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  The Christmas House Barry KuKes

  The Christmas House

  A Novel by

  Barry KuKes

  DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is dedicated to the loving memory of my father Bill, my mother Alyce and my brother Billy KuKes. You are in my heart 365 days a year. Feel free to visit at Christmas or any other time of the year you may wish. My door as is my heart, is always open.

  I would like to acknowledge the following people for making this work possible. Special thanks to my family and friends for putting up with me during the time of this writing. To Chris Orawiec who’s silver Cross pen was a constant reminder to never give up. To Allison Wright and Brendan Clark for their continued encouragement and support.

  Thank you all. Without you, there would not be a story to tell.

  INTRODUCTION

  Life can take many twists and turns along the way. Sometimes finding our way can be difficult. Finding our way back can be nearly impossible. Family and friends become the road maps of our lives as we mature in years and decide which paths to take. Not every path is paved with gold. Some paths are dirt roads leading nowhere, yet others lead to a fork in the road that forces us to make what could be a life-changing decision.

  Advice and suggestions from others, whether intentional or not, will lead us to our destiny. A friend or family member may approach us and say straight out, “You should do this.” They may show us our path by example. They may use a subtle, yet effective way of showing us which road to take. Life is not an accident. It is a pre-determined course that has detours and roadblocks. Burned out bridges and large bodies of water that require time and effort to maneuver around, may stall our progress or change our direction completely.

  The Christmas House tells the story of a special house that shows a family the way to its destiny and future goals. Through time and experience, they realize their dreams. Not every path is pleasant. Not every path is happy and joyful. With happiness comes disappointment. It is from those disappointments that they learn the true meaning of their important goals in life.

  The house may be the main focal point of the story; however, it is really only a catalyst that brings friends and family together once again. Life without dreams and aspirations is flawed and unfulfilling. Dreams that are flawed and unfulfilled never amount to much of a life. Live your dreams through the house on Festive Lane, and fulfill your own life in the process.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTERS

  CHAPTER 1 Christmas Eve

  CHAPTER 2 Christmas Day Approaches

  CHAPTER 3 Martha’s Birthday

  CHAPTER 4 The Closing

  CHAPTER 5 The Move

  CHAPTER 6 The Move Continues

  CHAPTER 7 Settling In at 148 Festive Lane

  CHAPTER 8 The Renovation

  CHAPTER 9 A New Beginning

  CHAPTER 10 Two Days Before Christmas

  CHAPTER 11 Christmas Eve

  CHAPTER 12 The Reunion

  CHAPTER 13 Christmas Day Revelations

  CHAPTER 14 The Surprise Guest

  CHAPTER 15 Another Year Passes

  CHAPTER 16 Thanksgiving it is not

  CHAPTER 17 Michael’s Struggle

  CHAPTER 18 The First Step

  CHAPTER 19 A Test of Faith

  CHAPTER 20 A Critical Night for Michael

  CHAPTER 21 Thanksgiving Alone

  CHAPTER 22 Michael’s Christmas Eve

  CHAPTER 23 The Last Christmas

  Chapter One- Christmas Eve

  Chicago, Illinois

  December 24th

  5:45 p.m.

  As the late December winds whistled through the city, a chill in the air embraced the pedestrians cluttering the streets as the temperature hovered slightly below freezing. A light snow begun to fall as the skyline of the city cast towering shadows over the pavement; the result of millions of holiday lights that illuminated the maze of sidewalks intertwined between massive stone and metal giants.

  The holiday ritual of last minute shoppers who scurried from store to store, searching for the one final perfect gift that they surely should have purchased weeks before, was ever present. Sounds of the season were in the air and the magic of Christmas would arrive once again in a few short hours.

  Miles away from the bright lights and hectic activity of the city, the Christmas spirit found it’s way to the aristocratic destination of Lake Forest, Illinois. A North Shore suburb, known for its’ wealth and prosperity passed down through the years, from generation to generation, this well-established, dignified sub-culture boasted mansion after mansion for miles on end. The homes were truly magnificent, as most were of an age well into their 90’s, yet maintained so perfectly and with special attention to detail. Distinctly landscaped, the majority of these estates were situated on lots well over an acre, populated with great elms and oaks that reached into the sky for what seemed to be forever.

  Many of the properties were not decorated for the holidays. Lake Forest required only financial security and wealth; religious beliefs and ethnic backgrounds that did not celebrate Christmas were of no concern to this upper crust society. However, there was one block of cobblestone pavement that was the exception to the rule. For as far as the eye could see, the twinkle of Christmas lights would shine from every home that was lavishly adorned with every imaginable decoration.

  Every home was decorated more spectacularly than the one before. The lights glistened off the snow that accumulated on the ground and covered the brown manicured lawns and perfectly sculpted topiary. From flying reindeer to jolly Santas, the street proudly lived up to its name of Festive Lane.

  The scene was not quite Terry Redlin at his best, but it was picturesque nonetheless.

  In the middle of this vast wonderland of holiday cheer stood a house that was surely out of its element; not from an overwhelming display of lights and mechanical figurines, but from the lack of any decorations at all. Although by all normal standards still a large mansion, this home did not shine.

  This house was a very old Victorian style home that featured many marvelous architectural designs and details. Unfortunately, the caretakers of this estate obviously neglected to properly maintain and care for this home for it was in desperate need of some very major renovation. The trim was blistered and the paint was peeling from the eves, exposing the raw wood to the elements of ever changing weather. The brickwork was in desperate need of tuck pointing from top to bottom. The chimney was missing bricks near the top of the stack as black smoke flowed out of it, indicating that it too had not been cleaned or serviced for many years.

  A single, dilapidated dingy yellow wreath hung on the front door of the house. Dormant trees that died long before winter set in, cast gruesome shadows upon the facade of the home. It seemed that the holiday best celebrated at this home was Halloween, not Christmas.

  The interior of the home was in no better condition. The formal dining room featured a scared and scratched dining table that would have been worth thousands in an antique shop. It looked as if it was built with the house nearly a hundred years ago. The large tabletop was a lackluster dark mahogany that shined unevenly from a lifetime of inexpensive polish applications. The dining room chairs, also mahogany with green velvet cushions, were torn and tattered in several places. A dark wood grandfather clock ticked away in the far corner of the room. It was not one of those imitation clocks of today. This clock looked as if, it truly was owned by a grandfather. The tweed carpeting, which was a faded gray color, was extremely worn especially in traffic areas. Uneven walls were covered in an awful looking damask material that was of a gold-yellow flower design. Cha
ir-rail woodwork that bordered the room appeared to be a dark oak that was also in need of refinishing.

  The living room as well displayed furnishings that were antiquated and distinctively antique. Overstuffed horsehair chairs with brass grommets upon textured dark fabrics seized the room. Soiled off-white doilies placed on arms and the headrests suggested a musty odor. Matching ottomans with springs protruding, were found in front of each chair. The interior of the home was desperately in need of renovation and a decorator’s touch.

  In the kitchen, the walls were tiled with loosely hung smoke tarnished yellow tiles. The furnishings were a stainless steel table and four chairs that had seen better days. A vast collection of salt and pepper shakers filled several shelves about the cabinetry. A pot belly stove stood ominously next to an icebox that was no larger than the elderly woman standing beside it.

  Wearing a dark blue dress protected by a white apron, she opened the oven door with a tattered and burned oven mitt upon one hand. She removed a cookie sheet filled with freshly baked gingerbread men shaped cookies and walked tediously to the nearby kitchen table.

  In her late seventies, the woman was small in stature with a full head of grayish-silver hair. The white support hose she wore over her stout legs offered little opacity to cover the varicose veins bulging from her calves. Orthopedic shoes that only a grandmother would wear adorned her feet. Rose colored cheeks enhanced her sunken brown eyes as ivory loose-fitting dentures filled her mouth. As she walked her hips swayed out of time, for arthritis found its’ way to this frail body of mass and matter.

  Back at the oven, the old woman removed yet another sheet of cookies and placed it on top of the stovetop to cool. The kitchen table was completely covered with numerous platters displaying of an assortment of various foods. A paradise of sweets, most of the foods were dessert and snack type delicacies. Nowhere in sight was there evidence of something more substantial such as a main course dinner of a golden brown turkey or succulent ham.

  She walked into the dining room and unfolded a white lace tablecloth onto the dining room table. As she pulled and tugged at the tablecloth in an effort to relax the wrinkles, she gazed at the grandfather clock that ticked away in the corner.

  “I’m running behind,” she said as she shook her head in a disapproving fashion.

  It was a few minutes before six o’clock. She hurried into the kitchen and started to place trays of cookies and plates of cakes onto the table. She made several trips back and forth to the kitchen from the dining room, arranging plates and platters appropriately. It was obvious that she was hosting a well-attended holiday party.

  As the table became a kaleidoscope of sweets and appetizers she became more and more excited. She placed the last tray of cookies on the dining table and scurried over to a corner of the room opposite to that of the grandfather clock. Before her stood, what years ago would have been commonly recognized as a console phonograph. She opened the lid of the dark wooden cabinet and revealed a turntable with a gray cloth palette. In a methodical manner, she opened a door under the console and retrieved a record album. The jacket of the album had faded over the years and thus was unreadable. She removed the vinyl record from the browbeaten jacket and placed it on the spindle. As she turned on the phonograph, the record fell down the spindle onto the turntable and the toner arm set down onto the records' first selection. With the phonograph volume turned up quite loud, it was easy to hear the static pops that emanated from the speakers. As the music started, it disguised the crackles of the worn LP and the tune “Silver Bells”, as sung by Johnny Mathis filled the house.

  “Chime, chime, chime, chime, chime, chime.” Almost in unison with the chorus of “Silver Bells”, the chimes from the grandfather clock complimented Johnny’s voice and brought the room alive. It was 6:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.

  Christmas Eve

  6:00 p.m.

  148 Festive Lane

  A faint tone lingered from the last chime and faded into the silence. The doorbell rang.

  As the old woman walked across the room to answer the front door, she removed her apron and brushed flour remnants off her dark blue dress featuring a proper white embroidered collar. She stopped in front of a full-length mirror in the foyer, and primped her hair as she checked her make up. Satisfied with her appearance she proceeded to the door as a smile came to her face.

  As the door slowly swung inward, the guests still outside on the front stoop yelled, “Merry Christmas Martha!” As they entered the foyer, they hugged and kissed Martha as if they had not visited her for quite sometime.

  The guests included an attractive woman in her early forties, a tall gentleman in his mid-fifties and a young girl who was fourteen. They each carried a tray of cakes and cookies. The stunning woman took off her coat and handed it to Martha as she walked toward the dining room table and commented, “In all the years we have been coming here, this place hasn’t changed one bit, Martha.”

  “Yes, I have tried to keep it up, but I’m not getting any younger,” Martha said as she collected the garments from the well-dressed man and the young girl, presumed to be the couple’s daughter.

  The young girl ran into the dining room and shouted, “Well, I’m not getting any older, so there!”

  They all laughed as the girl snatched a cookie from the dining room table and ran off into the family room area.

  “What a beautiful tree Martha!” she shouted from the family room.

  The doorbell rang again and Martha hurried to answer it. Again the guests that arrived shouted, “Merry Christmas Martha!”, as she opened the door and invited them inside.

  As they hugged and kissed, the doorbell rang again- and again- and again. Thirty, forty, fifty times over a brief 30-minute period. With each guest that arrived came an additional tray of sweets. The selection of food on the dining room table was overwhelming. The variety of guests that now filled the house was vast as well. Old people, middle aged, and several young children. Some people even brought their dogs. The house was abundant with joy and merriment, so much so that it was strange. It just wasn’t normal. It was as if a stage play was in full production and all of the actors were told to laugh and smile on cue. Over 120 people filled the house and without exception every one of them was smiling, laughing or singing.

  After an hour or so, the guests finally stopped arriving and the food and drink begun to flow, as the party was an obvious success. Having appropriately cared for the needs of her guests, Martha took advantage of an opportunity of leisure and joined the very first family that arrived earlier this evening at the dining room table.

  The distinguished gentleman, in his fifties was extremely well dressed in a three-piece black suit that was accented with a beautiful silk tie. Tied in a perfect Windsor knot around his starched white shirt collar, the silk reflected a light overhead. A mustache adorned his face, as well as a full beard graying at the temples. A full head of wavy black hair also hinted of gray, but added to the Clark Gable good looks of the dignified gentleman.

  His wife, sitting at his side, was as mentioned very attractive. Her golden blonde hair was worn up with a bun over her forehead that accentuated her pronounced cheekbones. Wearing a lovely black dress that was v-cut at the neck, it showed off her lean yet shapely figure. Her lips, painted cherry red, were complimented by a light beige cover-base makeup upon her face.

  Their daughter, who sat across the table next to Martha, was lovely as well. Dark hair like her father, it was braided into locks and perfectly set. Her blue eyes and creamy white skin blended well with the pretty bright yellow and white ruffled dress she wore.

  The man directed his attention to Martha.

  “Martha, hosting this party year after year must be getting to be quite a chore for you isn’t it?”

  “Well, it does get harder every year, but I really don’t mind. Its’ only once every 365 days. I only wish my hips were a few years younger,” Martha replied.

  “Well, I have some good news for you,” the man s
aid.

  “Yes Daddy, tell her, tell her!” The young girl chimed in.

  “Now calm down Rebecca... I am trying to,” he said.

  “Yes Martha, Stephen has something very important to tell you,” his wife said, as she smiled.

  “Thank you Mary. Well Martha, this is the last time you will have to go through all of this work at Christmas time,” Stephen said.

  “It is?” Martha asked.

  “Yes, by this time next year, you will be staying with us,” he said.

  “Really? When will this happen?” Martha asked.

  “By May of next year, so you are going to have to sell this house quickly. And remember you have to find the right buyer. Not just anyone can own this magnificent, old magical house,” he said.

  “Oh yes, I will find the right people to purchase the house. I promise you that father,” Martha said as she looked at the man with tears in her eyes.

  They embraced as several other guests from the party entered the dining room.

  “Well, did you tell her Stephen?” several asked.

  “Yes, and she is very happy. A bit apprehensive, but happy.”

  It was now almost 10:00 p.m. on this Christmas Eve. The immediate area outside, in front of the house was completely deserted. For as far as the eye could see, not a single car was in sight or even parked on the street. The nexus of the desolate street and the large family celebration inside the house on Festive Lane seemed peculiar and illogical.

  Chapter 2- Christmas Day Approaches

  December 24th

  148 Festive Lane

  11:45 p.m.

  The party was still going strong as the grandfather clock ticked closer to midnight and the advent of Christmas Day would soon find it’s way to the old dilapidated house. Martha was sitting in a large cloth upholstered, dark burgundy Queen Anne style chair. She struggled to keep her eyes open but it was of little use. It had been a very long day and she was totally exhausted. As she drifted off into a sound sleep, her guests went about visiting with one another. The few children at the party were playing with several dogs in the family room that was toward the back of the house. A younger couple in their late twenties, walked hand in hand to the foyer that led to the second level of the mansion. As they ascended the carpeted stairway, they glanced down to the lower level to see if their actions were noticed. The guests down below were absorbed with each other and not a soul was aware of the absence of the young couple.