There's Something About Christmas (16 page)

“Also,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist. “If I’m going to be joining your family for Christmas dinner, it’s only polite that I bring something.”

Oliver disagreed. “Mom won’t hear of it. You’re our guest.”

“No, I insist. Besides, I’ve already been to the grocery store.”

“Okay, okay. Bring whatever you want.”

She tilted back her head. “Don’t you want to know what I intend to make for your family?”

“Okay, tell me.”

So she did. “Fruitcake, of course.”

A year later

H
er mother had been right; Christmas was good for the human spirit.

“Emma, would you take this out to the table?” Oliver’s mother asked, handing her a bowl piled high with fluffy mashed potatoes. She didn’t wait for a response before she gave Oliver’s sister, Laurel, a second bowl, and picked up a third, filled with Brussels sprouts, herself. Walking in single file, the Hamilton women brought the serving dishes to the huge dining room table for Christmas dinner.

A turkey, roasted to golden perfection, rested on a huge oval platter at the far end of the table for Oliver’s father to carve. Nieces and nephews, plus dogs and cats, raced around the house with sounds of glee.

Oliver was talking to his father but glanced up when she entered the room. They exchanged a smile. For the second year in a row, she’d joined his family for the holiday festivities. Only this year, Emma was a member of the family. Oliver and Emma had been married in June, two months after Phoebe and Walt. Following the reception, they flew—yes, flew—to Hawaii for a two-week honeymoon. Thankfully, their flight was aboard a 747 and not Oliver’s Cessna Caravan.

With Oliver’s urging and support, Emma had called her father. That first conversation had been tense, and she’d realized Bret Collins wished their relationship was different. To her surprise, he showed up for the wedding. He attended the reception, too, and made a point of meeting Emma’s in-laws. Though he’d left shortly afterward, they’d talked a number of times since. In fact, he’d called that very morning to wish her and Oliver a merry Christmas.

It was a start.

Emma’s journalism career was progressing, and although she was still responsible for her share of obituaries, she routinely wrote feature articles for
The Examiner.
Walt sometimes offered suggestions, but lately he’d allowed her to write whatever she chose. Emma’s work had even garnered attention from some of the larger newspapers in the area. For now, she was content to continue writing for
The Examiner.
She enjoyed living in Puyallup, home of the Western Washington Fairgrounds and the Victorian Christmas extravaganza. She’d covered both events for the paper this year.

Oliver’s freight business was doing well, too. He’d managed to pick up another exclusive contract with an Alaska fishing company. Five days a week, he flew in fresh salmon and other seafood to restaurants in Washington and Oregon. Emma was proud of his company’s success. In November Oliver had hired another pilot and leased a second plane in order to meet demand. He advertised regularly in
The Examiner,
and Emma wrote all his ads.

Oliver’s mother stepped out of the kitchen and removed her apron, signaling the start of the Christmas meal. “Ollie, dinner’s on the table,” she called to her husband. The family migrated to the dining room.

Oliver and Emma stood in front of their chairs as his sisters and brother and their families found their way to the table. Emma smiled, admiring the meal. In addition to turkey and all the fixings, there were a number of salads and vegetable dishes, plus fresh-baked rolls still warm from the oven. Desserts lined the sideboard. For the second year in a row, Emma had brought fruitcake—three varieties this year, all made from the recipes contributed by the three women she’d interviewed last Christmas.

When the family surrounded the table, they all joined hands and Oliver’s father offered a simple grace. Emma closed her eyes; at the end of the prayer she whispered a heartfelt “Amen.” She was in love, and she felt as though she’d reclaimed herself—and reclaimed the joy of Christmas.

With dinner came a lot of good-natured teasing between Oliver and his younger brother and three younger sisters. Although he was the oldest, he’d been the last to marry.

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Laurel said, speaking to Emma.

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff he pulled on us as kids,” Carrie added.

“Do you remember the time Mom made you babysit, and Donny put a huge hole in the living room wall?” Jenny asked Oliver.

“Remember it?” he said with a groan. “I knew the minute Mom saw that hole, I’d be grounded my entire senior year.”

Oliver’s mother waved her fork at him and turned to Emma. “Do you know what he did? My genius son rearranged the living room furniture so the wall was covered.”

“I hid the hole,” Oliver said in a stage whisper.

“Then he demanded extra pay because he claimed he did housework in addition to babysitting,” his mother reminded them.

The whole family laughed.

Laurel spoke to Emma again. “Okay, you’ve been married to our big brother for six months now.”

“Six months,” Donny repeated. “Leslie was pregnant a month after our wedding. What’s the problem?”

Oliver laughed. “Trust me, there’s no problem.”

This was her cue, Emma realized. “We’re due in July.”

Amid cheers and gasps, Oliver’s parents rose to their feet and applauded. His siblings and their spouses joined in.

Oliver slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I told you they’d be happy,” he murmured.

“You’d think this was their first grandchild,” Emma said, overwhelmed by the family’s reaction to their news. She’d never known families could be like this.

By the end of a memorable Christmas Day, Emma was tired and ready to go home. After a series of hugs and promises to meet again soon, Oliver steered her to the car parked out front, his arm protectively around her. The dogs followed obediently in their wake.

“It’s a bit overpowering, isn’t it?” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“My family, when we’re all together.”

“They’re wonderful, each and every one.” Oliver’s sisters were among her closest friends. Her circle of family, friends and acquaintances had increased from the day she’d met him.

“They love you, too.” He opened the car door for her and helped her inside. Oscar and Boots piled into the back.

As they neared their newly constructed home, Oliver glanced at her. Emma’s eyes were closed, her head back against the leather seat. “You’ve really taken to Christmas,” he said. “Hard to believe that just over a year ago you didn’t want anything to do with it. Now look at you.”

Emma opened her eyes and smiled. Their home was decorated with not one, but two, Christmas trees. The second, a smaller one, was for the dogs. She’d written a series of articles about Christmas customs around the world. And she’d started baking right after Thanksgiving. As Oliver had said last year, the transformation had been complete.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said with a laugh, “except to repeat what my mother told me.”

“And what would that be?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

“There’s something special about Christmas.”

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