’s own eyes. It took everything he had to stop them. Bending his head foreword, he held the old man gently in his embrace and let him weep.

  * * *

  Abbie remained near Colt after they’d left the VA hospital. Their second stop was at the main shelter in Anaconda, St. Mary’s Shelter for the Poor, which helped street people and the homeless. Morgan donated a hefty check every holiday in support of the organization’s efforts, and the Perseus team always came to help serve the Christmas Eve meal. This was the kind of thing Abbie loved the most—helping those who were not as well off as she was. But now, as she stood behind the counter with Colt, helping him serve the turkey he’d been slicing to those who were standing in line, she saw his face fill with silent suffering.

  She knew it had to do with what had happened at the VA hospital. She’d seen Colt holding old Charlie. Even the men on the ward had known that something important and touching was going on between them. Charlie’s weeping could be heard throughout the room. The men had remained quiet out of respect. Abbie had watched their faces and saw that before long there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. She knew it had to do with the letter, but wisely did not ask Colt for details, even after they’d finished giving out the gift sacks to each veteran.

  As she spooned mashed potatoes and savory gravy onto a young woman’s tray, Abbie smiled gently at her. The girl was barely fourteen, her black hair matted and uncombed. As she responded with a slight, wobbly smile of her own, Abbie noticed that her clothes were threadbare. Abbie couldn’t help crying inwardly for the child. She saw Colt looking at the girl, too, as if she were a nightmare staring back at him. His eyes seemed bloodshot, his mouth a hard line against the suffering he was holding at bay.

  Maybe when he took Abbie back to her log cabin tonight, they might be able to talk. She hoped so, because right now, Colt was looking shell-shocked. Abbie knew that whatever transpired in the VA hospital had stirred up Colt’s own PTSD symptoms, and he was wrestling with them by the minute. She could feel his ongoing anguish, his pain. And all she wanted to do was provide a safe harbor tonight.... Could she reach out to him? Would he trust her in his vulnerable, raw state?

  * * *

  “Coffee or tea?” Abbie asked as Colt moved tiredly to her kitchen table and sat down. Outside, it was snowing once again. Darkness had long since fallen, and the temperature with it. The scents of cinnamon and orange peel drifting around the warm kitchen from the saucepan on the stove made her feel a tad better. On the bus ride home, Colt had been silent and withdrawn. He’d barely spoken to anyone. She’d seen the worried looks on Morgan and Laura’s faces, too.

  Colt sat down and wrapped his hands together on the table. “Whiskey,” he said abruptly. “I need some. Do you have any?”

  Abbie hesitated. The anguish in his tone was harsh and alive. “No...I’m sorry.” He refused to look at her, staring at his hands intently. His mouth was tight and it was obvious he was trying hard to hold back his own raging emotions. Moving quietly around the table, she held out her hand to him. “Come here?”

  Colt twisted his head at the sound of her gentle voice. He stared at her outstretched hand as if it would bite him. Yet despite the storm roiling unchecked within his heart and gut, he reached out for that slender, strong hand of hers. Right now, he needed Abbie. Desperately.

  “Follow me,” she whispered as he eased out of the chair and stood up. Leading Colt to her living room, to the overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace, where a wood fire snapped and crackled, Abbie guided him to sit down. When he did, she moved to his side after easing the shoes off her feet. Snuggling next to his bulk, she placed her arms around him and drew him close. At first he resisted. Then she saw his eyes gleam like silver fire, and he capitulated.

  Abbie felt diminutive against Colt, but she sighed softly as he slid his arms around her and laid his head against her neck and shoulder.

  “There...” she sighed, kissing his hair. “This is better. Much better...” And it was. Christmas music floated unobtrusively around them. The peaceful crackling of the fire reached their ears. Abbie felt Colt begin to relax. In her heart, she knew he needed to be held. Held and kept safe from all that he had experienced today. Her heart soared with the knowledge that she could at least give him this small gift.

  “It was a hard day for you,” Abbie began gently, and moved her hand up the sleeve of his apricot-colored sweater. “The gift you gave Charlie...well, that was special. You helped him so much, Colt....” Abbie waited. She knew she was treading on thin ice as she broached the subject of Charlie breaking down and weeping unashamedly in his arms. Yet intuitively Abbie understood that this was where the storm within
Colt was centered, and it had to be addressed. By providing an opening, she was giving him the opportunity to talk it out if he would. And Abbie knew he needed to talk. She saw his ravaged emotions in his eyes.

  Colt nuzzled against Abbie’s soft, slender neck. She smelled of a spicy orchid fragrance and her own special scent as a woman. Her arms were strong and caring around him. He desperately absorbed her form, the sound of her husky voice edged with tears. “How did you know?” he managed to ask in a cracked voice.

  “Know what, darling?”

  “This. That I need this. You.”

  Abbie laughed gently and rocked him in her arms. “We all need this, Colt. We all need to be held safe against a world gone mad at times. This is the gift of Christmas. Knowing that other people can reach out and help you, heal you and hold you. We’re a big family at Perseus. Morgan and Laura know the hell that everyone goes through, what you might have seen or experienced on a mission...the awful things.... But they also know what helps to heal you—family, care, love and helping others less fortunate than us.”

  Nodding, Colt closed his eyes tightly and continued to absorb her soft, tremulous voice. Abbie’s lips were so close to his cheek. He could feel her moist breath feathering across his flesh.

  Her heart was beating in time with his own, her small breasts pressed against his chest. “Yeah,” he began brokenly, “I needed this....”

  To hell with it, he thought suddenly. He was going to tell her exactly how he felt. Tightening his grip around her for a moment, he rasped, “I need you, Abbie. You’re like a bulwark of strength to me right now. I feel so damned weak. I feel like I’m hurtling out of control....”