A Merry Little Christmas Read online

  A Merry Little Christmas

  Melanie Schuster

  Copyright 2004 Melanie Schuster

  Dedicated with Love

  To all my readers and friends.

  Thanks for being so patient;

  God isn’t finished with me yet!

  May this holiday season be your very best.

  Prologue

  Angelique Deveraux drove slowly through the familiar streets of her parents’ neighborhood in Atlanta. She drove like a little old lady because she was only truly comfortable in her own car, a Saab. But she was very familiar with the area; she knew it like the back of her hand and it felt safe. And she was also taking her own sweet time because she didn’t want to go back to her mother’s house just yet. Everything there was warm and wonderful with the sounds and smells of Christmas, and Angelique had never felt less like celebrating. She’d have felt awkward in any case as she was the proverbial black sheep of the Deveraux clan, but the fact that she’d been living in Detroit for six months made her feel even more like a stranger in her own family.

  In a family full of tall, beautifully mannered, brilliant sons with magnificent wives, Angelique was the only female and the oddball; the “mean” Deveraux with the nasty temper and few redeeming social graces, and, of course, no husband or children. Her exploits were the stuff of community legend: she’d been known as a holy terror since kindergarten. Being extremely beautiful served only to make her reputation worse; people practically rubbed their hands in glee when recounting the latest scandal in which Angelique was center stage. It didn’t matter whether the story had any basis in fact, any juicy tidbit that included her name whipped through Atlanta and its suburbs like a flash flood. There was no way Angelique could have lived down her reputation, even if she’d wanted to. And that was one of the most confounding things about her, at least to those who knew her best. She never attempted to deny any accusation or give her side of any story. When confronted, which wasn’t often since most people feared her fiery temper, all she would do is drawl, “So what else would you expect from me?”

  The seasonably warm Atlanta weather was bothersome to Angelique. She had gotten accustomed to the cool, brisk weather of Michigan and actually longed for it. Somehow it had felt more Christmas-y in Michigan with the periodic snow showers and the cold, windy nights. Now she was home in seventy-degree weather, trying and failing to summon up a shred of Christmas joy. When did it stop being fun and start feeling like a horrid, gaudy farce? She sighed deeply and was about to turn into the long drive of her mother and stepfather’s home when she noticed a figure some yards past the drive.

  There at the foot of the next driveway was Bobby Foster. Bobby, who had Down syndrome, was the adult child of the neighbors. He was wearing a magnificently mismatched outfit of Christmas pajamas and a padded jacket that was buttoned wrong. He also had on a shiny hat that looked like a remnant from a birthday party and he was blissfully leading an imaginary parade with masterful strokes of his makeshift baton, a wooden spoon. Angelique stared at the improbable picture and her throat immediately started to hurt from the huge lump that formed in it. She stopped the car and covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop the onslaught of hot tears she felt coming.

  She was gorgeous, wealthy, spoiled beyond reason and in excellent health, but with all her heart she wished for the carefree joy Bobby had in such abundance. Snap out of it, cow. Try to think of someone other than yourself for a change, she chastised herself.

  She got out of the car and waved at him. “That’s a sporty outfit, Bobby, but I think you should be inside, don’t you?”

  Bobby’s face lit up and he ran over to give her a hug. “Hello, Angel! Come home with me,” he said happily. “We have cookies, I helped make them. And you can see what Santa brought me.

  “I’d love to, but only if you let me give you a ride,” she replied, hugging his soft body that smelled like sugar cookies once more. They got into the car and she rolled the car up the driveway to his house, listening to his happy chatter all the way.

  At least one of us still believes in Christmas.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  “I still don’t like the idea of you being so far away, Angelique. Isn’t it time for you to come home permanently?” The voice, full of concern, belonged to Lillian Mercier Deveraux Williams. The expression on her face was also deeply marked by worry. She was sitting in the living room belonging to Angelique’s brother Clay while various Deveraux children and a very happy Golden Retriever named Patrick were racing around, making the customary noises associated with holiday gatherings.

  Angelique was busy clearing the room of any discarded wrappings, toys or anything else that didn’t belong there, but upon hearing the genuine longing in her mother’s voice, stopped what she was doing. Walking to where her mother was seated in a big art-deco-style armchair, she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then sank gracefully onto the matching ottoman.

  “Mama, I originally went to Detroit to help A.J. with his documentaries, but I love living there, I really do. It’s an exciting place to be. There are so many cultures there, it’s amazing. So many different kinds of people and lifestyles and the architecture and the different neighborhoods—it’s just so fascinating!” Angelique took one of her mother’s hands and squeezed it gently. “And there’s actually a lot of interest in my work, too, Mama. The African-American museum is talking to me about having an exhibition, can you imagine? I’m not just a photographer’s assistant anymore, I’m a real photographer, hard as that is to believe,” she added in satisfaction.

  “Well, of course you are, Angel! A.J. knew you had talent from the very beginning, that’s why he was so glad to be working with you.” The new voice was that of Angelique’s newest sister-in-law, Vera Clark Deveraux. She had wandered into the room and curled up on one of the two big leather sofas that faced each other in front of the huge fireplace wall. She was as beautiful as the day she and Marcus Deveraux had met, but she had an extra radiance that came from her recently announced pregnancy. Angelique smiled broadly at Vera before replying.

  “Vera, that’s very sweet of you, but we both know that isn’t quite true. A.J. recognized the importance of his paycheck and when he was saddled with me he just made the best of it, that’s all. I’d been through every other department at the Deveraux Group, and making me AJ.’s assistant was just one more attempt to find me something to do. Now that’s what really happened, my dear sister.” Angelique was laughing but no one else joined in.

  Vera rubbed her still-small tummy and yawned. “Angel, that sounds dangerously close to you trying to disparage yourself my dear sister-friend, and as I’ve told you before, I ain’t having it. A.J. really did recognize your talent very early on and he loved working with you. Believe me, he’d have thrown you out on your F-stop if he hadn’t,” she said firmly. “So what if it took you a while to find your forte? You found it, and that’s all that matters. Every time I look at those pictures you took for Christmas, I start bawling. They’re the most fabulous things I’ve ever seen.”

  Angelique blushed with pleasure and mumbled her thanks. She still wasn’t comfortable with praise over her work. She had taken pictures of each brother’s family and of her mother and stepfather as a Christmas present. The background was off-white and everyone was dressed in casual off-white clothing. Each portrait was a singular work of art, but they were posed in such a way that if all the photographs were displayed together, as they were at her mother’s house, it would look like a giant portrait of the whole family. The only person missing was Angelique, something her mother had pointed out

  “Angel, baby, this is a beautiful set, but it’s not complete without you. Anyone woul
d think you weren’t a member of the family,” she’d said indignantly. And she brought the subject up again as soon as Vera mentioned the fantastic pictures.

  “Mama, I promise, as soon as I get back to Detroit I’ll get A.J. to take a picture of me. I swear I will. Now, see, there’s another reason for me to go back to Detroit. You want your set complete, right? Well, this is the only way it will happen. And besides, it’s not like I’m all alone up there,” she said persuasively. “I’ve got the best roommate in the world since Paris is still doing her internship at Cochran Communications. I’m never lonely because Renee and Andrew have me over all the time, and Paris and I even go up to Saginaw and see Vera’s parents. Mrs. Clark cooks as good as you do, Mama, and she always makes us a feast. I’m doing just fine, I really am,” she said, leaning affectionately against her mother. “And you know A. J. would never let anything happen to me.”

  Lillian made a little noise of grudging assent. She knew her only daughter was perfectly safe in Detroit Her oldest son, Clay, was married to Benita Cochran, whose family owned Cochran Communications. Benita’s family consisted of five brothers, all of whom lived in Detroit and treated Angeique like family. And as for A.J., whose real name was Alan Jandrewski, there was no question that he would protect Angelique to the death. AJ. had been born and raised in the Polish enclave of Detroit known as Hamtramck, son of a Polish steelworker father and an African-American R.N. mother. Discovering that he had cancer had been the impetus for A.J.’s decision to leave fashion photography. Upon his recovery, he’d decided to start making documentaries, and took Angelique with him to Michigan to assist with the first one. To everyone’s surprise, she took to her new environment like a baby duck to a pond of fresh spring water and decided to stay.

  It was ironic that Angelique would find success outside the family business, the Deveraux Group. They owned and operated magazines, weekly and daily newspapers and a cable network, yet Angelique’s artistic success had come on her own. Lillian shook her head and sighed. She still wasn’t thrilled that her only daughter had so completely left the nest. She opened her mouth to express this thought when the entrance of more relatives to the living room interrupted her.

  First to join them was Benita Cochran Deveraux, still radiant after five children. She and her beloved husband, Clay, absolutely thrived on children. Both of them seemed to get more energy after a new arrival. They had a son and two sets of twins; the older twins were rambunctious boys and the younger were two adorable baby girls. Bennie, as Benita was known, agreed with Angelique that she was a welcome guest in any Cochran home.

  “Lillian, I know you worry about her being so far away, but she’s in good hands in Detroit. She’s well loved, don’t you worry,” Bennie said warmly.

  Angelique laughed at this last remark from her dearly loved sister-in-law. “Bennie, not all the Cochrans love me, as you well know. Adonis would just as soon drop me in the Detroit River as look at me, and you know it.”

  Bennie joined in the laughter. It was true, her youngest brother, Adonis, commonly called Donnie, had a volatile history with Angelique. “Oh, you just get to him because you don’t fall all over him like most women do. Besides, Daddy is crazy about you and so are the kids,” she said confidently, referring to her many nieces and nephews. “Donnie will just have to get over it, that’s all.”

  Marcus, the youngest Deveraux son, joined the group, carrying little Anastasia Angelique Deveraux, his first child and his pride and joy. Angelique brightened and rose to take the baby from her brother. “Let me hold her. I don’t get to see her that often and we need to bond together.”

  He handed her over and sat down with Vera, wrapping his arms around her. “How’s my bride doing? Is there anything I can do for you, baby?”

  “I’m fine, Marcus. All I need is you.” Vera smiled. Marcus was always a doting husband, but when his wife was pregnant he went overboard with affection and joy.

  The relative quiet of the living room was shattered anew when Ceylon Simmons Deveraux entered with Lillian’s husband, Bill “Bump” Williams. After being Ceylon’s mentor in the music business for years, Bump had found out that the two were actually father and daughter, something that once had caused Angelique a great deal of jealousy. That was all in the past now.

  “There’s my girls! Seems to me somebody owes me some sugar,” Bump declared as he held his arms out to Angelique and Anastasia. She and the baby each gave Bump sloppy kisses of greeting and enjoyed his silly expression as he pretended to wipe off their kisses with big swipes of his hands. Angelique nuzzled her niece on her baby-sweet neck and whispered, “Let’s get out of here, Stasia. We need some quiet time.”

  They ended up sitting in Bennie’s airy sunroom off her big, well-appointed kitchen, admiring the lush poinsettias and small Christmas tree that brightened the area. Angelique stretched out on the loveseat with little Anastasia on her lap, while Aretha, Bennie’s big, black, longhaired cat, posed regally on the windowsill behind the loveseat. Angelique was being a doting aunt and simply drinking in the child’s beauty, while the baby was coaxing Aretha down from her perch.

  “Weefa, Weefa, come here,” she crooned softly. When the stately cat didn’t move, Stasia turned her big eyes to her aunt “Angel, make Weefa come down,” she demanded. Angelique smiled at the little girl and ran a finger along her incredibly soft skin. “No, sweetie-pie, let’s leave Aretha alone. She needs some peace and quiet too.” She cuddled her niece close to her bosom and was rewarded when the child nestled to her shoulder and gave a big yawn. Aretha seemed grateful, too, as she reached out a paw and patted Angelique on the cheek before curling up to go to sleep. Angelique might have also drifted off to sleep, but her cousin Paris Deveraux joined them in the sunroom. Paris had just come back to Atlanta from Lafayette, Louisiana, where she’d spent the holiday with her family. She and Angelique were heading back to Detroit the next day. Paris smiled at the adorable picture they made.

  “Aww, you look so pretty!” she exclaimed. “You look just like a Christmas card,” she added as she took a seat in a comfortable overstuffed armchair. “I was wondering where you sneaked off to; now I see you just kidnapped your namesake. God, the two of you look so much alike, it’s amazing. You would think she was your baby instead of your niece.”

  Angelique looked down at her little treasure and had to agree that there was a startling resemblance. They both had cafe au lait complexions, thick, shiny black hair and thick eyebrows and lashes so long they looked false. They also had deep dimples and even shared a tiny beauty mark near the comer of their full, pouty lips. The resemblance was all they shared, as far as Angelique was concerned. There was no way she would ever let this precious little girl turn out like she had. You’re never, ever going to be anything like me, my sweetie. Never in a billion years. But she didn’t say it out loud, knowing how strongly Paris would react. Instead she asked Paris the question that had been on her mind ever since she’d come home to Atlanta for the holidays.

  “Paris, remember when Christmas was like the most wonderful thing in the entire world? Remember when it was the most exciting, the happiest time of the entire year? Does it still feel like that to you?”

  Paris was slightly taken aback by the utter sincerity with which Angelique spoke. She sighed a little before answering. “Yes, of course I do. I remember when Christmas meant something entirely different than it does now. When the stores didn’t start decorating the day after Halloween, when everything was holy and magical at the same time and it was really a season of miracles. And back when we still believed in Santa Claus. Of course I remember. No, it’s not quite that way anymore. But it still feels nice; you’ve got to admit that, cousin. Being at home with your family, with all the babies and the excitement, doesn’t that makes up for some of it?”

  Angelique took her time about answering, rubbing her cheek against her niece’s soft, curly hair before speaking. “I don’t know, Paris. I don’t exactly know when the feeling got away from me, but I just feel k
inda numb. I don’t feel happy, I don’t feel sad, I’m just here, going through the motions,” she said softly. “I’m glad to be home and see the family, especially all the kids. I had a lot of fun buying Christmas gifts for them and going to church, but it’s just not the same. I just feel empty, Paris, and I don’t know why.”

  Now it was Paris’s turn to pause before answering. She had a very good idea of why Angelique was feeling so strange and an equally good idea of what would cure her of her holiday malaise, but now was not the time to bring it up.

  Angelique roused Paris from her thoughts. “Can you take the baby for a second so I can get up? She needs to be put down for a real nap and I need to go play with the other kids. I really miss them when I’m away,” she admitted.

  Forgetting her decision to keep her mouth shut, Paris rose from her chair and took the sleeping child from Angelique, who stood up and held her arms out for the baby. Looking at the charming picture they made, Paris said softly, “You’re gonna be a great mommy one day, Angel.”

  Angelique’s response was instant and emphatic. “No, I won’t, because I’m never having children. Never! The day I have a baby is the day I start believing in Santa Claus again!” Anyone else would have been startled at the passion in Angelique’s voice, but Paris was more than used to her mercurial cousin. She nodded absently as she followed the young woman and the sleeping baby out of the sunroom. If Paris was reading the signs correctly, there were a great many surprises coming for Angelique in the next few months. Maybe not a baby, but a lot of new things were definitely on the way. There had already been so many changes in her life, she seemed like a different person, something only those very close to her recognized. And since Paris was as close as a sister, she could read the signs better than anyone. Yes, my dear cousin, next Christmas is going to be very, very different for you. You’ll believe in a lot more than Santa Claus, I guarantee it.