Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
PENELOPE
T he gentle hum of my computer and the soft scratch of Noelle’s crayons on paper are the only sounds breaking the silence in my office. I lean back in my ergonomic chair, stretching my arms above my head as I take a moment to survey my tidy workspace. The sleek monitor before me displays a half-finished spreadsheet for the upcoming Christmas Bazaar, while a stack of permits, signed and ready for the boat light parade, sits neatly to my left.
My gaze drifts to the small window that overlooks the quaint streets of Founder's Grove. A light dusting of snow has begun to fall. The sight brings a small smile to my face despite the mountain of work still ahead of me.
A movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to Noelle’s small desk. My heart swells with love as I watch her, her little tongue poking out in concentration as she meticulously colors a picture. Her chestnut curls, so like my own, are tied back with a festive red ribbon that matches her sweater dress. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window catches the golden highlights in her hair, creating a halo effect that makes her look like an angel.
As if sensing my gaze, Noelle looks up, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mamma!” she exclaims, jumping up from her chair with a burst of energy that never fails to amaze me. “Look what I drawed.”
She rushes over to me, her sock-clad feet sliding a bit on the smooth floor in her haste. She kicked her shoes off within minutes of coming in here.
I automatically reach out to steady her. “What have you got there?”
Noelle proudly thrusts her drawing into my hands, practically vibrating with excitement. I take the paper, noting the way the crayons have worn down to stubs—a testament to her enthusiasm for her art. The picture is a riot of colors, with bold strokes of red and green dominating the page. I can make out what I think is a Christmas tree with two figures standing beside it, but the details are a bit abstract.
“It’s beautiful, honey,” I say, meaning it. “Can you tell me about it?”
Noelle’s face lights up, her smile infectious. “It’s me and Nick, Mamma. We’re opening presents by the Christmas tree.”
My heart stops and then stutters to a start, hearing his name spoken so lovingly by Noelle. Surely she can’t mean... “Nick?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Who’s Nick, sweetie?”
Noelle looks at me as if I’ve just asked her if the sky is blue. “Nick, Mamma. You know, Nick. He loves me, and he’s here for Christmas. He’s going to give me a present.”
I blink, taken aback by her certainty. Nick hasn’t been in Founder's Grove for years, not since Noelle was a baby. There’s no way she could remember him, is there? “Noelle, honey,” I begin gently, “are you sure you’re not thinking of someone else? Nick hasn’t been here for a long time.”
Noelle shakes her head emphatically, her curls bouncing with the motion. “I’ve always known Nick. He loves me, and I love him. He’s here for Christmas.”
Her unwavering belief amazes me. “What do you remember about Nick?”
Noelle’s eyes take on a dreamy quality, and she starts speaking with a conviction that belies her four years. “He fed me crackers at the chowder house,” she says, her little brow furrowing as she recalls the memory. “And he carried me around the Bazaar on his shoulders. And he put me on the train and told me stories about the North Pole.”
My jaw drops, and I cover my gaping mouth with my hand. She can’t possibly have these memories, and yet they match mine to the gumdrop.
“He told me he would love me always,” Noelle finishes, her voice filled with such certainty that it brings tears to my eyes.
I swallow hard, trying to process this flood of information and the feelings swishing around in my heart like hot cocoa in a thermos on the school bus. “Noelle,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “what made you draw this picture of Nick today?”
Noelle looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and innocent. “I saw him at the grocery store. He was there with the jolly man.”
I feel as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. My grip on the arms of my chair tightens as I try to steady myself. The jolly man could only be Santa. He came back, and he brought Santa? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that?
“Did... did Nick tell you he was going to spend Christmas with us?”
Noelle shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t dim. “No, but I know he will. Teacher says Christmas is for being with the people you love and Nick loves us.”
I feel my heart constrict at her words. How do I explain to her that things are more complicated than that?
“Noelle,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, “I know you’re excited, but we have to remember that Nick might be very busy this Christmas. He has his own family to spend time with.”
Noelle just looks at me, her expression a mixture of patience and certainty that seems far beyond her years. “It’s okay, Mamma,” she says, patting my hand comfortingly. “Christmas is magic. Nick will be here; you’ll see.”
As she skips back to her desk, I’m left reeling by so many things. The humble faith of a child. My daughter, who was barely more than a newborn when he left, somehow has vivid memories of him. That he even returned at all.
He hasn’t come to see me. Not even to talk about the Bazaar—if that is why he’s here. Maybe he’s checking up on things and seeing how well we’re keeping tradition alive.
We’re doing just fine, thank you very much. You know, except that the bakery is floundering at best and I’m hiding in my office and Grandpa’s hip catches…
But other than that, we’re doing great.
I turn back to my computer screen. The numbers and dates blur before my eyes. How am I supposed to focus on work when my entire world feels like it’s been turned upside down? Not unlike the first time he came to town.
Ha! Santa Claus is coming to town . . .
Oh my gosh, I’m thinking in Christmas song now.
He’d get a kick out of that.
For just a moment, l allow myself to go to the soft place inside where my good memories and good feelings and all the goodness Nick brought into my world reside.
I remember the warmth of his smile, the kindness in his green eyes, the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world when he looked at me. He wears those silly sweaters, and he pulls them off, darn it! No man should be so good looking that he makes a blinking Rudolph nose look good.
I glance at the framed photo of Noelle on my desk. How do I protect my daughter’s heart while also honoring her memories and beliefs? And how do I protect my own heart in the process?