A Christmas to Remember

by Thomas Kinkade

  Boston, September 1955

  THE INTERCOM BUZZED. LILLIAN GLANCED AT THE FLASHING LIGHT, but didn’t stop typing to answer it. Her desk was covered with slides and notepads and stacks of art books flung open to color plates.

  Her Underwood typewriter sat on a compact metal typing table just to one side of the desk. Lillian had to concentrate to strike the right keys. She was not a good typist. Unlike most of the young women she knew, she had never taken a typing course. She felt it was below her. She was determined to reach a position where someone else would be doing the typing for her, though she hadn’t quite reached that point yet.

  She was composing a lecture on early Egyptian ceramics that she would deliver next week at a special museum luncheon. The senior curator in her department needed to review it on Monday, and Lillian was only halfway through the first draft.

  She could tell from the intercom’s flashing light that it was the receptionist calling. She hoped it wasn’t more flowers. Oliver had been sending them daily to her home and to the office, for the past two weeks, ever since she had left Cape Light.

  He had been calling, too. But she hadn’t spoken to him since the night he’d dropped her off at Charlotte’s house. The next morning, she had packed up and taken an early train back to Boston. Her aunt and uncle were surprised that she cut her vacation short, but she explained she was needed back at work.

  On the train ride home, she had written Oliver a letter. Actually she had written him several letters but kept tearing them up and writing them over again, unable to get the message right. In the end, she had never mailed any or sent him any explanation.

  She felt guilty for treating him coldly but thought that in the long run, it was for the best. He would be hurt but also angry and would get over her sooner that way.

  She was sure his attraction was a whim; he was bound to lose interest if she ignored him.

  After a brief pause, the intercom buzzed again. Lillian couldn’t avoid it.

  Lillian pressed the button to be heard. “Yes, what is it?”

  “There’s someone to see you, Miss Merchant. He doesn’t have an appointment…”

  Lillian thought it was going to be more flowers. Now she wondered if it was Oliver himself. He had told her his family had an apartment in Boston and he came into the city frequently. She wouldn’t put it past him. She pressed the button again, her heartbeat racing.

  “Did he give you his name?”

  “Dr. Elliot.”

  Lillian sat back. Not Oliver after all. That was what she wanted…right?

  But Ezra Elliot? What was he doing here?

  “Miss Merchant? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, I heard. I’ll be out in a minute. Please ask Dr. Elliot to wait.”

  Lillian smoothed down her skirt and put on her suit jacket. She wasn’t sure why Ezra Elliot was here to see her but hoped he hadn’t come as Oliver’s emissary.

  She stepped out to the reception area where Ezra stood, hat in hand. He was shorter than she remembered but gave off an air of vitality and warmth as he smiled and stepped forward to greet her. She knew that he lived and worked in the city, but there was still something vaguely country about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  He wore a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, and a burgundy bow tie with white polka dots, which was not at all in fashion. Somehow the style suited him, Lillian thought.

  “Lillian, good to see you again. I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”

  “Of course I do, Ezra.”

  She had nearly forgotten what he looked like. Or maybe she hadn’t been paying much attention when they met. His straight brown hair was parted high on one side and combed back flat with hair tonic. His small blue eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed glasses above a long, straight nose and a sharp chin. She did remember his look of keen intelligence and his quick wit.

  “I was in the neighborhood and remembered that you worked here. I thought I would drop by and say hello.”

  “Oh…I see. Hello.” Lillian smiled at him.

  She could tell he wasn’t a smooth talker like Oliver. But that was probably a good sign.

  There was an awkward silence. Ezra took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. He had very nice blue eyes, she thought, lively and kind.

  “It’s a beautiful museum. I don’t get here often enough.”

  “We have an interesting exhibit right now of seventeenth-century Dutch painters.”

  “Is that so? I’ll have to take a look one day when I have more time. I’m due back at the hospital soon.” He glanced at his watch. “I only wanted to say hello,” he repeated.

  He smoothed the brim of his hat between his fingers, looking as if he were about to leave. “Say, Lillian, I was wondering, do you like the opera?”

  His question took her by surprise. “Yes…I do.”

  “I thought you might. A friend gave me two tickets this morning for Turandot, orchestra seats.” He cleared his throat. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

  Ezra Elliot was asking her out on a date. That was why he happened to be in the neighborhood. He wasn’t as shy as she had thought.

  “I would be happy to go to the opera with you. When is the performance?”

  “Well…tomorrow night actually. You probably already have plans.”

  Lillian didn’t answer for a moment. If she had any second thoughts, he was giving her a perfect chance to reconsider.

  “No, I have no plans,” she answered finally.

  Ezra’s face beamed with relief. Lillian was almost embarrassed for him.

  “That’s wonderful. The performance is at eight o’clock. I can pick you up at six. We’ll have time for dinner.”

  “That would be fine.”

  Lillian gave him her address and phone number and then walked with him through to the museum’s front entrance.

  “I’ll see you then,” he said. “I look forward to it.”

  He settled his hat on his head and waved good-bye and walked out into the bright sunshine.

  Lillian watched him for a moment, studying his jaunty walk. She headed back to her office to finish her work for the day.

  So Ezra hadn’t come as Oliver’s emissary but on his own behalf. The realization was disappointing, but she brushed the feeling aside. Ezra hadn’t mentioned Oliver. Perhaps her impression had been right about them; they weren’t so much friends as friendly rivals. She knew Oliver would feel hurt if he heard she had gone out with his friend while all this time she had been refusing his calls. She felt bad about that then decided it was probably a good thing. Maybe Oliver would realize he had no chance with her and would find some new girl to fixate on.

  When Lillian got home from work Nancy, their housekeeper, met her at the door. “Your parents are in the library, miss. They asked to see you when you came in.”

  “Thank you, Nancy.” Lillian left her hat and handbag on the hall table and walked up the long, curved stairway to the second floor.

  She wondered what her parents wanted to talk to her about. Probably some new worry about her younger sister, Elizabeth. Beth was sixteen and swept up in all the current fads. Their parents didn’t approve of any of it, not the poodle skirts or the tight sweaters, bobby sox, and saddle shoes.

  Last week a neighbor had seen Beth and a girlfriend talking to a boy wearing a leather jacket. Her parents still hadn’t quite recovered from that, though Lillian had done her best to explain that all the teenage boys dressed that way these days. They all wanted to look like James Dean.

  There had been daring styles and swing music causing a stir when Lillian was a teenager, but now a singer from down South, Elvis something or other, was causing an uproar. They said he made obscene gestures when he sang on stage. Lillian knew Beth had bought one of his records and hid it in her bedroom. Maybe her parents had found the record and that’s what this was all about.

  Lillian walked into the library and found her father reading the newspaper in his fav
orite chair. Her mother was sitting at the secretary, writing a letter. Low lamps were lit on the side table and desk, casting her parents in amber shadows. The room smelled of books and seemed airless and still.

  “Nancy said you wanted to see me?”

  Lillian sat on the small couch that faced the long, shuttered windows. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the long windows framed a view of the small square at the center of their quiet, private street.

  Her mother folded her letter and slipped it in the envelope. It was undoubtedly a letter to her younger brother, Lawrence, who was at Princeton. Her mother wrote him twice a week without fail. Her parents seemed far more interested in Lawrence’s life, even at a great distance, than they ever did in her life or Beth’s.

  Her mother turned in her chair and gave Lillian her full attention. “We need to speak to you, Lillian. It’s important. Albert, can you put the newspaper down a minute?”

  Her father emerged from behind the newspaper. “Oh…hello, Lillian. When did you get home?”

  Before Lillian could answer, her mother started talking again. “More flowers came today. From that man you met on vacation.”

  Lillian felt her heart beat harder. “Oliver Warwick?”

  “Yes, Warwick.” Her father nodded, looking suddenly serious.

  “How did you know they were from him? Did you read the card?” Lillian asked.

  “Who else would they be from?” Her mother gave an uncharacteristic shrug, and Lillian knew she had read the card but wouldn’t admit it.

  “Your father had a long talk with your uncle Joshua today,” her mother went on. “Your uncle and aunt had no idea you were going around with this Warwick fellow while you were visiting them. If they had known, they would have stopped it immediately.”

  Lillian felt the blood rush to her face. She was sure Charlotte hadn’t given her away. But Newburyport was a small town, and her aunt and uncle were bound to have heard something about her meetings with Oliver sooner or later. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, flying around town in that little red car.

  “Your uncle was very concerned,” her father said. “Did you purposely keep these outings a secret from him?”

  “No, of course not.” Lillian tried to keep her voice calm. “I never even really dated Oliver. We met at the party at the yacht club. Then he ran into a group of us on the beach, Charlotte and her friends. And the next day, I ran into him again by accident in Newburyport, outside of church.”

  “So, he followed you around town? Even to church? That’s even more upsetting,” her mother said.

  “A man could be arrested for harassing a young lady that way!” Albert Merchant declared. “It shows he has a bad character and is morally corrupt.”

  “I don’t know, Father. He’s persistent…but I wouldn’t call him corrupt.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” her mother snapped. “You’re very naive, Lillian. Your uncle says you narrowly missed getting yourself into a great deal of trouble.”

  “Did you know this man is divorced?” her father demanded. “Did you know he also got a girl into trouble…or at least ruined her good name? The family paid her money, and she moved out of town.”

  Yes, she did know all that, but Lillian didn’t bother to admit it. She had never asked Oliver about that rumor; she remembered Charlotte saying that it was all exaggeration. The girl was never pregnant; she was just trying to get money out of the Warwicks.

  “No, sir.” Lillian’s father slapped the arm of his leather armchair. “You will not associate with this man ever again. His family may have money, but he’s a bad apple. A very bad apple.”

  “He’ll ruin your reputation, Lillian,” her mother predicted. “What does a woman have after that? Who will want to marry you then?” Her mother raised her eyebrows, clearly questioning whether Lillian had already risked her good name.

  “I promise you, I’m not involved with Oliver Warwick. I have no plans to see him ever again. You’ve seen the way I’ve refused his calls. I can’t help it if he keeps sending me flowers.”

  “I threw them all out,” her mother said.

  “You did?” Lillian felt upset but tried not to show it. She didn’t think her mother had the right to throw out all her flowers, no matter who had sent them.

  “The next time he calls, your father will tell him in no uncertain terms that he’s never to call here or try to see you again.”

  “If he dares to bother you, I’ll have the police after him.”

  “Dad, please. Let’s not get carried away. Oliver Warwick is not a monster. There are many people in Cape Light who respect him. He’s a decorated war hero. He won the Purple Heart.”

  Lillian didn’t dare mention that he had also saved her life at the beach. Or how charming and clever he could be. How generous he was to his friends. How his vitality and humor lit up a room when you were around him.

  Her father sat up straight in his chair, his back suddenly rigid. “Don’t you understand? The Warwicks own that town and just about everyone in it. What do you expect people to say? The Warwicks are their bread and butter.” He turned to his wife. “Talk some sense into her, Ruth.”

  “Lillian, I’m sure this man flattered you and filled your head with lots of sugary lies and promises. That’s the way these seducers work. They find an innocent, trusting girl, one who’s unaccustomed to attention, and they flatter her and sweet talk her until they get their way.”

  “Unaccustomed to attention” was her mother’s way of saying that Lillian rarely had men interested in her. So of course she was naive and vulnerable.

  Lillian felt stung, unable to help wondering if her mother’s charges were true. Had all of Oliver’s compliments and words of affection been an act, part of a scheme to take advantage of her?

  She had thought so at first. Then later, she started to think he was actually sincere. Now she just didn’t know.

  She never would know, she reminded herself. After her father got finished warning him off, Oliver would give up on her. He didn’t like her that much, Lillian decided, no matter what he said.

  Lillian smoothed down her skirt. “Is that all?”

  Her mother nodded. “For now. Remember, we’re doing this for your own good.”

  “While you’re living under this roof, we must look out for your welfare,” her father added. “Once you’re married, you’ll be your husband’s responsibility.”

  Lillian rose. “Yes, Father, I understand.”

  She had decided not to see Oliver again on her own, long before her parents’ interference. But she still balked against having them dictate to her. She was disappointed in some strange way. It was hard to figure out exactly why.

  Maybe it was the way her mother had thrown out all his flowers, without even asking her. Maybe that’s all it is, Lillian told herself.

  LILLIAN WAS RELIEVED TO HEAR THAT HER PARENTS WERE GOING out on Saturday night to a banquet, some bankers’ dinner that her father was obliged to attend. They left the house at five in formal dress, a full hour before Ezra was due to pick her up for their date.

  Lillian had explained to her parents that she was going out with a young man she met on vacation, who was a doctor at Children’s Hospital. Her parents liked the idea of Lillian dating a doctor and didn’t ask too many questions. Of course she didn’t add that she had met Ezra through the depraved, morally corrupt Oliver Warwick.

  Lillian wasn’t sure how formally she should dress. She chose a black silk crepe dress that fell just below the knee and long black satin gloves that stretched above her elbow. She wore her hair up with pearl drop earrings.

  Her younger sister, Beth, lolled on Lillian’s bed, watching her get dressed. “Where are you going, Lily? To a funeral?”

  Lillian glanced at her and smiled. “To the opera, Turandot.”

  “Oh, same difference. Everybody’s moaning and crying and killing themselves. For love, of course. I thought Turandot was a kind of fish,” Beth added, sounding puzzl
ed. “Didn’t Cook make that for dinner last week?”

  Lillian had to grin. She dabbed some perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. “Do you mean turbot?”

  “That’s it.” Beth jumped off the bed and grabbed at Lillian’s perfume bottle. “Can I try some?”

  “This is French perfume, Chanel. I don’t want to waste it.” Lillian pulled the bottle away, then seeing the disappointed look on Beth’s face, gave in. “All right. Just a drop. I’ll put it on for you.”

  She touched some perfume to her sister’s wrist then watched her sniff. “Eeew. That smells awful.”

  “It does not. But I told you it wasn’t for you.” Lillian laughed at her. “What are you going to do tonight?”

  “I’m going to the movies with Annie Arden. Mother said it was okay as long as Mrs. Arden brings us there and picks us up.”

  Lillian was glad to hear her little sister wasn’t going to be alone tonight. Even Nancy had the night off and was going out soon.

  “Lily, is something bothering you? Ever since you came back from vacation, you seem sad.”

  The question took Lillian by surprise. “Of course not. Nothing’s bothering me.” She glanced at her sister and forced a smile. “Why do you say that?”

  Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. Is it because of that man, the one who sent all the flowers? The one Mother and Dad don’t want you to see again?”

  “How do you know about that?” Lillian felt herself blush.

  Beth picked up one of Lillian’s bracelets and admired it on her arm. “I’m not deaf. Are you sad you can’t see him anymore?”

  Of course she had overheard everything. Lillian shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’m just tired and very busy at work. I don’t think of that man at all. Mother and Father are right, he’s not a nice fellow.”

  That was a lie. She thought of Oliver all the time. And thought he was perfectly wonderful.

  They heard a light knock on the door. “Dr. Elliot is here, Miss Merchant,” Nancy announced.

  “Thank you, Nancy. Tell him I’ll be right down.” Lillian checked her appearance one last time in the mirror, then grabbed her shawl and handbag and headed for the stairs.