A Christmas Wish (11 page)

Authors: Joseph Pittman

BOOK: A Christmas Wish

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I
NTERLUDE

That next night, as they slept peacefully within the warm comfort of the farmhouse, outside the wind had picked up, blowing wisps of snow across the open field, bringing to life the windmill's mighty sails. Gently they turned, then with more drive and energy and passion. And as those sails spun in the lonely night, a sound carried over the waves of the wind, a persistent whistle that awakened the little girl from her deep slumber. Though she didn't know what it wasâwho it wasâshe could undoubtedly feel a presence trying to reach out to her. She'd been dreaming of Christmas, of the gifts stored away inside the windmill until the morning of the twenty-fifth.

She threw back the warm blankets and dropped her bare feet to the floor. For a moment she listened for the sound of activity, and when she was satisfied that he was lost to sleep, she grabbed her robe and cinched it around her waist. She opened the door to her room, padded her way down the dark hallway. His own door was closed, but she knew he slept lightly, unlike herself, who enjoyed drifting deep down into the world of dreams. In fact, she couldn't be certain what had awakened her, if indeed she really was. Still, she felt the need pulling at her. So she ventured downstairs, where she put boots on her feet, a jacket over her robe, and thick mittens over her bare hands. A finishing touch of a wooly hat and she was ready for the outdoors. In the mirror that hung in the hallway, she saw her reflection and for a second she giggled; she looked ridiculous in this winterized pajama getup.

Once outside, she gazed high into the night sky. A brilliant half moon lit the sky, and little sparkles of stars lit her way. Through the snowy field she traveled, until she came upon the windmill's lone, majestic presence in the middle of the field. Backlit by the moon, it was like the sails were encased in their own glow, a sharp contrast to the black backdrop of night. She'd never before been outside at this hour and she knew it was wrong, but tonight that didn't matter. And even though she imagined she should be afraid, she didn't let her fear stop her. Of course, the door that led inside the windmill was locked, he had seen to it ever since deciding to hide the gifts here. Hadn't it been her idea? To see them, though, that wasn't the reason behind her nocturnal journey.

They had only been back from their New York adventure a night, and all day at school she had talked Ashley's ear off, describing the wonderful images of the holiday season she had witnessed. She also told her friend about Brian's other lifeâ“He was smiling all day, Ashley, like he really missed his old home.”

“Do you think he'll move back one day? With all his stupid things,” her friend had countered with, and that had set her busy mind reeling. What if Brian tired of her? Before going to bed that night, she had sent out a wish out upon the wind, hoping it would find her mother somewhere in her otherworldly travels. The wind always knew, because it traveled 'round the world and found every destination, even those hidden from the people who still lived.

Now Janey was certain that with the wind rattling against her window tonight, a reply had arrived.

She was feeling the cold penetrate through her outerwear, wanted to find a way inside the windmill to seek shelter. Then she remembered the spare key, and she reached down on the ground. A small crack in the structure had been the perfect hiding place for a key, and lucky for her, it remained there. Almost like it was meant to be. And so Janey unlocked the door and she made her way inside. But inside the windmill it was dark, and she had to wait a moment until her eyes fully adjusted to the lack of light. Then she circled her way up to the second level and emerged into her momma's studio. From there she peeked out the small window, realized her journey wasn't yet complete. From the second floor, another door opened to the catwalk that encircled the windmill. It was here Janey went, where she could see the sails pass right before her eyes, where she knew her momma had loved to watch the world go by.

She collected her thoughts before speaking. She thought about Brian, of the very first time she saw him right here, at the base of the windmill. Like he had appeared out of nowhere, and in her mind, that was fine. A virtual Brian Duncan was better than no Brian Duncan. But now, she was getting to know the real person behind her magical version of Brian. She realized there was a lot more to learn about him.

“I'm glad you called, Momma,” Janey said, speaking into the wind. “Brian's been real good to me, just like you said he would. He took me on a trip, actually two of them, and I met all sorts of people he knows. Momma? Did Brian really want to marry you? I think so, because he's always wanting to get married. There was Lucy and then some lady named Maddie. Did you know about them? Brian says Maddie came to the windmill once, but I don't really remember. I don't want Brian to get married, because then I'll have a new mom, even though Brian's not even my real dad. People keep calling him that. I overheard him talking with Cynthiaâall he wants is for me to be happy. He's worried about Christmas. Me, too, because I don't know what gift to get him. He has this beautiful ornament that he's going to hang on the tree. Except it's gone missing. Momma, can you help me? That's all I ask. Because I thought I knew who Brian was, and now, wow, there's so much more to know. Momma, he has a sister who's not very nice and he had a brother, but he died.”

The wind blew past, the sails turned.

“Momma, I think I did something bad, and now maybe Brian doesn't want to take care of me anymore. He took me to New York and showed me places he used to live and work and I met a friend of his. I had fun, but I think Brian had more fun. He's been very quiet since we got back from our trip. So that's why I think he misses his old life. Do you think so, too? I'll wait to hear from you.”

So she watched the sails turn in anticipation of some kind of response, not unlike the time before Thanksgiving when Brian had made his own visit to the windmill. If she listened hard enough, maybe an answer could be heard. Until then, she had to be contented with the chance to express herself.

“Thanks for listening, Momma. I love you and I miss you always.”

She felt better just speaking the words. She felt warmer, too, even out in this bitter cold. As though her momma was feeding her strength, instilling within her an inner strength that could battle any temperature, weather any crisis.

“Oh, and merry Christmas, Momma.”

Janey returned to the farmhouse, where she noted it was three forty-seven in the morning. Brian was still sleeping, and in seconds so would she be, clutching at her stuffed purple frog. A large smile would cover her face as she slept, peace settling over her. Maybe an idea was coming to her, too, on how to make Christmas special for Brian.

The next morning, she found Brian making breakfast in the kitchen.

“How did you sleep, sweetie?” he asked.

“Okay. I had a very weird dream.”

Weird, because she had to wonder what her winter boots were doing beside her bed.

P
ART
2

NEW TRADITIONS

C
HAPTER
16

While having noticeable drawbacks, living in denial was not without its appeal. I had not confronted Janey about the stolen ornament, feeling that once we opened that can of worms little good could come of it, upsetting the delicate balance we'd achieved. With all she had been through this year, with our relationship on unsteady ground and shifting daily, confronting her seemed the wrong approach. Also, I suppose I was waiting for her to broach the subject, and so far she hadn't seen fit to discuss the situation. And as the holiday neared, I allowed our busy lives to progress without interruption, telling myself it was just a silly ornament and her needs were most important, all the while ignoring the big issue. An issue of trust.

So instead, we turned a blind eye and concerned ourselves with other matters to fill our days and nights. In Linden Corners, there always seemed to be some event to look forward to. Since my arrival in town last spring, I had shared with the residents a joyous Memorial Day and been initiated into George Connors's summer tradition called First Friday. Myself, I had created a companion celebration at the tavern I had dubbed Second Saturday, in honor of kindly old George. Just this past fall I had rallied the villagers, who had come together to remember Annie in the most remarkable way possible, a true coming-together of community. So now it was with eagerness that I and my newfound friends in town were looking forward to the Christmas party at George's Tavern. We would hold it the night before Christmas Eve. I had been industrious in sending out personal invitations, and had also posted several flyers around town, at the bank and at the Five-O, as well as at the tavern itself.

As for Christmas, it was still more than a week away, though at the farmhouse it might as well have been two months off for all the decorations that adorned our home. Janey hadn't pressured me much either about a tree lately, and I guess I'd dropped the ball, so to speak. Of course, we hadn't been spending as much quality time together since the New York trip. She was filling her hours by playing with her friends and helping to plan her own school party. Cynthia had also called upon Janey for help with her annual tradition of bottling jars filled with jellies and jams. So, with the knowledge that Janey and I needed to solidify our holiday plans, it was with new resolve that I awoke that Saturday morning. By day's end, I was determined that we would have a tree and our first holiday together would finally be under way.

At eight that morning I knocked on Janey's door, heard no reply, and when I opened it, she was already up. I made my way downstairs and found her in front of the television watching
Dora the Explorer
and laughing at the colorful antics.

“Morning,” I said.

“Hi, Brian,” she replied, not even looking away from the screen.

“You want breakfast? It's Saturday; what about pancakes ?”

“I had cereal,” she said, pointing to an empty bowl beside her.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

I stood in the living room for a moment, feeling at a loss for words and hoping Janey might fill the void. She didn't, and eventually I went into the kitchen, made coffee, and pondered why I was being given the brush-off. Could she be reading between my words? Could she know what I knew about the ornament still under her bed? Now seemed like the wrong time to announce our plans for the day, which included chopping down our first Christmas tree. Deciding to tell her later, I showered and shaved and took care of some of the household duties I'd been neglecting. Some vacuuming, some much-needed laundry (not my favorite task), all of which kept me busy while Janey contented herself with an endless supply of cartoons. Around eleven o'clock, Janey popped her head into the laundry room and asked if I could give her a ride to Ashley's house.

“We're going to make cookiesâChristmas cookies,” she said. “Her parents promised we could.”

“It's not on the calendarâwhen did you make these plans?”

“Oh, earlier.”

“Earlier when?”

“What difference does it makes, Brian? I want to go to Ashley'sâshe's waiting for me.”

“Well, she's going to have to wait longer. We've got plans today.”

“We do?”

“We're going with Gerta to get the tree. We talked about thisâearlier.”

She didn't appreciate my throwing her own excuse back in her face. “Oh, well, you don't really need me for that. I'm too young to chop down a tree,” she replied, then informed me that she was going to pack her bag, since she was probably staying overnight at Ashley's. She turned away from me then and I had to hold myself back from calling out to her. But I decided to let this incident passâfor the moment. Her attitude, her tone, had shocked me, and I needed time to absorb it, and to calm down. Had this exchange actually happened? It had been so un-Janey-like.

I let a long hour pass by. She didn't come to me again about a ride to her friend's. Perhaps she didn't really have plans, perhaps she had been testing me. Finally enough time had gone by, we needed to talk. Taking clean laundry to her room, I asked her to join me. With reluctance, she finally came up the stairs and sat on her bed, her arms crossed. She couldn't look at me.

“Janey?”

“What?” she said.

“I don't know what that was all about before, and I'm going to choose to ignore it. But what I'm not going to put up with is you not being there for the cutting down of the tree. You told me a couple of weeks ago that you wanted to get the tree, just like you and your momma did. It's a special memory, Janey, one I want to share with you. So I'll make you a deal, you join me and Gerta, then you can go to Ashley's later. But no sleepover, not tonight.”

She said nothing. But in doing so, she spoke volumes. She wasn't happy being told what to do, and I wasn't happy having to be so firm with her. This was uncharted territory for us. Sure, she had been unusually distant with me a couple of weeks ago, but we'd weathered that after the day of sledding. Now, suddenly, since the trip to New York, the tension was back and stronger than before. Janey was learning the art of defiance.

“Come on, Janey, do we have a deal? I mean, imagine when Christmas comes and we don't have a tree decorated. I think that would make us both sad. Where will we put the presents?”

She gazed up at me, worry spreading across those cute freckly features of hers. For the briefest of moments, as no doubt visions of an empty Christmas morning filled her mind, I saw the Janey I knew, the Janey who had so completely stolen my heart. Who knows, maybe the day's adventure would cure her of whatever was bothering her.

She asked, hesitantly, “Can I pick out the tree?”

“Can you? Of course, you think you're just along for the ride? Your presence is vital. I've never done something like this before. You're the expert.”

“Then okay,” she said.

The barest hint of a smile had emerged, and I felt myself breathe easier.

Before I left the room, I kneeled down beside her and gently took hold of her small hands. She gazed right into my eyes. Her own were wet.

“You know, Janey, if something's bothering you, you can tell me about it,” I said. “You can tell me absolutely anything. Okay?”

She nodded, but said nothing.

I kissed the top of her head and then went to call Gerta.

We had a tree to chop down.