The Gift of Christmas Present (20 page)

“How could you let that happen to her, God?” she demanded. “And then to just let her die after all she'd been through? What was the purpose in all that?”

But no answers came, and before long the loneliness and emptiness of the vacated dormitory began to press against her, almost like a physical thing, breathing down her neck in short, chilly breaths. To remain in the isolation of that room for one more moment felt unendurable. So she pulled on her parka and gloves and headed over to her church. She hoped she might catch Pastor Reinhart
and ask him some of these perplexing questions. He might not have all the answers, but at least he'd listen.

But when she arrived at the old brick church on Oak Street, she suddenly remembered that they'd opened their doors to offer shelter to the homeless during the holidays. Apparently, they did this every year at Christmastime. There was a homeless shelter downtown and a mission, but those ministries catered mostly to single adults. But the church went out of their way to create a special place where homeless families could gather and feel comfortable for a few days. Of course, Christine had been so distracted with her grandmother's family and all her related problems that she'd completely wiped it from her mind.

“Christine,” Beth Maxwell called when Christine had barely reached the office. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Pastor Reinhart.”

“He's in the kitchen at the moment.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey,” Beth said hopefully, “before you skitter away, what are you doing the rest of the day?”

Christine shrugged. “Not much.”

“Well, we're a little shorthanded,” Beth said. Then she explained how she had broken the shelter kids into three age groups. “The teens are being treated to a free Christmas shopping spree at the local discount store, followed by a movie. And the middle graders are on their way to the skating rink, but the little kids were supposed to hang out here at the church for craft projects, snacks, and a special Christmas video.”

“Sounds good.”

“The problem is that Candace Everly was supposed to
be in charge of the little kids today, but her own kids just came down with the chicken pox, so she had to stay home. So we could really use your help, if you're willing.”

“Sure,” Christine said. Actually, she was happy to oblige. The last thing she wanted right now was to return to her ghost-town dorm and then sit around feeling sorry for herself. Instead she spent an amazingly stress-free afternoon with the youngest of the kids. Her biggest worry was whether or not they would run out of sequins and glitter as she helped their sticky little fingers cut and glue pieces of colored felt until they finally resembled Christmas stockings. She was surprised at how the time seemed to fly, and even after her responsibilities with the children were finished, Christine offered to stay on and help with dinner too.

“This is awfully nice of you, Christine,” Pastor Reinhart said as she helped clean up afterward.

“Actually, it's kind of selfish,” she admitted. “It helps keep my mind off of my own family troubles.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

But her problems suddenly seemed small in comparison with the problems of the families her church was trying to serve. She couldn't help but notice how poor they seemed, or how many of the parents' faces looked so apathetic or hopeless. She couldn't imagine how it would feel to be broke and homeless, especially during Christmas. And then to have children depending on them as well. It was so incredibly sad. But at least they had each other. That was something.

She felt reluctant to leave when Beth offered her a lift home. Of course, she knew it would be silly for her to
take up one of the precious beds in the church's makeshift shelter, but it seemed almost preferable to returning to her empty dorm. In some ways she wasn't much more than homeless herself. Just the same, she accepted the ride and was thankful not to have to walk through what now appeared to be almost six inches of accumulated snow.

“Are you sure you want to stay by yourself at the dorm during Christmas?” Beth asked for the third time. She'd been incredulous that Christine had chosen to spend her holidays by herself at the dorm. “Really,” she assured her. “You know you'd be welcome at my house.”

“Thanks,” Christine said. “But I'm fine, really. And I plan to come help out at the shelter again tomorrow, and then there's the candlelight service later on. Before I know it, Christmas will be over and done with and winter classes will be starting up again.”

“Okay,” Beth said. “Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

Christine trudged up the steps to her dorm, her tracks the only ones breaking into the most recent layer of snow. Of course, it made no sense to shovel the steps when the dorm was mostly empty. Plus, it was the holidays and the maintenance people were probably enjoying some time off. It also made little sense to run the big furnace at full blast, and a notice had been posted before winter break so that students would be prepared for the cooler temperatures. But it seemed to be getting colder and colder with each passing night.

Christine tried to imagine her dad in a steamy jungle setting, dressed as a jolly old elf and handing out gifts to the surprised indigenous locals and missionary kids. But
suddenly all she could think of was poisonous spiders, gigantic snakes, and prowling panthers . . . and to her it seemed more perilous than ever for her sweet and unsuspecting father to be so far from home. She fervently prayed for his safety until she finally fell asleep.

Esther peered out the front window again. Long, blue shadows were falling across the snow, and the little white lights had come on and were starting to twinkle with false cheer. “Has anyone heard anything from Christine?” she asked.

“I've left two messages at her dorm,” Jimmy said as he set a load of birch logs in the basket next to the fireplace. “Mind if I start this fire up now?”

“Go ahead,” Felicity called from the dining room, where Esther had observed her arranging enough food to feed a small army. “We want it going nicely when the guests start to arrive.”

“It's warm enough in here already,” Esther snapped as she headed back toward her dining room to survey Felicity's latest damages. Felicity might be all gladness and joy today, and she'd even apologized for her thoughtless remarks last night, but Esther still felt certain that young woman was out to sabotage them all.

“Open a window if you're too warm,” Felicity called in a voice as sweet as her heavily frosted Santa cookies.

It had grated on Esther's nerves all day—the way her daughter-in-law had waltzed in here as if everything was just fine. Oh, she'd done her little apology, with Jimmy at her elbow as if he'd personally coached her on the drive over. But Esther wasn't convinced. Now she hovered around Felicity, feeling a bit like a vulture on crutches. Scowling from her position in the doorway, she watched as Felicity flitted around the ornately decorated dining room table in her pretty red velvet party dress.
Queen for a day
, Esther thought as she turned in disgust, heading for the solitude of the den, what used to be James's den but was now her only haven in this normally quiet house that had suddenly turned into a three-ring circus.
Well
,
let them party if they must
, she thought as she closed the door behind her. Let stupid Felicity have her fun!

Oh, she knew she shouldn't take out her anger on poor Felicity. Why, that was like kicking the puppy who'd just chewed up your three-hundred-dollar shoes. What was the point? But Hattie had confessed to Esther during breakfast that morning that she felt fairly certain that Christine had overheard some of Felicity's thoughtless remarks the previous day. And now Esther felt certain that if Felicity had only possessed a little more sense and had treated Christine just a little better, well, maybe Christine would still be here with them today. And she'd told Jimmy as much that morning when he'd delivered the “special” load of firewood—special because it was birch and supposed to be “white and pretty.”
Pretty
,
my foot
, she'd thought.
It's only firewood
,
for Pete's sake
!

“Christine is a sensible girl,” Jimmy had reassured her. “I don't think she'd let something Felicity said upset her. Everyone knows that Felicity sometimes speaks without thinking.”

“Sometimes?” Esther felt her left brow arch.

“Oh, Mom, Felicity may have her faults, but she's really not trying to hurt anyone intentionally. And, if it makes you feel any better, she was really very sorry by the time we got home last night. She almost called you, but it was getting pretty late by the time we got the kids to bed.”

Be that as it may, Felicity had still done little besides the stilted apology to convince Esther of her contrition. And Esther felt seriously fed up with her daughter-in-law as she sank down into the big leather chair behind James's old desk. She leaned back and looked around her. Hattie had done a good job of cleaning up. And the den actually looked much better with all of James's ridiculous paraphernalia removed. Much more calming and peaceful. She should've done it years ago.

Esther looked at the black desk phone and even picked up the receiver. But then she'd already called that number several times and left at least two, maybe three, messages. Still, she supposed it wouldn't hurt to try again. But she was answered by the same old thing; after four rings the blasted machine came on again.

“You've reached the number of Christine Bradley and Brianna Taylor. Please—” Esther put the receiver back in the cradle with a thud.
Where could that girl be
? As far as Esther knew she didn't have any relatives nearby and all her friends had gone home for the holidays. Perhaps she'd called one of them up, desperate to escape the insanity
of the Daniels family, and begged to be included in some festivity. Maybe she was off at some ski lodge, having a good time with friends and drinking hot toddies right now. That's what Esther would've been doing at the same age. Goodness, how many times had she opted for some expensive and scintillating outing with friends over going home to spend time with family? And did she regret it now? Well, of course she did. But not completely.

“Oh, who can figure such things out?” she said to herself. She felt exasperated and agitated and suddenly longed for a cigarette like she hadn't done in years. Oh, she knew it was perfectly ridiculous and would probably make her sick, but she simply felt the need for something to calm her nerves. She began jerking open the drawers to James's desk. Surely, he must've left something behind, since he'd smoked right up to the day he died. Naturally, the drawers were full of all sorts of odd things, and she wished she'd taken the time to dump their contents onto the floor yesterday. Perhaps Hattie would've gotten rid of all that junk too. Not that she wished to turn Hattie into her personal maid. Actually, she was becoming rather fond of her previously estranged sister-in-law. But right now Hattie was having a little nap, refreshing herself before the guests started to arrive, and all Esther wanted was a stupid cigarette!

Of course, Esther knew she might've been wise to have followed Hattie's lead and taken a nap. After all, she had every reason to excuse herself from all of Felicity's hubbub. She could've said, “I'm so sorry, but I'm recovering from a bad sprain and really need my rest.” She'd be sorry once
the party really got going. The extra people in her home had begun to wear her already frazzled nerves thin.

Good-night, why couldn't she find any darn cigarettes?

“Voila!” she said triumphantly when she finally unearthed a sleek silver case with the initials JD on it. She'd gotten him this for their fifteenth anniversary, shortly before he became ill and was told to give up smoking, which he did not.

The case felt light, and she expected it to be empty as she popped it open, but there, as if appointed by fate, lay one lonely cigarette.

“Ahhh.” She picked it up and smelled the pungent, earthy smell of stale tobacco. Then she put it to her lips before she looked around and realized she needed a light. After more digging and hunting, she finally discovered a dusty old book of matches. She blew off the dust and examined the faded photo on the front. Something about that large pink building and palm trees seemed vaguely familiar. Without her reading glasses, she was forced to hold it at arm's length, squinting to read the fine print.
The Hotel Marquise
. Ah, yes, it was where she and James had stayed during their honeymoon in the Bahamas—about twenty-three years ago now. She set the cigarette and matchbook on the surface of the desk, then pulled back her hand as if these items were hot coals. Then, as if mesmerized, she just stared at them.

Is this what life eventually boils down to? A stale cigarette and a dusty book of matches? Two seemingly innocent items that burn you clear to your soul? She pushed herself up from the chair and limped painfully over to the leather sofa. She fell down onto it in a broken heap,
clutched a tapestry-covered cushion, and began to sob. “I am nothing but a useless old woman,” she moaned. “I have led a foolish and shallow life with nothing to show for it but ashes and dust . . . ashes and dust. Nothing left . . . but ashes and dust.”