Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  “Fair trade.” He dropped the ornament in her hand, earning him a reproving stare. “After all, how hard can it be to herd one cat?”

  Ten minutes later Shelby parked the car in an empty parking spot in the High Sierra Baptist church. It wasn’t a big church—the congregation hovered around fifty people on a holiday weekend—but she’d felt comfortable since attending that first time with Beau, Stan, and some of the other ranch hands. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and hurried into the church. The wind had picked up again and dropped the temperature into the freezing range.

  “Ah, Shelby, there you are,” called Pastor Grimes. He patted Lena’s shoulder and excused himself as he hurried to greet Shelby. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Pastor.” She took the hand he held out to her.

  “Everything in God’s good timing.” He squeezed her hand and dropped it to usher her down the side aisle. “Now, I know that you have an eye for detail.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Shelby surveyed the small sanctuary. The volunteers had been busy transforming the normally staid room into a beautiful expression of worship. “I think this is beautiful.”

  “We’re blessed to have so many hands to help.” He pushed open the door to the left of the pulpit and led her through. “It’s this we desperately need help with.”

  Shelby stopped at the foot of three huge panels, resembling the canvases that she used for her paintings. “Wow. Those are huge. What are they doing here?”

  “It’s supposed to be a removable wall mural. One of the ladies came up with the idea and volunteered to paint it, but she never showed up.” He ran a hand over the bald spot at the back of his head. “Beau told me how impressed he was with your artistic skills. Do you think you could,” he waved his hand at the panels, “do something with that?”

  “Did you know what was supposed to go on them?” Shelby poked around the pile of supplies then inspected the panels. “I don’t see a sketch or anything.”

  He sighed. “She said each panel was to represent a portion of the night Christ was born.” He pointed to one of the panels. “That one is supposed to be the eastern star and that one,” he pointed to the next pane, “the city of Bethlehem.”

  Shelby nodded to the last panel. “And that’s the stable, right?’

  “Yes. Now there aren’t to be any people on the panels. It’s only a backdrop to all the Christmas events. Especially the children’s play about the Christmas miracle.”

  “Right.” Shelby tilted her head and studied the three panels, and a picture began to form in her mind. “Okay. I can do this.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her small sketchbook and fountain pen. “It’ll be pretty basic, but that’s okay. You don’t want it to be the main focus.” She began to sketch an idea into her notebook, looking back and forth between it and the paper she was drawing on.

  “I’ll let you to it then,” chuckled the pastor and left, letting the door clang behind him.

  Shelby focused on bringing the idea of them to life. She finalized the drawing in her sketchbook and went to find the pastor to get his approval. She opened the door to go find him but shut it as fast as she could when she saw Lena only fifteen feet away from her, chatting away with Mrs. Brown, the church pianist, and making decorative Christmas wreaths. To find Pastor Grimes, Shelby would have to walk right past them. After their last encounter, she wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

  After careful deliberation, Shelby decided that she didn’t really need to get the pastor’s okay. After all, his approval had been implicit in his request. Right? Shelby began to give the door a gentle tug when she heard Lena say her name. She stopped it just before it snicked into place and peeked through the crack.

  “I mean, what do we really know about her?” Lena shoved a silk flower into the wreath form, not bothering to adjust the other flowers already placed first. “Nothing other than that she’s from L.A., and from what I’ve heard, not the good parts. As a matter of fact, she was living on the streets and met Anne at a homeless shelter.”

  Mrs. Brown, never one for a lot of words, just grunted and handed Lena another empty wreath form to decorate.

  “And let’s not forget that she’s attached herself to Anne, who’s now in the hospital with a broken leg.” Lena looked up from what she was doing and gave Mrs. Brown a knowing look. “No one visits Anne, and she’s never seen without Shelby.”

  Shelby shook her head, trying not to laugh at the obvious mistruths. How in the world had Lena found those half-truths?

  Lena began to shove fake berries and flowers into the increasingly mangled form.

  “All you have to do is look at her and know that.” Lena shook her head with affected concern. “Decent people just don’t dye their hair purple or cover their arms with tattoos.”

  Shelby’s humor faded, and a headache began to form behind her right eye. Lena wasn’t the first person to make that assumption. It hurt more, though, when a Christian offered the jab. It was one more thing Shelby needed to add to her prayer list: forgive Lena for being a twit.

  Lena moved the wreath she was working on next to Mrs. Brown then leaned in close. Mrs. Brown tried to lean away but was caught up between the table and the row of pews behind her. “Sam Pavey fired her for being too forward,” said Lena, in a low, earnest voice that Shelby could barely hear. “And now she’s working up at the Wright Ranch. I have it on good authority that she’s been spending the night up there, too.” She tapped the side of her nose with the fake branch she held in her hand. Mrs. Brown just looked confused.

  Lena patted the pianist’s arm before moving back to her side of the table. “I mean, no one would condemn Beau for sowing some wild oats.” Lena’s hyena laugh garnered her more than a few frowns from the other ladies working near her. “But after we settle down, I’ll have him fire her.”

  Shelby wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. Lena’s delusions were getting worse. Shelby had never spent the night at Wright Ranch. She worked early and stayed late, though. Beau’s truck was outside the cottage at the crack of dawn because he was picking her up for work. Lena, though, was taking totally innocent events out of context and sharing her version of it with others like it was the truth. Mortification spread through Shelby. Did Beau know this was happening?

  Mrs. Brown pushed the bridge of her glasses back up her nose, her owlish eyes blinking slowly. “That’s a lot of hearsay, dear.”

  “But, Mrs. Brown, it’s not.” She held up two fingers in a peace sign. “Scout’s honor.” She leaned forward again, and this time Mrs. Brown didn’t move away. “Everything I’ve said comes direct from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Is that right?” Mrs. Brown’s eyes grew round with interest. “Do tell.”

  Mortification turned into a band of steel that squeezed Shelby’s chest until she couldn’t breathe. She managed to pull the door closed, blocking out the rest of the damning conversation. Her knees gave out, and she slid down the wall. There could only be one source of that information. Why would Beau do that to her?

  Shelby buried her face in her hands, but the expected tears didn’t come. Answers may break her heart but were necessary to find out why Beau would betray her trust. She used the wall to stand up and ran her hands over her hair to smooth it into place before grabbing her bag and settling it on her shoulder. Opening the door a crack, she saw that Lena and Mrs. Brown had been joined by two other women. All of them turned in her direction.

  Shelby’s courage failed her. There was no way she could face down Lena, or any of them. Face burning, she walked as fast as she could, head down, past the women and out the door.

  “Shelby where are you going?” called Pastor Grimes. Shelby tucked her chin to her chest and strong-armed the door open. She didn’t stop until she was in her car and speeding home to the cottage.

  Shelby slammed the car into park and flew into the house. All she wanted to do was hide in her room, eat an entire tub of Ben and Jerry’
s ice cream, and watch kitten videos on YouTube. She tugged off her jacket and scarf and put them in the closet before heading into the kitchen to grab that ice cream.

  She stepped around the corner and bumped into Anne, sitting at the table. Anne shrieked, her hand going to her throat.

  “Good grief, girl. Make some noise.” Anne patted Shelby on the shoulder as she moved past. “Otherwise I’ll have to put a bell on you.”

  “Sorry about that.” Shelby yanked open the freezer, as it tended to get stuck, and searched through the frozen foods for her ice cream. There in the back, cleverly concealed in a bag of broccoli—Anne’s least favorite vegetable—was a container of caramel core ice cream. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and took the first bite. Heaven.

  “What’s happened?” Anne took off her readers and placed them on the scattered paper in front of her. “You only eat ice cream when something horrible has happened, and you don’t want to face it.”

  “I do not,” muttered Shelby around a mouthful of ice cream.

  “Mmm hmm. Well if that’s how you want to play it.” Anne picked up her glasses and put them back on. “I’ll just be over here, ignoring you.”

  And she did, allowing Shelby a moment to contemplate the day and eat her ice cream in peace. Every once in a while, Anne would frown at what she was reading. Shelby glanced down and found that she’d eaten half the container.

  “Great. Now I get to worry about being fat, too.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.” Anne turned another paper over, the readers at the tip of her nose. “I only talk to people who acknowledge they have issues.”

  Shelby put the carton back in the broccoli bag and took a seat across from Anne. “I never denied that I have issues. Just that I didn’t want to face them. There’s a difference.

  Anne rested her chin on her hand and gazed at Shelby. “Thank you, Ms. Lawyer. Now, do you want to tell me what happened? Or will I have to make a trip to gossip central at the beauty parlor and find out for myself?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough anyway.” Shelby traced the pattern in the tablecloth with one finger. “I found out today that Lena and Beau are getting married.”

  She glanced up and found Anne staring at her with a look of consternation on her face. “It’s true. I heard it from Lena herself.”

  Anne opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed her mouth again. She shook her head and bent over her paperwork again.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Oh, you’re serious.” Anne laid the paper down again. “I thought you were joking. Of course, it was in poor taste but still. I think that Lena is lying.” She nodded sharply and then picked up the paperwork again.

  “But she’s not. He’s told her everything about our lives.” Shelby shifted forward in her seat. “She knows things that I’ve not told anyone.”

  Anne squinted at her. “Are you absolutely sure? You’ve checked the facts with Beau?”

  “Well, no.” Shelby pulled the tablecloth straight and then smoothed her hand over it. “He wasn’t available for comment.” She frowned at a bump in the cloth. “Besides, I don’t want to hear it from him. It would...” She looked up at Anne, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t know if I could survive it.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Anne’s eyebrows drew together, and she opened her arms. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  Sobs overwhelmed Shelby as she fell at Anne’s side. The older woman stroked her hair and let her cry. Finally, the sobbing became hiccups.

  “Now, I still think you should talk to him.” Anne pulled a damp strand of hair from Shelby’s cheek. “But I can understand not wanting to. In the meantime, I’ll call over and tell him you’re ill and need a few days. That will give us some time to come up with a plan. Okay?”

  Shelby nodded and pushed herself off the floor. As she did so, she knocked the paper Anne had been reviewing off the table and onto the floor. “Oops. Sorry about that.” She picked it up and glanced at it. “Wait. What’s this?” It was an overdue invoice from the hospital.

  “Turns out the hospital wants payment.” Anne forced a chuckle out as she accepted the paper from Shelby.

  Shelby began to go through the papers that coated the table. “Are all of these bills? I thought I paid all of them.”

  “You did.” Anne laid her hand over Shelby’s. “The utilities. Those are bills. These,” she nodded to the table, “are my invoices from various doctors and medical centers. Insurance doesn’t cover as much as you’d think considering how expensive it is.”

  Shelby watch Anne gather the bills into piles. By the time she had it stacked, Shelby’s eyes crossed at the running total she kept in her head. “It’s really that much?”

  “Oh yes.” Anne tapped the pile of invoices. “We may have to think about selling some of the land to help pay these off. Maybe with both of our incomes, we could pay them off in a few years. But,” Anne shrugged, “there’s always another medical issue around the corner.”

  She slid the paperwork into a plain manila folder. “Don’t ever grow old, Shelby. It’ll be the death of you.” She winked, but Shelby was not in the mood to be humored.

  “I’m going to go think.” She kissed Anne on the top of her head and felt some of her stress melt as she crossed the doorway into her room. A quick turn of the key in the lock and Shelby entered her sanctuary. For once, the bed wasn’t covered in paint-splattered floor cloths, dirty clothes, or cookie crumbs—perfect for curling up on with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate.

  She stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about Beau and Lena, what the people in town thought of her, or of losing the cottage. She scrubbed the palms of her hands over her eyes. There had to be a solution. She just couldn’t see it.

  Shelby flipped to her side and stared at the big painting covered with a drop cloth, the one that Beau had nearly seen. Now she didn’t even want to look at it. Best to just trash it. She got off the bed even though every limb felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds and pulled the drop cloth of the canvas.

  The pain hit her in the heart so sharply that she doubled over. Shelby took one deep breath and then another. Finally, she was able to view it again, and although the pain remained, it wasn’t as sharp. She straightened up and confronted the portrait of Beau she’d painted. Everything she felt or hoped to feel and experience with Beau was in that painting. He didn’t smile; no, his face was serious. There was smoothing in the eyes that drew you in, made you feel better than you were.

  Not able to take the pain of her heartache any more, Shelby threw the drop cloth back over it. The edge knocked over a painting leaning against the leg of the easel. She set it up right and studied it.

  “Where’s my phone?” She dug around the room and then went out to the living room for her bag. “I’ve got an idea Anne,” called Shelby. “Wish me luck.”

  “Better yet,” shouted Anne, “I’ll pray.”

  “Sounds good,” muttered Shelby to herself as she headed back into her room. She punched in the number she knew by heart and waited for the call to pick up. “Ya Ya? It’s Shelby.”

  “Darling,” came Ya Ya’s rich contralto through the tenuous cell connection. “I’ve been waiting for ages, darling. Ages. Tell me you’re coming to make me famous.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll make you famous. But yes, I’ll come to visit.”

  Ya Ya crowed. “Oh, you’ve made me so happy. Bring all the paintings. All of them, darling. I want my gallery overflowing.”

  Shelby snorted and shook her head. She’d forgotten how much muchness Ya Ya had. “I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “Of course, darling. Give Anne love from us. Kisses.” Then Ya Ya was gone again.

  Shelby studied the stacks of canvases. Ya Ya wanted all of them so that’s what she’d do. Several rolls of tape, brown shipping paper, and bubble wrap later, Shelby had most of it ready for travel.

  “What in the world are you doing?” Anne stood in the
door, leaning on her cane. “Are you sending your paintings somewhere?”

  “Kind of,” replied Shelby, as she taped up a smaller painting. “Ya Ya wants me to visit and asked for some paintings, too.” She threw the expended tape roll on the bed. “I thought that maybe now would be a good time for a trip.”

  Anne pursed her lips for a moment. “Are you sure about that? After all, you’re in charge of that shindig down at Beau’s ranch. Don’t you need to be here for it?”

  Shelby slid between two stacks of packed paintings to get to the closet. She had to do some maneuvering but manage to move the suitcase to the bed without knocking anything over.

  “Shelby.” Anne’s warning was all she knew she would get.

  “Fine.” Shelby threw open the suitcase. “That party has been planned down to the minutiae. Elizabeth’s more organized than any one person has any right to be. Which means that even though Beau doesn’t want to deal with it, doesn’t mean he can’t. I’ve just made sure that everyone knows what they’re supposed to do at what time.” She sniffed the T-shirt she’d pulled from the hamper—it smelled clean enough—and threw it into the open suitcase. “Truthfully, I’m not really needed at this point.”

  Anne moved aside to let her grab her necessities from the bathroom, which she stuffed into a small, waterproof bag. Shelby scooted past Anne again to put it all in the suitcase. She was proud that she didn’t have to sit on the suitcase to get it to stay shut.

  “Now I just have to put this stuff in the car, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Are you coming back?” Anne’s knuckles were white against the dark wood of her cane. “Or are you going away forever?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I’m coming back.” Anne didn’t respond, making Shelby stop in her tracks. “Really? You think I’m not coming back?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me. All your things are packed and ready to go.” Anne’s eyebrows lowered. “What am I supposed to think, Shelby?”