Christmas Treasures (9781101558720) Read online

  Regina headed for the Camry and Richard followed. He shot Regina a doubtful, suspicious look. As if this benign-looking couple was up to something.

  Regina and Richard each took a box from the trunk. She noticed other items besides the groceries: a new mop, a broom, and a bucket. A carton with bed linens and towels, and another bag with pillows.

  How amazingly thoughtful. Her heart was touched by their kindness. She had mentioned to Mr. Oakes on the phone last night that practically all their belongings, besides clothes and a few other essentials, had been put in storage in Pennsylvania.

  “Oh, is that so?” he’d said, then went on to some other legal detail about the property and papers she would sign. She hadn’t thought he’d even heard her, but obviously he had. A total stranger showing such concern.

  The lawyer had cleared a thin path up to the house and stood on the porch, riffling through his briefcase. Regina set down the carton she was carrying, and Richard did the same.

  “Here they are, your keys.” Mr. Oakes pulled a key ring out of his briefcase and handed it to her. “The large silver one fits the front door. The others are for the side and back doors. And that little one is for the door under the porch that opens into the basement.”

  Regina nodded, distracted by a sudden, unexpected rush of excitement. The house wasn’t much to look at, but she felt excited nonetheless, holding the keys in her hand for the first time.

  She owned this. The land and house and everything inside, from the basement to the attic. It was a heady feeling, especially in light of the way they had lost their lovely new home to the bank back in Pennsylvania two years ago. So many of their possessions had been sold at garage sales for pennies on the dollar to cover bills, or simply given away when they had to move to smaller living spaces—a series of small, dingy apartments and, finally, a motel room.

  She sensed the others waiting; the older couple, smiling patiently, and Richard, tense and impatient. She put the big silver key in the lock and opened the front door.

  It made a creaking sound as she stepped into the foyer and looked around. She had expected a musty odor, but the air was fresh and smelled like furniture polish and floor cleaner.

  “I had the place cleaned,” Mr. Oakes said, following her inside. “We left most of the furniture. A few pieces were broken and a few of the lamps looked like fire hazards. A lot of miscellaneous belongings were boxed up. I had someone put it all in the attic and out in the shed. You might want to go through it sometime. The rooms need a coat of paint, but we aired it out and turned on the utilities. I think you’ll find it livable for now.”

  Regina wandered farther, staring into a large sitting room on her right and a dining room on the left. An oval-shaped wooden dining table with curved legs and matching chairs stood in the dining room. The seat cushions on the chairs were worn but easy to repair, she thought. The wood was still good and only needed a little polishing; a quality set, the kind hardly made anymore.

  A long stairway with a wooden banister led to the next floor. The stairs were bare. She could see where some old carpeting had been torn off. “There are four bedrooms upstairs. And the attic space,” Warren Oakes said.

  “How many children do you have?” his wife asked curiously.

  “Two, a girl who’s twelve years old and a boy who’s six,” Regina answered.

  “They can each have their own room with one to spare,” Mrs. Oakes said. “There are some decent beds up there and a few dressers. I think you’ll be fine until you can bring your own things here.”

  “Yes, it sounds like we will be.” Regina was relieved. Beds and dressers were more than she had hoped for. The kids would be thrilled to have their own rooms again. They’d all been living on top of one another for the past few months. It had been very hard on them.

  She was eager to go up and investigate, but then realized she hadn’t even seen the entire downstairs yet.

  She turned to the sitting room next. A big stone fireplace below a wooden mantel immediately drew her attention. There were bookcases built in on either side; many of the shelves still held books. Regina was glad to see that. She loved to read, and most of her books had either been given away or put into storage.

  That was the high point of the room, she thought. The story got worse the longer you looked around. The wooden floors were bare and the finish dull and worn. A dusty oval rag rug sat in front of a caved-in sofa, and next to that an old armchair, its upholstery faded and torn. Regina felt a sneeze coming on just looking at the ensemble. They would have to get something to replace that soon, maybe in a secondhand store or a Goodwill shop.

  “I think I put some slipcovers in that bag with the bed linen and quilts,” Mrs. Oakes said. “I found them in a closet and thought they might fit that couch and chair. Just to start off.”

  “Slipcovers would be a good idea,” Regina agreed.

  Richard had been silent all this time. He had glanced around the front rooms quickly and then walked back to the kitchen. “That stove must be a hundred years old,” he said to the lawyer. “Are you sure it works?”

  “Good question, Mr. Rowan. It’s in excellent working condition. I had it checked by the utility company before they turned on the gas. I didn’t want any accidents with the house empty.”

  Richard cast him a doubtful look. “And the fireplace? Has that been checked, too?”

  “Fireplace works fine. The chimney is clear. Tested it myself last week.”

  “A fireplace can be the heart of a home,” Mrs. Oakes said. “I love the mantel. It’s a wonderful focal point.”

  Regina agreed, but before she could reply, Warren Oakes cut in.

  “Before we start decorating, ladies, we have some business to cover.” He turned to Regina. “I have all the papers ready for you to sign. It won’t take very long. Let’s go into the dining room. We’ll need the big table.”

  Regina followed him into the next room. Mr. Oakes sat at the head of the table, and Regina took a seat next to him. He took several folders from his briefcase, put on his reading glasses, and proceeded to go through the documents slowly, explaining to her exactly what she was signing and why.

  Richard sat at the other end of the table and watched, his mouth set in a tight line. She was relieved that he didn’t interrupt with a lot of questions. He had taken on a suspicious, challenging attitude lately, even about the simplest situations—with the mechanic or the kids’ teachers, even with supermarket cashiers, as if everyone were trying to cheat him. He hadn’t always been like that.

  It was because they had lost so much, and Richard felt it was all his fault. As if he had been too trusting or too naive and had been tricked, played for a fool. First, by the county that he had worked for, and then by the people at the bank, and later by others who claimed they could help.

  It had not been his fault. They were caught in a bad economy, and she had never once blamed him. But that’s how he felt, and no amount of talking to him about it seemed to wash away the stain. Worse, it seemed he lost his trust in people. And in himself, Regina knew. Whether he could ever gain it back was the question.

  Warren Oakes explained each document, and Regina signed and signed. Mrs. Oakes stood by and made neat stacks of the signed pages, then tucked the piles in different folders. “I help Warren at his office. I’m his assistant,” she explained.

  “Don’t let her fool you. She’s just being modest. She’s the boss.” Mr. Oakes glanced up over his reading glasses for a moment and gave his wife a fond smile.

  Marion Oakes just shook her head.

  The older couple seemed in perfect harmony, exchanging looks and anticipating each other’s needs with hardly a word. Regina couldn’t imagine running a business with Richard. They would bicker so much, they wouldn’t last a day.

  “Last but not least, the deed to the property,” Mr. Oakes announced. “You just sign the back, and it’s transferred to your ownership.”

  Regina knew that. They had owned their home in Pennsylvani
a until the bank foreclosed on the mortgage.

  “What about my husband? Doesn’t he sign, too?”

  Richard turned, suddenly alert. “It’s your inheritance, Regina. I don’t have to sign.”

  They had talked about this. Or at least she tried to. She couldn’t really understand why Richard didn’t want his name on the deed. Unless he planned on leaving her sooner than they had discussed and thought it would be less complicated that way. That was the only reason Regina could come up with, though she hadn’t dared to say it straight out to him.

  “Can we have my husband’s name on the deed also?” she asked the lawyer.

  “Yes, you can. That’s no problem. It’s safer for your family. In the event that anything were to happen to you, the property would go directly to your husband without any probate. I’m sorry, I thought I asked you about this during one of our phone conversations—”

  “I’m sure you did,” Regina quickly cut in. “I just didn’t follow up with a clear answer.” She turned to Richard, willing him with her eyes to comply. “This is safer for the family, Richard. For the kids, in case something happens. You never know,” she reminded him.

  He stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Gina. But okay, I’ll sign if you want me to. You know what this means, right? We own it together, fifty-fifty. You sure that’s what you want?”

  Regina was surprised he would be so blunt in front of Mr. and Mrs. Oakes. But the lawyer and his wife were apparently used to witnessing such private conversations; they immediately took on well-practiced blank stares.

  “Of course, I’m sure. It’s not much, but . . . what’s mine is yours, Richard. We’re married, aren’t we?”

  Still married, she could have said. For as long as it might last.

  She saw a flicker in his gray eyes and knew that her husband had picked up on her unspoken meaning. And had the grace to look moved by it.

  He just shook his head. “What a question.” Then he moved down to her side of the table and sat in the seat next to her.

  Warren Oakes cleared his throat, marked a few more Xs on the pile of papers before him, and then passed them along.

  “So you both print your names here”—he pointed out the lines—“then sign down there and on the back. Right there.”

  Regina signed first, then passed the documents to Richard. Then she sat back and rubbed her hand. She actually had a cramp between her thumb and index finger from all the signing.

  “Well, that’s that,” Mr. Oakes said finally. “It’s officially yours. Congratulations, Mrs. Rowan, Mr. Rowan.” The attorney handed Regina one of the folders. “These are your copies. Put them in a safe place.”

  “I will. Thanks very much for all your help—and for all the groceries and everything you gave us. We’d like to pay you back,” she added. She knew they didn’t have the money right now, but felt obliged to offer.

  Richard nodded firmly, his jaw set. “It was very generous of you, Mr. Oakes, but we can’t accept it. Not without giving you some repayment.”

  We won’t accept charity. We’re not that badly off yet, was what her husband was really saying.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Oakes said briskly. “We won’t take a penny. This is just what neighbors do for one another, at least around here. We know that you’ve come a long way and have a lot to do, moving in here today,” she added. “Really, it was no trouble at all.”

  “My wife is correct, as usual. I do receive adequate payment for the legal services. Anything further is totally unnecessary.” Warren Oakes stood up and slipped a few more papers into his briefcase. “This is our gift to you and your family. To welcome you to Cape Light. We’re happy to make this small gesture.”

  He shrugged into his heavy coat and picked up his hat and muffler. His wife already had her coat on and her purse in hand.

  “We appreciate it. We’ll make it up to you sometime,” Richard added.

  The lawyer reached out and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure if the opportunity arises, Mr. Rowan, you definitely will.”

  Regina walked the couple to the front door.

  “Good-bye, dear. Good luck.” Mrs. Oakes pulled her hat down over her forehead. “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but this house has loads of potential. And you seem just the type of person to do things with it.”

  Regina wasn’t sure how the older woman could know that after so brief a meeting, but she was touched by the compliment.

  “I’m going to give it my best shot,” Regina promised.

  “Invite me back sometime to see your progress. I enjoy those before-and-after home improvement shows.”

  Regina had to smile at her reply. “Oh, I will.”

  “Good luck, Mrs. Rowan.” Warren Oakes extended his hand and shook hers heartily. “If you have any further questions about the estate or the property transfer, or anything at all, please give me a call. I know your family has been through a lot the last few months. I hope this new home works out for you.”

  “So do I, Mr. Oakes,” Regina said honestly. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE SURGEON TOLD CAROLYN THAT THE OPERATION WOULD take three to four hours. “Barring unforeseen complications,” Dr. Chandler added.

  Unforeseen complications? She didn’t even want to think about what he meant by that. Four hours, even three, seemed an impossibly long time to wait in this anxious state. She didn’t know how she could stand it without going stark raving mad.

  Then she heard Ben’s voice in her head, as clearly as if he stood right beside her. “Of course you’ll get through it, dear. Just sit and pray. That’s how you’ll do it.”

  Yes, that was it. She had to give this over to God. She had to be strong for the both of them. She had to hold it together and put her trust in God. She couldn’t let her faith falter now.

  Though the only prayer that came to mind was, “Please, God, help Ben. Let him survive this operation. Please?”

  Luckily, her daughter, Rachel, was with her. Rachel had dropped everything and driven up to the hospital as soon as Carolyn called.

  Tucker and Sam had driven her to the hospital, following close behind the ambulance. They, too, were still waiting with her, but had gone down to the cafeteria to get a bite to eat.

  Rachel sat with her in the surgical waiting room, which was quieter and more private than the general area. Thank goodness for that, Carolyn thought.

  “Has Daddy felt sick very long?” Rachel asked.

  Carolyn reached over and took her hand. Rachel rarely called her father Daddy anymore. The note of fear in her daughter’s voice was wrenching.

  “You know your father. He’s not a complainer. The last few days, he was saying that he felt tired, but he thought that was just the cold weather. He did say he ate too much on Thanksgiving. He’s been taking antacids for the past few days, complaining of heartburn. I guess that was the start of it. That’s what the doctor said: a full feeling and pressure on the chest are two of the symptoms.”

  “Shoveling all that snow this morning must have pushed him over the edge,” Rachel mused.

  “It was too much. But this could have happened anyway, just sitting at home, watching TV. You heard what Dr. Chandler said. There’s so much buildup in his arteries.”

  Just hours earlier, the surgeon showed them the results of Ben’s tests, which included photographs of the inside of the arteries around his heart, taken soon after he was brought into the emergency room.

  “The major arteries that carry blood to the heart are filled with plaque, cholesterol buildup,” Dr. Chandler explained. “The blood flow is blocked, and the heart doesn’t get enough oxygen. That’s why your husband experienced shortness of breath and pain. Luckily, he survived the heart attack. Many men his age don’t,” he said bluntly. “But he needs a procedure.”

  Carolyn knew he meant an operation. Procedure was the word doctors used when they didn’t want to alarm you.

  “What type of procedure?” she
asked.

  “Sometimes we can perform an angioplasty; a tiny balloon is expanded inside the artery and opens the blocked passageway. But your husband’s condition is more advanced. His arteries are more than seventy percent blocked.”

  “Seventy percent?” Carolyn had been shocked. That meant Ben was hardly getting any blood flowing through his heart at all. “How did he manage to even get up out of bed in the morning?”

  “Sheer willpower, I’d have to say.” Dr. Chandler shook his head. “His condition is so advanced, he needs bypass surgery. Right now, we think at least two arteries need attention. But it could be more. We’ll take healthy veins from his legs or chest wall, and attach them to his heart, like this.” He made a sketch on a sheet of paper. “These fresh veins take over from the diseased ones. If the surgery is successful, he’ll feel better almost immediately. It’s astounding that he’s been able to carry on a full schedule with this level of deterioration.”

  “My husband is an astounding man,” Carolyn had replied, still dazed by the news.

  Rachel had asked the difficult question. “What are my father’s chances?”

  “Considering his age and other factors, like blood pressure or other medical conditions, I’d say he has a ninety-five percent chance of coming through the surgery without complications,” Dr. Chandler answered. “The statistics show about three to four percent mortality.”

  Mortality. What a dark, heavy word that was. Carolyn hated to hear it, though she had silently thanked her daughter for asking the question. She had been working up the courage.

  Back at the church, there had been a few awful moments when she thought they had lost him. Right before the ambulance came, when it seemed Ben was barely conscious and Tucker and Sam were taking turns at CPR, pumping Ben’s heart with their hands and breathing into his lungs.

  She was barely able to watch, but couldn’t look away as she crouched beside Ben, holding his hand. Ben’s eyes were closed and his skin looked gray. His hand felt limp in her own. He had no strength at all.