A Christmas Family Miracle. Rebecca Winters

hooked her arm through Crystal’s and drew her past the door. Once it was closed, they went up the stairs to the first floor. The place had been transformed into a Christmas fairyland.

      “It’s beautiful, Arlette.”

      “We can thank Raoul. He got Bernard to help him set up everything for me.”

      What would their family do without Raoul? He carried the emotional weight and still managed to do his own work and everyone else’s. Crystal marveled at his capacity.

      Philippe ran over to the tree. “There’s Père Noël!” He remembered.

      “Don’t touch it, honey. Those wooden ornaments are very precious.”

      “He can touch whatever he wants,” Arlette countered, like the loving grandmother she was. “Go ahead, Philippe. Take it off the branch. It’s yours to keep.”

      “Goody!”

      “You can have a piece of marzipan in that candy dish, too.”

      “Mmm.” He stuffed one in his mouth while he ran over to inspect the fabulous hand-painted grandfather clock that had just struck the half hour. Philippe had always loved to stand in front of it and wait to hear the chimes. Little Hansel and Gretel figures came out, fascinating him.

      “I’ve put your suitcases in the upstairs bedroom,” Raoul informed Crystal. He’d just walked into the room still wearing his bomber jacket. She took one look at him and felt her heart turn over and over. It had been doing that since the moment she’d heard his voice at her father’s store, almost as if it had a life of its own.

      “Thank you.”

      “Hey—here’s my daddy!” Philippe cried out with his mouth still full of candy. With the small, red-painted wooden figure of a solemn Father Christmas clutched in one hand, her son used his other hand to pick up a small framed picture of his father in his ski outfit. Arlette had placed it on the long credenza with many other family pictures. Everyone in the family was represented.

      He picked up another picture and showed it to Raoul. “This is Tante Suzanne, huh?”

      Crystal squeezed her eyes closed for a second. This was the hard part.

      “Yes.”

      “She died, huh.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Was she skiing like Daddy?”

      “No. It was spring and she died in an aerial tram accident.”

      Suzanne had gone hiking with some people from the office where she’d worked. They’d taken an aerial tram so they could start their hike way up in the mountains. But it had been hit by gale force winds and fell, killing her. Crystal winced to think about the bare bones details again.

      “Oh,” Philippe said in a quiet voice. “Do you still cry?”

      “Not anymore, but I’ll never forget her.”

      Philippe let out a big sigh and wandered over to his uncle, putting an arm around him. “I don’t cry as much, either.” Oh, Philippe. “Mommy says Daddy’s in heaven. Do you think Suzanne’s in heaven, too?”

      “Yes.”

      The scene was too much for Arlette, whose eyes had filled. With a husband lying ill, she didn’t need more of this conversation.

      “Come on, honey.” Crystal took hold of his hand. “We need to go upstairs and freshen up. Then we’ll go over to the hospital to see your grandfather.”

      Philippe pulled back and looked up at her in alarm. “How come he’s in there?”

      “Remember your uncle told you he was sick?”

      “Yes,” he said in a tentative voice.

      “Well, the hospital is the best place for him to get better.”

      “Does he know I’m coming?” he asked as Crystal walked up the stairs to the next floor with him.

      “I don’t think so. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

      “I like surprises.”

      “He will too when he sees you walk in his room.”

      Crystal didn’t need to ask where Arlette had put them. Raoul had already told them. Since Philippe’s birth, Eric’s old room had a double and a twin bed. On the dresser someone had put up a little Christmas tree with lights. More of Raoul’s doing? Along with the décor there were some games and dozens of his father’s mementos and trophies for Philippe to enjoy.

      Photos of Eric at different ages lined one wall. Another one held pictures of baby Philippe’s christening at St. Michel church, plus more pictures of the three of them. Eric and his son looked almost identical at the age Philippe was now. Her boy was delighted by everything.

      She thought she might not be able to handle this painful trip down memory lane, but it turned out she was wrong. If anything, she looked at the smiling couple and their baby with the perspective of time on her side.

      The birth of Philippe and the few weeks after when Eric had spent more time at home to be with her and the baby had been the last period of happiness in their marriage. Once the weighty responsibility of parenthood had descended, she’d thrown herself into it with the kind of joy she couldn’t have imagined before becoming a mother. But in so doing, she’d caused an unwitting division between her and Eric that had only grown wider and unbridgeable with time.

      Today she could admit the truth to herself. If he hadn’t died, she knew deep inside she would have ended up in Breckenridge and a divorce would have followed. What was the old adage? Dignity in death, disgrace in divorce? It was an awful saying. In both cases there was loss. Period.

      Raoul went inside the hospital room ahead of the others. He saw a new addition to all the flowers since he’d last been in here. A beautiful Christmas red poinsettia had been delivered. The get-well card was from Crystal’s parents. Jules would be touched.

      His thoughts flew to Philippe. He knew it would frighten him to see his graying grandfather on oxygen with an IV in his arm. In the last few weeks he’d lost ten pounds with the flu. His gaunt appearance made him look closer to seventy than sixty-five.

      The doctor couldn’t account for Jules getting so ill at his age, but they both agreed the two deaths in the family had probably been too much for him. Despite all his hard work, he was a family man through and through and lived for his children. Eric’s death had robbed him of his joie de vivre. If anyone could bring it back, it would be Philippe, who had certain mannerisms and features inherited from his father.

       “Papa?”

      “Ah, Raoul. You’ve been gone so long.” He grasped his hand and wept.

      It killed him to see his father like this. “I’ve brought someone with me. Are you up for company?”

      His eyelids fluttered open to half mast. “Bien sûr,” he murmured in a voice half as strong as normal.

      “I’ll be right back.”

      He hurried over to the door and opened it. Three worried pairs of eyes fastened on him. “How is he?” his mother asked.

      “He’s awake.”

      “Can I see him?” Philippe whispered.

      “What do you think?” He reached for his nephew’s hand and they walked over to the left side of the bed. Crystal and his mother followed and stood on the right. Raoul was surprised Philippe didn’t flinch at all the tubes.

      “Hi, Grand-père. It’s me.”

      Again his father’s eyelids opened, alert to a new voice in the room. “Me, who?”

      Philippe giggled. “You know who I am.” In case Jules couldn’t see him well,