there in the room in the first place.
Helen had laid there, tears leaking from her eyes, so desperately wanting to call him back. At some point she must have drifted back into a deep sleep. When she woke the following morning, she was convinced she had somehow fabricated the entire episode. She reasoned this sort of thing didn’t happen, that it had all been part of her grief and her imagination. She’d missed him and dreamed he’d come to her.
Suddenly, she rationalized that if Mrs. Miracle was an angel, the way she claimed to be, then certainly she would know the truth of that night.
“Robert came to me one night, didn’t he?” she said, closely watching the other woman’s expression, seeking any telltale sign.
“He did. It was his way of letting you know he was happy, and that he deeply loved you.”
Helen blinked back tears. “I miss him, even now.”
Mrs. Miracle’s arm came around Helen. “I know you do. That’s the price we pay when we love. It’s joy and loss all wrapped up in one package. The thing you need to hold on to, and Laurel, too, is that while the heart may shatter into a thousand pieces, the soul remains intact.”
Perhaps it was all the emotion that she felt at that moment, all this talk about Robert. Whatever it was, Helen suddenly felt terribly light-headed and needed to sit down. She feared if she didn’t, she might collapse.
Mrs. Miracle gently and carefully guided Helen to her favorite chair without her having to ask for help.
“Let me get you some tea,” the other woman said, disappearing into the kitchen. Helen could hear her bustling about, the click of the gas burner being turned on, the opening and closing of cupboard doors, and the kettle whistling.
Helen closed her eyes while she waited. Tea had been her dear mother’s solution to nearly every problem. When James, her brother, had been in a fight at school, her mother had greeted her father at the door with a cup of tea upon his return from a long day in the fields. Only then did she break the news. Or if a bad grade at school deeply distressed her mother, the hot water was put on for tea. And when a neighbor stopped by to bemoan the loss of her husband’s job? Doubly strong tea. Her mother once told her that every problem in life could be settled with three things: a hot cup of tea, enough time, and God’s wisdom.
Mrs. Miracle returned shortly with the steaming tea, served in an antique china teacup that had belonged to Helen’s mother.
“Drink this and rest. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
Helen did as she was told. The flavor was richer than anything she’d had before, but she didn’t question the contents. In no time at all, it seemed, she was herself again, energized and ready to get on with her day. She suddenly felt the desire to venture out and explore the town, especially now that she had her own personal angel to escort her. It’d been a few years since she’d gone shopping with her granddaughter.
“How about doing a bit of Christmas shopping?” Helen suggested. “It’s been so long since I’ve gone into town, and there’s no better time than the present.”
Mrs. Miracle smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
They waited until mid-morning and then caught the bus to the downtown shopping district. The streets were filled with shoppers, the air festive with the sound of the bell-ringers. A vendor stood on the corner selling hot chestnuts, bringing back childhood memories for Helen. She paused, sure she could smell cinnamon blended in with the smell of freshly cut evergreens.
They walked arm in arm toward Pacific Place, the shopping mall in the heart of downtown Seattle. A group of carolers strolled past, dressed in Victorian costumes, complete with fur mufflers and long wool coats. The men wore top hats and knitted scarves. Helen and Mrs. Miracle paused to listen to the singers’ harmonizing voices until they faded as they rounded the corner.
“This is everything that I remember about Christmas,” Helen said, pausing to look inside the Nordstrom windows at the long line of parents with impatient children awaiting their turn to visit Santa.
Helen recalled taking Laurel here for her picture the first Christmas she’d come to live with them, despite the ten-year-old’s protests that she was too old. The pictures that were returned to them in the mail spoke volumes of the grief lingering