As much as I loved Christmas, losing Ms. King and Mr. Kline brought on a new tinge of sadness. Both of them had been the epitome of Christmas spirit—Ms. King with her Christmas concerts, and Mr. Kline? Well, Mr. Kline was Christmas. Knowing how much they had both reveled in this special time of year, I wanted to allow myself one special day of remembrance, which was why I planned to hang ornaments on The Sharing Tree.
The Sharing Tree sat beside Christmas Falls—the sixty-foot waterfall that fed Christmas River—and hanging an ornament on the Douglas fir tree had long been a tradition in Christmas Mountain, so I didn’t need to explain it to Adam when I asked him to come along Thursday afternoon after he returned. The Sharing Tree had been here since I could remember, and had been a huge part of the town’s Christmas preparations. Everyone came to remember loved ones and hang an ornament on one of the hundreds of branches, and there was a bench close by called Kissing Bench where you could sit and talk above the roar of The Falls.
“Of course I’ll come with you,” Adam said when I suggested it upon his return from New York. “But I’d understand if you prefer to go alone. I don’t want to intrude on your grief.”
I shook my head, remembering how he’d avoided anything to do with The Sharing Tree when we’d come with the tour group a couple of weeks ago. But this time he seemed interested in the idea and open with me.
“The Sharing Tree can be a happy place, Adam,” I said, feeling glad he was back. “A place where you sit and talk to the people you loved, and remember Christmases past.”
“I’m afraid there aren’t many past Christmases for me. I rarely celebrated it in New York.”
“Wow, even Ebenezer Scrooge had Christmases past,” I said, nudging him lightly in the ribs.
“Bah humbug,” he replied, with a grin, before slipping his arm around me as we walked.
There had been fresh snow during the night, and the climb up the steps to The Sharing Tree felt magical. Clouds dotted the endless blue sky looking so white and perfect in contrast to the previous gray days. The sun shined brightly, lighting up the snow with a brilliant display of iridescent sparkles like nature’s fairy lights.
Adam slipped his hand around mine, making it easy to forget the things which were troubling me. We reached Kissing Bench and I wiped away the thin layer of snow with my glove before sitting down and taking a small package out of my pocket. I pulled my gloves off with my teeth and then unwrapped the red and white striped tissue paper before taking out a Christmas tree ornament.
“I chose this one for Ms. King.” I held it up in the air and let it spin on the gold thread attached to a gold hook. “As soon as I saw it I thought of her.”
“A choir girl.” He pressed a kiss to my temple and pulled me closer. “I’m sure Ms. King would’ve loved that.”
I laid my head on his shoulder and stared at the little choir girl dressed in a baby blue gown, the skirt beautifully sculpted to resemble the folds of fabric. Her angelic face had long lashes gracing her rosy cheeks and her sweet mouth opened in song. Dark hair fell about her shoulders in ringlets, and she held an open book with the words to “Silent Night” etched onto the pages, the text so tiny I had to squint to read the words.
The sunlight picked up the fine glitter on the ornament, reminding me of the ever-present glint in my old mentor’s eyes. I smiled. From my other pocket I pulled out another box and handed it to Adam. “I got you something,” I said.
“For me?” he asked, sounding touched. He looked at me a moment before taking the small package, wrapped in the same candy cane striped paper. “What is it?”
I laughed. “Open it and find out.”
He unwrapped the tissue and took out another Christmas tree ornament, turning it over in his hands. He was so engrossed in looking at it that he didn’t even notice me taking the tissue paper from him and putting it in my pocket.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“Nobody has ever given me a gift like this before . . .” He looked at me with a stunned expression a moment, before turning his attention back to the ornament—a porcelain book painted with intricate detail. The front cover showed a house with a fire burning brightly in one of the windows and a Christmas wreath on the front door. Snow lay on the ground and on the roof and chimney, and across the big full moon, Santa’s sleigh flew into the night with nine tiny reindeer pulling it. The title of the book read: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. “My favorite poem from when I was a kid,” he whispered, as his eyes watered.
“I thought you might like to hang it on The Sharing Tree,” I said, my throat tightening as I gestured behind us. “For your dad.”
He breathed out slowly, before turning to me. “I can’t believe you remembered the poem I used to read with my mom and dad every year.”
I nodded. “You told me in your office.”
“I love it, Faith. Thank you,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving upward in a sad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I don’t think I should hang it on the tree.”
My eyebrows came together. “Why not?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “I’m allergic to Douglas fir trees.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, but then the corner of his mouth hitched up further. “No you’re not!”
“I am.” He nodded, squeezing my shoulder. “I break out in big ugly hives and have to stay indoors for the whole of the winter. Do you want that on your conscience?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Adam Kline, you’re telling me fibs.”
“Okay, I’m not allergic to Douglas fir trees,” he said, giving a small chuckle before his expression sobered. “But I don’t think my dad would want me hanging an ornament in his honor.”
“Why not?” I asked, taking Adam’s face in my hands. “Adam, your dad adored you. Not a day went by that he didn’t talk about you. Whatever you think he might’ve been holding against you, I can promise you . . . he wasn’t.”
“You don’t know about when I ate the last sugar cookie in fifth grade,” he said, his eyes widening as if he’d robbed a bank or something. “He’d been looking forward to a cookie after sorting out the Christmas lights but I ate every last one on the plate anyway.”
“Seriously? Adam, he’d have given them to you anyway. That’s what parents do.”
He paused for a moment. “One time, I took his brand new boots to dress up my snowman for a photograph. I forgot to bring them back inside and when he got up for work the next day they were full of snow and chewed up by raccoons. He had to wear his old boots with a hole in them and caught a cold. He was blowing his nose all through Christmas dinner that year.”
“Oh, Adam . . .” I wanted to hug the little boy who had kept all these things inside, feeling guilty over normal kid behavior. “These are the things parents look back on and laugh about. Your dad was the most forgiving person I ever met. He loved you. You should hear some of the things I did as a kid. They’d blow your mind. But my parents love me, anyway,” I said, realizing how lucky I was and how I needed to stop letting the divorce come between my parents and me.
He dropped his forehead to mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Faith. No wonder Dad loved you.”
My chest warmed. “The feeling was mutual. Now, tell me. . . What’s this really about?”
“I let him down,” he said, closing his eyes. “I knew how much he loved me and how he’d started this business, Silver Bells Luxury Tours. But I stayed in New York every year. I put work above all else, and I can’t bear to think about how much pain I caused him.”
“Oh, Adam . . .” I pressed my lips to his cheek, touched that he’d opened up to me. I took his hand and brought him to the tree. The ornaments hung by other people glinted in the sunlight, and small gold bells tinkled in the chilly breeze. “You need to talk to him.”
A line formed between his eyebrows. “How? He’s gone.”
“I’ll show you.” I hung my little choir girl on an empty branch and closed my eyes. “Thank you, Ms. King. For teaching me to sing, for being there for me through middle school and high school and for introducing me to Mr. Kline. Even though I miss you, I know you’re where you’re supposed to be. Merry Christmas.”
An ache rolled through me but then a strong hand rubbed my back in small, slow circles, soothing me. The ache passed, replaced by a wave of comfort thanks to Adam.
“Your turn,” I said, blinking away the tears as I opened my eyes. I gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll give you some space to talk to him, to tell him all of the things you wish you’d said while he was alive. He’ll hear you, I promise,” I said, standing on tiptoe and kissing him lightly, before walking back to the bench and sitting down.
Adam sighed, his breath heating the air in front of him and forming a small cloud that soon dissipated. He turned the ornament over in his hands several times before he reached up and placed his book ornament on a higher branch. He put his hands in his coat pocket and took a step back, shaking his head.
“Dad, I’m sorry I’ve stayed away from Christmas Mountain for so long.” He glanced over at me and I smiled encouragingly before looking away to give him some space. “I left because New York sounded exciting, but that’s no excuse for not coming back.”
A young teenage couple came up the steps, glanced at us as they walked by and then stopped over at the railing on the far end. Adam watched them staring at The Falls, big smiles on their faces, and then he turned back to The Sharing Tree.
“When you came to visit me in New York, I had become part of Manhattan life, always rushing around. When you arrived, all calm and easy going, it didn’t seem to fit with me. You actually chose to travel on the subway, or walk places, instead of jumping in a cab. You’d say ‘It’s good for the soul, son’ and now, finally, I’m starting to get what you mean.”
My eyes burned.
“Sometimes I wanted to come back, but then I got my job and there was always more work to do, you know?” His voice quivered and he glanced at his shoes. “I regret not visiting you here after I left. I regret not seeing this business you created while you were alive. Christmas was never the same once we moved away. Mom tried in her own way, but you were the one who made it magical for me, the same way you made Christmas special for so many people. I hope you can forgive me for selling the business.”
I looked up and saw a lone tear fall down his cheek before he swiped it away.
“Faith said you would forgive me for not coming back while you were alive, but I’m not sure I believe her,” he said, swiping his nose. “This might sound crazy, but . . . if you could send me, I don’t know, a sign . . . something to let me know that I have your blessing, and that you forgive me.” His voice broke and he shook his head. “I know that’s impossible. But I am sorry. I love you, Dad. Always have, and always will.”
He touched the ornament one last time, closing his eyes as he did so, before coming over to the bench and sitting down next to me.
“You know he heard you, right?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I hope so. Thanks for bringing me up here, Faith.”
I put my arms around him and hugged him hard. As we sat embracing with only the sound of The Falls behind us, a deep, throaty hoot-hoot rang through the air. Hoot-hoot!
“My dad loved owls,” he said, his voice barely a whisper in my ear.
I opened my eyes, looking over his shoulder and then sat back. “Look, Adam.”
A beautiful snowy owl sat on a nearby post, watching us with its big amber colored eyes. Black spotted markings graced his pure white feathers. When he flapped his wings, preparing to take flight, I noticed something and gasped.
“Oh, Adam,” I said, pointing to its backside and remembering our conversation in his office while I’d been decorating for Christmas. I also remembered what he showed me.
“I see it.” Adam’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded. There, right in the middle of the owl’s back was an unusual bald patch filled in with gold. “He looks like the ornament I damaged and repaired when I was a kid.”
The owl glanced back at us once and then he flew off. I leaned my head against Adam’s shoulder. “That was your sign, Adam. Your dad has forgiven you and you have his blessing to sell Silver Bells,” I said, and then hesitated. “And . . . you have mine, too.”
“Faith . . .” He gazed at me and my stomach warmed. We’d connected on a deeper level than I’d ever known possible and the look on his face told me he felt it, too. With his fingers under my chin, he leaned down and kissed me so tenderly, I knew I couldn’t fight him anymore.
He had my full heart and if he needed to sell Silver Bells, then I was behind him all the way.