An Angel For Christmas

“But Dad pushed me so hard to make sure that I had a career—” Morwenna began.

Stacy quickly cut her off. “Your father pushed you, yes, because you needed more. And because the world is changing. Now two people have to work sometimes in order to afford to raise a family. I guess you don’t understand. You have all your sleek, chic clothing, designer briefcases and all-important meetings. And I concentrate on making sure a roast is edible. But, Morwenna, don’t try to fix me. I like what I am, and I like what I do, and there are ups and downs in life all the time, but I’m happy. Maybe your ex-sister-in-law is the only one who really knows that, since she made sure that the kids came here for Christmas. The only one who appreciates family, it seems, is the one no longer in the family!”

Morwenna didn’t have a chance to respond; Stacy expertly balanced the four wineglasses and seemed to sail out of the kitchen, her head held regally high.

“I wanted to draw!” she said, aware that her mother couldn’t hear her. “I wanted to draw, and paint, and create things!”

She hesitated, aware that, supposedly, the job she had taken would allow her to do just that. But she had become a stereotype of corporate America instead.

“I like my clothes!” she told the swinging door.

She tucked two bottles of beer under her arm, picked up the sodas and followed Stacy back to the dinner table.

“Ah, Morwenna is here now. We can say grace,” Stacy said.

Mike stood and looked around the table. “Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to eat. Thank you for the safety and lives of our family. Amen.”

“Nice,” Gabe commented.

“Better than the old joke, eh, of just saying ‘Grace’!” Bobby teased.

“We know better than to give the task to you, son,” Mike said, but he was grinning.

“Wait!” Genevieve said. “Wait, Gram, please! Can we do that thing that Mommy’s family does?”

They all looked at her. Genevieve grinned and stood up. She took Bobby’s hand and reached for her brother’s.

“Ah, Genevieve, what are you doing?” Connor demanded.

“Give me your hand, Connor. I don’t have any cooties!” Genevieve said.

Connor shrugged and gave her his hand. “This is just silly. Mom isn’t here.”

“Hey, your sister wants to have your mom here—in spirit,” Shayne said. “And let’s all try to make each other happy, huh?”

Genevieve grinned happily. “Okay, everybody, now, shake a lot of love!”

Around the table, they held hands, and on Genevieve’s command, they all shook their hands up and down.

“Now,” Genevieve said complacently, “it’s almost kind of Christmas!”

“They don’t even really know what day Christmas Day is supposed to be,” Connor said. “Some popes or priests somewhere got together to pick a day.”

“That’s right, Connor,” Gabe said. “But it doesn’t take away from the fact that the day was chosen, and it’s the day when Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus. So, it’s the chosen day, and your sister is right—it’s almost here.”

“So it might have been any day,” Morwenna murmured. Except that she was heard. She looked at Gabe, who was staring at her with amusement.

“What? It’s a day for miracles or the like?” she asked him softly.

“Miracles are what we make ourselves,” he said. He looked upward. “Maybe the Lord can lend a hand, but we have to create magic ourselves.”

She groaned softly. “A do-gooder cop. Great.”

He just grinned. She did, too.

And, somehow, the meal went along with the conversation pleasant instead of strained, with the family asking questions instead of throwing out accusations, and her father actually asked Bobby to bring out his guitar when they got to the bread pudding.

He played Christmas carols and the family chimed in, except for Morwenna.

Gabe looked at her. “Are you really that ‘bah, humbug’?” he asked her.

“No. I sound like a wounded hyena when I sing,” she told him.

“But these are Christmas carols. Everyone sings Christmas carols.” He looked upward again. “He doesn’t care what you sound like.”

Morwenna laughed. “I think I’ll pick up the plates.”

She was surprised when he caught her hand. “‘O Little Town of Bethlehem,’” he said. “I know you know it. I’ll help with the plates. One song, huh?”

With an exaggerated sigh, she sat again. She sang along with the family, watching Gabe. “See?”

“I thought you were great.”

She drew back, looking at him suspiciously. “Do you actually have a family?” she asked him.

“I do. I have a wonderful family,” he assured her.

“Why aren’t you going crazy, trying to find a working phone?” she demanded. “You’re not with them.”

“Because I’m not the kind to beat my head against the wall when something can’t work,” he told her.

She wanted to argue the point, but she really couldn’t. The storm had done nothing but grow stronger in the hours since she had arrived, and it did seem that they had lost all phone connections. Were the satellites all snowbound as well?

“No television for the kiddies,” she murmured. “No computer games.”

“Bobby, play ‘Silent Night’ for me, please?” Stacy asked.

Bobby looked over at his mother. “Sure, Mom. I thought you didn’t care for the song on a guitar that much. You always like it on piano.”

“And one of these days, I’m going to get one here,” she assured him. “But, please, play it for me.”

“Nothing like a rock version of ‘Silent Night,’” Mike said.

Of course, Bobby heard him.

“I’d love to hear it, too,” Morwenna said. “Scrooge can go into the kitchen!”

They all managed to laugh at that, even Mike. And Bobby played. Gabe sang the song alone this time with a clear, smooth, fluid tenor voice that was absolutely beautiful. When the song was over, everyone at the table just stared at him.