When the Light Returned to Main Street: A Collection of Stories to Celebrate the Season

By Jeff Hampton

WHEN THE LIGHT RETURNED TO MAIN STREET is a collection of stories that explores the meaning of Christmas from different angles and perspectives.

From the traditional settings of “Just What They Wanted” and “Crossing Christmas,” and the wonder of “The Helpers” and “The Christmas Angel,” to t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Hampton, Writer
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996644815

Book preview

When the

Light

Returned to

Main Street

A Collection of Stories to

Celebrate the Season

Jeff Hampton

Copyright © 2015 by Jeff Hampton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Jeff Hampton, Writer / JL Books and Creations

901 W. Avenue E

Garland, Texas 75040

www.jeffhamptonwriter.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com

When the Light Returned to Main Street / Jeff Hampton -- 1st edition

ISBN 978-0-9966448-1-5

For my parents, Ann and Mack Hampton, with gratitude for memories of loving Christmas celebrations.

And for LeAnn, who has brought light to my life.

Contents

1.  And There Was Light

2.  A Way to the Manger

3.  The Helpers

4.  When the Light Returned to Main Street

5.  The Christmas Angel

6.  Just What They Wanted

7.  Crossing Christmas

8.  First Christmas

9.  Story Notes

10. About the Author

{ 1 }

And There Was Light

The early morning breeze blew the seashell wind chimes hard against the front window as Shelly turned on the lights and began getting things ready for the day’s business. The coffee shop didn’t officially open until 7:00, but Shelly always tried to be there by 6:15 to take care of a few stalwarts that needed a jolt of caffeine to go on their way to their boats or their own businesses. And this morning was no different, with Bo coming through the door right on time at 6:30.

Hope you’re making it strong, he said loudly as he brushed past the tables in his stiff, stained coveralls to the counter where he plunked down his dented mug. Gonna be chilly out there for sure.

Now, Bo, have I ever not made it strong? Shelly asked as she watched the stream of dark brown liquid tumble into the carafe that she’d positioned under the coffee machine just in time.

No, but I’m just saying: The wind is whipping up pretty strong even for the first day of winter.

Shelly was startled by that pronouncement. Winter . . . is that today?

Yep, December twenty-first, just like always. If you’d stop long enough to check your almanac, or a calendar at least, you’d know what the season is. You’d also know that Christmas is four days away.

Oh, I’m well aware of that. Shelly nudged the carafe out of the way to fill up Bo’s mug. Shopkeepers have been talking Christmas since Halloween—hoping for a strong year—and they’ve been decorated since before Thanksgiving.

All but you. What’s your problem? Don’t got the spirit?

Oh, just haven’t got around to it yet. And besides, who are you to be telling me how to run my business? I don’t see any Christmas lights strung from your mast out there.

Shelly screwed the lid onto Bo’s mug and handed it to him. Here you go—straight from the beans into your smart mouth.

Thanks sweetie. Bo put a wrinkled dollar bill on the counter. Keep the change.

Oh gee, thanks! Shelly said with mock enthusiasm. She knew that Bo knew that the same cup of coffee cost her other customers a dollar fifty. It was written in white chalk on the board above the counter where he stood most mornings.

Bo winked and was headed for the door when Shelly stopped him.

Hey, have you seen Sam around lately?

No, haven’t seen him in a week. He’s probably holed up in that tin can of his. These newcomers never know what to do with themselves once the tourists leave and the weather rolls in. See ya.

It was thirty minutes after Shelly turned the Open sign around that another customer came into the shop. She knew it was going to be a quiet day and was reading the newspaper when Harry came in with the mail.

Anything interesting today? she asked, not looking up from her paper.

Just the usual junk. Looks like you got a few cards. He dug into his large, worn leather bag and pulled out a small bundle bound with a rubber band. And a letter of some sort from Dallas.

Oh really? Shelly set the newspaper aside and slid off her stool to inspect what Harry was placing on the counter. Sure enough, there with the usual offers for cheap auto insurance and steam carpet cleaning were some green and red envelopes embossed with Hallmark on the back and then a white envelope addressed to Shelly’s Dream Bean. The return address was a street in Dallas.

Need a cup to go? she asked Harry, noticing that he was lingering in his usual nosy fashion.

Oh, uh, no, I better keep moving. Wanna finish my route before the rain comes in.

See you tomorrow then. Shelly watched as he walked out the door and onto the deck and then down to the street.

Now, let’s see, she said to herself as she opened the white envelope with a utility knife. Inside she found a piece of lined paper wrapped around a smaller envelope. She unfolded the paper and read the hand-written note:

Dear Shelly,

You may not remember me but I visited your shop in July with your friend Sam. We had an interesting visit while I was there, and I thought maybe he could use a little help. I don’t know his address, or even his full name, but I got your address off my receipt from that day and so I’m sending this to Sam by way of you. Please give him the envelope next time you see him.

Sincerely,

Dave

Shelly thought about it for a moment and then it all came back to her. Sam had come in with that stranger from out of town early one morning in late July. The man, Dave as she now knew him, bought two cups of coffee—one for himself and one for Sam—and then the two of them sat out on the deck and talked for a while before getting in Dave’s car and driving away. She had asked Sam about it when he stopped in the shop a week later but he didn’t say much about it—just that he had met Dave on the beach at sunrise that morning. Nothing more.

Shelly tucked the envelope into the pocket of her navy blue apron and then business picked up and she didn’t think about it again until late that afternoon when it was time to close. Knowing that it must be something important if it had been mailed by a stranger from Dallas, she decided to drive down the highway and see if she could find Sam. When they worked together at the Crab Cake, they’d talked a little and one of the few things she learned about Sam was that he lived in a trailer just south of town next to a hotel. She’d lived on the island all her life and knew there was just one trailer park that fit that description.

A mile south of town Shelly turned her Volkswagon Beetle off the highway and into the sandy lot that was the trailer park. She got out and walked around, but finding just address numbers and no names on the row of mailboxes near the entrance, she realized she’d never find Sam this way. She certainly wasn’t about to go door to door and bother people.

Shelly was walking back to her car when she remembered Sam telling her once that he tried to see every sunrise and sunset that he could on the beach. Hearing the breakers just beyond the dunes, she changed directions and walked the short distance to where the hard asphalt gave way to the hard-packed sand. Looking up and down the beach, she saw just a handful of people walking in the hazy light of dusk, but then she noticed the silhouette of a man sitting on the ground with his legs crossed.

Sam’s mind was empty, his thoughts as invisible as the wind, when he was startled by the sound of someone calling his name. He stood up quickly and turned to see Shelly, and then, embarrassed by his appearance—ragged shorts and a well-worn long-sleeve shirt—he dusted the sand off his pants and tried to straighten his hair in the wind. He couldn’t imagine why Shelly was there, but she didn’t keep him waiting to find out. She pulled the envelope from her back pocket and thrust it toward him.

It’s from that man, Dave, who was here last summer. He asked me to forward it to you.

Sam took the envelope and without looking at it he pushed it into his own pocket. Thanks, he said, and turned back toward the water. Sensing his discomfort at this invasion of privacy, Shelly turned and walked back to her car without saying a word.

Sam lingered as he always did to watch the last light of day kiss the top of the breakers, and then he walked back to his trailer. Inside, he switched on the light and slid onto the built-in bench under the little built-in table. With nervous, unsteady hands he opened the first envelope and read the note that Dave had written to Shelly. Then he opened the smaller envelope and watched as a bank check slid out