Kate watched as three of the children ran halfway up the snow-covered slope and suddenly dropped onto their backs, waving their arms and sliding their legs to and fro. They stood with great care, then each of them grabbed the other’s hand, and they leapt forward as far as they could.
Snow angels! Kate thought, smiling at the pretty, smooth silhouettes the children had left in the white.
Kate was instantly transported to her home in suburban Chicago. She could see herself as a little girl, just like the kids who were running around in the snow.
* * *
“Are you ready?” Kate’s mom asked, grabbing her daughter’s hand.
“No!” Kate yelled. “What if it hurts?”
“The snow will break our fall,” her mother said.
“Break?” Kate worried. “Fall?”
Her mother turned to Kate, who had been filled with fear and worry ever since her grandfather had died earlier in the year. It was the family’s first Christmas without their patriarch. “If the snow doesn’t break your fall, the angels will.”
“How?” Kate asked.
“You’re honoring them by making silhouettes of them in the snow,” her mother explained. “They won’t let you get hurt. Ready?”
Kate again grabbed her mother’s hand, shut her eyes, and fell backward with a yelp, landing softly in a big bank of snow.
Whoosh!
“Now do this,” her mother said, making an angel in the snow.
Kate followed suit, and when she had finished, her mother stood carefully in the cleared area and helped her daughter stand. They held hands and took a mighty leap to clear their newly created silhouettes.
“Pretty,” Kate said. “They do look like angels.”
Yells came from the neighboring yards as kids made snowmen or tobogganed down hillsides.
“Can I ask you a question, Mom?” Kate asked quietly.
“Anything.”
“Do you believe in angels?”
“Yes,” her mother said.
“Do you think Grampa is an angel?”
“I do,” she said, before taking a big seat in the snow and patting a spot next to her. Kate sat with another whoosh.
“I think that angels are all around us,” her mother continued. “I think that people like your grampa who we love and miss are around us, even if we can’t see them. Sometimes they might take the form of a cardinal or a hummingbird, or sometimes their spirit might live on in the heirloom angel we place on top of a tree.”
Kate wiped her nose with her mitten and scrunched her face, her cheeks rosy.
“Angels are messengers, Kate,” her mother said. “Sort of intermediaries—or go-betweens—between heaven and earth.”
“Like our postman?” Kate asked. “The person who brings us a letter?”
Her mother laughed, nodding. “Yes, sort of,” she said. “But you have to be aware that angels are present. Most people go through their lives not seeing what’s all around them. It’s easy to get lost in this world. It’s hard to stay present.”
* * *
A loud honk knocked Kate from her memory, and she realized there were no longer any cars in front of her. She waved an embarrassed sorry to the frustrated driver behind her.
Kate navigated down Warson, listening to the friendly voice on her cell give her final directions. She slowed and turned into a driveway, which was canopied with snow-covered trees, and wound back and back through a wooded lot.
Am I in a nature preserve? Kate thought.
Finally, the trees cleared and a red brick home—No, that’s a mini-mansion, Kate thought—towered in front of her. Massive white pillars supported the huge front porch, and the upstairs bedrooms had private terraces.
Definitely Southern, Kate thought. Very Rhett and Scarlett.
St. Louis had a significantly more French and Southern vibe running through its history—a contrast from its rival Chicago—although it considered itself more Eastern than Midwestern.
Kate pulled into the circle drive and looked around.
Where is everyone? she thought.
She picked up her cell, closed her map app, and finally noticed all the texts.
Stuck in traffic, Marvin had messaged three times.
Huge accident on 40 because of the snow, Claire had sent. Who knows when I’ll get there. Sorry.
And finally from Claire: Three inches of snow sends St. Louis into panic! I need French toast!
Kate laughed, then sighed, opened her door, and trudged through the accumulating snow to the front door. She rang the bell. Her eyes widened when a beautiful young woman answered the door.
“Oh,” Kate said. “I’m sorry. I’m, um, Kate Roseberry. I was expecting…”
“Mrs. Doubtfire?” The woman laughed.
Kate furrowed her brow in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’m Janet Edlinger. I’m Mr. Cooper’s nanny.”
“Oh.” Kate stumbled, staring at the woman who looked like a Swedish supermodel turned celebrity nanny, all blond tendrils and rosy cheeks and dewy skin.
Kate self-consciously rubbed her own cheek, which felt as if it had been dehydrated from the van’s scorching heat, the cold air outside, and the endless hours of work.
“Oh, you’re the decorator,” Janet finally said, filling in her own blanks. “Come on in. Coop’s out playing with friends.”
Kate nodded.
“Let me show you the house,” Janet said with a smile.
Kate stopped in her tracks as she stepped in the house.
“Don’t worry about your boots,” Janet said. “With a seven-year-old boy and snow, I’m wiping down the floors nonstop.”
Kate smiled, but that was not why she had stopped. The house certainly had a Gone with the Wind feel: A marble foyer encircled a grand staircase; oil paintings that looked as if they had been lifted from the art museum were individually spotlighted and lined the massive walls that led to a stunning coffered ceiling.
“This way,” Janet said, leading Kate down a parquet hallway and into a living room that was the size of Kate’s entire bungalow.
The living room featured a wall of windows that overlooked woods and a ravine—no other homes were visible. A beautiful creek trickled in the distance, its water steaming, snow-covered logs crisscrossing it.
“It’s so beautiful,” Kate said, before turning and being greeted by a wall of family portraits. She walked up and studied a photo of the family, all dressed in red Christmas sweaters, big smiles on their faces. “And so is she,” Kate continued. “Is this Mrs. Cooper?”
“Yes,” Janet said. “Ella was her name. She passed away last winter. It’s been a tough year on the boys, to say the least. She was diagnosed with cancer just after they were engaged. Mr. Cooper never wavered. Her only dream was to have a child, and she did. She fought every step of the way.”
“I can’t imagine,” Kate said, tears filling her eyes.
“No one should,” Janet said sweetly. “Especially a little boy.”
Kate turned to look at Janet and nodded.
“Is this where they had Christmas?” Kate asked.
“Yes. This was their hangout spot,” Janet said. “And they celebrated Christmas in here.”
“I would, too,” Kate smiled. “I’ll do my best. I just feel … a little awkward about all this, especially since Mr. Cooper doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Janet walked over and put her hand on Kate’s back. “He needs this,” she said softly. “And Coop needs Christmas.”
Kate smiled weakly.
“Do you need any help?” Janet asked.
“You’re used to wiping down floors and kid’s faces,” Kate smiled again, “and I’m used to hauling holiday deco. We’re both Santa’s little helpers.”
Janet laughed. “Just yell if you need me,” she said. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate for Coop. He should be back from the neighbor’s shortly. He’ll be cold.”
Janet turned and walked away, befor
e stopping. “You’re like a Christmas angel,” she said. “Spreading happiness.”
Kate’s heart leapt into her throat. The images of snow angels again filled her head.
Kate headed back to her van and began to haul boxes inside. She’d hoped Marvin and Claire would be here, so she could get started on decorating—and keep her mind preoccupied—but she’d have to do it all herself today.
“Thanks, Mother Nature,” she said, looking up into the swirling snow.
Kate began piling boxes into the corner of the room. She stopped and nervously opened one.
The partners at Mr. Cooper’s law firm had given her no instructions on how to decorate his home, and she didn’t know the family at all. But she had taken the comments he’d made to her—about angels and her angel pin—and run with them.
The boxes were filled with angels, and this one …
What’s gotten into me? Kate thought. I even brought a box of my family’s antique angel ornaments since I wasn’t decorating my own tree this year.
She pulled out a beautiful, hand-carved wooden angel—an angel that had been carved from wood with a single cut, no glue, its wings fanned in thin strips—and ran her fingers over its face. She had gotten it when she traveled to Switzerland. A wood-carver had made it for her while she watched him work.
“An angel,” he had said, creating it without knowing Kate at all, “for an angel.”
Hope you still have some magic in you, Kate thought, placing the ornament back in the box.
She headed back out to the van and braced herself for the heavy lifting: An artificial tree—its base and endless limbs divvied up into many long boxes—sat waiting.
Kate yanked a vertical box toward her, steadied herself and grunted loudly. She balanced the box, took a few big, unsteady steps and then—without warning—her feet slid in the snow, and she threw the box, landing hard on her behind.
The box came open upon landing, stiff, green limbs from the artificial tree springing forth and skidding through the snow.
“Are you OK?”
Kate let out a yelp. Standing beside her, looking down, was a little boy clad in a Sock Monkey stocking cap.
“I … don’t … know,” Kate said.
“Christopher Ogden O’Malley Cooper at your service,” he said. “Coop for short.”
He extended his hands, and Kate slowly stood.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m Kate Roseberry. I’m here to decorate your house for Christmas.”
Coop crossed his arms—the air in his puffy coat making a hissing release—and eyed Kate warily.
“Does my father know about this?” he asked.
Kate gulped.
“Well, no,” she said. “Not technically.”
“Hmmm,” he said, raising a finger to his lips. “Then why are you here?”
Kate explained, the boy carefully weighing every word as if he were a judge on Law and Order. Kate stifled a chuckle: He was a knockoff of his father in every way, from his looks to his legalese, but he was also just a little boy standing in the snow in a Sock Monkey stocking cap.
As she talked, his face softened and his eyes grew bright. “Oh! You’re the lady who helped me with my angel costume! Thank you!”
Coop smiled at her, but then skewed his hazel eyes toward the limbs scattered in the snow.
“But this won’t do,” he said, changing his tone and becoming as formal as if he were a butler on Downtown Abbey. “This won’t do at all.”
Kate watched the little boy fold his arms and survey the artificial tree with great skepticism, shaking his head.
Why does he try to act like he’s forty years old? Kate wondered.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“My mom and dad always cut a real pine tree down from our woods, and we hauled it back ourselves, and then put it in a stand, and my dad gave it a drink of water, and my mom got out this aprony-thing she loved and put it around the tree and then she’d make Christmas cookies in all these cool shapes and then…”
“OK, OK,” Kate said, trying to calm the little boy, whose composure was collapsing, his words coming out with more and more emotion. “We can do that.”
Can we? she thought to herself. Am I getting myself into trouble here?
Kate went to the back of her van. Her job had turned her into a real life “Girl Scout meets Paul Bunyan,” so her van was always filled with any tool for any emergency. She lifted the rubber lining and then a compartment in the trunk, and pulled out a saw.
“Wow,” Coop said, eyes as wide as those of the Sock Monkey.
“You lead the way, OK?” Kate said.
“OK!” Coop said, taking off through the snow, waving his hand at her. “Follow me!”
The duo trudged through the snow and into the woods, trekking down a small path that led to the ravine.
“Be careful,” Kate called, growing worried.
Finally, she came into a swath of woods filled with pines of varying shapes and sizes. Coop was standing in the middle of the trees, slowly pivoting in a circle, his finger again on his lips, surveying each tree carefully.
“Can’t be too big or too small,” he explained, still turning. “Has to have a lot of sturdy limbs so that you can hide ornaments way back near the trunk. And…” Coop stopped and inhaled. “… it has to smell like Christmas.”
Kate smiled. “You’d make a great assistant for me,” she said. “You’re right about picking a perfect tree. How’d you learn all that?”
For a few seconds, Coop did not move or answer. The only sound was the snow falling, the creek burbling.
“My mom,” he said, finally turning to face Kate. “I miss her.”
Coop’s face was wet—with snow and tears—and Kate walked up to him and put her arm around his back.
“I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
The little boy burst into tears and, without thinking, Kate set down the saw, kneeled, and pulled him close. She held him until his sobs subsided.
“Everybody told me she’d always be with me,” he said, looking up at Kate. “But she’s not. She’s not. I’m all alone.”
Kate’s heart shattered, and she held him even tighter.
How much pain has he already experienced in his short life? Kate wondered, fighting back her own tears. It’s not fair.
“She is with you, Coop,” Kate finally whispered, her voice coming out husky and raw in the cold air. “Every second of the day.”
“How do you know?” he asked, wiping his face.
“Trust me?”
Coop pulled away and shook his head no.
“A little?” Kate asked.
He nodded tentatively.
“I want you to hold my hand, and then we’re going to fall back in the snow,” she said. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”
“You want to make snow angels?” Coop asked, catching on.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why?”
“It’ll be fun, and I want to tell you a story,” Kate said. “Ready?”
The two dropped, fanned out their arms and legs and—as they did—Kate told Coop, first about losing her grandfather and then, for some reason, about losing the man she loved. The two then stood, carefully, together, hopping free of their silhouettes.
“Cool,” Coop said with a smile. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, anything,” Kate said.
“Do you believe in angels?”
“I do,” Kate said, remembering her mother’s words. “I think that angels are all around us. I think people like your mother, who we love and miss, are around us, even if we can’t see them. Sometimes they might take the form of a cardinal or a hummingbird, or sometimes their spirit might live on in the tree we pick out at Christmas.”
Kate smiled at the boy.
“Angels are messengers, Coop,” Kate said. “Sort of intermediaries—or go-betweens—between heaven and earth. But you have to be aware that angels are present. Most people go through their l
ives not seeing what’s all around them. It’s easy to get lost in this world. It’s hard to stay present.”
Coop was quiet for a moment and then he shouted—so loudly that the cardinals sitting in nearby trees scattered—“That one!”
Kate followed his finger point to a beautiful blue spruce that was round and dense, with a perfect perch for a tree topper.
“Perfect!” Kate said. “Why that one?”
Coop looked up at Kate, his earnest face juxtaposed with the one on his cap. “My mom told me,” he said, before whispering with a wink, “I was listening.”
Kate’s heart leapt into her throat, and she walked over in front of the tree, knelt in the snow, and began to saw, her work hiding her tears.
“Timber,” Coop yelled as the tree fell. “Let’s get it inside. I’ll help you decorate it.”
With angels, Kate thought, as the two dragged the tree toward the house.
When the duo got the tree set in the stand and had given it a big drink of water, Kate began to pull out her angel decorations.
Oh, no, Kate thought. I didn’t bring a tree topper! How could I forget?
She shut her eyes, remembering Tyler placing her family’s heirloom angel atop the tree just last year.
I hid it away in an old container, she finally remembered. I couldn’t bear to look at it this year.
“Wow,” Coop said, breaking her out of her thoughts. Kate looked up, and he was hanging the woodcut angel on the front of a limb. “How did you know?”
“Know what?” Kate asked.
“How much my mom loved angels,” he said. Coop walked over and pointed to a family portrait on the wall. “See!”
Kate joined him and studied a photo of the family. She leaned in, following Coop’s little finger, which was tapping the glass on the photo.
All of a sudden, Kate’s heart leapt into her throat. She leaned in even closer to study the picture: Ella was wearing an angel pin exactly like the one she had.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Holiday Cookie Cutter
Kate leaned forward and plucked an iced Santa Claus cookie from the tin that sat on the coffee table in her tiny TV room.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Kate said, before chomping off Santa’s head. “Sorry.”
Kate brushed crumbs off her flannel pajamas, stretched out farther on her couch, and absentmindedly changed the channel.
Christmas Angels Page 3