Songs of Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I’ll bet,” Gabriel said, encouraging him to continue.

  Digger pulled his ear and squinted, as if that helped him remember. “After a time of tossing around, some big wave picks us up like a giant hand, see, and we feel ourselves flying through the air . . . Maybe for a full five minutes. I ain’t lying, son,” he promised. “I was counting on my old watch, right here.” He took out a round gold watch on a chain that was tucked in his vest pocket. “We were on the crest of that wave, just balanced there.”

  “Really? That’s amazing,” Gabriel replied in a totally serious tone. “What happened? How did the boat come down?”

  “We come down right on the foamy brine and rolled into shore. Easy as pie. Boat come to a full stop, stuck there, in the sand. No one was hurt neither . . . and we never lost our catch,” the old fisherman added, laughing softly. “Not one single clam.”

  “That’s quite a story, Digger,” Gabriel said, and Amanda heard admiration in his voice, though whether it was because he believed the story or appreciated a tall tale, she couldn’t tell.

  “It is, ain’t it? Someone up there heard our prayers, I guess,” Digger added with a note of awe.

  Gabriel and Amanda exchanged a look. If even half that story was true, Amanda would have been surprised, but neither of them voiced a doubt to Digger. Sometimes the greatest wisdom was kindness, and Gabriel seemed to know that.

  Grace Hegman, Digger’s daughter, had come along and now stood beside her father. “Are you telling that story about the flying clam boat again, Dad?”

  He answered with a deep nod. “I am, Grace. Folks wanted to hear it.”

  Grace glanced at the two young people. “Well, bless you both for listening . . . Time for us to go, Dad. I think you’re tired.”

  Digger didn’t argue, but he did take a moment to say good-bye. “See you two in church. Keep up the good work,” he added.

  “He’s a real character,” Gabriel said after the old fisherman left. “When I was little, I used to love his magic tricks.”

  “Me, too,” Amanda said. She wondered now if she’d ever been standing beside Gabriel at some church picnic when Digger had taken out his cards and coins to entertain the children.

  “Grace was very generous. She brought a heap of clothing from her store,” Amanda added. Grace owned the Bramble Antiques Shop, which was in a pretty Victorian on Main Street. She and Digger had lived in the apartment above the store for as long as Amanda could remember.

  “So many donations. People are really reaching out to help,” Gabriel said.

  Amanda nodded. “It’s sad to know people are hurting, but nice to see how everyone is responding. The town is really pulling together.”

  “It is great. Too bad it can’t be like this all time,” he said. “Not the storm, of course. But the way everyone is so friendly, and how all the usual defenses seem to have melted away.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Amanda said. “Why do we need a disaster to make us want to help other people? We should be like this all the time. I hope I can remember that.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled and caught her gaze. “It’s one good thing to come out of the storm, I guess.”

  She smiled back and nodded, feeling they were in sync today, working together and connecting in a deeper way than they had before. Much as she enjoyed his teasing mode, this was different, more meaningful. She felt good knowing that he cared about helping other people as much as she did. She was glad the storm had brought them back together, giving them a second chance to find out where their relationship could go. It was the one good thing about not being called for the audition in Austin, she had to admit.

  While they were working, a woman with thick auburn hair and bright blue eyes came over to their table. “Gabriel, do you want some soup? They’re serving the volunteers now.”

  “No, thanks, Mom. I’m all right.” He glanced at Amanda. “This is my friend, Amanda Harding. Amanda, this is my mother, Patricia.”

  Amanda put down the sweater she had been folding and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  Gabriel’s mother had the same warm smile and deep dimples as her son. “I’m glad to meet you, Amanda. Isn’t your father Dr. Harding?”

  Amanda nodded. “The very same.”

  “He’s a wonderful doctor. Please tell him I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that,” Amanda promised.

  Everyone in town loved her father . . . though Molly inspired mixed emotions at times.

  Gabriel’s brother, Taylor, came up to the table. Amanda recognized him from the snowball fight. “Gabe, help us move the water,” he said. “We need some muscle.”

  He disappeared into the crowd, and Patricia glanced at Gabriel. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. He’s so macho now,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “I’ll go keep an eye on him. I can help move the water, too,” Gabriel added. “Catch you later, Amanda.” He touched her arm lightly.

  “Right. See you.” Amanda watched him go, then realized his mother was watching her. She felt herself blush a little and tried to focus on sorting the clothes.

  Patricia smiled at her, that wide, warm smile that was becoming a familiar sight. “It was nice to meet you, Amanda. Maybe I’ll see you in church sometime.”

  “Yes, I hope so,” Amanda said, feeling suddenly shy.

  She was glad that Gabriel’s mother did not stay to make conversation. She felt a little tongue-tied. But it had been interesting to meet her.

  Amanda stayed at church for the rest of the day, along with her family. They were all so tired by the time they headed home, they could hardly talk. But it was a good sort of tired, knowing they had worked hard to help others. Amanda knew she would do the same tomorrow. Reverend Ben was keeping the church open as a comfort center for as long as was needed, probably throughout the week.

  As they headed up Main Street in her mother’s SUV, Betty pointed out the window. “Look at the lights. Aren’t they pretty?”

  “What lights, honey? There aren’t any . . .” Her mother turned, starting to correct Betty, then her eyes widened. “Betty’s right! The power came on in the village. It must have just happened. I wonder if it’s on at our house yet.”

  Amanda did a double take. It was true. The power had come back on in the village, and one strand of holiday lights that had been strung across the street a few weeks ago miraculously had not been blown down like the others.

  It hung very low and on a crooked angle over the road, and the star in the center was missing half its tinsel. But the lights still glowed, cheering their way and reminding Amanda that Christmas would come, storm or no storm. Some things could not be stopped or delayed—not even by the fury of Mother Nature.

  * * *

  “WHAT WAS THAT . . . THAT THUD?” LILLIAN SAT UP SHARPLY. THE book she had been reading with her flashlight fell to the floor, as did the flashlight.

  She realized she had drifted off for a moment and couldn’t figure out where she was . . . or what was going on around her. Why was her grandson Tyler staring at her? Was she at Jessica’s house?

  “That was just the sound of the power coming back on,” Tyler told her. He got up from his chair and bent to pick up her book and light. She realized finally that she was in her own house, and Tyler was just here to visit, along with his father, Sam. Everyone had been taking turns babysitting for them, which had been quite annoying. But necessary, she supposed. Not because of her. But for Ezra. Just in case, she reminded herself silently.

  Sam walked in from the kitchen. “The power is on. Great, right?”

  “Amen to that,” she said quietly. Never underestimate Sam Morgan’s talent for stating the obvious. Still, Sam had grown on her over the years. He was good man, a loving husband to Jessica, and a wonderful father to their three children.

  “How is Ezra?” she asked. “Is he still napping?”

  “He just woke up. He’s asking for you. I’m going to make him some tea. Would you like some—or a bite t
o eat?” Sam asked.

  “Tea will suffice, thank you.” Lillian rose slowly, dreading her son-in-law’s efforts in the kitchen. It wasn’t that she questioned his ability. Like his sister Molly, he was a good cook; all of Joe and Marie Morgan’s children were. But Sam’s culinary efforts favored burgers and chili and great big sandwiches, the sort of food that was just not appropriate for Ezra—or her. Even worse, his tea looked like a cup of water drawn from the harbor . . . and was about as tasty. He’d never made tea with loose leaves before, he had told her, and she didn’t have the patience to teach him.

  Leaning heavily on her cane, she slowly made her way to Ezra’s room. Jessica would stop by with some dinner soon, she recalled. She hoped it wasn’t one of her pasta dishes. They lay so heavily in her stomach. She would just as soon have some plain baked chicken and a boiled potato. Maybe now that the lights were back on, someone would take pity on her and accommodate this extreme request.

  She finally reached Ezra’s room and glanced at him from the doorway. “The lights are back on. We are coming to the end of this ordeal, I hope.”

  “‘ “Hope” is the thing with feathers—That perches in the soul—And sings the tune without the words—And never stops—at all,’” he countered. He had a good memory for poetic bits, her husband did.

  “Bravo,” she said flatly as she sat down in the armchair next to his bed. “I hope they’ll leave us alone for a while now, give us a moment’s peace.”

  She heard Sam coming and quickly sat back in her chair. He served Ezra a tuna sandwich first and then brought them both cups of tea. Hers sloshed a bit into the saucer. “Oh, sorry about that,” he apologized.

  “It’s all right. It’s fine.”

  Ezra glanced at her, then looked back at Sam. “Say, Sam, could you find my puzzle book? I think I left it in the living room.”

  Lillian knew very well it was right in the bedroom, but then guessed her husband had sensed her irritation and sent Sam out of the room to be helpful.

  Sam disappeared, and she said, “I know he means well . . . but don’t drink that tea. You’ll regret it.”

  Ezra peeked into his mug and put it aside. “He certainly means well, but the meals have been a little catch as catch can,” he conceded. “I’ll be glad to see Estrella return. Maybe she’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “I suppose that is possible,” Lillian replied without meeting his eye. She would never admit it, not with her hand pressed to an open fire, but she was almost looking forward to Estrella returning as well. At least Estrella brought a sense of order here. Her cooking, though it was far from perfect, would be an improvement over what they had been surviving on the last two days.

  “I think we should call her. After we have our tea,” Ezra suggested. “See how she and her family are doing.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Lillian agreed. Her husband stared at her, looking quite surprised. “What? What did I say wrong now?” she asked sharply.

  He shrugged. “Nothing, dear. Nothing at all.”

  She scowled at him. She knew that smug grin. As if he thought he had gotten one over on her. She just wanted all these meddlesome and chatty daughters and sons-in-law and grandchildren out of her house. How much could a person stand? It was wearing on her last nerve.

  She wasn’t dying to see Estrella, but her return would solve this problem. “Let’s just say it’s the lesser of two evils,” she finally replied.

  “If you say so, dear,” Ezra agreed.

  But he still wore that infernal smile. If he wasn’t so ill, she would have pursued this point. Yes, she would have.

  For the sake of his health, she took the high road, though she wasn’t sure he appreciated it. Then she sat back and tried to sip the horrid tea Sam Morgan had served them.

  Chapter Ten

  ESTRELLA ARRIVED BRIGHT AND EARLY THURSDAY MORNING. LILLIAN wasn’t even downstairs yet, but she heard her coming in the back door, then Ezra calling out, “Hola, Estrella!”

  “Hola, Dr. Ezra,” she replied cheerfully. Lillian heard her go into his room, and then the Spanish lesson started, halting but earnest on her husband’s part and slow and patient on Estrella’s.

  She still hoped to heaven Estrella was not asking any critical health questions in these tête-à-têtes. Ezra was liable to mix up the descriptions of his symptoms and get the wrong medication.

  But she worried far less about that now. She hated to admit it, but she more or less trusted the woman. Estrella had proven so clear-headed and decisive during Ezra’s blood-pressure crisis. Was that only a week ago? It seemed so much longer. The storm had distorted her sense of time these past few days.

  A week, or a year, she would never forget how terrified she had felt touching Ezra’s cold hand that night. Nor how Estrella had insisted that she ride with Ezra and given her that coat, her own coat. Never said a word about it. Oh, maybe it was a small gesture. But at the time, it seemed like . . . something.

  Lillian realized she had never really thanked her. Well, the moment had passed. She wasn’t about to revisit all that again now. But she wasn’t entirely displeased to see Estrella return. Absence did make the heart grow fonder. Well, not fonder, exactly. She wouldn’t go that far. But she had grown accustomed to her. That much was true. She had gotten used to her ways, and Lillian supposed Estrella would stay—until Mrs. Fallon returned.

  Finally, she reached the first floor and rested for a moment at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Mrs. Elliot, I did not hear you coming down. How are you today?”

  “I am well, Estrella. As well as can be expected.” She paused, wondering how polite she needed to be to the help these days. “And how are you? How is your family faring?”

  “We are safe. No one was hurt.” Estrella answered decisively. “Our house, the cottage we are renting . . . it’s full of water. Flooded.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Lillian said, caught off guard. Estrella’s cheerful demeanor had given no hint at all of that. She took a few steps closer to Estrella, who was putting the living room back in order, since Lillian’s grandchildren had left the place in shambles. “How much water was there? Did your furnishings and all get wet?”

  Estrella glanced at her and nodded. “The cottage is one floor. No basement. Everything . . . all my children’s clothes and books and toys, TV, beds . . . It’s all ruin.” She shook her head as if to shake loose the disturbing image. “I will make your breakfast. What would you like to eat?”

  Lillian felt a little stunned and didn’t know what to say.

  It seemed that Estrella did not want to dwell on her misfortune. Just as well. Maybe later she would suggest that Estrella seek help at their church. Lillian had heard they had collected a lot of donations and were trying to help people in Estrella’s situation.

  “A poached egg on toast would be nice. Thank you,” she replied. “I can eat in Dr. Ezra’s room. I’ll go check on him.”

  Lillian hobbled into Ezra’s room. He was sitting up in bed. His gray beard had a few days’ growth, and he scratched his chin.

  Estrella always gave him a nice shave and washed and combed his hair properly, but during the storm they’d had to skip all that. Lillian would be pleased when he had his beauty treatments this morning.

  He looked upset, and Lillian had a good idea of why. “Well . . . did she tell you? They’ve lost their house and everything in it. The family has been living in a shelter.”

  “She didn’t tell me that part. What happened to the neighbor?”

  Ezra shrugged. “You know how people are. Welcoming, to a point. Or maybe Estrella didn’t want to impose. There may have not been much room in the neighbor’s apartment.”

  Lillian nodded. It was hard for her sometimes to picture the way other people lived. As a doctor, Ezra had seen it all and could always empathize better than she could. But that was his nature, too. A shelter did sound grim. “How long can people stay in those evacuation places? Don’t they shut down after the storm?”

/>   “More or less. I think the places are open a few days. I don’t know where they plan to go now. I haven’t asked her yet.”

  “Maybe a motel somewhere. Maybe the government pays for that. We can ask Emily. She would know.”

  Ezra seemed distracted, lost in thought.

  “Did you hear me? I said we should ask Emily. Maybe she could help them. And don’t forget, Sam told us they’ve collected a lot of donations at church. Estrella ought to go there for some clothes and such.”

  “She could do that, I suppose.” Ezra paused, then looked straight at her. “I think we should have them come here.”

  Lillian squinted at him. Had she heard him right? She hadn’t even had her coffee yet. “Have them here? . . . Are you mad? Did you really say that?”

  “I did,” he countered in a deep voice, one she hadn’t heard in weeks now. “We have plenty of room. They could have the entire third floor. It would be the right thing to do. The Christian thing,” he said with emphasis.

  Oh, bother. He was throwing the Good Book at her, wasn’t he?

  She was about to reply, then realized the door was open and Estrella, not too far away in the kitchen, could probably hear them. She stepped back to the door and closed it firmly, then turned to him.

  “There are agencies and funds and plenty of services set up to help people like her. I know it’s unfortunate,” she added in a soft but emphatic tone. “But are we to invite in every family that’s found themselves flooded out of their home? We have plenty of space, that’s true. Should we give every stranger in town a bedroom?”

  “Estrella is not a stranger,” he said in a stubborn tone that got under her skin.

  “No, of course not. She’s your star. Isn’t that right?” she chided him.

  His pale cheeks took on some color, and Lillian suddenly feared for his blood pressure. “That’s right. She is my star. She saved my life,” he reminded her. “I, for one, believe I owe her this much. A small compensation in the larger scheme of things.”