Page 13 of Christmas Charms
“Me too.” I sigh. “I’m supposed to be in Paris with him right now, actually. But I couldn’t bring myself to go after the non-proposal.”
Betty’s lips curve into a sympathetic smile, and her glasses slip to the very tip of her nose. I desperately want to tell her that she looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Mrs. Claus, but I don’t want her to take it the wrong way.
Plus, I’m not quite sure how to explain the impression she’s made on me. It goes beyond appearance. Talking to her is astonishingly comforting, even though she’s a stranger. Against all odds, I’m starting to feel like everything will be all right. Even better than all right, maybe. A warm glow starts to wrap itself around me, and I feel like I’m brimming with possibility.
With hope.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” I ask, and I’m not altogether sure why. Betty has never even met Jeremy, and I’ve only known her for the better part of an hour. Her opinion shouldn’t carry much weight, but for some strange reason, it does.
“Only you can answer that question, my dear.” Her eyes shine as she speaks.
And then the strangest thing happens. I start telling her more and more about my life in New York. I tell her about Audrey’s pink necklace and the gingerbread ice cream I shared with Maya last night. I tell her about our shoebox of an apartment and how the television is always set to the classic movies channel. I tell her about the thick, plush carpet at Windsor, the view from the big picture window and how on a crisp clear day, I can stand at the charms counter and see the tower of Belvedere Castle looming over Central Park.
I don’t stop there. I talk and talk, pouring my heart and soul out to this kind woman who, like Maya, seems to have more faith in me than I have in myself. I tell her how much I used to love Owl Lake, and I even admit that I’m a little bit nervous to be going back there again. I know it can’t be the exact same town that I left all those years ago, but I admit that part of me hopes that it is. It would be nice to think that the most precious things in life can be preserved somehow, immune to the passage of time—kind of like the vintage jewelry I love so much.
Betty knits as she listens, and my gaze goes back to her bracelet again and again, drawn by the movement of the charms as the stitches on her needles pile up, row upon row. When at last I run out of things to say, a perfect red Christmas stocking hangs from her knitting needles. The overhead lights of the train have gone dim, and the only thing visible on the horizon is the glint of snow beneath a sliver of December moon.
My eyelids grow heavy. I am exhausted all of a sudden—tired to the bone. Tired of my fast-paced life in Manhattan, tired of wondering why I’m not enough for Jeremy, tired of thinking about the past. I can’t wait to get home.
“I thought this was going to be a new beginning,” I murmur as my eyes drift shut. “I believed. I really did. I thought this would be the Christmas of my dreams.”
“Perhaps it still will be,” Betty says quietly.
And then the last thing I hear as the rocking motion of the train finally lulls me to sleep is the gentle music of her charm bracelet, as tender and soothing as a Christmas lullaby.
“Attention, passengers. This is your conductor speaking. We’re nearing the Owl Lake Station, our final stop. All train passengers must disembark. Thank you for traveling by rail, and have a happy holiday season.”
I jolt awake, disoriented as the train comes to a stop. The overhead lights have been turned up brighter, and I seem to be the only person left in my car. My heart sinks as I realize that the seat Betty occupied is now empty.
I’ve missed the chance to tell her goodbye.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and something in my lap shifts. When I look down, I spot a familiar red bundle—it’s the stocking Betty had been knitting while I shared my story. There’s a small lump near its toe, and when I gather the stocking in my hands, it makes a jingling sound.
No.My heart hammers in my chest.It can’t be.
I reach inside, and as soon as my fingertips brush against cool silver, I know it’s true. Betty has left me her vintage charm bracelet.
My astonished gaze travels over it, moving from charm to charm, and I run the pad of my thumb over the bracelet’s interlocking links. The charms swivel in place, almost as if they’re winking at me. I can hardly believe it. This bracelet can’t possibly be mine. There’s no way I can accept it. It’s far too precious for Betty to give it away to a perfect stranger.
I glance up and down the aisle, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She must have gotten off at an earlier stop, and I slept right through it. How can this be happening?
I peer inside the knit stocking, hoping she’s left me her contact information. If so, I’ll return the bracelet the first chance I get. Sure enough, there’s a small piece of paper folded into a square deep inside the stocking’s round toe. But when I unfold the note and scan Betty’s swirling cursive script, there isn’t a hint of an address or phone number. Not even her full name. She’s only written a single, mysterious sentence.
Please wear this and have the Christmas of your dreams.
I’m not sure what it means, exactly. I guess she noticed how much I loved the bracelet and probably felt sorry for me. I had, after all, just spent the past several hours opening my heart to her, even though we’d never so much as met before.
Somewhere in the periphery, I’m aware of a throat clearing. When I look up, the coach attendant is standing in the center aisle, scowling down at me. “Excuse me, miss. Perhaps you missed the announcement? It’s time to disembark.”
I stand and immediately bump my head on the overhead luggage rack.Ouch. The attendant lets out a weary sigh.
Bah humbug to you, too.
“Yes, I know. I’m so sorry, but the lady who was sitting beside me left something behind. It’s valuable.” My fist tightens around the bracelet. Part of me thinks I should turn it over to the train personnel, but I wholeheartedly doubt that Betty would want me to leave it behind with this cranky person. I need to find her. “Did you happen to notice where she exited the train? She had pale silver hair and wore reading glasses decorated with holly sprigs. Her hair was in a bun, and she wore a red cape with white trim.”
The attendant snorts. “Sure, a man with eight reindeer friends and a belly that shook like a bowl full of jelly picked her up a while ago.”
So helpful. “I’m being serious. Didn’t you see her?”
