The Gift of the Twin Houses Page 11

  “I think it’s time for the tart. I’ll bring it in. Just be a minute in the kitchen.” I made a quick escape. By the time I reached the kitchen, my breathing came in spasms, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I didn’t want him to even imagine my lonely and uneventful life. I didn’t want to see myself that way, and the old Sarah wasn’t someone I wished to introduce to him. I ran the warm water in the sink and placed my hands under it, hoping to feel my nana’s warmth and reassurance.

  “Can I help?” Conrad stood right behind me.

  “Oh, you startled me. Please, go back and sit down. I can handle this bit. Just getting some water to warm the knife so that I can cut the tart,” I managed to say, and surprised myself by how cleverly I’d gotten out of my juvenile panic attack.

  “I’d rather be here with you. I’ll hold it down while you cut,” he said as he smiled.

  So I warmed the knife, cut a piece of the tart, and put it on a plate.

  Conrad, fork in hand, picked up the plate and took the long-anticipated first bite.

  “Sorry, I just couldn’t wait,” he said with a mouthful.

  I watched his face as he savored the tart. I hadn’t tasted it and hoped it was as good as my nana’s. Then I saw him blush.

  “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious. Oh boy! It’s...no words can describe it.” He took another bite, then another, and another. “It’s embarrassing the feelings it brings up,” he said as he blushed with pleasure. “Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked between bites.

  “Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you like this. It’s just wonderful to see you enjoy it so much.” I took a bite and felt myself redden as well. I closed my eyes and savored the memories that flashed through me.

  Nana had invaded our senses.

  When I recovered, I asked, “Would you like coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

  “What did you drink when you ate the tart with your nana?”

  “Milk.”

  “Then milk it is.”

  We took our milk along with the rest of the tart to the living room and settled in to enjoy our dessert and the memories the ornaments evoked.

  We spent the rest of the evening slowly decorating our Christmas tree. He would pick up an ornament and share its story, and then I’d do the same.

  We reminisced how our grandmothers had shared with us how to make little reindeer out of clothespins, Christmas characters out of small pieces of wood, wreaths of yarn or leaves and pinecones, silver bells out of cans, angels out of cotton, and many, many, more.

  Our ornaments were not spectacular or exquisitely made. They were awkward, imperfect, and absolutely wonderful. They reflected the love and happiness each and every one experienced when they were created.

  Conrad had placed a couple of strings of Christmas lights before we decorated the tree, and when we were done hanging all the ornaments, he suggested we step back to admire the tree before we turned the little lights on.

  “Two completely different households made these ornaments, and they’re compatible. Isn’t that something?” And he reached for my hand.

  My heart skipped. His hand was warm and soft. I felt my hand gently close on his, and enjoyed the hold he had on me.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “they’re comfortable with one another.”

  “Like us.”

  He turned, tenderly drew me toward him, and kissed me.

  A kiss of love, a kiss of tenderness, a kiss that lasts an eternity. I felt transported to heaven, suspended inside the sensation of unconditional love, enchantment, and eternal bliss.

  When our lips separated, our eyes met and said all we needed to say to one another. We smiled in recognition of our silent exchange and turned to see our tree as he slid his arm around my waist and held me close to him.

  “It’s the most beautiful Christmas tree in the world.” I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Certainly in our world. Ready for the lights?”

  I nodded, and he turned on the lights. The house sighed with delight.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  We snuggled on the sofa, his arm around my shoulders, and for a while, silently enjoyed our tree.

  “I think our grandmothers would like our tree,” I said.

  “Would you make another tart for tomorrow and for every day until Christmas, just like your nana used to do?”

  “Of course. But you’ll have to come over every day to enjoy it.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  We finished our evening welcoming love into our hearts.

  Chapter 14

  Alyana

  When Conrad left that magical night, he offered to bring outdoor Christmas lights the next day to dress up the house. If he left work no later than two, there would be plenty of daylight remaining to hang them. Our good-bye kiss had been gentle and tender, sharing the knowledge of many more to come.

  I slept the sleep of a child, unencumbered by the problems life sends our grownup way, unburdened by the insecurities of an adult mind, free of worries and apprehension, at peace with the world around me.

  The next morning I woke up refreshed and full of energy. I had so much to look forward to. I turned on the Christmas-tree lights, sat there, sipped my coffee, and enjoyed the silence of the early winter morning. What a glorious time of day, when only my dreams lingered and I could hear the little noises of the house and its surroundings as they lazily woke up.

  I enjoyed the sparkling Christmas tree in silence for at least an hour before the morning sun began to rise and caress the high branches of the trees, its rays bringing with them the gift of life and warmth. Sunrise in the Cascades is a masterpiece of colors and sounds that merge into a remarkable symphony that penetrates every pore in one’s body. Sometimes it presents itself in gray tones with muted sounds, other times silently dancing in the whiteness of the snow, and at times bursting in so many colors that its rhapsody infiltrates the core of one’s being. Today was such a morning, filled with colors, its shine caressing my house and my soul.

  At fifty-six I was falling in love like a teenager and experiencing those emotions I’d only heard my friends talk about. I’d never actually fallen in love before—too frightened to open myself up to such risky feelings that just might unleash that antenna of mine. I’d tiptoed around them to fit in, even going as far as accepting a marriage proposal, only to pull away again. After that debacle, I’d only read about love, witnessed it in the eyes of newlyweds, saw it in the movies, or observed it in countless couples that walked by me hand in hand. Now, I’d given myself completely to the bliss and tenderness that genuine love offered.

  Even so, the dread and insecurity of losing it were also present. The old Sarah would’ve given into this fear and run away to keep me safe and secure. These types of feelings are too dangerous. They’re uncontrollable, she would’ve said and spent hours going over the millions of what-ifs destined to ruin any hint of happiness and love—all in the name of preserving the fortress around me that kept the antenna under wraps. The new Sarah, however, wouldn’t run away. Instead, she fully embraced these emotions, comfortable with their contradictions, willing to travel the paths ahead, whatever might come.

  I went about my day content and filled with anticipation. I played a CD from my Neil Diamond collection and did my chores singing along as I’d done many times before. However, this time something felt different, quite different actually. All of a sudden, I realized that as I sang along, I felt the lyrics. How about that? Before, I had intellectually heard the words, but today, I experienced them. What a delight to be part of a love song and surrender to its soft embrace.

  I finished baking a couple of tarts, and as I was about to take one to the store for Alyana and Tom, the doorbell rang. Alyana stood there with her little ones.

  “Hi, Sarah. Papa said to come by and see the Christmas tree. Is this a good time?”

  “Of course, come right in. I was about to leave to go
down to the store and give Tom a tart I baked for you. You saved me a trip. Hope you like it. My nana used to bake it every Christmas. ”

  The little ones ran into the house as we stood by the front door exchanging adult greetings. By the time I closed the door, they were already in front of the tree admiring it.

  “Thanks. It sure smells nice, this tart of yours. Papa couldn’t stop talking about it this morning. French, he said.”

  “It’s almost time for lunch; could you all stay? I can fix some sandwiches, and then we can have a bite of tart with milk for dessert.”

  “We don’t want to impose, Sarah. We just came by to take a quick peek at the tree. Papa’s so proud of it. He hasn’t put up a Christmas tree since Tom and I got married. We’re both real happy that he’s back into the swing of Christmas again.”

  After a bit of coaxing, she agreed to stay. Elan and Nina were literally spellbound as our Christmas ornaments worked their magic on them. I took a couple of ornaments from the tree and gave one to each. “This one I made when I was little with my grandmother, whom I called Nana. It looks like a Christmas present, doesn’t it? Can you guess what’s inside?” I asked Nina as I handed it to her. “This one, your papa made when he was little. It’s a reindeer.” Elan took it and smiled as I asked, “Can you guess what it’s made of?” “Yeah. Wood and berries for eyes. Right?”

  “Be real careful with them,” Alyana cautioned.

  “It’s all right Alyana; don’t worry. They’re pretty sturdy. You’re right, Elan. Your papa made that one with your great-grandmother Angela.”

  “Wow, old.”

  While we fixed lunch, the children kept themselves entertained guessing how all the ornaments were made and which grandmother or great-grandmother had helped make them. We ate in the living room in front of the Christmas tree as I told them the story of each ornament.

  “These angels my nana and I made with some pretty white satin cloth, and we sewed some beautiful white lace on top.”

  “Eyes closed. Why?” Nina ran her little fingers over their eyes.

  “I was about eight when we made them and had just learned how to sew. You can see that their eyes are just a few stitches made with red thread.” “They’re singing,” Elan announced.

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Their mouths are like this.” She puckered her lips.

  Nina ran her finger over their mouths. “I can’t hear them.”

  “If you imagine they’re singing, then you can hear whatever song you wish, like the song that’s now playing. Can you hear them singing it?”

  Elan laughed. “That’s silly, Sarah. They’re not singing; it’s the CD.”

  I turned the music off and asked again. “Now can you imagine them singing?

  Nina put the ornaments close to her ears. “Yeah.”

  Elan laughed and shook his head. “No you can’t either, it’s just—”

  “It’s about imagining,” I interrupted before his sister jumped on him, “not actually hearing. Just as you do when you play with your toys.”

  “I guess.”

  “My nana and I used to listen to Christmas songs and sing along as we made the ornaments, so we just imagined our little angels were singing. If you let your imagination go, you can believe anything you wish. Right?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Yes, you can,” his sister insisted with both angels glued to her ears.

  I took two reindeer ornaments from the tree. “This is the ornament I first gave you, and this other one was also made by your papa. Can you tell me the difference between them?”

  “This one is made with clothespins, his eyes are buttons, and his clothes are glued, not painted.” He paused as he examined the reindeer. “It’s Rudolf! It has a soft red nose.”

  “You’re great at seeing the difference. Now, imagine that Rudolf meets this other reindeer on the road and—”

  “What’s his name?” Nina joined in.

  “I don’t know. Papa didn’t tell me, but we can make one up for now.” “Peter,” Elan said.

  “Good. What would Rudolf say to Peter if they met on the road?”

  “He’d say hello.”

  “OK. Nina, you imagine Rudolf and Peter. What would they say to each other?”

  “You be Peter, Sarah,” Nina ordered.

  “Nina, be quiet.” Elan furrowed his forehead. “I’m imagining. You’re hearing the angels. It’s my turn to imagine.” Elan placed both reindeer on the table facing each other. “Hello, Peter, guess where I’m going? Hi, Rudolf. You’re going to help Santa. No, not right now. First I’m going to eat some tart. I’m going to Sarah’s house. You want to come with me and get a bite? Yes, let’s go!”

  We burst out laughing. “Nicely done, Elan,” his mother said. “But first let’s finish lunch.”

  “Tell us more imagine.” Nina crawled on my lap.

  “Well, let’s take a look at each ornament. We’ll guess how they were made, and then we’ll imagine them talking, dancing, singing, or doing something fun.”

  The little ones were delighted with the stories we made up, and when I finished, they wanted me to start all over again.

  “You’re a great storyteller, Sarah,” Alyana said.

  It felt wonderful. I liked remembering how each ornament had been created and hoped I’d done a good service in the telling of those that Conrad had made.

  “Ready for a slice of apple tart with a glass of milk?” I asked.

  Their little faces lit up with every bite. Alyana kept humming with every morsel. Of course the children wanted more, but they needed to wait until after dinner to share the remaining tart with their dad.

  After lunch we played with a couple of ornaments, and I promised them we would make six ornaments together, one for everyone in our family. No sooner had I said “our family” than the old Sarah popped up to shame me. How dare you count yourself among their lovely family?

  But her outburst didn’t last long. Outnumbered, she retreated as quickly as she’d appeared. Neither Alyana nor the children reacted negatively. Truth be told, they didn’t react at all. Six ornaments were just fine with them, and they considered me a part of the family as well.

  “Sarah, would it be too much trouble if I put them down for a nap? If they don’t take a quick snooze, they’ll be impossible this evening when Tom gets home.”

  I couldn’t have been happier to oblige as I helped the little ones onto my bed and covered them with my nana’s favorite blanket. They didn’t fuss or complain about taking a nap in a house different than theirs. They seemed quite at ease being in my house and sleeping on my bed.

  I encouraged Alyana to relax on the sofa and put her feet up. She’d be giving birth in a few months and looked a bit tired. She started to protest with the typical grownup excuses, about not being ladylike to put your feet up, and other such foolish social norms. But I would have none of it, and finally she gave up and settled comfortably in.

  “It’s great to have you in the family, Sarah. I certainly welcome the company of another woman.”

  “Well, I’m not so sure about being part of your family quite yet, but I’m delighted to be with all of you.”

  The old Sarah had snuck by me and put up the barrier just in case the whole thing came crashing down. But Alyana wasn’t worried about it. She just went on and welcomed me into her past.

  “Oh, you’ve been embraced by this family as easily as I was when I married Tom. Papa saw to that. I’d been alone for a long time before I met Tom, and being received into their household with such unconditional affection was lovely. Papa may have told you that I’m adopted.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Not much to tell, really. My parents adopted me as a baby, and they were quite elderly, so I always knew I’d be alone in the end.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t get me wrong. It’s not about being sad or any of that. I had a wonderful childhood. My parents showered me with lo
ve and gave me many good years. I’ve nothing to complain about. There are plenty of kids in the world who aren’t as loved by their natural parents as I was by my adoptive parents. What I meant was that since they were in their late sixties when they adopted me, they prepared me for when they would be gone. And sure enough, they both passed on before I graduated from high school. I was pretty much on my own for several years until I met Tom.”

  “Do you know anything at all about your birth parents?”

  “Only that my mother was sixteen and couldn’t raise me. Nothing about my father.”

  “Do you want to know more? Are you curious?”

  “No, not really. When I was younger I was more curious, but the older I got the less interested I became. I’d like to know about my genetic makeup, and what type of medical history my birth parents had, for my kids’ sake. But in the end, I’m more content as I am than if I were to find out something I don’t care to know. If there is anything I am destined to know, I will. My adoptive parents helped me see that. My presence gave them immense joy and happiness in their later years. They bathed me with love and support and offered great spiritual guidance. Their teachings made me the person I am today, and for that I’m eternally thankful to them. Losing them was hard. I loved them so.”

  “What did you do after they passed away?”

  “I lived with my cousins. After I graduated from high school, I went away to college to become a nurse, the best career I could’ve picked. I love helping others, and coupled with the fact that in college I had to work really hard, I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. My studies absorbed me. I did have a few friends and dated a couple of times, but I felt lonely nonetheless. I missed the company of my parents. In terms of love, none of the guys I dated made my heart stir.”

  “I know what you mean. Were you worried?”

  “Not really. I just waited. Then Tom broke his leg skiing, and I happened to be on duty in the emergency room when he came in. I think you could say it was love at first sight. Papa says that he caught our eyes speaking to one another, and in that instant he witnessed us falling in love.”