Postmark Christmas

by Katie Bachand

  Yes, he thought, he’d use that in his pitch to his dad. Charles Porter had made his own father’s creamery business into a billion-dollar company. Harris had helped Charles turn it into a multi-billion-dollar company. And there was so much more they could do.

  Harris jumped at the clank that sounded from behind him. When he turned he saw two boxes, at least six-feet-tall, trying to cram through the oversized double doors.

  “Wait, wait!”

  Harris whirled around once more to see Nancy Lawson, their front desk receptionist yell, while waving her hands to try and halt the delivery man.

  “Good morning, Harris. How are you today?” Nancy asked as she whooshed by.

  “Great,” Harris responded quickly, hoping to get it in before she was out of earshot. “How are you?” he asked, letting out a smirk knowing she was too nice not to keep the conversation going.

  “Oh, really,” Nancy huffed, “really great.” She turned her head slightly and lifted her voice. “The kids and grandkids all made it in last night.”

  Nancy huffed out another couple of breaths as she and the delivery man continued to reach opposite sides of the box in their repeated attempt to find each other.

  “Can you imagine, ten adults and seven kids, all under the same roof? For a month. More actually. They are staying until the New Year.” She shook her head stopped her tilting and put up a finger in Harris’ direction, showing she’d be right back with him.

  “Sir,” Nancy greeted the driver after hovering on one side long enough to finally catch him, “good morning to you. I hope you are doing very well. You are soaked to the bone. We’ll have to get you some coffee or a hot chocolate. But before then,” she continued without letting the driver respond – and he seemed okay with that as long as he got the hot chocolate, as that’s when his eyes and eyebrows perked – “you’ll have to take this back outside. We have a delivery entrance and it will be much easier for you there. I promise. No squeezing through doors or scuffing my floors. Once you have it in, you come find me, and I’ll have a hot cup waiting for you.”

  “Yes ma’am.” The young driver nodded, gave a little salute, and was pulling the gigantic boxes back out the small opening he tried to jam them through.

  Nancy turned on a dime and Harris watched the fit grandmother of seven speed walk back to her throne.

  “Nicely done.” Harris said, genuinely impressed.

  Nancy nodded firmly, but added a smile that let Harris know she was back to their original conversation.

  “What are you all doing for the holidays?”

  “I’m probably working straight through. We’ve got some big opportunities knocking on our door.” Harris wasn’t lying about either, there was a good chance he’d miss the holidays this year.

  “Harris.” Nancy’s motherly tone sounded like his own mom’s disapproval of his working habits. “You have to make time for the holidays and for family. It’s what’s most important.”

  “I am – I will,” Harris agreed, but his agreement wasn’t as truthful, “But this is setting us up for the future. We will never have a want in the world. And, we’ll be helping a lot of people.”

  Nancy looked at Harris. He was the same age as her youngest son, and she adored him just as much. She, like Harris she supposed, remembered a time when his father, Charles, had been frugal and unwilling to spend any of their hard-earned money. Charles hadn’t been much different than Harris himself. As a result, they’d grown up humbly. It wasn’t a bad thing, but she imagined Harris had felt the impact and never wanted to say he couldn’t afford something. Whenever she pressed, it was always ‘one more deal’ or ‘one more sale or collaboration,” Then there would be enough. Then he would settle down.

  She wished she could shake some sense into him.

  “As long as you promise to at least take the important days off. Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, and Christmas day. If for no other reason than realizing that you won’t have anybody to work with.” Nancy smiled at the laugh she got out of Harris. “You have very kindly given the company twelve holidays and those are three of them. Four if you include the day after Thanksgiving – so you might as well add that to your list too.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Harris agreed. It was genuine, and it was true that he’d be hard pressed to reach anybody on those days. He’d think about it more seriously since she brought up that point. And, if he showed up to the holidays it would make his mom happy – and maybe make his dad loosen up to the feed collaboration idea.

  “Hey Nance,” Harris said, his curiosity getting the best of him, “what was in those boxes?”

  “Oh, one of them was a big tree and as many lights and ornaments we could fit into the empty spaces. The other was a giant post box for your dad’s Postmark Christmas campaign. It’s so wonderful, that idea.”

  “Don’t we have at least twenty other trees in storage?”

  Without missing a beat and without giving the chance for him to argue, Nancy looked Harris in the eye and smiled sweetly, “Now, we have twenty-one.”

  Harris laughed and nodded, accepted that apparently one office building can never have too many Christmas trees, then waved and headed to the elevator to make his way to the top floor. A floor, he had noted earlier that morning, that was already decorated, and exploding with Christmas reds and greens.

  CHAPTER 3

  Snow had been scarce in early November, but the cool flakes that fell now warmed Harlow’s heart as she watched them fall while rocking Layla in her second-floor nursery.

  Lisa and Steve had decorated it with plush blankets, fuzzy animals in whites, tans, and browns, and soft gauzy curtains that were just the right amount of precious baby-girl. The delicate chimes of a Baby’s First Christmas snow globe were already filling the sweet little room. Some things just couldn’t wait, Harlow thought, as she closed her eyes and listened as Layla slept in her arms.

  When the music stopped Harlow looked down and envied the peacefulness of the darling face as she slept. She could have put Layla down minutes ago but the feeling of holding the sleeping baby tugged at her heart and amplified her longing to love. So she would love, hold, and rock this borrowed baby even if only for another ten minutes.

  When Harlow had finally separated herself from Layla she stepped out and stretched, thankful she’d decided on an oversized sweater for the day. She’d eaten more in that one Thanksgiving meal than she typically did in a week. She vowed to never eat again as she pushed away from the table earlier. And wouldn’t you know it, she was almost ready to go back for round two.

  “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, you go first, because then I won’t feel as guilty.”

  Harlow laughed at Lisa’s ability to read her mind and nodded as though she’d been caught.

  “I can’t help it. It was too good. I was actually wondering if I had it in me for seconds on green bean casserole and stuffing before dessert. That is just so disgusting,” Harlow groaned.

  “What do you think I was doing when you took Layla up? I snuck seconds so I could be ready for dessert by the time you got out. Now you have to do it just to make me feel better about myself.” Lisa wrapped an arm around Harlow and they walked to the stairs together. “How’d she go down?”

  “Like a doll. She’s beautiful. Perfect and beautiful,” Harlow said, thinking it was an understated version of the truth. Layla was even more than that – she was a precious gift. After years of trying without success, Lisa and Steve had been blessed with a miracle.

  “I’ll call you tonight when she’s up at one and four, we’ll see if you still feel the same way,” Lisa said with an eyebrow raised, but her smile was full of pride and joy.

  “Forever and always.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Do you think you’ll stick around for the movie tonight? Mom said she was watching the baby so Steve and I are getting a two-and-a-half-hour night out on the town. For a movie. With the rest of the family,” Lisa said, slowly playing out the words to make it seem less exci
ting as the thought dragged on.

  “As appealing as that sounds, I think I’m going to head home. I love the idea of sweatpants and curling up on the couch with a big blanket. And I know your mom already has leftovers packed up for me – the saint – so I’ll shamelessly sit surrounded by reheated Tupperware and relish every minute.” Harlow grew more excited as she foreshadowed her evening.

  “You sure?”

  Harlow knew Lisa was asking out of care and concern. Lisa knew going home might be hard, especially on the holiday. But she’d be fine. She might even work up the courage to call her parents or text her brother and sister something more than the usual Happy Thanksgiving, I love you and miss you.

  “Definitely.” Harlow was determined to be independent and find a place in her heart to love the holidays and be thankful for everything she had – not just the pieces of the family she didn’t. Besides, she was luckier than most. She had a family. They might have been scattered around the world but she’d take that over any alternative.

  “Okay, but if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Now, let’s sneak in and stuff ourselves some more.”

  __

  The snow had left a sparkling dust of white on the sidewalks and streets. It found its way into the creases of signs and stop lights until wintery gusts of wind would come and swoosh it around to land in another nook or cranny.

  The beauty of the street lamps had illuminated the ground, causing it to glitter as Harlow drove by. It had drawn her out into the evening for a walk on Grand Avenue after she’d made it home.

  It wasn’t late, maybe only six or six-thirty, but the sky was dark and she needed those street lamps to light her way.

  Tomorrow, the sidewalk would be bustling with Black Friday shoppers loading up with gifts, and lining up outside of the delicious restaurants after working up a hunger from all of their racing around. She loved it here for that very reason.

  It hadn’t been hard to be the one to stay. To purchase the home that had been given to her and her siblings. It was the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood. Now, looking down the softly lit street that looked like a scene out of a 1940’s Christmas movie, it reaffirmed her decision to stay.

  But tonight, she’d had the same feeling that had been creeping in over the past couple months, a certain loneliness when she walked through the mansion. The Hill, she thought. An immaculate Victorian with endless charm and character.

  Growing up it was her haven, her excitement, and her playful escape. That was when she shared it with her family.

  The first couple of years after everybody had moved out were nice. She had redecorated, keeping only the furniture and paintings that had the kind of nostalgia that tugged at your heart when you sat on them or looked at it. Everything else – that wasn’t of great value and nobody else wanted – was sold in an estate sale, with the profits donated to local charities.

  All-in-all, Harlow considered it a win. But after the redecorating and making it her own, the walls seemed too hollow and she found herself longing to have people shuffling around the kitchen, kids running through the halls with their feet stomping and echoing from the floors above, and something other than a blanket keeping her warm at night.

  Harlow wrapped her arms tightly around her body at the thought, and the brisk wind swirled around her. As she did, the world around her came back into focus and she noticed a red, round man, opening a box that was nearly the size of himself.

  She walked the two short blocks to get closer. She wanted to see what Santa was doing out on Thanksgiving night. Surely Mrs. Claus wanted him home. Surely he wanted some of Mrs. Claus’ cookies. Harlow chuckled at her thought and shook her head.

  “Santa? Hello, can I help you?” Harlow asked, holding back a giggle at the round body tugging at the industrial staples holding the box together – in what seemed to be a steel hold.

  “Oh!”

  Santa jumped then actually gave a “Ho-Ho-Ho” – the closest thing she’d ever heard to the sound she imagined the real Santa would make.

  “Well, didn’t you give me a startle.” Santa laughed, grabbing his belly. “I would welcome the help if you aren’t too cold out here on this beautiful night. It’s like the weather knew a little snow would make my day.”

  It had been a long time since Harlow had believed in Santa Claus, but this man might make her a believer once more. Everything about him was jolly; his voice sounded like a song, and his laugh hit his jiggling belly every time.

  “Sure!” Harlow was delighted she could help. “What would you like me to do?”

  “I think if you’d be willing to hold the box in place I’d get a good enough grip on it to get it open. It keeps skating in circles every time I try to pull it.”

  Harlow positioned herself next to Santa and readied herself to push so she could hold the box in position as he pulled.

  “One, two-” Santa pulled on three and the staples sounded like tiny fireworks as they popped free from the side of the box. “We did it!”

  Santa held his hand high for Harlow to slap it for five as they cheered.

  “What’s in here?” Harlow asked, trying to peek around the now opened flap.

  “Oh, this? This is a miracle maker,” Santa said as he rounded the box, removing the rest of the cardboard and foam. “It’s a Christmas mailbox.”

  “For letters to send you?” Harlow could feel herself being drawn into Santa’s excitement.

  “For that and so much more. Some people, kids and adults alike, have no place to send their Christmas wishes. For things that are more than a gift you can wrap in a box. And sometimes you can’t give your wish to a parent, or in some cases there aren’t parents to help you send the wish.”

  Harlow covered her heart with her gloved hand as it broke while she listened and thought about those children who Santa was talking about.

  “So, we set up this beautiful Christmas-red mailbox for any and everybody to write and send their Christmas wishes. Some things that are wished for can’t be fulfilled, but we sure try our best to come close.”

  “I love everything about it. It’s wonderful.” Harlow brushed a small tear away from her blue eyes and pushed a stray curl of red hair behind her ear.

  “It really is. Wonderful, that is,” Santa agreed and looked at Harlow.

  It wasn’t the first time he looked at her but this time he stared, pleasantly it seemed, but knowingly, too. Like he saw her through and through.

  “You know,” he started, “Christmas is for everybody. Sometimes wonderful, magical things can happen by making a simple wish. Perhaps you’ll be back. You never know what miracles Christmas can bring.”

  Harlow smiled at the wise man and his rosy-red cheeks and delicately wiped another tear away.

  “Thank you, Santa. I just might.”

  Harlow leaned in, gave Santa a kiss on his warm cheek, and turned to head home. Thankful she was blessed enough to have one.

  CHAPTER 4

  Harris had obeyed his mom’s wishes and didn’t talk about work once during Thanksgiving dinner, at all during dessert, and had waited until the last guest had left his childhood home.

  He stood next to Barbara Porter now, wiping down the dishes she insisted on washing by hand. He wouldn’t dare suggest his mom use the state-of-the-art dishwasher just to her left.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Barbara said, stealing a look at Harris.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Harris said innocently, straightening his face and looking like he’d been caught. He knew his mom had always been able to read him as if he was a book she’d written herself. He smiled at the laugh he got out of his mom and prepared for her words.

  “I know, it’s the one day we have more dishes than we do in an entire month, but it gives me time to be thankful for all that we have.”

  Barbara handed him a white casserole pan to dry before she continued. “Harris, this family, this house – we are so lucky. So, at the end of a day like today, when we are all togeth
er, laughing and telling stories, I like to look out of this window that we were able to place here by design, and cherish every minute of washing these dishes. I’m also thankful that one of my children chooses to help me do it.”

  Harris grinned and bent down to kiss his mom on the apple of her cheek. He noticed the wrinkles that had formed lines across her cheek, and the way smile lines creased as her lips tipped upward and appeared in the corners of her eyes. In that moment, she was more beautiful than she’d ever been.

  He’d inherited her height, her wide square frame, and her dusty blonde hair. ‘It looks like a big pile of ash,’ his mom used to say when she’d be prepping for a night out with his dad while curling her hair or wrapping it up high. More for laughs than vanity.

  “You know, you can go talk to him now,” Barbara said, not making eye contact, and instead smiling out into the wintery night as she wiped her hands with a dish towel embroidered with fall leaves and a funny looking turkey. She’d enjoy the happy rag today, because tomorrow they would be packed away and holiday towels adorned with mistletoe and holly would replace them.

  “I know. I figured it could wait until I helped my mom with the dishes.” Harris smiled sweetly.

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

  “What? Of my own dad? No…” Harris paused, then sank. “Yes, absolutely. He’s way too light and happy of a man. It completely throws off my handsome, go-getter-vibe I’m trying to emanate.”

  Barbara threw her head back and laughed. It was funny because she’d known it wasn’t out of fear, but out of the drive and determination for the job that would clash against her husband’s desire to have his employees – and his son – spend time with their families during this season. Barbara figured whatever was important enough for Harris to want to steal time away on Thanksgiving for, was probably the type of project that would consume their lives for a while.

  “If it’s for the right reasons, you know your dad. He’ll listen and consider,” she said gently, knowing her husband had once carried the same overzealous ambition her son had now.