CHAPTER 1
“Daddy, I made us some stew,” Kristen announced, as her father entered the dining room. She gazed at him hopefully.
Nodding, Randy plopped into a hard-backed chair and folded his hands on the smooth dining table. “That’s fine, dear. I‘m ready.” He slumped against the edge of the table, staring down at its polished surface. “How was school today?” He did not look at her.
Kristen shrugged. “OK, I guess.” Her tone indicated otherwise, but Randy paid no attention.
Kristen ladled two bowls of stew and set one before her father. In silence, they ate. As he chewed his portion in savory mouthfuls, Randy thought about his wife.
Grief engulfed his heart. He missed his wife terribly. Without her to celebrate with him, he could no longer bring himself to celebrate Christmas, ever.
Randy’s wife, Laura, had battled frail health for years. She had become a Christian shortly after their wedding, but she’d never been able to persuade her husband to give his heart to Christ. She had quit trying after he had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was not interested. He had also forbidden her to take their only daughter to church, although he’d allowed Laura to attend herself.
When Randy laid down his spoon, Kristen gazed at him, fidgeting. He frowned at her. “What do you want?”
Biting her lip, Kristen stammered, “Well--uh--” She lowered her gaze as she spoke.
“Well, what?”
Taking a deep breath, Kristen looked straight at him. “I--I was thinking, Dad--” She paused. “Maybe we could put up the tree tonight. Christmas is next week, you know.”
Randy shook his head. “We’re not celebrating it. Not anymore.” He pressed his fingertips against the smooth tabletop.
Kristen gaped at him, her face etched with shock. “Not celebrating it?! Why?”
Randy rose to his feet. “I just don’t plain care about it anymore, Kristen. With your mother gone in those disappearances, I don’t care about anything. I only celebrated it last year because you wanted to, but my heart wasn’t in it. My heart will never be in it, so don’t bug me!”
“But Dad--!” Kristen wailed.
Without a word, her father got a can of beer from the refrigerator, then left the dining room. Fighting back tears, Kristen picked up the bowls and spoons and took them to the kitchen. She paused to rub her eyes, then set the dishes in the sink. They landed with a clatter.
“I hate it here!” she muttered, as she turned on the faucet. Hot water poured into the sink; she squeezed a container of dishwashing liquid into the rising water. “Why did Dad have to move us here, anyway? Why couldn’t we have stayed in Chicago? All my friends are there!”
She wiped her eyes, gazing down at the sudsy water rising in the sink. “We don’t know anyone here! Daddy hasn’t made any friends, and neither have I. I hate school here--I don‘t know anybody!” She banged her fist against the counter; the resulting thud caused pain to shoot through her hand, making her wince. “And now--we’re not going to have Christmas! It’s not fair!”
In the attic, Randy knelt over the pile of cardboard boxes containing the Christmas decorations. For several moments, he fingered pine cones, the wreath, tree balls, and icicles. The now half-empty can of beer stood on the floor next to him; he’d taken gulps of it on the way up.
As he gazed at one of the tree bells, resting in the palm of his hand, he shook his head. It gleamed in the overhead light as he glared down at it. “What’s the use of keeping these decorations?” he muttered. “We’re not going to celebrate anyway. They’re just taking up unwanted space.” He dropped the bell back in the box. It landed with a clink.
He set his jaw. “This is it!” he told himself, rising to his feet. “I’m getting rid of these decorations, all of them. Right now! I’m throwing them away!” He kicked the box, then glared out the window at the snow-covered ground below.
“Dad!” Kristen’s voice carried up the stairway. “Dad, someone’s ringing the doorbell!”
Randy bent over to pick up the beer can, then strode to the attic entrance. Sure enough, he could barely hear the doorbell jangling. “Go ahead and answer it! I’ll be right down,” he yelled.
He finished the beer, threw it in a garbage can, then rushed down the carpeted stairs; he found his daughter speaking with two women on the snow-covered porch. One was a heavy-set African-American; the other was slender, with long brown hair and an Irish accent. She held a casserole against her chest. Behind them, the snow glistened in the sunlight. Randy wrapped his arms around his chest as he began to shiver. Kristen, he noticed, was doing the same.
“Mr. Oates?” the black woman asked. Randy nodded. “I’m Tess, and this is Monica. We’ve stopped by to welcome you to this new neighborhood.”
Randy smiled. “This is very good of you. Nobody’s been by to welcome us here since we moved to this little town.” He sighed. “That kind of surprised me, since I always thought towns were friendlier. Close-knit.” He shook his head as he tightened his arms around his chest. “But then, everything’s different nowadays.”
“Yes.” Sadness creased Monica’s forehead. “They are.”
Randy shook his head. “Forgive me, where are my manners? Come in! You must be cold.” He stepped back. Tess and Monica entered the living room, their snow boots making soft thuds in the carpet. Flakes of snow drifted off their boots.
“Have a seat.” Randy gestured toward the couch. Kristen took the casserole from Monica and carried it to the kitchen. The two visitors perched on adjoining armchairs; their mattresses sagged under them as they leaned back.
When Kristen returned, Monica smiled at her, then at her father. “We’re pleased you’ve moved here.”
“Thank you.” Randy nodded. “We had to come here--our old house in the city held too many memories.” He sighed. “My wife disappeared with the others, back in August, 2002. Some of my other relatives disappeared, too--my niece, my nephews. All were just children.“
He slumped his shoulders, pain in his eyes. “But it was Laura’s disappearance that hurt us the most. Kristen and I have been missing her ever since. It finally just got too painful to stay, so we sold the house and moved here.” He grimaced. “I thought 9-11 was bad enough, till that happened.”
Monica nodded. “So many people lost loved ones in the same occurrence,” she said. “That happened to a great many people in this town. All over the world, in fact.”
Tess nodded agreement. “We’ve got a program started at the nearby church. A support group, to help those who are still mourning the loss of their relatives. You’d be welcome to come, Mr. Oates.”
Fingering the black leather straps of his watch, Randy shook his head. “No thanks! I want nothing to do with church. My daughter and I are not interested.” He moved its smooth, glass-covered face up and down on his wrist.
The group lapsed into silence for the next several minutes. Kristen slumped against the wall, rubbing her fingers through her long hair; Randy stared down at his hands. Silently, Monica prayed that God would soften Randy’s heart.
“Mr. Oates,” she said, softly, “the support group is putting on a Christmas pageant for the community early next week. Tess, here, is organizing it.” She gestured toward Tess, who nodded agreement. “You and Kristen are welcome to come.”
Kristen’s eyes lit up; she straightened her back. “I’d love to! Please, Dad, can I?”
“No!” Randy glared at her, as irritation surged in his heart. Going to a church pageant was the last thing he wanted to do! Kristen slumped her shoulders. “We are not celebrating Christmas anymore; I told you that!” He pursed his lips; his eyes narrowed as he stared his daughter down. “You may not go, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
END OF CHAPTER 1