A Christmas Wish (20 page)

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Authors: Joseph Pittman

BOOK: A Christmas Wish
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C
HAPTER
30
The phone rang around noon. Janey was playing with her new toys, and I was still marveling over the card she had given me. I would treasure it forever, just as I would Janey herself. When I picked up the receiver, I heard Gerta say, “Merry Christmas, Brian.” I returned the greeting and asked how her holiday morning had gone.
“Fine, just fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Gerta, who's there with you?”
“Oh, I'm fine, Brian, just fine.”
“Gerta?”
That was the second time she'd said those words, and they sounded rehearsed and hollow. As I recalled the constant snowfall of the night before, a sneaking suspicion crept upon me.
“Gerta, your daughter and her family couldn't make it, could they? The snow stranded her at her home, didn't it?”
“I told her not to attempt it, the roads were horrendous. They still are.”
“So you're alone?”
“I'm fine, Brian . . .”
“Yeah, I didn't believe you the first time you said it. Hang on, Gerta, it's Janey and Brian to the rescue.”
“No . . . Brian, really the roads are too impassable—don't chance it.”
“I won't,” I said.
“What are you plotting, Brian Duncan?”
“Oh, nothing much, but I might be just passing through,” I said, smiling as I replaced the receiver. I called out to Janey that we had a special errand to run, she'd better get ready. Once again we bundled ourselves against the winter cold, once again we loaded a few presents onto the sled and Janey took up her position at the back of the red toboggan. I took hold of the rope in a repeat performance from this morning, and then we were off.
The back roads hadn't been plowed; it seemed everyone was taking a holiday today. But that meant there were no cars to fuss with on the road, giving me and Janey and the red sled free rein during our travels. It was a two-mile trek to the Connors' home on the other side of Linden Corners, and we spent the time it took to get us there by singing Christmas carols, ending with “Frosty the Snowman” because that's how we felt and looked. We headed up Gerta's driveway, glad to have finally made it. As we reached her porch, she emerged from the inside, a worried smile on her face.
“Oh, the two of you, get inside right now, it's freezing out there,” she said, obviously delighted to see us. “Goodness, what am I going to do with you? I've been pacing my house for the last hour wondering what you were up to. You came all this way on the sled?”
“Yup, it was fun,” Janey said.
“Completely worth it,” I added.
“I think I better get that cocoa made,” Gerta said, hustling us before a blazing fire in her living room. Her tree lights were on, and in the background I heard the faint sound of Christmas music. Hanging on the mantel were two stockings, one with her name, the other George. I felt a lump in my throat as I thought of Gerta awakening this morning, her first Christmas without George. But from what I could see, her spirits weren't dampened. Gerta and Janey were not uncommon when it came to rallying themselves ; their enthusiasm for life far outshined their troubles. Or maybe it was their way to honor those they had lost.
“Hot chocolate sounds like a good idea,” I said.
“With tiny marshmallows,” Janey added.
“Absolutely, with tiny marshmallows,” Gerta said with a great smile. “While I take care of that, Janey, there's a gift with your name on it waiting under the tree.”
“Wow, more Christmas presents,” Janey said, running to see what Gerta had gotten her. As it turned out, more Barbie accoutrements. Gerta and I had actually coordinated this.
We settled into the living room with our cocoa, and I lit some logs in the fireplace, where before long a refreshed fire crackled and a sweet warmth began to envelop the room. I passed Gerta her gifts, the first one more or less something to make her smile.
“New pie plates, why, Brian Duncan, whatever does this mean?” she asked, laughter in her voice.
“It means he likes your pies, Gerta,” Janey said.
“I bet you do, too,” she said.
Janey giggled.
The second gift was another of Annie's lovely paintings, this one a scene of the village of Linden Corners in winter, the sign
CONNORS' CORNERS
evident in the background. Like Janey's gift, I had this one framed, as well.
“Oh, Brian, what a remarkable idea.”
“It's from Janey, too, she's the one who suggested it.”
“Momma liked to paint,” she explained.
“It's just beautiful,” she said. “I can almost picture George inside this world, happily toiling behind his bar.”
Gerta then informed me it was my turn to open my gift. It looked like a shirt box but judging from Gerta's expression I believed she was trying to fake me out. Indeed, that proved to be the truth. There was no shirt inside the cardboard, just a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it and began to read. My eyes widened with genuine surprise. I gazed at Gerta and said, “Oh no, I couldn't possibly accept . . .”
“You will accept it, Brian, there's no debate.”
What I held in my hands was a piece of the past. It was the property deed for the tavern—for the entire building, actually. I wasn't just a bartender; I was the owner of the bar and Mark Ravens's new landlord.
“Gerta, thank you—I don't know what to say. Your generosity . . .”
“Is unmatched by yours, Brian,” she said, laughing. “My goodness, who else would pull a sled for two miles through five feet of snow just to make sure some old lady had company for Christmas? You did that without thinking, and that, Brian, is what makes you so special. Janey knows it, and so do I.”
“This Christmas, it's been such a rewarding day already,” I said. “I feel so rich.”
“So does St. Matthew's Church,” Gerta said.
“What do you mean?” I asked, surprised at the turn in the conversation.
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, Brian Duncan Just Passing Through,” Gerta said.
“Oh, we don't call him that anymore,” Janey announced. “He's Brian Duncan Right Where He Belongs.”
“Yes, indeed,” Gerta said. “Seems St. Matthew's received the most extraordinary Christmas gift last evening—left there sometime after the vigil mass. Father Burton was retrieving the Baby Jesus figurine for the midnight mass when he discovered an envelope had been placed in the manger. An anonymous person had left a cashier's check for twelve thousand, five hundred dollars. A note was attached, asking that the money be used to help restore the stained-glass window that was damaged in last summer's storm.”
“Huh,” I said.
“More like wow,” Janey said. “That's a lot of money.”
“Yes, it is,” Gerta agreed.
That's when I showed Gerta my Christmas present from Janey, the beautiful card. “Some of us received gifts that are priceless. Right, Janey?”
“Right, Dad.”
A few minutes later, Janey went to set the table for our Christmas meal, and Gerta came and sat beside me, her voice soft.
“Your father gave you a check for twenty-five thousand, Brian. Can I assume you kept the other half?”
I shook my head. “I just couldn't,” I said. “I donated it to something my parents will hardly object to, though. I sent the other check to the Philip Duncan Cancer Fund.”
The snow returned that afternoon, and Janey and I remained at Gerta's, where she cooked the most delicious glazed ham dinner, and for dessert, rather than strawberry, she went with a peach pie, Annie's specialty. Surrounded by the two women who had most changed my life, the eversweet Gerta Connors and the irrepressible Janey Sullivan, my first Linden Corners Christmas came to a rapid close. For weeks I had struggled in my search for guidance, from the windmill and from Annie and from Father Burton and from all the people who made up this town called Linden Corners. I guess that wish upon the wind I made had been heard after all, because from tragedy had come such goodness, from the people who made my life so full and so rich, so complete.
Two families had shared their Christmas traditions, and in doing so had made new ones. But it had gone beyond new traditions, and instead what was formed was a new family, one that went beyond blood, one that was sealed with a powerful thing called love. Next year we would welcome life into our family, Cynthia and Brad's bundle of joy. We needed that, all of us. It was a gift from above, from the people whom we had loved and lost.
I had to wonder if somewhere among the stars Annie had maybe met my brother, Philip.
E
PILOGUE
Theirs was a seemingly unbreakable bond, one that had been built by the power of the wind and by the presence of the mighty windmill. Today the windmill spun its special brand of magic, even as the uncertainty of a new year presented itself. On this night in December, the last one of the year, he found himself walking through the deep drifts of snow, venturing to the base of the windmill. It was here, on this eve of resolutions, he sought inspiration and knowledge and strength, all of which he would need to negotiate his way through the memories of a past that threatened to undo their fragile happiness. Because as wonderful as they were together, life hadn't always been easy, it came with daily challenges. But the coming year would prove that the two of them could get through anything.
“Annie, can you hear me?” he asked aloud, hoping the wind would carry his words forward, upward. This time he knew they would. “I wanted to thank you, Annie. Christmas has come and gone. We missed you—Janey did with all her heart, I know that, because with everything we planned and everything that we did, always Janey would mention you and tell me about your traditions. I missed you, too, so much. You changed my life, first by entering it and second when you left it, but in the process you gave me the most wonderful gift ever, the gift of the future. Tomorrow a new year begins—we'll never forget the past and never forget you. The painting of you and Dan and Janey when she was a child, it hangs in her room and will forever and always. I think now we'll be able to move forward. We're still getting to know each other, and this past month we suffered our greatest challenge. When I last spoke to you, I wondered if I was enough for Janey. I think you answered that pretty well for me, and for her. What do you think?”
There was no immediate answer, not today. Snowflakes fell lightly, the wind was gentle and the sails spun slowly, as though the windmill itself could anticipate the quiet soon to descend on the tiny village of Linden Corners, on its residents and on its way of life. For Brian Duncan, this new year would be one of wonder, of new experiences. But that's what this past year had been about, and look how he had grown from all he'd gone through. He had little doubt the growing would continue, Janey would continue to teach him. So January was around the corner, the turning of the calendar page and the start of new chances.
“Annie, I took Janey to meet my parents. She met my sister and my nephew and she even met John, whom you never met and I always wished you had. He's a good guy, even if he still thinks I've become a farmer. Communication was never a strong point with my family, but Janey has opened up new possibilities for me, for them. Just yesterday my parents called and said they would like to visit, perhaps this spring when the snow clears. Another new awakening for us all, thanks to Janey and her infectious charm. I'll show them the windmill and hopefully they'll begin to understand the choices I've made.”
There was another snowstorm headed for Linden Corners, for the entire Hudson River Valley region actually, and for a moment he imagined Annie's Bluff covered by snow, hidden from the world, to be discovered only by himself and Janey, and always together. Just then the wind picked up and the sails began to turn faster.
“You know, Annie, sometimes you're very quiet. Like the woman I met this summer. And sometimes—now—you make yourself known. Is there something on your mind?”
From the corner of his eye he saw Janey emerge over the hill. With her boots on, she made slow progress on her way through the drifts.
“Oh, I see, you're saying hello. Come to wish your daughter a happy New Year? That's what we all wish for, Annie, the happiest of them. I think Janey and I are on the road to having one, but know this, we're never far away. Call to us anytime. Oh, and if you meet a guy named Philip on your travels, tell him ‘The Greatest Gift' lives on, that he lives on.”
And the wind whipped past him again, the sails spinning faster for a moment. Soon, though, they quieted down, silenced once again.
“Come on, Brian,” Janey said, “it's almost midnight.”
So it was. He had lost track of time. Back at the farmhouse, his guests waited for him. He'd made the decision to close the tavern tonight, he thought people should be with family, not alone at a bar, watching time slip aimlessly away. At the farmhouse were Cynthia and Brad, the two of them sharing their impending parenthood with them; Mark and Sara were there, too, the ring on her finger no better symbol of tomorrow. And Gerta, too, serving pie as always. They were all gathered in anticipation of the arrival of a new year.
“Let's not go back, not yet,” he said, the windmill still bright with illumination.
“Just us,” she said.
“Just us,” he said.
Janey stayed at his side, right where she belonged. Minutes later, the clock ticked past midnight and the year of the windmill ended. A new year had begun, its story not yet written, its fate yet to be discovered. There were always new stories to tell and new discoveries to be made in this happy village known as Linden Corners.

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