Colors of Christmas Page 14

  “I have grandchildren of a certain age. They keep me up-to-date. I even know how to read e-mail on my phone. Although I understand the cool kids don’t e-mail. Everything is by text message.”

  Grinning, Carly rolled her eyes and handed her phone to Astrid. Astrid made sure they had each other’s numbers and returned Carly’s phone.

  “I shall expect you day after tomorrow at a quarter past four,” Astrid said. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby beside the gold tree.”

  “The gold tree?”

  “We’ll have ourselves a merry golden Christmas.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Two days later Astrid foundered. Christmas Eve. She should have been baking a cheesecake or frosting six dozen Christmas cookies, at the very least—preferably with a grandchild or two underfoot. Few of them were actually underfoot anymore. Several of them were capable of Christmas baking as long as she was nearby for questions, and the others were old enough to occupy themselves with a Christmas craft or a holiday movie. She should be anticipating a service in her own parish that would let out exactly at midnight, releasing the joy of Christmas Day upon the neighborhood.

  Certainly she didn’t lack for Christmas treats in a place like Sycamore Hills. Every time she turned around someone was encouraging her to eat or have something to drink. Goodies seemed to appear out of thin air as if they were a magician’s trick, and Russell, the chaplain, had conducted a nondenominational service immediately after lunch.

  These days Astrid had to allow twice as much time to prepare herself for an outing. Moving around the apartment still meant being obedient about the scooter. She suspected her ankle was ready for weight bearing, but her children were strict about medical advice, and she didn’t want to have to be evasive even on the phone if one of them asked.

  By three o’clock, Astrid had herself put together sufficiently to await Carly’s arrival. As each quarter hour ticked by, she told herself that the likelihood Carly would cancel went down. Astrid sat in the recliner working a crossword puzzle she had snagged from one of the old papers in the library that morning. She worked in pen. She always had. It was so much more convenient than looking for a sharp pencil, and she rarely had to alter an answer.

  A knock on the door surprised her.

  “Coming,” she called out as she reached for her scooter and hoped whoever was at the door had great patience for how long it might take her to get there. Opening the door inward while keeping the scooter out of its path was tricky business, but she’d had a couple of weeks to master the arrangement.

  She opened the door and gasped.

  “Alex!”

  “Merry Christmas, Mom.” Alex leaned in to embrace her.

  “You didn’t say you were coming,” she said, rolling the scooter out of the way of the closing door.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I put myself on standby for every flight I could find, and one of them paid off.”

  “And your coworker?”

  “Her family’s there. It’s Christmas in Paris for them. They’ll fly home in a couple of days.”

  “It’s so good to see you!”

  “I haven’t even been home yet,” Alex said, opening a canvas shopping bag he held in one hand. “I found the ornaments.”

  “The gold ones?” Relief oozed through her.

  “They got overlooked in the car when we unloaded, and then I left my car at the airport. They’ve been there all this time.”

  “Oh, Alex, that news does an old woman’s heart good.” She turned the scooter toward the table. “I want to see them.”

  Alex took the few steps required to cross the room and removed a small wooden box from the bag. It wasn’t the original box that had sat in her father’s office, but it was the only one Alex and Ingrid had ever known.

  Astrid released the latch and opened the lid. Nestled in a mound of cushioning were the three ornaments still in the precise arrangement she had always used for packing them away.

  “I can’t tell you what this means,” she said. “I was so afraid they were lost for good.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t remember they were there. I put that bag under a seat myself for safekeeping, and then I forgot what I’d done.”

  Astrid took the ornaments out of the box and laid them carefully on the table. “There’s no place to hang them.”

  “I promise we’ll fix that before next Christmas. A tabletop tree, perhaps.”

  Astrid nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “They mean something to all of us. My kids always love to see them.”

  “You should go home now,” Astrid said. “Your family will be waiting.”

  “I just wanted you to see for yourself that they’re fine.” Alex kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back for you first thing in the morning. We’ll have all day.”

  A rap on the door made them both look toward the sound.

  “Expecting someone else?” Alex said.

  “I wasn’t even expecting you.” It was too early to be Carly, and Astrid had promised to meet her downstairs.

  Alex shrugged and paced back to the door.

  “Merry Christmas!” A quartet of happy voices shouted the greeting loudly enough for the entire second floor of Sycamore Hills to hear.

  “Ellie? Ava?” Astrid’s eyes went to her daughter’s face. “I thought—”

  “We all did,” Ingrid said. “The doctor, me, even Ellie.”

  Ellie grinned. “I woke up this morning and felt better.”

  “Did you check with the doctor?” Astrid was overjoyed to see them all, but certainly she did not want to put her granddaughter at risk.

  “Not exactly,” Ingrid said.

  “In fact, not at all,” her husband said.

  “And now we’re here,” Ellie said, “and nobody can do anything about it.”

  “You made some promises, young lady.” Ingrid shook a finger at her child.

  “I know, I know,” Ellie said. “No running around. No staying up late. Drink lots of water. If I’m tired I should lie down, and if I feel sick I have to tell you immediately.”

  “Right.”

  Ellie reached toward the table. “You found the ornaments!”

  “Your uncle Alex just brought them.”

  “I felt really sad that they might be lost.”

  “Me, too,” Astrid said.

  For a moment, all eyes were on the gold balls laid out on the table, and Astrid held the silence in her heart.

  “Can we look around?” Ava said. “I love apartments.”

  Astrid laughed. Ava was six, and Astrid suspected she had never even been in an apartment.

  “The bedroom is through that door,” Astrid said.

  Ingrid turned to Alex. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. Mom said you didn’t think you’d make it in time for Christmas.”

  “I wasn’t too hopeful,” Alex said, “but here I am.”

  “We should pack a bag and take Mom to your place tonight. Do you think Gwen would mind?”

  “Of course not,” Alex said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call and alert her, but there’s plenty of space. I’ll let her know the good news that you’re here as well.”

  “I hope you brought a suitcase when you moved her in.” Ingrid went to the front closet. “Here or in the bedroom?”

  “The bedroom, I think,” Alex said.

  Astrid cleared her throat loudly. Both her children turned, puzzled.

  “I have plans,” she said.

  “Plans?” they echoed simultaneously.

  “People do make plans, you know.”

  “Of course,” Ingrid said. “After all, we said we weren’t coming. But we’re here now and can be together like we are every year.”

  “In a few minutes, I need to be downstairs waiting for a friend. Together we’ll go to the five o’clock service at a local church and hear another friend sing.”

  “Oh.” Ingrid’s brows pushed toward each other in that way that said she was befuddled.

  From the ba
g strapped to the scooter, Astrid’s phone rang. Alex reached in for it and handed it to her.

  “Carly?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Thank you so much for inviting me, but I just don’t think it’s going to work out for me to go with you tonight.”

  “What’s the matter, dear?”

  “It’s just … well, I don’t usually … it just seems like too much.”

  “But without you, I don’t have wheels.” Astrid turned away from her children, whose faces had turned hopeful with the part of the conversation they were hearing.

  “I know. I feel terrible about that part.”

  “I’ll just have to persuade my children,” Astrid said. “We can come pick you up, and then you won’t be coming into a strange church by yourself.”

  Alex leaned in with one ear cocked toward his mother.

  “Your children?” Carly said. “But you said they weren’t coming.”

  “That’s what they told me. We can leave right now,” Astrid said.

  “You are stubborn, you know that?” Carly said.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll come. We’ll come. All of us. Tyler hopes they’ll sing, ‘Away in a Manger’ because he learned it at school.”

  “If it’s not in the service, I would love to hear him sing it afterward.”

  “Okay. This is a little hard for me, but I’ll come for you as we planned.”

  “Perfect.”

  Astrid ended the call and met Alex’s eyes. He scratched his head right above the left ear. He’d been doing that so many years when he was confused that she wondered why he didn’t have a bald spot on the side of his head.

  “I was afraid you weren’t settling in,” Alex said.

  “That makes two of us,” Ingrid said.

  “I haven’t stopped being a grown-up just because the two of you grew up.”

  They both laughed.

  “But Mom,” Ingrid said, “what about our Christmas Eve?”

  “Sam told me the service will be out by six.”

  “Sam?” Ingrid said.

  “Come hear him sing and I’ll introduce you.”

  “I don’t know,” Alex said. “I haven’t even been home.”

  “I understand,” Astrid said. “You can come back for me in the morning as you suggested.”

  “But we’ll lose the whole evening together,” Ingrid said. Her husband tapped her elbow, but she ignored him.

  “Then you come to church,” Astrid said. “Afterward I can ride with you to Alex’s.”

  Ingrid grimaced. “The girls have been cooped up in the car all day.”

  “Then you should go on to Alex’s, and I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  “Christmas Eve without you?” Ingrid’s face blanched.

  Astrid paused to gather her thoughts.

  “This is important,” she said. “I love Christmas Eve because we welcome the hope of the world. And I know a young woman who needs the hope of the world this year. Give me these next two hours with her and I will happily come to Alex’s tonight. I can Uber or something.”

  Alex laughed. “Uber? You don’t know how to Uber.”

  “Or something, I said. I can always do things the old-fashioned way and arrange a taxi. Or you can wait here in the apartment. Put the television on and let the girls unwind.”

  Astrid held her own. She might let her children think they ran her life, but she was still capable of her own decisions. After all the cajoling leading up to Carly’s agreement to go to church, Astrid wouldn’t pull out. If she did, Carly would as well.

  “Let the girls come with me now,” Alex said to Ingrid. “My kids will be thrilled to see them, and then you can bring Mom later. Gwen isn’t planning to serve dinner until eight anyway.”

  “There you go,” Astrid said, “all worked out. You can come to church with me or make yourselves comfortable here.”

  “Girls!” Ingrid followed the sound of giggling coming from the bedroom.

  “Someone find that suitcase,” Astrid said. “I have just enough time to pack it.”

  In the end, Ingrid and her husband cited the grunginess of a last-minute, eight-hour drive as a reason to remain in the apartment. Ingrid had traveled in sweats, and Ava had spilled a soft drink on her a few hours ago. They could clean up at Alex’s later. Astrid was waiting in the lobby beside the gold tree at promptly a quarter past four.

  The drive to the church was brief. Inside, Tyler’s eyes grew wide at the sight of a basket of candles.

  “Remember,” Carly said, “we don’t touch the fire.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m not a dummy.” Tyler rolled his eyes like a teenager. Above his head, mother and grandmother exchanged smiles. The three generations carried the same dimpled chin and wide-set green eyes.

  They found seats that allowed Astrid to sit on the end with her scooter parked against the wall. Tyler asked to sit next to her. Carly and her mother studied the simple bulletin listing music, readings, and the title of a brief homily. At the center of the hour, the lights would be dimmed and the congregation would light candles and sing “Away in a Manger.”

  Tyler had indeed learned the song well, belting out the stanzas in great earnestness. In the glow of their candles, Astrid smiled at Carly, who beamed down on her own son singing of God’s Son.

  “What did the manger hold that night?” the pastor began. “Who was it the manger cradled?”

  Tyler looked up at Astrid and loudly whispered, “It was the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay.”

  Astrid managed to contain a gleeful laugh. Tyler had it right. It was the little Lord Jesus. She couldn’t have asked for a better sermon for the listening ears of one young woman nearly devoid of hope.

  The hope of the world.

  The hope of the despairing.

  The hope of all who seek God’s abundant life.

  Tyler laid his head in his mother’s lap, and she gently stroked his head as she listened. Her expression wasn’t one that suggested boredom. Quite the opposite. Carly had brought her weariness with her that night, ready to lay it down. Even with the lights lowered, Astrid could see the same glistening tears in Carly’s eyes she’d seen before.

  Sam, garbed in one of the deep blue robes with a gold collar that all the choir members wore, stepped out to sing:

  “O holy night! The stars are brightly shining.

  It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.

  Long lay the world in sin and error pining

  till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

  A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

  for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

  Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices,

  oh night divine, oh night when Christ was born.”

  Sam’s voice was full, robust, and heartfelt.

  “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

  Beside her mother and with her son’s sleepy head in her lap, Carly was transfixed.

  “For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”

  Tyler was right. It was the little Lord Jesus in the manger. It was divine hope for weary souls.

  “Truly He taught us to love one another.

  His law is love and His gospel is peace.

  Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother,

  and in His name all oppression shall cease.

  Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,

  let all within us praise His holy name.

  Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices,

  oh night divine, oh night when Christ as born.”

  Truly He taught us to love one another … Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we.

  Carly’s fingers stilled for a moment on her son’s head before reaching for Astrid’s hand.

  Tomorrow a new and glorious morn would break for this young woman who opened her heart to the hope of the world. To joy. To forgiveness. To the redemption that comes with a second chance f
or love and life.

  All through her childhood Astrid remembered the wondrous Christmases of her father’s doing. As a young woman in a new country, she remembered the Christmas that brought her back to Peter. Now, in this late season of life, with a little boy sure of the little Lord Jesus and his mother opening her eyes to the hope of the world, this was the golden Christmas Astrid didn’t want to forget.

  CHRISTMAS IN BLUE

  CHAPTER 1

  The child never practiced. Angela didn’t have to ask him or his mother to know this. She hadn’t asked a piano student in years. The weekly practice forms she’d once used only got lost or crumpled. A child who opened the book to the correct page during the lesson might have practiced once or twice. A child who turned down the corner of the page at least intended to practice every day. A child who showed improvement over last week’s lesson had actually practiced for thirty minutes at least four days out of the last seven.

  Brian Bergstrom had done none of these things and rarely did, which was too bad because he had more aptitude for music than any of the other forty students who traipsed in and out of Angela’s home in the space of a week. They came in the after-school hours or the early evening or Saturday morning. A few who were homeschooled came on Tuesday or Thursday mornings. As much as possible, Angela scheduled thirty-minute lessons back-to-back so that they did not truncate her days more than necessary. A few advanced students warranted an hour a week. Often this meant she ate her supper at eight thirty, but she had kept these hours for so many years that they did not strike her as odd.

  Angela rescued Brian from his fumbling and pressed open the book to a pristine page, the piece she had assigned him two weeks ago. He stared at the page, arranged his fingers around middle C, and hummed the tune of the top line quite accurately. Probably he would break out with words soon, if not during this lesson, which was nearly over, then certainly when they resumed after the holidays. He was quite clever with spontaneous rhymes. He had been even when he was five. Some weeks Angela covertly created lags in her instruction to allow time to see what he might come up with. Brian’s mother insisted on the piano lessons, and student and teacher placated her while also maintaining a wordless understanding that the instrument he preferred to play was a saxophone. In another nine months, he’d be old enough to join both the school band and the school chorus and, as he liked to point out, he would already know how to read music. She shouldn’t take it personally, he’d once told Angela, that the piano was just not his thing. Periodically, when he did especially well despite his lack of practice, she raised her eyebrows at him. Someday he would be glad he could play the piano. No one with a musical bent ever regretted learning the piano, especially someone who did not yet know he would grow up to be a composer.