by Susan Sands
Christmas, Alabama
A novel
Susan Sands
Christmas, Alabama
Copyright © 2017 Susan Sands
Smashwords Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-947636-20-0
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Dear Reader,
I want to thank my parents, Linda and Ray Noel, who continue to be my biggest cheerleaders. As I watch them struggle with my dad’s dementia, I see and feel their joy as I realize my publishing dreams. My dad still asks every time I see him, “Sue, how are your books doing?” He struggles to know what day it is and how to walk sometimes, but so far, he hasn’t failed to ask about my writing. My mom still reads every book I write as it’s written. I wish everyone had parents like mine.
Thanks to the amazing Tule publishing team. They never disappoint. We are lucky authors to work with such talented people.
Love to my husband, Doug, who hasn’t seen as many home cooked meals as he’d like this year. To Kevin, Cameron, and Reagan: I appreciate the adults you’ve become while Mom has spent the last few years at her computer most of the time.
Special thanks goes out to my lifelong pal, Rennie Longlois Clifton, for hawking my books in our hometown! She’s spent much time hand-selling these stories, and I so appreciate it!!
This book was a delight to write. I’ve never attempted a Christmas story before, and I so loved dressing Ministry, Alabama up for the holidays!
I hope you enjoy the return of Ministry’s ensemble cast throughout Christmas, Alabama! I created a snowy, cozy, fun story with all our favorite characters as they pop in and make an appearance, while I introduced a new and wonderful couple in Rachel and Nick.
Please let me know what you think!!
All the Best!
Susan Sands
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
More by Susan Sands
About the Author
Chapter One
Rachel Prudhomme absorbed more truth through the lens of her camera than words, true or not, could speak. Eyes didn’t lie. Expressions caught off guard didn’t lie.
The bride wore an exquisite white, off-the-shoulder beaded gown, and the groom, a sharply-tailored black tux. Their smiles were radiant. The wedding party smiled, and their families, despite a few obvious squabbles, smiled too.
But something was off. It wasn’t obvious, and Rachel might have missed it had she not zoomed in on her subjects—the bride and groom—through the viewfinder. They weren’t the dreamy, happy couple they appeared to be. There was a tightness around the eyes and mouth of the groom. A sadness behind the smile of the bride.
Yet, everyone was participating in this expensive and very public lie, and all were smiling their way through the photos and poses. Or maybe it wasn’t quite a lie, but more of an imbalance. Vows were made and cake was cut amidst the flowers and music. The band played and the guests danced. Maybe nobody knew anything was amiss, or if they did, they pretended they didn’t.
Rachel had learned the hard way that this was none of her concern. Maybe they’d had a fight over the cost of the wedding, or the destination of the honeymoon. Or, perhaps he’d waited too long to propose. Whatever was at play here, weddings brought out the stress and inner beast in everyone, all while they smiled and played the parts of the happiest people on the planet for their families and friends. The photos were the key to remembrance. This was a Thanksgiving wedding. The food was heavy, harvest fare. The flowers were deep shades of crimson, linen and champagne, and golds. The greenery was heavy and dark. The autumnal tones, spicy cinnamon candles, combined with the cool temperature outside set the stage for rich, lasting memories.
So, Rachel would do her job to cement the memories for this couple, hopefully, a lifetime’s worth. The stress, the fight, or whatever had happened prior to the ceremony wouldn’t carry through when they looked at their wedding photos in ten years if Rachel did her job well. The photos made the re-remembering pure perfection.
“Hey, Rach, could we get a shot of Grandma Jean with the garter on her leg?” the bride asked, her smile bright.
The alcohol was clearly doing its job now. “Sure.” Rachel followed the bride to where the elderly lady was perched on the best man’s knee, skirt hiked. “Okay, Grandma Jean. Show us some leg!”
Everyone laughed, and all was well. Rachel wondered for a moment if she’d imagined the earlier angst. Not likely, but she continued snapping photos until the “happy” couple was tucked into the getaway car and celebrated out the drive.
Rachel took a few more shots of lingering guests who asked to have their picture taken, and then, after they finally trickled out the door, she took refuge in the large, renovated kitchen of The Evangeline House, the most popular venue in Ministry, Alabama for all the goings-on in town.
“That one lasted a while. I thought we were going to have to shoo them like flies out the door,” Miss Maureen, the owner said. She was sipping tea on a barstool, her sensible black flats kicked off on the floor.
“Once the bar was shut down and the band packed up, you’d have thought they might have gotten the message,” Rachel said.
Miss Maureen laughed. “You never know how late weddings will go. It often depends how young the crowd is and how much alcohol they consume. Did you get some good shots?”
Rachel nodded. “They were all very photogenic. No major catastrophes.”
“They were out-of-towners from Huntsville, so I don’t know the family. They seemed pleased with everything. Paid their bill, said thank you, and left.”
“Seems like there was something underlying with that couple, don’t you think?” Rachel asked.
Miss Maureen laughed. “Oh, honey, I’ve been doing this for more years than I can count, and there’s always more there than meets the eye. I quit trying to figure people out ages ago. I’ll leave that up to your sister.”
Rachel smiled. Her sister, Sabine, was the town’s clinical therapist, and she was continuously booked up. “Must be hard knowing all the town’s secrets.”
“She bears it well, all things considered. So, how are you settling in here? Are the people of Ministry treating you well?” Miss Maureen had a shrewd and sharp eye.
Rachel had put her feet up on a chair, feel
ing comfortable here in this place with this woman who was her sister’s mother-in-law. Sabine had married Miss Maureen’s son, Ben, who was now the mayor of Ministry, last year. Rachel had moved here to be near her mother and sister after some chaotic years flitting around as a freelance photographer.
“I’m doing pretty well; thanks for asking. It’s not exactly an open society here. So, I expect it will take some time to feel like a native.”
Miss Maureen laughed. “A native? The best you can expect as a lovely single woman is open hostility from the other single women and their mommas until you find a man and get yourself off the market.”
Rachel snorted. “Yeah. I’ve noticed. There aren’t a lot of unattached men around here that have all the desired qualities.” Like a decent job and most of their teeth.
“So, the race is on when one does come along. Better be careful not to get caught in the fray when it happens.” Miss Maureen rolled her eyes. “Those women will be on him like a pack of rabid dawgs, I tell you.
Rachel loved the accents here. She had her own slight drawl, she supposed, but it was more indicative of her upbringing in Louisiana. “I appreciate the fair warning, but I’m not on a major man hunt at the moment. Life has been exciting enough lately without bringing that into the mix. I’ll let the others go after the bachelors, should they pop up.”
The older woman waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “It’ll happen when it happens, sweetheart, and you’ll be in the thick of it before you know it.”
Rachel smiled. This tiny town wasn’t so bad. She’d enjoyed getting to know people, mostly her sister’s husband’s people, the Laroux family. Heck, they seemed to make up half the town. Coming from New Orleans, this slow, slow, way of life was a bit of a culture shock.
“Well, I’d better get moving. I’ve got lots of editing to do on these shots. They’ll want them yesterday if they’re anything like every other bride and groom I’ve ever photographed.”
“Alright, darling. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving dinner Thursday.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks again for including me.”
“Nonsense. You’re family; we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Ministry, Alabama? Are you kidding?” Dr. Nicholas Sullivan couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Nick, it’s a favor to the new VP of operations—to me. Yours is the only contract up for renewal in the next few months. And it would merely be through the first of the year.” His administrator’s tone had taken on a near-whine.
“I’m a trauma surgeon at one of the largest hospitals in Atlanta. How does this happen?” Nick asked aloud, maybe to himself as much as his admin.
“There isn’t anyone else willing, for any amount of money. They’re all married with families and time left on their very specific contracts. You’re the one we can leverage—and bargain with. The company is willing to make it worth your while. Look, they know you don’t have a wife and kids, so it makes you more portable for the coming weeks.”
Unclenching his jaw, Nick glared at his administrator. “Fine. I’ll do it. But not past the end of January. Figure something else out beyond that. I want the position at Emory waiting for me to step into when I return, just like we discussed before this came up.” The coveted Emory job was what Nick had been working toward for the past couple of years, the position he’d been working his way toward at Grady Hospital while he’d been up to his elbows in gunshot, car accidents, and stab wounds every day. This had been part of the “paying his dues” portion of his training—and an integral step in learning to be the best trauma surgeon around.
Dan nodded and stuck out his hand to shake Nick’s. “I’ll speak with the powers-that-be. The job’s had your name on it since Doctor Jacobs announced his intent to retire last year. I’ll see about getting the paperwork drawn up.”
Nick felt the warm wave of negotiative success wash over him. Then, the cold splash of reality. He was headed to Ministry Alabama for the next month or so. Good, God. He could hear the banjos twanging already.
Chapter Two
Rachel’s eyes were nearly crossed from the photo editing she’d done the last few days trying to get things finished up before Thanksgiving. Closing her computer, she headed to her bathroom to take a shower. It had a magnificent claw foot tub that Rachel assumed to be original to the home. The apartment she’d rented was on the top floor of a very old house owned by an equally elderly lady named Mrs. Wiggins. Clearly Mrs. Wiggins was baking again, based on the delicious smells wafting up through the wooden floorboards of the house, into Rachel’s nose, and into her stomach, causing audible growling.
Living alone was nothing new to Rachel. Neither was forgetting to eat. She wasn’t the cook her sister or mother were, and she found no joy in shopping for food and preparing meals for one. She was lucky that both her mother and sister lived nearby and fed her regularly or she might become a skeleton in Mrs. Wiggins’s attic.
As she turned on the ancient shower, she couldn’t help but appreciate this apartment find in the heart of the historic district of Ministry. The house was enormous, and the upstairs had been divided into two apartments years ago. Her recent next-door neighbor, Jane, had just moved out. Jane had found her Prince Charming in the form of a handsome, single doctor who worked at Ministry General. He’d gotten an unexpected offer at a larger hospital in Birmingham, and he’d asked her to marry him and move there. Rachel hoped to be as lucky with a new next door neighbor with whom she would share walls. Mrs. Wiggins didn’t need the money, and would be more likely to leave the place vacant until she found someone suitable than accept just anyone into her home as a renter. So, that was a relief.
The water finally was warm enough for Rachel to step under. The water pressure wasn’t the greatest today, so it took longer to rinse out the conditioner from her thick hair than normal. The good news was there was enough hot water to last. She would take the good with the bad these days.
Living here, Rachel couldn’t help but think of the similarities to her childhood home in the New Orleans Garden District. She’d grown up in one of those historic old houses the tourists stopped to take pictures of when they came to town. It was large with high ceilings and rich oak floors that smelled of fresh beeswax. This old house had the same feel of history and belonging. And the smell of beeswax. And low water pressure; because there were some things about old house one couldn’t change.
Just as she’d stepped onto the bath mat and wrapped a towel around herself, Rachel heard her phone ringing in the bedroom. Dashing out, she nearly tripped over a large calico cat. “Dang it, Spags, I almost squished you.” Spags was Mrs. Wiggins, her landlady’s cat—her alive one, who sometimes dashed inside her apartment when the door was open and she wasn’t looking. Mrs. Wiggin also had two formerly-alive kitties she’d had preserved by Junior, the town’s taxidermist, for perpetuity.
She grabbed the phone off the bed. “Hello?”
“What time will you be here?” Sabine asked.
“I’ve been editing all day and I just stepped out of the shower. About an hour, maybe.”
“Can you pick up a few things at the store on the way? Ben’s out in the barn.”
Sabine was quite pregnant, and they had an adorable squishy little toddler named Janie, so Rachel occasionally ran an errand here and there for her to help out. “Sure. Text me a list.”
“Great. See you in a bit.”
Rachel was headed over to help her mother and sister prepare food for Thanksgiving dinner. They would be eating at Evangeline House with Sabine’s inlaws, the Laroux family, but Sabine and Rachel had Louisiana traditions they maintained for Thanksgiving and other holidays as well. So, there was bread pudding, crawfish pasta, and a few other non-traditional favorites to prepare. They would bring the dishes over as their contribution when they went for dinner tomorrow.
Plus, it gave the three of them a chance to spend time cooking and enjoying the holiday together before joining the great, big Laroux family c
elebration. They’d been through a lot in the past couple years, and this together time was healing. Their struggles, as a family, were a big part of why Rachel had recently made her home here.
Dad was now out of the white-collar prison, having served his time, and made parole. His crimes hadn’t been of a violent nature, but he’d caused a lot of damage to many—especially his family—their mother, in particular. He was now living on the coast of Alabama at the beach. Mom and Dad had divorced, and Mom had recently found much-deserved happiness again with a very nice local man, Norman Harrison. But Dad had been the love of her life, so there was still a lot of unresolved anger toward Dad for the pain he’d caused them all.
So, Dad’s re-entry into their lives was an ongoing process. Rachel had been slow to forgive his ruining of their family. A ruining that had begun years before she’d had any idea he wasn’t anywhere near the man, or the father, she’d believed. And she’d been a daddy’s girl. She’d adored her father and trusted him blindly as only his baby girl could.
So, her deep, bitter disappointment at discovering his betrayals was existentially shattering to Rachel. She’d begun to heal now, but it was likely going to take the rest of her life to truly forgive her father, and not to doubt the motives of men, in general, after what he’d done to her mother and their family.
“Dr. Sullivan, thanks for coming to town so quickly. We weren’t sure what to do when Dr. Dawson announced he was taking the job in Birmingham. Left us in a real pickle—he did.” Nick shook the hand of the chief of staff at Ministry General, who was dressed in camouflage from head-to-toe. Did Nick really want to speculate if there was a dead animal slung over the hood of his 4x4 out in the parking lot?
Nick steeled himself against noticeably hesitating to shake the man’s hand, in case he’d not scrubbed down after he left the woods. “Deer season?” Nick asked.