“Do you remember which of our panes was damaged?” he asked me.
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“What did the stained glass illustrate?”
I think I knew what he was getting at. It was all too appropriate. “The Madonna and child,” I said.
He nodded knowingly. “Brian, life hands us many challenges, and it's how we react to them that makes us stronger . . . or not. Janey Sullivan is a damaged girl right now, no matter how happily she laughs, no matter how much joy she brings you. To handle all she's had to endure, she's done remarkably well. I credit your guidance. Many adults couldn't handle it, and many men would not have taken on such responsibility. She lost her mother, and right now . . . you, Brian, are that glue. You are what is holding her together. Until she's ready to heal, she remains a fragile being. She may not even be able to control her emotions. If, indeed, she took your ornament, she may not even understand her actions. But to confront her, it would sound accusatory.” He paused. “Children are like glass, Brian.”
I found myself looking at the remaining windows, thirteen stained-glass representations of God, of faith, of the enduring human spirit. They were whole, complete, but any moment that could all change.
“Thank you, Father Burton,” I said. “You're very wise.”
We shook hands, and with my heart heavy, I made my way out of St. Matthew's. Errands complete, I was actually looking forward to getting home.
When I returned to the farmhouse, Father Burton's words continued to reverberate in my mind, and I was hopeful to share his earnest wisdom, if indirectly, with Janey. First, though, I went about emptying my trunk. I hid the lights I'd purchased inside the windmill's closet right alongside Janey's presents, not ready to put into action my plan for them. It was a big project, one that required an early start.
By the time Janey came home from school a couple hours later, with a frowning Ashley in tow, I had completed all my errands and was sitting quietly, doing research on the computer. I wouldn't mind one more errand, however, the idea of driving Ashley home not without appeal. Janey hadn't asked in advance if her friend could come over, but I chose to say nothing as she happily showed off the Christmas tree, informing her friend that she had hung most of the ornaments herself, even the higher ones. She didn't share the fact that I had lifted her up to assist in such a task. It was almost like I hadn't been there to decorate the tree at all. Of course, nothing was said about the one ornament that was missing from our tree.
“Brian was busy while I hung all the ornaments,” she said suddenly. “He was busy talking with his father on the phone.” She made sure that I overheard her. The exaggerated comment, combined with the icy tone in her voice, penetrated my skin and wounded my heart. I left them to play, not wanting to hear anything further. When Ashley's mother came to pick her up, Ashley stuck her tongue out at me. Why didn't I like this child?
Dinner passed without incident, and later, when Janey was getting ready for bed I sat on the edge of the bed as I usually did.
“You had a good day?” I asked her.
“Oh yes. I like when Ashley comes over to play, she's fun to be with,” she said. “And I'm sorry I forgot to tell you she was coming. That wasn't very nice of me.”
I nodded. “Just remember that for the next time.”
“I will, I promise,” she said, and her voice was so filled with sadness I felt a need to cheer her up.
So I told her then about Cynthia's idea of the two of them taking a trip to the mall tomorrow afternoon. Excitement returned to her as she had something to look forward to the next day. Kids, they operated on such a short schedule. Tomorrow was important, but the months and years ahead, they could wait.
“And who knows,” I said, “maybe there'll be a surprise waiting for you when you return.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can you give me a hint?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” I paused before saying, “No.”
“Hey, you faked me out!” she said.
“Consider my surprise something special to dream about,” I said, and then kissed her on the top of her head. As I was leaving her room, I turned back, saw the whites of her eyes staring up at me through the darkness.
“What is it, Janey?” I asked, wondering if this would be the moment of truth for us. She'd already apologized for her thoughtless behavior of bringing Ashley over without asking beforehand. So I had to hope that confession would open the floodgates for more truths.
She hesitated and in the end just shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Yes, Brian. But thanks, I know you're always there for me.”
Despite the conflict that ran through me, I let it go. Let her sleep, we'd talk tomorrow. “Okay. Good night, Janey Sullivan. I love you.”
“Good night, Brian Duncan. I love you more.”
C
HAPTER
21
Janey had been given her instructions: go directly to Cynthia's after school, do not pass “Go,” do not collect two hundred dollars, do not unwrap any presents, and most certainly, do not come to the farmhouse, “because I won't be there when you get home from school.” So I said. That was a necessary little white lie, because the notion of putting up lights all around the windmill was daunting at best and I needed the time to get it done right. No peanut gallery making comments like I'd had to endure from Martha. Decorating the tavern had taken an entire morning, and that wasn't nearly the number of lights I was planning to use for this project. I had a lot of hanging, a lot of stapling ahead of me. Fortunately, the weather chose to cooperate, and the arctic air that had earlier settled over the region these past few days dissipated. Temperatures hung in the high thirties. Melting snow created a bit of slush. Still not ideal, but better than twenty with a wind chill in the teens.
I had all set up all the necessary tools down at the windmill. Two ladders, the staple gun, the lights and extension cords I had bought, as well as a thermos of hot coffee to keep me warm while I toiled all day outside. So at nine o'clock I began to work, and as the clock ticked, the staple gun clicked, and I strung strings of lights all over the great windmillâon the tower, the cap, the tiny windows. What continued to puzzle me was how to get lights on the sails. It was too impossible a task, I considered, since their constant rotation would just get the wires all tangled. It was a logistical problem that continued to elude me as the day progressed, and as lunchtime approached, I was still left without a solution. I took a break and returned to the farmhouse.
I wasn't in the kitchen two minutes before I saw Gerta's car pull up in the driveway. She stepped out, carrying in her hands one of her famous strawberry pies.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I said, opening the front door to admit her. I tried to take the pie from her hands, but she said she could manage.
“Oh, I've made several more for the party, but I knew to save one for you, dear,” she explained, setting it on the kitchen counter before offering up a kiss to my cheek. “My goodness, Brian, you're frozen solid. What have you been doing, sleeping on ice?”
“Hardly. But I have been outside most of the day. You know, you're not the only one with a surprise up their sleeve. For now, though, it remains a secret,” I said. “If you want to come back later todayâafter sundownâyou can see for yourself what I've been doing.”
“Very intriguing, Brian. But very well, I'll let you get on with your surprise. I've got some shopping to do.”
“Got time for lunch first?”
“Are you cooking?” she asked warily.
“I'm getting better at that domestic stuff. Can't exactly order from the corner deli and expect it to be delivered in fifteen minutes. Linden Corners is very definitely not New York. I was only going to make a sandwich. How badly could I mess that up?”
“I suppose I'm about to find out,” she said, taking off her coat and placing it on the back of the chair.
So Gerta joined me for a quick meal of ham and cheese sandwiches, pickles and chips and a cup of tea. She continued to prod me into confessing what I'd been working on. I continued to say nothing, letting my grin toy with her. Eventually she changed the subject.
“Oh, Brian, that reminds me, I meant to talk to you about a matter that has come up. That nice boy Mark Ravens came to see me, asking about the apartment above the bar. Asked me what the rent was. I told him to talk to you about all the details, but he said you had referred him to me. Goodness, what do I know about things such as rent and maintenance? Are utilities included, or are they extra? George handled that kind of stuff. And since you were the previous tenant, I would think you'd have a better sense of how much you paid, certainly more than me. I told Mark I'd get back to him. But really, Brian, I've given you free rein over the tavern. All those decisions are yours.”
“I know, I know, but Gerta, that bar is your family's legacy. I'm just the caretaker. You're the caregiver.”
“I have four daughters, none of whom make Linden Corners their home. What interest do they have in running a bar? Hmm, seems I'm going to have a make a decision after all.”
As we finished our sandwiches, I suggested dessert.
“I know you, Brian Duncan, you're just looking for an excuse to cut into that pie. Don't let me stop you.” She paused and allowed herself a happy smile. “You better cut two pieces.”
Gerta left shortly afterward, and I returned to the windmill with a full belly and a contented feeling. I spent the next three hours putting up the last of the lights, finishing with the railing that encircled the second-level catwalk of the windmill. At last, I was out of lights and had made all the necessary electrical connections. I ran the extension cords inside and plugged them in; thankfully the windmill had working outlets, and I only hoped whatever circuit breaker they were on could handle the amount of power required.
When I had put away all the tools in the barn, I returned to the windmill and ventured upstairs to Annie's studio. I gazed about, sensing her presence inside.
“Well, Annie, I don't know what kind of traditions you and Janey had when it came to the windmill, but, well, here's a new one, I hope. New traditions are good, they give you a sense that, even though it's the first time, there is intent for something longer, something everlasting. I only wish I could have found a way to light up the sails. How beautiful they would have looked turning against the dark sky.”
It was good that I had finished my lengthy task. Darkness was settling upon the region. I returned to the farmhouse to wait out Janey's return, and at six thirty I heard tires crunching against the driveway. I went out to meet Cynthia and Janey, and like clockwork, behind them in pulled Gerta. She had run into them at the mall, conveniently enough.
“Sorry we're late. Janey wanted to watch the little kids visit Santa,” Cynthia said.
“And then Gerta walked right past us. What a surprise to see her there,” Janey said.
“Well, I'm glad you're all here. I have something to show you.”
“So you've said. I told Cynthia and Janey, and we all hightailed it over here. So, Windmill Man,” Gerta said, “what's the surprise?”
“Follow me,” I said.
And they did, the four of us trekking through the snowy field and down the hill, the moon guiding us on this black night. Cynthia asked for Janey's hand, and together the two of them trailed after me and Gerta. They almost looked like mother and daughter, bundled up against the falling temperatures. Winter had officially arrived today, and snow was once again in the forecast.
“Okay, stay there. I'll be right back,” I said to the three ladies in my life, feeling like a kid at Christmas who couldn't wait for someone to open a gift I'd given them. Because I knew how special it was and I wanted to share it with them.
I dashed inside the windmill. The surge protector was turned off, but the extension cords were already plugged in. All it took was one flick of the switch, and I readied my finger, praying that this went off in real life as successfully as it had in my mind. Why hadn't I attempted a trial run? Because I didn't want to see it by myselfâit was a thing to share. So I hoped that all went as planned. Then I quickly depressed the red button and even though I was inside the darkened windmill, suddenly I was cast in a warm, glowing bath of light. From outside I heard loud exclamations, like a crowd reacting to a spectacular fireworks display. I ran back out and rejoined them, all of us staring upward. The windmill was lit up like a giant spinning angel, set deep against the heavens.
“Oh, Brian . . .”
“Wow . . .”
“Sweet Lord . . .”
So said Cynthia, Janey, and Gerta, respectively. As they reacted just the way I had anticipated, clapping, talking, pointing, I studied my daylong handiwork.
The windmill was ablaze with white light from top to bottom, hundreds of twinkling stars adorning its quiet façade, as though they had fallen from the sky to brighten our path on this darkest of nights. And even though the sails themselves had no lights upon them, what I'd inadvertently and unexpectedly created was a magical shadow effect, with the bright glare of the lights that covered the tower emitting strong, powerful beams that, set against the dark blanket of night, were thrust through the open slats of the sails. The wind picked up and the sails turned, and then the light flickered against the ground, shadows dancing amidst us. The effect was more than I could have wished for, and as the light reflected against our awed faces, I couldn't help but think of Annie Sullivan, of her special spirit and how it continued to inspire me and feed me enduring strength. As if sharing my thoughts about her momma, Janey came to my side and wrapped her arms around me. I held her tight, and for a moment the world consisted of only the two of us, Janey Sullivan and Brian Duncan, she who called this home, me who once was just passing through this magical town and now could also call it home, and in our eyes and our hearts was Annie, the woman who had singly, miraculously brought us together. Annie had blessed us today. It was the shortest day of the year, one I wished could have lasted forever.