Christmas In Whimsy Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Clarissa J. Markiewicz

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and/or within parameters set forth in fair use doctrine.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2019

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-54399-069-0

  www.ClarissaJeanne.com

  WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT

  CHRISTMAS IN WHIMSY:

  “Compelling … Couldn’t put it down. Seriously wished I was on vacation and could have some uninterrupted reading time to just keep going.”

  —Julie Sisson

  “My normal cup of tea is sci-fi/fantasy, so this is outside what I’d usually grab, but I’m so thankful the cover and first glimpse into these characters drew me in. A joy to read—something I’ll recommend to my friends and the readers in my life, and perfect for bringing on the road when travelling, especially during the holidays.”

  —Cassandra Moffitt

  “Engrossing story with the relatable, quirky characters to carry it. With each chapter I kept thinking, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS!”

  —Terra Osterling

  “I truly loved it! I found the story and the characters engaging and enjoyable. It kept me interested and often made me smile or laugh … I was thoroughly invested and had to keep reading to find out what happened. Started reading Friday night, rushed through my chores Saturday so I could keep reading, and finished that day. The characters, both believable and relatable, read as flesh-and-blood people. The humor of the book came through and gave them a human touch that I greatly enjoyed.”

  —Marcia Sisson

  PRAISE FOR CLARISSA J. MARKIEWICZ

  “Writing in a distinctive, effective voice, Clarissa Markiewicz makes many salient and often quite funny points about human interaction, empathy, and co-existence. In her big-hearted, literate, and frank approach, the author brings to mind a younger Tony Earley.”

  —Author Paul McComas

  “This story is subtle and rich at once, creating dramatic tension between desire and reality. It is written with a poetic flare, and fully achieves in a brief space, both plot and psychological portrait.”

  —Poet Betsy Sholl

  “She’s quite ethereal, isn’t she?”

  —Unintentional compliment by

  high school science teacher

  For Mom and Dad and Papa and Mama:

  my own personal Spirits of Whimsy

  Contents

  Inscription: Whimsy, New York

  Excerpt from Upstate Magazine

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  The windblown whisper of holiday snow

  tells us magic is coming; look out below!

  For love’s twinkle appears when least you expect

  and gray halls, in a flash, turn so festively decked.

  A frothy hot cocoa, a Christmas Eve toast

  shared with fam’ly, friends (and maybe a ghost!)

  Bells in the morning chime joy and delight

  or reverence in moonbeams of one silent night.

  If ever you’re down and hope seems to be lost

  just wait for the kiss of the season’s first frost.

  For when climates turn chilly, warmer our hearts grow

  to embrace all the whimsy of holiday snow.

  —Inscription on town square plaque:

  Whimsy, New York

  From Upstate Magazine, Thanksgiving Edition

  (Vol. 16, No. 3):

  CHRISTMAS BACK IN WHIMSY

  by Lexie Moore

  There is a town not far outside Manhattan’s bustle, past the speed of the interstate, beyond the gray walls of winter. The snow always glistens here. It’s a lovely town, with a lovely name: Whimsy. There’s magic in that name, and at Christmastime, legend has it, there’s magic throughout the town, from Orange-Clove Marketplace to the Gallantry Bridge. Some folks wish upon that Christmas magic of Whimsy, and this is the story of three women who did just that: a widow still longing for the past, a struggling actress with a hidden talent, and a magazine reporter.

  This reporter.

  It all started just about one year ago… .

  Chapter

  Lexie Moore’s interview with Santa had gone off the rails. If there was one reality she’d learned in her nine years since graduating J-school, it was that news stories were like kids: they could have a mind of their own. She sat across from the jolliest elf in front of Santa’s Pavilion on the second floor of the Orange-Clove Marketplace, the unofficial “Official Mall of Whimsy, New York,” as all the directories said. Amid the jeans and yoga pants dressing most people’s Saturday morning, Lexie wore her own comfy weekend attire, of wide-legged trousers, a blouse and vest, and a blazer. The blazer, though, currently hung on the back of her chair, along with her coat and scarf. It had gotten pretty warm in here for Lexie. Sunshine gleamed through the mall’s glass roof, and what she’d said to her boyfriend at breakfast had her sweating.

  “Yes,” she’d assured him for what was, by her count, the hundredth time, “I am looking forward to tonight.” Since then, she’d tried to keep her mind on more pleasant, relaxing topics, like her job.

  It seemed as though every child in Whimsy was out this morning. An interview with Santa? What kid in her right mind was going to miss that, especially with Christmas only three weeks out? Already, the kids had been springing up like popcorn from their spots on a huge vinyl mat in front of Santa and Lexie, but then Mrs. Claus had come around with warm chocolate chip cookies. The sugar boost sent the little ones into a frenzy, calling out their own questions. Lexie might have been annoyed by the hijacking of her interview if the hijackers weren’t so darned cute.

  So for a little while now, Lexie had sat back, listening and taking notes and trying to ignore the platter of those warm chocolate chip cookies. They were barely into December and Lexie’s diet, admittedly not the healthiest anyway, had already given her the unwanted gift of extra pounds on her thighs and hips. In between taking notes, her fingers found their way to playing with the ends of her straight shoulder-length auburn hair. This was apt to happen whenever she was denied something she wanted. Then she jerked her hand down away from her hair, as was apt to happen whenever she caught herself doing it.

  Finally, Lexie tried to take the interview reins once more. “Everyone,” she said sweetly but firmly over the hullabaloo, “we don’t want to keep Santa from his important duties, do we?”

  “No,” came the somewhat horrified response. Keeping Santa from his duties, dear God. That had to land you on the “Naughty” list, right up there with finger-painting with
Mom’s nail polish and sticking bubblegum in your sister’s hair. No kid was going to mess with such things this close to Christmas.

  Well, almost no kid.

  A freckly redhead about seven years old jumped up. All the parents stood behind the mat, and this little boy’s mom had come over to him three times already to calm him down. The mom sent Lexie an apologetic look, but it was Lexie who felt for the mother.

  This little one had to be a handful, she guessed. At thirty-two, Lexie was no stranger to the biological pangs telling her it was time for motherhood, but one of her many worries about having children was having a child like him. She didn’t know what scared her more: a pint-sized whirlwind, or that he’d stop spinning just long enough to look to her of all people for guidance.

  She snuck a glimpse at her boyfriend, Theo, standing off to the side and chatting with his sister. Lexie’s heart fluttered as it always did when she spotted his downy brown hair, glasses, and muscular build across a crowded room. In the three years they’d been together, she had never heard him express doubts about fatherhood or how their lives would change with a family. She’d never revealed her doubts to him either.

  The little redheaded boy fairly wriggled with excitement, standing before the Big Man in Red. With a lisp that could’ve landed him a record deal singing, “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth,” he spouted, “Thanta, could you tell uth the Legend of Whimthy?”

  “Please,” his mother urged at him in a whisper.

  “Pleathe?” the boy asked.

  The adults in the crowd laughed gently. Lexie was no exception. She went back to scribbling notes on her legal pad.

  The Legend of Whimsy. She had to admit, this was turning out better than her interview could have. Her editor at Upstate magazine was going to love this as the crowning jewel in Lexie’s cover story for the upcoming issue. She’d been working toward this for months between other assignments, culling research, talking to scads of townies, simply observing, and crafting the longest, most in-depth cover story in the magazine’s recent history. This was what their readers craved. Upstate’s circulation was heaviest among busy and bustling Manhattanites, who thrived in the concrete jungle and yet dreamed of spa retreats, artisan boutiques, hiking trails, and cozy small-town getaways.

  For the five years she’d been working at Upstate, Lexie had wanted to do a holiday profile in her hometown of Whimsy. It was perfect with its rolling, snow-covered hills an hour outside the city. The outdoor kids’ rink, just past the golden pedestrian Gallantry Bridge, had skaters day and night. The Orange-Clove Marketplace—with the Holiday Hutch, Brûlée Bakery & Café, and OC Fare where singing elves bagged the groceries—never ran out of cocoa and pumpkin pie samples. Whimsy was the North Pole on overload this time of year, and it even came with its own legend.

  Santa gave an ebullient, “Ho, ho, ho,” and tugged on his—luxurious and genuine, thank you very much—whiskers. “Well, children, the Legend of Whimsy …” he said, and then he stopped himself with a curious glance at Lexie. “Actually, I think Ms. Moore might want to field this one.” He winked at her. “You do so love the tale.”

  Lexie froze. She muttered to Santa, “How did you know that?”

  Santa’s eyes just twinkled.

  Odds were, he was either guessing or this was someone Lexie knew and just didn’t recognize. She’d lived here her whole life, and “Santa” was probably an old high school teacher or neighbor. Whimsy was small—small enough that if you were out walking at four a.m. on the west side, you could smell the bread baking at Harvest Loaf on the east side.

  But Christmas and the Legend of Whimsy weren’t about logic and odds. They were too magical for that. And that’s exactly what Lexie liked most about them both.

  “Legend has it,” Lexie said to the redhead, “that our little town of Whimsy has a magic all its own that comes with holiday snow.”

  “What’th holiday thnow?” the redhead interrupted.

  “Oh, it’s the best kind,” said Lexie. “There are two types of snow. There’s the kind that comes in January or February, sometimes March or April, and it seems a little sad. It’s cold and wet and sort of gray. But then there’s holiday snow. Holiday snow is fluffy, and it’s fun, and it sparkles like glitter.”

  Santa chimed in: “My reindeer and elves find it’s the best variety of snow for making angels, and it has a sweet yet robust flavor for catching on your tongue.”

  The adults chuckled, and the kids cheered.

  “But there’s another special thing about holiday snow,” said Lexie. “Holiday snow brings the Spirit of Whimsy, a daughter of Mother Nature. Some say she’s an angel. Some say she’s energy all around us, watching over us. But one thing everyone agrees on is she wears a magic watch that begins to run when the first flakes of holiday snow fly. The watch tells her when it’s time for her to visit us again: from approximately a quarter to winter to half past New Year’s.”

  The redheaded boy called, “How can Whimthy wear a wath?” He held his wrist in the air. “Energy can’t wear a wath. You need a writht to wear a wath.” The boy’s mother groaned.

  Lexie flicked her evergreen eyes to Santa, and sure enough, Santa stepped up.

  He leaned forward toward the child. “It’s magic, my boy,” he said through a conspiratorial smile. “Whimsy is all magic. You know that feeling of goodwill that fills your heart at Christmastime? It makes older folks feel like children again, and fills us all with wonder? That’s Whimsy. Sometimes, she even helps Santa make wishes come true.”

  The children oohed and gasped. Then Santa laid a finger aside of his nose and winked at the boy.

  “Wishes like a QuikSilver Raptor Racer Car with remote control, Lucas.”

  They boy’s jaw dropped. His eyes popped. In hushed astonishment, he uttered, “That’th me. I’m Lucath.”

  A warm feeling filled Lexie’s chest.

  Lucas scrambled to his feet. “Mom,” he called, whipping around to face her, “we gotta go. I gotta clean my room.” He ran to his mother and tugged on her hand.

  “Well, I’m not going to argue with that,” said his mom.

  “Thankth, Thanta,” yelled Lucas as he hauled his mom off. “Thankth, legend lady.”

  “Yes,” the mom called over her shoulder. “Thank you both.”

  Lexie caught Theo’s eye. Even amid such a crowd they shared an intimate moment and a smile, both charmed by the scene. The magic, the near-completion of Lexie’s best article to date, the wings Theo’s loving gaze set upon her heart, all of it began to put Lexie’s mind at ease about tonight. After all, it was just a date. Yes, an extravagant one. Yes, an “important” one, as Theo had said. He’d reserved them a table at Rendezvous in the city, and called in about fifty favors to secure just the right horse-drawn carriage ride around Central Park with just the right coachman. They’d been out on swanky dates before, and he’d given her no real indication this one would be any different, thank goodness. Here she’d started to let her fears get the best of her and she’d read too much into his plans. They would go, have fun, be in love, and tomorrow everything would be exactly the same as it was right now, period.

  Theo leaned over and murmured to his sister. He was still smiling. His sister’s smile, however, faded with her response, and suddenly Lexie knew what they were saying. She knew as her heart came crashing back down, its wings clipped. She knew as the magic around her faded.

  As she heaved a petrified sigh, she knew.

  Theo was going to propose tonight.

  What a ridiculous thing to be scared of, Lexie told herself. Wasn’t this her dream? Wasn’t it everyone’s? To fall in love with your best friend and share an incredible fairy-tale night that ended with a glimmering ring and a joyful, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

  Lexie kept a smile on as Santa continued to talk to the kids, and she tried to keep her hand moving and notes flowing across her legal pad, even as her stomach tightened and she kept sneaki
ng glances at Theo and his sister, Anna. Maybe Anna could talk him down, she hoped. The two women got along famously. Often, one invited the other to go shopping or meet up for breakfast-for-dinner after work, sans Theo. All three of them commuted to Manhattan, but Lexie and Anna happened to work in offices uptown, near their favorite charming little dive, Bradshaw’s Diner on 118th. Theo was way downtown, working in rare manuscripts at the New York Public Library. It may have been possible, one evening over sunny-side-up eggs and rye toast, that Lexie could’ve let slip her doubts to Anna about taking that next, serious step with Theo.

  She imagined the conversation going on now between the siblings:

  “Tonight’s the night,” Theo said. “I’m going to ask Lex to marry me.”

  “I don’t know,” said Anna. “I don’t think she’s ready to settle down.”

  “Of course she is. She’s a senior reporter at the magazine, with some real creative control. She doesn’t have to go off chasing every story anymore. She already is settling down. Besides, my girl can juggle it all. She’s my superwoman.”

  His superwoman. At least once a day he called her that. For the longest time she’d struck a pose at the somewhat unconventional pet name, hands on hips, chin jutted proudly. Lex always thought she had too sharp of a chin, and this was the one scenario it seemed to work in.

  Only she didn’t think a real superwoman would lay awake nights, worrying in the dark of her bedroom and the dark of her mind about how to keep all the balls in the air at once. A superwoman wouldn’t nervously play with her hair and then chastise herself for playing with her hair. She felt at times she was barely keeping it all together as it was. Just how was she supposed to do all this with a husband and a child or two? A child or two! The most serious responsibility she’d ever take on was bringing a person into this world. His entire survival would depend on her. Sometimes she barely felt she was taking care of herself. What would she do as a mom when a deadline kept her working through dinner? Order Chinese and let her kid gum a scallion pancake? What would his first words be, “Mother, for the love of God, please dust the bookshelves”? Lately, Lexie hadn’t been striking her superwoman pose, only giving a wan smile when Theo made the reference.