Paperback
Kensington
ISBN: 9780758225795
It’s the most wonderful time of the year for some --- and the worst for others. But within the heart of every Christmas, lies a special surprise for everyone…
Christmas Eve morning at a crowded airport threatens to become Christmas Day when a heavy snowfall waylays five strangers on their way to Asheville, North Carolina. Marta’s traveling with two children and the weight of a bitter divorce on her shoulders... Andy, a widower and Vietnam vet, reminisces at the airport bar when he notices the presence of a female soldier... Specialist Ilena is on leave from Iraq, fraught with guilt about leaving her comrades… Reggie, a laid-off assembly worker, contemplates his uncertain future… and wealthy businessman John is troubled by the untimely death of his high-powered, workaholic father.
As the travelers reflect on their lives, a new challenge soon arises: their plane is grounded. But in the spirit of the season, a Good Samaritan offers to drive them to Asheville. Then her van gets stuck on a snowy road --- and the real journey begins for an unlikely group who have more in common than meets the eye as they embark on a magical passage that will show them the true meaning of Christmas…
David Saperstein is best known for having written the original story for the Academy Award-winning film, Cocoon. In addition to writing and directing for film and television, Mr. Saperstein has taught film at New York University, written the lyrics for more than 80 published songs, directed music videos and television commercials, written the libretti for several operas and published several novels. He currently lives in New Rochelle, NY, and is married with two children.
George Samerjan is a published poet and writer and a veteran of the Vietnam War. He received the Bronze Star with “V” device for Valor and first oak leaf cluster, the Cross of Gallantry, the Air Medal, and the Combat Infantryman’s Badge. For the past twenty years he has been a consultant to major defense contractors and the Department of Defense. He currently lives in North Chatham, NY, with his wife.
Along with the lovely things the Christmas season brings --- the gifts, the good will, the gatherings with relatives --- for some, there’s also the nightmare of holiday travel. For nine strangers, the trip home to Asheville, North Carolina will be an arduous and amazing one. When a snowstorm forces their flight out of Atlanta to be cancelled, Lisa Barone, a local woman in the spirit of the season, offers to drive the stranded passengers in her van. Seeing as it’s Christmas Eve and everyone is more than anxious to get home and begin their holiday, they all happily accept.
Amelia is a kind, recently widowed college professor. Reggie is a fifty-something auto worker who has been laid off from his job in Detroit and is headed to Asheville to accept a new position working for his son. Marta, a harried mother of two young children, watched her marriage combust right in front of her a few days before. She is visiting her parents in North Carolina, where hopefully she can find some solace and a chance to lick her wounds. Andy is a Vietnam vet, also recently widowed, on his way to visit a dying Army buddy who doesn’t have much time left. John is a wealthy businessman accustomed to spending more time traveling for business than with his wife and twins. And Ilena is on leave from the military where she’s serving her tour of duty in Iraq. Despite the fitful weather, these weary travelers decide to head out on the road, drive to Asheville and hopefully make it by nightfall.
Once on their way, we quickly learn that each of the passengers is swathed in his or her own personal dramas. As the white, winding road stretches out ahead of them, they begin to share a little bit of themselves. The traveling is slower going than anyone anticipated as they make it to the mountains right around dusk. As they head up into the altitude, an avalanche a few hundred feet up ahead blocks their way, and they must turn around and figure out an alternate route. Nerves begin to fray and tempers flare as some worry they won’t make it on time for Christmas. After the van, driven by Reggie, slides down an embankment and into a tree, the group decides to seek refuge in a deserted cabin a little off the main road. Despite the tension, everyone pitches in and sets about settling in for the night. Hopefully, they can stop a passing car on Comfort Mountain road in the morning.
Just as they are making themselves at home, an old mountain man named Joshua, obviously the cabin’s occupant, returns. He graciously proffers his hospitality and even offers the wild turkey he’s just captured and killed for the group’s makeshift Christmas Eve dinner. As they all settle in, they feel comfortable enough to share their strengths and sorrows with the group. Amelia and Andy are mourning their spouses; Marta is thinking about her impending divorce and its effect on her young children; John fears he’ll spend his life in airports, just like his recently deceased father; Ilena is worried about the friends she left behind in Iraq; and Reggie is bitter about being laid off and having to ask his son for help.
As the night wears on, they feel a sort of kinship with one another as they realize they share more in common than they originally thought: “Each felt an inner glow growing inside until it filled their humanity with hope, love, and joy.” And Joshua seems to know more about them than they have chosen to reveal. The laborious journey, the danger, the bonding with others --- all these elements mingle to make this a holiday no one will forget.
As in David Saperstein and George Samerjan’s A CHRISTMAS VISITOR, this heartwarming novel is a return to the uncomplicated holiday stories of years gone by, like O. Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi.” Through their difficult but magical Christmas passage, each character comes to realize his or her blessings and hardships, and to appreciate them both. As comforting as a roaring fire on a cold winter’s day, A CHRISTMAS PASSAGE will warm readers with its charming tale and gentle reminders of the true reason for the season.
--- Reviewed by Bronwyn Miller
Chapter One
Marta
Normally quiet Fulton County/Brown Field, servicing corporate and private aircraft and a few commuter airlines, was crowded with holiday travelers this Christmas Eve morning. The modern drudgery of air travel --- overbooked flights, time-consuming security checks, delays, cancellations, and general rudeness --- was held to a minimum at this small facility. But this morning, with snow falling and a heavy influx of hurried, tired, infrequent travelers, civility was discarded as unceremoniously as last year’s gift wrapping. The terminal was hot, damp, loud, and odiferous. At the entrance to the one row of kiosks and stores, a banner proclaimed --- LAST STOP FOR YOUR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. Marta Hood wore a pastel yellow sweatshirt and form-fitting Levis over her plump thirty-five-year-old body. Her boots, a pair of well-worn Uggs, were still wet from the accumulating snow outside. The heat in the terminal caused her to carry her ski parka as she ushered her children --- Ronny, age eight, and Nancy, age eleven, toward the gate area. Marta stopped in front of the TV monitor that served as a departure board for the airfield. She was nervous. She hated flying. With one eye on her children and one eye on the unsympathetic monitor, she searched for her flight number and gate. The title of an old movie echoed in her mind, Quo Vadis? “Where are you going?” She vanquished the thought and zeroed in to find the listing she needed: Blue Ridge Flight #6224 to Asheville --- Gate 6.
What the hell are we doing? she wondered, as she had so often during the past weeks.
Carlisle Lane had its Christmas traditions some that began months before the holiday season. Knute Lincoln, a retired engineer from an aerospace company, and a man with entirely too much energy to be retired, decorated his house, a red and white clapboard saltbox reproduction, with Christmas decorations after Columbus Day. Disapproving looks and anonymous notes from his neighbors had forced Knute’s pre-pre-Christmas activity back to Halloween. But that was not acceptable, either. Finally, for the sake of neighborly peace, he acquiesced and pushed his luminous exhibition back to the more traditional time --- the day after Thanksgiving. But the unforeseen consequence had been that Knute expanded his glittering exhibit to a much more elaborate display. His house became a beacon, an explosion of light and color that lit up the entire street all night long. He made the installation and maintenance of his extreme holiday show a full-time job. Word of the “radiant display on Carlisle” spread, and so, from November twenty-seventh until well into January, hundreds of cars slowly made their way to Carlisle Lane for what many described as a cheerful and uplifting observance.
The journey took them past Claudia’s gray Cape Cod, sorely in need of paint, but with a fresh Christmas wreath hung on her door by her son-in-law; then past the colonial of Pieter, an expatriate from Holland who in a feat defying gravity had hung Christmas lights from atop a tall ladder with a leaf rake, projecting wires and lights thirty feet above his shingled roof like a giant, incandescent teepee. Next was Steve and Stephanie’s house, also a colonial, where a big menorah, strategically placed in the large picture window, tastefully signaled it was also the season of Chanukah. Finally they arrived at Knute Lincoln’s Victorian and his storied display. There they stopped for a long moment as though they had arrived at an important shrine. Aware of the traffic behind, people lingered only a minute at most.
Next door to Knute Lincoln’s electrified showplace stood Marta Hood’s house, a contemporary knockoff of a classic Dutch colonial. But this year there were no candles in the windows, door wreaths, or the old-fashioned sleigh pulled by four life-size reindeer with a jolly smiling and waving Santa in tow. This year passers-by on the lane, out for a stroll in the chill December air, saw no warm green, red, and yellow lights gaily festooned on the Hood Christmas tree in the large front bay window. The house was unadorned. The dismal mood of it, especially compared to the rest of the lane, was striking. Inside the house, Marta’s children had their holiday, and lives, dampened with anxiety. Childish anticipation of gifts beneath the tree had given way to fear of the unknown that lay ahead. Their parents were divorcing. Bitterly. The children felt helpless and afraid.
Ronny, a precocious third-grader with a knack for annoying his teachers by reading ahead in the curriculum had been oblivious to the problems at home. Then one night, in a bedroom cluttered with war toys, tanks, aircraft, and thousands of plastic soldiers, while reading under his blankets by the light of a flashlight, Ronny heard loud and angry voices coming from the dining room.
“Mortgage... credit cards... empty bed... affair... frigid... let yourself go... overweight . . .” None of these words made sense to him as they floated up from below and through his bedroom door, but the hostile tone of the voices frightened him. He bravely crept to the top of the stairs and listened. His mother then made a sound he had not heard from her before. She was crying. There was no doubt. The instinct to help her rose in his young body with a rush of adrenaline. But fear of his father’s size and short temper kept Ronny from descending the stairs. As his father’s voice grew angrier, his mother’s sobbing grew quieter. Then there was silence. Suddenly Marta raised her voice with a vehemence that Ronny had never heard before.
“Get out!” Marta screamed. “Get out of my life!”
Ronny clenched his fists as an abiding hatred for his father grew in his heart. He gathered his courage and stood to go downstairs. The touch of his sister’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“No,” she said softly. “Stay here. There is nothing we can do.”
“What’s going on?” he asked, as tears welled up in his dark brown eyes.
“We’re getting a divorce,” Nancy said.
“You’re insane,” their father said in the room below. “If I leave, I’m not coming back,” he threatened. Marta then unleashed a diatribe that both children would never forget. It would be the stuff of nightmares for years to come.
“All those years!” Marta shouted. “All those years you criticized me about everything... the checkbook, the house, how I drove your precious car... even the laundry and dry cleaners. I couldn’t get your French-cuffed shirts done the right way. I didn’t dress to please you. I wasn’t a good lover. I was inadequate. You remember that? Inadequate, you called me, like I was subhuman or retarded. You almost convinced me I was worthless. Almost. Not coming back, you say? Thank God, I say. Go to your girlfriend and abuse her. Get out of our lives! Get out! Get out! Get out!” Marta screamed those words over and over until Nancy and Ronny heard the door slam. Then they heard their mother sobbing. They hurried downstairs and found her on her knees in the foyer. The children embraced her and joined their tears with hers. It was three days before Christmas.
The next morning Marta hurled the gaily wrapped Christmas gifts, one after another, out of the front door. Silver wrapping and bright ribbons glittered brightly in the sunlight. The packages fluttered like wounded ducks shot from the sky. They were aimed at her husband, who had returned. He dodged the last package, but in doing so slipped and fell backward onto the wet lawn. He lay there, looking up at Marta as she stood with her hands on her hips, forbidding him entry and access to Ronny and Nancy, who stood behind her.
Knute Lincoln and his wife, Laurie, had come out to see what was going on. A few other neighbors had also gathered.
“Damn it, Marta! Have you lost your mind?” Robert, six feet, five inches tall, with well-coiffed blond hair, stood up and brushed some mud from his tweed overcoat. Breathless from dodging the gifts, he glanced at the gathering neighbors and decided not to press for entry. The words “Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned” rolled around in his thoughts. And he knew his neighbors, with whom he had purposely little contact, would bear witness against him if he got physical.
“That’s it!” shouted Marta. “Go away!” She wore a pale blue silk blouse with the collar turned up, and pleated navy blue slacks. Wisps of hair fell over her eyes, and she brushed them back with her right hand, like a prize fighter clearing sweat from his eyes before launching the next set of punches. “You have any problems, you can tell it to the judge. I called Harold Buckman this morning and told him to file for divorce. Adultery!” she yelled loudly for all to hear. “Adultery with your so-called assistant.”
“I just want to give the kids their presents,” Robert said plaintively. He took a timid step forward. His body language, the step forward, and an incipient smile on his thin lips angered Marta. But she felt empowered.
“You think that dumb smile, raised eyebrows, and syrupy charm works? Ha! Presents? You gave them their present last night. They heard everything. No!” she said emphatically. “Get lost!” Marta felt a surge of strength course through her body. She knew he was no longer in control of her life, and though the prospect of being a single mom was daunting, she found the thrill of her ability to confront him addictive.
“Are you saying you won’t let me see the kids?”
“You got that right.” Marta stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She walked forcefully to where Robert stood, stopping inches from him. She was in his face; eyes wide, teeth clenched. “Your relationship with the children will be decided in court. Harold will contact you the day after Christmas with the details. We’ll be in Asheville for the holidays. Don’t try to contact us there. You know you really don’t want to deal with my father.” She turned her back on him. Then, over her shoulder, she shouted back, “January fourth. Noon in Harold’s office. Get ready to pay for your adultery, big time!”
Marta let a few tears fall as she walked back to the house, but she wouldn’t let Robert see them. Slamming the front door behind her, she leaned against it with her arms across her chest. The wide foyer was dimly lit. A long, narrow table with an antique mirror stood against the wall. Memorabilia of a marriage, residue of incomplete events, was still in place. Framed photographs of birthdays, vacations, once cherished souvenirs like a gray pottery jug with the words Current Realities imprinted on it.... Marta glanced at the mini-gallery of her married life and sat down on the second carpeted step of the staircase that led upstairs to the bedrooms. She cradled her face in her hands.
Ronny, with tousled hair and his plaid shirt buttoned one hole off, sat next to her. Nancy sat on the other side. Marta wiped the tears from her eyes, and reached out to them.
“Are we ever going to see Daddy again?” Nancy asked.
