The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,70
to Come.’ I read the first page of the manuscript. “This is really good.”
“Finish it, Noel. It was his fondest hope.”
I put the page back and closed the box. “I don’t know if I’m up to it.”
“He thought you were,” she said. “And I’m certain he’ll collaborate with you. Every writer has a muse.”
“Thank you.” We embraced. “Thank you for everything.”
“It’s been my pleasure. And I do hope we have a standing date for next Christmas Eve. I hate to think of spending it alone for the rest of my life.”
“It’s a date,” I said.
I lifted the box, and she watched as I carried it out to my snow-covered car. When I was halfway down the walk she suddenly shouted, “Oh, Noel.”
I turned back. “Yes?”
“For God’s sake, give Wendy her job back.”
I laughed. “I’m on it.”
CHAPTER fifty–five
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees!
O hear the angel voices!
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born
It was my birthday. I woke with a song from the mass playing in my head: “O Holy Night.” When I was young my father would replace that last refrain with my name. Maybe it’s sacrilegious, but he’d celebrate my birthday by singing, “O night when Noel was born.”
I had incredibly painful memories of Christmases without my mother, especially the year I lost her, but I had let them eclipse the many, many fond ones we’d shared.
Not this morning. While my heart ached for all I’d lost, there was also a sweetness for what I’d found. For the first time in years I didn’t feel so incredibly alone. I felt light and hopeful. As the song said, “a thrill of hope.” Truth had entered my heart, and just like that I was born again. And with that renaissance came purpose. I had things to do.
I went to my father’s stationery drawer and took out a sheet of his most beautiful paper. I took it to the kitchen table and wrote a letter to my father—something I should have done years earlier. I put the finished letter in an envelope, then showered and got ready for the day. There were people I needed to see.
I opened the front door and was braced by the cold fresh air. The homes up and down my street were quiet. The only sign of life was a plume of smoke rising from the chimney of the house across the street.
My first stop was the cemetery. Except for an old Volkswagen minivan a few streets over from me, I was alone. The stark white of the cemetery was accented by the offerings left behind from earlier visitors: the bright crimson leaves of poinsettias and the evergreen of wreaths.
The snow I walked through was nearly up to my knees. When I got to my parents’ grave, I cleared away a small patch of snow, exposing the wet, matted grass beneath, then knelt.
For a moment I just kneeled there, silently, and then I reached out and touched the stone, tracing the grooved letters of my father’s name with my finger.
“Hi, Mom and Dad, it’s Noel.” I stopped talking. The words didn’t come. I bowed my head as tears fell down my cheek. Just be, I thought.
“You probably didn’t expect to see me today, but here I am. I’m just so glad you’re finally together again.” I wiped my eyes. “I’m glad I’m your daughter.”
The tears rolled down my face. “Mom, I need to talk to Dad for a minute, okay?” I cleared my throat. “Daddy, I’m so sorry I was such a bad daughter. I didn’t know what really happened that night or why you sent me away. That’s not an excuse; maybe it’s a reason.” I bit my quivering lip. “If you were here, I’d hug you and tell you how sorry I am. I’d try to make up for all the things we missed out on. But you’re not here.
“I’m going to try to keep you alive through all the things you loved. Your writing, your bookstore, your friends. I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep them alive. And I’m sorry about Wendy. I’ll take care of that too.” I again wiped my tears. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know you were loving me all along. I know that now.”
“I wrote a letter for you. Just like you wrote for me. I’ll read it.”