Making Christmas

by Patricia McLinn

  “How long do you think you’ll be there?” Mom asked.

  She sighed. “It’s not looking good for Christmas, I’m afraid. But I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  Her other brother, Tim, said with relish, “It depends on how fast the major blizzard moves. It moved in faster than expected, which helped form the pre-storm that caught you, but now it’s slowed way, way down. It’s basically sitting on top of you, dumping snow.”

  “Thanks for your enthusiasm,” she said dryly.

  That started sibling banter making them all feel better.

  The microwave finally beeped. “My soup’s ready. Better go.”

  “Call again, as soon as you can, Bexley. Or if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you all.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  As she returned to the bar area, she distributed jackets to the kids and put on her own — without the movement of cleaning, the chill of the room set in hard, even with the warm food.

  Eric and Kiernan soon joined them, prompting a pushing together of two tables so they all fit around, centered under the wagon wheel light.

  Kiernan brought a sad-looking sandwich and chips. Eric had mac and cheese. “Couldn’t resist,” he said ruefully when he saw Bexley looking at it. “Comfort food despite the color.”

  “Where are you all from?” Pauline asked the kids.

  “Home,” Bobby said brightly.

  “That’s right.”

  At Pauline’s approval, the little boy held out his arms and leaped from Molly’s lap. Pauline caught him with an Umph.

  She settled him on her lap, looked at Dan, and said, “Anywhere more specific?”

  “We have a ranch. Not far from Far Hills.”

  “South and a little east of Knighton.” Eric supplied the detail. “Pauline and I live in Bardville now, but we were heading for Chicago for Christmas.”

  “Is that where you’re from? I’m from Waukesha, Wisconsin. I was supposed to fly into O’Hare then take the train to Milwaukee, and my family would have picked me up.” Bexley released a small sigh. “When the flight was canceled, driving seemed like the last shot to get home for Christmas.”

  “Exactly.” Eric smiled at her.

  “What he’s not telling you—” Pauline’s great show of disapproval did not fool anyone. “—is he wasn’t trying to get to Chicago for Christmas at all. He was going to stay in Bardville. I was the one who wanted to get back for the holidays. And when the flight was canceled, instead of accepting the inevitable, this fool insisted he drive me.”

  “Didn’t turn out too great, huh?” Eric’s smile was full of self-deprecating charm.

  Bexley smiled back. “It was worth a try.”

  “So, you were going to Bexley’s family for the holidays, too, Kiernan?” Pauline asked.

  “No—”

  “No.” Kiernan’s negative came in second but was far calmer. Bexley, without looking in his direction, subsided and let him carry the explanation. “I’m headed for Boston. Actually past Boston — Gloucester, Massachusetts. Wisconsin’s, uh, on the way.”

  “Are you and Eric family?” Molly asked Pauline.

  Bexley could have kissed the girl for that diversion.

  “Not at all. I work for him.”

  Eric’s voice was dry but affectionate. “Do you? I keep forgetting.”

  With great dignity, she said, “He’s trying to intimate I boss him around. That is not accurate at all. I am his employee.”

  “What brought you from Chicago to be hired by a Wyoming lawyer?” Kiernan asked.

  “I’d worked for him in Illinois. When he left everything and everyone he knew in Illinois to strike out for Wyoming with no plan or connections, I continued my employment with him here.”

  They all stared at her. The three youngest kids apparently impressed by her extremely dignified manner.

  “Uh, you do know it undercuts your claim that you’re merely Eric’s employee when you moved halfway across the country to continue working for him?” Bexley asked.

  Eric’s snort expressed agreement and amusement.

  “Good jobs aren’t always available for women of my age.” Her stiff dignity melted under a glint in her eyes. “Besides, it was time for an adventure. You get stuck in your ways if you don’t try something different.”

  “This isn’t the kind of adventure any of us had in mind,” Eric said.

  Kiernan huffed an agreement “The radio said the storm’s earlier, bigger, and slower than predicted. Look, we’re going to be in this room for the duration. We’d best assess our resources. We need more heat. If we can get wood to burn in the stove—”

  He broke off.

  They all followed the direction of his gaze.

  Gramps stood in the doorway like a harbinger of doom.

  “The real storm’s coming in now. It’ll go the next thirty-six hours, easy.”

  The sound of the wind was fiercer. And whether it was the power of suggestion or reality, it suddenly felt chillier.

  Bexley looked toward Kiernan. He was looking at her. She raised her eyebrows slightly and flicked a look toward the kids.

  “Whatever the propane supply, you need to expend some to heat up this room,” Kiernan said, his gaze on Gramps.

  “Could have all the propane in the world. Wouldn’t matter. This room’s only got the two vents on the wall with the store.”

  “Then we’d best find wood to get this stove going. We can break up the tables and chairs if needed.”

  “Break up my tables and chairs? You’re crazy. You’re not—”

  Kiernan overrode him. “You’re confident the stove works? Won’t send smoke or fumes back in here?”

  “Can’t guarantee nothing’s built a nest up the flue or such. But you’re not breaking up anything—”

  “We’ll do what needs doing.”

  “Then haul the wood in. But if you’re going to do it, you better get to it. There’s not going to be less snow any time soon.”

  They all stared at him.

  Eric asked, “What wood?”

  “The firewood out front the store.”

  “You have—? Of all the wrong-headed dunderheads— No. Not wasting time on that now.” Though Pauline’s tone indicated she might devote time to the matter later. “Where?”

  “Told you — out front the store.”

  “Under the tarps,” Kiernan muttered.

  “Yeah. And now under the snow.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  He and Eric were already up, putting on their jackets. Dan also stood, pulling on his, though it was noticeably thinner. The men exchanged a quick look.

  Kiernan said, “We’ll run it as a relay. Each of us handing off to the next one. Me outside.”

  “And me,” Eric said.

  “Dan, will you take the door? Then, we’ll pass it in as far as we can. Might need to do another relay to get it to the stove.”

  Faster than Bexley could have believed, they had it set up. Kiernan and Eric outside, shoveling off the snow already weighing down the tarps atop two mounds of firewood, battling the wind that buffeted every step. Dan, at the door, had more protection. Next came Bexley and Pauline, but even being in the store, they were hit by blasts. The girls stayed around a corner, between shelves, but insisted on helping, though they took turns tracking Bobby, who was zipping up and down aisles, then into the bar room.

  Gramps appeared prepared to sit it out, until Lizzie dropped a log. He grumbled his way up out of a chair and stomped over to her, picking up that log and another coming along and took them to the stack inside the bar room.

  And he stayed on as the last stop on the relay.

  They worked fast, all of them panting with the exertion and the icy air hitting their lungs. Kiernan and Eric took the brunt and Bexley felt relief when — the last log transported down the line — they could both finally get back inside. They stamped their feet, how much to shake off the snow and how much to restore sensation she didn’t know. />
  They didn’t take off their jackets.

  No one did.

  With all the cold that had come in, it was only nominally warmer inside, but at least the walls cut the wind and the roof held off the snow.

  They set up another relay to get a few logs to the other side of the room, but this pace was almost leisurely. Plus, she and Pauline conspired to set Kiernan and Eric to dealing with the actual fire-starting — less strenuous and hopefully warm sooner.

  Eric tested the chimney first by lighting a roll of newspapers then held up the stack.

  Bexley craned to see if the smoke would go up or U-turn back into the room, which would indicate an obstruction.

  When Eric said, “Not perfect, but seems good enough,” she thought she heard several exhalations.

  “It’s plenty good,” Gramps said. “How do you think we heated the bar all those years?”

  His contention was proved after Kiernan and Eric got a good fire going and they all began to steam slightly.

  The mood turned downright giddy when they were able to take off their jackets.

  Kiernan asked Gramps, “Is there more firewood beyond what you had in front?”

  “Got some in a shed, but it’s old. And it might as well be in Montana for the chances of you two fellas getting to it and bringing it back in this storm.”

  “How far away is this shed?” Eric asked.

  “Quarter mile.”

  “What use is firewood a quarter mile away?” Dan scoffed.

  “It was of use when I got a real good deal on it — free — when the bar was running and I used up a lot of wood each winter. Had so much wood at one point, I was stashing it everywhere.”

  “Then you used up what was closer, until now all you’ve got is too far away to be of use.” Dan sounded far too old and world-weary for his years.

  “Yup.” The old man was unrepentant. “And if you burn these chairs and sit on the floor—”

  “Not going to sit on this floor, despite our cleaning,” Pauline declared. “No, we can’t burn the chairs, but we can disassemble the old shelving units in the store and burn the wood.”

  Gramps squawked in outrage.

  Pauline smiled slyly, and everyone joined her, even Dan.

  “Before we get to the chairs — or the shelves — there was wood in that storeroom where we checked the propane connection. Broken furniture and scrap,” Eric said.

  “Those are my projects. A bit of fixing and those things’ll be good as new.”

  Dan rolled his eyes, and this time Bexley was tempted to join him.

  “Whatever is burned in it, we need to keep Bobby away from this stove,” Pauline said.

  “He knows hot,” Molly said.

  “ ’Ot,” he repeated. “Ow.”

  “That pretty much covers it.” Eric grinned.

  Pauline frowned. “The way he runs around he could careen into it by accident.”

  “What if we make a semicircle of the stools, turned upside down, a distance from the stove? The warmth can get through. But it will be a barrier for Bobby and give us an early warning system.”

  Before she finished, Kiernan and Eric started moving the stools. They filled in a gap with a table turned on its side.

  “What are we going to do now?” Molly asked, her eyes gleaming.

  “Now—” Bexley drew out the word as if to extend the anticipation for her audience instead of wondering if she was crazy. “—we begin celebrating Christmas.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Christmas?” Gramps repeated in disbelief.

  “Christmas!” Molly and Lizzie chorused — thrilled, but quiet, as if afraid to believe in it enough to be louder.

  “How?” Dan added a sneer to his disbelief.

  “Well, let’s start with thinking about what we associate with Christmas.” Bexley fought for time and prayed for inspiration.

  Eric backed her up. “Great idea. Do you know what she means by what we associate with Christmas?” He focused on the girls, but took any pressure off them to answer by saying, “It means what sort of things make you think about Christmas. Like…”

  “Reindeer,” Pauline contributed. “The North Pole. Wreaths.”

  Bexley added, “Garlands. Christmas lights. Carolers.”

  “Snow and cold,” Dan said sourly.

  A rusty crack of sound emerged from Gramps. “Got plenty of those two.”

  Feeling the atmosphere slide toward grim, Bexley raised her eyebrows at Kiernan twice in quick succession, prodding him to supply an antidote.

  “Goose and ham,” he said.

  Not what she expected.

  Her or anyone else, based on the looks directed at him.

  “Goose?” Molly asked.

  With the same bewildered intonation, Bexley asked, “Ham?”

  “It’s traditional Irish Christmas fare — food,” he added quickly to resolve the puzzled frowns on the faces of the two little girls. Bobby appeared half asleep and Dan was studiedly uninterested.

  “Don’t have goose in the store and the only ham’s in sandwiches.” Gramps sounded triumphant.

  “That’s too bad, because it would be nice for Kiernan to have the smells and tastes of his traditional family Christmas, wouldn’t it?” Bexley said staunchly.

  “What about cookies? They smell and taste good. Would those be okay instead of goose and ham, Kiernan?” Molly asked.

  “Cookies also are traditional Christmas fare for my family,” he said solemnly.

  “Ours, too. Our Mommy bakes cookies at Christmas. She did.”

  “All year,” her sister supplied in a low voice.

  Molly nodded. “But even more at Christmas. Lots of special kinds of cookies, but she’d make the very most of Dan’s favorite, chocolate chip, because he can eat a lot of cookies.”

  Her emphasis drew faint smiles.

  “Well, let’s see what we can find in the shop that might let us make cookies. Gramps?” Bexley chose to interpret his growl as an invitation. “Do you have an oven? Not the microwave—” She cut off his response, which he’d telegraphed with a glance in that direction. “—but a real oven.”

  “Oven? What do you want with an oven?”

  “To bake cookies. For Christmas.”

  “There are bags of cookies or boxes you can buy. Don’t need any oven.”

  “Store-bought cookies aren’t right for Christmas,” Molly told him. “You have to make them yourself. That’s what Mommy said.”

  Judging the girl had sufficiently cowed Gramps, Bexley followed up with, “Do you have an oven?”

  “Course I got an oven. Indoor plumbing, too.”

  “Wouldn’t bring up the subject of plumbing, if I were you. Touches too closely on the state of the facilities,” Kiernan muttered.

  Pauline, apparently not hearing Kiernan, still proved his point. “Good heavens, I hope it’s not in the same state as the restrooms.”

  “Doesn’t matter what state my oven’s in. You’re not using it.”

  “But we have to have cookies for Christmas.” Molly stared at him. Her twin’s part of the double whammy might have been even more powerful, because tears came into her eyes as she, too, looked up at him.

  “Coo-kay,” Bobbie added in plaintive appeal.

  “Fine. Go ahead. Use it. You might blow us all up, though. Don’t know the last time the propane connection was checked, because I’m no fancy man needs all that sort of fussing.”

  “Cookies,” Pauline declared with the gravitas appropriate to matters of State, “are not fussing. We’ll check the propane connection first, then we shall consider what ingredients this establishment offers for the making of cookies. Come along.”

  Everyone followed her, with Gramps bringing up the rear.

  Finding herself next to Kiernan, Bexley murmured, “Do you know anything about propane tanks?”

  “Enough to blow one up.”

  She side-eyed him and decided he was kidding. She hoped.

  They trooped ba
ck through the store to the door marked “Private. Strictly private. Stay out.”

  As Pauline reached for the knob, Gramps said triumphantly, “It’s locked.”

  The knob turned under her hand. With admirable restraint, she limited herself to a quick, satisfied glance at him.

  He began grumbling about hordes of people piling in on him, not letting a man catch his breath, much less take his usual precautions. But then he needed his breath to keep up as they all moved along a short hallway, then into a bedroom made dim by the storm outside. Pauline flipped the wall switch and surprised them all.

  The room was neat and clean. The wide bed was made, with a quilt smoothed over the surface and the pillows plumped. A large recliner displayed worn spots on the arms and seat, but appeared clean and displayed a carefully folded throw on its back. A table lamp and small table with books on it sat between the bed and the recliner. Across from it, a medium-sized television showed minimal dust. The dresser next to it was just as clear.

  Pauline, who had stopped two feet into the room, pivoted and leveled an accusatory look at Gramps.

  Lizzie gave voice to the woman’s expression, shorn of the accusation. “You can clean!”

  “Why didn’t you do this in the restrooms?” Eric asked.

  Looking at his feet, the shopkeeper said into his beard, “Told you. Don’t want people piling into them.”

  Kiernan appeared to be having trouble keeping a straight face.

  “Well—” Pauline propped her hands on her hips. “—this resolves one question. The girls, Bexley, and I will sleep here, with Bobby, and we’ll make up beds for you boys in the bar.”

  “Not me,” Gramps protested. “I’m sleeping in my bed. The rest of you can make do with sleeping bags and…”

  He had to hurry to catch up, because Pauline had started forward again, ignoring him.

  “Not there,” he shouted as she opened one door.

  It was to a bathroom. With their varying heights and some maneuvering, everyone could see it matched the bedroom for cleanliness and order.

  Pauline harumphed.