Clark spent half of his morning memorizing this Dickensian text, only for the woman he memorized it for to storm out of the house before he could even get halfway through his final speech.
The door of the Cratchit house slammed behind her, silencing the small living room as fifty heads turned to him in hushed anticipation. Paralysis set in, even as he clung to little Bradley, who waited patiently on his shoulder for his final cue. For a moment, the room could have passed for a ride at one of those high-priced theme parks, where the guests floated through fantastical scenes with broken animatronic characters who could only blink and jerk their heads. The heat of the room’s bated breath left beads of sweat on Clark’s forehead, trickling down his forehead as his only indication of the passing of time. He couldn’t wrench himself away from the closed door; the place where Kate once stood now tortured him endlessly. The absence of her ripped at him; a punch in the gut would have been less painful and robbed him of less breath.
After too long a silence for the little boy’s taste, Bradley clonked the top of Clark’s head with his cane, a new brand of pain almost bold enough to shake him from his stupor.
“Hey.” Clark blinked. Another clonk. Bradley addressed him in a stage whisper through clenched teeth, a manner of confidentiality he probably mimicked from a million Saturday morning cartoons. “Hey, Mr. Clark. I think they’re waiting for you to say something.”
Michael caught Clark’s eye first, a small miracle. After staying up to read his present from Kate, he tracked the young man down. A frantic phonebook search later and he had both Emily and Michael in the living room of Michael’s cabin, where he told them the entire story. Being the sort of guy who never spilled his guts, Clark struggled, but eventually explained everything.
They didn’t get on board with his plan, however, until he told them the entire truth. I think I’m falling in love with her and I don’t want to lose my one chance because I was too blind to see that some people are good people. Halfway through the Dickens book, Clark started to understand why he’d been so happy to assume the worst of Kate, even when everything she said and did instructed him to believe the best.
He couldn’t believe what a jerk he’d been.
Once Emily and Michael got on board, they went to work greasing up Miss Carolyn who did not care for him, expressing frequent and blatant desires to punch him in the throat. In the end, she only agreed to the entire scheme because Emily convinced her it was the only way to save Kate from her disillusionment…
Well, that and Clark allowed her one free punch to his stomach. The old woman had surprising strength for her age; no doubt a bruise started forming almost immediately. The rest fell together at Miss Carolyn’s instructions. She yanked children out of bed and hustled parents into costumes. They organized a feast and reset everything in the town square.
And by the time the clock struck 9 that morning, everything seemed poised to work. Clark would win the girl, save the town, and give them all the Christmas they deserved.
Only…it didn’t work. Kate stormed out before he could even tell her the good news. Before she even had time to hear his apology. Or fall in love with him again.
“All right, everyone.” Clark cleared his throat, a strangled sound as his trachea contracted and tightened. “I’m going to go—uh, to go investigate.”
Depositing Bradley—who gave him an unsubtle wink and thumbs up once he landed safely on the ground—Clark bolted. He didn’t know how to lose her like he’d lost her yesterday.
The streets and buildings around him blurred as he picked up speed (no easy feat in the Ebenezer Scrooge costume, which rarely saw this much physical activity), and he blew past every door and obstacle on his way. Even if she was halfway to Argentina by now, he was determined to find her.
Determination went unrealized when he skidded to a halt in front of the gazebo in the dead center of the town square, where he found Kate, facing away from him, sitting in a puddle of skirts on a set of wooden steps. She flinched as his footfall hit the wood a few paces behind her.
“I don’t have a car and these heels are killing me. That’s the only reason I’m still here.”
It was then he realized she hadn’t been shaking with noiseless sobs, but fooling with the difficult laces of the Victorian heeled boots on her feet. From directly behind her, he couldn’t tell the difference, but once he stepped to the side, he saw the fight firsthand and the determined way her teeth dug into her bottom lip. In the cold, her skin both paled and reddened at the same time, the high contrast giving her an otherworldly glow amid the thousands of lights strung up across the square from the buildings on either side of them. Clark didn’t want to think about the electricity bill they’d rung up over the last few days.
“Can I sit down with you?” he asked, pointing to the sliver of space between the end of her billowing skirt and the side railing of the gazebo’s steps.
“Why?”
Good question. A smarter man might have gotten down on his knees and begged forgiveness. Right? Clark didn’t watch many movies, so his vocabulary of romantically tinged apologies was severely limited.
“I was hoping to talk to you,” he said. A cringe bunched his shoulders together just beneath his neck. He’d never done anything like this; this limb upon which he was reaching out bowed under the weight of his own insecurity.
“You can’t talk standing up?”
His chest tightened. After his cold dismissal of her last night, he didn’t blame her. She had every right to despise him. Knowing the right was hers didn’t make it hurt any less. He’d orchestrated this entire Christmas miracle for her, to make her feel better, not worse.
“I can, but you seem pretty upset.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’m fine.”
He could hit himself. Everything out of his mouth turned out to be the exact wrong thing to say.
“Okay. Okay.” He breathed in a deep lungful of country air. Dallas never smelled this good, nor did it ever crackle inside him like the first spark of a fire. It cleaned him from the inside, clearing his head. A path presented itself, so he took it. A risky move, but one he had to take. “I’ll just stand up here until you’re ready to talk.”
One of the few memories of his mother he held close to him was a story she used to tell about a woman who was separated from her love, and she sat by the banks of the river every day waiting for him to return. His mother held it up as an example of true devotion, sacrifice and love. Though he hoped she wouldn’t, he would wait a lifetime if Kate asked. Out of his own selfishness, he’d caused her pain; the least he could give her was devotion and a little bit of patience. He counted the minutes by the twinkling of the timed, dancing lights overhead. One cycle. Two cycles. Three cycles. And finally:
“Fine. You can sit down.”
The space between the hoops of her skirt and the side railing barely fit, but Clark sat on an angle to speak to her, only to open his mouth and find he had nothing to say.
“Kate. I think—”
Good thing he hesitated. An explosion of hot air and frustration flew from Kate’s lips, pouring out steaming accusations as she gesticulated wildly. Though it was hardly the time or place to do so, Clark couldn’t help but store away Kate’s habit of talking with her hands as one of his favorite quirks of hers.
“What is it with you, huh? Why are you doing this? What is all of this about? I don’t understand.”
A reasonable question, one he wished she’d asked before storming out of the house and out here into the cold where she would almost certainly catch her death only one day after he saved her from it.
“I got your present.”
“Present? What present?”
Slipping out of his coat, he pulled a red-bound book from the breast pocket, which he handed to her. Distracted by the slender volume, she barely reacted to him as he laid his coat over her shoulders and wrapped his red scarf around her throat. He took pains to brush her skin as little as possible, a task that proved almost impossible and left him with tiny electric shocks every time they did touch.
“The one you left under my tree yesterday.”
“Oh.”
As reverent as opening a prayer book, Kate turned over the pages until she stared at the title page engraving, a picture of an old man with a small boy on his shoulder. Clark didn’t concede to wearing old age makeup as Emily suggested, but if he had, he and Bradley would have looked almost identical to the picture she traced with her red-painted nails now.
“A Christmas Carol,” she muttered.
“Good title.”
His quip went ignored as she thumbed the pages. Clark tried to rescue the moment.
“No one’s ever seen me before. Or wanted the best for me. And you were right yesterday when you said I took your Christmas away, so…I thought it was only fair I try to give a little bit back to you.”
“Why? Because you want to rub it in my face or what? You hated me yesterday.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yeah? Maybe I was wrong, too. I liked you and you treated me like dirt. You thought I was trying to manipulate you when all I wanted was the best thing for everyone.” She’d long since given up trying to take off the uncomfortable shoes. Curling up under herself, she drew her knees into her chest, making herself as small as possible. Clark couldn’t begin to see a way out of this. He’d taken a willful, loving woman and broken her like he’d been broken. The whispers in town were right. He was a monster. Kate sniffed and turned her head away from him, resting her head on her knees. “All I wanted was for everyone to be happy.”
“I know. And that’s what I didn’t understand. I’ve never known someone who genuinely wants good things for other people. I wanted to be right. I think I wanted to believe you were only out for yourself and your town, that you didn’t really care about me at all.”
“Why?”
Another breath. Deep. Calming. Since putting down the book last night, he framed most of his decisions by following Scrooge’s example. It took courage to admit his own fault and apologize to the Cratchits. Clark needed to find some courage of his own. With gentle fingers, he tugged on the end of his red scarf. Kate took the hint and turned her head back towards him. It still waited on her knees, as if her misery weighed too much to keep her head upright, but it was a step in the right direction.
And if this was the last time she’d ever let herself get caught dead in his presence, at least he’d have one last chance to look at her beautiful, bewitching eyes.
“So I could stop feeling things for you. So I could put you in a little box and forget you. Because I’ve never been in love before and falling in love is terrifying for someone like me. I like being in control. I like knowing exactly where I’m going and when I’m with you… You’ve turned everything upside down for me. It scared me. It still scares me, but—”
Once he started talking about her, he found it impossible to filter himself, but one purposeful look from those striking eyes silenced his rambling.
“I’ve never been in love before either.”
“Really?”
He found it hard to believe on two levels. One: no one in the world carried as much love inside of her as Kate Buckner. How in the world had no one ever unlocked it and treasured it before? Two: she’d never fallen in love before and yet she chose him? Impossible.
“No better time than Christmas, huh?”
A dreamlike haze settled across her face, only to be torn away with a shake of her head.
“No. No.” She held up her hands, brushing away invisible cobwebs. “You’re not smooth talking your way out of this. I have to protect myself.”
Yesterday, Clark would have shouted. Been indignant. Rejected her and all she stood for. Today, he slid down to the step below where she was sitting so he could look up at her, all while softening his sympathies.
“I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I shut you out and threatened to take away everything you love out of spite. And if you never want to see me again, I will walk out of this town forever but I can’t do that until I know I’ve made it right. Until you’ve had your Christmas and until you know you’ve changed my life.”
“That sounds a little dramatic,” she said, even as she hugged his heavy wool coat closer. He didn’t blame her for thinking it a bit farfetched. When had a man ever changed in one night?
Oh yeah. In A Christmas Carol.
“It’s not dramatic. I mean it. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
You saw me yesterday, he implored silently. You saw me when I couldn’t even see myself. Please see me now. Unlike Clark, she only hardened, a caustic undertone taking over her entire being as she tightened her arms across her chest. Did she feel the need to hold herself together? Did she feel as close to shattering into a million tiny pieces as he did?
“You’re telling me you did all of this so you could get me back? Like…to win me?”
“No, I did all of this so you’d know you changed me. After what I did…” Clark loved the way she talked with her hands. When it came to his own twitches and ticks, he despised the way his hands flexed, an instant tell at how nervous he was. “I know I don’t stand a chance. I have too much to learn about being a good man to deserve someone like you. I just needed you to know and leaving a sad voicemail at 2:30 in the morning wasn’t splashy enough.” Kate fiddled with her velvet skirts, but Clark spied her blinking furiously. Did she have a tell of her own? “Now can I ask you a question?”
“One,” she conceded.
“Why are you so upset? I know I hurt you, but you stormed out of A Christmas Carol, and I honestly thought that was the one thing you’d never do.”
With a furrow of her brows and a sigh telling him she only answered because she promised she would, Kate laid herself bare. At this point, he couldn’t tell if he made any progress with her or if she only hated him all the more now for all of his confessions.
“Last night, I swore off of you. And Christmas. So, to wake up this morning and be here with all of this,” she motioned to the green dress gracing her body. When Clark saw it on the rack, he couldn’t help but think, is that really the dress she obsessed over? He understood the appeal as soon as she waltzed into his view. She made a plain green frock glow brighter than any emerald. “It sort of makes me feel like Charlie Brown. The second I start believing in you, you’ll pull away the football and I’ll be on my behind wishing I had never tried at all.”
“I’m not going to pull away the football.” In a moment of stupid bravery, he placed one of his hands atop hers. “I swear.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Do you trust me with one?” he asked, afraid of the uncontrollable undertones of bitterness in the question.
Her hand moved beneath his, sending up red flags and storm warnings in every corner of his body. She’s taking her hand away. She hates me. She’s going to tell me to get lost and I’ll be stuck with this big, dumb, broken heart. Then, she turned her hand over and properly held his. The tender gesture grew his heart three times bigger than it had ever been before. Though she stared down at their intertwined fingers, Kate’s growing smile couldn’t be hidden behind her curtains of curls.
And with four words, she changed him forever.
“I really like you.”
A brass band took over his heart. Fireworks replaced his pulse. Christmas really was magic. Scrambling back to sit on an equal step with her, Clark prayed this wasn’t a dream. Or if it was, he wanted to live in this dream forever.
“I really like you,” he replied. She tried to hide her smile, something he couldn’t possibly attempt.
“And that was…” She paused so long Clark thought he would die from waiting. This time, she gave him the privilege of viewing her entire face; the shy smile reddened her already flush cheeks. “That was a really good apology.”
His jaw dropped. He’d been convinced she’d run him out of town on a rail.
“Was it?”
“Yeah, but I have one question.”
“Shoot.”
Anything. Anything. I’m all yours.
“Why am I in this ridiculous costume?” she asked, ruffling the skirts with a laughter-tinted huff.
A moment of panic. Clark remembered her telling a story about outgrowing the Belle costume—her favorite—so he arranged for it to be let out and altered by Miss Carolyn. Had he gotten it wrong?
“What? Don’t you like it? I thought you said Belle was your dream role in the festival.”
“It is, but…” Kate sighed, her fists wrapping into the velvet. “But…”
“But what?”
“But Belle and Scrooge don’t end up together.”
No sooner had she spoken than she scrunched her face in humiliation, slapping a hand over her face to cover the spreading blush. Adorable. Kissable. His heart opened wide to her.
“I’ve got news for you.” He tugged her hand away from her face and tipped her chin up. “We aren’t Scrooge and Belle.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But we can be. During next year’s festival, if you want.”
“Next year’s festival?” The halting words left tracks of white air in their wake as her warm breath spiked the freezing wind around them. Unspoken hope brought out the muted green flecks in her golden eyes as she looked up at him. Clark knew how she felt. Desperate to believe, terrified to be disappointed.
“Next year’s festival,” Clark confirmed, jumping to his feet and taking her with him by their interlocked hands. “And you can make that call because you, Miss Kate Buckner, are the new Director of Festival Operations for The Christmas Company.”
“Me?” She choked on the word, yanking her hand back so she could place it firmly over the place where her heart beat, presumably to keep it from running out on her.
“Miss Carolyn’s looking to retire. She wants to enjoy the festival as a guest next year, and she recommended you for the job.” The idea came to him this morning when Miss Carolyn complained about hurting her back moving one of the props around the town square. She muttered something about getting too old for this, and Clark offered her a generous retirement package. Apparently, she’d been wanting to quit for some time but didn’t have the money. Now she did, leaving an opening for an upstart Christmas fanatic to take over. “I don’t think there’s a person in the entire world who would lead this company better than you.”
Even when presented with her dream job, Kate stayed hung up on one thing in particular. She held his hands so tight he wondered if she was trying to keep herself from flying into the clouds with joy. He certainly was.
“You aren’t ending the festival?”
“You were right all along. The festival is good for the soul. Even if it loses Woodward Enterprises a few dollars every year.”
In the grand scheme of a billion-dollar company, that’s all it was. A few dollars to make people happy and sustain an entire town? Yeah, now Clark saw the appeal of such a setup. Kate swallowed hard.
“I don’t know what to say.”
He pulled her close.
“Say you’ll make next year the best Christmas ever.”
“Nothing could ever beat this one.”
Her head rested on his chest, where he hoped it would always remain.
“Miss Kate Buckner, would you do me the honor of giving me a second chance?” All of a sudden, music struck up from the bandstand at the far end of the square, grand and sweeping, as Clark ordered. The finale was meant to happen at 10 o’clock sharp, and a check of his watch affirmed Miss Carolyn’s devotion to timeliness. “And dancing with me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
They swayed in the cold air, accompanied by the roaring band down the street. Completely content. Completely at peace. Clark never knew such happiness. Not in his entire life.
As the song barreled towards it climax, Kate’s eyes widened in awe and she pulled away from his chest so she could open herself up to the heavens.
“Snow!” she exclaimed, another delicious smile overtaking her bright features.
“Yeah,” Clark confessed. “I told them to turn on the fake stuff. I thought it would add to the atmosphere.”
“No, Clark.” Kate took his hand and opened it to the sky. “It’s not fake. It’s really snowing.”
Sure enough, one by one, tiny flurries landed on his palm before melting into his skin. This wasn’t the sticky soap bubble snow or the false stuff covering every surface of Miller’s Point to give it the illusion of snow. This was the real thing.
“Snow in Texas on Christmas Day,” he marveled.
“See?” Kate returned her head to his chest. “Miracles do happen.”
And for the first time in his life, as he danced with Kate Buckner in a gentle snowdrift, Clark Woodward believed.
The End.
Sweet Potato Biscuits with Country Ham
A Hallmark Original Recipe
In The Christmas Company, Kate and many other people in town surprise Clark with a lavish Christmas feast. It includes every holiday treat imaginable—including sweet potato biscuits and ham. Our recipe would be a brilliant use of leftovers from your own holiday meal, and a perfect main dish for a Christmas brunch or lunch.
Yield: 10 servings
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
INGREDIENTS
Sweet Potato Biscuits:
- 2¼ cups flour
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar
- 2½ teaspoons baking powder
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- ½ teaspoon baking soda
- ½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold, diced into pieces
- 1 cup cooked mashed sweet potatoes, chilled*
- ¼ cup cold buttermilk
- 14 to 16 ounces sliced country ham (about 2 slices)
- 1 tablespoon butter
- as needed, honey
- as needed, country Dijon mustard
- as needed, blackberry preserves (or apricot preserves)
- as needed, butter
DIRECTIONS
- Preheat oven to 450°F.
- To prepare sweet potato biscuits: combine flour, brown sugar, baking powder, salt and baking soda in a food processor bowl fitted with a steel blade and pulse to blend. Add cold butter pieces and pulse until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal.
- Add mashed sweet potatoes and buttermilk to flour mixture and pulse just until mixture comes together and forms a dough.
- Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface. Gently knead just until smooth; pat into a circle to a thickness of ¾ to 1-inch. Using a 3-inch biscuit cutter, cut out biscuits. Arrange on a baking sheet lined with baking paper. Gather left-over dough into a ball, pat into a circle and cut out remaining biscuits (recipe makes ten 3-inch biscuits).
- Bake for 15 minutes, or until golden brown, rotating the baking sheet halfway through baking.
- While biscuits are baking, cut ham slices into 2 to 3-inch pieces. Melt butter in a heavy skillet over medium heat; add ham pieces and cook on each side for 2 to 3 minutes, or until sizzling and golden around outer edges.
- Split sweet potato biscuits horizontally, layer ham on bottom halves of biscuits and close with top halves. Arrange on a serving tray with choice of condiments.
* Recipe uses left-over plain unseasoned mashed sweet potatoes. Or roast a whole medium to large-size sweet potato (enough to make 1 cup of mashed sweet potato, without the skin) at 400°F for about 1 hour or until tender; cool, peel off skin and roughly mash sweet potato.