Not Just For Christmas. Debbie Macomber

getting crowded.

      “I don’t see Calla. She’s not going to make it home this year?”

      “And miss spoiling her baby brother?” Joshua returned. “You’re joking, right?”

      Hassie laughed delightedly. “I should have known better.”

      “Jeb, Maddy and the kids are already here.”

      The names flew over Vaughn’s head, but it was apparent that Hassie loved each family.

      “Maddy owns the grocery,” Joshua explained as they strolled across the street and entered the park. “She’s married to my son. Best thing that ever happened to him.”

      “Oh, yes—I saw the grocery,” Vaughn said. “Maddy. I remember. The fantastic reindeer.”

      Joshua grinned widely. “Yup, that’s our Maddy. Loves any excuse to decorate—and does a great job.”

      “They have two of the most precious children you’ll ever want to see,” Hassie added, “with another on the way.”

      “The first pregnancy and this latest one were real surprises.”

      “I’ll bet Jeb’s developed a liking for blizzards,” Hassie murmured, and the two older folks burst into laughter.

      “You’d have to know the history of that family to understand what’s so amusing,” Carrie said, joining them.

      “Hello again,” Vaughn murmured.

      “Hi.”

      Vaughn had trouble looking away.

      “How about you and Carrie getting me some hot chocolate?” the older woman asked.

      “Bring some for me, too, while you’re at it,” Joshua said.

      “I think we just got our marching orders,” Carrie told him, her eyes smiling. “Is that okay?”

      “I don’t mind if you don’t,” Vaughn replied.

      The cold had brought color to her cheeks, and her long blond hair straggled out from under her wool hat. “It’s fine with me. Buffalo Bob and Merrily are serving cocoa and cookies over there,” she said a little breathlessly.

      “I’ll be right back,” Vaughn said over his shoulder as he followed Carrie.

      “Don’t rush,” Hassie called after him … and then he thought he saw her wink at him.

       Three

      The Christmas lights strung around the outside of the old house welcomed Vaughn back to his parents’ home. His mother had been born and raised in Grand Forks, but his grandparents had moved to Arizona when he was six. Vaughn had no recollection of visiting the Dakotas, although he was certain they had. His memories centered on the Denver area and his father’s family. Not until Rick was accepted for early retirement did they decide to return to the home that had been in the Lowell family for more than a hundred years.

      The television blared from the living room as Vaughn let himself into the house, entering through the door off the kitchen after stomping the snow from his shoes on the back porch. He unzipped his jacket and hung it on a peg, along with his muffler.

      “Is that you, Vaughn?” his mother called.

      “No, it’s Santa,” he joked.

      He watched as his mother, still holding her needlepoint, hurried into the kitchen. “You’re not hungry, are you?”

      “I filled up on cookies and hot chocolate.”

      His mother studied him as if to gauge how the meeting with Hassie had gone—the real question she wanted to ask, he suspected. “Did you have a … good visit?”

      “Yes.” He nodded reassuringly. “We talked before dinner, but afterward there was a tree-lighting ceremony in the park.”

      “You attended that?” His mother sounded pleased.

      “Sure, why not?” His response was flippant, as though this was the very thing he’d normally do. In truth, though, Vaughn couldn’t recall attending anything like it since he was in grade school. The evening had been quite an experience. The whole town had come alive with music and laughter and people enjoying one another’s company. Christmas had never been a big deal to Vaughn—but he’d never seen an entire community join together like this, either. He knew it had made a lasting impression on him, that it left him longing for the same kind of warmth. For a true spirit of celebration, far removed from sophisticated parties and decorator-trimmed trees.

      “How is Hassie?” his mother asked.

      Vaughn wasn’t sure what to say. Hassie was without a doubt one of the most dynamic women he’d ever met. She possessed character and depth and a heart that poured out love for her family and her community. He’d immediately seen how deeply she was loved and respected. After these hours in her company, Vaughn had understood why. “She’s an extraordinary woman.”

      “I know.” His mother’s voice was soft, a little tentative. Before Vaughn could say more, she’d retreated into the living room.

      Vaughn followed and his father muted the television, obviously waiting for him to enlighten them about his visit.

      “Hassie let me read the letters her son wrote from Vietnam.”

      His mother resumed her needlepoint and lowered her head, as though the stitches demanded her full attention.

      “They were riveting. I learned about the war itself, things I could never have learned from a book, and about the man who wrote them.” At the time, Hassie’s son had been younger than Vaughn was now. In his letters, Vaughn had recognized the other man’s sense of humanity, his hatred of war and his desire to make a difference, to share in a struggle for freedom.

      “We met at the University of Michigan during our freshman year of college,” his father said, and his eyes went blank. He seemed to be back in a different place, a different time. Vaughn knew he hadn’t been accepted into the service himself because of poor eyesight. “He was my roommate. Both of us were away from home for the first time and in an environment completely foreign and unfamiliar. I suppose it’s only natural that we became close.”

      His mother added in a low voice, “He was the most generous person I’ve ever known.”

      “He got a part-time job tutoring a youngster who had leukemia,” his father continued, his gaze focused on the television screen. “He was hired for three hours a week, but Vaughn spent much more time with him than that. He played games with Joey, talked to him, cheered him up, and when Joey died at thirteen, the boy’s mother said Vaughn had been his best friend.”

      “That’s the kind of person he was,” his mother said.

      “Hassie gave me the school letter he earned in wrestling. And then, after I walked her back home, she said there was something else she wanted me to have.” His parents looked up when he paused. Even now, Vaughn could hardly believe Hassie would give him such a gift.

      “What, son?”

      “Her husband’s gold pocket watch. It would’ve been Vaughn’s had he lived.” Hassie had placed it in his hands with tears filming her eyes, then closed his fingers around it.

      “Treasure it, Vaughn,” his mother whispered.

      “I do.” Vaughn’s first reaction had been to refuse something that was clearly a valuable family heirloom, something that meant a great deal to the old woman. He’d felt the significance of her gift and was moved by the solemnity of her words and gestures when she’d presented it to him.

      He would always keep it safe. And he would pass