Chapters (59)

Right in the middle of the snowy sidewalk, he went down on one knee and handed her a small box. “Elaine St. James, this means more than you think it means.” Passersby were trying to be polite and not stare but they did anyway, grinning and whispering and nudging each other. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this moment, the two of them, the warmth flowing between them.

Her hands trembled as she opened the box. She gasped, taking out a key ring with a silver skate. “How on earth did you get this?”

“Don’t ask,” he said with a grin. “It’s magic.”

She stared at him and her heart started to sing every carol and love song she’d ever heard.

“One of these days,” he promised her, “this is going to be a different kind of ring,” he added, getting to his feet. “And you’re going to say yes, Elaine. Because, well, I love you,” he said. “I always have.”

A warm wash of tears fell down her cheeks, and a hush of reverence gripped her. “I know,” she whispered. “I know that. Tony, I love you. I’ll love you forever.”

She clasped the silver skate in her hand, knowing the real gift was something she hadn’t expected and maybe didn’t even deserve—a chance to change her life.

She buried her face against his shoulder and inhaled. A thousand hopes and dreams gave birth to a thousand more, and all the cares in the world slipped away. I promise, she thought. I promise I won’t blow it this time.

They stood like that for a long time, with Christmas exploding all around them, and finally Tony pulled away and walked up to the blocky brownstone.

He opened the door to a big, loud, cluttered kitchen that smelled of baking bread and rang with laughter and conversation. Everyone turned to them when they stepped inside.

“This is Elaine,” Tony said, drawing her into the room with him. “We’re home.”

Candlelight Christmas

Part One

Christmas Pickles

The origin of the Christmas pickle is steeped in mystery. It seems no one knows the real truth. The handblown glass pickle ornaments from Lauscha in Germany can date back as far as 1847, and are treasured by families everywhere. The first child to spy the ornament on the tree Christmas morning gets an extra gift from Santa, and the first adult enjoys good luck all the year through. It’s probably just a marketing hook, but who doesn’t like presents and good luck?

The pickle prize inspired this recipe for jars of colorful pickles. Since these are no-process pickles, they are a) easy and b) perishable.

Much like a woman’s heart.

No-Process-Pickles

1 cup water

1 cup white vinegar

2 teaspoons salt

1 tablespoon sugar

Handful of fresh dill

Whole peppercorns and peeled garlic cloves

Kirby cucumbers (or regular cucumbers, cut into quarters lengthwise)

Red radishes, sliced thin