For A Father's Love

by JoAnn A. Grote

  The children cheered and headed for the door.

  “Do you have time to join us for a snack?” Mandy asked Jason.

  He hesitated. “I should get back to work.”

  “Will your conscience allow you to stay a few minutes if you tell it hot cider will warm you up and give you extra energy?”

  Jason grinned. “Hot cider does sound good. Okay to invite the guys who drove the tractors?”

  “Absolutely.”

  When Mandy and Jason entered the store, the children were following Beth and Miss Lewis to the local crafters’ display room at the back. The group moved slowly, the boys’ and girls’ eyes wide as they viewed the trees, the limbs heavy with ornaments. Heads tilted back, necks stretched, the children looked at the pine roping, strings of plastic cranberries and popcorn, dolls, gnomes, and wooden cars that hung from the rafters.

  “Wow!”

  “Look at that—a Christmas tree covered in teddy bears.”

  “I never saw one of those before.”

  “I never saw so many Christmas trees at one time before.”

  “Yes, you did. We just saw thousands of Christmas trees outside.”

  “Not decorated ones.”

  “Santa’s workshop must look like this.”

  “There is no Santa Claus.”

  “Is so. You just think there isn’t because you’re such a bully that Santa doesn’t bring you anything for Christmas.”

  “Does so. Hey, look at the train beneath that tree. Boy, I’d sure like one of those.”

  Mandy and Jason shared laughing glances, and in doing so almost bumped into three girls exclaiming in rapturous terms over three child-sized angels dressed in ivory silk overlaid with gold-starred gauze. The couple carefully worked their way past the girls to follow another girl who danced down the narrow aisle between trees, singing along with the Charlotte Church rendition of “Mary’s Boy Child” which played over the store’s sound system.

  Andy pushed past his singing classmate and stopped short in front of Jason and Mandy. “Mr. J. P., why aren’t there any real Christmas trees in here? These are all fake.”

  Mandy swallowed a groan. Artificial Christmas trees weren’t popular with Christmas tree farmers. She’d heard all the they-aren’t-good-for-business-and-our-local-economy arguments.

  Jason folded his arms across his chest and smiled an overly sweet smile at her. “Maybe we should ask Miss Wells since she’s the store’s owner.”

  Andy turned to Mandy. “How come?”

  Mandy smiled back at Jason, thinking, I can smile sweet too, Mister. “Real trees would die, so we’d need to replace them every few weeks. That would make a lot of work and take a lot of time. Real trees might also cause a fire hazard. We use lights on every tree and leave the lights turned on much longer than most people do on their Christmas trees at home.”

  “Oh.” Andy considered her explanation for a minute. “I see. But I still like real trees better.”

  “So do I,” Mandy agreed.

  The boy turned away, his attention caught by a large wooden truck beneath the artificial fir standing beside them.

  “I guess it does seem strange to have a store filled with artificial trees on a Christmas tree farm,” Mandy admitted as she and Jason continued walking.

  “You don’t sell the trees, do you? Just decorations?”

  Incredulous, she stared at him. “Of course we don’t sell these trees. Do you think we’d compete with Grandpa Seth’s business?”

  His lips twitched, and she realized he’d been teasing.

  “We don’t sell wreaths or roping either,” she informed him. As they passed a tree covered with colorful old-fashioned ornaments from Germany, she added, “Did you notice the wreaths on the door and behind the counter are real?”

  “Yes. And Gram says you’ll be displaying our wreaths outside near the front door, where tourists who aren’t in a position to buy a tree from us might be tempted to purchase a wreath they can easily carry in their cars. Thanks.”

  Mandy noted a bit of a grudging tone to his words but chose to ignore it. “Two live trees with their roots bundled standing on either side of the door might be nice too. We could decorate them with red ribbons, carved birds, and real pine cones.”

  “Great idea. I’ll tell one of the men to bring them down. I suppose you’re expecting a rush over the Thanksgiving weekend?”

  “Yes.” Now that she’d started thinking about using real trees, ideas sprouted. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too terribly dangerous to have one live tree inside. Maybe next to the door, where the visitors will catch the fragrance when they enter. I could use the coolest lights available on it and not keep them on all day and evening. Of course, I’d need to remember to check the water every day.”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced up at him.

  He looked straight ahead, his expression sober. “You don’t need to do that, Mandy. I know real trees in a place like this are a fire hazard, just like you said. Even Christmas tree farmers like me know that.”

  “I know you do. But it might be nice, just one real tree. I’ll think about it.” Then it struck her. He’d said, “Even Christmas tree farmers like me.” Did he realize he’d identified himself as a tree farmer, not just a financial expert substituting for a tree farmer? She chose not to comment on it. Likely he’d only become defensive, say it was a slip of the tongue. She happened to believe there were no slips in the words people spoke, but a logical Wall Street man wasn’t apt to agree.

  At the entrance to the local crafters’ room, Mandy smiled at Miss Lewis, who returned the smile with a shake of her head. “The children love your store, Mandy.”

  “Maybe while the kids eat, Jason can give them some safety tips for their Christmas trees at home.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Miss Lewis agreed. “I’ll round up the children and get them settled while you get ready, Mandy.”

  “Ready for what?” Jason’s brows met in a curious glance at Mandy.

  Mandy darted him a mischievous grin. “You’ll see.”

  Nine

  Jason looked at the group of whispering and giggling children seated on the wide, wooden floor planks and marveled at Miss Lewis’s ability to so quickly draw the children from the Christmas wonders in the larger room and bring order to the group. Now they sat while Miss Lewis and the chaperons passed out frosted sugar cookies and Styrofoam cups filled with fragrant, warm apple cider.

  Of course, Christmas items for children and the adult chaperons to drool over filled this room too. His gaze wandered the wooden walls. A quilt hanging held a place of honor, dark green squares framing a picture of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus beneath a lean-to style manger. Quilted and embroidered stockings hung from the deep window ledge. A tree covered with patchwork ornaments, straw figures, and popcorn strings stood on one side of the window. On the other, white crocheted snowflakes, stars, and angels danced on tree limbs.

  Carved wooden toys—some painted, some not—sat about the room. Rag dolls and dolls with china faces and homemade dresses silently tempted little girls and mothers and grandmothers. Tin candle holders and cookie cutters sparkled from the top of a twig table. Pottery dishes and ornaments sat on a log table. Jason wondered whether Tom Berry had made that pottery. Handmade baskets—some woven of pine needles, some of oak—hung from the rafters. Other baskets filled with ornaments were scattered about the room.

  A cane-seated oak rocking chair with a fir-green throw tossed over the back sat invitingly near the window, where handblown glass ornaments captured the sunlight. On the floor beside the chair, a baby doll in a hand-embroidered white gown lay in a small wooden cradle.

  When all the children had received their cookies and drinks, Jason gave them pointers on how to care for their Christmas trees to reduce the chances of fire. He headed to the back of the room when he finished.

  Mandy’s sister, Ellen, handed him a cup of cider.

  “Thanks. Where did you come from?”

&n
bsp; “I just got home from my classes. What do you think of this room? It’s Mandy’s pride and joy.”

  “She told me it’s the local crafters’ room. Does that mean everything in here is made by local people?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had no idea this area held so much talent.” Jason’s gaze swept the room again, this time with a new sense of respect. As a businessperson, he realized what it meant to devote an entire room to local work. But maybe it was a wise move. The room certainly embodied a homey, family-Christmas atmosphere.

  Ellen nudged him with her elbow. “Here comes Mandy. Did I make it back in time for her show?”

  “Uh, yes, I think so.” Jason’s curiosity stirred again. What was this show?

  Mandy’s dress only increased his curiosity. A huge old-fashioned bib apron of rough, off-white material covered her clothes. The apron touched the tops of her shoes and completely hid her slacks. She’d wrapped a white knit shawl over her shoulders.

  Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Mandy stopped in front of the window. He should get back to work. The men who drove the tractors had already finished their cider and headed out to the trees. Maybe he’d just stay a couple minutes and see what Mandy was up to.

  Miss Lewis introduced Mandy’s program. “Miss Wells prepared a special surprise. She’s going to tell you a Christmas story from long ago. The story took place in a section of the Appalachians farther north than these mountains. In 1752, before the American Revolution and before the United States became a country, the French and some Native American tribes were battling with the British and other North American tribes over who would control America. Two hundred years later, Paul Gallico wrote this story down. He called it ‘Miracle in the Wilderness.’ ” She brought her index finger to her lips in the universal “quiet” sign. “Listen while Miss Wells tells us what happened on Christmas all those years ago.”

  Jason noticed the ever-present music had changed to Christmas hymns played on a harpsichord. No words conflicted with the story. The instrumental music seemed appropriate for a story from the 1700s.

  Mandy drew her shawl close about her shoulders and shivered visibly. “It was cold on Christmas Eve in 1752 as Jasper Adams and his wife Dorcas stumbled through the snowcovered forest with their Algonquian captors.” She knelt and lifted the baby doll from the small wooden cradle beside the rocking chair. “Colder than the air was the fear in Jasper’s and Dorcas’s hearts for their eight-month-old son, whom one of the Algonquian carried on his shoulder.”

  Mandy explained how the little family had become captured. So skillful was Mandy’s telling of the tale, she drew Jason completely into the story until he felt the cold and the fear and later the wonder. When the first miracle was revealed, it seemed to Jason that he could see the buck, doe, and fawn kneeling in the midst of the forest in honor of Christ’s birth. Jason felt the courage it took for Jasper Adams to tell, at the fierce Algonquian leader’s insistence, of the Child who caused the animals to pay Him homage. He felt the Algonquian leader’s awe at the miracle in the wilderness, his respect for Jasper’s God—the respect that caused him to release Jasper and his family in a second miracle.

  Jason was so enraptured by the story that when it ended, he discovered his cider had grown cold. He’d planned to stay only a few minutes before returning to work. Half an hour had passed during the storytelling.

  For a full minute after the story ended, the children sat transfixed, leaning forward, their gazes riveted on Mandy. Then the children gave a common sigh and sat back.

  Customers who’d wandered close enough to hear Mandy’s voice had stayed to hear the entire story. Now they too stirred and drifted back to their shopping, murmuring to each other, “Wasn’t that a beautiful story?” and “Lovely, just lovely.”

  Beside him, Ellen took a deep breath. “Guess I’d best get out front and help with the customers.”

  Jason lifted his shoulders in a stretch. Time for him to go too. A question stopped him.

  Andy raised his hand. “Miss Wells, is that story true?”

  “I don’t know. The author wrote that his great-grandmother told him the story.”

  “I like the story, even if it’s not true,” Beth asserted.

  A chorus of agreements rose from the class.

  Jason smiled, amused and touched by Beth’s attempt to protect Mandy’s reputation with her fellow students.

  “But deer don’t know about Jesus,” Andy persisted.

  How is she going to field that? Jason wondered. He didn’t envy her this predicament.

  “I guess,” Mandy started slowly. “I don’t know what deer do and don’t know. But I believe in miracles.”

  Miss Lewis stood. “Thank you for the story, Miss Wells. Class, put on your coats. It’s time to go back to school.”

  Jason frowned slightly. Was she wondering if inadvertently she’d allowed Mandy to creep over the boundary between church and state? He didn’t believe the story crossed that well-watched line, but another might interpret it differently.

  “Do I have to go back to school too, Miss Lewis?” Beth asked.

  “No, you can stay here since the school day is almost over.”

  “Yeah!” Beth skipped over to Mandy. “I liked that story.”

  Andy turned back to Mandy while zipping up his red jacket. “I’m part Cherokee.” A challenge underlaid his tone.

  Jason tensed, watching for Mandy’s reaction. Amazing that the simple story brought up so many issues.

  “That’s a fine heritage.” Mandy smiled at Andy. “Your people lived in these mountains a long time before America became the United States.”

  “The Cherokee were like the Algonquian in your story. They didn’t believe Jesus is the Son of God. I don’t either, but I like your story anyway.” Andy spun about and pushed past a red-haired boy, apparently eager to leave before Mandy could reply.

  Jason nodded to the students as they passed him on their way out. Most thanked him for the tour. Their enjoyment of the day left a smile in his heart.

  Over the last of the students’ thanks, Jason heard Beth’s troubled question to Mandy.

  “God punishes people who don’t believe in Jesus, doesn’t He?”

  Jason glanced over at the girl. Mandy slipped her arms about Beth’s shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of the girl’s head. “God is love, and I think God loves your classmate, don’t you?”

  Beth nodded, still frowning.

  “Since God is love, I think we can trust Him to do what’s best for people whether or not they believe in Jesus.”

  “I guess so.” Beth didn’t look convinced.

  “There are some cookies left. Will you do me a favor and take the plate around to customers and offer them cookies?”

  Beth brightened immediately at the prospect of such an important duty. She lifted the green-and-blue pottery plate from the table near the entrance, gave Jason a blinding smile, and moved into the large room, stepping slowly so as not to drop the plate.

  Jason walked over to Mandy. “When did you become such a great storyteller?”

  She furrowed her brow as if puzzled, but her eyes sparkled with fun. “Is that a compliment or a question?”

  “Both.”

  “Then I thank you for the compliment, kind sir. As for the question, anyone can tell stories.”

  “Not everyone stirs their audience’s emotions the way you did today.”

  She looked down and played with the shawl’s fringe. “It was the story that touched people, not me.”

  “It was both.” So like her to be humble about her talent, he thought. “Andy sure came up with some challenging questions. Beth too.”

  “Whew. I’ll say.”

  He started the oak chair rocking with a push from his foot. “So you don’t believe God punishes people?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I believe He loves people. I believe we can trust that love to do what’s best for every person.” She slipped off the shawl
and began folding it. “Besides, I’m concerned about Beth. I think she’s angry with God. If that’s true, she’s likely also worried He will punish her for that anger. I believe trusting in His love for her will help her get over her anger faster than worrying He might punish her.”

  “She’s only—eight? Why would she be angry at God?”

  “Because—”

  “Oh, of course,” he interrupted. “Because her dad left.”

  Mandy nodded. “She’s really hurting.” She glanced past his shoulder. “Here she comes.” She lifted her voice. “The plate’s empty. The customers must have liked the cookies. Thanks for doing that, Honey.”

  “You’re welcome. Mom says can you please help with the customers ’cause it’s busy.”

  “Sure.” Mandy dropped the shawl on the chair and reached behind her back to untie the enveloping apron. “Will you take the plate up to the loft kitchen, Beth? Thanks.” She slipped the apron off, grabbed the shawl, and started to the outer room.

  “Bye,” Jason called out.

  She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, continuing her hurried steps. “Bye. Thanks for all you did for Beth’s class today.”

  “Yes, thanks, J. P.” Beth smiled. “It was fun riding through the trees in the wagon.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it. I’d better get back to work before I’m fired.”

  She giggled, walking alongside him, carrying the plate. “Grandpa Seth wouldn’t fire you.”

  “Don’t think so?” He gave a strand of her blond hair a playful yank. “If he gives me a hard time, I’ll send you to stand up for me. How’s that?”

  “All right.” Her giggles continued as she headed for the loft.

  Once outside, Jason’s steps quickened into a jog. His thoughts stayed back at the Christmas barn while he ran. Was Mandy right, was Beth angry at God as well as Zach? Jason hated to think of all the hurt that sweet kid carried inside her because of her selfish father.

  Zach has a lot to answer for.

  Ten

  Mandy hummed along to Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” while gently tucking a handblown purple-and-gold tree topper surrounded in bubble wrap into a box. A steady stream of customers had filled the store all day. Even now at two-fifty-something, women in the middle of the room were trying to decide on which buildings to add to their Snow Village collections. Mandy was accustomed to taking advantage of “spare” minutes such as this to work on small tasks like this mailing. Beside her, Ellen stuck price tags on pieces of pottery dinnerware Tom Berry had just brought in.