Read Songs of Christmas Online
Authors: Thomas Kinkade
Songs of Christmas
The Cape Light Novels
CAPE LIGHT
HOME SONG
A GATHERING PLACE
A NEW LEAF
A CHRISTMAS PROMISE
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER
A CHRISTMAS VISITOR
A CHRISTMAS STAR
A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS
ON CHRISTMAS EVE
CHRISTMAS TREASURES
A SEASON OF ANGELS
SONGS OF CHRISTMAS
The Angel Island Novels
THE INN AT ANGEL ISLAND
THE WEDDING PROMISE
A WANDERING HEART
THE WAY HOME
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
Copyright © 2013 by The Thomas Kinkade Company and Parachute Publishing, LLC.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62666-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Spencer, Katherine, (date– )
Thomas Kinkade’s Cape Light : Songs of Christmas / Katherine Spencer.
pages cm. — (Cape light ; 2)
ISBN 978-0-425-25569-8 (hardback)
1. Cape Light (Imaginary place)—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. 3. Christian fiction. I. Kinkade, Thomas, 1958–2012. II. Title. III. Title: Cape light. IV. Title: Songs of Christmas.
PS3553.A489115T46 2013
813'.54—dc23
2013017985
FIRST EDITION: November 2013
Cover image:
Victorian Christmas
by Thomas Kinkade copyright © 1991 Thomas Kinkade.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Contents
To singers and musicians everywhere—
many in my own life—
who so generously share their gifts
and bring so much joy to others
Dear Reader
Christmas Eve was a magical time for me as a child. My parents always hosted a huge Christmas Eve party for our entire family. We had many traditions, including a very long dinner, with many courses, served at a very long table.
Of course, the constant question from the children was: When can we open the presents? Finally, when it seemed no one could stand it anymore—or eat any more—all the guests would be herded into the living room to sit near the Christmas tree, which by then was surrounded with so many gifts, all beautifully wrapped and labeled, that you had to step around the packages to find a chair.
The kids held their breath and tried to sit still and be good. Someone—my grandfather usually—was going to step up and play Santa, calling out the names now, right?
Wrong. First we had to sing Christmas carols. Little booklets were passed around by my mother, who seemed to take special pleasure in the delay.
It is very interesting that now I hardly remember the annual flurry of tearing off wrapping paper and bows that followed the singing. I do remember the songs, all of them, and how our family had a special way of shouting out the “Ho-ho-ho!” in “Jingle Bells.” And sang “O Come All Ye Faithful” with such slow, sweet sincerity—although quite off-key.
My mother saved those Christmas carol booklets, and though not all have survived, with the aid of copying machines, we still have a full set, which we take out every Christmas and pass around to our guests . . . to the delight of the adults and the frustration of the younger set.
But I trust that someday they, too, will cherish the memory of singing along with their family, songs of faith and good cheer, the essence and ever-lasting spirit of Christmas that cannot be ordered online or bought in any store.
I hope this story will remind you of the songs and traditions you and yours enjoy at this season and your own cherished Christmas memories.
Katherine Spencer
Chapter One
T
HE SCENT OF ROASTING TURKEY AND ALL THE TRIMMINGS
filled every corner of the crowded kitchen behind Willoughby’s Fine Foods & Catering. It filled Amanda’s head, too, like a heavy, rich perfume.
Amanda loved the smell, which announced the holiday as nothing else could. But on this particular Thanksgiving morning, she wasn’t roused by the lovely aroma while cuddling under a quilt or two. She was already hard at work in her stepmother’s catering shop, and had been there since very early that morning.
Even here, the delicious smell conjured up so many memories—family and friends gathered around a big table, dishes passing from hand to hand. Her father carefully carving. Her sisters and cousins all vying for a chance to break the wishbone, until a concerned adult inevitably stepped in to pick the two lucky opponents. Amanda could still remember the excitement of being chosen.
A mountain of wishes would be inspired by all the turkeys cooked in the big commercial ovens here today, now being packed for delivery. Amanda knew what she would wish for—just a chance to make a living playing her cello.
She had tried hard to do just that for the past few months in New York City, sharing an apartment with friends after finishing a graduate degree at the prestigious Juilliard School. But things had not worked out as she had hoped.
So here she was, back in Cape Light, living at home with her parents and her little sister, Betty. Working in her stepmother’s shop, packing about a million pies to go out with the dinner orders.
Amanda was happy to do her task in a quiet corner while the rest of the shop’s staff dashed around in a frantic but strangely coordinated ballet, putting finishing touches on the many side dishes, packing containers, and assembling each order. Her stepmother, Molly, in her usual firm but cheerful way, sailed right in, orchestrating the chaos.
“We’re doing great, guys. Do we need to make more gravy? I thought that second pot would do it . . .”
Amanda focused on her job as the staff debated the gravy question, as well as a few others.
Finally, Molly flung open the back door, and a gust of cold air swept through the small, hot space. Everyone paused to take a deep, refreshing breath.
Molly glanced at her watch. “Nine fifty a.m., right on schedule. You’re the best, all of you.” She checked a clipboard as she looked over the packed orders that now stood side by side on the long steel table, the countertops, and even the floor. “Let’s load the first van. Sonia can leave with Brian. The route is near your house, Sonia. You can drop off Brian and take the van home when you’re done.”
“Sounds good. I should get there just in time to take my own bird out of the oven.” Sonia, the most senior worker in the shop, grabbed a large box and carried it out to the nearest of the two vans that were parked by the back door. Brian, a kitchen helper who was just out of high school, followed with another box.
