A Christmas Wish (5 page)

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Authors: Joseph Pittman

BOOK: A Christmas Wish
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C
HAPTER
5
Linden Corners was a tiny village located in Columbia County, New York, a hop and a skip from the mighty Hudson River, boasting a population of just over seven hundred people. Route 23 was the main road that cut through the downtown business district, where small shops and even smaller restaurants lined each side of the street. A small park that was rimmed by trees, highlighted by a whitetrimmed gazebo in the center of its green lawn, helped keep the quaintness in Linden Corners. Just down the road was St. Matthew's Catholic Church, a cemetery adjacent to the old building and its towering steeple. Up one of the side roads was the Methodist Church, and in nearby towns Hillside and Craryville were other places of worship, along with even better services, fancier dining establishments, and antique stores that tended to cater to the renowned tourist trade. In Linden Corners, we liked to think of ourselves as self-sufficient, able to meet the needs of all residents, from Marla and Darla's Trading Post and Groceries, to Chuck Ackroyd's Hardware Emporium and Martha Martinson's Five O'Clock Diner; and of course, across from Ackroyd's, the formerly named Connors' Corner, now rechristened simply as George's Tavern. It was George's establishment I was most familiar with. Once the early home of George and Gerta, they had expanded as their family had, later turning the main floor into a bar, keeping the upper floor as an apartment. I had lived there when I'd first come to town.
With Thanksgiving having slipped by, the calendar had turned to December. So many of the townsfolk had begun to decorate their buildings with colorful lights and adorn their windows with Christmas pictures and banners and white frost, lighting up the village for the holiday season that had suddenly crept up on us. As early evening began to descend over the sky, I was reminded that I needed to do something festive with the tavern. I couldn't be outdone by the old-timers, not with this being my first holiday here. Approaching the building, I made a mental note to ask Gerta where George might have kept any decorations he'd used. I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the tavern, getting out and waving across the street to Martha Martinson, the stout, fiftysomething proprietor of the Five-O. She served the best food in town. But today she'd traded her chef hat for maintenance worker. She was up on a metal ladder, hanging her own string of lights.
“Better hurry with that,” I said. “It's getting darker earlier.”
“Just looking at that lonely bar of yours over there, that'll darken any holiday this side of Halloween,” Martha said, her good nature and humor intact, typically off-kilter.
The Five-O was so named for its peak feeding times, a.m. and p.m., and for me it held a dear place in my heart. It was just about the first place I'd ever stopped at in Linden Corners—the windmill notwithstanding—and both Martha and the waitress, a young girl named Sara, had welcomed me with unaccustomed friendliness. They had ended up changing my life, all for the good. My lunchtime visit became an overnight stay and then I stayed another night, and soon after found myself with a newfound job, and now months later, I was still here. All of it I took to be evidence that I was meant to be drawn in by the power of this unique village, by its residents, and by the windmill that seemed to speak to and inspire them. It had done so with me, still did.
Martha was right, the bar did look abandoned. I heeded her advice and hurried up the steps, unlocked the door, and immediately flicked on the overhead lights. Yellow beams illuminated the large room. I turned on the jukebox and the television that hung over the bar, turning on a sports channel. A mindless soccer match played in the background. In short order I had transformed the quiet building into a welcoming beacon off the highway. My relief bartender, Mark, had left the place in good shape from the night before, but still I went through my routine, cleaning the tables and wiping down the chairs and the long oak bar, too, polishing the side brass with a sense of pride that I'd learned from longtime owner, George. I checked the taps to make sure they were working, beer being the bread and butter of my business. Everything was in working order. I was ready for my first customers.
The sun went down early this December day, and by four thirty a shadowy dusk had settled over Linden Corners. Headlights flashed by as the early rising residents returned to the comfort of their homes for the night. Fortunately, a few of them stopped off for a drink, and by five o'clock many of the bar stools were taken. Cold beers were laid out in front of them, with a couple of the guys already asking for refills after their hard day's work. A young couple had arrived, as well, opting to take a table, and when I served them their drinks I set a bowl of well-salted pretzels in front of them. Keeps them thirsty, another trick of George's.
So all was under control at the tavern, nobody needed anything right now. I was able to take a breather, a chance to appreciate this still-new world of mine. Janey's comment about my having my own life again popped into my mind and I wondered if there was any truth to that. Since September I had felt that my life—my goals, my ambitions—was on hold, as I focused all my concentration on Janey. She needed it and I wanted to. After three months of the same, I had no doubts that I was doing the right thing. I had made a promise to Annie and another to Janey, and given the circumstances I was happy to fulfill them, wishing still and always that the circumstances weren't what they were. Annie should be with us—today, yesterday, tomorrow, sharing the joy we tried to find in each little moment of every day. Instead, Janey and I survived together, my routine dictated by hers, certainly a big change from where I'd been even a year ago. Living the big life in New York, obsessed with its frenetic pace, its lures of the good life, and its tempting, false seductions.
My reverie was interrupted by the arrival of another customer. She was the waitress from the Five-O and not one of my regulars. Guess she had finished her shift over there. I said hello, asked her what brought her here.
“Hi, Brian. I was looking for Mark,” she said, sidling up to the bar.
“He's running late,” I said, curiously suspicious why she was asking after Mark Ravens. “Guess you're stuck with me, that okay?”
She shrugged. “Guess I'll have to live with it.”
Lots of guessing going on, no one committing to anything. Or was that really true? Sara, a pretty blonde who wore a bit too much lipstick, was twenty-two, a lifelong Linden Corners girl, and unlike many of her classmates, she didn't seem eager to leave town. She liked her job at the diner, liked her friends, and from what I gathered from her expression now, she liked my relief bartender. She kept looking back at the door to see if he was coming through it.
“He should be here soon, why not have a seat.”
“Thanks. Gimme a Coors Light.”
“Watching your girlish figure?” I asked.
“No one else is,” she replied, chuckling as she did. “Martha would have liked that one.”
Martha and Sara, in addition to serving the best food in the area, both liked to joke around. Sara's humor was improving, since when I first met her our conversation had been laced with roadkill remarks, not exactly what you wanted to hear from a waitress at a small town diner. After all, the highway was real close.
“The Five-O looks good,” I said, pointing out the window. Martha had finished putting up the lights and the perimeter of the diner was glowing with holiday lights, reds and greens and blues enlivening the bustling activity at the diner. It was, after all, just past five in the afternoon, the dinner rush.
As Sara sipped at her beer, the rim now stained with the faint kiss of her lipstick, I asked why she wasn't working. She explained how Thursday was her one day off all week, “which stinks, really, since it's one of Mark's busy days.”
I nodded. “Didn't know you and Mark, uh, knew each other's schedules so well.”
She easily grinned, and I needed no further indication she was smitten with him. “Yeah, well, I'd seen him around town, in school and stuff, even though he was a couple years ahead of me. He never gave me the time of day, not until I brought him over a dinner plate a few weeks ago. It was a slow night both here and at the diner, and so I did the neighborly thing. He invited me over for a drink after my shift ended, and I did, and, well, we've gone out a couple times.”
“Good for you.”
“You know it,” she said with sudden confidence.
I laughed before I pushed off to serve another customer.
Mark Ravens was a local kid who worked during the day down in Hudson, waiting tables himself for one of the finer resort hotels, but he'd been looking for some extra cash around the same time I'd been looking for a relief bartender. His uncle, Richie Ravens, who ran the Solemn Nights Motel in town, had recommended him. One meeting was all it had taken. He seemed very responsible and mature, grounded for a guy his age. We shook hands, agreed on the hours, and ever since then bar receipts had picked up on the nights he worked. Point of fact, he was handsome and managed to bring in the ladies, evidenced by Sara's presence here tonight.
I refilled a couple more glasses and then, encouraged by the decorations up at the Five-O, I phoned Gerta Connors.
“Hello, dear,” she said. “How's Janey tonight?”
Fine, I said, but also explained how I was at the bar, which gave me the perfect opening to ask after Christmas decorations for the tavern. Turned out that George did have some; he kept them in the attic of their home. “Do you want to come over some night soon and look for them? I'm afraid I can't venture up into that musty attic, not by myself anyway.”
“Wouldn't dream of asking you. How about Sunday?”
“Perfect. Come for dinner, bring Janey,” Gerta insisted.
I thanked her and hung up. Sara was still nursing her beer, still looking at the door. Her wish came true at five minutes after six as the door finally opened with the man she wished to see. With a blast of wind, in walked my relief bartender. Mark Ravens was just a couple inches shorter than me, five ten, and at twenty-four he grew his wavy dark hair long. Today he was sporting an unshaven, scruffy look. He smiled widely at the sight of Sara, then apologized to me for being late.
“One of the evening waiters didn't show up; they needed me to stay and at least set up for the dinner crowd. I took a few orders, too, and then he showed. Got some extra tips, which is always good for the holidays, right?”
“No problem, Mark. Things happen. Cynthia's with Janey,” I said. “But, speaking of the ladies back at the farmhouse, now that you're here I'll hand over the reins to you and head on back.” I wondered if Janey had eaten dinner yet. I knew I hadn't. “Hey, Sara, what's the Five-O special tonight?”
“For you? Braised roadkill, with a side of me,” she said.
“I'll pass,” I said. “On both.” I snickered.
“Hey!”
“Fear not, I'll take the side,” Mark added.
“She's all yours,” I said. “Bye.”
“Your loss, my gain. See you later, Windmill Man,” Mark said, tying an apron around his waist while he leaned in for a kiss from Sara. “Hey, babe, I missed you.”
Just a couple of dates?
A few additional cars had turned in to the tavern's parking lot. Several more ladies joined the action that was fast becoming a town attraction, George's Tavern on a Thursday night. Careful, Mark, don't let the single gals catch you smooching someone else in public. Receipts would go down real fast. Still, this bar, it just might make some money and maybe I wouldn't need that check from my father. I'd stashed it—uncashed—in a desk drawer, preferring to forget about it. I forgot about the bar, too, for now, leaving my business in capable hands. With a smile on my face, I was glad to know that Mark and Sara had found each other. Linden Corners needed a breath of happiness, a warm front sweeping down to remove the chill that had settled over the land this season. Little did I know just how cold it was going to get.
C
HAPTER
6
When I arrived home, the farmhouse was unusually quiet. Ashley had thankfully already gone home, and Janey was upstairs in her room, doing her homework. I found Cynthia sitting on the sofa, a cup of tea at her side. She was knitting what looked like a small hat. Sometimes at the family fruit stand that she ran she sold homemade goods, both food and crafts. With the holiday season upon us, I supposed she was making gifts to sell.
“Looks nice,” I said, indicating her handiwork.
She stuffed it into the nearby bag, yarn and needles and all. I'd obviously caught her by surprise, but why she was acting like I'd caught her hand in the cookie jar, I didn't know. But I didn't pursue it. “Oh, that, it's nothing really. Sorry, I didn't even hear you come in. All's well at George's?”
“Seems better without me,” I said.
“So I've heard.”
“Oh, local townsfolk gossiping about my old bar?”
“Starting to attract clientele from Hillsdale, I hear.”
“Whoa, might have to break out the white tablecloths,” I said. “But, yeah, as I was leaving, a gaggle of girls was heading inside. But from what I saw, Mark Ravens has his hands full with our Little Miss Sara from the Five-O.” I laughed. “Listen to us, a couple of old biddies talking about the nonsense those kids are up to. So, how was Janey tonight?”
“Fine, as always,” Cynthia said. “Had dinner around five thirty with Ashley, then her mom came and picked her up. I helped her with some math—and then she pushed me to do her reading. That girl could convince a cloud to shine. You know I would have called if there had been anything wrong.”
“Her mood? Attitude, no problems?”
“None. Why? Brian, what's going on?”
Maybe nothing,
I thought, dismissing my concerns as pure paranoia. “Forget it,” I said. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Me, too,” she said.
Still, Cynthia seemed unconvinced, but she let it pass as quickly as I had her knitting. She knew that I'd open up if there was truly something seriously amiss. It wouldn't be the first time. I'd often sought her counsel when it came to the changing tides of an eight-year-old girl's current. Cynthia gave me a quick hug, then said she'd better get back on home. “Bradley was working late but he's probably home by now. I hope he started dinner. Gotta love the modern man. See you.”
“Thanks, Cyn.”
I went up and said hi to Janey, who waved at me without looking up, her face buried in her reading material. When I asked if she needed help, she just waved me away without even bothering to look up. Must be a good book. Feeling dejected, I went back downstairs and tooled around for another hour, until Janey's bedtime arrived. When I returned to her room, she was already in her pajamas, under the covers, still reading that book. Her stuffed purple frog was on one side of the blanket, a new plush puppy on the other. Glad she had such creatures to give her comfort during the night.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“Of course, Brian. I know how to get myself ready for bed.”
“I know. I just like to check anyway, okay?”
Her mouth quivered, just a slight tremor in her façade.
I sat down on the edge of her bed, feeling like a stranger all of sudden. Janey had been acting so grown up this past week, but now I saw that sweet little girl I'd met at the base of the windmill emerging, the one who'd been afraid of nothing. Not even a stranger. I wondered if something was frightening her, and I asked her if everything was okay.
“Yes.”
She'd answered too quickly.
“You'd tell me otherwise?”
“Yes, Brian, of course I would,” she said, her usual exasperation with me missing. Tonight her voice contained a noticeable distance.
“I love you, Janey Sullivan,” I said, my voice suddenly failing me as a lump lodged in my throat. I waited a moment at the door, cleared my throat, then said with more confidence, “Good night, Janey. Don't forget to turn out the light when you've finished reading to your animals.”
As I readied to leave the room, she called out to me. I turned quickly, hoping that whatever was bothering her was about to be revealed.
“Who was Lucy?”
“Lucy? Who's that?”
“You know, the woman you almost married. Remember, your sister talked about her at Thanksgiving.”
“Just an old friend, really. Why, what about her?”
“Did you love her?”
Oh boy. Let the fun begin. This was not something to be dealt with in the frame of her door. I returned to her side, resuming my spot on the edge of the bed but not getting too close. The time it took to settle in gave me a chance to think up an answer to her unexpected question. “Her name's Lucy Watkins. What she and I had, well, that was a long time ago, when I was just a college kid and so was she and we didn't know any better. I didn't know what true love really was.”
“Do you know all about love now?”
I smiled at her when I said, “You bet I do.”
“Brian?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Why did you come to Linden Corners?”
Why. Simple question, big answer. I hadn't even been able to answer it when Annie had asked me that very same thing. Did I even know how to answer it for myself? Sometimes you don't know why you do things, you just follow your instinct, follow the path that destiny has laid out for you. But neither of these arbitrary answers would suit Janey, and so I said to her, “You want to know the God's honest truth, Janey? I really don't know why I came to Linden Corners. I had never even heard of the place until, well, until I practically drove right through it. I might just have if not for your windmill.” I paused. “You want to know another truth? A question I can answer?”
She nodded.
“I do know why I stayed.”
This time she smiled and no more words were needed.
I was getting ready to leave again when she announced, “Ashley liked your ornament, Brian. I showed it to her after we raked up those leaves we made a mess with. She said she wants to see it again when we put it on the Christmas tree. Is that okay?”
“Sure, that's fine. I'm glad she liked it,” I said. “You put it back in the attic with the other decorations?”
She didn't look at me, instead focusing her attention on the purple frog. “See what I have to put up with?” she told him.
I laughed, then gave Janey a kiss on the forehead.
“Back at ya, kid,” I said.
On my way out, I turned off the light. No more books, I said, time for sleep. She accepted my decision without complaint, sliding beneath the covers and closing her eyes. I stared at her for maybe a minute, just watching her breathe. Wondering what was really going on in that mind of hers.
At last I retreated back to the living room, more confused than ever. For so many weeks, bedtime had gone smoothly, she and I talking any problems out with ease, with little riddle to our conversations. Tonight, though, Janey had knocked me flat with her questions about Lucy, a girl I'd not given any thought to in so many years. I'd had other girlfriends since Lucy, I'd endured several different phases of my unexpected life. But in the end I suppose it wasn't Lucy she was actually curious about. Maybe it was the discovery that there had been someone in my life before her mother. To Janey, it was like I hadn't really existed in the world until that day I'd appeared near the windmill. Realization was dawning on her that Brian Duncan had once led a different life. And it had been one that didn't include her.

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