Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

“I know what I know.” He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her, serious now. In the faint glow of the Christmas lights and the flickering candle flame, his eyes looked deep and intense. “I know what my heart’s telling me to do. It’s telling me to love you. It’s telling me to take you in my arms and never let you go.”

A flurry of alarm fluttered in her chest. “But we want such different things. I can never be the person you want me to be.”

“Darcy. You already are that person.”

“You’re wrong. I’m not. And I never can be.” She suddenly felt overwhelmed by his certainty, by the power in his eyes. She could never live up to what he wanted from her. She could never be the mother he wanted for Charlie, couldn’t imagine having his children.

She’d said it a hundred times. She didn’t want children. And she was scared. She had emerged from the demise of her marriage more or less intact, but also firmly resolved to be smarter, going forward. She was too young, too hopeful to declare she’d never fall in love again. But now she was wise enough to know that if and when she did, she would do so cautiously, not leaping into something the way she’d just...leaped.

“Why are you so afraid of finding happiness?”

“Because it doesn’t last, and it’s awful when you lose it.”

“You’re not going to lose it. When the right thing comes along, it’s just going to grow and deepen and get stronger every day, every year until the end of time.”

He was a hopeless romantic. She wished she could be that, too, wished she could surrender and not see all the obstacles in the way.

But she couldn’t. It was too hard for her. Too scary. She needed time, time to think. Time to see if there was any truth in what he was telling her.

“It’s almost Christmas,” she said. “Can we just agree to enjoy the holidays?”

“And then?”

“And then I have to go home.”

“To the sock warehouse,” he said.

“Hey. Don’t judge. I searched high and low for my place in the city.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I searched high and low for you.”

At some point in the dead of night, the power went out. Logan awakened to chilly darkness, and found himself lying in an empty bed. The Christmas lights were dark and colorless, and the big candle on the dresser had burned down to a puddle of white wax. If it was not for warm memories swirling through him, he might have thought he’d dreamed the night with Darcy.

He jumped out of bed, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and thick socks and went downstairs. His breath created frozen clouds. The Christmas tree looked sad and neglected, standing there in the weak light through the window. In the aftermath of the blizzard, the light in the great room was stark from the deep blanket of snow. Over at the resort, the emergency generator chugged with a distant hum.

Working quickly, he made a fire. A big one. But it would take more than that to chase away the chill in the air. Suddenly his perfect Christmas wasn’t looking so perfect.

His father came into the room, unshaven and bundled up against the frigid weather. “Bad luck on the power,” he said.

“Yeah.” Logan braced himself, expecting an I-told-you-so and a reminder that they could be enjoying the Florida sunshine today. But the diatribe never came. Al stood in front of the fire, slapping his palms together.

“So much for hot cinnamon buns and coffee this morning,” Logan said. “And unless the power company gets right on it, I’m not so sure about Mom’s baked ham and all the trimmings.” He glared at the dead-looking tree. “There’s something totally depressing about an unlit tree by daylight.”

“Maybe this will cheer you up.” His father handed him a business-sized envelope.

“What’s this?”

“A contract. You can read the fine print later. It’s an investor’s agreement. I’m looking for a stake in Saddle Mountain.”

Logan’s jaw dropped. “What the—”

“Did he come?” The kids arrived en masse, tumbling into the room, sleep-tousled and still in their pajamas. “Did Santa come?”

Logan put the contract in his back pocket and couldn’t keep from grinning at his dad. “Yep,” he said. “It appears that he did.”

“Yay!”

Al turned to the herd of children. “Well, now, looks like Santa didn’t bring any electricity. Better check the stockings.”

“Stockings!” There was a mad scramble.

India and China arrived to supervise the first wave of holiday madness. Someone switched on the battery-powered speakers, and lively carols filled the air. Logan’s mother went around lighting every candle she could find. The stockings were stuffed with treats and crazy little toys, like windup roaring dinosaurs, stick-on tattoos, nostril-shaped pencil sharpeners, mini whoopee cushions. Charlie was enamored with a set of finger-sized steel drums, and André accompanied him on the harmonica.

“When can we open presents?” Bernie demanded. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“After everybody gets here,” China said.

“Where’s Darcy?” Charlie asked, looking around.

Good question, thought Logan. Had last night’s conversation freaked her out so much she’d disappeared into the frozen tundra?

“I’ll go look in her room.” Bernie clambered up the stairs.

Uh-oh, thought Logan.

A few minutes later, Bernie returned, her eyes wide. “She’s gone. Her bed is all made up, and she’s gone.”

Instantly Logan’s sisters turned to him with knowledge written clearly in their gazes.

He offered a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“Where’d she go?” Charlie asked. “Should we go look for her?”

A commotion ensued as everyone debated and speculated, but it didn’t last long. “Hey, check it out,” said André, running to the front door.

There was Darcy in her parka and snowshoes, coming up the front walk, pulling a small sled behind her. She looked like a dream to Logan. Small and bright, a breath of fresh air. Last night had been incredible, and deep down, he felt completely certain this was not a fling or a rebound. They had a lot more talking to do.

Maybe not just talking.

“Hot coffee and hot chocolate from the lodge,” Darcy announced, leaving her snowshoes on the porch. Al and Bilski went outside to help her.

“Christmas is saved,” Logan’s mother declared.

As Logan took her coat and shut the door behind her, he noticed a line of snowshoe tracks leading around to the back of the house.

“Now can we open presents?” Charlie asked.

“Ready, set, go!” India yelled.

The kids rushed toward the Christmas tree. Despite the lack of electricity, their squeals of excitement lit the room. The Santa gifts were a hit—a dollhouse and princess outfits for the girls, sleds and snowball bazookas for the boys, André’s baseball mitt, the snowboard for Charlie. Logan saw the boys sharing a knowing look.

“I got a special card,” Angelica exclaimed. “Look, it’s from Santa!” She opened the card, which featured a sparkly picture of Santa and a simple message. “See you at the church, later.”

“I wonder what it means.” Bernie turned the card this way and that, squinting at the careful lettering.

Angelica’s eyes shone with hope and excitement. “Maybe it means I’m getting my Christmas wish.”

“I bet it does,” Bernie declared.

Logan was probably the only one who noticed Charlie’s smile seemed forced as he inspected the shiny new snowboard. “It’s really cool,” he said.

“I bet you can’t wait to try it out,” said Al.

“That’s right.”

“Just what you wanted?” asked Fisher.

Charlie ducked his head and slid his snowboard along the rug under the tree. Logan could tell something was up. Charlie’s cheerfulness was an act, that was apparent.

Logan’s gut twisted unpleasantly as he went over to the fireplace mantel, where there was a small stack of Christmas cards. Among the cards were the notes they had written to themselves last summer at Camp Kioga. True to her word, Sonnet had mailed them to arrive the day before. Logan’s message to himself had been succinct: Make Christmas awesome for Charlie.

He sensed Darcy beside him, peering over his shoulder. “Remember this?” he asked her.

She nodded. “I filled one out, too. But I wasn’t home to get my mail.”

“What’d you write on it?”

She hesitated, but smiled up at him. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

He liked the sound of “someday” coming from her. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“What did you write?”

He showed her. “I’m not doing so hot.”

“Nonsense. Look at this, Logan.” She gestured around the room, at his parents and sisters, nieces and nephews, André and Angelica and Charlie. Everyone was laughing or relaxing or playing while outside the window, a soft snow began to fall. His parents were on the sofa, sipping coffee and watching the kids. “Joy to the World” was playing on the stereo. “Look at these happy faces. You did this, Logan. You.”

It was exactly what he needed to hear. How had she known? His heart skipped a beat. He was going to love this woman forever. He just knew it. Now he had to figure out if she knew it, too. “Hey—”

“The pickle prize,” she said suddenly, turning to Charlie. “Don’t forget the pickle prize.”

The kids perked up, and there was another mad dash for the tree. Darcy nudged Charlie and pointed at a spot in the tree.

“There it is,” Charlie yelled. “I saw it first!” Reaching through the branches, he unhooked the ornament from the tree. The motion sensor went off, and the pickle made a yodeling sound.

“You won the pickle prize,” Darcy declared.

“What’s the pickle prize?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I bet it’s on that little note,” Bernie said, indicating the tiny tag attached to the ornament.

“What’s it say?” asked Nan.

“Read it!” Fisher and Goose demanded.

Charlie unfolded the note. “It says pant...pantry. I got it, I’m supposed to look in the pantry.” He set down the ornament and made a beeline for the big storage room off the kitchen.

Mystified, Logan shot Darcy a look and followed him. Charlie swung open the door and peered into the dark.

“What’d you find?” asked André, crowding in behind him.

“It’s just pantry stuff,” Charlie mumbled. “I don’t—” He stopped and held very still.

“What?” asked André.

“Shh.” Nearly masked by the music and conversation, a tiny noise sounded. Charlie bent down and picked up a wicker basket filled with fleece blankets.

When he turned, his face was lit with wonder. “Dad,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Dad, look!” He set down the basket and moved the blankets aside to reveal a fluffy, squirming, squeaking bundle. “A puppy! I got a puppy!” His eyes shone with joy as he carefully lifted it up.

“Charlie got a puppy!” Bernie exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!”

Everyone gathered around to admire the little puppy. It had floppy ears and butterscotch-colored fur, a black button nose and bright eyes. There was a red ribbon around its neck and a tag. Charlie read it aloud. “Please look after this dog. His name is Taffy, and he wants to be your forever friend. Love, Santa.”

The pup licked Charlie’s face, and the laughter that came from him was the sweetest sound Logan had ever heard. He looked over at Darcy—clearly, the culprit in this. She looked back, grinning.

“Whaddya know,” André said, “Santa really is real.”

Logan had told Darcy all the reasons it was a bad time to get a dog—the mess, the noise, the work, the inconvenience. But for now, he simply caught her eye from across the room and mouthed two words: Thank you.

* * *

“How are we going to get to church?” asked Logan’s mother, checking her watch. “And will we make it on time?” All the adults in the house were in on the Angelica project. Everyone wanted the live video link to work so Maya Martin could see her kids on Christmas.

“Not to worry,” said Logan. “One of the groomers is driving the big plow down the mountain road.”

“Then let’s get going,” said India, rounding everyone up.

The town of Avalon looked as if it had been covered in fluffy white icing, but the church parking lot was full.

The church had power, thanks to a generator. Volunteers were pouring hot chocolate and coffee in the candlelit lobby. Everyone filed inside, breathing a sigh of relief at the warmth. More candles glowed around the altar. Charlie brought his puppy in a portable carrier lined with soft bedding, thoughtfully provided by Santa.