A Gift to Last (6 page)

“That may well be,” Kemper said, not letting their lack of enthusiasm dampen his spirit. “But it seemed to me that since you folks are stuck here on Christmas Eve, you might as well make the best of it.”

“That tree looks like it’s in the same shape we’re in,” Elise Jones said dryly.

“The tree is yours to do with as you wish,” Kemper told them. “Merry Christmas to you all.”

No one thought to thank him, Len noticed.

The sad little tree stood in the center of the room, bare and forlorn, wounded and ugly. He’d have to go along with Elise. The Christmas tree did resemble them—and their attitude.

Five-year-old Kate Jones walked over to it and stood with her arms akimbo, staring at the limp branches. Then, apparently having come to some sort of decision, she turned to confront the disgruntled group.

“I think it’s a beautiful tree,” she announced. “It just needs a little help.” She removed the red bow from the top of her head and pinned it to the nearest branch.

Despite himself, Len grinned. On closer examination, the kid was right. The tree wasn’t nearly as ugly as he’d first thought.

“Sing We Now of Christmas”

M
ost everyone ignored the Christmas tree, Cathy Norris mused sadly. Except for Kate…Then Kelly walked over and silently added a rattle. She took her time finding just the right spot for it, choosing to hang it directly in the middle, opposite Kate’s hair bow.

Turning to the others, she smiled and said, “Come on, you guys, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“She’s right,” Nick said, and joined his wife. He bounced the baby gently in his arms, and Brittany grinned and reached for his bright green muffler. Nick removed it, handed the baby to Kelly and placed the muffler on the tree, stretching it out as if it were the finest decorative strand. He wove it between the lower branches of the fir, the wool fringe dangling like green wool tinsel.

Len surveyed the tree, then stepped up and added his white cap, settling it near the top, where it sat jauntily.

The elderly black man moved forward next and added his tie clasp. He clipped it to the branch in an upright position like a clothespin, stepped back and nodded once, apparently pleased with the effect. “Hey, this tree doesn’t look so bad.”

Soon others became creative about decorating the Christmas tree. Cathy cut strips of red yarn and with Kate’s help draped the strands over as many branches as they could reach.

Even the grumpy salesman pitched in. Cathy saw him with the small pair of scissors on his Swiss Army knife, folding and cutting memos into paper snowflakes, then hanging them on the tree with dental floss. Actually they looked quite attractive against the backdrop of red yarn.

It wasn’t long before every branch sprouted some sort of odd decoration. True, it wasn’t a traditional Christmas tree, but it seemed to possess amazing powers. The scowls and complaints of moments earlier were now replaced by smiles and animated chatter.

“I think my daughter’s right,” Elise said, walking over to more closely examine their handiwork. “This is actually a beautiful tree.”

The little boy, around three or four, who’d stayed close by his parents the entire day, clapped in delight.

Cathy noticed several smiles.

“I’m hungry,” Kate whispered to her mother.

Worrying about their situation as she had for most of the day, Cathy hadn’t given any thought to food until the youngster mentioned it. She apparently wasn’t the only one.

“What about dinner?” Cathy asked, glancing about the room. It looked as though they’d been left to fend for themselves. Mr. Kemper had said someone would come by to check on them, but so far no one had.

“Nothing’s going to be open tonight,” Matt McHugh grumbled. “Not on Christmas Eve.”

“Especially not with the storm and all earlier,” Len put in.

Cathy could feel the mood of the room, so recently elevated, plunge. Already those who’d moved closer to the Christmas tree were sliding away to slump on benches by the walls.

“Now, that does bring up an interesting prospect,” Cathy said, speaking to the entire group for the first time. “I’m Cathy Norris, by the way. I’m going to visit my daughter and her family in Boston, and I just happened to bring along four dozen of her favorite shortbread cookies. Somehow, I don’t think she’d mind my sharing them with all of you.”

She brought out the tin and pried open the lid.

“My wife and I have several oranges,” the elderly black man said. “We can share those. Since we’re going to be eating together, it’s only appropriate that we introduce ourselves. My name’s Sam Givens and my wife’s Louise.”

“Thank you, Sam and Louise,” Cathy said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m Matt McHugh. I was given a fruitcake on my last sales call,” Matt surprised her by saying. “I would’ve thrown the damn thing out, but one of my kids likes the stuff. I can cut that up if anyone’s interested.”

“Well, I’m quite fond of fruitcake,” Kelly Berry said.

Although the depot office was locked, the counter was free and Cathy placed the tin of cookies there. Matt took out the fruitcake and sliced it with his Swiss Army knife. Sam Givens brought over the oranges, then peeled and sectioned them.

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.

“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.”