A Gift to Last

Elise Jones collected paper towels from the rest room to use as napkins. Soon more and more food appeared. It seemed almost everyone had something to share. A plate of beautifully decorated chocolates. A white cardboard box filled with pink divinity and homemade fudge. Then a tin of peanuts and a bag of pretzels. Len added a package of cinnamon-flavored gum.

  A crooked line formed and they all helped themselves, taking bits and pieces of each dish. It wasn’t much, but it helped do more than dull the edge of their hunger. It proved, to Cathy at least, that there was hope for them. That banding together they could get through this and even have a good time.

  “My mother’s serving prime rib right about now,” Elise lamented as she took an orange segment and a handful of peanuts.

  “And to think she’s missing out on Matt McHugh’s fruitcake,” Cathy said, and was delighted by the responding laugh that echoed down the line. Even Matt chuckled. An hour ago Cathy would have thought that impossible.

  “I never thought I’d say this about fruitcake,” the young sailor said, saluting Matt with a slice, “but this ain’t half-bad.”

  “What about my peanuts?” the guy with long hair asked. “I spent hours slaving over a hot stove to make those.”

  Everyone smiled and the silly jokes continued.

  “Quiet,” Nick said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “I hear something.”

  “A train?” Matt teased.

  “‘Do you hear what I hear?”’ Someone sang.

  “I’m serious.”

  It didn’t take Cathy long to pick up the faint sound of voices singing. “Someone’s coming,” she announced.

  “Carolers?” Kelly asked. “On a night like this? For us?”

  “No night more perfect,” Cathy murmured. Years ago she and Ron had been members of the church choir. Each holiday season the choir had toured nursing homes and hospitals, giving short performances. They’d been active in their church for a number of years. Unfortunately their attendance had slipped after Ron retired, then stopped completely when he became seriously ill. And afterward…well, afterward Cathy simply didn’t have the heart for it.

  For the first time since the funeral, she felt the need to return. This insight was like an unexpected gift, and it had come to her at the sound of the carolers’ voices.

  The door opened and a group of fifteen or so entered the train depot.

  “Hello, everyone.” A man with a bushy gray mustache and untamed gray hair stepped forward. “I’m Dean Owen. Clayton Kemper’s a friend of mine and he mentioned you folks were stranded. This is the teen choir from the Regular Baptist Church. Since we weren’t able to get out last night because of the snow, we thought we’d make a few rounds this evening. How’s everyone doing?”

  “Great.”

  “As good as can be expected.”

  “Hangin’ in there.”

  “I love your Christmas tree,” one of the girls said. She was about sixteen, with long blond hair in a ponytail and twinkling eyes.

  “We decorated it ourselves,” Kate said, pointing to her hair bow. “That’s mine.”

  “Would anyone mind if I took a picture?” the girl asked, pulling a disposable camera from her coat pocket.

  “This is something that’s got to be seen to be believed,” Matt whispered to Cathy. “Actually I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Shall we make it a family photo?” Elise asked.

  A chorus of yes’s and no’s followed, but within a minute the ragtag group had gathered around the tree. Cathy ran a comb through her hair and added a dash of lipstick. Others, too, reviewed their appearance as they assembled for the photograph, jostling each other good-naturedly.

  What amazed Cathy were the antics that went on before the picture was taken. They behaved like a group of teenagers themselves. Len held up the V for peace sign behind Nick’s head. Even Matt managed a crooked smile. For that matter, so did Cathy. Someone joked and she laughed. That made her realize how long it’d been since she’d allowed herself to be happy. Too long. Ron wouldn’t want that.

  The girl took four snapshots. Before long the development of the film had been paid for and she had a list of names and addresses to send copies of the photo. Cathy’s name was there along with everyone else’s. She wanted something tangible to remember this eventful day—the oddest Christmas Eve she’d spent in her entire life.

  “We thought we’d deliver a bit of cheer,” Dean said, once the photo arrangements were finished.

  Their coming had done exactly that. The travelers gathered around without anyone’s direction, positioning the benches in a way that allowed them all to see the singers.

  The choir assembled in three rows of five each and began with “Silent Night,” sung in three-part harmony. Cathy had heard the old carol all her life, but never had it sounded more beautiful than it did this evening. Without accompaniment, without embellishment, simple, plain—and incredibly lovely. With the beautiful words came a sense of camaraderie and joy, a sense that this night was truly special.

  This was a holy night.

  “Silent Night” was followed by “The Little Drummer Boy,” then “Joy to the World,” one carol flowing smoothly into another, ending with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

  While Cathy and the others applauded loudly, Kate in a burst of childish enthusiasm spontaneously rushed forward and hugged Dean’s knees. “That was so pretty,” she squealed, her delight contagious.

  Len jumped to his feet, continuing the applause. Soon the others stood, too, including Cathy.

  The small choir seemed overwhelmed by their appreciation.

  “This is the first time we ever got a standing ovation,” the girl with the camera said, smiling at her friends. “I didn’t realize we were that good.”

  “Sing more,” Kate pleaded. “Do you know ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’?”

  “Can you sing it with us?” Dean bent down and asked Kate.

  The child nodded enthusiastically, and Dean had her stand in front of the choir. “Sing away.”

  “Join in, everyone,” he suggested next, turning to face his small audience.

  Cathy and the others didn’t need any encouragement. Their voices blended with those of the choir as if they’d sung together for weeks. “Rudolph” led to other Christmas songs—“Silver Bells,” “Deck the Halls,” and the time passed quickly.

  When they finished, the choir members brought out paper cups and thermoses of hot chocolate. No sooner had the hot drink been poured than the station door opened again.

  “So Clayton was right.” A petite older woman, with a cap of white hair and eyelids painted the brightest shade of blue Cathy had ever seen, entered the room. Two other women filed in after her.

  “I’m Greta Barnes,” the leader said, “and we’re from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Women’s Auxiliary.”

  “We’ve brought you folks dinner,” another woman told them.

  “Now you’re talking!” Len Dawber shouted.

  “Sorry, folks, but a slice of fruitcake and a few pretzels didn’t quite fill me up.”

  “Made for a great appetizer, though,” Nick said.

  “The food’s out in the car. Would someone help carry it in?” Greta asked. She didn’t have to ask for volunteers a second time. Nick, Matt and Len were up before any of the other men had a chance. A couple of minutes later they were back inside, their arms loaded with boxes.

  “It’s not much,” one of the other women said apologetically as she set a huge pot of soup on the counter. “We didn’t get much notice.”

  “We’re grateful for whatever you brought us,” Sam assured the women. Louise nodded in agreement.

  “Luckily the family had plenty of clam chowder left over,” the older of Greta’s friends said. “The soup’s a Christmas Eve tradition in our house, and I can’t help it, I always cook up more than enough.”

  “Eleanor’s soup is the best in the state,” Greta declared.

&nb
sp; “There’s sandwiches, too,” the third woman said, unpacking one of the smaller boxes.

  “And seeing that no one knows when the repairs on those tracks are going to be finished,” the spry older woman added, “we decided to bring along some blankets and pillows.”

  “All the comforts of home,” Matt muttered, but the caustic edge that had laced his comments earlier in the day had vanished.

  “I must say you folks are certainly good sports about all this.”

  Considering that this change in attitude had only recently come about, none of them leaped to their feet to accept credit.

  “Like I said earlier,” Matt told her, speaking for the group, “we’re making the best of it.”

  “We’re very grateful for the pillows and blankets,” Cathy put in.

  “The food, too,” several others said.

  The church choir stayed and helped pass around the sandwiches, which were delicious. Cathy ate half a tuna-salad sandwich, then half a turkey one. She was amazed at how big her appetite was. Food, like almost everything since Ron’s death, had become a necessity and not an enjoyment.

  When the teen choir left, it was with a cheery wave and the promise that everyone who’d asked for a picture would be sure to receive one. With a responsible kindhearted man like Dean Owen as their leader, Cathy was confident it would come about.

  The soup and sandwiches disappeared quickly. Three other men helped pack up the leftovers and carted the boxes out to the car.

  “You sure we can’t get you anything else?” Greta asked before she headed outside.

  “You’ve done more than enough.”

  “Thank Mr. Kemper for us,” Len said, ready to escort the older women to their vehicle.

  With many shouts of “Merry Christmas,” everyone waved the Auxiliary ladies goodbye.

  Len returned, leaning against the door when it closed. Cathy watched as he paused and glanced about the room. “You know,” he said, not speaking to anyone in particular, “I almost feel sorry for all those people who decided to stay in hotels. They’ve missed out on the best Christmas Eve I can ever remember.”

  Seven

  “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”

  T he station seemed unnaturally quiet after the choir and the members of the VFW Women’s Auxiliary had left. The lively chatter and shared laughter that had filled the room died down to a low hum.

  Matt knew he should phone home, that he’d delayed it as long as he dared. With the time difference between the east and west coasts, it wasn’t quite four in the afternoon in Los Angeles. The dread that settled over him depleted the sense of well-being he’d experienced over the past few hours.

  He didn’t look forward to a telephone confrontation with Pam, but as far as he could see there was no avoiding one. He could almost hear her voice, starting low and quickly gaining volume until it reached a shrill, near-hysterical pitch.

  He wished things could be different, but he knew she’d start in on him, and then, despite his best efforts, he’d retaliate. Soon their exchange would escalate into a full-blown fight.

  His feet felt weighted as he crossed the station to the row of pay phones. He slipped his credit card through the appropriate slot, punched in his home number and waited for the line to connect.

  The phone rang twice, three times, then four before the answering machine came on. Bored, he tapped his foot while he listened to the message he’d recorded earlier in the year. When he heard the signal, he was ready. “Pam, it’s Matt. I’m sorry about this, but I got caught in the snowstorm that struck Maine yesterday. The flights out of Bangor were canceled, so the airline put me on a train for Boston. Now the train tracks are out and I don’t have a clue when I’ll be home. As soon as I reach Boston, probably sometime Christmas morning, I’ll phone and let you know when to expect me. I’m sorry about this, but it’s out of my control. Kiss the kids for me and I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

  The relief that came over him at not getting caught in a verbal battle with his wife was like an unexpected gift. This wasn’t how it should be, but he felt powerless to change the dynamics of their marriage. Somewhere along the road the partnership they’d once shared had fallen apart. He wasn’t the only one who felt miserable; he knew that. The look in Pam’s eyes as he’d walked through the house, suitcase in hand, had told him he wasn’t the only one thinking about a separation.

  His mood was oppressive by the time he returned to his seat.

  “What about Santa?” Matt heard Kate ask her mother.

  “Honey, he’s still coming to Grandma’s house.” Kate’s mother was busy making up a bed for her daughter. She placed a pillow at one end of the bench and arranged the blanket so the little girl could sleep between its folds.

  “But, Mom, I’m not at Grandma Gibson’s house—I’m here. Santa might not know.”

  Elise apparently needed a minute to think about that. “Grandma will have to tell him.”

  “But what if Santa decides to try to find me here, instead of leaving my presents with Grandma?”

  “Kate, please, can’t you just trust that you’re going to get your gifts?”

  Arms crossed, the child shook her head stubbornly. “No, I can’t,” she said, her voice as serious as the expression on her face. “You told me Daddy was going to come see me before we left and he didn’t.”

  “Honey, I don’t have any control over what your father says and does. I’m sorry he disappointed you.”

  Her look said it wasn’t the first time mother and child had been let down.

  Kate started to whimper.

  “Sweetheart, please,” Elise whispered. She seemed close to breaking down herself. She picked up her daughter and held her close. As she gently rocked the little girl, her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Santa won’t forget you.”

  “Daddy did.”

  “No, honey, I’m sure he didn’t, not really.”

  “Then why didn’t he come like he said?”

  “Because…” Elise began, then hesitated and forcefully expelled her breath. “It’s complicated.”

  “Everything’s complicated since you and Daddy divorced.”

  Matt felt like an eavesdropper, yet he couldn’t tune out the conversation between mother and child. Part of him yearned to let Kate use his credit card to phone her father, but if he suggested that, Elise would know he’d been listening in.

  Hearing Kate cry about being forgotten by her dad left Matt to wonder if this would be his own children’s future should he and Pam decide to split up. He didn’t want a divorce, never had. But it was obvious they couldn’t continue the way they’d been going—belittling each other, arguing, eroding the foundation of their love and commitment.

  “Why didn’t Daddy come see me like he said he would?” Kate persisted.

  Elise took her time answering. “Your daddy was embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “He felt bad.”

  “About what?”

  “Being late helping to pay the bills. He didn’t come see you because…well, because I don’t think he could afford to buy you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t want you to be disappointed in him because he didn’t have a gift.”

  Kate mulled that over for a while, nibbling her bottom lip. “I love him and I didn’t have a gift for him, either.”

  “Your daddy loves you, Kate, that much I know.”

  “Can I talk to him myself?”

  Elise took a deep breath. “You can phone him when we reach Grandma’s house, and you can tell him about spending the night in the train depot. He’ll want to hear about all your adventures on Christmas Eve.”

  Matt considered what would happen to his relationship with his children if he and Pam went their separate ways. The love he felt for Rachel and Jimmy ran deep, and the idea of Pam having to make excuses for him…

  His thoughts tumbled to an abrupt halt. That was exactly what Pam had been forced to do the afternoon he’d left for Maine. Jimmy had been counting
on him to attend the school Christmas program and, instead, he’d raced off to the airport. Matt’s stomach knotted, and he sat back, wiping a hand down his face.

  A whispered discussion broke out between the widow and the elderly couple who’d supplied the oranges. Matt had no idea what was going on and, caught up in his own musing, didn’t much care.

  Not long afterward, he discovered that a few of the senior crowd had decided to take this matter of Christmas for the two children into their own hands.

  Cathy walked by Kate, paused suddenly and held one hand to her ear. “Did you hear something?” she asked the youngster.

  “Not me,” Kate answered.

  “I think it’s bells.”

  Elise cupped her ear. “Reindeer feet?”

  “Bells,” Cathy returned pointedly.

  “Yes,” Louise piped up. “It’s definitely the sound of bells. What could it be?”

  They weren’t going to get any Academy Award nominations, but they did manage to convince the children.

  “I hear bells!” the other child called. “I do, I do.” It was the first time the little boy had spoken all day.

  Kate sat up straight on her mother’s lap. “I hear them, too.”

  Matt had to admit the two old ladies really had him going; he could almost hear them himself. Then he realized he really could hear the jingle of bells.

  A knock sounded loudly on the station door. “I’ll get it.” Sam eagerly stepped to the door. He opened it a couple of inches, nodded a few times and looked over his shoulder. “Do we have a little girl named Kate here and a boy…Charlie?”

  “Charles,” his mother corrected.

  “Kate and Charles,” Sam informed the mysterious visitor no one was allowed to see. “As a matter of fact, Kate and Charles are here,” Sam said loudly. “You do…of course. I’ll see to it personally. Now don’t you worry, you have plenty of other deliveries to make tonight. You’d best be on your way.”

  Matt glanced around and noticed that Nick Berry was missing…and he seemed to remember that their baby had a rattle with bells inside.

  The room went quiet as Sam closed the door, and the jingling receded. He had a pillowcase in one hand, with a couple of wrapped gifts inside. “That was Santa Claus,” he announced. “He heard that Kate and Charles were stuck here on Christmas Eve. Santa wanted them to know he hadn’t forgotten them.”