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Chapter One of Love's Celebration

Every shut-eye ain't sleep and every good-bye ain't gone
--Traditional

Chapter One

Teddi Henderson was spreading the woven rush mat over the table she was setting up for Kwanzaa when she heard a crash from the basement. She hesitated a moment, then bent back down over her wooden box of Kwanzaa keepsakes.
Every item in that box was handmade, full of meaning and rife with memories. Her eyes filled with tears and she stood up, thinking about going down to the basement to investigate the sound, knowing she was only prolonging handling the items her family once had cherished. The sound was probably nothing. She'd been jumpy ever since J.T. . .

J.T. Even thinking his name still caused pain. Teddi closed her eyes. It still hurt so bad. Two years passing had hardly dulled the sharp edges. And now on the eve of Kwanzaa, with the Christmas festivities over and the holiday that J.T. loved most about to start, now, the pain flashed fresh, the knife still cutting into her heart. And the memory made it feel as if that terrible day was happening all over again.

Two years ago, on the day school let out for Christmas, she'd picked up her daughter, Sylvie, in their jeep Cherokee. As they turned onto their street, Sylvie's happy chatter fell to silence as they saw the fire trucks and emergency vehicles crowding their street. Fear struck Teddi when she realized that they were all in front of her house.

She'd told Sylvie to wait in the car and stumbled through the crowd to the men that surrounded the smoldering ruin that used to be her home. Then she saw the ambulance, and covered body the attendants were loading.

She broke through the line, running, not making a sound but the fear clutching her heart so great she could scarcely breathe. They had stopped her then. She choked out who she was, then the hard grips holding her back loosened, and their voices grew heavy with sympathy. A male had been pulled from the charred ruins of the house. His body was unrecognizable. She wouldn't want to see him, they said.

Not see J.T.'s white teeth gleam in the smile that slowly and frequently broke out in his brown face? Not ever feel his arms around her, his strong body? She couldn't imagine it. In the last six years of her life, every morning when she woke, she first thanked God for his blessings, chief of which was this wonderful man and child she been given. And now they were telling her he was gone.

Her parents flew in to take her home. They all stayed at an hotel during the few days it took to finish up the business of closing out the part of her life that mattered most to her. Except Sylvie. She still had Sylvie, Teddi reminded herself.

She never quite believed J.T. was gone. She'd feel it if J.T., was no longer in the world, a part of her torn away. But, here she was, whole, and unsundered. Only her world had turned to shades of gray. She felt as if she no longer existed, a mere wraith drifting on the outskirts of human activity.

Sylvie had reverted to babyhood, not wanting to leave her arms. Teddi would sit in the upholstered rocker by the hotel window, holding her daughter, afraid something would snatch her away as abruptly and as finally as J.T. had left her life. Teddi had rocked Sylvie, and they'd exchanged murmurs of shared grief and love. She'd thought that was as bad as it would get. But it got worse.

The detectives came and told her that two men had died in the fire and neither was her husband. Her husband was missing, and with him a large amount of money was missing from his company. Teddi didn't want to hear any more.

Weeks later, a letter arrived at her parent's home. New York postmark, no return address.
"Baby, I had to go. Please don't search for me. I want you to leave town and start over. Check our savings account. Kiss Sylvie for me and believe I'll love you both always. Goodbye."

J.T. had deposited more in their savings account than she ever thought he'd earned in his job as a computer salesman. All the things she once believed about her marriage and her life crumbled into dust. She'd never, ever understand.

Confusion replaced her grief, and over time her confusion became edged with anger. How could he? How dare he be alive somewhere without her? She wished he was dead. Then she'd give anything to have him back. Loving him was agony, and hating him was exquisite torture. But the bottom line was that J.T. was gone. She had a daughter, and shreds of a life. She'd have to pick them up and go on. And she did.

When things get real bad, home is where you run. Teddi had never thought she'd return to the little town in Kansas where she'd been raised. As soon as she graduated from high school, she'd gone off to college as far from Kansas as she could get, in the biggest, baddest place she could think of: New York City. She'd met J.T. in Manhattan, and right away they'd fallen in love with no holds barred and no hesitation. Life was perfect. Too perfect.

When she got pregnant, they'd left the city for a house in Connecticut. She'd stopped teaching to be a full time Mom to her daughter. Sylvie was the light of their lives, rounding out the fullness of their marriage. Soon, Teddi longed for a second child. J.T.'s eyes had lit up when she'd mentioned it to him, then became strangely shuttered. Not now, he'd said. Maybe later. Later had stretched out to years.

Sylvie was seven now. Teddi taught eighth graders at the school she had once attended. The kids were rambunctious and bursting with hormones, but she loved it. Teaching was in her blood and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. Dixon, Kansas was a far cry from the mean streets of NYC where she used to work. But teaching was teaching and she had so much to share with these children.

She'd been shocked at how little African and African American history was included in the teaching curriculum. She'd planned workshops and education programs for Black history week, and hopefully they would stay in place throughout the year. She'd added black to the colors of Christmas to decorate for Kwanzaa. Black was the color of her people, red the color of the blood they had shed, and green for the Motherland they had sprung from.

She was getting an uneasy reception, especially when she'd started talking about the Kwanzaa celebration. Most people though it was outlandish, and a few parents even complained to the school board about a teacher promoting "pagan, unchristian rites." Conversations of some of the other teachers stopped when she entered the teachers' lounge. Teddi didn't care.

Pulling herself back to the present, she sighed as she reached for the kinara, the Kwanzaa candlestick holder, from the box. There was still such a long way for her people to travel. Teddi remembered how it was for her growing up in a place that didn't recognize the beauty and strength of her color and culture. She wanted better for her daughter, for this generation of African-American children. There weren't many in this area, but she wanted them to be instilled with just as much pride in their heritage as the white kids were. If it made her unpopular in this town, a hometown girl returned with fancy big-city ways and ideas, so be it.

The house seemed chilly, and she rubbed her hands along her arms. The thermostat was fine. A feeling of deflation filled her as she stared at the Kwanzaa table. She told herself it was the inevitable Christmas letdown. But it was more than that.
Teddi wanted to get the Kwanzaa table set up before Sylvie came home, but she could hardly bear the memories. She hugged herself and wished Sylvie was here, but she was still at her grandparent's house, playing with her cousins in town. They'd done Christmas at her parent's house this year.

It had been wonderful, with her brother and his family there, and her sister all in from Kansas City. But it was Kwanzaa that Teddi anticipated this year, the first she'd celebrated since her husband J.T. left. Last year she couldn't bring herself to celebrate the holiday J.T. loved the most. The wounds had been too fresh, the pain too raw.

A step creaked and Teddi froze. It was the seventh step up from the basement. That step always creaked, but it'd never seem important enough to have repaired. Oh God, was someone in the house with her? Maybe it was nothing, the settling of the house, her nerves.

Teddi moved quickly and soundlessly to her desk in the living room. She sat down and listened intently. There was silence, but hairs stood up at the base of her neck. Someone was in the house with her. How was it that she was so certain? Was it the scent of sweat or the beating of a heart she detected through senses older and more primal than the ones she usually relied on?

She eased a gun out of the desk drawer, took the bullets out of another drawer, and efficiently loaded the weapon. She'd always had mixed feelings about guns. J.T. wanted to make sure she knew how to handle one. Out on the shooting range they'd both been astonished at how good she'd been. But she'd never wanted to keep one in the house, especially with a small child. After J.T. left, that had changed.

She knew she'd use this gun if she had to, and use it well. She should get up and search the house, but something held her back. Drawing the phone close to her, she wanted to call for help, but what could she say? A stair creaked and woman's intuition had told her there was danger? The police would laugh themselves silly.

Suddenly the air in the room changed. She knew he was close. Her hand tightened convulsively on the gun.
She moved toward the hall. Was he alone? She didn't think two men could be so silent. Christmas was always the most dangerous time of year with its emphasis on buying and having. If you didn't have, you wanted, and from there it was easy to make the leap to taking. She wished she'd never procrastinated on having a security system installed, but here in Dixon, Kansas, she didn't believe it was that necessary.

The floor creaked, toward her bedroom. Teddi crept down the hall toward the sound, scarcely breathing.

A black male, tall and well built, was sitting on her bed staring out the window at the new fallen snow. His back faced her.
"Freeze," she said, cursing herself the moment the word left her mouth. She'd always thought that was a stupid thing to say when she heard it on TV. Any fool could see the man wasn't moving.

She remembered what J.T. had told her so long ago. When in danger, never hesitate, honey, act. That second of hesitation could cost your life.

"Turn around real slow and keep your hands out or I swear to God, I'll put a bullet through you."

He turned slowly. Her eyes widened. "Teddi," he started to say.

Then, the gun jumped in her hand seemingly of its own volition and fired. The report was unbearably loud in her ears. He moaned and crumpled off the bed to the floor, clutching his leg.

Teddi stared down at him in disbelief, her heart pounding. She'd just shot her husband, J.T.

(Out of print)

Love's Celebration, December 1998, 4 1/2 Star EXCELLENT rating from Romantic Times!

Monica Jackson has written a heartwarming Christmas/Kwanzaa story that will reign in our memories for years to come. LOVE'S CELEBRATION is a literary fantasy with all the best
ingredients--humor, adventure and romance. First and always, romance.
--Romantic Times

Teddi Henderson's life had been shattered by a terse note. J.T., the man she loved, trusted, wed, and bore a child with, had left--with no warning, and without an explanation. Anger so strong it hurt mixed with love for J.T. that could never die burned with her. She wanted to curl up and die, but she had a daughter who needed her. Two years have past since that awful day and Teddi has since returned to her Midwestern hometown. As she bravely faces the celebration of Kwanzaa, the holiday season her husband loved most, she never dreamed he would explode back into her life, bringing deadly danger. Is it possible that J.T. is what he claims to be; a government agent with secrets with killing for? This only happened in the movies. not in a sleepy Kansas town. But it is happening, and now Teddi must put all her faith and trust in the man she married, but never really knew. Because like it or not, he is the only chance to save everything that matters most.

Love's Celebration is a sweet fantasy froth that features, finally, a functional extended family! It's a different read, an escapist adventure and the plot doesn't have a lot to do with the day to day realities of life. Adventure, excitement and the zippy pace you expect from me intertwine with family love, warmth and traditions. Learn everything you ever wondered about Kwanzaa and try out 33 recipes from Africa and lands of the African Diaspora, including traditional African-American dishes .

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