Rescuing Christmas

by Nancy Lee Badger

  The blur of store signs meant Elinor drove too fast for comfort, but he was a stranger to town. Maybe she had put on her emergency lights? She slowed about two blocks farther down.

  “Here we are.”

  She pulled the big truck to a stop outside a gray three-story Victorian home with white gingerbread trim and shutters. Green garland, twisted through white holiday lights, gave the place a welcoming glow. A Christmas tree sat on the wrap-around porch, also lit with strings of shining white lights.

  He stepped from the truck, looped his satchel over his shoulder, and followed her up the six steps to the front door.

  Welcome to The Peabody Inn.

  The weathered sign hung on the right, opposite the lighted tree. A closer look revealed that the building’s siding sported peeling paint. Two threadbare rugs were tossed on the washed-out stained porch decking in front of a pair of rocking chairs in need of another coat of paint. A few of the holiday lights on the tree were burned out, but the tree itself was exquisite. Thick, green, and fragrant.

  “What a lovely tree,” Bradley said.

  His rescuer opened the unlocked front door, and he followed her into a warm lobby that smelled of cinnamon.

  “He’s part owner of a tree farm,” she whispered, as if explaining it was getting too personal.

  “Right, you introduced me to another tree harvester, Greg.”

  “Brothers. This way. I hope he’s back from the fire scene. I didn’t see him at your accident.”

  “He is a firefighter?”

  “Volunteer. Part-time. We only have a few full-timers like me and my dad.”

  He’d crashed in the city limits of a town that depended on volunteers to leave their cozy beds at all hours of the day or night to fight fires and rescue people? He regarded the firefighters of New York City as heroes in their own right, but would any of them actually do what they did for free? Apples and oranges, I guess.

  His attention was suddenly drawn to a big red bowl on a small side table in the entranceway. It was filled with pinecones that emitted a fragrance that made him assume someone had sprinkled them with cinnamon. The scent filled the entranceway and reminded him of apple pie, and Christmas.

  “These pinecones smell great,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping his voice down, but she smiled at him, so it was the right move.

  Moving toward a small reception desk to the left, where an open ledger sat, she tapped a bell sitting in its middle. The sound filled the area with a welcoming peal.

  A blond gentleman wearing a cream-colored cable knit Irish sweater stepped through a door at the end of the room. He was a few inches taller than his own six feet. The innkeeper smiled, but Bradley knew right away that he was not looking at him.

  A side glance told him that Elinor’s shoulders had tensed. She was not kidding. These two shared a history. A rush of jealousy, or an innate need to protect her from pain or injury, made him step forward and offer his hand.

  “Hi. I am Bradley Wainwright, and I was hoping you had an available room.”

  The innkeeper blinked, as if only then realizing he was there. He shook his hand, then asked, “As in Wainwright Industries?”

  Bradley smiled. Finally, someone who knew about the real world. “Yes, that’s my father’s company, but I am the current CEO.”

  Sean looked over at Elinor. “Are you two…together?”

  “No!” she said.

  A little too loudly, but it made Sean smile.

  “Mr. Wainwright, here, had a little accident. His car was wrecked and, as you can see, he needs a shower and a change of clothes. I suggested this place. Without a car at his disposal and no rental agencies for many miles, he needs to be able to get to the stores on his own two feet.”

  “A sound plan. I have a room on the second floor. Private bath, with a view of Main Street. How many nights?”

  “Well…I am not sure.”

  “No problem. With the lack of snow, I haven’t had many visitors. I usually fill up with overflow from Pine Cone Mountain Ski Area, but…”

  He did not have to explain further. He had passed the ski area he mentioned on his way through the valley, its parking lot all but deserted. Elinor mentioned the ski areas in the north were doing fine.

  “My good luck, then. Do you know when the closest department store closes? I need another suit and a pair of shoes.”

  Sean and Elinor exchanged looks.

  “What did I say?”

  “There are no men’s stores or famous-name department stores around here, certainly nothing that carry the type of clothes you’re used to, I imagine,” she said. “Ski clothes and winter workwear is all we have. A pair of boots, maybe some tennis shoes, if they haven’t been put away for the winter.”

  “Great. Well, are they still open?”

  A tinny gong struck six. Her eyes flicked toward the Grandfather clock in the corner. “Afraid not. This is a weekday. They stay open later on the weekend.”

  “A dry-cleaner?”

  “Ha! Not for thirty miles,” Sean said. “How about I loan you some clothes until you can buy some.”

  “That is very kind of you. I have extra socks and underwear.”

  “Pajamas?”

  “No need, I sleep in the nu—”

  “TMI,” Elinor cried, raising both hands. “Listen, I have to get to the hospital.”

  “I heard your dad was hurt. Andy too?” Sean asked.

  “Yes, but I am surprised you didn’t see what happened. Didn’t you hear me ask you to hold the ladder?”

  Bradley noticed how Sean’s cheeks reddened, and the woman sounded upset.

  “Guess the noise of the explosion drowned out your lovely voice. I was busy by the fire engine, helping pump water. Sorry if you thought I was anywhere close to them, and able to help.”

  Elinor looked like she wanted to say more, then lowered her eyes. Why did she capitulate to the innkeeper? It sounded to Bradley that the man had shirked his responsibility. He must have taken off from the scene quickly in a private vehicle, because he’d had enough time to shower and put on clean clothes, unlike Elinor.

  “Dad hurt his ankle and Andy wrenched his shoulder, though he refused to get it looked at. He’ll be hurting tomorrow. Dad is still having tests. I really need to go see him, since I don’t know how bad he was injured. I will leave Mr. Wainwright in your capable hands.”

  She turned to Bradley, and brushed a lock of her dark brown hair out of her eyes. “It was nice meeting you, although not the way we met. I would like to follow up with you, in case anything changes with your health.”

  “I thank you, but a bloody nose and damp clothing is all I suffered. The car was a rental and I am insured. Oh…what will happen to the car?”

  “Mac Gilman will tow it to his garage. It’s located down a few blocks over on the far side of town, on the corner of Main and Pine Bluff. I have a feeling it’s going to be considered a total loss.”

  “I’ll call the rental office and see what they want done with it. Maybe they can send me another. I have someone waiting for me…in Montreal.” He could not help the slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sharing his bed was a possible outcome, if he could get to Montreal.

  “Well, goodnight.” She turned to Sean. “Thanks for putting him up. Point him toward the correct stores in the morning? Got to run. Dad is probably chomping at the bit to come home.”

  Bradley watched his rescuer leave, marching out the door in firefighter boots and a soot-covered jacket. Her sweet smile had dimmed when he had mentioned Montreal. Speaking of the redhead who waited there for him, he ought to call her immediately. He patted his pocket and pulled out his wallet, only to discover his phone was gone.

  “Lose something?” the innkeeper asked as he handed Bradley a key.

  He was talking to Bradley, but his gaze was locked on Elinor as she disappeared out the front of the B&B. She mentioned they had dated. Did the guy still want her? The tension between them was thick enough
to cut with a knife, which made him assume the feelings were one-sided.

  This is what love does to a man.

  Amused at the tension he had sensed rolling off Elinor, he turned back to the innkeeper, Sean.

  “I must have lost my phone in the crash. I don’t suppose there is anywhere in town I can pick up another one?” He was instinctively feeling naked without his cell phone. Isn’t that a little sad?

  Sean shook his head as he led Bradley up the creaking stairs to a spacious room overlooking the street. “I’ll be right back with some clothes.”

  Twinkling lights and strands of green garland tied with red ribbon circled the room. Red and green samplers, quilts, and pillows embroidered with Ho, Ho, Ho filled every corner. Looking closer, he saw faded wallpaper and windows that shook with every gust of wind. The carpet was outdated gold shag and the curtains reminded him of grandma’s eyelet lace. There was a set of drawers by the wall and a small end table next to the double bed. The door’s wood trim could use another coat of varnish, and a pair of hooks on the back of the door proved to be the only place to hang a coat.

  Stripping out of his suit jacket, he untied his ruined silk tie and toed off his damp shoes. Without daring to sit on the red and green quilt covering the queen-size bed, he leaned a palm against the wall and pulled off his socks and sighed. He was soaked to the skin and began to shiver.

  A light knock on the door had him opening it to find the innkeeper holding a bundle of clothes.

  “I’m a lot bigger in the shoulders than you, but this ought to do. The pants might be too long, but you can tuck them into these sneakers. Size twelve okay?”

  He was a size eleven, but two pair of socks might make them work. He had never felt like a beggar before, but this was no time to be choosy. “Thank you, Mr. Peabody.”

  “Call me Sean. Dinner is at seven-thirty. I have three other guests. You’ll join us?”

  He nodded. What else could he do? If there was a five-star restaurant anywhere within fifty miles, he would eat his hat. “Do you have a hat I could borrow?”

  “That, and a parka. I’ll have you try on several when you finish dinner. See you then.” He hesitated, then added, “Ellie is a great gal but she has too much responsibility weighing heavily on those pretty shoulders.”

  “I gathered as much. She’s really worried about her father.”

  “I bet she is more worried that you plan to sue the town.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  “I heard the scuttlebutt. Didn’t the fire engine run you off the road? I saw the lines in her forehead. She’s already trying to figure out how to write that report.”

  “I had not planned to—”

  “Then there’s the Christmas Festival, the annual fundraiser for the fire department. With no snow, who will come? How will the fire department earn enough money to buy all the equipment they need? Since she is in charge of that as well, you see what I mean? Well, let me know if you need anything.” Without waiting a response, he trotted down the stairs.

  The room was chilly. He had searched the wall for a thermostat with no luck. Someone had left the window cracked open, as if it was spring. He slammed it shut, then headed for the bathroom. He showered in lukewarm water, then toweled dry with linens that chafed his skin. He padded gingerly across the cold tile floor to stare in the chipped mirror at the stubble growing on his normally closely-shaved face, while he yearned for the five-star Montreal hotel just out of reach.

  Once dry, he returned to the bedroom and slipped into a light blue sweater sporting a big stylized ‘S’ in the middle of his chest. “I sure don’t feel like Superman.”

  He slipped into a pair of gray sweat pants, too large to be comfortable. The colors were not anything he would consider including in his personal clothing palette, but as a beggar, he had no choice. Not until he acquired a new car, and found a real clothing store.

  “My fault. I was in too much of a hurry to wait for my baggage to get released from the airline.” They promised to forward it to his hotel. If he was stuck in Snowflake Valley much longer, his second suit and the rest of his clothing would soon enjoy the hotel he had yet to discover.

  Turning toward his laptop, he would check its condition and email his Canadian woman friend. They were to meet up soon. It wasn’t like she was waiting for him to pop up in town. Praying the computer had not been damaged in the crash, he was happy to see it power up.

  His phone was another matter. It was missing. His recharging cord was in the satchel, so he would plug in another compatible phone tomorrow.

  If I can find a store carrying phones.

  “I forgot to ask about the Wi-Fi,” he said to the empty room, then searched through several pamphlets the innkeeper had set on a small bedside table. A bookstore, a clothing store, and a library were described in too many words for what he perceived might be the size of these local amenities.

  After playing three games of solitaire, he closed his laptop and plugged it into the wall. Once he could email or call his assistant, and the rental car company, he would have a walk downtown to see where he had landed.

  Dinner and breakfast were included, but the innkeeper mentioned other guests would join him in the dining room for these family-style meals. He did not want to consort with strangers, so if dinner proved too talkative, he planned to escape the next day. He would slip out early, head downtown, and eat elsewhere. Replacing his borrowed clothes and phone were a priority.

  ***

  Ellie slid the pickup into a tight space near the far end of the hospital’s parking lot. Stepping out of the driver’s door, she looked down at her chest. The bunker gear was caked with mud, so she stepped out of her fire boots and carefully pushed the pants and suspenders down and off. The blue jeans beneath were still dry.

  After tossing them in the truck bed, she rummaged around in the back seat and pulled black leather boots on and smoothed the front of her jeans. She picked up a brush out of the bowels of her red backpack and contemplated changing her shirt. Doing it out in the open was never going to fly. Too many cameras. It was hard enough to get a moment of privacy at the fire house.

  Too many men.

  As she brushed her hair, clumps of dirt and dried grass showered down. She swept the debris from her shirt with a deep sigh. Scrounging deeper into her bag, she pulled out a pack of baby wipes and washed what she could from her face, neck, arms, and hands. Bradley Wainwright had looked at her oddly, meaning she was a total disaster. She had originally planned to shower and change at home, but the car wreck had screwed up that timeline.

  Dad will understand.

  Pulling on a navy-blue fleece jacket she always kept with her backpack, she locked the truck and pocketed the keys. The walk to the hospital’s emergency entrance gave her a chance to relive the events of the day. Watching her own father tumble off the roof, taking Andy down with him, had seemed surreal, until she had kneeled beside the injured men. She prayed her dad was barely hurt and would jump back into work.

  And, take back the fire chief title.

  She was also thinking about the Christmas Festival. Although the air was cold and the ski areas to the far north were able to make snow with their powerful snow guns, most of Vermont was living up to its nickname, The Green Mountain State.

  Without cooperating weather and below-freezing temperatures at night, she feared that the activities would have to be canceled. The festival was vital to the community and raised money for the fire and rescue services. Town taxes were high enough, so the festival was one way to raise a majority of the funds for the fire house.

  Deprived of snow and cold overnight temperatures, there wouldn’t be any ice skating. No horse-drawn sleigh rides, no snowman-making contests, and the tree lighting wouldn’t seem as special.

  She loved snow, even when it made for exciting driving conditions, but she didn’t want to rely on bake sales and rummage sales to earn money to buy needed equipment. Some of the others at the fire house suggested they pos
tpone the festival until January or February, but how could they hold a Christmas Festival any other month than December? It had been a tradition to hold it the day before Christmas Eve.

  The emergency entrance’s doors whooshed open. She strode past the security officer on duty and nodded. She knew most of the police officers in town and many worked part-time as security officers for the hospital, which was only about fifteen miles from downtown. They shared the small hospital with the town of Pine Cone, farther up Interstate eighty-nine.

  At the check-in desk, the volunteer on duty smiled up at her from the romance novel she was reading.

  “Slow day?”

  “You bet. How can I help you, dear?”

  “My father came in on the ambulance. Douglas Danville?”

  “Let me see. Here he is. Exam room six. I believe they are still waiting on those X-rays.”

  “Thanks.” She pushed through the door to the cubicles and found her dad sitting upright in a hospital bed. His bunker gear was stuffed inside several drawstring bags along with his boots, jeans, and shirt.

  “You look comfortable. How are you feeling?”

  “Elinor! I’m glad you finally showed up. What took you so long? I am going crazy here.”

  “Got busy. Haven’t even had a chance to go home and shower. Did I hear you’re waiting on X-rays?”

  “Nice change of subject. Yeah, there’s a backlog of patients. Some kind of multi-car wreck about fifteen miles north of the Peabody Christmas Tree Farm. They insisted on looking at my ankle, but I still haven’t heard the verdict. My clothes are pretty ripe. I can still smell smoke.”

  “That might be me.” She shook her head and shoved her less than pristine hair out of her eyes.

  “Well, until I hear if they are keeping me here, I’m stuck with no clothes. I’m starving, too.”

  “Can I go find you some food?”

  Before he answered, a doctor entered the room. “Sorry, Mr. Danville. Nothing to eat or drink until we know if you’ll be needing surgery.”