Christmas in the City - Jill Barnett Page 0,30

cab disappear down the snowy street. He turned, stuck his icy hands in his coat pockets, and slowly walked toward home, his head down, his mind in a place of loss and emptiness.

He passed a Salvation Army bell ringer near the corner and reached into his pants pockets. He'd used the last of his money for the cab.

He started to walk on but stopped and pulled out his gold pocket watch. He looked at it for a moment.

Time didn't matter to him anymore. Without Lilli, nothing mattered.

He walked back and tossed the watch into the collection bucket, then he turned and walked away.

He realized with a sudden sense of panic that the woman had stopped ringing the bell. He froze, his shoulders hunched against the cold in his heart more than the cold outside. "Don't stop ringing that bell. Please, ma'am. Keep ringing, because..."

His voice dropped to a tight whisper and he stared sightlessly at the snow-covered walk. "Every time a bell rings..."

"An angel gets its wings," she finished.

That voice!

"Lilli?" His head shot up. He spun around, then reached out and pushed back her black Salvation Army bonnet.

A pile of silver-blond hair tumbled loose. "Lilli!"

"Daniel. . ."

And she was in his arms. He could smell the soft scent of lemons. "God, Lilli. It's really you!" He held her so tightly, afraid to let her go lest she disappear again.

"I'm here now. I'm here." She must have read the look on his face because she said, "And I'll not leave you ever again. This is for a lifetime. Listen to me. I’ve been given the gift of a lifetime."

"My God, I thought I'd lost you." He held her face and kissed her over and over. "I've searched everywhere. Been everyplace we were, looking and hoping." He held her face in his hands and just took a moment to look at her, to memorize her face, that smile. "I've given away more money than you could fathom. Everything. Anything. Nothing matters but you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

He held her so tightly, so tightly she could never leave him again, even if she wanted to, and he had sworn he would make certain she never did. His lips touched her head and he whispered, "My angel."

She touched his lips with her fingers. "Daniel? Your angel?"

"My fallen angel. You've come home to me."

She smiled up at him, then fixed an odd look up at Heaven. She winked, then she was looking at him again, her smile only for him. She leaned back in his arms. "Maybe, just maybe, Daniel... all you had to do was whistle."

It is said by those who ought to understand such things.

That the good people…are some of the angels

Who were turned out of Heaven,

And who landed on their feet in this world.

—William Butler Yeats

Epilogue

TEN YEARS AFTER THAT CHRISTMAS, Daniel still heard bells whenever he kissed his wife. They still lived in the huge house on the corner, but inside the house had changed.

Gone were the priceless porcelains and art. Gone were the collections. Instead, the walls of the Stewart home held simple drawings from children's unskilled hands and portraits of Lilli with his daughters and his sons.

She had named their eldest daughter Florida, the twins Cherubim and Seraphim—Cheri and Sera, for short—and then his sons Peter and Gabriel, saying she was naming them after old friends, very, very old friends, to whom she owed a debt.

Gone now were the French antiques and stiff- backed chairs. Comfortable and colorful furniture filled every room, some of it nicked and snagged from children and pets. But it was warm and welcoming and real, and it made Daniel's house a home.

There was not a whistle in the entire place. But there were bells everywhere, on tables, near doorways. There were dinner bells and sleigh bells, breakfast bells and door bells, chimes and clock bells, tea bells and Chinese gongs. Jingle bells tingled from toddlers' shoe laces and puppies' collars. And a cow bell called the family together.

At a place of honor on a table in the foyer was a set of glass bells. Whenever someone slid down the banister they rang one of them.

For you see, Daniel and Lilli Stewart had given their children a wonderful gift: the ability to believe in things magical and whimsical and heavenly, to believe in people and, most of all, to believe in things that can't be proven—to know in their hearts that every time a bell rings . . . an angel gets its wings.

Afterword

Dear Reader,

I hope