Melody Carlson - The Joy of Christmas: A 3-in-1 Collection

The JOY of
C HRISTMAS

M ELODY C ARLSON

2007, 2008, 2009 by Melody Carlson

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com

Combined edition published 2010

Previously published in three separate volumes:
An Irish Christmas 2007
All I Have to Give 2008
The Christmas Dog 2009

E-book edition created 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-4412-1388-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

Colleen May Frederick

Spring of 1963

I felt certain I was losing my son. Or perhaps Id already lost him and just hadnt noticed. So many things had slipped my attention this past year, ever since Hals death. But lately it seemed I was losing everything. Not just those insignificant items like my car keys, which I eventually found in the deep freeze beneath a carton of Green Giant mixed vegetables, or my favorite pair of calfskin gloves, which I still hadnt located. But it seemed I was losing important things as well. Or maybe I was just losing my grip.

I studied the piles of financial papers that I had neatly arranged across the surface of Hals old rolltop desk, the one his grandfather had had before him. I restraightened my already tidy stacks of unpaid bills, insurance papers, and miscellaneous mishmash, hoping that would help create a sense of order from what felt more like chaos. But I was still overwhelmed. So much I didnt understand. So much that Hal had handled, always somewhat mysteriously or mysteriously to me.

Oh, I could run a household like clockwork. And I even helped out at the shoe store when needed, as long as it didnt involve keeping the books or ordering merchandise or anything terribly technical. The truth was, other than helping customers find the right shoes, ringing up sales, smiling, chatting, inquiring about an aging grandmother or a child whod had a reaction to a vaccination, I was not terribly useful. And more and more I was feeling useless. And overwhelmed.

I hadnt heard from my son Jamie in weeks, even with college graduation right around the corner, not a word. I finally resorted to calling his dorm, but even then only received vague and unhelpful answers from a guy named Gary. I wondered what Hal would do if he were still alive. Of course, I knew what hed say. Hed tell me not to worry so much. Hed say that I should pray instead. Easier said than done.

It had been Hals idea that Jamie attend his alma mater, an expensive private business college in the Bay Area. And Jamie had been thrilled at the prospects of living in San Francisco, several hours away from us. He longed for independence and freedom. But after a few semesters, Jamie grew disenchanted with the small college and wanted to switch schools to Berkeley, in particular to their school of music. Jamie honestly believed that he could make it as a musician. Naturally, this seemed perfectly ridiculous to both Hal and me. So Hal encouraged our dreamer son to stick it out and get his business degree first. Hal told Jamie that music was perfectly fine for fun and recreation but it would never pay the rent or put food on the table. I had to agree.

The plan was for Jamie to take over the family business eventually. Fredericks Fine Footwear was a successful and established business in our hometown of Pasadena. It was well respected and had been in Hals family for more than sixty years. We felt that Jamie should be honored that he was next in line for the shoe throne. As it turned out, he didnt feel quite the same. Oh, I wasnt privy to all of those father-son discussions that year, but it seemed they had reached an agreement of sorts, and Jamie had given up the idea of Berkeley and returned to the business college.

Then, about a year ago, it came to a head once again. At the beginning of last summer, Jamie announced that he never planned to go into the shoe business at all period end of discussion. Well, I know this broke Hals heart, and I secretly believe that it contributed to the heart attack that killed him in July. Of course, I never told Jamie my suspicion. Although I know that he felt guilty enough. The poor boy blamed himself for most of the summer, even giving up a summer trip to work in the shoe store to make up for things, although I know he hated being there. Still, I reassured my son that Hals faulty heart had nothing to do with Jamie and that his Grandfather Frederick had suffered the same ailment at about the same age.

At summers end, I had encouraged Jamie to return to college for his senior year. The most important thing seemed to be that he would complete his education and get his business degree. What he did after that would be up to him. My son had a definite stubborn streak, and I knew that no one could force him into the shoe business. Especially not me!

And so on that warm day in May, less than a year since my husbands death, I reached for the sales contract that dominated the piles of paperwork on his neatly cluttered desk. I had decided the time had come to sell the shoe store, and under these circumstances, I felt Hal would agree. Still, it was terribly hard to sign the papers. My fountain pen weighed ten pounds as I scratched my name across those lines. I wished there were another way or that I was made of stronger stuff. But I felt so terribly overwhelmed... as if I were losing everything. Maybe thats why I decided that since I was losing the shoe store, I might as well sell my house too. It was far too large for me, and expensive to maintain, what with the pool and the grounds and everything. Besides, if Jamie wasnt going to be part of my life, what would be the point? Especially when it seemed that Jamie had always been the reason for everything.

I picked up the family photo that Hal faithfully kept on top of his desk the three of us, our happy little family. Jamie was about eleven at the time, still the little boy on the brink of adolescence. Still willing to hold my hand as we walked through town together unless he spotted a schoolmate, then hed let go. His dark brown hair curled around his high forehead and those brilliant blue eyes just gleamed with mischief and adventure. I studied my face next to his, the high cheekbones and pixie nose framed in dark hair. I was surprised at how young I looked back then, although it was less than ten years ago, but then again I was barely thirty. That seemed so very young now.

I pulled the picture in for a closer look. Although I had been smiling, there was sadness in my eyes. Had that always been there? Did anyone else ever notice it? Hal wore his usual cheerful grin. He had just started to bald back then, and his paunch was perfect for playing Santa, which he loved to do at the shoe store during the holidays.

Setting the frame back down on the desk, I looked at the image now blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. There we all stood, smiling midgets beneath our enormous Christmas tree, oblivious to the fact that life would be vastly different ten years later. Jamie had always insisted that the gilded star on the treetop must touch the ceiling, but our home had vaulted ceilings that stretched more than fifteen feet tall. Hal never once complained about how much trouble it had been to unearth a tree that size down here in Southern California, although one year he drove six hours to get just the right tree. Consequently Jamie had never been disappointed. Spoiled a bit, perhaps, but then hed been our only child and such a good boy. He always made us happy to be his parents, always made us proud.