A Merry Little Christmas

Copyright
2004  Melanie
Schuster

Dedicated with Love

To all my readers and friends.

Thanks for being so patient;

God isn’t finished with me yet!

May this holiday season be your very
best.

Prologue

Angelique Deveraux drove slowly through the familiar streets of her parents’ neighborhood in Atlanta. She drove like a little old lady because she was only truly comfortable in her own car, a Saab. But she was very familiar with the area; she knew it like the back of her hand and it felt safe. And she was also taking her own sweet time because she didn’t want to go back to her mother’s house just yet. Everything there was warm and wonderful with the sounds and smells of Christmas, and Angelique had never felt less like celebrating. She’d have felt awkward in any case as she was the proverbial black sheep of the Deveraux clan, but the fact that she’d been living in Detroit for six months made her feel even more like a stranger in her own family.

In a family full of tall, beautifully mannered, brilliant sons with
magnificent
wives, Angelique was the only female and the oddball; the “mean” Deveraux with the nasty temper and few redeeming social graces, and, of course, no husband or children. Her exploits were the stuff of community legend: she’d been known as a holy terror since kindergarten. Being extremely beautiful served only to make her reputation worse; people practically rubbed their hands in glee when recounting the latest scandal in which Angelique was center stage. It didn’t matter whether
the story had any basis in fact,
any juicy tidbit that included her name whipped through Atlanta and its suburbs like a flash flood. There was no way Angelique could have lived down her reputation, even if she’d wanted to. And that was one of the most confounding things about her, at least to those who knew her best. She never attempted to deny any accusation or give her side of any story. When confronted, which wasn’t often since most people feared her fiery temper, all she would do is drawl, “So what else would you expect from me?”

The seasonably warm Atlanta weather was bothersome to Angelique. She had gotten accustomed to the cool, brisk weather of Michigan and actually longed for it. Somehow it had felt more Christmas-y in Michigan with the periodic snow showers and the cold, windy nights. Now she was home in seventy-degree weather, trying and failing to summon up a shred of Christmas joy. When did it stop being fun and start feeling like a horrid, gaudy farce? She sighed deeply and was about to turn into the long drive of her mother and stepfather’s home when she noticed a figure some yards past the drive.

There at the foot of the next driveway was Bobby Foster. Bobby, who had Down syndrome, was the adult child of the neighbors. He was wearing a magnificently mismatched outfit of Christmas pajamas and a padded jacket that was buttoned wrong. He also had on a shiny hat that looked like a remnant from a birthday party and he was blissfully leading an imaginary parade with masterful strokes of his makeshift baton, a wooden spoon. Angelique stared at the improbable picture and her throat immediately started to hurt from the huge lump that formed in
it. She stopped the car and covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop the onslaught of hot tears she felt coming.

She was gorgeous, wealthy, spoiled beyond reason and in excellent health, but with all her heart she wished for the carefree joy Bobby had in such abundance.
Snap out of it, cow. Try to think of someone other than yourself for a change,
she chastised herself.

She got out of the car and waved at
him
. “That’s a sporty outfit, Bobby, but I think you should be inside, don’t you?”

Bobby’s face lit up and he ran over to give her a hug. “Hello, Angel! Come home with me,” he said happily. “We have cookies, I helped make them. And you can see what Santa brought me.

“I’d love to, but only if you let me give you a ride,” she replied, hugging his soft body that smelled like sugar cookies once more. They got into the car and she rolled the car up the driveway to his house, listening to his happy chatter all the way.

At least one of us still believes in Christmas.

Part One

Chapter One

“I still don’t like the idea of you being so far away, Angelique. Isn’t it time for you to come home permanently?” The voice, full of concern, belonged to Lillian Mercier Deveraux Williams. The expression on her face was also deeply marked by worry. She was sitting in the living room belonging to Angelique’s brother Clay while various Deveraux children and a very happy
G
olden
Retriever
named Patrick were racing around, making the customary noises associated with holiday gatherings.

Angelique was busy clearing the room of any discarded wrappings, toys or anything else that didn’t belong there, but upon hearing the genuine longing in her mother’s voice, stopped what she was doing. Walking to where her mother was seated in a big art-deco-style armchair, she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then sank gracefully onto the matching ottoman.

“Mama, I originally went to Detroit to help A.J. with his documentaries, but I love living there, I really do. It’s an exciting place to be. There are so many cultures there, it’s amazing. So many different kinds of people and lifestyles and the architecture and the different neighborhoods—it’s just so fascinating!” Angelique took one of her mother’s hands and squeezed it gently. “And there’s actually a lot of interest in my work, too, Mama. The African-American museum is talking to me about having an exhibition, can you imagine? I’m not just a photographer’s assistant anymore, I’m a real photographer, hard as that is to believe,” she added in satisfaction.

“Well, of course you a
r
e, Angel! A.J. knew you had talent from the very beginning, that’s why he was so glad to be working with you.” The new voice was that of Angelique’s newest sister-in-law, Vera Clark Deveraux. She had wandered into the room and curled up on one of the two big leather sofas that faced each other in front of the huge fireplace wall. She was as beautiful as the day she and Marcus Deveraux had met, but she had an extra radiance that came from her recently announced pregnancy. Angelique smiled broadly at Vera before replying.

“Vera, that’s very sweet of you, but we both know that isn’t quite true. A.J. recognized the importance of his
paycheck
and when he was saddled with me he just made the best of it, that’s all. I’d been through every other department at the Deveraux Group, and making me AJ.’s assistant was just one more attempt to find me something to do. Now that’s what really happened, my dear sister.” Angelique was laughing but no one else joined in.

Vera rubbed her still-small tummy and yawned. “Angel, that sounds dangerously close to you trying to disparage
yourself
my dear
sister-
friend, and as I’ve told you before, I ain’t having it
.
A.J. really did recognize your talent very early on and he loved working with you. Believe me,
he’d have thrown you out on your F-stop if he hadn’t,” she said firmly. “So what if it took you a while to find your forte? You found it, and that’s all that matters. Every time I look at those pictures you took for Christmas, I start bawling. They’re the most fabulous things I’ve ever seen.”

Angelique blushed with pleasure and mumbled her thanks. She still wasn’t comfortable with praise over her work. She had taken pictures of each brother’s family and of her mother and stepfather as a Christmas present. The background was off-white and everyone was dressed in casual off-white clothing. Each portrait was a singular work of art, but they were posed in such a way that if all the photographs were displayed together, as they were at her mother’s house, it would look like a giant portrait of the whole family. The on
ly person missing was Angelique,
something her mother had pointed out

“Angel, baby, this is a beautiful set, but it’s not complete without you. Anyone
would think
you weren’t a member of the family,” she’d said indignantly. And she brought the subject up again as soon as Vera mentioned the fantastic pictures.

“Mama, I promise, as soon as I get back to Detroit I’ll get A.J. to take a picture of me. I swear I will. Now, see, there’s another reason for me to go back to Detroit. You want your set complete, right? Well, this is the only way it will happen. And besides, it’s not like I’m all alone up there,” she said persuasively. “I’ve got the best roommate in the world since Paris is still doing her internship at Cochran Communications. I’m never lonely because Renee and Andrew have me over all the time, and Paris and I even go up to Saginaw and see Vera’s parents. Mrs. Clark cooks as good as you do, Mama, and she always makes us a feast. I’m doing just fine, I really am,” she said, leaning affectionately against her mother. “And you know A. J. would never let anything happen to me.”

Lillian made a little noise of grudging assent
. 
She knew her only daughter was perfectly safe in Detroit Her oldest son, Clay, was married to Benita Cochran, whose family owned Cochran Communications. Benita’s family consisted of five brothers, all of whom lived in Detroit and treated
Angeique
like family. And as for A.J., whose real name was Alan
Jandrewski
,
there was no question that he would protect Angelique to the death.
AJ.
had
been bo
rn
and raised in the Polish enclave of Detroit known as Hamtramck, son of a Polish steelworker father and an African-American
R.N.
mother. Discovering that he had cancer had been the impetus for
A.J.’s decisi
on to leave fashion photography.  U
pon his recovery, he’d decided to start making documentaries, and took Angelique with him to Michigan to assist with the first one. To everyone’s surprise, she took to her new environment like a baby duck to a pond of fresh spring water and decided to stay.

It was ironic that Angelique would find success outside the family business, the Deveraux Group. They owned and operated magazines, weekly and daily newspapers and a cable network, yet Angelique’s artistic success had come on her own. Lillian shook her head and sighed. She still wasn’t thrilled that her only daughter had so completely left the nest. She opened her mouth to express this thought when the entrance of more relatives to the living room interrupted her.

First to join them was Benita Cochran Deveraux, still radiant after five children. She and her beloved husband, Clay, absolutely thrived on children
.  B
oth
of them
seemed to get more energy after a new arrival. They had a son and two sets of twins; the older twins were rambunctious boys and the younger were two adorable baby girls. Bennie, as Benita was known, agreed with Angelique that she was a welcome guest in any Cochran home.

“Lillian, I know you worry about her being so far away, but she’s in good hands in Detroit. She’s well loved, don’t you worry,” Bennie said warmly.

Angelique laughed at this last remark from her dearly loved sister-in-law. “Bennie, not all the Cochrans love me, as you well know. Adonis would just as soon drop me in the Detroit River as look at me, and you know it.”

Bennie joined in the laughter. It was true, her youngest brother, Adonis, commonly called Donnie, had a volatile history with Angelique. “Oh, you just get to him because you don’t fall all over him like most women do. Besides, Daddy is crazy about you and so are the kids,” she said confidently, referring to her many nieces and nephews. “Donnie will just have to get over it, that’s all.”