Lakeshore Christmas by Susan Wiggs

In the artificial light flooding the area, she couldn’t make out the color. But she could make out his faint smile. Why on earth was he smiling? At her?
    “Another angel?” he murmured. “This place is crawling with angels.”
    “What?” She looked around, saw no one; apparently no one had heard her call out a moment ago. “What?” she said again, and then: “Where?”
    He shifted, gingerly pulled himself up by bracing one arm behind him. The other arm didn’t look so good, hanging at an awkward angle. Aside from that, he had a couple of cuts on his forehead and chin, one on his right cheekbone just below the rim of his eye. But he was alive, and talking. Considering the state of his vehicle, that was a miracle.
    He frowned at her. “Sorry. For a second, you looked like an angel to me.”
    Despite the circumstances, Maureen felt a beat of warmth. She could safely say no man had ever mistaken her for an angel. Then she snapped herself back to reality. “You were driving the van,” she said. “A white van?”
    “Yeah.” He frowned. “I was.”
    “Were you by yourself?” she asked. Please say yes. Please say yes. “Was anyone else in the car with you?”
    “I was alone,” he said. His teeth were chattering now. “All by my lonesome.” Then he looked panicked. “Did I hurt any one? Oh, Christ, did I hit—”
    “No,” she quickly assured him. “Everyone’s fine. And you’re going to be fine, too.”
    Thank heaven, she thought, allowing herself to smile weakly with relief. She remembered hearing the grimvoice of the EMT…“It’d take a miracle to survive that fireball.”
    “You got a real nice smile,” said the miracle.

Part Two
    CREDO AT CHRISTMAS
    At Christmastime I believe the things that children do.
    I believe with English children that holly placed in windows will protect our homes from evil.
    I believe with Swiss children that the touch of edelweiss will charm a person with love.
    I believe with Italian children that La Befana is not an ugly doll but a good fairy who will gladden the heart of all.
    I believe with Greek children that coins concealed in freshly baked loaves of bread will bring good luck to anyone who finds them.
    I believe with German children that the sight of a Christmas tree will lessen hostility among adults.
    I believe with French children that lentils soaked and planted in a bowl will rekindle life in people who have lost hope.
    I believe with Dutch children that the horse Sleipner will fly through the sky and fill the earth with joy.
    I believe with Swedish children that Jultomte will come and deliver gifts to the poor as well as to the rich.
    I believe with Finnish children that parties held on St. Stephen’s Day will erase sorrow.
    I believe with Danish children that the music of a band playing from a church tower will strengthen humankind.
    I believe with Bulgarian children that sparks from a Christmas log will create warmth in human souls.
    I believe with American children that the sending of Christmas cards will build friendships.
    I believe with all children that there will be peace on earth.
    —attributed to Daniel Roselle, co-founder, Safe Passage Foundation

Six
    D aisy Bellamy set her two-year-old in Santa’s lap and stepped back, holding her breath and hoping for the best. The setting looked beautiful this year—a skating hut that had been turned into a gingerbread house, with Santa ensconced on his wingback throne, giving dreamy-faced kids a “Ho Ho Ho” and promising them the moon. She offered up the prayer known to parents of toddlers everywhere— Please let him sit still long enough to get the shot.
    Hurry up, she silently urged the helper dressed like an elf. Take the shot. Take it. Now. In photography, timing was everything.
    The elf held up a squeaky toy in one hand and the shutter release in the other. “Look at the birdie,” he said in a light, singsong voice.
    Charlie’s eyes, usually twin emerald buttons of merriment, widened with