The Wishing Tree

The Wishing Tree

Cheryl Pierson

The Wishing Tree

Presented by
Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery
Copyright
© 2013 Cheryl Pierson
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 Karen Michelle Nutt

Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery

Design Consultation by Laura Shinn

Licensing Notes

All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This ebook is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

The Wishing Tree
is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

Pete
Cochran, a war veteran with both visible and invisible scars, is mostly a loner, rather than scare children. Then a special woman with a son walks into his life as he works at his father's Christmas tree lot – a woman with problems he can't ignore.

Maria
Sanchez and her son Miguel eke out an existence on her part-time earnings, but share an abundance of love, except when terrorized by her drug addict relative. When she meets Pete, she sees him not as a frightening man, but a wounded hero returned from war. Her son seems immediately drawn to the unusual Christmas tree vendor.

Will a special tree –
a wishing tree
– contain enough magic to fulfill all their Christmas desires?

She usually walked by around lunchtime. Even bundled up against the bite of the Oklahoma winter wind, the bounce in her step wasn't lost; her carriage wasn't slumped as if to ward off the chill. Then twenty minutes later when she came back by the Christmas tree lot where
Pete worked, she always had her little boy in tow.

Pete
realized he had come to look forward to seeing her twice a day – even if it was a matter of just watching her walk past the lot. She'd glanced at him a couple of times, caught him staring – like some crazy stalker – and given him a pleasant nod as she continued on her way.

Pete
Cochran was a man not given to daydreams of any sort – but this nameless woman made him dream plenty at night. He wasn't sure which of his dreams were more unsettling – the ones of the two tours he'd spent in Iraq, or the ones of this woman, who'd begun to haunt his sleep.

"Mommy, I want this tree, right here!"

Pete's attention was caught by a couple and their two young daughters. They had parked down the street from Cochran's Christmas Tree Lot and walked, the children running ahead excitedly. One of the girls stood beside the tree she'd claimed, waiting with impatience.

Pete
started toward the couple, noticing the moment the woman's face twisted briefly with pity. The younger little girl hung back, waiting for her parents to catch up, uncertainty in her eyes. The older girl turned to Pete as he neared, an odd mix of curiosity and revulsion crossing her features.

The eye patch always scared the kids, unless it was Halloween. The scarring was faint – barely noticeable six years later. But his eye … well, he'd never get that back.
Part of his sacrifice for Uncle Sam.

"Can I help you?"
Pete asked. He wasn't quite able to muster a smile, but he tried to at least put a pleasant expression on his face.

"Oh, uh – hi," the man said as he approached. "We're uh – looking for a Christmas tree. It's kind of early for us yet – we usually wait until the day before … but the kids are about to drive us crazy."

"I want this one, Daddy. Please?"

"Let's look around some,
Amy," the woman said. She stopped to pick up the younger girl, hoisting her to her hip.

"If you have any questions, just let me know."
Pete turned away, heading back to the portable office, a small trailer.

"Mommy, he's scary."

"Shhh!"

"Well, he's got an eye patch—"

"Amy, that's enough."

Their voices faded as the family walked through the trees, finally selecting one. The man paid for it and
Pete unclamped it from the ground. He started for their car, but the man stopped him. "That's okay. I can get it." He glanced back toward their van, as if to make sure his wife and children were safely ensconced.

"Okay. Sure."
Wouldn't want to scare your kid again.

The man managed an apologetic smile as he gripped the tree and lugged it toward the family car.

Pete watched him go, starting forward as the tree nearly twisted out of his hold. He stopped himself, almost turning away before he caught a glimpse of the mystery woman, coming in his direction.

He would recognize that red coat anywhere. The color stood out brightly amidst the drab browns, grays, and tweeds. It reminded him of Christmas, of course – whoever decided that red and green should be "Christmas" colors, anyhow?

But more than that, he knew the beautiful young woman who wore it was filled with a happy spirit. Not many people would choose a red coat. People were so worried about practicality that red wouldn't fit into their plans like black or gray might. But as she approached, he was able to see the way she held her shoulders erect, her head up, as if she was ready for anything the world might send her way.

She walked at a pace that wasn't rushed, as if she was enjoying the crisp December air. Suddenly, it seemed she was very close – too close for
Pete to move away and observe her from inside the office as he usually did.

Her eyes met his and she smiled. It was a smile he'd not been expecting; a genuine greeting so sincere he wondered if he may have known her from the past. She seemed familiar to him, somehow. But if he'd known her, he never would've forgotten. She was too beautiful – inside and out – for him to have misplaced that memory. Even with two years in Iraq and the war wounds that separated his
normal
life before and what passed for normal now.

He smiled back, reflexively, without conscious thought or effort, and her grin widened. A few feet away from him, she stopped and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Pete's smile faded. He'd been just about to speak when she'd stopped in her tracks like that.

"That's one of the most beautiful scents on this earth," she said, looking straight into his one good eye. "I've always loved the smell of Christmas."

There was no rejection in her face – she looked at him the way people used to – before the war.
When he'd had both eyes, and no eye patch.

"You're lucky," she went on, coming toward him. "I would love to be surrounded by Christmas trees every day at work."

Pete hadn't thought of himself as 'lucky' for a good long while. It startled him to hear her describe him like that. His mouth turned up sardonically.
How 'lucky' could one person get,
he
wondered? He'd survived the entire tour he'd done in Iraq the first time around, only to be re-deployed six months later for another year. Two weeks before he'd been due to come home, they'd hit an IED. Yeah … he'd been lucky that day. He'd only lost an eye. Two of his crew had lost legs ... another lost his life.

"I'm
Maria Sanchez," she said, putting a hand out to him. "But everyone calls me Ria."

Pete
closed the distance between them and took her hand. "I'm Pete Cochran. Everyone calls me Pete." He grinned at her, and she laughed. "I see you walk by here every day—"

She pointed down the street. "My son goes to school just down the road. We don't live far, so I walk him to school and back every day."

Pete nodded. "He won't put up with that much longer."

"No," she agreed. "He already believes he's too old for such things." Her smile was wistful. "He's growing up too quickly."

There was silence between them for a moment, then she said, "I better get going. I don't want to be late."

"You're … early today." The words were out before he could stop them.
Nothing like letting her know he'd been noticing her every day from inside the office.
At least, that's what she'd think.

But she only smiled. "It's the last day of school before the holiday break. They're having a little party for the kids. I'm going to help serve the cupcakes and try to keep order." She rolled her eyes. "Have you ever seen a class of twenty-five kindergartners full of holiday excitement and sugary cupcakes?"

Pete laughed. "Aw, come on, now. I guess I might've been one of those rowdy kindergartners a few years ago, myself."

She flashed him a smile as she started down the street once more. "I'd better head on. Wish me luck."

He saluted her and waved. His heartbeat slowed as she turned and walked away from him. He watched her go, his spirits dimming as the red coat became lost amid the ordinary crush of people along the sidewalks.

The last day of school before the holiday break, she
'd said.

Pete
turned to go inside. The cold had managed to find its way through the material of his clothing and wrap its tendrils around his insides. The reminder of the few days left until Christmas was not a pleasant one.

Before he'd joined the military ... things had been different. Christmas had always been his favorite time of year. He'd considered himself 'lucky' to be able to work in the family business, raising trees at the family tree farm, and selling them at Christmas. It had made his father a good living, and he had expected his two sons,
Pete and Josh, to follow in his footsteps.

Josh
had been the one with the green thumb. Pete couldn't help but think of the irrepressible smile his younger brother always had … but that ready grin had hidden a deep-seated pain Josh could never share with anyone – not even his brother.

Pete
pulled the door shut behind him, then slowly sat down in the chair behind the desk. Depression had taken hold of his brother as nothing else in the world ever could, until there was seemingly no way out of its grip. It managed to convince Josh that he was somehow unworthy of living, and he'd ended it all.

A knock sounded at the door, jerking Pete out of his black thoughts. He glanced at the clock as he stood up. Time had slipped away from him as he sat, brooding, inside the trailer. Nearly an hour had passed … an hour that seemed no more than a few minutes.

The knock sounded again, and he stepped around the desk and reached for the door to open it. He was surprised to find himself looking into Maria Sanchez's beautiful dark eyes once again.

"Hi … again," she said.

The pleasure was so unexpected he could only hope he'd managed not to look too surprised. In the next moment, Maria's son stepped out from behind her.

"I hope you don't mind – we wanted to look at your trees."

"No … I – of course I don't mind."

Maria
and her son both took a step back as Pete joined them, closing the door behind him.

"What kind of tree were you looking for?"

Maria cast a doubtful glance at her son, who gazed up at Pete steadfastly. Before she could answer, the boy said, "A beautiful one. The best one you have."

Maria
gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Something
affordable
… on a low budget. Miguel doesn't yet understand about money – or the lack thereof."

Pete
grinned at her. "I'll bet we can find something in your price range—" He looked at Miguel. "—
and
beautiful."

"Our place isn't all that large,"
Maria told him. "So we don't need a big tree—"

"But one that almost touches the ceiling,"
Miguel interjected, stopping to cast a critical eye on one of the Scotch pines nearby. "It has to be perfect when we put the star on." He turned to Pete. "It blinks. It has all different colors and the lights go off and on."

Pete
nodded. "I've seen stars like that. I know just what you mean."

"I … wish we had those little lights that blink all over the tree."

Maria glanced at him quickly. "We have lights, Miguel."

"They're big, though. I like the little ones."

"How about this one? Would it be too tall?" Pete asked the question of Miguel, who stood back, cocking his head to one side.

"Maybe … not tall
enough
."

"Remember, you're going to have it in a stand."

"Oh … yeah."

Maria
laid a hand on Pete's arm. When he looked at her, she asked, "How much?"

Pete
hadn't marked the tags of this last row yet. He shrugged, turning the tag over to show her there was no price. "I guess it's free today."

"Oh – oh, no. I couldn't possibly just take it—"

Pete let go of the tag. "This is free today for beautiful ladies who have sons named Miguel."

"And that's my name, all right!"
Miguel piped up.

Maria
laughed. "I can't argue with both of you at once. Now, how are we going to get it home?"

"I can carry it, Mama! I'm strong!"

Maria ruffled her son's dark hair. "I know you are,
m'ijo
, but this tree might prove a little much for you."

"I'll bring it down to you after work today,"
Pete heard himself volunteering. "I get off at five—"

Maria
shook her head. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

Silence fell between them for a moment. When she looked up into Pete's face, he knew he had to guard his heart carefully. He was already in danger of losing it. "Look – I know you don't know me, but I swear you have nothing to worry about…" Had he said that right? He didn't want to scare her. In this crazy world, you never knew about people … especially being a single woman—
A thought flashed through his mind as sobering as a bucket of cold water being dashed in his face.
Was
she single? Maybe that was the cause of her refusal … a husband, or boyfriend at home.

"I know. You're a very good person." She was gazing up at him as if she could see right into his soul.

He moistened his lips. "I'm not gonna get shot or anything, am I?"

She looked down. "No. I'm definitely single, if that's what you're asking."

"Yeah. I guess that's what I was asking."

"When will you bring it?"
Miguel asked, ignoring the quelling look from his mother.

Pete
waited for Maria to look at him before he answered. "Whenever your mama says it would be a good time."

"Why don't you come have dinner with us tonight?" she asked softly. "I make a mean
enchilada
, if you like Mexican food."

"My favorite," he said. "But I don't want to put you out—"

"You won't," she answered quickly. "Would 6:30 be okay?"

He nodded. "Sure. Can I bring anything?"

"No. Just yourself," she answered. "You can see our apartment building from here. On the corner." She pointed it out. "Hillcrest Apartments. We're number 48-A … on the second floor."

"Got a phone number in case I get lost?" he joked.

She jotted it down quickly on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to him.

"Don't forget our tree!"
Miguel called back over his shoulder as they turned to go.

"I'll bring it,"
Pete reassured him.

Maria
. I just met a girl named Maria. And suddenly I've found, how wonderful a sound can be…

He knew exactly how
Tony had felt in West Side Story. His heart was lighter than it had been in months. No…in
years
. By the look in her eyes, she'd found something in him that she liked. The easy manner between them had been natural and unaffected. Conversation seemed so comfortable – not forced at all.

No matter what,
he told himself,
it was a good start.
Whether anything came of it or not remained to be seen – but one thing he knew for certain … there was lingering magic in the air, even after she'd gone.