Christmas Land – Chapters 1 & 2

Christmas Land the novel is coming to Amazon this Christmas season. You can be the first to read it here on Tripp Blog. Please be advised that this version is the rough draft, so suggested corrections or typos are appreciated and can be emailed to the following: terrytrippwriting@gmail.com

Christmas Cindy

Chapter 1

“I’m serious; it really talked to me,” Candy exclaimed. Her real name was Candace, but everyone called her candy.

“Yup, okay. I hung out with the monster under my bed last night. We drank some hot coco and played on our phones for a good hour or so,” Cindy replied to her friend.

“Cindy, I’m serious.” Candy let her know she wasn’t joking around.

A moment of silence went by.

And then another as Cindy steadily steered on the evening road. She finally responded, “Was this a real snowman? Like made of snow or someone in a costume?”

Candy pulled back her curly, blonde hair back to explain, “I was walking back home from checking my mailbox, and I went past Mr. Elwood’s old house—you know, Grace’s late grandfather—and there was a snowman in the front yard, probably made by the Gustafson’s kids. So I walk past it, and I hear in a voice that was more in my head but not my own say—.”

“What the heck!” Cindy yelled as she slammed on her breaks. The cute car slid wildly on the icy asphalt until it crunched into a short wall of fresh snow. “Stupid idiots on their phones!”

The two got out of the tiny, red car that Cindy got five years ago when she was in high school. After examining it for damage, she saw it was just a little powder snow that she had ran into. The car in front of them had driven off like nothing had happened. The two girls got back into their car and drove off, talking about how they just almost died.

Cindy dropped Candy off in her front yard. It was almost night now, and Candy’s foot slid a little on the icy sidewalk as she began to walk to her house.

“Shopping tomorrow after work?” Cindy asked.

“Of course, but let’s go down to West Gate again.” West Gate was a large mall about 45 minutes out of town down in the valley.

“Stay dandy, Candy!”

“See you, skinny Cindy.”

Cindy wasn’t the skinny, little girl from their childhood, but the nick name stuck. She had filled out into a still thin but womanly figure, her eyes large and blue with mid-length, wavy, light brunette hair. She had always secretly envied Candy’s golden curls since her own blonde hair darkened and straightened when became a teen. But she hated her nose. It wasn’t the cute button nose that other girls had; it was long and pointed—not ugly but just unique.

Cindy pulled off back into the street as snow began to lightly fall onto her windshield. As she passed the Gustafson’s house, she looked across the street to the abandoned house where her old friend’s grandfather once lived. Grace had grown up with Cindy and Candy but had gone off to college by the beach and never returned to their little, country town of Timberton Heights, as a lot of young people did. When the old man died, no one moved into the house, and it slowly died too.

The Gustafson family were a different group of people. The husband and wife had five children, and like their parents, every single child had fiery red hair and a face full of freckles. They always seemed to get into any mess they could find. A few years ago, they started kidnapping dogs and then waited for reward signs to go up in the town. As soon as the signs went up, one of the children happened to find the lost dog and happily collected the reward. After several dogs people began catching on, and the kids were eventually found out. The owners of the kidnapped dogs demanded their money back from Mr. And Mrs. Gustafson’s, but no one ever received anything.

As Cindy glanced in her rear-view mirror, she noticed a peculiar snowman—sticks for hands like he was waving, rocks for eyes, carrot for nose, and an old scarf wrapped around its neck. It even had an old top hat like the epic children’s tale. She thought if it just had a corn cob pipe, it might even come to life.

At 10:00 that night, a buzzing came from Cindy’s phone on her nightstand. It was a text from Candy’s mother asking if Candy was with her.

Cindy sat in bed that night disappointed that she had nothing helpful to offer Candy’s mother. Candy didn’t have a car. She didn’t appear to be texting anyone else that night. Cindy and Candy shared an honest friendship where she would have mentioned any plans of meeting up with anyone else. She texted Candy’s mother back an empty answer and stared at the shadows on her wall that came in through the window’s curtain from naked, swaying trees.

While the dryness of her eyes scratched against her closing lids, Cindy finally began to drift as her head weighed heavily into her pillow. Fading images flashed through her mind in the silence of her bedroom until one stuck. It was a childhood memory of her, Candy, and Grace at her elementary school’s Christmas performance when she was in the first grade. It was a special year because her class was telling the nativity story, and Cindy got to play the Christmas angel. All the other girls wanted to play Mary but not Cindy. She had no real memory of her father because he didn’t stay around after she was born. But this Christmas he was in town, and she was going to meet him for the real first time. She didn’t want to wear the rags that Mary wore. She wanted to wear the pretty white dress and the halo that the angel wore. She wanted her father to think she was beautiful and decide to stay in town to be with her.

The evening of the Christmas performance, her class was doing one final rehearsal. She, Candy, and Grace were playing near the stage, but Cindy made sure to be extra cautious not to get her white dress dirty. Their teacher moved them all backstage. Cindy peaked through the heavy side curtains and found her mother and grandmother in the audience. She looked at all the men sitting out them and wondered which one was her dad. She worried about what she would call him. Father? No, Daddy? Dad?

The teacher motioned them to move out onto the stage to take their positions. The stage lights burned bright, and all the of the audience slipped into darkness. She stood up straight and smiled from cheek to cheek like her grandma had rehearsed with her. When her lines came, she said them from memory with absolute perfection. The audience applauded cheerfully as the holy nativity was performed with such brilliant innocence. After the other classes all performed their skits, the principal made his concluding seasonal speech, and the students were released to go back with their parents. The skinny, little angel searched through the tall towers of adults looking for her mother and grandmother eager for the moment that she would see her father. Any one of the grown men around her could be him. She stood straight and walked as she had seen proper little girls on television walk, not knowing if her father was already watching her.

“Absolutely wonderful, my dear!” her grandmother bend over to hug her.

“You were the perfect angel. So beautiful,” her mother sweetly said as she got down on one knee to be on her level.

“Where’s my dad?” she asked with eyes moving back and forth to all the movement around her.

Her mother’s smile turned into a straight line. “Honey, he didn’t make it.”

His name was Jack, and he didn’t make it. That’s all she ever knew of her father. That and supposedly they had the same nose.

Just like that childhood night many years ago, this night was going to be one of those nights as well, where Cindy knew she would sleep without sleeping.

Chapter 2

Cindy woke up to the 6:00 alarm that was set on her phone. She quickly noticed three new text messages form Candy’s mother. She scanned through them and texted her back quickly explaining how she really had no idea where Candy was. She figured their plans to go to West Gate would be canceled because Candy’s parents were going to be furious when Candy finally did come home. Although Candy was 22, living at home meant living under her parents’ rules, and staying out all night was inexcusable, if she was okay. Cindy worried a little, hoping that Candy would text soon.

Unlike Candy, Cindy lived on her own in a small apartment. The word her landlord called it was tidy. She grew up in a house with her mother and grandmother. As soon as Cindy graduated high school, her mother married a man named Zack and decided to move away to the coast, which was a few states away. They offered for her to live with them, but it all seemed too different, too weird, and she didn’t want to leave her grandma alone. She liked living at her grandma’s house. There was history to it, and it was on the outskirts of town. The backyard opened up to trees and mountains, and there was an old wedding alter back there that was once hung over her grandma and her grandpa some long history ago. Through years of rain, snow, wind, and sun, her grandma added support to it in the winter and grew vines and flowers on it during the spring. She always called it her magical doorway to the past. She would sometimes go out just to stand under it and smile as if she could see a world of past memories.

Last November, her grandmother suffered a sudden heart attack. She spent three weeks in the hospital trying to cover, but her body began to fail one part at a time until there was no hope.

That house now lay abandoned.

Cindy didn’t want to leave Timberton Heights; she didn’t want to leave her past. She moved into her apartment when her mother sold the family house to an investor from out of town, but no one ever moved into it. No one visited it. It now joined the collection of the other abandoned houses in Timberland that were left to ruin until the land was worth enough to tear down and build something else.

Mostly alone now, Cindy refused to leave her hometown. The original buildings that lined the downtown area contained both wooden logs and red brink, and they made up most of the downtown area with the mom and pop stores and restaurants. Hills and mountains surrounded the town with snowy caps for half the year. This year, Timberton Heights had already experienced early snow that came right after Thanksgiving, making the town already feel like Christmas.

Cindy’s grandmother, who she called Nana loved Christmas, and Timberton Heights was what people called a Christmas town. Cindy had a year to prepare on how she would celebrate Christmas this year without Nana. She finally decided on putting up a waist-high Christmas tree in her apartment, a wreath on the front door, and a few other Christmassy decorations around the small space, which wasn’t much at all compared to how Nana would decorate. But like Nana, she did put out cinnamon scented pinecones, which made her white-walled space feel a little more like home.

It was 6:15 now, and she finally pushed through her weighing blankets to get out of bed. She turned on her Christmas tree lights and went to her refrigerator for a class of cold milk, ignoring the cold chill that broke through the thin walls of her apartment. She stared at the colorful lights on the little tree, and thought about how Nana would be proud of her. After making her bed and waking up in a warm shower, and getting ready for the day, she stepped out into a few inches of fresh powder snow. The streets were already plowed, so she would be fine getting to work this Friday morning.

She worked for a small app development company that was working hard to take off. They were called Alter Dimensions, and they were the most technological company in the town of Timberton Heights. The town was known for its distribution of firewood throughout the country, so an app company was rare and unusual. There were only five employees who were a part of Alter Dimensions. Cindy was one of the two graphic designers, so she spent most of her time behind a computer screen on Adobe Illustrator meticulously creating vector images for every part of the company’s newest app.

Alter Dimensions’ work space was simple with one enclosed office for the owner Cliff and open wide desks for the rest of the employees. Cliff was about forty and known for his multitasking. He always appeared to be busy but not necessarily always productive. The other graphic designer in the office was Tyler Jamison. People called him TJ. It wasn’t really shorter than Tyler, but it’s what people did called him. He was really into video gaming and running his YouTube video game channel, and he always wore his red hoodie over his head. There were also two programmers who sat in the corner and didn’t really speak that much to anyone. They did the crutch of the work of the company, but you wouldn’t even know they were there most of the time.

Right before lunch the door burst open, and Mr. Woolworth came pushing through with his arms holding warm drinks. “Merry Christmas!” he hollered. “I have hot chocolates for all of you.”

Mr. Woolworth was Alter Dimensions’ main and only investor. He was in his sixties and retired. His wife ran off after her retired, and he never bothered to go after her. He was now obsessed with the youthful app company and wanted to live vicariously through its success, so he normally came in on Friday’s for a few minutes to hang out and steal some of the youth of the office.

Cindy said, “Thanks, Mr. Woolworth, but it’s only December 1st today.”

“Exactly, and the Christmas season started after Thanksgiving dinner. I’m sorry I’m late.”

TJ went for his hot chocolate, “Hey, I’m not complaining. Let’s have Merry Christmas all year long.” He lightly toasted his drink to Mr. Woolworth.

After the usual greetings, Mr. Woolworth always shared his newest idea of an app, although he barely used his own smartphone; he was still fascinated with the idea of technology and its association with youth.

“So I’ve been thinking …” is how he always started. “How about an app for walking your dog? We can call it Dog’s Best Friend. It can include GPS maps of all the streets and trails that are dog friendly.”

And after these weekly ideas that almost never got carried out, the entire team would nod and agree excitedly as if they were eager to drop everything they were doing to take on a whole new project.

What was really special about Mr. Woolworth was that he came in each year and decorated the workspace with for the Christmas season. This reminded Cindy of Nana.

During her lunch Cindy texted Candy multiple times to try to find out where she was last night. She never received a text back. She really started to worry now, but maybe Candy’s mom took away her cell phone, or maybe the battery died. She tried to reason with herself all the possibilities of why her friend wasn’t texting her back. She finished out her long day with all of this on her mind and went home.

It was one of those Friday nights that you look forward to until it actually arrives because you remember that there’s nothing to do. There wasn’t really much to do at all for a single girl in her twenties in Timberton Heights. Cindy decided that she would walk around the corner to the local bookstore. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

She crunched her way through the flattened snow as it reflected street lights mixed with the Christmas colors on houses nearby. This street, like many streets in Timberton Heights during the Christmas season, exhibited stringed Christmas decorations hung across it, garland with bells and angels; the decorations varied from street to street.

The bookstore was an old bank building converted into a welcoming bookstore. Different rooms were set up for different genres of literature. This was an amusing setup that the locals in town enjoyed, especially since the horror and suspense novels were kept in an old safe with the thick door unhinged but still leaning against the wall for nostalgic purposes. As Cindy walked through the bookstore, the old wooden floor creaked with every step and even sank in a little. A section of the bookstore featured used books that smelled like ancient libraries, but most of the books in the store were new.

She walked around as her hand lighted grazed the illustrated covers on the bookshelves. She thought about all the stories. Each with a character. Each someone a little bit like her. She wondered if she would ever have a story, or would she just design apps for people to entertain themselves to escape life a little more.

A Christmas display caught her eye, and near the top of the display was Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, along with other popular classics like The Gift of the Magi and Twas the Night Before Christmas. Elaborate Christmas cards sat at the bottom on the display featuring scenes of painted snow and lights—not too different than Timberton Heights. It was littles things like this that made Cindy like her town, and if Nana were there with her, she would marvel at the display with her and probably comment about the first time she read A Christmas Carol and talk about an old Christmas painting that her father once painted that was similar to the cards.

Cindy couldn’t image a Christmas without snow, especially one at the beach. Yes, she enjoyed the beach in the summer and definitely went out to visit her mother and stepdad, but it was Christmastime, and at Christmastime she wanted to be in a Christmas Land. Nana understood this; her mother, not so much. This brought Cindy an odd sense of abandonment—not because her mother moved away but because she actually didn’t care too much for Christmas.

Cindy would agree with her mother that the snow was sometimes hard to live in, and it was definitely cold, but that’s what brought people together—the cold.

Christmas was an odd sort of paradoxical holiday for Cindy. What should have been a dark, cold, and bleak time of year was actually warm, as people would come out and be with each other around a fire. It was colorful, as people put up bright lights that reflected off the snowy grown to create even more light. It was hopeful and full, and streets, homes, yards, malls were all decorated with icons of seasonal stories that pointed to hope for all.

Yes, this was Christmas.

Where people say, “God bless us, every one!”

Where people sing that war is over.”

Where people dream of the pure snow washing over the town.

Where people go rockin’ around the Christmas tree.

It truly was the most wonderful time of year.

But Cindy looked around the bookstore and didn’t see anyone. The music that was on when she first walked into the store was turned off. She thought that maybe they were closing.

It was silent now.

She decided to go back home.

Cindy was careful not to slip on the outside sidewalk that was bordered with snow. As she walked only a few cars drove by, and it felt much darker than it had before. Her footsteps echoed on the cold concrete. Her hands sunk deeply into her coat pocket, wrapping her coat tightly around her.

She felt something nearby.

Behind her.

But when she looked, it was nothing.

Her speed increased, and she glanced more quickly this time to find a figure behind. She looked around for nearby cars or other people walking on the street, but there was nothing.

Her body shivered with the cold. She looked behind her again to check on the figure. It appeared to be a man in deep, dark clothing, hood hanging far over his face.

She sharply turned the corner of her street and walked even faster.

The figure did the same.

Her shoes tapping the ground echoed off the quiet building walls, and the sound soon doubled with his. Looking over her shoulder one last time, he was there.

The Christmas Star

It was the fourth of December—a wintry day for me as I walked home from my 6th grade classroom in my baggy stonewashed jeans and white Stussy sweatshirt. It was slightly foggy still from the morning, and on that stroll home, I remember observing the front lawn Christmas decorations of neighbors and the hanging lights waiting for the night, so they could shine brightly.

My cozy house was mostly decorated already by my mom, and I enjoyed the free time I often had as a child. I was lying on the couch in the living room with the television on softly as I observed the hanging Christmas carousel horses that hung over our fireplace and played music when you switched them on.

The home phone rang. I heard my mom cry out from my parents’ bedroom.

My dad came in and told me someone just called and said my aunt Lana was dead.

I looked at the nativity set on the curio cabinet. I walked over and picked up the baby Jesus figure out of the manger, held it up, and whispered, “Please God, no.”

My family decided it would be best to rent a cabin that Christmas up in the mountains near Frazier Park; it was too much being in a place filled with memories of Christmases before.

About a week after Lana’s death, I was at my nanny and papa’s house with my parents and sister. My nanny became overwhelmed with hurt and sadness and walked out the front door crying. My papa quickly followed. We then all followed her out into the cold.

We stood there for some time in the front yard. Hurting together. In the cold. With no words to say.

I just stood looking down, not knowing what to even hope for now—no light up ahead.

Then my Nanny pointed up and said, “Look at that star. It’s getting bigger.”

We looked up at it, and sure enough, it was getting bigger before our very eyes. Not a plane or helicopter—it was most definitely a star.

It continued to grow.

Bigger and bigger.

My family stood in awe as we looked upon the largest star we ever saw in our lives. My nanny said, “God just told me that Lana is with him in heaven.”

An unexplainable peace came over all of us, and all tears ceased.

The star then regressed back into its regular size until it vanished among the twinkling chilly sky.

We went back into the warmth of the house amazed by what we just saw—something supernatural.

I remember my nanny telling me she saw the star again about a week later in the same exact way, and with it, she had peace again.

A few days before Christmas, we were all at the cabin my family rented. My sister and I found a little snowy hill to sled down, and we even built a snowman with my dad as my nanny watched from the patio with my mom and papa all bundled up in warm clothes.

That Christmas Eve, the reality of my aunt not being there with us hit hard, especially for my nanny. Lana would never be with us again; Christmas would never be how it once was.

Dabbing her eyes with a napkin until it was rolled up in a little ball, my nanny eventually walked outside in the nighttime snow with my papa shortly behind her.

We didn’t know what to do; we were all hurting too. Then, in her serious voice, we heard my nanny call out, “It’s happening again! Come look, the star’s back!”

I was looking at it, but it was hard to believe what I was seeing—the same star growing right before our eyes again. Brighter and brighter!

And then… peace.

Tears ceased.

And our Christmas Eve was there.

In the snow.

With the Christmas star.

A miracle.

Looking up, my nanny commented, “God just said we’ll see the star no more.” It shrunk back to its regular size and vanished into the hundreds of other stars in the crisp, cold, Christmas sky.

We went back into the cabin, not happy, but not without hope either; we knew God was there with us in our sorrow.

Christmas is often a time of sorrow because the people in life change, leave, and even die.

The snowy scenes on Christmas cards no longer mirror the present. Our busy, unsure, messy lives don’t feel like the Christmas endings in Hallmark specials. The songs of the season are beautiful, but they almost feel out of place.

And that’s okay because there’s still hope because there is Christ.

There’s still joy because there is Christ.

There’s still life because there is Christ.

The shepherds understood this as they left their regular routine to worship a child in a manger. They spent Christmas glorifying and praising God.

With all the decorating the house and putting up a tree, driving around looking at wonderful displays of lights, and watching classic Christmas movies, let’s not forget to glorify and praise the one who brought us hope. The one who enables us to have joy. The one who promises everlasting life.

Remember those past Christmases. Cherish them. Even miss them. But glorify and praise God.

Praise him like the shepherds. Praise him like the angels. Praise him like the wise men. Hold Christ up high in this cold wintry season, and glorify his name, just like the first Christmas.

The Greatest Christmas Gift

I sat in the back of my family’s tan minivan as it slowly followed a train of cars through an affluent neighborhood of hanging Christmas lights. My dad drove cautiously as my mom moved up close against the cold window to better see the elaborate displays on homes. My nanny added her personal commentary on each house as my Papa nodded in faithful agreement. My sister, only a little girl then, silently observed it all with bright open eyes.

This was a special Christmas season because my aunt Lana was right there with us taking in all the pure Christmas wonder.

She was finally off drugs.

Clean.

Safe.

Home.

My nanny had her entire family together; I don’t remember her ever being happier.

As we drove in a wonderland of lights, we never thought it would be our last Christmas with Lana.

Being a nine-year-old little boy, I was fixated on what Santa would bring me that year. Okay, I didn’t believe in Santa, but I really wanted a specific gift. Not a Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot, ranger model air rifle but a Super Nintendo.

The Super Nintendo was the successor of the original eight-bit Nintendo Entertainment System. With twice as many bits than the old system’s eight, the Super Nintendo was the biggest hit of the gaming world in the early 90s. And at costing 200 dollars plus games, it was a lot to ask for.

There was also another dilemma: I wanted a new bike to ride to school and back. My current bike was still a small, single speed bike for younger kids. All my classmates had full-size bikes that were 10 speeds—Huffy being the most common brand at the time.

I battled between my thoughts of what I really wanted and what I felt I needed, but it honestly wasn’t much of a fight.

I confidently asked for the Super Nintendo.

My parents didn’t give me a definite answer on whether I could have it or not. They just said, “Maybe” and “We’ll see.”

As Christmas approached, I begged my parents for an answer. They wouldn’t give me one. They even asked me what else I might want instead of the Super Nintendo. I explained to them my bike situation but reaffirmed as clearly as possible that the Super Nintendo was my real wish.

Christmas Eve came—that’s when I would have dinner and open gifts with my immediate family. My mom made us a great feast, and we ate on the formal dining room table, which was reserved for special occasions back then. Classic Christmas carols played from the living room near the crackling fireplace. The glowing tree exhibited a combination of school made and Hallmark ornaments.

I don’t remember exactly what we ate, but I remember all of us being together. I can still picture the view from where I sat and can see my childhood family all around me, covered in smiles, not aged by time—one of the best dinners of my life.

After the filling dinner was finished, we began taking out the gifts from under the tree. I waited patiently as everyone took polite turns opening each gift. Eventually I found a box that looked like it could house a Super Nintendo.

I ravenously tore off the Frosty the Snowman wrapping paper from the box until it revealed the Super Nintendo Entertainment System.

I also got a few games and other smaller gifts too. My Nanny said, “You made out like a bandit with gifts this year.”

Once all the gifts were opened, I asked my parents if they would hook up my Super Nintendo to our television, so I could play it. They told me they would in a bit.

I waited some more before I asked again, and then they said they would do it pretty soon.

I waited longer, and they told me to pick up all the wrapping paper in the living room first, and throw it away.

I waited even longer, and then they said to take out the trash.

I was done waiting. I just wanted to play my Super Nintendo. I wanted to see the stunning 16-bit graphics and try out the newly improved game play with the modern multi-button controller that I had been waiting months for.

But I had to take out the trash.

I apprehensively grabbed two plastic bags of trash and made my way through my loquacious family sitting in the living room, past the still glowing Christmas tree, and to the front door.

When I opened the front door, there was a bike parked right outside blocking me in. Greatly annoyed, I turned around to my family and said, “Some stupid neighbor left their bike right in front of our door.” I wanted to give some random neighbor kid a lecture about being more responsible and not leaving your nice bike in front of a random house.

I noticed my family was silent as they stood looking at me—smiling and eagerly waiting for me to understand.

“Wait …” I looked back at the bike and noticed it was a brand new, red, 10-speed Huffy. “No way!” I yelled.

I couldn’t believe my family gave me so much for Christmas that year. It was truly one of my favorite childhood Christmases. The next year, life would change so much.

Although my family made sacrifices to bless me tremendously with gifts, the greatest gift that year was the dinner. The bike eventually rusted in time, and the Super Nintendo became outdated, but the warmth from that memory of having my family together stays with me to this day. It’s somewhere deep inside that helps me remember who I am and where I’m from.

Christmas really isn’t about things but about Jesus, and Jesus is about people. If we can train ourselves to have more of a divine mindset, we will be about people too, and not just on Christmas but every day of the year.

Although most theologians and historians don’t believe Christ was actually born in December, I feel the cold winter season is the perfect time to celebrate his birth. The cold brings people together for warmth. The birth of Christ brought people together for a spiritual warmth. May Christmas be a time where we draw close to others as Christ came to draw close to us. Let us feel his warmth through the Holy Spirit as we sing carols, share meals, and give gifts.

A Visit from Saint Nicholas

writers

“There’s something out there. I don’t know what it is, but it’s out there. I know it,” whispered Emma. She began to move again, back and forth in her ancient rocking chair. Her cracked hands squeezed nervously the quilt that was covering her legs from the winter’s cold.

Nicholas, a slightly overweight man with light hair, looked around the hoarded home and then to the door. “There’s nothing out there. Just a lot of snow. And beyond that, trees covered by even more snow.”

He was still a young man in his early thirties. He attended college to study psychology to become a therapist, but ended up working for a church instead. He wasn’t a pastor per say, but something in between. The church called him a “leader.” One of his jobs was to visit the sick and the elderly.

Although he fought it with all his might, apprehensiveness still appeared on his face when Pastor Brad asked him to visit Emma Huffington, the 92-year-old widow who quit coming a number of years ago. Her only son had moved away for a girl, leaving her utterly alone. Now Christmas was approaching, and Pastor Brad believed and taught that no one should be alone on Christmas.

The little tube television in the corner of the house was silently playing The Christmas Carol, the original 1938 version, but Emma didn’t seem to care. She stared at the window even though it was closed with a curtain.

“There’s something moving out there. I can hear it,” she continued.

Nicholas replied courteously, “What’s out there?”

“I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m nervous.” Emma’s fingers dug into the quilt a little more.

“When I walked up, there wasn’t anything but snow, Emma.”

“It’s dark now, and that’s when it comes out. In the end. When everything goes dark.” She coughed a deep cough that came from too many years of smoking although she had quit years back.

A gust of wind blew against the small, weathered house, and Emma’s eyes turned to Nicholas. They were wide and alarmed.

“Just wind,” Nicholas said to calm her.

She replied, “It’s just two words.”

“What?”

“They scare me, those two words.”

“What two words?” He was really confused now.

“The scariest two words ever spoken.” She learned towards him and whispered, “What if,” and she froze in that position for a moment.

Nicholas mentally recalled his academic training of psychology and his few years of experience counseling people at church. “Emma, do you have regrets that are bothering you? If so, everyone has regrets. It’s okay.”

The largest smile broke through Emma’s wrinkles on her face, “Papa said Santa is coming! And I’ve been good all year, I think. I hope I have. Santa Claus is coming to town. He’s making a list. He’s checking it twice. And… I’ve been nice. Jolly old Saint Nicholas, lean your ear this way. Don’t you tell a single soul what I’m going to say.” Her smile vanished and her eyes dimmed a little. “There’s something out there. Soon.”

Another gust of wind hit the house, and Nicholas quickly stood. “Emma, can I get you anything? Water, coffee? Do you have any?”

“I have coco. Would you mind getting me a cup of hot coco. It’s on the counter near the microwave. I always drink hot coco around Christmas time.”

“I would love to.” He moved into the crowded kitchen, careful not to knock anything over. As he waited on the microwave, he noticed some photos in the hall. He studied them carefully. Emma was once beautiful and her husband, strikingly handsome. Nicholas saw a framed black and white family portrait. Her Papa and mother he presumed.

The microwave dinged, and Nicholas brought Emma her hot coco.

“Here you go. I hope it’s not too hot for you.” He carefully handed her the cup and saucer.

“What’s your name?” she asked completely lost.

“I’m Nicholas.”

“Oh, Saint Nicholas! Papa said you would come. Momma said so too. If I was good. Did you get my letter?” She was giddy in excitement.

“I’m from the church.”

“Yes, yes! Okay, Santa Claus, I need to change my letter. I don’t want a doll and stroller anymore; I want something else.”

Curious, Nicholas asked, “What do you want, Emma?”

She thought for a while and was fighting who she was. She went back and forth from child to elder until settling somewhere in between. “I want Robert back.” Her head sunk into her shoulders in that stagnant rocking chair. I told him to go fight. He could have stayed. He asked me what the right thing to do was, and then I sent him off in his uniform. I know he did what was right, but what if I would have told him to stay with me? With me and Jimmy. What if? He had already served his time. What if I would have told him to spend Christmas with me and go another year, or never go? My boy would have been raised right with a father. I would have been held in the cold of night. But I told him to go. And he did. And he fought. Brave. And he never came home.”

Emma pulled out the golden heart that hung around her neck by a purple ribbon. Just then another gust of wind pushed against the house.

The tired woman forced a broken smile and said to Nicholas, “You’re from my church, right?”

“Yes, Grace Community Congregation.”

“Will Jesus give me grace?”

“Do you believe in Jesus?”

“There’s no other name to believe in.” She motioned up to the cross hanging over her doorway.

“He will give you grace, Emma. God loves you so much.”

“Enough to cover my what if’s?

“He will wipe away every what if.”

Her eyes blinked longer now as she appeared even more sunken down into her chair.

She whispered, “Every what if?”

“Emma, they are all gone. Completely wiped away. You have been forgiven of every mistake.”

Her words grew softer and weaker: “Jolly old Saint Nicholas, something’s outside.”

“It’s windy outside.”

“Santa, I want my Robert back.”

Her eyes stayed closed longer before they opened again.

Another gust of wind.

“Open the door. Robert’s here.”

“It’s just the wind, Emma. Get some rest, okay?”

“Just open the door for me.”

“It’s cold out; you’ll freeze.”

She whispered slowly, “Please, open the door.”

Nicholas apprehensively stood up and moved to the door. Emma’s weary eyes fought to stay open. As Nicholas turned the rusty doorknob, the door flung open, pushing him out of the way, and to his disbelief the snowy wind that flew in was in the faint shape of a man.

Years later Nicholas would recall that the faint shape of that snowy wind resembled a smiling man in a uniform, but he was for certain that Emma Huffington passed away that windy night with a hint of a jolly smile on her face, peacefully in a rocking chair.

A Look in the Fountain

writer

“Daddy, why doesn’t this water fountain freeze like the ponds?” a little girl pulled on his black pea coat seeking his attention.

He put his phone back into his warm side pocket and stared at the lingering frozen snow reflecting the sun into his eyes.

“Daddy?”

“Oh, there must have been some sort of warming system installed into it that keeps it from freezing.” There was apathy in his voice.

A little boy, about his daughter’s age, was sitting on the stone edge of the fountain. He had been listening intently, but the father was oblivious of his presence. From behind the scarf wrapped around the little boy’s mouth, he said, “There’s nothing in that pond.”

The father turned to the boy and asked, “Really, then why doesn’t it freeze?”

“That’s easy,” he replied, “It’s a magic fountain.”

“Oh, my mistake, I forgot about all the magic fountains in this city.” He rolled his eyes to his daughter, “Let’s go, Carolina.”

“It is magic. My great-grandma told me so. She was here before all these buildings, and she said this fountain was here before them and that there’s an angel that makes it magic.”

A ringing from Preston’s pocket turned the boy’s words into distant rambling as he took his daughter’s hand. They walked toward the street and signaled for a taxi.

The inside of the taxi was cluttered with seasonal decorations: garland bordered the dividing glass as little Santa Clauses dangled from the top, held on by layered clear tape. Bells dangled from the rearview mirror, annoying the father as he conversed on his phone. But to Carolina, they were something beautiful. They reminded her of her mother, who she could only remember vaguely since she had died when Carolina was only three. It was breast cancer that had prematurely stolen away her young life. But Carolina could remember her mother’s face clearly in one particular memory of her standing by a Christmas tree. She remembered her mother’s bright eyes and open smile as the Christmas lights glowed behind her. That picture was engraved upon her heart, although time was slowly washing it away into a feeling rather than a visual image. But there was something about Christmas that brought back memories.

Preston went from one call to the next, a stoic voice unchanging in tone: “Emma, I have to go in for a surgery tonight. I know I said you had the night off, but I need you to watch Carolina. Call me back when you get this, or just come over.”

Carolina watched intently as the big city displayed its seasonal decorations of triumphant red and green, and people in Santa costumes stood on street corners collecting money for various charities. The drive soon turned from the busy city streets into an elegant suburban world, behind large gates and surrounding walls.

“I thought you didn’t have to work tonight, Daddy?”

“Emma should be there.”

Carolina just stared out the window in silence.

“You still like Emma, don’t you?” he asked.

She replied, “Yeah, I like her. Why do you have to go?”

“Remember, your Daddy’s a doctor. I have to fix people, or they will die.”

“We were supposed to get our Christmas tree tonight. Why can’t other doctors fix them?”

“Emma can take you to get a tree.” This didn’t please her. “Have you thought about what you want for Christmas this year?”

“No,” she said softly.

When the two walked from the cab to their home, Emma met them at the door. Preston grabbed his medical bag and proceeded to the hospital.

***

“Dr. Patterson, Dr. Crawford would like to speak to you,” a nurse informed Preston as he was cleaning up from a successful appendectomy.

Dr. Crawford, the hospital director, was a balding man with a long nose. He seldom smiled—the ideal professional. He had traded his lab coat in for a prestigious position, which he had sacrificially dedicated his entire life to earn.

When Preston entered Dr. Crawford’s office, the director sat behind a large desk of dark mahogany wood, without a smile. He cleared his throat two or three times before he spoke: “Preston, you’re one of the best surgeons in the state. During your ten years here, you’ve never lost a patient, nor have any of your patients ever had any complications that you couldn’t quickly rectify. You have completed more surgeries than any doctor with your same experience.”

Preston interrupted quickly, “Thank you.”

“I say all this with adulation, but I’m very concerned about you.”

“Concerned? What is it that—”

Dr. Crawford interrupted him, “Please, Preston. Can I speak to you honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“After Katherine…” He looked down. “You took a few months off. When you came back, you just jumped back into your work. You volunteer for every case that comes up, while still holding strongly to your old patients.”

“Yes, I’m very dedicated to my practice.”

“Maybe too dedicated, though.”

“I didn’t know that was possible in our field.”

“Preston, I’m not speaking for the hospital right now. I’m speaking for you. Katherine passed away five years ago, and you haven’t taken a break since. You’re living too fast. You’re going to miss your life.”

Preston began to understand his point and gathered his thoughts for a moment: “I don’t really have much to miss anymore. It’s just me and Carolina now.”

“Who’s there for Carolina? You can’t possibly be raising her on your own with your hectic schedule.”

Rubbing his forehead, Preston responded, “I have a nanny who helps out at times—a really good nanny.”

“But it’s you who is her father. You have saved so many people, but don’t lose your own daughter in the process.” He sat back as his large leather chair making a stretching sound, and all the words settled for a moment.

“I don’t know anymore… I’ve saved so many people. Why couldn’t I have saved Katherine?” His eyes were wide and empty.

“Doctors and fathers have many responsibilities and jobs, but it’s not our job to ask why.”

Preston didn’t move except for the contorting muscles in his jaw.

Dr. Crawford added, “My door’s always open for you, Dr. Patterson. Now, go home and get some rest. Oh, and congratulations on another successful surgery.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crawford.”

***

When Preston arrived home, he found a beautifully lit Christmas tree, giving off a euphoric tint to the surrounding room. Under the tree, Carolina was curled up in a throw blanket on a pillow. He could still smell the remnants of a cozy fire, and Emma lay asleep on the couch with an open novel on the floor.

“Let’s go to bed, Carolina. Daddy’s home.” He picked her up to tuck her in bed. She coughed a few times before she rolled over and faded into a dream. When he came back into the living room, Emma was walking out the front door with heavy eyes.

“Emma,” he caught her attention. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said in a softly worn voice that came from her slender body.

Preston stood in the living room examining the elaborate tree and wondered if Carolina had put up the ornament hidden in the bottom of a worn cardboard box of saved decorations. He searched the tree, seeing a plethora of school made ornaments: small bells, cut-out snowflakes, and even one with Carolina’s Kindergarten picture, the year sketched underneath it.

And then he found it—the decoration Katherine gave him when she was sick. It was half-hidden behind a verdant branch, a silver heart that had an engraving that read: Together or apart, you’ll always have my heart.

He remembered his last Christmas with Katherine. How she was so weak, so feeble, but she still found strength to do all the little Christmas traditions for him and Carolina. Christmas was something very special to her, and to him too, back then.

He put his fist over his mouth and continued to stare at those unique words reflecting the twinkling lights. His body began to shake, and tears rolled down his aged cheeks. And they continued for a moment longer, until he was so worn out that he made his way to his room and fell onto the bed.

***

Another busy seasonal week flew by like frosty wind. Toy stores were filled with anxious eyed children as impatient parents waited in congested lines. Business men wore ties with Santa Clauses and reindeer on them as others wore red and green, fuzzy Christmas sweaters. Parents gathered for school choir concerts, and families, for church plays. Volunteers went out into the cold to help homeless shelters. And some simply just drove around looking at neighborhood light displays, while listening to radio stations play all the holiday favorites.

But there were no lights up on the Patterson home. Just that Christmas tree that Emma and Carolina put up. The two would have probably put up more decorations, but all the others were in boxes that were too high up in the attic to reach.

After Preston’s talk with Dr. Crawford, he thought little about cutting back in his work schedule. The holidays brought in a lot of patients, and instead of referring anyone to another doctor, Preston was determined to handle this busy challenge with his perfect medical record. He spent hours prepping for surgery for his patients. His newest challenge was a little girl, only a year older than Carolina, who had a severe stomach infection. In the little girl’s state, the permeation of the infection was life threatening, and there was no way Preston was going to let parents lose their daughter two days before Christmas.

With his precise eye-hand coordination, abundance of knowledge, and consistent experience, the surgery was another success. After he informed the worried parents, they cried with joy and thanked him earnestly.

“Excuse me, Dr. Patterson, you have an urgent message,” a nurse said.

“I’ll be there in a moment. I’m going to walk Mr. and Mrs. Eastin to see their daughter,” he responded while walking away.

The nurse continued, “Dr. Patterson, it’s concerning your daughter.”

“Please see to it that the Eastin’s are taken to their daughter,” he said as he hurried back to the offices.

Coming up to a tall counter, he asked, “Nurse Walker, there’s a message for me?”

“I have three messages here from a… Emma Bennett. Let’s see, ‘Carolina is ill, please call me back ASAP.’”

Preston rushed to his office and bypassed the missed calls on his cell phone, calling Emma immediately: “Emma, what’s wrong with Carolina?”

“Oh, Preston, she was running a fever last night, but this evening, it went up to 104. She couldn’t even move,” her voice was broken with worry.

“I’m coming home right now. Let her know that I’m on my way.”

“No, she’s already at the hospital, in the pediatric building. They wanted to put her on an IV. They’re trying to lower the fever.”

“I’ll be right over.” He ended the call and held the phone in his hand, staring at it in grief. He whispered, “Oh God, I save others but not my own. What’s wrong with me?”

***

As Preston entered the hospital room, Emma arose. He knelt beside his daughter and said gently, “Carolina, Daddy’s here now.”

“I don’t feel good.” Her voice was faint.

“I know you don’t. But the doctors will fix everything to make you well again.”

“You’re a doctor, Daddy. Why can’t you make me well?”

A blanket of guilt fell over him, suffocating him with those innocent words. He looked to Emma, “What pediatrician does she have?”

Emma hesitated, “I think his name is Dr. Ryder.”

“Ryder’s a good man,” he nodded his head. “I’ll be right back.”

Minutes passed by as Emma sat next to Carolina, softly rubbing her hand with her thumb until Preston came back with answers: “Emma.” She stood up. “We’re pretty sure she’s going to be fine. She has a severe flu, along with a minor infection that the antibiotics will take care of. The rest will just require a lot of rest.”

Preston sent Emma home to sleep, while he stayed overnight by the side of his daughter. With medication, Carolina slept most of the night, and Preston sat wondering how in the world did he ever expect to do all this without his wife as he occasionally dozed in and out of consciousness. The next morning, Carolina’s temperature had lowered, so she was able to return home.

It was now Christmas Eve, and the warm drive home felt more comfortable than the chilly hospital.

“Do you want the heater on more?” he played with the knobs near the radio.

“It’s fine, Daddy.”

Colorful lights and bright decorations flickered on as they drove by homes and businesses.

“It would be nice to turn on some Christmas music,” she suggested.

He pressed through different stations until he came to one with soft, classic Christmas melodies. Just then, white powder began to lightly fall.

“It’s snowing! Look, it’s snowing again!” she lit up in excitement.

“That’s peculiar; the weather forecast said there wouldn’t be snow again until next week. That’s one good thing about being a weatherman, you can be completely wrong, and people will still listen to you. A doctor makes one mistake, and his career is over for life.”

“Then you could stay home more.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have our nice house or even this car.”

“Daddy, those things aren’t really important to me.”

He drove on through the snow with music and lights.

“Emma is going to meet us at home, so I can get your Christmas present. Did you decide on what you want yet?”

She nodded her head.

“Okay then, what is it? Remember, like I said, anything you want?”

She pulled a folded paper, worn and torn from a store catalogue, from her coat pocket. He unfolded the paper with the fingers of his right hand as his left steered the car. “What a beautiful, little jewelry box.”

Carolina added, “It plays music when you open it too. I want to keep Mom’s jewelry in it.”

Katherine passed down all her jewelry to her daughter, and although Carolina had some of it now, Katherine had planned out for her father to disperse it during special moments and stages of her life: like her first prom, her 16th and 18th birthdays, and her wedding. She even had a special piece of jewelry for him to give to her if there was ever a time or a moment of hardship.

Carolina had searched for the perfect box to hold all the beautiful pieces her mother left her. This box in the photo had an angel’s face engraved on it that she adored, making it perfect for the jewelry.

As they pulled into their driveway, Preston asked, “Now how old is this catalog that you found this jewelry box in?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the one I really want.”

He looked at her pale face and helped her to the house as soft snowflakes fell down upon them. Emma was already there and had prepared Carolina’s bed for her along with some warm soup. As soon as she was in bed, he gave Emma the doctor’s orders and took off in search of the jewelry box.

***

Preston carefully swerved through slow snowy traffic with the catalog picture folded up in his shirt pocket. When he arrived at the store, he showed the picture to the first attendant he saw. She earnestly helped him by looking all throughout the store and then on the computer. She learned that the catalog was over three years old, so chances were slim that the jewelry box would still be available, but her computer showed that the downtown store still had one left in stock. He would have to hurry because the downtown store was closing in 20 minutes. He thanked her and charged out the door.

He arrived to the store finding an open parking place near the front window on the street. This is truly a miracle, he thought to himself as he began to step through the fresh powder snow. Bright window lights welcomed him with displaying Christmas trees, snowy village scenes, and a miniature North Pole locomotive circling the holiday display.

Just as he reached out for the door, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He glimpsed a figure crossing the street. It stood in the center divider before attempting to cross to the other side, falling into the snowy asphalt.

He better get up. There’s no way a car can see him in these conditions, he worried. There was no movement. Preston looked back to the store again and remembered the time. Then in the distance, he saw a truck coming.

“Get up,” he said under his breath. He looked at the truck getting closer and then back to the inviting entry doors.

The next thing he knew, his feet were stomping through the white powder. The truck slowed down as its window opened, and a man stared angrily at Preston, “Get out of the way, you stupid idiot!”

He quickly picked up the wet figure and helped the person to the side of the street.

Preston unwrapped his scarf from his neck, catching his breath and said, “Are you okay?”

The figure was in a dark coat with a hood on, now clearly in the shape of a woman.

She took her time standing up.

“Hello, are you okay?” he said a little louder, starting to get frustrated with the unusual situation.

She removed her hood and turned to him, and he saw her clearly for the first time with help from the store’s Christmas lights. She had wavy, almond, shoulder-length hair, and her eyes were a bold brown. Her face was well shaped although she was covered with filth from the street, but her teeth were perfectly white, causing him to wonder about her story.

She answered with an unrecognizable accent, “I’m fine, sir. Thank you for asking though.”

“What were you doing in the middle of the street?”

She smiled at him, “It’s a special and most beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Preston said under his breath, “I don’t have time for this.” But the next second, the store lights clicked off into sudden darkness. He ran over to the door and started knocking against it with a closed fist, “No, come on! Come on, now!” but as far as he could see, it was already empty inside.

He muttered to himself, “Great! That’s just great! Now what am I supposed to do?”

The woman’s voice answered the question, “It’s Christmas Eve. There are countless things to do.”

He looked at her, annoyed with her strange answer. “No, you don’t understand. I need to buy my daughter something from that store. Now I won’t be able to get her what she wants for Christmas.”

She responded, “I think it will all work out in the end,” as he walked right past her and got in his car.

After a few struggling engine sounds, he shuffled around in the seat of his black, luxury vehicle and then got out, slamming the door. “I don’t suppose you have a cell phone on you, do you? I didn’t charge mine last night.”

“I’m sorry. People like me don’t have a need for phones.”

Preston looked at her worn dress hanging down from under her coat and figured that he understood. He leaned against his car as a little snow slid off it, and he folded his cold hands deep within his pockets.

“I have a warm place I can take you if would like,” she suggested.

He looked around and saw nothing but Christmas lights and closed stores—not a taxi in sight. “You don’t suppose there’s a phone there?”

“I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for,” she began to walk down the sidewalk.

He caught up with her with a quick jog, “Now, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“My name? I don’t think you’ll be able to pronounce it even if I told you.”

“So you’re not from around here? And I’m Preston, by the way.”

“Hello, Preston, and I’m not from around here.”

“So what were you doing in the middle of the street? Did you faint? You almost got ran over by that truck.”

“No I didn’t.”

As they walked, he could see his breath in front of him. “Yes, you did! I saw it coming straight for you.”

“No I didn’t, because you saved me,” she smiled.

Preston gave up on the argument, focusing on the cold. Arguing with a deranged homeless woman downtown on Christmas Eve while his sick daughter was waiting for him at home was not what he wanted to be doing at the present moment.

“Preston, I bet you’re the type of person who likes to save people, aren’t you?” she looked at him confidently.

She had caught his attention, despite the situation, so she continued, “You’re probably even the type of person who blames himself if there’s ever a person you can’t save. A true perfectionist. A type A personality.”

“So where are we going?” He tried to hide the impatience in his voice.

“It’s a very special place, and don’t worry, they’ll have a phone there.”

Preston had some difficulty understanding her through her accent, and he was still trying to figure out what kind of accent it was. It almost seemed like a mix of many different languages.

“It’s just another block away now,” she informed him.

As the two walked through the falling snow, Preston noticed wreaths, bells, and bows on store doors and manger displays in dark windows. He looked up to the sky and could see the bright snowflakes fall with the lamppost light behind them. It reminded him of when he and Katherine used to go ice-skating in the city’s ponds when they first started dating so many years ago. He painfully reminisced about the time they spent together, just simply observing the world around them—perfectly content.

Finally the woman stopped in front of a building filled with happy noise. Bright light beamed through the window.

“What’s this?” Preston asked.

“It’s the Simonson Children Center, a place for children without parents or children who have been taken away from their parents due to abuse or—”

He sharply interrupted, “I know what the Simonson Children Center is. I mean, why did you bring me here?”

“Because they’re always open, and there’s a phone here. Is there a problem?”

“My wife used to volunteer here before we had our daughter, some nine years ago.”

She added, “Then you know it’s one of the best places in the world to be, and I’ve been everywhere.”

Large sleigh bells jingled as he opened the door. The woman entered behind him.

Preston said, “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

There were two large living room areas and a commercial kitchen on the left side. It was more of a miniature cafeteria than a kitchen. There were about 30 to 40 children in the center. Some were playing board games near the fireplace. Some were eating out of little stocking bags of candy. Some of the younger ones rolled toy cars on the carpeted floor or played with their new dolls in the corner. A small group of adults stood by the kitchen, and the woman went over to them.

Just then, a man approached Preston, “Can I help you, sir?” He was a tall, lean, black man with a deep voice wearing a collar neck shirt with the name of the center screen-printed on it, faded jeans, and a Santa hat.

“My car broke down, and my battery died on my cell phone, so I came in with hopes that I might use your phone for a moment. That woman over there guided me here.” He gestured to where the woman stood now with the others as she smiled joyfully entertained by their conversations.

“Which woman?” the man asked, looking at the group.

Just then, he heard, “Preston? Oh my gosh, Preston Patterson!” A blond woman hurried over, as the man left to console a child who had just dropped her candy on the ground. “Preston, it’s me, Susan Carter, Kathy’s old friend from college!”

Memories like pictures flashed through his mind as he remembered meeting Susan before when Katherine used to help out at the center. She had even been over to the house a few times. If he recalled correctly, she used to be an engineer but gave up her career to be a volunteer at the center.

Preston nodded a humble greeting.

“So what brings you in on Christmas Eve?”

He cleared his throat, “Well, besides meeting strange people on the street,” he motioned to the woman who was now sitting and laughing with a small child, “my car broke down a few blocks from here, while I was shopping for Carolina, and my phone died.”

Susan lightly laughed and directed him to where the phone was located.

“So how are things going in the good old Simonson Center?” he changed the topic from himself.

“Besides funding cuts, a lot of the kids have been sick lately. We have one little boy in the back room by himself who has had the flu this entire week.”

She could tell what he was thinking as he rubbed this chin.

“Would you like to take a look at him, Dr. Patterson?”

“Let’s take a look at the little guy.”

She took him to a small room in the back where a small child lay pale and motionless. Preston put his hand over his forehead. “He needs to go to the hospital.”

“We just had him there a few hours ago. He was sent back.”

Preston sighed, “That’s the inner city for you.”

The lean, black man stuck his head in the doorway, “Susan, there’s a phone call for you.”

“Thank you, Wallace. I’ll be right there.” She turned to Preston, “Please excuse me.”

As she was walking out, the peculiar woman walked in the room with Preston and the ill boy. She asked, “What’s wrong, Preston?”

“This child is dehydrated first of all, not to mention that he has a dangerously high fever. Someone’s going to have to get him to my hospital at once.”

“So you’re a doctor,” she said calmly.

“Yes.”

“So it’s good that I brought you here.”

He paused and looked at her sternly, “Why did you bring me here, anyway?”

“Because it’s what you need.”

“Oh yeah, the phone.”

“No, that’s not what you need, Preston.”

“Really, then why don’t you tell me what I need?”

“Hold on, it’s starting to get warm in here; let me take off this coat.” She unbuttoned the long coat, and under it, he could clearly see her modest dress, one that would appear old in style, but it made her look more trustworthy. She then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face. He was almost embarrassed to admit it to himself, but she was oddly beautiful. “Let’s begin that question with knowing what you don’t need.”

“Okay, then, what don’t I need?”

“Preston, you don’t need to save everyone on your own. There are others who can save too.”

He sat down in a plastic chair. “If I don’t save everyone, who will?”

“There are others like you, but have you completely forgotten that God can save too?”

“If God could save, he would have saved my wife.” He gritted his teeth, “But he couldn’t, and even worse, I couldn’t save her either.”

“There’s so much hurt in you still. God didn’t save your wife because everyone has an appointed time to die. It was her time. No matter what you did to try to save her, it was her time to go home. Everyone on this earth is only here on loan. And you loved her more than anyone, which is why God gave her to you.”

His eyes filled with moisture, and his voice broke when he spoke, “What do you know about me and my wife? I don’t even know you! You don’t know the first thing about saving anyone. If you can even remember, it was I who saved you less than an hour ago.”

The woman slowly walked over to the ill child in bed, put her hand over his warm forehead, and said, “May God be glorified. Be healed, child.”

Preston shook his head with an angry chuckle, “Are you serious?”

The woman walked out of the room, and Susan came back a moment later, “Sorry, the phone is always ringing around here.”

Preston stood up, “So where did you find her anyways?”

“Find who?”

“The woman I came in with, the one who was walking around with the kids.”

“You came in with a woman?” she seemed confused.

“Yeah, I even pointed her out to you. She was sitting with a kid in the play area.”

“I’m sorry, Preston, but we all watched you come in, and it was only you.” Susan saw something move out of the corner of her eye. It was the ill, little boy. “Steven? Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah, did I miss Christmas?” he asked, his face glowing with health.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I didn’t miss Christmas, did I? Is my gift still under the tree?” he asked with excitement.

“Of course, still wrapped and all.”

The child started to throw off his blankets, but Susan stopped him, “Hold on there, turbo! Let me feel your forehead.” She put her hand over it. “Fever’s gone.”

Preston put his hand on the boy’s forehead, “It is gone.”

“What did you do, Preston? Did you give him medicine or something?” she asked in awe.

“I didn’t do anything, Susan.”

The child asked impatiently, “Can I get my gift now?”

“Go ahead, Steven. Take it easy now,” but before her words were out of her mouth, the child was already in the other room. Susan turned, “Preston, that was a miracle—an answer to my prayer.”

“I have to go now. Thanks for letting me visit for a while.” His mind was trying to make sense of everything. He had to catch up with the woman.

***

He flung the door of the center wide open and looked right to see nothing. He turned to his left and saw a dark, blurry image in the snowfall. He ran through the piling snow, almost losing his balance a few times. The distant image turned a corner, and he caught up. As he turned, he realized where he was. It was an open cemented park area for sitting and resting, surrounded by large buildings of offices. It looked different with the freshly fallen snow and the sporadic twinkling of Christmas lights in office windows, but what really set it apart was the silence. He could hear the soft snow fall. And then he saw the woman, sitting on the same city fountain that his daughter had sat on only days before.

Preston enjoyed the unusual silence, and the woman looked impossibly beautiful as she sat so contently with no jacket in the falling snow. Her skin wasn’t red from the cold nor was she even shivering.

He broke the silence: “Hello.”

“Hello, Preston.” She had a calm half-smile.

“How did you do that back there? The boy is completely well.”

“Oh, Preston, you baffle me sometimes. You clearly saw what happened. And you know that it wasn’t me who did anything?”

He silently reasoned within himself.

“So, don’t you love the center? It’s one of my favorite places in all the world. I used to spend a lot more time there, but I’ve been busy other places.”

He grew curious: “Were you there when my wife was?”

“Oh, Katherine, of course. She was one of my favorites. So sweet. She had so much compassion for those little ones. And then she quit coming around so much, with Carolina being born. Oh my, she was so happy that day. Remember what she said?”

“What did she say?” he grew nervously still.

“Don’t be silly, Preston. You know as well as I do what she said. She looked at you and said, ‘Darling, look at her. Our love can make miracles.’”

“There’s no way you can know any of this.”

“You see, Katherine prayed for you all the time. Even when she was fading out of this life, she still prayed for God to remind you of the love that you shared together and of the miracle that it produced.”

Belief was slowly pushing within his heart. “I want to believe you so much. I really do. Can you just show me a sign, or let me see a miracle. Anything?”

“I’ll show you anything you want. What is it that you would like to see more than anything, Preston?”

He face contorted as his lower lip quivered, “I want to see my wife. I want to hold her in my arms once again and tell her that I love her with all my heart.” Tears fell with the light snow, and his body shook while standing.

“Then just look into the fountain here, and you’ll have what you have asked for?” She stood up and moved out of the way.

Preston walked over to the fountain and bent over it looking down. His eyes blurred, so he wiped them with his cold thumbs. The reflection in the water wasn’t his own. His jaw shook, and he finally understood as he stared looking at his daughter in the water. The image soon faded in ripples from the falling snow. Preston turned around to the woman, but she was gone.

Two little lights came blurring in the distance. As they came nearer, he could make out that it was a taxi. He hurried to the street to flag it down.

The taxi’s window lowered, and Preston recognized the driver by the cluttered Christmas decorations in the cab. The driver said, “Merry Christmas, sir! Where am I taking you?”

***

When Preston walked into his home, he saw Carolina sitting by the Christmas tree, and as the warm fire lit the room, her face looked like his wife for a moment. She jumped up and ran over to him.

She yelled, “Daddy, Daddy! We were waiting for you! Emma and I made Christmas cookies and we’re watching Christmas movies.”

“He knelt down and hugged her within his arms, and whispered, “I love you with all my heart.”

Emma, Carolina, and Preston spent the rest of that Christmas Eve watching seasonal films with milk and cookies as Carolina was free from any illness.

The next morning, Carolina woke her father with the excitement of Christmas morning. Preston dreaded having to tell her that he had failed at getting her a gift but knew she would understand with his car breaking down—the part of the story that he told her.

“Thank you so much, Daddy!” she yelled out as she saw a square shaped box under the tree.

Preston was puzzled, not sure where it had come from. Carolina opened it gently, and there was the jewelry box.

“It’s even more beautiful than the picture!”

He picked up the gift and stared at it with a smile, for the angel that was engraved upon it was the woman who had changed his life the night before—a Christmas angel.

 

The Cold Christmas Present

book

His fitted jeans and striped hoodie were not nearly enough against the crisp bite of wintry air that came against him the moment he stepped out of the rustic bookstore and began to crunch his way through the fresh powder on the sidewalk. Cold. Converse made horrible snow boots, and he was a city boy, not too familiar with the snow in his adult years, but he liked it nonetheless. He liked how the Christmas lights hung loosely on Main Street and reflected against the piled up snow. They were mostly the large colored bulb lights that in some way had survived from the early 80s, creating some mysterious form of nostalgia. On the corner of the street, a short snowman stood appearing ready to direct traffic with his branch arms sticking out.

The bookstore was peaceful, mostly full of the common classics. He could tell that the owner was not up-to-date with the newest trend of pop novels. No teen wizards or sparkling vampires for people to romance about, and after trying to warm up inside, there was nothing more to really interest him in there for the moment.

The entire town seemed out of vogue by a good 20 or maybe 30 years. There were no signs of smart phones or tablets. No Starbucks or energy efficient hatchbacks. Just locally owned mom and pop store fronts—some even still had wooden hand painted signs hanging outside near the snowy streets. These streets were lined with a few worn down, parked trucks that made his own stand out as something new. And oddly, he liked it all. All except the cold.

A vibration buzzed in his left pocket. He pulled out his phone, quickly swiping open the screen to a new text: Did you find what you’re looking for yet?

He hesitated to text her back for a moment and then responded: Not yet, but I think I’m glad I came.

Then I’m glad too, I wish I didn’t have to work tonight.

And he wished the same although there had been a distraction in their relationship. Things had been off and on again for a while now. She was a sweet and patient girl, but before he could move on to make the relationship something serious, he had to take care of something first. He didn’t drive alone for over three hours from home just to see the snow. He had a purpose in mind, even though he wasn’t exactly sure what it was yet.

He walked down Main Street until the cold became overbearing again. He looked into a window that was half fogged over, and envying the warmth, he opened the heavy door as sleigh bells jingled from the handle. Unlike the franchised coffee shops that he was used to in the city, this coffee shop appeared full of warm and hospitable life. It was obvious that people weren’t there to quietly read a novel or to do web searches on their laptops; they were there for each other, laughing loudly and sharing stories.

Classic Christmas music could still be heard over the gregarious groups of people. He noticed there were even more people in the back of the coffee shop. It almost appeared to be a Christmas party as people hugged and patted each other on the back. They greeted him too—an unknown stranger—with a joyful “Merry Christmas!” although Christmas was still a few days away.

He ordered a cup of hot apple cider and sat down listening to the loquacious townspeople interact with each other. Then he noticed a man stand up from a table in the corner. He was an older, heavier man, about in his 60s, wearing a Santa Claus costume with a fake white beard hanging loosely below his double chin.

“Hello there, welcome to Bells Town. I reckon you’re not from these parts,” the man said as his fake white beard bounced with every word.

“I actually used to come up here every Christmas. My grandma lived just down the street—Maple to be exact.”

“Ah, Maple Street. Yes, just two blocks down and take a right and then your second left.”

“That sounds just about right. Honestly, I haven’t been in the area since I was 10.”

“That seems like a long time to stay away. Most people visit Bells Town a lot more than that.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really look that way,” he thought of the open streets outside. “Honestly, my grandma died when I was 10, and then my parents separated. I guess she was the glue that held everyone together. We didn’t live here with her, but we came up a lot to visit. And every year, we spent our Christmas here, and it always snowed.”

“There’s something about the Christmas season that brings back the past, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, it kind of makes things difficult.”

“The past does?” the man asked.

“No, the present does.”

The man rubbed his heavy face a little, “Haven’t you ever heard that the present is a present?”

“Of course.”

The man pulled his beard up over his lower face, fitting him well, and asked, “So what do you want for Christmas this year? Maybe I have a present for you?”

He smiled a little and responded, “You know what, you’re alright. I’m Scott, what’s your name?”

“Santa Claus.”

“Of course, how didn’t I know that?”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t believe?”

“Maybe I could believe in God or angels, but definitely not Santa Claus or the Easter bunny. Oh, and definitely not the tooth fairy either,” Scott rolled his eyes.

“What if Santa Claus is really just an angel sent here to help people?”

“Then he’s an angel that has a problem with the sin of gluttony.” Scott looked down to Santa’s large stomach hanging over his wide, black belt. “No offense, Santa.”

“None taken at all, and if you ever had the cookies in Ms. Mary Smith’s bakery, you would have a problem with gluttony too,” he smiled joyfully through his fake beard. “So what do you want for Christmas this year?”

Scott thought about it for a moment, wanting to answer honestly. “I really just want to go back and see my grandma’s old house and see a little bit of life the way it used to be.”

“Well then, let me take you there; trips into the past can be difficult to go on alone.”

“Thanks, Santa. I could probably use some company tonight,” Scott said sincerely. He took a deep sip of hot apple cider, which already seemed to have gone cold.

The two walked out of the vibrant coffee shop, and as the door closed, a serene silence came over the street, only broken by the crunching snow and sporadic gusts of wind.

Scott couldn’t help his obvious curiosity of the town and finally said, “I just can’t get over it. The same decorations are still being hung in the same places. Like that house right there, the same decorations were hanging up when I was a kid. And that pizza shop is exactly how I remember it; my grandma took me there a few times with just me and her. But it’s just so damn cold here.”

Santa said, “I feel fine.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re Santa Claus—North Pole and all.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

As they continued walking, bright yellow lights and muffled sounds came from a building up ahead. It was actually a small country-style church with a tall steeple.

“Looks like a Christmas party,” Santa said with delight.

“I remember this church. It’s the only time my family ever went to church. Everyone was really nice here.”

Santa opened the large door to a bright sound of happy laughter. “It sounds like they still are. After you, Scott.”

People were mostly sitting at different tables stacking together gingerbread houses with large piles of assorted candies.

Santa said, “Oh, one of my favorites, the annual gingerbread house competition!”

“Yeah, I remember my grandma won one year. She was so excited that she talked about it for weeks.”

Santa said, “Maybe you can reclaim her title. There’s an open table right there with all the materials ready to go.”

“Come on, Santa, let’s build a gingerbread house. I mean, how could I not win with Santa Claus on my team?”

In the midst of a combination of a boisterous crowd and classic Christmas music being played on an old wooden record player in the corner, the two worked diligently as Santa stealthily bit off a piece of gingerbread every now and then for himself. But the two were disrupted suddenly when a chair was pulled out from the table and a young woman, appearing about Scott’s age, asked, “Okay, so my team is being totally lame, can I join you two?”

She looked oddly familiar to Scott, and there was something about her inviting eyes that locked onto his when she spoke. She was charming to say the least, and her voice was one that mesmerized his soul with every word. It was like she had never experienced the things of this world that make one calloused—so innocent and trusting.

“Sure, if you don’t mind being on the winning team,” Scott smiled. “I’m Scott, and this is, ah, Santa.”

Santa said with glee, “Merry Christmas!”

“Wow, Santa Claus? Well, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since I was six.” She turned to Scott, “And you aren’t Scott Simons, are you?”

“Yes, I am. Don’t tell me you’re Melanie Harper?”

“I am!”

“No way! Santa, Mel and I used to play together as kids when I would come up.”

Melanie added, “I remember looking forward to Christmas break every year because I knew I would always have a friend to go sledding with. And then, when my parents told me that our neighbor, your grandmother, passed away, I was sure that I would never see you again. I felt like a part of my childhood ended then, but now here you are right in front of me.”

“It feels like nothing has changed here. Even you look just like I would have imagined you to look all grown up.”

“So I look like a little girl still? Is that what you’re saying?” she teased.

“No, you actually look beautiful.”

She smiled and then noticed him rubbing his hands together. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to get warm here, which is odd because I’m hardly ever cold.”

“Well, it’s supposed to snow again tonight.”

Santa looked at Scott’s cold hands and his red nose but didn’t say anything at all.

The group continued to work on their gingerbread house as Scott and Melanie reminisced about their childhood adventures of sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen, and venturing through the town together for hot coco and last minute Christmas gifts. But neither of them bought up the time when they kissed softly on the lips the night of Christmas Eve outside his grandmother’s house in the fresh snow—their first kiss. That story was left out of conversation although it was on both of their minds.

Their playful laughter and long private stares took precedence over the competition as Santa gladly partook in other interactions with people he knew. Hours went by, and people slowly began leaving the church. Eventually, Santa came back to Scott and said, “Miss Harper, would you mind being this young man’s guide around town tonight? It’s getting a little late for this old man.”

“I wouldn’t mind one bit. Tis the season.”

Santa replied, “Tis the season indeed, and Merry Christmas!”

As Scott and Melanie stepped out onto the snowy street, Melanie stated, “I know we’re older now and all but that doesn’t mean we can’t still hold hands, does it?”

Scott, living completely in Bells Town now, reached for her tiny hand, and the two walked down Main Street together as icicles hung off of buildings, and the icy road reflected the large bulb lights back into their eyes as they gazed at each other. Her hand fit so perfectly within his—so soft. And for a moment, Scott started to think that he had finally found what he was a looking for. He had found home, his good memories come back to life.

“Look, it’s snowing!” she pointed eagerly.

“I love it. It’s like a real life snow globe.”

“Yes, and we’re the tiny, little couple holding hands in it,” she leaned her head on his shoulder as they turned down towards Maple Street. The snow started to fall a little heavier now in large flakes.

Melanie whispered, “I wish you hadn’t stayed away for so long.”

“I don’t know if I did.”

She faced him, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve always been here in my heart. This place and even with you. In this season and this snow. I don’t think I ever really left.”

The two slowed to a stop, and she put her arms around his neck and finally asked, “Remember that one time we were together in the snow?”

“Like I said, I never really left.”

Her eyes sparkled as she stared deep into him, and she was now more than a dream as two cold lips once again touched in the falling of the white sky that freshly painted another layer on the winter wonderland, visible even in the dark of night. For the following lost moments, they held each other close, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw lights on in his grandmother’s old house down the street.

“There’re people still living in it—my grandmother’s house!”

“Of course.”

He started moving quickly to his destination and said without looking back to her, “I always heard that it was left vacant.”

“No, not at all,” she hurried up to him.

“As he arrived in front yard of the house, he saw the same classic Christmas lights faithfully hanging from the rafters. The windows lit up in bright yellow as black silhouettes moved back and forth inside. The front door burst open, and a little boy came running down the steps with a scarf flowing behind him as he struggled to put on his second mitten with the hood of his bulky coat falling over his face.”

“A little boy lives there, like me. I’m so glad.”

Melanie responded, “Yeah, he finally came back.”

“Who? The little boy?”

She replied stoically, “Yeah. You.”

The front door opened again, and a familiar voice yelled out, “Scotty, only a few minutes now. I don’t want you catching a cold before Christmas,” and as Scott’s eyes focused in through the night, it was her—Grandma.

Then a younger version of his father ran out after the boy yelling with a wide smile on his face, “Watch out, Scotty! I’m going to get you back,” and the boy threw a snowball at him. It was all clear now.

Scott couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t smile. He could only watch this historic scene of his family play out in front of him. Soon his mother came out too and swung a snowball at his father, and he playfully wrestled her onto the snow with tickles. He then hollered out to his son, “Scottie, come make a snow angel with us.”

His grandmother peaked through the window and then hurried to the front door, “Did I raise a bunch of crazies? I don’t want my entire family sick on Christmas. You all get in here right now. The pies are about ready now. Come now, hurry on!”

The wind blew violently, making a deafening sound. Instantly, all the figures froze as the scene of his past now stood still in front of him like life-size sculptures. The wind brushed painfully against his ears, and the frozen figures began to disintegrate into nothing more than snow, being taken away with the unforgiving wind. Soon all that remained was a dark, lonely, weathered house standing half open and damaged by years of neglect—only barely visible now in the dark.

“Mel, what’s going on? Tell me you know. What’s really going on here?” He reached for her hand, taking it in his.

A sad and gloomy look came over her face, “Scott, you’re so cold.”

Her hand in his began to feel like sharp pieces of ice, and then the perfect flesh on her face flew off in ash-like snowflakes with the wind. Layer after layer blew away as her eyes sank deeply into empty voids, exposing her skull and bones throughout her body until they too drifted away into the cold snow. Standing completely alone now, the lights down the street switched off into darkness.

He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he was cold and had been for a while. It was a dangerous kind of cold that was beginning to steal the life out of his body.

So he ran. Sliding on roads of frozen ice and falling every which way into fresh snow, he continued to get up over and over again running.

Turning back onto Main Street, a ghost town now silently awaited him, lit only by the pale moonlight that managed to break through clouds and shine off the white ground. Doors hung halfway off abandoned buildings. Signs were worn off and faded, weathered by the seasons. Windows were cracked and broken. Roofs were sunken in. No vehicles were visible on the street. No merry sounds came from the church. No bright light shown from the coffee shop’s window. Nothing.

Just cold.

A cold that ate through his Converse and fitted jeans. A cold that devoured his striped hoodie. A cold that had moved through his skin and was now starting to wear inside his heart, slowing his blood. He didn’t know how long he had been in this cold, but he knew he didn’t have too much time left to find some sort of warmth as his body was slowing down altogether. Spotting his truck far down the street half covered in snow, he moved lethargically towards it.

As he treaded down the street, he felt bewildered and mouthed out with a breath of fog, “How is any of this happening?”

He felt the presence of another. Maybe it was so cold that any nearby body heat could be felt. Or maybe it was because there was some sort of sound other than the snowy wind. But whatever it was, Scott’s senses told him to turn around, and he saw him standing only a few steps behind.

“Merry Christmas, Scotty.” He stood in that same red and white suit unaffected by the cold. Although serious, his face was still jolly somehow.

“What’s going on? Please just tell me who you really are, and what’s going on?”

“You seem upset, Scotty. I’m sorry that you don’t like your present.”

“I don’t understand. You let me go back, but why didn’t you let me stay?”

“Because you would freeze to death.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing in the past except for the cold. The warmth is always in the present. Look around you. There’s nothing here except cold.”

“How about Mel?”

“Melanie moved away with her parents when the town began to go under many years ago. She’s divorced now with two kids and is nothing like how you imagined her. It’s always interesting how the imagination plays up the past. And sorry to tell you this, but she doesn’t remember you at all. Not even that first childhood kiss you two shared.”

Scott looked away for a moment, flexing his jaw. “It was so wonderful here for a few hours. So perfect.”

“This was all created by your own wistful memories, and although pleasant to visit from time to time, if you live in your memories, you’ll have nothing but the cold.” Santa walked closer to Scott. “You’ll only find death in the cold, but in the present, you see, in the present, you’ll find warm life. It won’t be perfect, but it will be warm.”

Scott looked back to the snowy desolation of darkness of what used to be such a wonderful wonderland. He then looked to Santa, desperate for some sort of help. Anything. Santa took Scott in his large red suited arms and embraced him wholeheartedly until Scott’s entire body was healed by a deep, inner Christmas warmth.

‘Thank you, Santa.” He felt truly content.

“Now go home and enjoy your present. It’s still warm there, although someday it too will be cold, so enjoy it while you can, taking in all the joyful warmth that it has to offer.”

Scott got in his truck and waited a moment for it to defrost as his wipers pushed the fresh powder off his windshield from left to right. He took out his phone and texted her back: I found exactly what I was looking for. I had it the entire time.

As he drove off, the snow continued to fall heavily behind him, and Santa stood waving goodbye in his large, white gloves. Then, within a blink, Santa was gone, and the town behind him seemed even a little darker.

Whether he was the real Santa Claus bringing a young man a very special gift or a Christmas angel in disguise, Scott was now ready to truly embrace the warmth of life that would be his greatest Christmas present ever.