One Imperfect Christmas (36 page)

As the harsh light of morning fell upon her mother's starry backdrop, still propped against the easel in the alcove, an angry sob caught in her throat. Her mother would not paint a new star this Christmas; the fifty-year-old promise would be broken. She fought the urge to take an ax to the thin piece of painted plywood and toss the fragments into the wood stove, then watch it go up in flames along with all her shattered hopes.

Her father appeared in the doorway. She'd heard him go out to the barn earlier, as he always did at dawn to check the horses and begin his daily chores. His whiskered cheeks crinkled into a sad smile. “Mornin', Rosy-girl. Merry Christmas.”

Natalie pressed her palms against the arms of the chair, starting to rise. “Dad, don't—”

As he motioned for her to remain seated, she noticed that under one arm he carried a large, flat package wrapped in bright silver Christmas paper, a fluffy red bow tacked in the center. He placed the gift tenderly in her lap. “For you, from your mother.”

“What—?”

“Open it.” Dad pulled over the ottoman and sat in front of her, his bony, blue-jeaned knees protruding at awkward angles as he watched her expectantly.

Natalie stared at the package, tight bands of dread and disbelief closing around her throat. It took her several moments to find the courage, but finally, her fingers trembling with anticipation, she plucked off the bow and tore at the paper. As it parted, her gaze fell upon a gilt-framed oil painting, her mother's delicate but unmistakable signature across the lower right-hand corner.

The subject of the painting caused Natalie to suck in her breath in bittersweet agony. Her own image, bearing a wistful, almost dreamlike expression, filled the larger portion of the picture. The eyes looked upward with unmasked affection toward two other faces—Daniel's and Lissa's. Mom had crafted the painting in such a way that the three portraits were distinctly individual yet seamlessly interconnected. Natalie's sandy-blonde hair flowed into Lissa's silvery-yellow tresses, which blended with Daniel's darker waves. Natalie's head seemed to rest gently upon Daniel's shoulder.

She pressed a fist to her lips, unable to speak. In a sudden flash of memory she remembered the dream she'd had the night before Lissa hitched a ride to the convalescent home to take her grandmother the watercolor set. Daniel and Lissa had been in her dream, and starlight shining on something she couldn't make out, some kind of package.

And then she remembered that day in the barn, seeing something shiny in the tack room closet before Dad quickly blocked her view and closed the door. The gift had been there all along, waiting for her, waiting for this day, this moment.

Again, she had an unsettling impression that some vital truth lurked just beyond her understanding. Daniel knew, and … Mom knew.

“
Forgive. Learn to love,”
Mom had urged.

“Isn't it something?” Her father shifted the portrait so it caught the now softening morning light. “Your mother's last painting. She finished it just days before her stroke, said she wanted to save it for your family Christmas present. She'd planned to do one of Hart and Celia and the boys, but—” A ragged moan tore from his chest. “She so wanted this Christmas to be special, our fiftieth Christmas together. But now … Oh, Rosy-girl, what will I ever do without her? What will I do when she's finally gone?”

For the first time since Mom's stroke, Natalie witnessed her father completely break down. His shoulders rocked with loud, painful sobs, and she could do nothing but set the painting aside and wrap him in her arms.

“Oh, my Belinda,” he mourned, “oh, my darling Belinda.”

She longed to be able to comfort her father, but her own grief and guilt seared with the intensity of a blazing ceramics kiln.

Forgive. Learn to love.
The words repeated over and over in her mind until she thought she would go crazy from trying to understand.

“Mom?” Lissa's fragile voice cut through her silent, angry questions. Wrapped in an afghan, the girl stood at Natalie's side with sleep-tousled hair and tear-stained cheeks. “Is Granddad okay?”

Natalie rubbed her father's back and tried to lace her tone with the reassurance she knew her daughter needed. “Yeah, honey. It's just … with Grandma so sick, it's going to be a really tough Christmas.”

Natalie's father, his tears spent, gave a final shudder and sat up. He dragged a sleeve across his face. Weakly, he smiled at Natalie, then looked up at his granddaughter. “Your old granddad's a mess this morning, huh?”

“Me, too, Granddad. I can't stop worrying about Grandma.”

“Me, neither.” He scooted over to make room for her next to him on the ottoman and tucked her under his arm. Their knees brushed Natalie's.

“I had this really weird dream,” Lissa said, a tremor in her voice. “Grandma was in heaven, and she was so happy. God took her far out to the very edges of the universe. Then he gave her a set of oil paints in the most beautiful colors ever created. 'I've decided we need a few more stars out this way,' he told her, 'and I want you to paint them.' “ Lissa cocked her head. “Isn't that the most wonderful thing you could imagine for Grandma, all better and painting stars for God?”

Natalie gazed at her daughter, glimpsing in her shining eyes an inexpressible mixture of hope and love. Her own heart seemed to shatter. “Yes,” she answered, her voice raspy, “yes, it is.”

A peaceful stillness enveloped Natalie, a gentle letting go—no, more of a letting
in
. Deep in the farthest recesses of her mind a new awareness filled her, a golden, glimmering silence.

Silence?
No coughing, no strained breathing coming from the guest room.

“Oh, God—Mom?” Natalie stumbled past her father and daughter and tore down the hall. She grabbed the door facing and skidded into the bedroom, her heart hammering. “Carolyn? Is she … ”

The nurse stood at the bedside, holding her stethoscope against Natalie's mother's chest. She looked toward Natalie and offered a gentle smile. “The fever's broken, and her lungs sound clear. She's sleeping comfortably.”

Natalie collapsed against the footboard, a sob catching in her throat. She felt her father's arm go around her shoulder, his whiskery cheek brush hers. She found his hand and squeezed. “She made it to Christmas Day, Daddy. She kept her promise.”

“She sure did, honey. God is good.”

As she stood watching her mother sleep, that elusive truth Natalie had been avoiding crept forward, growing and gathering strength, crystallizing in her understanding like the pure, bright ring of the tiny glass bell Dad had hung on the tree the night of her birthday.

She knew now what she had to do. It would be a perfect Christmas after all.

21

D
aniel had just climbed out of the shower when the phone rang. A towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping onto the carpet, he snatched up the receiver at his bedside. “Hello?”

“Hi, it's me.”

At the sound of her voice, his jaw dropped. His grip on the towel faltered, and he almost dropped that too. “Natalie?”

“Daniel, I'm so sorry for how I treated you after … after Mom got so sick.”

“It's okay, I understand. How is she?” He was almost afraid to ask. “Any change?”

“The worst is over. She's resting quietly—no more coughing or fever.”

“That's great news.” He cleared his throat. “And you? Are you doing okay?”

“Hanging in there. It's been a rough couple of days, but now that Mom's past the crisis, Dad and Lissa and I are getting dressed for the Christmas church service. I'm … I'm calling to invite you to spend the day with us.”

He noted something different in her tone, a lightness, a freshness he hadn't heard in almost a year. His pulse quickened.

“Can you meet us at church,” she asked tentatively, “then come over for dinner?”

He scrubbed a hand through his wet hair and mentally scrambled to take in this unexpected development. “Are you sure? I mean, I didn't expect anyone would be going.”

She sighed. “Mom would never want us to skip church on Christmas morning. And … ”

He could sense the struggle in her hesitation. His stomach muscles tensed. His grip tightened on the receiver.

“And it wouldn't be the same if we didn't go together—you and me and Lissa, as a family.” Her tone softened even more. “I don't think I could bear it if the three of us missed even a single Christmas together.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed and replied throatily, “Thanks, Nat. I'll be there.”

An hour later he met Natalie, Lissa, and Bram on the front steps of the church beneath the tall, white bell tower as Christmas chimes rang out across the rooftops. With Lissa between them, Daniel and Natalie followed Bram down the aisle to where Hart and Celia and the boys were holding places for them in the Morgans' usual pew. The eight of them completely filled one row, except for the place Belinda Morgan would have taken. They did not spread out to absorb her space but sat shoulder to shoulder, each drawing strength and hope from the other.

Glancing at his wife's serene profile over the fair head of their daughter, Daniel felt more certain than ever that something had changed in Natalie. Her impenetrable shell seemed to have cracked, and instead of crumbling with despair as he so feared, she seemed somehow stronger, more alive, more at peace than he'd ever known her to be in all the years they'd been married.

At the conclusion of the service, the pastor requested special prayers for Belinda Morgan and family. “Our dear sister in Christ survived a serious setback over the weekend, but I understand she is much improved this morning, a true blessing on this glorious Christmas Day.” The pastor gave a soft chuckle. “And we all know how much Belinda loves Christmas.”

Natalie's chin lifted almost imperceptibly, and Daniel glimpsed her sniff back a tear. He ached to reach around Lissa and place a reassuring hand on Natalie's shoulder, but something told him to wait.

At the closing hymn, “Joy to the World,” the whole church resounded in voice and song. The last chords faded, and Daniel watched in admiration as the woman he loved graciously accepted expressions of concern from the family's many friends. Deannie Garner, looking as quiet and reserved as he'd ever seen her, walked over to their pew and gave Natalie a tear-filled embrace.

Natalie's annoyance with the girl had been no secret, but clearly something had changed there too. Had they managed to settle their differences during Natalie's last few days at the print shop, or had their flighty former babysitter finally grown up? Seeing Jeff Garner walk over, Daniel couldn't help but notice the open affection and pride in Jeff's eyes when he rested his arm on his niece's shoulder. Apparently, something had changed for the better in that relationship as well.

The family slowly made their way down the aisle amidst the many well-wishers. Among them were Miss Fellowes, who owned Moonbeams Bookstore, and Hart's veterinary clinic receptionist and her family. Even the grumpy Mr. Craunauer from The Apple Cart awaited his turn to offer words of encouragement to Natalie and the family.

“How you holding up, man?”

Daniel recognized the voice of his friend Carl Moreno and turned to greet him. “Better than a couple of days ago,” he answered shakily, gripping Carl's hand. “Your family having a good Christmas?”

“Oh, yeah. Got the usual feast at my folks' house later.” Carl coaxed Daniel aside. “You and Natalie, you back together … or is it just, you know, temporary because of Christmas and all?”