A Wish for Christmas (34 page)

Finally, it was time for “Joys and Concerns,” and Reverend Ben began to recognize the church members, inviting them to speak.

Elsie Farber rose from her seat. “I have another story about that mysterious gift-giver. Since my operation last summer, I’ve been struggling. I haven’t been able to work full-time, and I fell behind in the mortgage. It looked pretty grim, got so I was scared to even pick up the phone. Then someone called and said I was all caught up on the mortgage with a few extra months’ payments besides, I didn’t have anything to worry about . . .” Elsie’s eyes got glassy. “Well, it was that person in this church giving the presents, of course. I just want to thank you, whoever you are, from the bottom of my heart. I wish you would let us know who you are—even in private—so I could thank you properly. God bless you and keep you well.”

Grace bit down on her lip then quickly checked her father for his reaction. He was staring straight ahead, his hands on his knees.

So far, so good.

Trudy, the waitress at the Clam Box, got up next and told about her new car and after her, the Kreugers, who received a new furnace. Then some others who had received small gifts. Suzanne Tuttle, a single mother, thanked the Secret Santa for bringing her son a computer. He was a smart boy, Grace knew, the type to win scholarships.

“Boy like that needs a computer,” she heard her father say to the woman sitting beside him. Then there were some parents thanking the Secret Santa for toys that their children had found that morning, outside their front doors—toys those children had their hearts set on, but pricey items their parents couldn’t afford.

“A surprise like that, well . . . it was really special. That’s what Christmas is all about,” one young father said.

Grace had enjoyed the toy shopping, too.
Oh, that was nothing,
she wanted to answer.
That was the icing on the cake.

But she sat back and held her tongue.

“I agree with Elsie,” the young father added. “We wish you’d let us know who you are, Secret Giver, so we can all thank you.”

The testimony continued. Reverend Ben looked astounded and truly moved. “This is just . . . unbelievable,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “As pastor of this church, I feel blessed to be part of this amazing expression of charity and Christmas spirit. Truly blessed.

“I am sure, my friends, there’s no sermon I’ve given, or could ever compose, that could impart this message so powerfully. A message we should live by every day, not just at Christmastime. An example of faith in action we should all strive to follow . . . ‘faith, if it hath not works, is dead.’ ” he added, quoting a verse Grace knew well from the second book of James.

She and her father had simply seen the need and reached out to help. Though she didn’t give herself too much credit. So many times, she’d seen the needy but turned away or felt unable to help.

If their actions had served to inspire anyone here to do more good in the world, then that was an unexpected bonus, wasn’t it?

Reverend Ben turned, about to continue the service, and Grace felt herself relax. Suddenly, her father raised his hand and stood up to speak.

Oh no! He couldn’t spill the beans now, could he?

Grace stood up, too, and touched her father’s shoulder, willing him to turn around. “Just a minute, Gracie,” he said, as if she were a little girl again, trying to claim his attention.

Reverend Ben smiled at him. “Do you want to share something with us, Digger?”

“I do, Reverend.” Digger stood up straight and smoothed his long beard. “I know who the Secret Giver is . . . and you all do, too—”

“Oh, Dad . . . please?” Grace tugged at his sweater vest, imploring him to sit down.

“Now, Grace. Just give me a moment.”

Grace stepped back, realizing there was nothing more she could do, short of tackling him and stuffing her scarf in his mouth.

“I know I’m an old man and I get confused sometimes. But think about it a minute.” He tapped his forehead with his finger and gazed around at his audience. “Everything we are given in this life, the clothes on our backs, the bread on our table, the good work for our hands to do. The flowers in our garden or the snow falling on the ocean waves, so that you can’t tell the water from the sky sometimes. The love of our dear ones, our families and friends. That part especially. Everything good comes from God, don’t it?”

Her father had everyone’s complete attention now, and they all nodded in agreement. Even Reverend Ben.

“All these nice presents you folks got,” he continued. “Someone in this town went out to the store and bought them. Wrapped them up and snuck them on your doorstep. I’m not saying those boxes fell down from the sky, or anything like that,” Digger clarified, making everyone laugh. “But the Secret Giver is no mystery. It was God who sent those blessings to ease your burdens and bring you joy. God, who heard your secret prayers. I know, in my old heart, whoever done it would want you to give proper thanks where thanks is due. To the One Above. And that’s probably why that Secret Giver person feels better staying secret. They know they were just doing the Lord’s work. More like . . . Santa’s helpers, you know? Like the Reverend said in his sermon, like we all should be, every day.”

The sanctuary was so quiet, Grace could hear the sound of her heart thudding in her chest.

“Thank you for hearing me out. Merry Christmas and God bless.” Digger gave everyone a brief wave and sat down. So did Grace, feeling stunned.

Her father was truly one in a million. One in ten million. Here she was, feeling frantic that he was going to give them away, and he managed to cut right to the heart of all their hard work and good intentions. Yes, they had shown a generous spirit. But they had just been an instrument, expressing the intentions of some far greater power. Wasn’t that the real truth?

Reverend Ben stood stone still, without expression at first. Then he slowly smiled, his eyes growing very wide behind his glasses.

“Thank you, Digger. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for that inspired solution to our Christmas mystery. I don’t think anyone in this church ever needs to wonder about it again.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
N
EED SOME HELP CLEANING UP THE TREE STAND?” DAVID asked Jack. They were sitting at the breakfast table, the day after Christmas. Katie was outside, feeding Feathers her oats, and Julie was helping her.

“Oh, I’m not going to start in on that today. I need a break from those trees. I’m going to put up some fencing for the pony later on. Want to help?”

“I guess. Sure,” David said, though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

Jack could tell David was feeling blue again and looking for something to keep himself occupied. He guessed it had something to do with Christine, but he didn’t dare pry.

“Want to come for a ride with me? I found a good bargain in the paper on a saddle and tack for Feathers. Thought I would go out and get it today. I know Katie can’t wait to ride her.”

“Sure, I’ll come. Where are we going, into town?”

Jack gathered up some dirty dishes and brought them to the sink. “Out to Angel Island. Remember that place?”

David laughed quietly. “I sure do.”

Jack could tell from the sound of his son’s voice that they were good memories, too. It was a fine idea to ride out there this morning. It was just what they both needed to clear their heads after all the fuss and excitement of Christmas.

Twenty minutes later, Jack and David left the tree farm in Jack’s truck. He drove down Beach Road, turning left toward the bay side. There was a land bridge down one of the roads that led to Angel Island. It was not always accessible and was often covered by water after a storm or at an unusually high tide. Of course, some people took a boat out to the island, but in this kind of weather that wasn’t too much fun.

“Will the bridge be clear?” David asked.

“Should be. There hasn’t been any really bad weather the last few days,” Jack recalled. “Not the most convenient place in the world. I guess that’s part of its charm. There are going to be some big changes out here,” he added. “The island has been named part of the National Seashore, or something like that. They’re going to start a ferry service from Newburyport and improve the beaches. It’s going to be a pretty busy spot next summer, I guess.”

“Really? I can’t picture it,” David said honestly. “I hope they don’t ruin the place. Its wildness is the best part.”

“I agree. But a ferry is a good idea,” Jack said as he drove the truck over the land bridge. Minutes later, they were on the island, following one of its few main roads.

“Where’s the tack?” David asked.

“The fellow owns a general store,” Jack replied. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“I think I remember that place,” David said. “Remember when we used to camp here? Mom hated it. She would last one night in the tent, then we would wind up at that inn.”

Jack smiled. “Your mother was a good sport. With the landscaping business it was hard to take real vacations in the summer. So this place was our compromise. We’d camp and hike around here. Sometimes we’d fish. You loved it. You thought it was paradise.”

“I did,” David admitted.

Jack was driving along a narrow road edged by stretches of open, grassy land interspersed with clusters of old cottages. A few looked occupied, but most appeared to be summerhouses only.

“Is this the way to the general store?” David asked.

“Could be,” Jack replied cryptically. “I don’t really remember. Hey, look at that. I knew there was something down here.” He slowed the truck and pointed.

David looked out his window to see an old Victorian house, Queen Anne style, with bay windows on the first and second floors, a huge wrap-around porch, and a turret.

The Angel Inn, the bed-and-breakfast they used to stay at, his mother’s favorite refuge from soggy tents and mosquitoes.

“Remember the night we found this inn?” David said. “Our tent got blown away in a storm, and Mom was fit to be tied. We thought we were all going to sleep in the car. We knew the land bridge would be flooded so we couldn’t even go home. Then we just drove a bit and here it was.”

“Yeah, here it was. Your mom liked it so much, she never wanted to stay anyplace else.” Jack leaned over to get a better look. “It’s a little frayed at the edges, but it was once a beauty. Could be again, with some time, attention, and money.”

“I wonder if it’s still open for business?”

“Looks like it. I see a vacancy sign.”

David took another look. He saw it now, too.

They drove on a bit more, just looking around at familiar spots. Some had changed, others had not changed at all. The farmhouse and barn were still there, as was the sheep pasture, a snowy meadow dotted with brown sheep.

Finally, they came to the small town center, where there was a small general store and an even smaller building with a large sign that read, DAISY’S TEA ROOM & LENDING LIBRARY. A few more commercial spaces all looked closed for the winter.

Jack jumped out of the truck and went into the store. David decided to wait outside while his father asked about the saddle.

He walked around and peered into windows. There wasn’t too much to see, though the tea shop looked interesting. The room was filled with small tables, the wall lined with shelves up to the ceiling, brimming with books.

His father soon came out of the store, carrying a worn but reasonable-looking saddle. He hoisted it into the back of the truck then went in again and returned with the tack, a harness, and other necessary items.

Back in the truck, his father said, “Let’s go out to that beach we used to like and take a look. I’m curious to see it.”

They drove back the way they had come and then down a very narrow, twisting lane, where the beach came into view.

Jack parked the truck on the side of the road, and they both got out of the cab. It was a clear, cold day, and the wind off the water was icy cold.

David dug his free hand into his pocket, flipped up his collar, and followed his father. A narrow wooden walkway led out onto the sand. At the bottom, Jack turned to him. “We don’t have to walk if it’s hard for you.”

“I can do it,” David answered. He wasn’t quite sure how well the cane would work in the sand, but he was determined to try.

They walked on the packed sand, above the shoreline. Jack slowed his pace to David’s but not in an obvious way.

“So David, you won our bet. You got rid of the walker by Christmas,” Jack said. “How can we celebrate?”

David still had visions of running the darn thing over with Jack’s truck but didn’t share the fantasy. “I don’t know, Dad. It just sort of happened. Now I need to get rid of the cane.”

“All in good time,” Jack promised him.

David glanced at him. Jack knew that look; he wondered what was coming.