administration office, rolling down his windows for a breath of fresh air. His gaze strayed to the gazebo where Christmas carols blared. Delectable smells of hot chocolate and spiced cider filled the cheerful air. A new, freshly cut cedar stood on the sidewalk, decorated with strings of popcorn and cranberries. Mismatched ornaments — representatives of the lives of Nativity’s families — overflowed the tree. There was no theme or organized decorating scheme. Instead it held sentimental bauble from what he’d guess was almost every family in town. A group stood beside it, each pointing at their own contribution and sharing the story behind their trinket.
Because of the large crowd, Jake was forced to park at the rear of the building. As he climbed from the car, he heard Dusty Bitterman’s voice. “This one was my boy’s. I bought it for him the year he turned two.” Nadine, from the post office, followed. “My granddaughter made me this one when she was in the first grade.”
Instead of switching on lights, Jake followed the faint night-light burning in the mayor’s office. Dropping into his office chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
The emotional day had taken its toll. Grandma had everything in order. She would be cremated, and buried in Springfield at Eastlawn Cemetery, next to Grandpa. She requested a short memorial ser vice to be held in her church, and a family-only interment. The day after Christmas he would fulfill her wish. Everything would be taken care of; all Jake had to do now was face life without Grandma’s wisdom and emotional support.
Tipping his head back in the chair, he focused on the Nativity replica. Tiny pieces that represented so many lives — lives whose future he’d been entrusted with.
He felt empty. Like a rudderless ship going through life.
Outside the window, Christmas carols and laughter filled the night. Judy and her husband were strolling hand in hand through the maze of lighting, their faces lit with love. And then the thought hit him. Grandma’s final words made sense. This was the gift she’d given him this year. This town, this unquenchable spirit. Nativity with all its blemishes and blessings; the town Grandma knew and loved.
Roni. His eyes searched the gazebo area, but he failed to locate her.
His gaze shifted back to the town model in front of him. Grandma’s Christmas wish. The last gift that he could give her. The last, and like hers, the best. It lay in the model. All he had to do was search for it.
For over an hour he sat in the darkness, staring at the miniature town. Once or twice he moved a piece. On the third attempt, the scene suddenly clicked. Breaking into a grin, he picked up the city limits sign and reached for a piece of paper, then scribbled something.
Taping the sign over the original city limit marker, he eased a long line of tour buses poised to enter the town.
“Checkmate,” Jake said to himself.
Breezing into the hardware store, Roni couldn’t believe what she was about to do. Aaron glanced up, a smug grin crossing his boyish features. “Let me guess.”
“That’s hardly fair,” she accused. “Especially with my DNA smeared all over the front window.”
Walking around the counter, the clerk said. “I have one boxed and set aside with your name on it.”
Roni gasped. “How could you know I’d buy that lamp? A hundred and ninety-nine dollars is a rip-off.”
“Because it’s Christmas, and everyone overspends at Christmas.”
She handed him the money and then walked out of the hardware store, lamp in hand.
She’d done it. It was extravagant, silly, and utterly nonsensical. Anyone who hadn’t seen the movie wouldn’t understand the significance of the leg lamp, but Roni did.
And foolish or not, that lamp now sat in her parlor window. Of course, Mary’s hurricane lamp would have been more apropos, but Christmas was born of the heart, and her heart swelled with cheerfulness when she gazed at the purchase. She’d
Because of the large crowd, Jake was forced to park at the rear of the building. As he climbed from the car, he heard Dusty Bitterman’s voice. “This one was my boy’s. I bought it for him the year he turned two.” Nadine, from the post office, followed. “My granddaughter made me this one when she was in the first grade.”
Instead of switching on lights, Jake followed the faint night-light burning in the mayor’s office. Dropping into his office chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
The emotional day had taken its toll. Grandma had everything in order. She would be cremated, and buried in Springfield at Eastlawn Cemetery, next to Grandpa. She requested a short memorial ser vice to be held in her church, and a family-only interment. The day after Christmas he would fulfill her wish. Everything would be taken care of; all Jake had to do now was face life without Grandma’s wisdom and emotional support.
Tipping his head back in the chair, he focused on the Nativity replica. Tiny pieces that represented so many lives — lives whose future he’d been entrusted with.
He felt empty. Like a rudderless ship going through life.
Outside the window, Christmas carols and laughter filled the night. Judy and her husband were strolling hand in hand through the maze of lighting, their faces lit with love. And then the thought hit him. Grandma’s final words made sense. This was the gift she’d given him this year. This town, this unquenchable spirit. Nativity with all its blemishes and blessings; the town Grandma knew and loved.
Roni. His eyes searched the gazebo area, but he failed to locate her.
His gaze shifted back to the town model in front of him. Grandma’s Christmas wish. The last gift that he could give her. The last, and like hers, the best. It lay in the model. All he had to do was search for it.
For over an hour he sat in the darkness, staring at the miniature town. Once or twice he moved a piece. On the third attempt, the scene suddenly clicked. Breaking into a grin, he picked up the city limits sign and reached for a piece of paper, then scribbled something.
Taping the sign over the original city limit marker, he eased a long line of tour buses poised to enter the town.
“Checkmate,” Jake said to himself.
Breezing into the hardware store, Roni couldn’t believe what she was about to do. Aaron glanced up, a smug grin crossing his boyish features. “Let me guess.”
“That’s hardly fair,” she accused. “Especially with my DNA smeared all over the front window.”
Walking around the counter, the clerk said. “I have one boxed and set aside with your name on it.”
Roni gasped. “How could you know I’d buy that lamp? A hundred and ninety-nine dollars is a rip-off.”
“Because it’s Christmas, and everyone overspends at Christmas.”
She handed him the money and then walked out of the hardware store, lamp in hand.
She’d done it. It was extravagant, silly, and utterly nonsensical. Anyone who hadn’t seen the movie wouldn’t understand the significance of the leg lamp, but Roni did.
And foolish or not, that lamp now sat in her parlor window. Of course, Mary’s hurricane lamp would have been more apropos, but Christmas was born of the heart, and her heart swelled with cheerfulness when she gazed at the purchase. She’d
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