Gordy stood behind them, his hands shoved in his wool jacket, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t place. His truck, still covered in snow, was parked next to the community center. “Hello, Dottie. We were looking for you.”
“Glad to see you’re alive,” she said, not quite meaning her tone the way it emerged. “Did you shave?”
“They did it at the hospital,” he said. And ran his hand over his smooth chin, as if inspecting it.
He looked nice without his beard, younger perhaps, but she wasn’t going to say that. In fact, seeing him out here, in public, outside the confines of Storm House, she tasted their old, charred relationship. Like she should rightly ski right past him.
And that’s how he wanted it, wasn’t it? Because he
hadn’t
gone to her house—hadn’t gone looking…
Wait— “You were looking for me? Why?”
Jake looked at Violet, and Dottie couldn’t discern the texture of his smile. Nor hers as she said, “I never told you that I saw Nelson at Fort Meade when I was stationed there. He came through, on his way to London. I introduced him to Alex. They were in the same company.”
“Nelson knew your friend?”
“More than that,” Jake said. “Alex and I crossed paths a few times while we were in Europe. He told me about a friend of his who’d died saving his life. He was a sniper, and he’d held off a squadron of German soldiers as Alex and his squad escaped. They awarded him the bronze star for it. Posthumously.”
Dottie nodded. “Your friend was one of the soldiers my son helped save?”
Violet nodded and pulled out an envelope. “I found this in the packet of mail that Alex sent to Jake. I think maybe Nelson must have asked him to carry it, in case anything ever happened to him. Or maybe Alex just took it off him. Whatever happened, Alex never got that far. I don’t know how long he carried it before he was cut down too, but it was in his belongings. It must have gotten shuffled into my packet of letters. I found it this morning.”
Dottie had stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.
“It’s from Nelson. It’s his letter home,” Jake said softly.
Dottie’s hand shook as she took the letter. The envelope bore the stains of war—sweat, or dirt, rumpled and smudged.
But on the front was her name, in Nelson’s fine script.
“His letter. Nelson’s letter.” She closed her eyes, pressed it to herself, drew it in.
Nelson’s letter.
She looked at Violet. “Thank you.”
Violet covered her mouth with her hand, nodding.
Then Dottie turned to Jake, her eyes wet. “You did this, Jake. You did this wonderful thing.” She stepped up and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you for bringing my boy home.”
Jake held her, his arms strong like Nelson’s, and for a moment, she felt unbroken, whole. Loved.
“You always had Nelson. God just used us to help you remember it,” Jake said softly as she released him.
She pressed her hands to his cheeks. “God used
you
, Jake, for all of us. You’re a good soldier, and a good man.”
He swallowed, and Dottie saw him blink hard, look away.
Violet took her hand. “Dottie, Christmas hasn’t forgotten you.”
She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t help but look at Gordy. He swallowed, his eyes wet. Smiled at her.
A smile of forgiveness. Of intimacy.
She smiled back.
She wouldn’t read it now. She would savor it, sitting beside her tree, the crackle of the fire at her feet, the sounds of family—
Dottie turned to Jake, to Violet. “You will come for Christmas dinner, won’t you? I know I only have canned ham—”
“I brought dinner, Dottie. I cleaned out my mother’s fridge. She’s making dinner for the family at Thomas’s house,” Violet said.
“We’re not having dinner.” Gordy finally spoke from behind Jake, his voice dark. “We’re not going anywhere until I say something.”
“Oh, Gordy, I’m cold. And hungry. Can’t it wait?” Dottie said.
“Not one more day, no.” He pushed past Jake, took off his glove, and touched her hand.
She stared at his grip as he knelt before her.
“What on earth are you doing?” But she’d started to feel her heartbeat in her chest, pounding. Really?
“What does it look like? Now, just wait a second while I figure this out.”
She stared down at him, at the way he fumbled in his pocket, the way his breath sped up, the way he seemed to be gathering himself and—
“Yes, Gordy. Yes, I will.”
He looked up at her. “I haven’t asked yet.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake, ask me already.”
“Fine. Marry me, Dottie.”
“Oh, Gordy, that’s not a proposal!”
He got up, his eyes dark. But he took her face in his warm hands. “Dottie Morgan, I love you. And I have since I was nine years old, chasing you around in your barn. I loved your son, and I have been true to you every day of my life. Please, please, will you marry me?”
She had little in her but a nod. Now, that was a proposal. “About time.” Then, with all of Frost watching, she stepped up to him, gripped his lapels, and pulled him down for a kiss.
The years flushed away. She felt in his touch the sweet familiarity of Gordy, of a man who had shown up and loved her from the edge of her property, waiting for the day a storm would blow him into her house and stir her cold heart to flame.
Gordy, sweet Gordy. He kissed her like they were sixteen, or perhaps twenty, with their future spooling out before them.
He lifted his head. Grinned at her. “I have a ring.”
She laughed. “Well, then, I guess I’ll invite you over for dinner.” She looked at Violet, wrinkled her nose. “But only if Jake’s cooking.”
* * * * *
It should have always been like this. Dottie pulling out the seat beside him, Jake and Violet at their places around the table. Gordy drew in the smell of dinner—ham and mashed potatoes, biscuits and canned peaches. The fire crackled in the hearth, the smell of the pine tree redolent in the parlor.
“So, when’s the big day?” Violet said, sitting down beside Jake.
Gordy caught Dottie’s eye. “Sooner, please?”
“Oh, Gordy…I…”
“I’ll help plan it,” Violet said. “We can do it next Saturday night, a New Year’s wedding. We can have it at the dance hall.”
“I’m getting married in a church, thank you.” Dottie looked up at Gordy and he could get lost forever in her smile. How had he waited twenty-seven years to ask her again? “I missed that the first time around. I’d like to have it last this time.”
“Of course.” Violet reached out for Jake’s hand. “But the reception could be at the dance hall. It’s already decorated.”
“And who would come?”
Violet stared at her. “The entire town of Frost?”
Dottie shook her head. “No one wants to—”
“They’ll be there,” Gordy said. He took Dottie’s hand. “Let’s do it.”
“Gordy—”
A knock came at the mudroom door a second before the door flew open. “They
are
here, Mama!” Arnie tromped into the kitchen. His cheeks bright red, his breath short.
“What on earth?” Dottie rose to her feet.
“Hey there, soldier,” Jake said.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Morgan,” his mother said. “But we were on way home from Mass and Arnold had to stop in. He said he had a gift for you. I don’t know what it is.”
Arnie pulled out a package, wrapped in a hankie. “It’s for you.”
Dottie took it, opened it. Gordy tried to hide his expression, but really, a pair of worn mittens?
“Because yours got lost in the snow,” Arnie said.
He didn’t understand women at all because Dottie knelt beside him and pulled the boy into her arms, her breath shuddering. Dottie didn’t even wear mittens, did she?
“I have something for you too.” Dottie stood up. “Please, Kathryn, come in. Join us.”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could. This is, after all, your storm house family. You’re welcome here, Kathryn.”
Kathryn hesitated.
“Please, Mama?”
She pressed her hand to her mouth. Nodded, her face flush with emotion.
Dottie tugged Arnie’s hat from his head. “But you’re dripping all over my floor. So take off those boots and get your present from under the tree.”
Arnie scooted into the mudroom and left his boots there, emerging also without his jacket. Even Kathryn had unbuttoned hers, although she left it on.
“I think she means it,” Jake said and got up to help her off with her coat. Violet stood to gather more plates from the cupboard.
Arnie sped into the parlor and returned with a wrapped package. He scooted up to the table, his eyes shining. “I knew Santa would find me here.”
“Indeed,” Dottie said softly.
Arnie ripped off the wrapping and found a box. Lifting it open, his mouth widened into an
O
. “This is real swell.” He pulled out a model bi-plane, painted red, a number on the side.
Gordy recognized it as one of Nelson’s. A box-top plane.
Arnie zoomed it through the air, with the appropriate noise.
“Be careful with that now,” Kathryn said.
Gordy looked at Jake, who knew way too much about him for Gordy’s good. He almost felt Jake’s finger in his spine. He might be glad when the man left town. Fine. “I have something for you too, Arnie.” Gordy felt eyes on him as he found his jacket. “I didn’t wrap it.”
He handed the rectangular box to Arnie. “This is because you’re a real fighter, Arnie. And someday you’re going to be a hero, just like your daddy.”
Gordy didn’t look at Kathryn.
Arnie opened the gift. “Wow. Is it real?”
“It’s real.” Gordy knelt before the boy, took the victory medal out of the box. “I got it because we won the Great War. But it belongs to you now.” He pinned it on Arnie’s sweater. “Because you’re a soldier too.”
“A real live medal.” Arnie looked up at his mother. “I’m a hero!”
Kathryn smiled. “Yes, indeed you are.”
Dottie wiped her cheek.
Arnie pulled up a chair beside Gordy, so Dottie moved to the end and set a plate for Kathryn at the other end.
They stared at the food for a long moment. Then Jake held out his hands. “Let’s pray.”
Gordy took Dottie’s hand, then Arnie’s. He held his mother’s, and she reached out for Jake, who entwined his fingers through Violet’s. She smiled up at Dottie and folded her hand into hers.
“Together now.”
Gordy heard the prayer inside, even as he spoke it.
“Come, Lord Jesus…be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed.”
He was releasing Arnie’s hand when he heard Dottie’s voice, sweet and full of warmth.
“And may there be a goodly share, on every table everywhere.” Amen.
* * * * *
Dear Mother,
You know that I would have wanted to return home to you. Right now I can imagine you sitting at the kitchen table, and I know I have broken your heart. I know how difficult it was to let me go, to wish me farewell on the train station steps that day. You smiled and told me that I looked handsome in my uniform. You pressed a bag lunch into my hands for the ride, my favorite, minced ham.
I remember that Mr. Lindholm stood just down the row, watching me also. I shook his hand good-bye and I asked him to take care of you.
He promised me he would, but I didn’t need it. He’s always taken care of you, even better than I ever could. He took care of us both, Mother.
He taught me, too, how to be a son, or a brother. I am a better soldier because of Mr. Lindholm.
I never thought war would be a constant drizzle of noise and wetness and fatigue. Remember that Saturday I played football in the mud and the rain and came home with a fever? You were there to doctor me back to health. I think of that, as if you were here, and it gives me strength.
I know that I am okay, now. I’ve never believed that heaven was a celestial place, but rather filled with prairie grasses and the hush of the wind through the cottonwoods. It smells of the cattails and milkweed in the marsh and the fragrance of fresh-cut grass. It’s filled with fireflies and birds greeting the morning, and I am sure that someday I will see Digger loping toward me, his shoe-sole ears flopping.
I’d like to think that I will be able to see you, to watch you make pie, cutting off a piece of the crust for me to make my own, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. That in the fall, you will hunt for a pumpkin and decorate the house with pussy willows and cattails, that you will spin stories for the children at the library, and most of all, light the Christmas star on the tree in town. I think I can already see it from here.
If I could ask you one thing, it would be this. Tell Mr. Lindholm thank you for the train set. And for teaching me to hunt. And for not ratting me out when I stole his medal and wore it to school. (He caught me playing with it in his barn, but you never knew it.) Invite him in and let him sit at my place at the table.
I loved him too, Mama.
I know you’ll miss me. I will miss you too. I already do.
Thank you for letting me serve my country. Thank you for being my mother. You were the best a boy could have had.
Your son,
Nelson
The fire crackled in the hearth as Dottie folded the letter back up. She pressed it against her chest, inhaled. The fingers that had held her heart so tight loosened with the reading, and she took a full breath without agony for what seemed like the first time in years.
“I miss him so much it takes my breath away,” Gordy said. He sat beside her, his arm around her, silent through the reading of the letter. “But he is right. You were an amazing mother to your son.”
Dottie covered his hands with hers. “
Our
son, Gordy. Our son.”
* * * * *
Arnie lay on his bed, his hand pressed to the medal, now pinned to his pajamas. He stared out the window, at the dark sky, the stars like snowflakes.
Mama was banging around in the kitchen outside his door, perhaps putting away the leftovers Mrs. Morgan sent home with him.
Don’t worry, Dale Arden, we’re safe now. But I promise to visit Queen Fria, and Thun and Dr. Zoraff.
And beautiful Aura, with the long dark hair.
Outside, the stars seemed to wink at him, as if approving. His father might be out there among them, perhaps seeing his medal. Perhaps smiling.