Hearts Unfold (51 page)

Jana was sure that Stani had
fallen in love.
 
There was no other
explanation for the light in his eyes, for the sudden decisiveness about his
future.
 
The love of a woman had inspired
him to take risks, to stand up for what he wanted in spite of the conflict he
might provoke.
 
She wondered where and
how it had happened, but she was convinced he would tell them in time.
 
In spite of the irregular nature of their
lives with Stani, she knew he considered them his family.
 
He would not shut them out now.

When the package from
Tiffany's arrived the following day, she quickly telephoned his hotel.
 
When he answered, she said with a little
laugh, “Stani, love, something you bought has been delivered here by
mistake.
 
Are you expecting a delivery
from Tiffany's?
 
Surely, it's not a
present for me?”

She could hear his embarrassment
over the line.
 
“Caught, am I?
 
Can you keep a secret?
 
Jana, I'm the most fortunate man in the
world.
 
I just can't tell you why quite
yet.
 
I'll have John pick it up right
away.
 
And Jana, could you please hide it
in case Milo comes home in the meantime?”

Darling Emily, not at all foolish,

Yes, there's no place like NYC at the holidays.
 
The window displays are magical, the traffic
is unbearable, and the population seems to have grown by half.
 
And there is no one here remotely like you,
so none of it means anything to me.
 
Your
Christmas, in your world, seems much more appropriate in spirit.
 
What you are doing, sharing with your friends
and neighbors and honoring the truth of the season, outshines all the lights on
that tree in Rockefeller Center.
 
Thank
you for showing me that light.

I have news.
 
I
have my own little corner in the big, bad city now.
 
I have moved from the apartment, with
relatively little fuss, and now reside in one of the fine old hotels of
Manhattan.
 
I find it gratifying to come
in from the cold and accept the greetings of the doorman, the desk clerk and
the elevator boy (who is at least 60), and use my key to enter my own solitary
abode.
 
Of course, I order room service for
meals, have maid service every day, and send out my laundry, so I'm hardly
self-sufficient, but it's a start.
 
Then
of course, John is just one floor down, to keep me out of trouble.
 
Even so, are you at least a little proud of
me?

I am imagining you sitting by your tree, the fire
crackling, and the crèche figures marching across the room.
 
I don’t recall the angel that night, I only
remember you, my own personal angel.
 
I
wish I could be with you tonight, as you sit by that fire.
 
I'm sure it's much warmer than the little gas
fire here in my sitting room.

Emily, dear, sweet, sensual Emily, you drive me to
distraction with talk of your carnal interest in me.
 
Not that I mind being so driven, not in the
least.
 
You are such a combination of
holy and earthy, spiritual and sensual, that I am hard-put to follow from one
to the other at times.
 
But above all,
you are honest, and I love you for that.
 
Pretense is something I have little taste for, and it is epidemic among
the young women I’ve known.
 
Your honesty
is refreshing, and at the same time, something of a jolt.
 
You are fearless, aren't you?
 
You speak your mind, without
equivocation.
 
As to the things you love
about me, I blush crimson at the thought. (I fear I blush almost as easily as
you these days.)
 
But thank you, from the
bottom of my heart, for loving whatever you can find to love about me.
 
As to the plumber idea, I think I'll have to
stick with the violin.
 
It's my only
salable skill.

Please be assured, darling worrier, that if I get hit by
a bus, John will contact you.
 
He now has
your telephone number and strict instructions on how to break the news to
you.
 
Silly girl, why worry?
 
I've been under the protection of your loving
God thus far, why would I suddenly be in danger of dying from the
sniffles?
 
Besides, I have the
constitution of a horse.
 
I never get the
flu, avoided most of the childhood illnesses, and have never even had athletes
foot.
 
Please don't fret, I'll be fine.
 
However, now that I think of it, it might be
worth a few symptoms if it brought you rushing to my bedside.

I'm a busy man, my dear.
 
My desk calendar says I have two appointments tomorrow, one with my
tailor and the other to have my teeth cleaned.
 
See how independent I'm becoming?
 
Next, I'll learn to make my own toast in the morning.
 
Would that require me to go to a bakery for
bread, or could room service deliver the bread and I toast it myself?
 
More complicated than it seems, I fear.

Ever striving to be a better yours,

Stani

Dearest Ever,

I am enormously proud of you.
 
I had no idea you were thinking of making
such a move.
 
You are indeed a man with a
mission it seems.
 
I hope the doorman,
the desk clerk and the elevator boy appreciate the honor of your presence in
their establishment.
 
It isn't every
hotel in Manhattan that’s worthy of housing the man I love, I'm sure.
 

Sorry if I gave you a jolt.
 
But I will not pretend I don't want you, in a
very earthy way.
 
I could say more on
that theme, but I will
see you
again someday and I might have trouble looking in your
eyes after too much honesty.

It's only two days until Christmas Eve.
 
You realize we have an anniversary to observe
tomorrow.
 
Not that I want to spend much
time thinking about how horribly injured you were.
 
But the miracles that have brought us to here
and now are certainly worth celebrating.
 
Tomorrow at midnight, I will say a prayer of thanksgiving for your
return to this valley, for all you have brought to my life, and for the
prospect of your returning again and again.

Please make it soon.

Merry Christmas and God bless you, Stani.

Yours,

Emily

Chapter Forty-three

Christmas Eve dawned gray and
cold.
 
The forecast called for rain, not
snow, and the low clouds held the promise of a gloomy day.
 
But Emily refused to be discouraged.
 
She had made up her mind to be brutally
cheerful, no matter how much the pain under her ribs reminded her of Stani's
absence.
 
She had plenty to keep her
busy, and the time would pass, whether she chose to be happy or sad.
 
As music blared through the speakers, filling
the house, she hummed along, even danced a few steps across the kitchen floor,
reminding herself of all she had to be happy about.
 
If everything else paled in comparison to the
sight of his face, the touch of his hand, so be it.
 
Blessings were blessings weren't they, none
of them to be counted as anything less.

At six she ate her supper and
dressed for church.
 
She had been to
Martha Jean's and, as a gift to herself, purchased a ridiculously expensive new
blouse.
 
White silk, with an open collar
and flowing sleeves caught at the wrist in lace cuffs, it was the perfect
complement to the camel skirt and dark green vest she had bought in the
fall.
 
She loved the elegant length of
the skirt, falling just above her ankles.
 
It would be appropriately graceful as she sat on the floor with her
little ones during the service.
 
She
wasn’t often overly concerned with her appearance, but tonight she took special
pains.
 
In honor of the occasion, she
wanted to look her best.
 

Before she left, she moved
Joseph and Mary into the stable, with the noble donkey grazing on the hearth
nearby.
 
The shepherds she placed on a
table not far away, where the heralding angel's message could reach them.
 
Finally, she set the angel directly beneath
the star that hung over the mantel.
 
Leaving the lamp shining in the window, she started out for church just
as rain began to fall in earnest.

The little stone church was
packed, buzzing with excitement as families gathered and friends greeted one
another as if they hadn’t been together in months, rather than days.
 
Her cherubs, with their shining clean faces
and carefully brushed hair, seemed suitably impressed with the importance of
their roles in the service, even a little subdued.
 
Emily could only hope that attitude lasted
through the hour they spent in full view of the congregation.

But as the music began, and
she led them to their places, all her anxiety melted away.
 
It was a sacred night and even if the
children were restless or sang a little off key, nothing could cast a shadow
over the beauty of this, her favorite night of the year.

With each reading of the
beloved scriptures, with the singing of each carol, she found deeper
peace.
 
Her littlest charge, Jenny,
curled on her lap and at times one or the other of the children snuggled
against her as they watched the glimmer of the candles and listened to the choir.
 
When she knelt before them, leading them in
the first stanza of “Away in a Manger,” their sweet, clear voices were the only
sound in the church.
 
Tears filled her
eyes.
 
They not only sang like cherubs,
but their faces glowed with the wonder of their accomplishment.
 
As the choir joined in the next stanza, she
felt a shiver of joy.
 
This was her home,
her church, her people.
 
There could be
no doubt.
 
This was where she was meant
to build her life.

When they returned to their
places near the altar, her tiniest cherub tapped her on the shoulder and
pointed into the congregation, calling out a name she couldn't quite
understand.
 
Emily put her finger to her
lips in a silent shush, and the little girl sweetly imitated her gesture.
 
With a soundless laugh, she gathered the
child onto her lap, hugging her close, but something made her look back in the
direction Jenny had pointed.
 
At the rear
of the church, where several latecomers stood along the wall, she spotted Jack,
rain glistening on his uniform jacket.
 
She was surprised.
 
He’d planned
to attend the eleven o'clock service, she was sure.
 
She wondered briefly if there had been some
kind of emergency.

The congregation sat in rapt
attention, all eyes focused on Pastor Mike as he read the final passage of the
nativity story.
 
The first chords of
“Silent Night” sounded and Emily got to her feet, checking that the children
were holding hands as instructed.
 
When
she looked back for Jack, the place where he'd been standing was empty.
 
Still wondering about his disappearance, she
started to sing, getting through the first measure before her voice caught in
her throat.

She could see him clearly,
framed by the heads and shoulders of rows of familiar faces.
 
His eyes, fixed on a place somewhere above
her head, were glistening with unshed tears.
 
Jenny pulled gently on her hand, and she lifted the little girl to her
hip.
 
When she raised her eyes, he was
looking straight at her, smiling tenderly.
 
Jenny reached up and touched her face, and she realized tears were coursing
down her cheeks.
 
Lowering her head, she
kissed the tiny fingertips, smiling into the little face beside her.
 
The hymn ended and in the hush that followed,
everyone stood with heads bowed, waiting.

Pastor Mike's voice rang in
the silence with the words of the Charge.
 
“Go out into the world in peace; have courage; hold on to what is good.
. . .” Through the roaring in her ears, over the pounding of her heart, she
could barely make out the familiar words. . . “support the weak; help the
suffering; honor all men; love and serve the Lord.”
 
In her arms, Jenny cuddled closer, resting
her head on Emily’s shoulder with a contented little sigh as the service came
to a close.
 
“The Lord bless you and keep
you.
 
The Lord be kind and gracious unto
you.
 
The Lord look upon you with favor
and give you peace.
 
Amen.”