A Carol for Christmas (2 page)

Chapter 8 83

Chapter 9 91

Chapter 10 99

Chapter 11 109

Epilogue 121

About the Publisher 136

Share Your Thoughts 137

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a C
a
rol for Christmas

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C

arol Burke would never forget the day Jonathan drove over her heart. At least, that’s what it felt

like.

It was the first of September, their eight-month wed- ding anniversary, and Jonathan had taken the afternoon off from work — a rare occurrence — to spend it with Carol. The day was warm, the sky cloudless, perfect weather for a picnic in the park.

“Hey, babe.” Jonathan lifted the wicker basket with his left hand and Carol’s guitar case with his right. “Can you get the blanket?”

“Sure, Johnny. I’ll get it.”

He headed out the door of their small basement apart- ment, calling over his shoulder, “Better grab the Instamatic too. We might want to take some pictures.”

“Okay.”

Carol felt happy enough to burst. As much as she loved Jonathan, the past months hadn’t been easy — leaving col- lege halfway through her freshman year, adjusting to mar- ried life, moving to Boise where she didn’t know a soul, feeling a bit homesick and out of place in her new family and her new church. The hardest part, however, had been the long hours, six days a week, that her husband spent

at Burke Department Stores. Days like today, when they could spend time together — just the two of them — were too few and far between.

She opened the drawer of the nightstand where they kept the camera. Before slipping the strap over her wrist, she checked the back to make sure there was enough film left in the cartridge. Then she picked up the blanket and headed for the door.

The telephone started to ring.

Don’t answer
, her heart whispered.

Jonathan stepped into the living room, shrugging his shoulders as his gaze met Carol’s. “I forgot the car keys.”

The phone continued to ring. “I’ll get it,” Jonathan said.

Carol watched as he walked into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Hi, Dad . . . No, I didn’t see it . . . No . . . Well, yes, but can it wait until morning? Carol and I were just . . . No . . . But — ”

Carol hugged the blanket closer to her chest.

“All right. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. I’ll have to change my clothes . . . Sure . . . Fine. Bye.”

Disappointment welled in her chest, although she did her best to stuff it down.

After hanging up the phone, Jonathan turned to face her. “I’ve got to go back to the store.”

“Now?” This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

“I’m sorry, babe. I’ll hurry as fast as I can. There’ll still be time to go to the park when I get back.”

Carol believed Jonathan meant what he said. But she also knew how determined he was to prove himself at Burke’s. It wasn’t easy being Arlen Burke’s son and, at twenty years old, the youngest manager in the family business. He had to work twice as hard as anyone else to earn the same amount of respect. He would stay at the department store as long as it took to solve whatever the problem was.

“I’d better get changed.” Jonathan headed for the bed- room. “I can’t go into the store wearing Bermuda shorts. Dad would freak out.”

She didn’t know whether to cry or to scream. Maybe she should try both. Couldn’t they have one afternoon without the store interfering? Is this what it would always be like, Burke’s coming before everything else? Was Jonathan going to become a workaholic like his father, the very thing he’d vowed never to be when they began dating?

She wanted to tell Jonathan how she felt, but how could she? She knew he loved her. He was trying his best to be a good provider and a good husband. How could she fault him for wanting to succeed?

Jonathan came out of the bedroom wearing a white dress shirt, a red tie, and a pair of black trousers. When he reached her, he took hold of her upper arms and looked down, his hazel eyes solemn. “I really am sorry, Carol.”

“I know.”

“I promise to hurry.”

“Okay.” Once again swallowing her hurt feelings, she walked with him out the door.

At the top of the steps, he stopped to kiss her before striding down the walk to his Ford Fairlane, a high school graduation gift from his parents. As he pulled open the driver’s side door, he gave her a quick wave. “Back soon.”

She returned the wave.

A moment later, with Jonathan behind the wheel, the car’s engine roared to life. Carol saw him wave again, then he looked behind him as he started to back the Fairlane into the alley. A loud crunching sound reached her ears, and the car stopped moving.

She frowned. What on earth?

The car door opened and Jonathan got out. A few steps carried him to the back of the Fairlane. When he turned his gaze in her direction, she somehow knew what had made that horrible sound.

“Carol . . .”

She hurried forward, but before she reached him, he bent down and lifted the crushed guitar case.

“Babe, I’m sorry.”

Not her guitar. Not her most precious possession. Not the friend that had been with her as a teenager on the fam- ily farm in Ohio, with her in the dorm as a music student at the University of Colorado, and finally with her in their basement apartment in Boise.

Jonathan held the case toward her, a helpless expression on his face. “I forgot I leaned it against the bumper when I went back inside for the keys.”

Tears blinded her as she took the case from his hands. “Maybe we can get it fixed.”

She knew without opening the case that he was mistaken.

“I’ll look at it as soon as I get back. We’ll get it fixed.”

He was leaving? He was going to the store despite what just happened?

“I’m sorry, Carol.”

Then he left, and her heart felt as crushed as the guitar.

Cbaplez
1

Twelve Weeks Later

Homesickness swept through Carol as she listened to Bing Crosby crooning, “I’ll be home for Christmas” on the stereo in the living room. Tears of self-pity pooled in her eyes. She missed her parents and younger brothers. She missed her mom’s holiday cooking. She missed the farm and her family’s Christmas traditions.

“Grow up,” she muttered as she rinsed the dishcloth under the running tap water. “You’re acting like a baby. Johnny has to work today, like lots of other people.”

With a sigh, she looked out the apartment’s kitchen window. It wasn’t yet 6:00 p.m., and darkness already filled the window well.

“Don’t fix dinner for me,” Jonathan had said on his way out the door that morning. “It’ll be extra late before I’m home.”

Carol would have enjoyed going Christmas shopping with Jonathan on this day after Thanksgiving. Of course, even if he weren’t working today, there was little money to spend on gifts. They had to count every penny from the salary he made as a junior manager.

Wait to get married
, his dad had told them.
Wait until

you both graduate from college.

But they’d been too in love to heed the advice. Higher education couldn’t compare with being together for the rest of their lives.

Or so they’d thought.

After draping the dishcloth over the faucet to dry, Carol walked from the kitchen into the living room. A dark- brown secondhand sofa and chair sat against the opposite wall, positioned for the best view of the television set that had belonged to her parents. Four months ago, she and Jonathan had sat together on the sofa — his arm around her shoulders, a bowl of popcorn in her lap — and watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon.

When was the last time they’d cuddled on the couch while watching TV? They seemed to have so little time together. It grew worse with every passing week.

Another wave of loneliness and homesickness swept over Carol as she sank into the chair. Once again she longed for her guitar, which used to be her comfort in hours like these. Now she didn’t even have that.

For as many years as she remembered, her family had spent the day after Thanksgiving putting up Christmas decorations. A fresh-cut evergreen centered before the liv- ing room window. Ornaments Carol and her brothers had made at school. Bright strings of lights. Loads of tinsel. A red-and-white tree skirt her mom had crocheted. Hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies. Turkey sandwiches, leftover dressing, mashed potatoes with gravy. Christmas music playing on the stereo.

“Carol, I’ll be working,” Jonathan had said when she mentioned decorating the apartment today. “It’s the biggest

shopping day of the year. Go ahead and do whatever you want about the decorations, as long as we can afford it.”

Today she resented her father-in-law and his store more than she thought possible. Arlen Burke was a hard man who expected too much of his only child. If Jonathan had grad- uated from college with a business degree, he could have joined the family business as a junior partner. Disobeying his father’s wishes had cost him that— along with a more substantial salary. Now he was obsessed with proving him- self worthy of what he’d lost.

The jangle of the telephone sent Carol hurrying to the kitchen to answer it. Maybe it was Jonathan. Maybe he was on his way home earlier than expected. Maybe they could still go get a tree and put up some lights.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Carol.” Her mother-in-law’s voice came across the wire. “I wasn’t sure you’d be at home.”

“Hi, Ruth. Yes, I’m home.” A twinge of anger caused her jaw to clench.
Where else would I be? Not with Johnny
,
that’s for sure. He’s too busy at the store.
She forced pleas- antness into her voice. “Johnny and I both enjoyed spend- ing Thanksgiving with you and Arlen. Everything was delicious.”

“And we loved having you. The holiday is meant to be spent with family or it doesn’t feel quite right.”

Carol thought of her parents and brothers, and her homesickness worsened.

“I just got off the phone with Margaret Osgood, my friend from church,” Ruth continued. “You’ve met her, I’m

sure. Anyway, she’s looking for volunteers to help with a benefit performance to raise money for the local home for unwed mothers. Travis Thompson is flying in to sing at the event.”

Surprise made her forget her homesickness for the moment. “Travis Thompson?
The
Travis Thompson?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Ruth, he’s only one of the top country western record- ing artists alive.” She shifted the receiver from right ear to left as she settled onto the kitchen stool. “Of course I know who he is.”

Her mother-in-law laughed softly. “Well, I didn’t until a short while ago. I’m not familiar with modern music. I favor old hymns and Mozart. But Margaret said Mr. Thompson will be quite a draw. She also said he’s a wonderful Chris- tian who gives generously of his time for events such as ours. He grew up in Idaho. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, he did. He was raised on a farm near Payette. That’s over near the Oregon border.” Ruth cleared her throat. “Anyway, would you mind volunteering for the event? I know how much you love music, and it would help you make a few more friends in town. This season is so busy at the store. Neither one of us will see much of our husbands between now and the New Year.”

That truth brought Carol back to the present. She missed Jonathan. She’d thought marriage meant spending
more
time together, not less. She’d thought it meant —

“Are you still there, dear?”

She swallowed a sigh. “Yes, Ruth. I’m here. I’ll be glad to help out any way I can.”

“Wonderful. I’ll get back to you with more particulars as soon as I have them. Probably in a day or two.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good evening, Carol.”

“Thanks. You too. See you Sunday.” She placed the receiver in its cradle.

Travis Thompson, performing in Boise. Imagine if she got to meet him. She hummed a few bars of one of his hit songs.

Music was like oxygen to Carol. Essential for life. She never felt more alive than when she sang. Once she’d dreamed of having a career as a singer and songwriter, but when all was said and done, she decided she wanted Jona- than more than she wanted a career.

But was the same true for her husband? Did he want her more than that store?

Q

“Your salesclerk tells me you don’t have any more of this item.” The heavyset woman, her forehead beaded with per- spiration, cast an angry look at Sandra Smith — the sales- clerk who’d paged for manager’s assistance — as she jabbed the folded newspaper with her index finger. “Young man, is this Burke’s ad or isn’t it?”