The Gift of Christmas Present Read online

  © 2004 by Melody Carlson

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3912-9

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Scripture is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Christmas Past: the gift we keep with us forever

  Christmas Future: the gift that is yet to come

  Christmas Present: the gift we open today

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Christine studied the tall brick house from the sidewalk. Not unlike the other prestigious homes in this dignified university neighborhood, and yet somehow this one seemed different. She glanced down the tree-lined street to survey the other houses. Obviously, these were old and established residences, not anything like the houses in the neighborhood she’d grown up in, where houses popped up almost overnight, like mushrooms, her father liked to say, and where landscaping was minimal and trees were immature and spindly at best. No, this influential neighborhood appeared well established in both history and wealth. And for some reason that irked her.

  But why did this house feel different than the others that lined the street? Was it an aura of heaviness? A feeling of sadness? Or perhaps it was simply the lack of Christmas decorations. No bright evergreen wreath hung on its stark black door. And no cheerful lights helped to relieve the foggy gloom of the late afternoon dusk. She walked up the neat brick walk and rang the doorbell, afraid that to hesitate one more moment might compel her to turn back and abandon this crazy stunt altogether.

  After what seemed several minutes, the door slowly opened and the face of an older woman with steely blue eyes and silver hair peered through the slit of the open door.

  “Yes?” Her voice had the sound of gravel in it, like someone who had smoked for many years.

  “Hello . . . Mrs. Daniels? I’m . . . I’m Christine Bradley—”

  “You’re late,” the woman snapped as she leaned forward on an aluminum crutch to see Christine better. Then she opened the door a little wider to reveal a foot wrapped in elastic bandage. She glared at the girl. “And you may as well know right from the start that I absolutely will not tolerate lateness.”

  “Late?” Christine said, feeling slightly off balance but curious just the same.

  “Yes, the agency said you’d be here an hour ago. And I was just about ready to give up on you completely.”

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Christine tried her best to smile, deciding to go along with this strange woman’s charade, for the moment anyway. At least it delayed the inevitable, which suddenly seemed a good thing, especially since Mrs. Daniels appeared rather abrupt and foreboding, not to mention rude.

  “Well, come in here, and close that dang door behind you. I can’t afford to heat the entire neighborhood. Despite what some people may think, I have to live within my means.”

  Christine quickly shut the door, careful not to slam it lest she be chided for that as well. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Daniels, but I have to explain—”

  “Look, don’t waste my time on apologies or explanations, you’re probably not right for the job anyway. Just hang your coat there and then come into the living room and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.” Mrs. Daniels hobbled on her crutches toward a leather club chair, then eased herself down with a loud sigh. “This ankle! I don’t know how I could’ve been so clumsy as to sprain it.”

  “How did you—”

  “Never mind that! I’m the one asking the questions here.” She stared openly at Christine as if she were summing her up and finding her lacking. Then she waved her hand as if to dismiss her altogether. “First of all, you’re much too young. How old are you, anyway? Sixteen?”

  “I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”

  Mrs. Daniels shook her head. “Well, I wanted an older woman. Someone more responsible. You do understand this is a full-time position, don’t you? And it’s going to include some evenings as well. I don’t want some flighty young thing who thinks she can come and go as she pleases or take off early just because she has a date. I simply won’t tolerate it.”

  You don’t tolerate much, Christine thought, but instead she said, “To be honest, I really don’t go out much. The Wednesday night worship service, occasionally. But that’s about it.”

  “You’re a church girl, then?” Mrs. Daniels’s brows lifted with a faint flicker of interest, but her cold blue eyes still looked at Christine as if she could see right through this impromptu deception.

  Christine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. What in the world was she doing here? And why on earth had she allowed their conversation to reach this weird place. “Uh, Mrs. Daniels, I need to tell—”

  “Just where are your references?” It sounded like an accusation.

  “References?” Christine studied this woman’s soured expression and decided to continue with the charade.

  Mrs. Daniels ran her hand through her short-cropped hair and rolled her eyes in irritation. “Don’t they teach you young people anything these days? When you come for a job interview, you’re supposed to bring references. I suppose you don’t have any. Have you ever held a job before?”

  “Actually, I did work at McDonald’s during high school, for nearly two years.”

  Mrs. Daniels laughed but with no mirth. “Now, that’s real handy. Maybe you could go into the kitchen there and whip me up a Big Mac for dinner. Good grief, girl, do you know anything about housekeeping?”

  “Housekeeping?”

  “Oh, I don’t know why I’m even bothering with you, Miss . . . Miss—what was your name again?”

  “Christine. Christine Bradley.”

  “Right.” Her eyes narrowed. “Well, Miss Bradley, tell me, do you even know the difference between a mop and a broom?”

  Christine nodded slowly. “I did keep house for my father during the last six years.” A lump grew in her throat as she suddenly realized how much she missed him as well as the familiarity of her previous home.

  Mrs. Daniels looked skeptical. “And what did your mother do?”

  “My mother died,” Christine said quietly. Twice, she thought.

  “Oh, well, that’s too bad.” Mrs. Daniels seemed to soften just a little. “But at least it seems you do know how to keep house, then?”

  Christine nodded again, ready to end this ludicrous interview, but not quite ready to divulge her true identity to this antago
nistic woman. How could someone this cold, this calculating, actually be her genetic grandmother? Perhaps she’d made a mistake somewhere, gotten it all wrong. But she knew that was impossible. Without a doubt this must be the right woman. It was the right address, the right town, the right name. But just the same it was all wrong. Terribly wrong!

  “Mrs. Daniels,” Christine began again. “I really need to—”

  “Well, I really need you to write down those references for me, and if they meet my satisfaction, and if no one better shows up, well, then you can start work right away. My daughter-in-law is wearing on my nerves these days. And she said just today that she can’t keep this up forever, especially during the holidays, which is perfectly fine by me. The less I see of that woman, the happier I’ll be. For the life of me, I still can’t see why my stepson ever married someone like her to begin with.”

  That must be my uncle, Christine thought. Although her father had never mentioned anything about Lenore’s other siblings. But then maybe he was a stepuncle. She wasn’t sure. And her father hadn’t really known much about her birth family in the first place, other than the name and the town, and that had been discovered only recently and quite by coincidence.

  “And those grandkids aren’t anything to brag about either. A couple of spoiled brats, if you ask me, always whining and complaining and getting underfoot.”

  “But how fortunate you are to have family that—”

  “Fortunate?” Mrs. Daniels scowled. “Why, they’re just waiting for me to croak so they can inherit all this.” She waved her hand around, then laughed in a sharp, cynical way. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. And, just so you’ll know, Miss Bradley, just in case you’re thinking you can sneak in here and steal from the old broad, well, you’d better think again. I may be pushing eighty, but I’ve still got all my marbles up here.” She pointed to her head. “Not that my family thinks so. I’m sure they’d love to declare me senile and have me committed to some old folks home to whither away and die.” She leaned forward and peered at Christine. “Felicity didn’t send you here, did she?”

  “Felicity?” Christine said, feeling more and more like she’d just stepped into the twilight zone.

  “My daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Daniels said with a frown. “That girl is out to get me. I just know it.”

  “But why?” Despite her reservations and a longing to escape this cantankerous woman, Christine felt herself being reeled in. She sensed there was a reason that Mrs. Daniels was so bitter and jaded. And she wanted to know what it was.

  “Like I said, they’re after my money.” She got a sly smile, as if she were keeping a secret. “And that’s perfectly fine with me. I plan to keep stringing them along just to ensure that they show me a bit of respect during my final years. I’m sure that’s the only reason they even attempt to be nice to me—thinking I’m going to leave my vast fortune to them.” She laughed again, only this time the hollow sound seemed to echo with sadness as it reverberated through the impeccably decorated rooms of the large, quiet house.

  Inexplicably, and to her own irritation, Christine felt a real wave of pity for this embittered woman. And although it seemed impossible to think they were actual blood relatives, she felt some strange kind of connection.

  “Okay, Mrs. Daniels, I’ll write down my references for you. I can give you my pastor’s name and number, and my manager at McDonald’s. I could give you my father’s phone number too, but he recently left the country to teach at a mission base down in Brazil. Will just two names be enough?”

  “I guess it’ll have to do. But mark my word, young lady, in the future if you should ever apply for a job again, you had better bring your references along with you!” With a loud groan, she pulled herself to her feet and then struggled for her crutches. “Young people nowadays!”

  Christine stood too. “So when do you want me to come?”

  “Well, Felicity is coming back today. Why don’t you come tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp, but not a minute before since I don’t get up until eight. And if you can promise to come tomorrow, I can tell Felicity that she no longer needs to bother herself with me. Actually, I’ve been telling them both that since I got home from the emergency room last Saturday, but do they listen to me? Ha! Not on your life.” The woman arranged her crutches beneath her arms, then hobbled away without even saying good-bye or seeing Christine to the door.

  Christine pulled a small notebook out of her purse, neatly wrote down the references, and left them on the gleaming mahogany table in the foyer. Then quietly she slipped on her parka and let herself out the front door. It was already getting dark outside, and she shivered against the cooling temperature. She hurried down the walk and questioned what she was getting herself into. But then again she had wondered what she’d do with herself during Christmas break. Surely this would be a holiday she’d never forget.

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay on your own during the holidays?” Christine’s roommate asked as she shoved her dirty clothes into a laundry sack. “We’ve got a full house, but you’re welcome to come home with me if you don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

  Christine picked up a dirty sock and tossed it into Brianna’s rapidly filling bag. “Thanks anyway, but I’ve taken a job during the holidays.”

  “You’re going to work during Christmas?”

  She nodded. “It should be pretty interesting too.”

  Brianna frowned as she attempted to tie the bulging bag closed. “Sounds like a drag to me. But then I’ve never found work to be terribly engaging.”

  Christine didn’t say anything, but she knew firsthand this was true. She’d only just met Brianna at the beginning of fall term, when they’d been paired off to share a room, but in the past few months she’d witnessed up close and personal how this less-than-motivated girl allowed her side of the room to pile up until she practically needed a snow shovel to unearth her bed.

  “Well, you have fun now,” Brianna said with a bright smile.

  “Thanks,” Christine said, although fun hardly seemed the appropriate word to describe her new housekeeping job for the demanding Mrs. Daniels. “And you have a good Christmas with your family,” she called as Brianna struggled to get out the door, loaded down with her backpack and laundry bag.

  Christine lingered in the unusually quiet hallway for a few moments. It was amazing how quickly the place had evacuated following finals. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was the only one left on this floor by now. Finally she went back into her room, closed the door, and locked it. She glanced around the small space and told herself that she should appreciate these next few weeks of peace and quiet. And yet somehow she knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple.

  She sat down at her desk and reopened her father’s latest letter. He was writing only weekly now, if that. When he’d first arrived down there, she’d gotten letters from him almost every other day. She thumbed through the recent photos he’d sent. His tanned face looked years younger and more relaxed than it had in ages. In fact, he hardly appeared to be sixty-four. She felt certain this must be the result of his new teaching position down at the mission in Brazil.

  “It’s always been a lifetime dream of mine,” he’d confessed to her last year. “Long ago, back when I was still in college, back before I met your mother, I seriously considered becoming a foreign missionary. For some reason I fancied the idea of South America. I suppose it was because of all those missionary books I’d been reading. But I’d sent for the mission information and had even begun filling out an application.”

  “And then you met Mom and decided to get married instead?” Christine had asked.

  “It didn’t seem like such a difficult decision at the time. Once I met your mother, I knew she was all I’d ever wanted. It felt as if she brought everything I’d ever missed into my world.” He’d smiled. “And she made my life seem more alive and happy and full.”

  “You were really in love, weren’t you.”

  Christine had alw
ays enjoyed hearing her dad talk about their romance—how he had just been starting out in his teaching profession and her mother had been a registered nurse, how they’d met at church and fallen in love almost instantly. It was straight out of a storybook. And she still hoped that someday she’d have a similar experience herself. Although so far it didn’t seem terribly likely.

  “I was so completely smitten,” he’d confessed last year, “that I forgot all about wanting to be a foreign missionary. I was just happy to have a good job at the local elementary school, to marry your sweet little mother, and to live happily ever after.”

  “But are you happy now?” she’d asked. “In your work, I mean.”

  He’d frowned slightly. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  “Then why don’t you do it?” she’d said suddenly. “Why don’t you just go for it, Dad? Revive your old dream and just do it. I mean, lots of people your age take off to do something different. And you’ve been saying you’re going to take early retirement ever since Mom died, but you keep putting it off.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were settled,” he’d said. “I wanted to be here for you during your first years of college.”

  “And you’ve done that, Dad. But you know I’ll be transferring to the university for my junior year. I won’t even be living at home after next summer.” She’d looked around the familiar kitchen, memorizing the cheerful yellow and white checked wallpaper her mother had hung back when Christine was still in grade school. “You know, Dad, you could even sell the house if you wanted. I mean, I’d totally understand.”

  “Oh, no, no.” He’d waved his hand. “I wouldn’t do that, Christine. Where would you come home to during your vacation times?”

  But, as it turned out, he’d leased the house, for just two years, but there’d also been talk of signing an option to buy, although Christine wasn’t sure about that. Still, it had seemed the sensible thing to do at the time, what with her off at college and him planning to be out of the country. And Christine had assured him that she would be perfectly fine on her own. She’d had a part-time job, a partial scholarship, and faith that God would see her through. So far so good.