Journey Back to Christmas. Leigh Duncan

giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth. “That’s Mary Grace,” she explained. “She can never remember the lyrics. She’s a riot.” Practically taking the steps two at a time, she urged, “C’mon!”

      At the landing, Dottie darted toward the nurses and doctors who’d gathered around the Christmas tree. Icicles hanging from its branches shimmied as the air currents stirred. Tiny balls of color, reflections from the tree lights, danced against the walls, giving the room a cheerful, rosy glow. Glasses clinked as the festive group toasted one another with apple cider.

      Hanna took one look at the party and bit her lower lip. She could do this. She repeated the same message she’d been giving herself throughout the holiday season. She could, but she… she needed a minute. Turning aside, she spied the telephone alcove. Her footsteps slowed. She plucked Dottie’s sleeve. “I just want to make a phone call first.”

      “Now?” On the woman’s face, the desire to join the party played tug-of-war with a firm resolve to stick by her friend.

      “It’s for Toby,” she explained, focusing her thoughts on the little boy who sat in a hospital bed without anyone to visit him. She might not be able to change his future, but she could at least see that he had one nice holiday to remember. “I just want to make sure someone from the orphanage takes him home for Christmas.”

      Compassion darkened Dottie’s eyes. “Oh. Poor little boy. Go ahead. Make the call. Then, join us.”

      “I’ll be there in a minute. Promise,” Hanna said, relieved. Though she wasn’t sure she felt up to joining the party, she didn’t want to spoil the fun for her friend.

      But Dottie saw through her tricks. “Don’t forget. We’re all going to the gazebo,” she warned just as, in the room behind her, Dr. Axlerod launched into a rousing version of “Deck the Halls.” Her eyes widened. “That’s my favorite.” She grinned and dashed into the room.

      Slowly, Hanna walked to the phone perched on a stand in the corner of the hallway. Lifting the receiver to her ear, she spun the heavy rotary dial. When the operator asked who she’d like to call, she responded that she wanted to be put through to the Central Falls Orphanage.

      “I’m sorry. That line’s out of order,” the woman from the phone company explained.

      “Thanks,” Hanna answered, though her shoulders rounded. “I’ll try again later.” Hoping the repairs wouldn’t take long, she headed back the way she’d come. But at the door to the lounge, she stopped.

      Her friends all wanted her to join in the fun. To at least act as if everything was back to normal. She knew they meant well, and she appreciated it. They were only encouraging her to move forward with her life because they loved her and wanted what was best for her. In her heart, she thanked them for their concern. But this year—when so many were celebrating the safe return of loved ones—the holiday cheer and the decorations and the smells of gingerbread fresh from the oven had snuck up on her. And to be quite honest with herself, she wasn’t ready. Not for the wassail bowls. Not for the presents with their pretty bows. Not for Christmas carols and songs about hope and peace on earth, goodwill toward men.

      Most certainly, her sadness would ruin the party for everyone else, she decided. With a last look at the happy group, she slipped down the stairs and out of sight before anyone could notice.

      Alone in the nurses’ locker room a short while later, she exchanged her uniform for the green dress that had been one of Chet’s favorites and traded her sturdy white nursing shoes for the pretty red pumps she’d worn because of the holiday. Quickly, she buckled the thin ankle straps. Though the party upstairs might go on for an hour or so, she couldn’t take the chance that Dottie or one of the other nurses would catch her while she was still in the hospital.

      As she walked out of the main entrance a few minutes later, she glanced up at Toby’s room. Like he did every night, the young tyke stood at the window, waiting to wave goodbye to her.

      Hanna grinned up at him, and then made a silly face. With a jaunty wave, she headed down the long sidewalk to the parking lot. She’d only gone a yard or two when hurried footsteps sounded behind her. She stepped aside as an orderly hustled past, carrying several cardboard boxes. He’d almost reached the end of the walkway when the young man skidded on an icy spot.

      “Whoa!” he cried, juggling the boxes while he recovered his balance.

      “Need some help, Charlie?” Hanna hurried to his side, arriving just in time to catch one of the boxes before it hit the ground. Inside the sturdy cardboard, items shifted. Glass tinkled. “I hope nothing broke.”

      “I think everything’s okay.” Charlie jostled the box slightly. “It’s more Christmas decorations for the gazebo. I’m headed there now so we can get the last of them up before the lighting ceremony tonight. And I’m late.”

      “Well, be careful. It wouldn’t do at all for you to take a spill and break a leg. Or the ornaments—they mean so much to the town.” As a child, she’d looked on with wonder during the lighting ceremony. When they were in their teens, she and Chet had helped hang the decorations. As adults, they’d strolled around the gazebo and admired the lights every Christmas Eve.

      “Oh, darn it.” Charlie’s feet skidded the tiniest bit. “I was in such a rush that I forgot to hang up the spare key to the storage locker before I left. You think you could be a doll and take it back inside for me?”

      “I wish I could.” She wanted to help out. Honest, she did. But turning back now meant she’d probably run into Dottie. Her friend was sure to give her the third degree about skipping the party. She didn’t think she could face that tonight. Besides, if anyone absolutely had to get into the locker before morning, they could borrow a key from the head nurse. She had one for every cupboard and closet in the building.

      The tips of the orderly’s ears pinked as the young man eyed her street clothes. “I’d take it back myself, but I’m leaving first thing in the morning to spend the holiday with my folks.” His brow puckered. “Say. No one’s gonna need the key tonight. What say you take it home with you and hang it back up in the morning? It would sure help a fella out.”

      Hanna tilted her head. “I guess I could. As long as no one will need it in the meantime.”

      “Nah.” Charlie crunched a bit of snow under his shoe. “That closet’s as empty as my wallet. I got the last of the decorations right here.” He tapped his fingers against the side of a box. “If you wouldn’t mind, the key’s right here in my jacket pocket.” Turning, he leaned down to bring his shoulder within arm’s reach.

      Feeling just a touch self-conscious, she fished out the key. Hastily, she tucked it into her coat pocket, where she was sure to remember it when she arrived at work the next day.

      “Thanks, Nurse Hanna. You’re a peach.” Charlie righted the boxes in his arms. He hurried off in the direction of the town center.

      “Careful!” Hanna called after him. She gave the key in her pocket a final pat before, heeding her own warning, she picked her slow and cautious way toward the parking lot.

      By the time she reached her car, fat snowflakes covered the sidewalk in a fresh blanket of white. She sniffled, just a little, as she brushed the icy mix from the windshield of the 1943 Hudson. Chet had driven the car straight from the showroom to their house the week before he’d shipped out. He’d always taken such good care of her. She’d so looked forward to doing the same for him and spending the rest of her life making a home for him. With Chet’s degree in Civil Engineering, he’d go to work building houses or schools after the war ended. There’d be babies, of course. Once they came along, she’d quit her job at the hospital. Instead, she’d spend her days keeping house, raising their children, and helping out in the community. They’d have a good life, one filled with baseball games and dance recitals, PTA meetings and the Women’s League, dinners with important clients and family vacations. Or, at least, that