She wandered idly through the spacious house. Anywhere else in the country her home would be considered a mansion. But in this affluent Los Angeles suburb it was simply a big house.
Each and every room was pristine and perfect. Every feature, every aspect from sofas to art remained exactly as the high-priced decorator had arranged it twenty years ago. White on white. Unsullied, unspoiled, untouched. It struck her often lately how there was really nothing personal in her home. No photos of friends and family, no knickknacks picked up on fun-filled vacations, no out-of-place gifts cherished for the memory of the giver alone.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor and wondered why her thoughts turned more and more not to what she had but what she didn’t. It must be this day, nothing more. Christmas Eve was an anniversary of sorts for her, one she had usually managed to ignore. But this year…this year things were different.
Katherine stepped into her bedroom, as impersonal as everything else in this house, and reached to turn on the television. No. She pulled back her hand in irritation. One of the hundred or so versions of that damned Christmas Carol might be on. She detested that blasted story. Once, years ago, an acquaintance had suggested that perhaps Scrooge wasn’t all bad, just misunderstood. Why, wasn’t the maligned creature merely a small businessman struggling to keep his head above water while coping with incompetent employees? She’d laughed at the time but privately thought there was some truth to the theory. Poor Scrooge was no doubt simply the nineteenth-century version of a workaholic.
Just like me.
She shook off the idea and cast a critical glance around the sun-filled room. Sunshine in December. Only in southern California. It was enough to make you laugh out loud. It never truly felt like Christmas here. What were the holidays without snow? Her only acknowledgment, or maybe concession, to the season these days was a wreath on the front door and an extravagant arrangement in the foyer, both from a very chic, very expensive florist.
Why was she so restless today? There were any number of things she could do to keep busy. She still retained her seat on several corporate and charitable boards. There was always correspondence or odds and ends to deal with. Today’s issue of the Wall Street Journal still sat untouched. The latest nonfiction bestseller rested on the table beside her bed. Nothing appeared the least bit interesting.
It was that ridiculous visit. She shook her head in disgust. How could she have given into such an asinine impulse? It was sheer stupidity.
She grabbed the newspaper with newfound determination and settled into a chair. Past time to put that nonsense behind her. But the headlines made no sense, the words swam, the print blurred. All she could see were his eyes. Dark and deep. The color of Christmas Eve. She’d seen those eyes before.
He called me Katie.
The paper fell from her hands as if in slow motion.
He called me Katie.
The realization filled her with a kind of awe. Was there a chance then, after all? Could a woman who’d spent her entire life with her faith based firmly on reality, on statistics and balance sheets and bottom lines, now believe in miracles?
She rose from her chair and stepped quickly to the walk-in closet, afraid now to waste even a second. She knew where it was, had always known where it was, but never sought it out before today. Imagine—the irony pulled a smile to her lips—two impulses given into in one day. This must be some kind of record.
She pushed aside clear plastic boxes of neatly stacked shoes, seldom-used dress pumps, until she found an old-fashioned hatbox. She pulled the cardboard carton from its forgotten corner, ignoring the fine layer of dust that covered the faded gray and white striped design.
The eagerness of a child presented with a new toy or rediscovering a long-lost favorite filled her and she sank onto the plush carpet on the floor. Her hands trembled as she untied the dingy white cord binding the ancient box together. Her breath seemed to stop and she lifted the lid.
There was so little here. She knew, of course, before she opened the carton; still, the pitiful store of memories brought a lump to her throat. She grasped a handful of letters, tied with a string, all unopened, and relived the long-ago moment when she’d received them and knew exactly what they meant. She pulled out a delicate glass ball, frosted with glitter and the magic of Christmas, the kind of no-longer-seen ornament that could capture the imagination of children who stared into its enchanted depths.
There was only one item left.
With a careful touch, she picked up a small, rectangular box, its cellophane window yellowed and brittle with age. The brown, withered remains of a flower within bore no resemblance to the fragrant, snowy white gardenia it had been, what was it now, fifty plus years ago?
Her excitement crumbled and sorrow washed over her. For what might have been. And what was.
He called me Katie.
The meager bits and pieces of the past were Katie’s, not Katherine’s. Nobody called her Katie. Not anymore. But once, nobody had called her anything else…
“…Katie.”
Snowflakes flurried against the glass, incandescent fireflies flitting through a blue-black night.
“Katie Bedford, would you please stop staring out the window and take this?” Mary Ann Hanson held up a hand-blown glass ball and glared with obvious irritation.
Katie reached down from her perch on the rickety ladder and plucked the ornament from her friend’s hand. “I was looking at the snow. It’s really coming down now.”
Mary Ann’s expression softened as if the beauty of Mother Nature’s display washed away her annoyance. “It is pretty, isn’t it? Just like a greeting card.”
Katie wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean that exactly. Oh, it’s nice enough, I suppose, but I’m tired of snow. Winter’s barely started and it feels like it’s been snowing forever.”
“Katie!” Mary Ann raised a chastising brow. “Don’t be such a Scrooge. Why, snow for Christmas is practically perfect.”
“I suppose,” Katie murmured, her gaze wandering to the window once again. “But don’t you ever wonder what Christmas would be like someplace warm? Someplace where you didn’t have to fight icy sidewalks and slick roads all the time? Where the grass was green and flowers bloomed even at Christmas?”
“No,” Mary Ann said staunchly. “Never. I love snow, especially at Christmas.”
“Still…” Katie threw a last glance at the winter display outside the window and shrugged to herself. It was lovely, of course, but even inside the cozy community hall-turned-canteen, the cold beat against the glass and shivers skated along her arms.
Mary Ann released an impatient sigh. “Katie, are you going to hang that ball or sit up there on that ladder all night?”
“Sorry.” Katie studied the tall, lush fir and quickly picked a spot for the ornament. “These are beautiful. Where on earth did they come from?”
Mary Ann shook her head. “Beats me. One of the chaperons said they must have been donated, anonymously I guess. There was a big box full of them at the door to the hall tonight when Mrs. Gillum and the others arrived to start setting up for the dance. It must have been somebody who took one look at this tree and thought it needed help.”
“Mary Ann.” Katie laughed. “I can’t believe our very own spirit of Christmas present is saying such sacrilegious things.”
Mary Ann stuck her tongue out. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Christmas spirit, it’s the truth. Our homemade decorations looked pretty darn pathetic.” She tossed the tree a satisfied nod. “This is much better. Those balls give it just the right touch of—”
“Gaudy flamboyance?” Katie teased.
“I was going to say magic.” Mary Ann glared. “Honestly, Katie, I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year. I really—”
“Enough, enough.” Katie thrust her hands out in front of her in an effort to ward off any more of Mary Ann’s comments. “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right. The ornaments do add a bit of magic.”
> “And there should be magic at Christmas,” Mary Ann huffed.
Katie nodded and stifled a grin. “Absolutely. Now, give me a hand and I’ll get off this thing.”
Mary Ann cast her a mollified look and steadied her descent down the ladder. Katie brushed off the needles clinging to her skirt and glanced around the rapidly filling room. There would be a full crowd here tonight. She and Mary Ann had served as canteen hostesses every evening since their return home from school for the holidays. The place was always busy. But tonight was different. Tonight was Christmas Eve.
Mary Ann studied the room with a critical eye. “I wonder if he’ll be here tonight.”
Katie pulled her brows together in a puzzled frown. “Who?”
“Prince Charming, of course.” Mary Ann’s gaze never wavered from the growing assembly of young men.
“What on earth are you ta—” Abruptly the answer hit her. “Mary Ann Hanson, you’re not on that husband hunt of yours again?”
“Um-hum,” Mary Ann said, obviously more concerned with her search for Mr. Right than with Katie’s words.
“I can’t believe—”
“I can’t believe you’re not doing the same thing.” Mary Ann turned eyes wide with exasperation toward her friend. “Look at us. We’re not getting any younger. If we don’t do something soon, all the good men will be gone. We’ll be old maids.”
Katie laughed. “I’m sure we have a couple of good years left. We’re only twenty, not quite ancient yet. I don’t think there’s any need to worry.”
“Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.” Mary Ann’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you want to get married?”
“Sure.” Even to her own ears, her answer sounded a little strained. “Of course I do.”
“Well, what better opportunity will you have to find a man than right here?” Mary Ann’s wide gesture encompassed the room. “Just look at the selection: tall, short, dark, fair, soldiers, sailors, marines. You can practically pick and choose to suit your taste.”
“A virtual smorgasbord of men,” Katie said wryly. “Or maybe a better description would be ‘potluck.’”
“Well, I don’t care what you think. I think this is the perfect chance to meet someone special. To find that one man who’s your destiny, your fate.” Mary Ann tossed her head in a flurry of blond hair. “And I, for one, want that fate. I want to get married and have children and fall in love.”
Katie raised a curious brow. “Not necessarily in that order, I hope.”
“Don’t be silly. Love comes first.” Mary Ann’s eyes widened as if she’d just been hit by a revelation. “What about love, Katie? Don’t you want love either?”
“Of course I want love. And marriage,” Katie said impatiently. This entire conversation, even with her closest friend, was getting far too near to a truth Katie didn’t especially want to face. “But someday, not now. I’m in no hurry to go rushing down the aisle with anyone. And as for love…” Her gaze drifted across the room and lingered on a pretty woman barely ten years older than herself.
Pamela Gillum stood beside the refreshment table doling out cookies and punch and good spirits. She lived next door to Katie’s family and, right now, lived there alone with her three children. Her husband was a captain in the Air Corps, stationed somewhere in England. Pamela held up well publicly, but Katie noted how the older woman looked when she thought no one watched. Then her composure crumbled. Scared was the best description. Maybe even terrified. Of every letter, every knock on the door, every newspaper headline. Fear etched tiny lines in her forehead and instilled a barely noticeable tremble in her hands and rimmed her eyes with red.
“I don’t think this is the time for love,” Katie said under her breath.
Mary Ann’s gaze followed hers. “The war can’t last forever.”
Katie shook her head in disdain. “That’s what we said last year. Remember? Right after Pearl Harbor? Everyone said this would be a short war. We’d wipe out the Japanese and march right into Germany and deal with Hitler and it would be over.”
“But we can still—”
“Mary Ann, grow up,” Katie said sharply. “Don’t you read the papers at all? It’s 1942. If you’re hoping for a quick end to this war you can forget it right now and face the facts. This is going to be a long, hard haul. And all these guys you’ve got your eye on…”
She waved at the still swelling throng. “Look at them, Mary Ann. Half of them are younger than we are. They’re just kids. We get to go home tonight when this party’s over. They’re going places they’ve never been, to do a job nobody should have to do. And a whole lot of them won’t be coming home. Ever. Just like Harry.”
“I know that,” Mary Ann said quietly. “I just don’t want to think about it. I’d much rather have a little fun and help them have a good time before they go. Is that so wrong?”
Guilt shot through Katie and immediately she regretted her harsh words. Mary Ann had a good heart, and there was no excuse for taking out her own frustrations about the war on her best friend.
“Of course not.” Katie tossed her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell you something else, Katie.” The blonde squared her shoulders and met Katie’s gaze straight on. “If I find my prince here, I don’t care what happens next. If I have to spend however long this war lasts living like Mrs. Gillum, I can bear it. I could even take finding somebody and…losing him.”
She shook her head. “I know you think it’s stupid, and maybe it is, but I truly believe that when you find love you need to grab it right then and there. So what if life doesn’t turn out the way you thought, if you don’t get to live happily ever after, at least you’d have something. It might only be for a year or a week or just one night. Love is worth the risk.” She glared with defiance. “It’s got to be.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Katie said softly. “I think it’s very brave. I don’t have that kind of courage.”
“No?” Mary Ann stared at her for a moment as if considering her answer. Then an impish light twinkled in her eye. “But you do have long legs and Rita Hay-worth hair and dark, mysterious eyes that make men weak. Let’s face it, you’re a dish. You don’t need courage.”
Katie laughed with relief at the return of her friend’s good humor. “Maybe not, but I’ll always need a friend.
“That you’ve got, pal.” Mary Ann grinned, and the girls shook hands in an exaggerated gesture of friendship.
A moment later, an elderly woman bustled up to them with an authoritative manner that would have had even the most decorated generals at the War Department green with envy. With a few brisk, nononsense orders she directed the removal of the ladder by high-school-aged volunteers dressed like elves.
“Some of the local florists got together and donated these for the hostesses tonight.” The energetic matron thrust two small, cream-colored boxes at them. “Gardenias, I believe. Isn’t it wonderful how everyone wants to do their part for the war effort?”
The girls traded swift glances.
“Wonderful,” Mary Ann echoed with a remarkably straight face.
Katie bit back a smile. “For the war effort, of course.”
“Of course.” The chaperon nodded firmly, oblivious to any possibility of amusement. “Now, you two have a lovely time this evening and be sure to follow the rules. They’re there for your protection, you know.” She cocked a stern brow as if daring them, right then and there, to break the myriad of rules and regulations designed for the express purpose of allowing healthy young men and women to have fun, but not too much fun. The girls stared back innocently. Apparently satisfied, the formidable guardian of virtue marched off to rally the rest of her troops.
Katie pulled the lid off her box and picked up the corsage. “Gardenias in winter. Very nice. Although they don’t do well in the cold.”
“Who cares?” Mary Ann plucked the fragrant flower from its carton. “I don’t know about the war effort in general, bu
t this certainly does do something for my own personal battle plans.” She pinned the blossom on her sweater and cast an assessing gaze around the room. At once her eyes lit up.
“Spotted a potential target?” Katie said, smothering her amusement.
“You’d better believe it.” Mary Ann tossed her friend a devilish grin. “See you later.”
“Happy hunting.” Katie grinned back, and her friend sauntered off with a casual manner that belied the determination in her eye.
A burst of music from the far end of the hall caught Katie’s attention. A group that could be called a band by only the loosest definition tuned up with all the subtlety of tortured animals. It was an odd mix of callow youth, who stared at the soldiers with naive envy, and older gentlemen, who cast wistful glances at the men in uniform as if remembering the victorious battles of their own wartime coming-of-age.
She scanned the now packed room, curious to see if anyone she knew was here. A silly idea, of course. All the local boys would be home with their families on Christmas Eve. It might very well be their last Christmas Eve together for a long time.
A wave seemed to undulate through the crowd and it parted for a moment, as if someone had drawn an invisible line down the middle of the hall. Her glance idly followed the open pathway, past one uniform after another, until stopped by a figure smack dab in her line of sight. Her gaze wandered up long, powerful legs, strong hands, and broad shoulders to a face fit for the hero of a movie. No, she amended the thought, make that the hero’s best friend.
He was handsome in that kind of wonderful all-American-boy sort of way. Just the type of man she always seemed to fall for: tall with dark hair and darker eyes. He grinned a crooked sort of smile that said without words this was a man of confidence, a man who saw the humor in life, a man without fear.
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