Miracles in the Making Page 1

Propped beside the register at the far side of the store, Candy Frost watched as—one after another—children, ranging in ages from seven to seventeen, sauntered in off the streets each new soul clearly had similar goal in mind. Behind her Bobby Helms poured out from the radio, flooding the crowded little room with the beat of his classic, “Jingle Bell Rock” the perfect accent to the delicious medley of aromas, enwrapping each customer the instant they stepped through the creaky antique door. Irresistibly sweet and tangy, the collection of unique fragrances easily drew each visitor inside. One by one, the boys and girls popped up, each young guest tapping their foot to bounce of the lively song. Every child giggled, smiling at the sound—an average winter morning at the Candy Cane Lane Sweets Shop. Outside the snow whirled in a steady stream, thickly layering the Chicago city walkways and the historic lights lining the busy boulevards on each side. As she often did, Miss Frost again thought of her name, wondering for the thousandth time why her parents had chosen it. No doubt, the children loved it. They thought she was lucky as could be. As far as she could tell, she couldn’t ask for much stranger. Candy rolled her eyes at the wooden counter, raising her head just as a young boy trotted up to the freshly polished edge with a wealth of candy in his arms.

“Here you are, Miss Candy; that will do the job.” The youth moved a step backwards, patient as she tallied up his loot.

Candy only smiled. Piece by piece she calculated the total. No small amount of pennies. This was probably the boys’ entire allowance laid out before him. Just to play it safe Candy chopped off five minor dollars, telling the lad his charge. It was nearly Christmas after all.

The child looked relieved. His face wreathed in a big smile, he handed her his money, sweeping up his treasure as he did. “Thank you much Miss Candy!” he told her over one loaded arm.

“Would you like a bag for all that?” Candy cheerfully inquired.

The tiny customer shook his head. He stopped short and thought this through just in time for the chocolates to go toppling to the floor. “Actually Miss Candy, I think that would be very nice.” Scooping his riches into the plastic bag, the child gave Candy a warm, “Thanks,” and sauntered from the store.

A stream of similar small shoppers later, Candy glanced back at the radio, Four p.m. so soon? She hopped from her chair and snatched up one of the festive red and green Hershey bar for herself just before she wandered out into the sparkling snow. Sure to lock the door behind her, the pretty redhead began her short stroll home. All around her, the light winter breeze fluttered through sparsely covered branches, grazing her fair skin. A jumbled assortment of odors enveloped her on all sides. Ranging from car oil to fresh baking, the curious scent created by the chaos was more homely then disturbing. After stopping long enough to grab a sizzling espresso from the café nearby her home, she paused before the antiqued building that housed the apartment where she’d lived for the last eight years. As she did most other evenings, she admired each individual detail composing its unique façade. Once satisfied, the twenty-seven-year-old wandered in out of the frigid air. Too tired to attempt the winding staircase, she made a beeline for the elevator, located on the opposing end of the sky-high foyer. With a quick tap on the number six, she leaned against the closest wall, and began the game of patient waiting. Happy when a brief moment later the doors parted to reveal her own personal doorway, Candy stepped out and withdrew her key. The heavy wooden panel opened with a swish.

“Meow.” The sound echoed from the apple red 18th century sofa, positioned just across the room as her fire orange-striped house cat, Peter Pan, welcomed her home.

Candy giggled at the greeting, kicking the door shut with the heel of her right foot. “Yes, yes I know, Peter. I missed you too. You’ve kept us safe again I see.” Bending down before the sofa, Candy gave the animal a loving rub along his back. “My prince charming, yes you are.” For a moment, she said no more, continuing to massage her friend as he arched his limber back and rubbed against her ankles. Suddenly she added, “Though occasionally it does feel a little quiet, after being around so many little voices all day long. What would you think of a date, no clawing to the death or anything like that?” Candy shook her head, amused with the whole notion of her conversation with a cat, and even more just how often they occurred. Scratching Peter on his head, she left the cat to sleep and started for her kitchen, the thoughts she had voiced, so rare, still fresh in her head, One week until Christmas Eve. As they had, since their parents died in a rough car accident three years before, she and her sisters would meet at their family cabin a short distance away. She had the two of them. Candy glanced at her pet and smiled. She had her friend, Peter. What more could a person need? The spirited beauty shrugged and, looking out the broad window set into the living room wall, allowed a sweet smile to steal across her face, lighting up her malachite eyes. As she turned back to her waiting coffee she pondered, Chicago what a beautiful place this time of year.