‘Great.’

‘He said he might find a job for me.’

‘That should be pretty easy to do. You’re a good carpenter, you can paint, and if they need any help with landscaping . . .’

As they rounded the corner onto Main, he saw a familiar figure walking their way.

‘Father Tim! Merry Christmas! Joe Jordan, remember me? I was on th’ vestry back in the day. We moved down th’ mountain and I’m up to see my cousin. This your boy?’

This isn’t Dooley, he was about to say, but hesitated.

He put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. Sammy didn’t flinch.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This is my boy. His name is Sammy.’

•   •   •

BEFORE HE OPENED THE STORE, they took a turn into Village Shoes.

‘Happy Hanukkah, my friend.’

‘Merry Christmas, Father!’

They embraced, each giving the other a rousing back slap.

‘Shoes for Sammy while I open up, and I’ll be back for brown loafers and a pair of black dress shoes. Ten and a half B.’

‘Will do, and mazel tov. Sweet deal for the Children’s Hospital.’

He paused outside the shoe store and looked up. A flake touched his cheek; one landed on his glove. It was snowing.

•   •   •

‘ONCE IN ROYAL DAVID’S CITY,’ ‘In the Deep Mid-Winter’ . . . a CD of his most-loved Christmas music . . .

Sugar, fake cream, napkins, and the sign turned around to OPEN . . .

It was his favorite part of the day. He would miss it.

He was shelving new inventory near the front when he heard the bell and looked up.

Good Lord. Edith Mallory. Pushed in her wheelchair by Ed Coffey.

He paused briefly with his mouth agape and went to them at once.

‘Edith!’ He felt an overwhelming flood of affection; stooped and embraced her. ‘Edith.’

‘Fa . . . ther.’

Snow mingled in the fur of her coat collar . . .

He took her gloved hand, not speaking. They had been through a great deal together. She had wooed him, once locked him in a room with herself, and pursued him unashamedly. And then, the catastrophic blow to her head and the loss of ability to form words and speech.

Edith’s longtime driver had aged noticeably, but who hadn’t? He embraced Ed, a spontaneous act that could never have happened in years past.

And here was his chance.

It had come to him; he had not been forced to seek it. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Not at all. All those years with everyone hounding her for money; a never-ending procession of people to her door, hands out. He would not, could not do it. How would he tell the Children’s Hospital board that she had dropped by to see him but he could not do it?

‘We wanted to get up here before th’ snow sets in,’ said Ed. ‘Miz Mallory’s been missin’ th’ place. She’s taken a house on th’ ridge for a few days.’

‘We’re glad to have you, Edith. Welcome home. Merry Christmas.’ His heart was painfully full.

Edith handed him an envelope inscribed with his name, gave him something that resembled a smile.

He opened the envelope. A folding card, handwritten by Edith’s assistant, with a check tucked inside:

Father,

You have given when no one asked. I have given only when pressed. This is a new avenue for me, one I hope to travel until the end. I hear your favorite charity is in dire straits. May God bless you to a happy old age. Pray for me. Edith

He was touched by this; thought it could appear crass or impatient to look at the check now.

Ed Coffey cleared his throat.

He got Ed’s message, studied the amount, blinked. This time, he might actually faint.

To: Children’s Hospital.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

Edith spoke slowly and with precision the words she was first able to articulate after the disastrous head injury.

‘God . . . is . . . good.’

The three of them held hands and wept together, a kind of family once bitterly estranged, now united.

•   •   •

PEOPLE ROAMING THE STORE, several youngsters in the Children’s section, the bell jangling.

‘Hey, Dad!’

Dooley striding in—a surprise visit on his way to Meadowgate.

‘Wanted to stop by and say we’ll see you out there tomorrow. From Lace and me.’

Dooley brushed snow from his hair, handed over a bag filled with wrapped gifts. A first, this bag of gifts—with the imprimatur of the girl Dooley loved. So many firsts, all the time . . .

‘I have somethin’ else for you. It’s the most important.’

Dooley pulled a twenty from his jeans pocket, and folded it. Then he folded it again. And again. And once more. And handed it over, solemn.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad. Thanks for all you do for me.’

Dooley gave him a quick hug and was gone before he could speak.

•   •   •

‘EXCUSE ME.’

A smartly dressed woman he had never seen approached the sales counter. ‘That plant in your window. What is it, may I ask?’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A rubber plant. After a fashion.’

‘I’m opening my house for Christmas and need something tall and green in my foyer. Where did you get it?’

‘It was a gift.’

‘Does it require much water?’

‘Not much.’

‘Must it have light? My foyer is dark.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it is completely maintenance-free.’

He carried it across the street to her SUV, and came back and totted up the take to date.

$3,000,000 Kim and Irene

500,000 Edith

100.00 rubber plant

Including the spray tan certificate, which might go for twenty bucks:

$3,500,120.00

Not bad for openers.

•   •   •

IT WAS HARD TO SETTLE DOWN; he was flying, and it wasn’t caffeine. This was a Christmas unlike any he’d ever known. So many gifts, a shower of gifts.

God was near, and he was all fingers. Still, he would wrap this one himself. When he started in the bookstore, Scott had paid for a book to be given away. He had prayed about that.

He scribed a greeting on one of the few remaining gift labels.

Merry Christmas To

Coot

From Your Friends

At Happy Endings

•   •   •

TO GET THE TRAIL PROJECT MOVING, he would need help with the details. Who would make the signs? They would want three estimates. What did they have to do to get council approval? There would be a good bit of bureaucratic hemming and hawing about the project. Where would they source litter bins and benches? There would be work to do on the Internet . . .

He had talked to Cynthia about his idea.

‘Be specific,’ was her advice.

He called from the store. ‘Emma! Merry Christmas!’ He was certifiably crazy.

‘Merry Christmas! Who’s this?’

‘How quickly you forget.’

‘Father Tim! I’ll be et f’r a tater,’ she said, quoting Uncle Billy. ‘I’ve been checkin’ th’ obits to see if you’re in there. I can’t believe th’ story in th’ paper, you must be over th’ moon.’

‘And then some. Can hardly believe it myself. How’s your Tuesday going?’

‘South,’ she said. ‘My employer is movin’ to Florida.’

‘I’m gearing up for a project. How about four hours, eight to twelve on Tuesdays, starting the second week of January, with a possible cutoff at the end of March?’

Did he deserve her numerous skills? Should she play hard to get and show him what’s what? He could hear her wheels turning.

‘I thought you’d never ask!’ she said. ‘Are you at th’ store?’

‘I am.’

‘Are you wearin’ boots?’

‘I am.’

‘Good. It’s comin’ down out there. Do you have a hat?’

‘Of course.’

‘When you walk home, wear th’ hat, th’ temperature’s droppin’.’

•   •   •

‘I HAD SOMETHING to pick up at the Local. I should be on my way home, but I couldn’t go without thanking you. There’s just no time to say what I need to say. Our driveway is terrible in bad weather.’ Sharon McCurdy was mildly breathless, distraught.

‘You prayed and Hastings is completely fine. Is that a coincidence? I need to know this.’