Matt Sanders

As the magical evening drew to a close, Wesley Wellhaven left no doubt about the genuine gift of his magnificent voice.

As far aw Aubree knew, what happened next was completely unscripted. Wesley Wellhaven stood by the fire, facing toward all the people skating on the pond, and he began to sing.

No televised concert, no CD could prepare a person for the pureness of his voice in person. It cut through all the chatter, and it soared above the shouts of children. It rose above the skate blades hissing on the ice, and climbed above the crackle of the fire.

In inspired silence. the chatter and laughter died. Even a crying baby stopped it's caterwauling.

Everyone drifted across the ice to where Wesley stood in front of the fire, his eyes closed, more than his voice pouring out of him.

His spirit. for such a mild man it was so evident his spirit was gigantic.

"His voice must make angels weep," Aubree whispers, and Matt's hand tightened around hers.

It was one of those moments where time stood still, it was a moment that shone with an inner light, that moved with the life force itself.

He sang the oldest of the Christmas songs, but the way he sang it, it was brand-new.

Aubree felt as if she had never heard it before.

Silent night, holy night,

All is calm,

all is bright...

It felt as though Wesley was describing this night in it's calmness, in it's brightness, the hope that was buried in the stillness.

And as he finished, and the people of Huntington stood in the stillness left by his voice and the winkling stars above them, Aubree knew what she felt was more than belonging.

She glanced up at the man who stood beside her, at the strength in the lines of his face, softened only slightly by the flicker of the fire.

And she knew what she felt was love.

Love. Terrifying. Electrifying. Comforting. Calming. It was both breathlessness, and deepest and most steady breath of all.

Wesley allowed the silence to envelope them, but after subtle prod in the ribs from his wife's elbow, he cleared his throat, humbly, sweetly uncomfortable being the center of attention.

"And now I have an announcement that many of you have been waiting for," he said. "Mrs. Wellhaven and I have agreed on the child who should sing the final song in the concert, a song called 'Angel of Hope.'"

Aubree knew she was not supposed to hope it was one child above another. And she knew for the one she did hope to be chosen it would take a miracle.

"That child is Brenda Weston."

though Aubree had known Brenda was likely to be chosen, and though she loved her children equally, she could not help but feel deflated. her eyes sought out Emmaleigh in the crowd.

"Well, I know at least one angel will be weeping now," Matt said, his voice gruff and hard.

But when Aubree saw Ace, she wasn't weeping. She was hugging her friend with the exuberance of a second-place finalist in a beauty pageant.

"See?" she told Matt. "She's taking it fine."

But Matt was watching his daughter, too, and he said, "If you think she's taking it fine, you don't know the first thing about her."

She looked at his face. Something hardened in it. She was not sure what, but it made her shiver.

She felt as if he had left something unspoken. You don't know the first thing about us.

Aubree was so aware something had shifted ever so slightly, changed. the car ride home was silent, Emmaleigh exhausted, nearly asleep in her car seat.

Matt dropped Aubree off at her house first.

"No, don't get out," Aubree said, when she saw him opening his door. "Just take Emmaleigh home and get her to bed. It's a lot of excitement for a little girl."

And a lot of disappointment.

She opened the back door, leaned in and touched Emmaleigh's arm.

"I'm sorry you weren't chosen as the Christmas Angel, sweetie," she said. "I thought you would have made a wonderful Christmas Angel."

And she meant it. It was too bad the world could not see outside the box. With just the tiniest bit of imagination a child like Emmaleigh could have easily been the Christmas Angel.

Not that Mrs. Wellhaven had ever looked as if she was burdened with the abundance of imagination.

Emmaleigh smiled sleepily at Aubree. "But I am going to be the Christmas Angel," she said.

"No, honey," Aubree said carefully, "you're not. Mr. and Mrs. Wellhaven chose Brenda."

"I know it seems like they did. But, Mrs. Dawson, I'm going to be the Christmas Angel. I just know it."

This was announced with such certainty and with such sunny optimism that Aubree was taken aback.

"Stop it," Matt told his daughter sternly. "It's over. And you are not going to be the Christmas Angel."

Emmaleigh didn't say a word, but she pursed her lips together in a look of stubbornness that at least matched her father's.

And then Matt, not missing the face Emmaleigh was not "stopping it" even if she had chosen silence, gave Aubree a dark look that she interpreted as somehow making it her fault. And maybe it was. Should she have better prepared Ace? The girl obviously had unrealistic hopes that she was now unwilling to let go of, even in the face of evidence it was time to let go.

And maybe it was her fault.

Because as she watched them drive away, it seemed to Aubree she had developed quite a few unrealistic hopes of her own. What had happened to the woman she had been when she had first arrived here in Huntington?

A woman absolutely committed to leaving her fantasies and fairy tales behind her?

"What happened to her?" she murmured to herself. "The Purple Couch Club can't hold a candle to what I've felt the last few weeks."

But what if she was guilty of passing a silly desire to hope for things that were never going to happen to the children she taught? they trusted her and treated every single thing she said as gospel, treated every single thing she did as an example of how to live.

In a split second, because of one dark accusing look from Matt, Aubree's night had gone from magic to misery.

And she felt as if she had failed herself.

Because somehow, somewhere, when she'd let her guard down, when she wasn't looking, she'd let herself be swept off her feet.

Aubree Dawson realized the truth. She had fallen in love with Matthew Sanders.