Secret Thoughts

 

 

 

                    The moon sliced through the clouds like a knife through a layer cake. “What a beautiful sight!” Miriam exclaimed, tears in her
                 eyes. “Funny how so many things remind me of Jack. He always loved to watch the moon. I guess he helped me develop an
                appreciation for all of nature. And now…”

                    She forced her thoughts back to the present. “The past is the past,” she reminded herself. “Jack married Trudy; I married Sam.
                 I love Sam, but some part of me won’t let go of Jack. Why can’t I get past this?”

                “I thought I’d find you out here on the deck,” Sam said, coming to stand beside his wife. He slipped his arm around her
               shoulders. “Penny for your thoughts.”

                She leaned against him, feeling his warmth and strength. “I’m afraid my thoughts aren’t worth a penny!” she teased.

                “Don’t underestimate yourself. By now you should know everything about you is priceless to me.”

                “Why Mr. Stark! I do believe you are flirting with me.”

                He laughed. “I believe you’re right, Mrs. Stark. That’s what the moon does to me.”

                She loved being close to Sam; it made her feel safe and protected. She loved him, but something was missing. She refused to
               dwell on that, for it could only bring more pain.

               “How about going out to dinner tomorrow night? You’ve been wanting to try that new restaurant in town.”

                “It’s a date!” She tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “You’re such a fine man. I really appreciate you.”

                “And I really love you,” he whispered against her ear. He waited for her to respond, but she remained silent.

                The next night Miriam put on her best dress. She always wanted Sam to feel proud of her, and she hoped he would never
               know the secret in her heart.

               “You look beautiful! Royal blue is definitely your color. It brings out the blue of your eyes.”

                “Thank you.” She took his arm and they walked to the door together. “You always make me feel beautiful. That’s so special.”

                They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before their reservation. Sam excused himself to go to the men’s room. Miriam
             sat in the waiting area.

               “Miriam! Is it really you?” a man asked, sitting beside her.

                She looked into the eyes she had dreamed about for more than ten years. “Jack! What are you doing in town? I thought you
             moved to another state when you married Trudy.”

                “I did. But, Trudy and I got a divorce last year. So, I’m back! Say, you still married to that Sam character?”

                “Yes, but Sam isn’t a character! He’s a wonderful man. And he will be here in a few minutes.”

                “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d be so touchy.” He studied her a moment. “You’ve changed. I can see it in your eyes.”

                “Of course, we all change as we get older.”

                “No, I mean something else. You’re not happy, are you?”

                “Yes, I’m happy! How dare you? Sam is a wonderful husband. We have a good life.”

                “Okay. But I still say something is different. Say, would you be interested in meeting me tomorrow for lunch?
             You know, to talk over old times.”

                “I don’t know, Jack. I am a married woman. It wouldn’t look right.”

                “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not asking you to do anything wrong; just have lunch with me.”

                Miriam tried to stop her racing heart. Thoughts of justification flitted through her mind like butterflies in a flower garden,
            darting from one flower to another. Each thought was punctuated with a prick of her conscience. She knew it was wrong, yet she
             found herself wanting to meet Jack for lunch.

                “Well? I can see you want to have lunch with me. So, say you will! Meet me at noon at the Starlight Café.”

                “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

                 Sam returned and recognized Jack. He extended a hand. “Jack! We haven’t seen you in a long time. How are you?”

                 Jack arose and shook Sam’s hand. “Divorced and feeling like a cowboy without a lasso.” He looked down at Miriam. “Looks
             like you’ve got it all going your way, Sam. Miriam is still as pretty as ever.”

                Sam smiled. “Yes, she is, isn’t she?” He reached down and helped her to her feet. She leaned against him.

                Sam and Marian were called to be seated. She didn’t see Jack anymore inside the restaurant, but her thoughts kept going
            back to his invitation for lunch.

                The next day she watched the clock all morning. “I can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right. Yet, we would just talk. Nothing else would
             happen. But if Sam found out, he would be very hurt.”

                She went back and forth, back and forth. A few minutes before noon, she put on her jacket and went out the door, still telling
             herself it was all innocent. Guilt rose in her chest and threatened to choke her, yet she drove to the restaurant.

                “I knew you’d come,” Jack said. “We still feel something for each other. I can see it in your eyes.”

                In that moment Miriam decided to be honest for the first time. “You’re right. I do still have feelings for you, but let me set the
            record straight; I would never betray my husband.”

                “That’s what they all say at first!” Jack bragged. “But, we’re all out for the same thing—a good time. Loosen up, Miriam.
            This is 2005. Times have changed. Things that used to be frowned at are now acceptable. Get with the times!”

                “I think I just did get with the times,” Miriam said. “Maybe your moral values have changed, but mine haven’t. Thank you
             for inviting me to lunch, but I can’t stay. Goodbye, Jack. Have a happy life.”

                Miriam cried on the drive home, but the tears were not for what might have been—they were for what could have happened
            if she hadn’t listened to her heart and her conscience.

                She pulled into the driveway at her home. It gave her a sense of peace and happiness and love. Sam had given her something
            Jack never could have done—his loyalty, his love, his commitment. Those words were foreign to Jack, and she wondered why
            she had never noticed that before. Suddenly she realized that Jack would not be occupying her secret thoughts anymore.

                Sam met her at the door. “I came home for lunch and you weren’t here. I know you weren’t expecting me, so it’s all right,
            but where have you been?”

                She hugged him. “I’ve been taking care of some old business.” She tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “Have I told you lately that
             I love you, Mr. Stark?”

                “No, not lately.”

                “Well, I’m telling you now! Come on. Let’s see what we can find for lunch. I’m starving!”

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The Christmas Candy

 

Betty Whitworth

 

                Mary Johnson carefully opened her mail. Her arthritic hands cramped and she winced in pain. “Christmas cards! Why do people
                waste their time and money on sending Christmas cards? You won’t catch me doing that!”

          The doorbell rang. She pushed her round little body up and hobbled to the door, grumbling all the while. “Why can’t a soul just
                have some peace and quiet?”

                She opened the door. “Yeah, what do you want?” she asked her neighbor.

                “I brought you some Christmas candy,” Cindy Preston said. “This is the season for sharing and for making others happy, you
                know!”

                “Well, I don’t know of anything that would make me happy except people leaving me alone!” Mary snapped.

                “Please, take the candy. My children helped make it. They wanted you to have some,” Cindy pleaded. “It would make us happy
                 to share with you.”

                Mary took the candy, mumbled something and closed the door. She hobbled back to her chair by the window.

                “Land sakes, why do people make so much fuss about Christmas anyway? It’s just another day!”

                She looked out the window and saw the Preston family putting out their traditional Christmas scene: a camel, shepherd, sheep,
                man, woman and a manger with a baby inside. One of the Preston boys knelt in the snow in front of the manger. He bowed his head.
                Mary wondered what he was doing, but she shoved the thought out of her mind.

                “People spend too much money at Christmas,” she complained to the empty room. “What’s the big deal anyway? So what if some
                 baby was born about 2000 years ago? Millions of babies have been born since then! I just wish they would have their Christmas and
                 leave me alone!”

                 The next day was Sunday. Mary sat in her chair and listened to the church bells over on Chelsea Street. She remembered going
                 to church as a child and singing along with the choir. That was so long ago. Much had happened to her since then.

                “Who wouldn’t be bitter?” she grumbled. “I’ve lost my two sons, my husband and my only sister in the last 10 years. Before that I lost
                 both my parents and my grandparents. What do I have to be happy about? I’m just an old woman alone in the world. Nobody cares if
                 I live or die. I don’t even care!”

                In the distance she heard carolers coming down the street. “Noel, Noel,” they sang. “We three kings.” “Joy to the World.” She
                listened as they came closer to her house.

                Mary listened to the words of “Joy to the World” and wished she could close her ears. Joy was something she had not known in
                 a very long time. In fact, she wondered if joy was real. It sure wasn’t real in her world.

                That night she sat in her chair and stared at the pretty box of candy Cindy Preston gave her. Mary’s mouth watered at the thought
                of eating a piece, but her stubborn pride refused to let her open the box. She tried to watch television, but her eyes kept going back to that
                box of candy.

                “I guess I should taste it,” she told herself. “I’ll pretend it’s not Christmas candy.”

                She untied the red ribbon and lifted the lid. The fragrance of chocolate, cream and sugar wafted up to her nostrils. Each piece was
                 a little different; some square, some round, some white and some chocolate; some with nuts on top. Her mouth watered at the prospect
                 of sampling the candy. It was hard to choose a piece. They all looked so delicious. Finally she chose one with nuts on top. She touched
                her tongue to the chocolate coating and then she popped the whole candy into her mouth. It was sweet and smooth and creamy. She
                 rolled it around with her tongue.

                A loud knock at the front door startled her. The candy slid down her throat, stuck mid-way and she couldn’t swallow it. She tried
                and tried, but the candy was lodged.

                I’m going to die eating a piece of Christmas candy, she thought.

                Whoever was at the door kept knocking. “Mrs. Johnson, are you all right?” a man’s voice called.

                She got up from her chair and hobbled to the door, struggling to breathe. The pastor of the church on Chelsea Street stood on the porch.

        He jerked the door open when he saw Mary’s contorted face and heard her gasping. “Mrs. Johnson! What’s wrong?"
                    She pointed to her throat and grunted.

            He grabbed her from behind, put his arms around her and quickly jerked. The candy shot out of her mouth and landed on the floor in front
             of the fireplace.

            She gasped and coughed.

            “Mrs. Johnson, I’m so glad I came by tonight. You’ll be all right now. Could I get you a glass of water or something?”

            “No. Have a seat,” she chocked and gestured toward a chair.

            He sat opposite her, leaned forward and took her blue-veined hand. “I’m just making a pastoral call this evening. It’s almost Christmas
             and I thought you might need to see a friendly face.”

            “Christmas means nothing to me!” she spat. “Christmas candy nearly done me in!” She slapped the lid back on the box and handed it to
             the pastor. “Here! I’m not eating anymore of this stuff. It’s a death sentence!”

            He laughed. “I hardly think Christmas had anything to do with what happened to you. But maybe Christmas did have something to
            do with me coming by when I did. It allowed me to save your life.”

            “How do you figure that?”

            “I was feeling Christmas joy this evening and wanted to share that joy with someone else. You came to my mind, so I came over.”

            “Oh. And you think Christmas had something to do with your visit? You visit me every month!”

            “Yes, I do, but I usually come the first week of the month. This time I came at the end of the month.”

            “Well, so what? You probably thought you would be too busy at the first of the month, it being New Year’s and all.”

            “Maybe so, but I still think the wonderful Christmas spirit is why I came at just the right moment. Suppose I hadn’t come when I did?”

            Mary winced. She imagined herself lying on the floor for days before anyone came.

            “You really believe this, don’t you?” she asked.

            “Yes, I really believe this. You see, there is something almost magical about Christmas. It’s a season of miracles! You just received
             a miracle tonight.”

            She smiled. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

            “You should be feeling that special Christmas joy right now!”

            She looked out the window at the illuminated manger scene in the Prestons’ yard. It had been so long since she had felt anything but
             pain and agony. Her mind had been filled with grief and resentment. That manger scene used to make her so angry. Suddenly she realized
             her anger was really directed at God; that scene just reminded her of Him.

            “I’ve been angry for so long,” she cried. “Tonight I feel something different. It’s a good feeling.”

            “It’s Christmas joy, Mrs. Johnson.” He handed the box of candy back to her. “I think you should keep this. Let it remind you of the love
         the person must have felt when she gave it to you. And let me remind you of the love your Heavenly Father has for you, Mary Johnson.”

            She stared at the manger scene a long time before she answered. “I have a lot to think about, Pastor. Thank you for coming. And thank
        you for saving my life.”

            He patted her blue-veined hand. “My pleasure, Mrs. Johnson.”

            Mary sat by the window a long time and looked at the manger scene in the Prestons’ yard. She remembered the Christmas story
         from her childhood. She remembered the joy and excitement she always felt during the Christmas season. It had been such a good feeling to
         give gifts to those she loved.

            With great effort she dragged out of her chair and wobbled across the room to the old cedar chest in the corner. She lifted the lid and
         removed a rag doll. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the Christmas she received that doll. Emotions she had not experienced in a
        long time surfaced. She let the tears roll down her furrowed cheeks. It didn’t matter because she was smiling.

        She sat again, the doll cradled in her arms. With a trembling finger she traced the rosy cheeks and button eyes. “I remember the Christmas
         I got you. That was a long time ago-- back when I liked Christmas.”

        In the distance she heard the church bells on Chelsea Street, and for the first time in many years Mary Johnson did not feel aggravated
         at the sound. She looked at the Christmas scene in the Prestons’ yard and she felt no anger.

        “Here I am an old woman sitting alone in a rocking chair on Christmas Eve,” she said to the dirty faced doll. “And I don’t care; I’m just
         glad to still be here.”

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