The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [61]
There was another reason he yearned for home. Len didn’t intend this to be an ordinary Christmas. No, this Christmas would be one of the best in his entire life. It had everything to do with Amy—and the engagement ring burning a hole in his uniform pocket.
Len had enlisted in the navy following high-school graduation and taken his submarine training in New London, Connecticut. Afterward, he’d been assigned to the sub base in Bangor, Maine. He thoroughly enjoyed life on the East Coast, so different from anything he’d known in Texas, and wondered if Amy would like it, too…?.
Len was proud to serve his country and seriously considered making the navy his career, but that decision depended on a number of things. Amy’s answer, for one.
A real drawback of military life was this separation from his family. On his most recent trip home last September, he’d come to realize how much he loved Amy Brent. In the weeks since, he’d decided to ask her to marry him. They planned to be together that very night, Christmas Eve—the most wonderful night of the year. Once they were alone, away from family and friends, Len intended to propose.
He loved Amy; he had no doubts about that. He wasn’t a man who gave his heart easily, and he’d made sure, in his own mind at least, that marriage was what he truly wanted. In the weeks since their last meeting, he’d come to see that loving her was for real and for always.
They hadn’t talked about marriage, not the way some couples did, but he was confident she loved him, too. He paused for a moment and held in a sigh as the doubts came at him, thick as the falling snow. Lately Len had noticed that Amy seemed less like her normal self. They hadn’t talked much, not with him saving to buy the diamond. And it was difficult for Amy to call him at the base. So they’d exchanged letters—light newsy letters with little mention of feelings. He had to admit he found their letters enjoyable to read—and even to write—and the cost of stamps was a lot more manageable than some of his phone bills had been. The truth was, he couldn’t afford to spend money on long-distance calls anymore, not the way he had in previous months. His airfare home hadn’t been cheap, either.
It wasn’t as if he’d put off traveling until the last minute, which Amy seemed to suspect. He’d been on duty until the wee hours of this morning; he’d explained all that in a letter he’d mailed earlier in the week, when he’d sent her his flight information. Although Amy hadn’t come right out and said it, he knew she’d been disappointed he couldn’t arrive earlier, but that was navy life.
He hadn’t received a letter from her in ten days, which was unusual. Then again, perhaps not. After all, they’d be seeing each other soon. Amy and his parents were scheduled to pick him up in Dallas, and together they’d drive home to Rawhide. He closed his eyes and pictured their reunion, hoping the mental image would help calm his jangled nerves. It did soothe him, but not for long.
He had to get home for Christmas. He just had to.
This was Cathy Norris’s first Christmas without Ron, and she refused to spend it in Maine. She’d buried her husband of forty-one years that October; her grief hadn’t even begun to abate. The thought of waking up Christmas morning without him had prompted her to accept her daughter’s invitation. She’d be joining Madeline and her young family in Boston for the holidays.
Cathy had postponed the decision until last week for a number of reasons. To begin with, she wasn’t a good traveler and tended to stay close to home. Ron, on the other hand, had adored adventure and loved trekking through the woods and camping and fishing with his friends. Cathy was more of a homebody. She’d never flown or taken the train by herself before—but then, she was learning, now, to do a great many unfamiliar things on her own. In the past Ron had always been with her, seeing to their tickets, their luggage and any unforeseen problems. He had been such a dear husband, so thoughtful and generous.
The battle with cancer had been waged for