Memory Tree (23 page)

“And remember, once we hit the outdoors, turn on those lights,” he stated.

Rather than having the children walk with lit candles across an open field, where their light could be so easily doused, this year each child had been handed a glass Christmas ornament, the lights inside them of varying colors, and as they made their way out of the farmhouse and into the cool, dark night, they switched them on. In seconds the snowy field was bathed in the colors of the Christmas season, reds and blues and greens and golds, the flickering rainbow carrying them beyond the Knights' backyard and down toward the creek, crossing over the stone bridge and at last emerging between the lines of the luminaries.

Cynthia, rather than watching as the parade of lights approached, was able to appreciate it in a way she couldn't have envisioned, from behind, she and Father Burton bringing up the rear of the procession. Her arm was locked in his, and she felt rather like a princess being led to the ball. She steeled herself for the moment they crossed over the bridge, realizing that for the past several weeks, as much as she was looking forward to the celebration, she was wistful about what happened after. It would mean time had truly caught up with her, her inevitable move that much closer. With the windmill's giant sails coming into view, it began to dawn on her that time could never be stopped, even if she were remaining in Linden Corners; it would always turn, days would pass and children would grow and others would pass and the cycle would continue. So she knew that right now all she could do was enjoy the moment.

Her smile widened as they crossed over the bridge and emerged out of the clearing of the woods that separated the Duncan and Knight properties, and suddenly there was the windmill in full glory, its glow as bright as the starry sky, a beacon calling to her. The children forged ahead, almost as though the wind was pushing them forward, or perhaps it was the promise of a gift at the end of the procession that lured them. Through the path of luminaries they walked, like Dorothy on the brick road, this one more golden than yellow. A string quartet had been set up near the windmill, and they began the lush, lovely sounds of a song called “The Christmas Canon,” the children's voices joining in and making the world around them alive with its lilting, angelic melody. The effect was reverential, uplifting, and the crowd grew hushed the closer the parade approached, and at last the children rounded the windmill and came to a stop on a carpet of pine needles.

The music ended and a gentle quiet took brief hold of the land, as though time really had stopped. Then the applause erupted, a thunderous cacophony of appreciation that seemed to fuel the spinning sails further. Cynthia was beaming widely as she saw all of her friends amongst the crowd, the happiness written on their faces filling her heart with deep satisfaction, as well as an inevitable sense of remorse. The twins Marla and Darla stood with their arms crossed, wearing matching jackets that further confused who was who, and near them, arms crossed in defiance, was Chuck Ackroyd and his drinking buddy, Chet Hardesty. Nicholas Casey and Nora Connors were wrapped tightly in each other's arms. Gerta Connors was standing beside Thomas Van Diver and Elsie Masters. Near them were Kevin and Didi Duncan, the latter of which held her hand close to her heart, and right next to them of course was Brian Duncan. At his side was Trina Winter, and the truth of the matter was how happy that last couple appeared together, Cynthia knowing she had done the right thing in pushing two lost souls toward each other. A defining moment indeed, and if this was how Cynthia Knight went out in Linden Corners, she couldn't imagine a better scenario.

Except the night was about to go one better, the siren of the fire truck piercing the night. Everyone turned to watch its approach, Cynthia's mind flashing back two nights to when its siren had cried out for different purposes, and she stole a glance Trina's way, wondering if she too was thinking about the fire that had claimed her father's motel. Trina rested her head on Brian's shoulder, and she saw her wipe a tear away. Brian leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Was it possible her bit of matchmaking had worked, and that a future existed for them? She had to wonder how Janey felt about it all.

All romantic speculation would have to wait. The fire truck arrived, pulling to the side of the road, its red light swirling against the drifts of snow that covered the land. The fire chief was first to descend from the truck, helping several people down from the cab. In order, she saw whoever had volunteered to play Santa this year, followed by Bradley carrying baby Jake, and then she saw a dimpled Mark Ravens escorting his pregnant wife, Sara, and then she saw Martha Martinson helping a man who needed the assistance of crutches, realizing it was, of course, Richie Ravens. The small group came forward across the field, ending up standing right beside the children's parade.

Cynthia then stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Oh my, my dear friends and family of Linden Corners, it is with a full, and heavy, heart, that I stand before you on this glowing, glorious night we call Christmas Eve. When I first began to envision what our annual Christmas pageant would be like, I could never have imagined . . . this. The beauty here, in colors that dance inside our eyes to the wonder that fills our hearts, it's beyond special.” She hesitated, her eyes focusing on Bradley and Jake, the former nodding his head in approval, in support, before moving onward to her friends. “As you all know, my family will be leaving Linden Corners in a few days, but I want you all to know that while we may be gone physically, so much of this place remains locked in our hearts and our minds and we will never forget any of you. Once upon a time I came to this town with a man who would change my life, who would love me for being me, and it was here that I met my best friend and her daughter, whom I've watched grow from infant to beautiful young lady, and so many others of you who have filled my life with so many memories and so much love. To see the many generations of our village celebrated on this night, from Richie, who shows that the past must be appreciated, to Bradley and Mark who inspire the present, to my precious son Jake who reminds us that a new generation already lives among us, and finally, to our radiant Sara Ravens, who carries inside her the eternal promise that Linden Corners will live on for all tomorrows.” She paused, fighting back tears that won out anyway, and then said, “I think I've said enough, so I'll leave you with one last wish—you have all given me so many gifts, and it is my hope that the gift you are about to receive, whether it be from friend, neighbor, or stranger, is something you'll always cherish. So let the Secret Santa exchanges begin.”

She watched as the residents began to pore through the piles of gifts, finding their names written on cards, or discovering those of their friends, happily passing them on. Presents were exchanged and wrappings were ripped open by eager children, squeals of delight filling the night air. Even the adults exclaimed pleasure in what they received, Cynthia standing there with joy, forgetting that a gift waited for her. It was Brian who brought over to her three square packages that felt light in her grasp.

“From you, Brian? You were my Secret Santa?”

“Not me,” he said shaking his head. “Now, how coincidental would that have been? No, I just saw that they were the only gifts that remained unclaimed. Come on, open them and let's see what you got.”

By then a small group of friends and curious residents had circled around Cynthia, all of their faces anticipatory of what was to be found under the wrappings. Part of her didn't want to open them, because she knew that once she did it meant the end of all she had planned, the clock fast approaching when they should all be gathering at Saint Matthew's for the vigil mass, and after that the hands of the clock would hit midnight and Christmas Day would be upon them, Soon after, she would be leaving behind her friends, her home, a life that was so embedded in the fabric of the community. Some gifts, she thought, are meant to remain unopened.

Not so this one.

“Cynthia, open them!” Janey exclaimed.

“My goodness, we were only supposed to get one gift. This . . . this is excessive.”

Still, she slipped a finger beneath the tape of the first gift, and the colorful paper decorated with snowmen fell away to the ground, revealing a white box. She opened it up and pulled out a shiny blue ornament, the name
Cynthia
written across it in a glittery silver script. Cynthia's mouth dropped open, even as she grew a bit unsteady on her feet. She knew she had to continue, because she knew, right then and there, what was inside the other two boxes, and also just who her Secret Santa had been. She repeated the process once, a second time, and when she was done, three gleaming ornaments were on display, Bradley holding his red ornament with his name written in the same style, Janey holding on to Cynthia's so she could appreciate the gold ornament dangling from her fingers, one that caught the lights emanating off the windmill and creating a glint across the snowy field.
Jake
, it read.

“I wasn't sure if it should say Jacob or Jake, but everyone calls him Jake like everyone calls me Janey, and that's what my ornament says.”

“Janey . . . they're lovely. Perfectly lovely.”

“Nora helped me order them; even Brian didn't know. I used my allowance.”

“Thank you, thank you so much. But, Janey, these are your family tradition.”

“They're Brian's, really, but he made them part of my Christmas, and I just wanted you to know you'll always be a part of mine, no matter where you are. Families can be together, even when they can't. And, I was going to give them to you on Christmas, but then, well, out of all those names inside the big Santa hat, I chose yours,” Janey said, “and I couldn't believe it.”

Cynthia smiled as she bent down and took Janey tightly into her arms. She felt like never letting go, as though by doing so she would be relinquishing her connection to Linden Corners. But that was silly, as Janey might say; their bond was too strong and memories were one thing distance could not claim. As they parted, Cynthia, wiping away tears that wouldn't stop now, cradled by her husband and son, said, “That's the thing, Janey, about dreams. If you choose to believe in them, they do come true.”

C
HAPTER
19

T
RINA

 

 

 

“I
had Mrs. McCluskey.”

“Oh, she told everyone in earshot how much she loved her picture frame, saying it was just what she needed for her grandchildren's latest school photographs. And she told me she had Susie Anderson, who I think got new mittens that perfectly matched her coat. So thoughtful.”

“Her husband, Milton, he had Bradley, I think.”

“Did he get a board game?”

“Mr. Carducci gave me a feather pen and inkwell.”

“I had Adam Carpenter, the guy who's taking ownership of the fruit stand from Cynthia.”

“I—well, Trina really—actually picked Father Burton, and he received a new set of wineglasses. Though I suppose they're good for water too.”

“Some young girl named Ashley gave me a delightful pair of earrings that had owls on them.”

“Ashley's my friend, and she likes owls like I like my frog.”

“And I received a gift from one Elsie Masters, a desk calendar with pictures of dogs on nearly every page.”

So said, in order and with decreasing enthusiasm, Nora, Gerta, Thomas, Nicholas, then Travis with the smart-alec remark about Milton Bradley, followed by Trina, and then Richie, who even though he didn't do the actual shopping was amused enough by what the priest had been given, and finally Didi, Janey, and Kevin joined in, the latter of whom, after mentioning his gift, received a stern look from his wife. The entire group was gathered inside the Duncan farmhouse sharing stories of the Secret Santa gift exchange, just hours after Thomas Van Diver had read, with twinkly-eyed reverence, “The Night Before Christmas” to eager children, filling all of their minds with visions of Santa flying over the rooftops in Linden Corners, and after the choral-filled vigil mass at Saint Matthew's. Now, as the adults sipped wine or tea, and the children—as well as Trina—indulged in hot chocolate, it was time to relax as Christmas fast approached. To Trina, it just felt right, a sense settling within her of how Christmas Eve was supposed to feel, anticipation winning out over expectation.

Suddenly all eyes turned to Brian, the only one of them who hadn't revealed who he had picked for Secret Santa, or who had him—turned out one of Janey's teachers did. When he finally did open up about who he had, he sounded like Charlie Brown on an altogether different holiday, Halloween, complaining, “I had Chuck.”

“No way,” Nora said, and then the whole room erupted into laughter.

All except Trina, who didn't know enough of the conflicted history between Brian and Chuck Ackroyd, a man whose reputation was suspect at best. In fact, sitting beside the mantel, where an orange fire crackled and gave off a warmth of healing rather than one of destruction, as it had while ruthlessly burning through her father's motel, she still felt an icy chill. Because in the span of the nearly six weeks since her arrival in Linden Corners, Trina Winter had gone from total stranger to imposter, and now in this most ideal holiday setting, sitting amidst new friends and convivial conversation laced with laughter, and with the Christmas tree shining brightly and carols playing softly in the background, she felt more like a full-blown intruder. Midnight—and thus the arrival of Christmas Day—remained mere hours away and, Richie aside, her connection to him based more on past regrets than fresh memories, she was in the company of people who were not her family, and pretending otherwise wasn't going to instill in her heart any basis for belonging. She witnessed the ease with which the Connors family was integrated into this house, and of course Brian's parents were more than welcome, here to celebrate the holiday with their son and his daughter. So, what business did the fractured Ravens family have in disrupting their traditions?

“Whatever did you get Chuck?” Gerta asked.

Brian paused, eyes mirroring the flicker from the fire, before saying, “A bottle of scotch, to encourage him to drink at home. Oh, and a handshake intended as an act of forgiveness.”

“You're a better man than me, Brian Duncan,” Nora said.

“But you're a woman,” Janey stated matter-of-factly.

Her comment received a roomful of chuckles, and that's when Brian rose from his seat, informing his wise, grammatically savant young girl that Santa Claus didn't stop at houses where children were still awake. When she was finished rolling her eyes, she agreed that bedtime was a good idea, and so she bade good night to everyone and then trudged upstairs, Brian starting to follow after her.

“Brian, dear, perhaps I could tuck Jane into bed tonight?” his mother said.

Janey and Brian looked first at her, then at each other, and Trina could see that a silent message was being sent between them. It was Janey who finally responded. “I would like that very much on any other night, but it's Christmas Eve, and, well, Brian . . . well, he and I have our special tradition . . . Is that okay, uh . . . Mrs. Duncan?”

Didi's face held tight, not giving away her disappointment. “Traditions are important.”

Trina noticed she wasn't the only one having issues with how to refer to people. Her own father she had called Dad only once on this visit, and that was after realizing he hadn't perished in the fire, and not that she wished him any harm, but the reason why she spoke that name she'd been denied all these years had surprised her. Instinct, perhaps a growing love, overrode history. When it came to what to call Brian's parents, Janey was clearly suffering the same dilemma.

“How about tomorrow night, and I can tell you all about my gifts. Just us ladies.”

“Then I will definitely look forward to such a time,” Didi said with a widening grin. “For now, tonight, it's you and Brian and, as you said, your special tradition.”

Janey ran back and gave Didi a quick hug, tossing Kevin one as well so as not to deny him, and then suddenly she was dashing up the stairs with more energy than a child about to catch a night's sleep should have. Brian followed after her, winking back Trina's way, as though telling her not to go anywhere.

With their host momentarily gone, silence settled over the group, and had Richie not still been here, she might have said good night as well, though what did she really have to return to? Since the fire had destroyed the Solemn Nights Motel, she and Richie had been staying with Mark and Sara, and while their generosity was larger than life, their apartment was small, with a tiny second bedroom and a sofa that barely fit her outstretched body, much less Richie's; he had insisted on doing the fatherly thing by giving her the private room and sleeping on its worn cushions. Add in the fact that the apartment was on the second floor above the tavern, and Richie—with his crutches—had to climb up steep stairs. Moreover, she wasn't eager to get back and spoil their anniversary. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and at least Mark and Sara had put up a tree so Christmas wasn't a total bust, even if it was far from what Trina had expected.

She was about to suggest that she and Richie depart, when Richie broke the silence.

“In all my years living in Linden Corners, I've never set foot inside this house.”

“Richie Ravens, you've called this village home for twenty-five years,” Gerta said.

“I've never been inside your home either,” he replied.

“Yes, but you and Dan . . . you were tight at one point, friends, weren't you?”

“That's a long time ago, even before I envisioned building the Solemn Nights.”

His voice took on a hint of remorse, Trina realizing he was displaying more emotion now than he had since he'd watched his motel's demise. She wondered if she should change the course of the conversation or let him talk and get it out of his system. What he did next surprised her, getting up from his chair with obvious discomfort, grabbing for his crutches. The cast might have come off, but that didn't mean he was anywhere near healed.

“Richie, what can I get you?” she asked.

“Nothing, I'm fine. Just got to see a man about a horse,” he replied with a short laugh.

He disappeared from the room, and small talk resumed, the Connors talking about their plans for the holiday, Didi and Kevin remarking how lovely Linden Corners was awash in holiday lights, how convivial everyone in town seemed, and Trina found her mind wandering. Feeling even more awkward without Brian or Richie in the room, she fidgeted in her seat, and then she started to gather empty mugs and glasses and, despite a protest from Didi, brought them into the kitchen. As she set them in the sink, she gazed out the window, where in the near distance she could see the light emanating off the windmill. It wasn't the only thing she saw, the glow coming off the horizon highlighting the shadow of her father as he hesitantly made his way across the field.

“Richie Ravens, what are you up to?” she asked aloud.

“Talking to yourself, I see. Do you do that often?”

It was Brian who had snuck up behind her, slipping his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck, the sensation so sweet, so unexpected, she felt herself melt against him. How strange was this, she and Brian inside this house, and upstairs slept Janey, a girl who'd lost so much but still believed in and dreamed of the perfect Christmas morning, where presents awaited her, all while in the other room was her extended family, their close friends. It was just as Christmas was supposed to look, one of those postcards found on the spinning racks inside Marla and Darla's Trading Post. The scene so perfect its unfamiliarity rang inside Trina.

“Janey asleep?” she asked.

“Not yet; she'll get there.”

“Do you really have a special tradition?”

“We talk sometimes, and I think tonight she needed me.”

“Your mother is . . . intimidating?”

“Why does our conversation always turn to her?”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“How's Richie doing?”

She decided not to say anything about his nocturnal excursion to the windmill. “Typical, not saying much about what happened at the motel.”

“What do you think he'll do? Rebuild?”

Trina immediately shook her head. “That's not Richie's style. If I've learned one thing about Richie Ravens, it's once something is done, it's time to move on. Just as he did with his failed marriage, the notion of fatherhood. He abandoned both, leaving the ruins behind.”

Brian nodded. “Seems to me he's coming around on the idea of being a father.”

“He's trying, which is more than he did when I first got here.”

She felt Brian's tender lips against her neck, reminding her of the one afternoon they'd spent together. Their one and only time. It felt so right being in his arms, but yet his next words reminded her that nothing was really real, nothing ever lasted.

“You know, you're both welcome to stay the night. We have plenty of rooms.”

“Oh, Brian, that's so generous of you . . . but, no, we couldn't possibly.”

“Your choice; the invitation is open-ended. It might be more comfortable . . .”

“Richie in one bedroom, and me . . . Where do I sleep?”

He paused, then said, “Yeah, okay, really soon. And maybe . . . confusing.”

“For Janey.”

He nodded. “And for us.”

“Can you give me a minute? I'll rejoin the group soon.”

“Uh, sure. Everything okay?”

She paused before saying, “What I think is that everything happens for a reason.”

Brian kissed her on the lips this time, his tender touch lingering until she felt like she needed to lock it inside her heart. A kiss lasted only a moment, a memory far longer. As Brian disappeared back into the holiday warmth of the living room, she once again stole a look outside the window. Richie was long gone from view, yet the windmill was not done with its revelations of the night. What she saw surprised her so much she nearly called out to Brian.

Janey Sullivan, dressed in a thick overcoat, was crossing the field, not unlike Richie had done moments ago. She seemed to be hugging something, as though protecting it from the cold. Trina could not make out what it was.

What was the allure of the windmill, and on a night such as this?

Did Janey do this often, sneak out at night?

Trina had to imagine Brian wouldn't approve. She was ten; wandering off wasn't safe.

Taking matters into her own hands, Trina quietly snuck to the foyer, grabbing her coat off the hook, wrapping her scarf around her neck, and, after glancing back to ensure her escape had gone undetected, she slipped out of the farmhouse and into the cold night of an approaching Christmas. Stars lit her way, twinkling. She wondered what surprises awaited her.

 

 

“Oh, Ms. Janey, you surprised me.”

“Sorry. I'm supposed to be sleeping. Or at least, I should be in bed.”

“Yes, that's what I understand. And yet, here you are.”

“I saw you from my bedroom window; you were walking toward the windmill.”

“But that's not where I ended up, is it?” he asked.

“I prefer the windmill,” Janey said. “It's where I talk to Mama when I need to.”

“And what did you say to her tonight?”

“I didn't get there yet. I came right here. I followed your footprints.”

“Very clever of you,” he said.

“Why did you come here?”

“This bridge holds many memories for me.”

Trina was listening from behind a tree, she too having trailed their footsteps with a stealth-like quality. She'd followed them and couldn't say why. Was it because she felt responsible for Richie, a sense that she was fulfilling the obligation that had originally brought her to Linden Corners? If that were true, she would have chased him the moment she saw his unsteady frame making its way across the wide field. It wasn't until she had seen Janey mirroring his actions that Trina had sprung into action, and even so, she didn't understand her motives. Why not just go to Brian and tell him about Janey's escape?