Songs of Christmas (29 page)

“It
was
different. I think everyone felt it.” He thought a moment. “When you’re all worried and stressed, beautiful music like that is like going on a mini-vacation. I’m serious,” he added, and she could see he was not trying to make a joke, just struggling to express himself. “It sort of takes you out of yourself and refreshes you. It shows you something beautiful and makes you forget your problems. For a little while at least. It gives you hope,” he added. “I’ve always taken the music in church for granted. But since I met you, I think of it differently.”

Amanda nodded. “I think of it differently, too. Since I took this job, I mean. I didn’t realize what I was getting into,” she admitted. “I really just took the job because it seemed better than working in my mom’s shop. I didn’t think it would be anything more than a weekly choir rehearsal and sitting up there every Sunday playing the hymns. No big deal musically—or spiritually. But this week I understood what that music can do. Now I really get it.”

“Well, it showed. Maybe I have no right to say this, but I felt very proud of you.”

Amanda smiled, surprised at his admission and unsure of how to respond. “Thanks,” she said finally. She twined her fingers in his as they walked across the rest of the park.

Once they were in his truck, Gabriel headed for Main Street.

“What’s the plan?” she asked as the Clam Box came into view. “More cinnamon pancakes?”

“I was thinking of something different. How about driving over to Angel Island?”

“Oh, I haven’t been there in ages,” she said, loving the idea. “But how did it do in the storm? Will we even be able to get across the land bridge?”

The island was connected to Cape Light by a narrow two-lane land bridge that was often submerged during a high tide or storm.

Amanda wondered if the bridge and roadways on the island were even passable.

“The bridge has got to be open,” Gabriel said. “Claire North lives on the island, and she was there this morning in the choir.”

“True,” Amanda agreed. “But you know Claire. She’s classic Yankee stock. She would have made it to church today if she had to swim across the harbor.”

Gabriel laughed. “She would, too. But I called the General Store this morning, and they said the roads are all open. Overall, the island fared better than the mainland. They don’t have nearly as many trees.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” Amanda said. “I’d love to ride around there. My folks used to take us to the island for long bike rides. Then we would go swimming and have a picnic.”

“It’s a little cold for a picnic today, not that I didn’t consider it. There’s a café I know of on the north side called the Peregrine. It’s only open on the weekends in the winter, but they serve Sunday brunch.”

“The north side, right . . . I heard they improved the beach there and built it up.”

“There’s a real boardwalk now, and bathhouses. There’s even a ferry from Newburyport. But it’s not too built up.”

“It sounds like you go there a lot.” Amanda glanced at him. Was he taking her to his favorite spot?

“As often as I can. I like to just walk the beach or sketch sometimes. I get ideas for my glass pieces. There are some spectacular views.”

Amanda guessed that Angel Island was an ideal place for artists. With few year-round residents, it still remained beautiful and wild.

They had reached the outskirts of Cape Light. Gabriel slowed down on a side street and pointed out his shop, an old wood-frame building, with worn cedar shake shingles and green shutters.

“It’s not a very big shop, but it’s all I really need,” he said.

Amanda saw a sign in the window, made from a large piece of stained glass with beautiful lettering in the middle, surrounded by a bold design. “Bailey Stained-Glass Workshop,” she read. It was a real work of art and a perfect advertisement for his expertise. “The sign is beautiful. Did you make that?”

“I made it for my father, as a gift. It was one of the first projects I did on my own. But I never thought it would be my sign someday. I never expected to be in this business . . . or carry on by myself. It’s all right for now,” he added. “But sometime soon I’ll be free to go back to school or try something else. Once my mother has settled into a teaching job, I can get back to my own life.”

“I’m sure you’ll know what to do when the time comes,” Amanda said. She believed that, too. Gabriel had shown great character and loyalty to his family, leaving college to support his mother and brother. She was more impressed by that decision than if he had ten college degrees to brag about.

They soon came to the land bridge that led to Angel Island. The gate was up, and the narrow road was covered with thick bunches of seaweed and ridges of sand, obviously having been submerged by the storm’s high tides, but they crossed easily.

* * *

AMANDA HAD FORGOTTEN HOW BEAUTIFUL THE ISLAND WAS AND
wondered why she didn’t come here more often when she visited home. The rolling open meadows were lovely, even in the wintertime. They passed quaint white cottages and the Inn at Angel Island, where Claire North was the cook and housekeeper. Her mother sometimes catered weddings and other big parties there, and she would want to know how the inn had fared in the storm. The beautiful Queen Anne looked a bit battered, missing a shutter or two, Amanda noticed, like a grand dame who had taken a fall, a bit disheveled, but was back on her feet.

They did see a lot of sand on the road and a few trees down, pushed to the shoulder, but nothing blocked their path. They soon made their way to the island’s north side and the dock and boardwalk.

They were among a handful of diners at the small café. It was decorated for Christmas and very pretty, Amanda thought, as she ordered the house French toast.

At the end of a thoroughly delicious meal, Gabriel persuaded her to share a dessert. “They say you can’t come here without having the Chocolate Barge. It’s their specialty.”

“Chocolate Barge? Oh, that sounds very slimming.”

“Hey, it’s Christmas. Calories don’t stick from Thanksgiving to January second. Besides, you look perfect. I don’t know what you’re worrying about,” he added, making her feel very perfect . . . or almost.

“One Chocolate Barge please, and two spoons,” he told the waitress. Amanda groaned when she saw it but didn’t hesitate to dig in. After she enjoyed a good share, she sat back, sipping an espresso and watching Gabriel polish off the rest. He seemed to be one of those lucky people who could eat anything they liked and never show it.

“You’re so quiet. Anything wrong?” he asked when he finally put down his spoon.

Amanda shook her head. “I’m just unwinding, I guess. It’s been a pretty intense week. I can’t believe Tuesday night is Christmas Eve. We’re just three days away from Christmas.”

“I can’t believe it either. It totally snuck up on me this year. The storm threw everything off. I’ve hardly bought any presents. I’m one of those last-minute types,” he admitted.

“I’m almost set with gifts.”
Including one for you,
she nearly said aloud. “But I haven’t wrapped anything.” Amanda knew she should probably be finishing her shopping and wrapping today, but she could not remember when she had last felt so relaxed and happy. “It will all get done,” she added with uncharacteristic ease.

“Yes, it will,” he agreed. “Sometimes the best gifts you give aren’t bought at the mall, right?”

Amanda agreed with that. She had two small gifts for him. One was store-bought. Well, bought online, actually. And the other was more or less homemade. She hoped he liked them.

Gabriel took a different route back to the land bridge than the way they had come. The island only had two main roads, and Gabriel pointed out that you couldn’t come here and not use both of them. That seemed a waste.

The sun was moving toward the horizon, and the long curving shoreline darted in and out of view between the trees and brush, cast in a clear afternoon light. Gabriel pulled up to the side of the road and parked the truck. “I want to show you something,” he said.

He reached behind the driver’s seat to a storage space and pulled out something flat and wrapped in flannel. “This isn’t quite done yet,” he said, removing the cloth to reveal a piece of stained glass that was about twelve inches square. “But the design is based on a sketch I made up here, from this view.”

It was very impressionistic; she had to hold it at arm’s length to see the scene, which at first just seemed to be abstract, colored shapes. But then the image came through, the pure, bright colors blending into a bold design, perfectly capturing the essence of the sky and cliffs, and the ocean below.

“This is so beautiful, Gabriel. I think it’s amazing,” she said honestly. She looked up at him. “It’s a real work of art. A painting in glass. You should spend more time on your own work. You’re incredibly talented.”

He shrugged and smiled. “I don’t have too much time for my own work right now, though the windows at the art center in Essex will be a start,” he added, mentioning the new project he had begun before the storm. “But it’s hard to make a living from commissions of original designs. I think about the future, too. I’d like to have a family someday,” he confided.

Amanda nodded. She did, too, but a long way off from now. All she was thinking about now was her musical career. She couldn’t even imagine her life that far into the future. But she could easily see Gabriel with a family. He was so warm and caring.

He wrapped up the piece again and stowed it carefully behind the seat. Then he brushed her hair from her cheek with his hand. “Maybe I’ll do a portrait of you in glass someday, Amanda. You have such a beautiful profile and such luminous eyes. I have the perfect color glass to use for those.”

Amanda turned to him, feeling self-conscious. “Oh, I don’t think I’d be a very good model,” she said.

“I disagree. You’re very inspiring to me,” he said quietly. Before she could answer, his arm slipped around her shoulders and he pulled her close. Then their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss that slowly deepened. It felt so wonderful to be in his arms, Amanda wished the kiss would never end. As the sun slipped toward the sea, she felt herself melting into Gabriel’s embrace.

Finally, it was time to go. Gabriel started the truck again and pulled away from the view. They rode the rest of the way with his arm around her, Amanda’s head resting on his shoulder. They reached her house too soon, she thought, and exchanged another kiss.

“Shall I walk you to the door?” he offered.

“No! I mean, thanks, but my sisters will stampede you and probably drag you inside and force you to eat Christmas cookies all night,” she warned.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. But if you think I should go, I’ll just skip the stampede and cookies this time.”

“Trust me,” she replied. He laughed and quickly kissed her one more time. Then Amanda hopped down from the truck and ran to the front door. She had just a moment to wave good-bye to Gabriel before the door swung open. They were all standing there staring at her—Lauren, Jill, and even little Betty.

Lauren stepped outside and looked around. “Bummer. I thought you would bring him in for a little while.”

“He had to get going,” Amanda replied. Not quite a fib, she decided. He did have to get going, in her opinion.

“So how was your date?” Lauren followed her through the door and into the foyer.

“He’s really cute,” Jill said. “Where did you go?”

“We went to Angel Island.”

“I love the island. It’s so romantic . . .Was that his idea?” Lauren asked.

Amanda nodded. “It seems to be one of his favorite places. He does a lot of artwork out there.”

Lauren practically sighed. “Wait a second. I’m the art history major. I should be going out with him.”

Amanda gave her sister a look. “Back off, Snorie. I saw him first.”

Lauren just laughed. “Wow, you really must like this guy. I never heard you growl like that, Manda Bear. Tell me more. We’re making cookies.”

Amanda happily let herself be dragged along by her sisters. Their towering Christmas tree, set up in the living room, was decorated and lit with tiny lights, piles of presents growing underneath. Jill had gone into the great room to wrap boxes with their father. There was a Christmas video on the kitchen TV, one of Betty’s favorites, about a little beagle named Spot who helps Santa find his lost reindeer.

Betty was only partly watching as she sat perched at the counter, working hard. There was as much icing on her face, and even in her hair, as she got on the gingerbread people on the cookie tray. But no one had the heart to stop her. Since Molly was out working all day today and into the evening, Amanda knew that she and Lauren would have to wash the icing out of Betty’s hair.

Amanda slipped on an apron and stepped up to help. She suddenly felt so thankful to be right where she was, home with her family, enjoying so many blessings that she used to take for granted. Weeks ago, she had looked forward to this time with dread—feeling so defeated and even ashamed of herself. That attitude seemed crazy now. What had she been thinking? Her family loved her and thought the world of her. No matter if she ever won a seat in an orchestra, she loved them, too.

It was really a rare gift to have a place like this to come home to. She wanted to enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

LILLIAN AND EZRA USUALLY PUT UP THEIR TREE THE WEEKEND AFTER
Thanksgiving, but Ezra’s accident and the storm had thrown them off schedule. Lillian had asked Emily to find the usual small, tabletop model she preferred. Unfortunately, they had discussed this in Ezra’s room right after the Salazar family arrived.

“Let’s get a big tree this year,” he said. “It will be fun for the children to decorate it. It will give them some distraction, some cheering up. They can certainly use it.”

Lillian could only think of her living room, overwhelmed by a huge, messy tree, shedding pine needles that would be ground into her beautiful rug. And even if that problem could somehow be avoided, a big Christmas tree would definitely present yet another temptation for the children, drawing them into that room, where they could break things. Ezra, of course, gave none of this the slightest consideration.