Songs of Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Jorge’s gone out. Bonita took both children to town right after lunch. To the playground near the harbor.”

  That had been Lillian’s suggestion. It took them about an hour to get ready, with much searching for gloves and hats and deciding which toys to bring. Lillian gritted her teeth just watching. But it was well worth the fuss. The boy had brought his new soccer ball, and the girl was rolling a toy stroller with a stuffed bear covered in dish towels, which she pretended were blankets. No harm in that, Lillian thought. As long as she brought them all back and they were bleached in the laundry.

  “The playground? It must be ten below out there today. They’ll freeze into ice statues. I hope they were well dressed,” he added with concern.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ve often told me how you skated across the harbor in this kind of weather when you were a boy. One would think you would appreciate a little peace and quiet. You were able to have a nice long nap, weren’t you?”

  “They never disturb my nap,” he insisted.

  “Well, they disturb mine,” she snapped, then tried to compose herself. “Cold, fresh air is good for children, clears the lungs. They’ll sleep well tonight, too. They go back to school tomorrow,” she added in a cheerful tone. “Their vacation is over.”

  She could have danced a jig at that news, though the children had been walking around all morning with long faces.

  “Yes, I know. It went so fast.”

  “Not for me.” She picked up her cross-stitch piece and picked at the loose threads on the back.

  “Yes. We know, Lillian. I appreciate your many sacrifices. Indeed I do.”

  She felt gratified for a moment . . . then eyed him narrowly.

  Was he being sarcastic, after all she’d done for these strangers? Before she could get into it, the blessed silence in the house was shattered by a crashing sound, glass breaking . . . and a woman’s cry.

  “¡Dulce María, madre de Dios!” she heard Bonita shout.

  The ruckus seemed to be coming from the entrance hall. Lillian stared at Ezra. He stared back.

  “Go see what happened, Lily!” he urged her. “See if anyone is hurt. You know I can’t run in there.”

  Pale with concern, he scuttled like a crab to the edge of his bed and grabbed for his crutches. Lillian turned on her cane and started toward the foyer as fast as she could.

  “Bonita? What in heaven’s name happened? I heard something fall . . .”

  She saw the three of them not far from the front door, Bonita and her two grandchildren. Still wearing coats, gloves, and wool hats, the children’s cheeks red from the cold weather. The boy and girl looked shocked and frightened, their eyes wide. Jorge stared at the white and black tiles on the floor, holding his soccer ball.

  Bonita stood behind them. She murmured something, but Lillian didn’t understand her. Then she covered her mouth with her hand.

  On the tiles near the coat tree, Lillian found the casualty—her beautiful Tiffany-style lamp, the stained-glass shade shattered to colorful bits. It normally sat on the mail table, not far from the front door.

  “Who did this?” Lillian asked, looking from one child to the other. She had her suspicions but wanted the guilty party to confess.

  Bonita started talking in Spanish. Lillian could tell from her tone she was trying to explain and apologize.

  Lillian put out her hand to silence her, then stared down at the children.

  Marta blinked and started to cry. She turned her face into her grandmother’s jacket.

  “Oh, it was you?” Lillian moved closer to the little girl.

  Jorge stepped between them, still holding his ball. “No, I did it, Mrs. Elliot. It was an accident. We were playing. Marta tried to take my ball and I pulled it away from her . . . I don’t know . . . we just bumped into the table. I bumped into it, I mean,” he added quickly.

  “So you’re taking the blame? How noble. Sounds to me like it was a partnership.” Lillian’s voice rose on a sharp note. “How many times have I asked you not to play in here? Not to play in this house—except upstairs. How many times?” she practically screamed at him, leaning down, so that they were face-to-face. “See what you’ve done? It’s broken, ruined . . . Are you happy now?”

  “Lillian, please! Just stop. Leave the boy alone. You’ve made your point.” Ezra had finally made his way to the front hall and hobbled closer on his crutches. “For goodness’ sake, it’s just a lamp. As long as no one’s hurt, that’s all that matters.”

  Before she could tell him that he had no right to dismiss her feelings this way, quick footsteps sounded on the stairs. Lillian saw Estrella coming down, her face an angry mask.

  “Mrs. Elliot, you’ve said enough.” Estrella stepped between Lillian and her son and put her arm around his shoulders, gently leading him to one side. “I am sorry this happened. But I’m sure the children didn’t mean it to—”

  “They didn’t listen either when they had the chance,” Lillian cut her off. “They don’t listen to a word I say. You don’t either. You’re their mother. You have to control them. That boy should be punished, not coddled.”

  “It was an accident. They are only children,” Estrella repeated tersely. “I’m very sorry. I take full blame. I will replace the lamp for you.”

  Lillian practically laughed. “You can’t replace that lamp. It’s an antique. An heirloom from my late husband’s estate, Lilac Hall.”

  “Oh, Lily, come now. It’s not nearly so valuable,” Ezra argued.

  “It certainly isn’t now,” Lillian retorted. “It’s a pile of broken glass. It was quite valuable, museum quality,” she told Estrella.

  Estrella blinked and took a deep breath. “Well, it should have been in a museum, then. Not in a busy house, right next to the front door.”

  Lillian felt a thud in her chest as if someone had punched her. She had to stop and catch her breath.

  “You see here, young lady. Don’t you speak to me like that.” There were spots before her eyes. She could hardly see straight.

  “Lily, please. Let it go. The lamp is broken. There’s nothing we can do,” Ezra said.

  Lillian turned to him. “I can think of something. Your guests have to go,” she said simply. “I want them out. Tonight. I don’t care where. I’ll pay for a night in a motel if I have to. I have twisted myself in a knot to accommodate everyone. Everyone but myself. Now I want some say. I want my house back. Before any more damage is done.”

  Estrella said nothing, but her large brown eyes grew darker.

  “Oh, Lillian, don’t do that. It’s not right. Where will they go tonight?” Ezra’s voice was so weak and plaintive, it turned Lillian’s stomach. She answered with a cold look, and he turned to Estrella. “Please, don’t go. Not tonight. She doesn’t mean it. Lillian, apologize . . . For my sake, please.”

  “Have you gone completely mad?” Lillian stared at him. “What do I have to apologize for? My house . . . torn, shredded, stained . . . shattered. I meant every word of what I said. Every word,” she repeated emphatically.

  Estrella met her glance, her lips sealed in a tight line. Lillian thought she was going to fire back some smart remark again, but instead she turned to Ezra, her expression softening.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Ezra. I, too, think it is time for us to go. Mrs. Elliot is right. This is not working out. We cannot stay where we’re not welcome.”

  Her son was hugging her around the waist, his face hidden in her dress. “Mama, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Mijo, don’t cry. It’s not your fault. Mama is not angry with you. Go upstairs now. It will be fine. You’ll see,” she promised in a soothing tone.

  Jorge ran up the stairs as if a ghost were chasing him. Estrella turned to her mother, who stood nearby with Marta huddled against her side. Estrella said something in Spanish. The older woman nodded, then took the girl’s hand and headed for the stairs as well. As she passed Lillian, Bonita looked up with a sad, sorry expression, shaking her head f
rom side to side.

  It was not a look of remorse or even sorrow at being chased out, Lillian realized. Instead, her glance had been pitying.

  That old woman, homeless, with barely the clothes on her back, feels sorry for me? Has everyone gone mad? She stood in shock, watching Bonita slowly climb the staircase.

  Estrella had disappeared a moment ago but now returned wearing rubber gloves. She carried a broom and dustpan and started picking up the shards of glass, one by one.

  “No . . . no. Don’t trouble yourself.” Ezra took a few shaky steps toward her on his crutches. “Someone else will do that.”

  Lillian gave him a scalding look. Who would that someone be? Does he possibly mean me?

  But before she could argue the point, the front door opened and Emily appeared. Everyone stared at her wordlessly.

  Emily took in the broken lamp and the expression on her mother’s face. “Oh, my. The Tiffany lamp . . . How did that happen?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  AMANDA HAD BEEN IN PORTLAND FOR THREE WEEKS BEFORE she had a weekend off and time enough to relax and forget about music for a while. She was starting to feel as if her cello had become attached to her body and often felt herself playing it in her sleep.

  She had expected a real seat in a real orchestra to be demanding, but had never quite imagined the intensity and commitment required. She had been working 24/7 since she joined the orchestra, rehearsing with the string section and on her own and learning new music every spare minute.

  So far, she was doing well, holding her own in the string section with far more experienced musicians, which was gratifying. But she also deeply appreciated the chance to get away from Portland for a few days—and away from her instrument.

  She had been invited to go skiing this weekend with her roommate, Melissa, and a group of Melissa’s friends. Amanda was tempted, but finally declined. She knew what she had to do and decided to go home instead.

  She had told Melissa she needed to pick up a few more things at her parents’ house. But there was another reason she had decided to return to Cape Light. One far more important than the white rocking chair in her bedroom or a few more sweaters. She wanted to see Gabriel. Face-to– face. Even if the conversation hurt her deeply, as she expected it would.

  She had tried to keep their connection going with emails and clever texts. But his calls always seemed to find her at some inconvenient moment: rehearsing late, or dragged along by Melissa to meet friends for dinner or drinks at some noisy café.

  “You sound busy. I’ll catch you later,” seemed to be Gabriel’s favorite way of cutting their conversations short.

  I’m not busy! I miss you. I really want to talk to you, Amanda wanted to shout back. But the moment never seemed right.

  It had only been three weeks, she kept reminding herself. Maybe they would get better at this. But it just wasn’t the same as it had been back in Cape Light. A certain spark was gone.

  He had been trying to let her down easy on New Year’s Eve, she realized now. He must have been hoping that her new job and new social scene would make her forget him. Or that she would just plain give up.

  Had she only imagined the intense feelings that had seemed to be building between them just before she left? She really thought he felt the same. But maybe it had all been on her side. Maybe she had mistaken his natural charm and warmth for something more personal. Maybe she had just been a fling for him and now it was out of sight, out of mind. She had talked it over with Lauren, wondering what she should do.

  “Maybe he’s just not comfortable on the phone, or texting and all that,” Lauren suggested.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s something more than that,” Amanda worried aloud.

  “Well, there’s no way to know unless you ask him. I know it’s hard. But it’s better to find out than to drive yourself crazy guessing. Because that’s what you’re doing now.”

  “And driving you crazy, too, right?”

  “A little,” Lauren admitted. “But it will be my turn soon to be nutty about something, and do the same to you.”

  Was she really nutty about Gabriel? Well, yeah. I am, Amanda realized.

  “All right, I’ll ask him,” she promised. “But not over the phone. That would be horrible. I have time to go home this weekend. I’ll do it then.”

  Lauren approved the plan, then made Amanda practice exactly what she would say. Then made her promise to call if she got cold feet once she got there.

  Amanda appreciated the pep talk and support. Now her mind was set. She couldn’t go on believing that there was something there if there wasn’t. She was starting to feel like she was chasing him. And that was humiliating.

  She still believed Gabriel was a good person. He wouldn’t want to hurt her. He would tell her the truth—if she had the courage to ask him.

  As she drove into the village and headed down Main Street, she passed the Clam Box and couldn’t help but recall their first date—the snowball fight with his brother and pancakes for lunch. A bittersweet feeling overwhelmed her. She parked by the diner and tried his cell. It rang several times, and she finally left a message, forcing her voice into a calm, breezy tone that she didn’t feel.

  “Hey, Gabriel. Guess what? I came back for a visit this weekend. I don’t have to go back to Portland until Monday. Would you like to get together for lunch? I’m right on Main Street,” she added, looking around for his truck. She caught herself; that was so silly. No telling where he might be working right now.

  She put her phone aside and started up her car again. She would just go home and wait for him to call back. He would call, wouldn’t he? Amanda hated to feel so worried and insecure. At least her parents and little Betty would be happy she was home. That was some consolation.

  She turned up a road that led out of the village toward her parents’ house and found herself passing Gabriel’s shop. She pulled up in front and looked around. The shop was dark and she didn’t see his truck. The beautiful stained-glass sign was gone from the window, and instead a small paper sign read, FOR RENT, with a number listed below to call.

  Amanda sat back in her seat, stunned. He had closed his shop? Why didn’t he tell her? Had he moved out of town, too?

  She wasn’t sure what to do next. She didn’t even know where he lived, she realized, or the names of any of his friends. She sat for a moment, then turned her car around and headed back to town. She would go to the church and ask Reverend Ben. He might know. And he would understand.

  * * *

  AMANDA WAS SOON PARKED IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH ON THE GREEN. She went through the front doors and headed for Reverend Ben’s office. Then she heard the sound of someone in the sanctuary. She walked in and looked around. The lights were off and the space was cast in the amber, rose, and blue light diffused through the stained-glass windows.

  Amanda heard sounds coming from the sacristy. “Reverend Ben?” she called. “It’s me, Amanda.”

  Someone came out of the small room and stood by the door. She squinted, making sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. It wasn’t Reverend Ben. It was Gabriel. He stared at her, then dropped one of the tools that he held in his hand.

  “Amanda. What are you doing here?”

  She felt so relieved to see him, but suddenly nervous, too. His truck must be parked behind the church, she realized. That’s why she hadn’t seen it.

  “I came back for the weekend. I just called your cell. Didn’t you get the message?”

  “I heard it ring but couldn’t check the number. I had my hands full.” He walked toward her quickly, looking concerned. “Is everything okay? Is everything all right with the orchestra?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’m doing well. The director and conductor seem to like me.”

  “Good.” He nodded but still wore a serious look.

  “Are you still fixing these windows? What else can happen to them?” she tried to joke.

  “Just taking care of one last little job. A piece I replac
ed came loose and a bird flew in last Sunday. The bird caused quite a stir,” he added. “Digger Hegman jumped out of his seat, saying it was a sign from above. You should have been there.”

  “That does sound exciting,” she said with a smile. “Sorry I missed it.”

  They fell back into their easy bantering so quickly. And he was looking at her with so much warmth in his eyes. Why couldn’t he be like this over the phone and in emails? Was he just not an emailing or phoning sort of guy?

  “I went by your shop,” she said. “Are you closing down or something?”

  “Not exactly.” He glanced at her as he put a few tools back in his big canvas bag. “It’s funny that you came home this weekend. I was planning to come up to Portland. To surprise you,” he admitted.

  “You were?” The news gave her some hope. Then she pulled back, thinking that maybe he just wanted to break it off with her face-to-face. That would be the decent thing to do.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and led her out of the sanctuary. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

  “All right.”

  Now that he was here, right beside her, she felt a flood of feelings. She was afraid of what he was thinking, and she wanted to say what was on her mind first. Maybe he thought she didn’t care enough about him. She missed him terribly—but she was mad at him, too. She had to tell him everything. And do it before he started acting distant again or gave her some other reason to lose her courage.

  They walked out onto the green and sat on a bench that faced the harbor. Gabriel turned to her, a serious expression on his handsome face. “I want to tell you why the shop is closed . . . I’ve decided to make some changes. Big changes. I’m moving my business, for one thing.”

  Big changes? She didn’t like the sound of that. No wonder he had been so distant. He had been distracted by his new plans and hadn’t confided in her. That didn’t bode well.

  “That is news,” she cut in before he could go further. “And I want to hear all about it. But there’s something I need to tell you first.”