Candy Cane Wishes Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Candy Cane Wishes

  A Christmas Novella

  Leah Atwood

  Copyright © 2017 by Leah Atwood

  Cover Design © Covers by Ramona

  Cover Image © Adobestock.com

  Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the HCSB®, Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. HCSB® is a federally registered trademark of Holman Bible Publishers.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, 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.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  “For I have great joy and encouragement from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, brother.”

  Philemon 1:7

  Chapter One

  The Christmas Song drifted from the radio speakers. Flames danced above the rims of two jars on top of the mantle, melting the last of the wax in her Harvest Spice candles. Outside, snow trickled from the black sky, illuminated by the exterior light of Zoe Daniel’s apartment balcony.

  Zoe leaned a shoulder against the sliding glass door and stared outside at the town of Nativity, Maryland. She loved this town, nestled in the rolling hills of the north-central part of the state which bordered Pennsylvania. When she’d searched for a new place to live five years ago, the town’s name drew her in before she’d learned much else about the town. The people and community made her stay.

  A contented sigh left a circle of fog on the glass. What a difference five years made. Her first Thanksgiving in Nativity, she’d stood in this same spot with tears falling down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. She’d been heartbroken and alone, lost in a world she didn’t understand. Time hadn’t healed her wounds, but she was a survivor. Relocating to Nativity had proven to be the right move.

  Leaving the window, she trod across the plush carpet to the sofa. She lowered herself to the floor and sat cross-legged between the sofa and coffee table. One hundred candy canes in their red-and-white-striped glory covered the table in front of her. She cleared a spot, laid down a piece of cardstock to protect the glass from her permanent marker, and then pulled out a sheet of waterproof labels.

  Her lips stretched slowly into a smile. She’s been looking forward to this moment for months, her Thanksgiving night ritual. Tapping the marker against the glass, she thought about what to write on her first note. Why did she even think about what she would put? Every year, she wrote the same message on at least a dozen of the candy canes. If she’d learned one thing about the holidays, it was that loneliness abounded. The marker glided against the label as she wrote: You are not alone.

  After she’d filled an entire sheet of labels with that message, she set it aside and began on the next page, scrawling: You are loved enough times to fill another whole sheet. She wrote her favorite Bible verses on the next several pages of labels and ended with her favorite from the Christmas story: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

  She continued writing messages and affixing them to the staff-shaped sweets in a manner that didn’t disrupt the flow of reading. Her hand cramped as she neared the end of her stash and she flexed her fingers, willing life back into them. Almost done, Zoe. You’ve got this. When all the candy canes had a note attached, she stood and took a break from the project. This was only the beginning.

  A cold draft of air blew through the apartment. Zoe walked to the kitchen, filled the tea kettle and set it on a burner to heat. Tonight would be a cold one, and she would have to bundle in layers. I hope the roads aren’t too bad. If they were, she’d have to revise her game plan. Every year, the stores opened earlier on Black Friday, giving her a narrow timeframe to work within. She hadn’t been caught yet, and never would be if she had her way.

  Snowball and Coal, her two cats—all white and all black, respectively—came into the kitchen. Coal rubbed against her leg, and Snowball stood on her hind legs, stretching her front paws to Zoe’s knee.

  She stooped down and scratched their chins. “You two must’ve been sleepy. I thought for sure you’d be batting the candy canes off the tables.”

  Coal meowed in response. Snowball jumped on her shoulder.

  “Silly cats.” She pulled Snowball into her arms and snuggled her for a minute before setting her back on the floor. For as much as she’d hesitated to adopt the two felines, she had to admit they’d grown on her.

  Until rescuing the pair from the shelter, she hadn’t had a pet since she was in grade school. She’d never experienced the fondness for animals that many people had, but she wasn’t able to say no to Mrs. Jacobs from church. The elderly lady volunteered at the local animal rescue and pleaded with her to save the kittens. All right, I wasn’t able to resist the cats’ sweet faces. Now that she’d had the felines since they were kittens—they would turn five in March—she understood why people loved their pets so much. They didn’t replace family, but they did serve as companions on many otherwise lonely nights.

  The kettle whistled, spurring a line of steam into the air. She stood up and turned off the stove, removed the kettle from the burner. Reaching into an opened canister, she grabbed a bag of mulled spices herbal tea and dropped it into her travel mug. While the tea steeped, she returned to the living room. She blew out the candles, watching the smoke spiral from the blackened wick, and turned off the radio.

  She went to the closet and reached for her quilted tote bag, ideal for delivering the candy canes—an easy slip of her arm inside to retrieve one, no buttons or zippers to mess with. Back at the coffee table, she took care piling all the candy canes inside. Who wanted a broken candy cane?

  Before she left the apartment, she turned up the thermostat by two degrees. When she came home, she’d be cold and would want the comfort of a warm home. She bundled up in a heavy coat with a fleece scarf wrapped twice around her neck. Thin kidskin gloves would protect her hands while not debilitating her movements.

  After locking up, she descended the stairs from the second to ground level floor of her apartment complex. When she’d come home earlier from dinner with acquaintances, she’d gotten a great parking spot by the door which would probably be taken within minutes of her leaving. Maybe not, since it’s a holiday. Now that she looked, the lot was empty compared to its normal state.

  Her body hadn’t adjusted to the blast of cold air, and her hands shook as she unlocked the car door. Once she started the car, she sipped on her tea while waiting for the engine to warm. It would be a long night, but well worth a few hours in the frigid weather.

  She backed out of her spot—slowly, to te
st the slickness of the asphalt. So far, so good. The tires slipped a bit when she went forward, but the parking lot was sure to be worse than the roads. In the five years she’d been distributing the candy cane wishes, she’d perfected her route, making only minor adjustments to compensate for changes in store openings. Different days of the week required varied paths, but she had it down to a science.

  Driving five miles below the speed limit, she made her way to Bethlehem Park. The interior of her car had barely reached a comfortable temperature when she pulled into a spot in front of the gate. Town Maintenance must have been busy this week. Christmas lights that hadn’t been there Sunday were wrapped around the entire perimeter of the fence. Glowing wire-shaped bells, angels, wreaths, and bulbs hung every few feet. In the center of the park, a tall tree, twenty or so feet to her approximation, had been erected and decorated, topped off with a golden star.

  If it wasn’t so cold, and she didn’t have candy canes to disperse, she’d take time to sit, be still and take in the serene, picturesque setting. Instead, she hurried across the sidewalk that led to a pavilion. The snow lowered chances of someone showing up tomorrow, but she knew from experience the park invited lost souls to come and find their way. She’d spent many hours there her first year in Nativity, wandering the gardens, sitting on the benches, contemplating what plan God had for her life—after she’d decided that, yes, He did exist and hadn’t abandoned her.

  She took out a single candy cane and checked the message. You are loved. Rather than laying it on a picnic table as she typically would have, she wedged it between the cracks of the table, giving it a chance to remain until tomorrow instead of blowing away with the gusts. Mission accomplished, she raced back to her car, grateful for the heat.

  Next, she stopped at Nativity Community Church, her place of worship. The church would offer a hot meal tomorrow to the homeless of the community and to any person in need of a hot meal. The women’s ministry group had begun the now-annual dinner fifteen years ago as a practical means to eliminate leftovers from gigantic Thanksgiving feasts while also serving the community.

  Through the years the event had grown to a full meal, not only of leftovers but of whole turkeys given by the local supermarket, pies, and rolls donated from the bakery and sides brought by members of the church. Last year they’d tapped out the facility capabilities with three-hundred and fifteen men, women, and children attending, not including the volunteers.

  Thankfully, the church never locked its doors. She was able to slip inside, leave a candy cane in each of the men’s stalls, and all three of the women’s in the downstairs bathrooms. As an afterthought, she went upstairs and left one on the door handle to the sanctuary. Who knew if one of tomorrow’s guests might find their way up there to pray? On her way back to her car, she said a prayer for whoever found the messages tomorrow.

  The mall had always been her last stop, but road conditions were rapidly deteriorating. If she had to turn back early and forsake other locations, at least the large shopping area presented a great opportunity for passing out a lot of candy canes in a quick fashion. She made a right turn onto the mall loop and drove up close to one of the anchor stores.

  Lights flashed on top of a mall security vehicle.

  Uh-oh. She’d never had this problem. Could she park and go to the door, pretending to be a customer lining up early to cash in on an unbeatable deal in the morning? Worth a try. She parked in a spot, instead of along the curb as normal.

  The security truck slowed down as it passed her. Her heart skipped a beat even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Okay, some could make a case for littering, but I’m only spreading Christmas cheer. She took on the role of a shopper and grabbed her bag from the passenger seat. As casually as her nervous legs allowed, she made her way to the door. Hunching her shoulders, she huddled, acting as though she were trying to conserve her body heat—not a large stretch of the imagination. Apparently satisfied, the truck picked up speed and continued its rounds.

  Zoe skewed her face. How would she do the rest of the mall? Her guise might have worked once, but security would surely become suspicious if she continued moving from store to store. Before the truck had a chance to circle around again, she took out several candy canes and left them hanging on the door handle where they couldn’t be missed, and added two in a less conspicuous spot by the bushes on top of the concrete receptacle.

  Harsh winds blew snow into her face. Visibility was near zero as she jogged to her car. Reluctantly, she admitted she’d have to return home. This would be the first year she hadn’t been able to give out all the candy canes on Thanksgiving, but she had to consider her safety. Besides, there were thirty more nights between now and Christmas.

  She started her car again and turned the windshield wipers to full speed. The snow came down faster than it could be wiped away. Even in the split seconds of a clean windshield, she couldn’t see past the hood of the car. She sipped the last of her tea from the travel mug and said a prayer. Driving home was going to be a treacherous affair.

  Chapter Two

  Scores of shoppers draped with scarves and bags filled the Mall of Nativity. The fresh blanket of snow hadn’t prevented them from coming out on Black Friday to nab the best deals and ring in the official beginning to the Christmas shopping season. Several rushed from store to store, but the majority strolled along, out for the experience, not the sales.

  Donovan Byrne sat on a bench with a pen in hand, marking in his notepad. When he wrote his article later this evening, he didn’t want to forget the festive mood in the air, the smell of pecans toasting at the kiosk outside Marcy’s Department Store, or the awestruck face of the six-year-old staring at the animatronic dinosaur outside of Elton’s Electronics.

  After resting his weary feet—he’d been out since three this morning when the first store in town opened—he moved to the food court on the opposite end of the mall and stood in line for a lunch of teriyaki shrimp. He’d eat, take several pictures, go home, grab a short nap, then get back to work. His article covering Black Friday for The Daily Nativity had to be turned into the editor by seven, but Donovan had to be at church by five to assist with the annual after-Thanksgiving meal.

  Every year, he looked forward to this day, even though his work, both career and volunteer, made for long hours. It kept his mind off his empty home—the one that had held such promise when he’d bought it seven years ago. He’d worked full time his entire senior year of college and saved every spare penny from his first two years at The Daily Nativity in order to have a down payment for a house.

  The pride he’d felt on closing day crashed to a halt four years later when Deana left him, taking their one-year-old son with her. Even now, with the benefit of time to clear the fog, he couldn’t detect any hints she’d been unhappy. They’d planned an Alaska cruise for their five-year anniversary and discussed adding another child to their family.

  Then, bam! He’d come home one day to silence, and his heart ripped wide open. After a lengthy divorce proceeding that he didn’t want, he’d been relegated to an every-other-weekend dad to Brody, plus one month in the summer.

  He loved that kid—a bond that carried him through the hard times. On the most silent nights, he closed his eyes and let the memories of his son’s laughter fill his heart. It kept him going until the next time he would pick Brody up from Deana’s home in Bethesda—the one she shared with her new husband.

  His stomach turned sour. Most days, he accepted the broken relationship. Other days, mainly near the holidays, proved his heart still bore wounds. No longer hungry, he carried his tray to the nearest trash receptacle and dumped the remaining food, including the full Coke.

  Returning his focus to work, he checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to go until Santa’s grand arrival for the season. Donovan elbowed his way through the multiplying crowds in the food court and strolled to the center of the mall.

  Several displays he hadn’t noticed earlier caught his attention. He pulled his
camera from its bag and snapped several pictures. Once he finished his article, he’d sort through the shots and choose those which best complemented what he’d written.

  A large crowd gathered around the display where a crew had carefully crafted Santa’s Workshop. Eager kids waited in line to meet the man of the hour, while others, cranky and tired, begged with their actions to go home and take a nap.

  Donovan sympathized with the parents torn between staying and leaving. Last year, when he’d taken Brody, they finally succeeded in getting a picture on the second attempt. They’d left during the first one when Brody had a meltdown because he’d seen an elf’s ear fall off. No matter what anyone told him, he wouldn’t believe it was only part of a costume. By Sunday afternoon, he’d forgotten about it, and they’d made a detour to the mall before Donovan took him to his mother’s.

  The sound of carolers brought a hushed silence over the crowd. Men and women, dressed in forest green and crimson velvet costumes, appeared in the square, followed by costumed snowmen, reindeer, and elves. Directly behind them came Jolly Old Saint Nick, dressed in a bright red, fur-lined suit. The bells on his belt jingled as he waved and greeted his audience with boisterous enthusiasm. Once Santa sat down in the oversized armchair, a large portion of the crowd drifted away, but many remained for their chance to whisper their wish list in his ear.

  Donovan captured a few more memories with his camera then left the mall. A blistering wind ripped through his unzipped coat and succeeded in lifting a paper from the inside pocket. Nothing important—a flyer from one of the sales—but he wouldn’t litter by leaving it on the ground. He zipped his coat, adding a small measure of warmth to his body, and bent down to pick up the paper, which had landed under a shrub.

  As his fingers gripped the ad, he spotted a glimpse of red and white sticking out from under it. He anxiously yanked away the flyer to confirm his suspicion. When he saw the candy cane with an attached slip of paper, he smiled. He grabbed hold of it and stood to read the message. Wishing you joy this season!