A formidable matriarch learns the hard way that no family is perfect in this witty, sparkling debut novel
Dearest loved ones, far and near—evergreen tidings from the Baumgartners!
Violet Baumgartner has opened her annual holiday letter the same way for the past three decades. And this year she’s going to throw her husband, Ed, a truly perfect retirement party, one worthy of memorializing in her upcoming letter. But the event becomes a disaster when, in front of two hundred guests, Violet learns her daughter Cerise has been keeping a shocking secret from her, shattering Violet’s carefully constructed world.
In an epic battle of wills, Violet goes to increasing lengths to wrest back control of her family, infuriating Cerise and snaring their family and friends in a very un-Midwestern, un-Baumgartner gyre of dramatics. And there will be no explaining away the consequences in this year’s Baumgartner holiday letter...
Full of humor, emotion and surprises at every turn, Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners brings to life a remarkable cast of quirky, deeply human characters who must learn to adapt to the unconventional, or else risk losing one another. This is the story of a family falling to pieces—and the unexpected way they put it all back together.
Praise for
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners
“This delightfully clever debut is a masterfully written, Wes Anderson–esque roller coaster ride through a series of self-made disasters in a hilariously dysfunctional family. Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners hits all the right notes; you’ll double over with laughter, but you’ll also find yourself at times misty-eyed and introspective.... If you’re a fan of modern film classics such as The Royal Tenenbaums and Moonrise Kingdom, get ready to meet your new favorite book.”
—KRISTIN HARMEL, bestselling author of The Life Intended
“Anthony knows what makes the people of America’s heartland hilarious, lovable, and worth reading about.... A breath of fresh air.”
—ANN GARVIN, bestselling author of I Like You Just Fine When You’re Not Around
“Full of twists and turns, and laughs that don’t let up.”
—LORNA LANDVIK, bestselling author of Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons
“Anthony’s debut is a nonstop delight peopled with characters that are sure to entertain.... A literary joy from beginning to end!”
—ANITA HUGHES, author of Christmas in London and California Summer
“A brilliant debut! Gretchen Anthony brings her characters—and their many secrets—to life with such warmth, wit, and intelligence you will race to the end, then be sorry when you arrive.”
—JULIE LAWSON TIMMER, author of Mrs. Saint and the Defectives
Gretchen Anthony
is a Minnesota-based writer and humorist whose work has been featured on scarymommy.com, medium.com and thewritelife.com. She’s also spent decades as a ghostwriter and has written for some of the best personal brands in the United States, from CEOs to doctors and start-up superstars to BBQ pros. Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners is her first novel.
GretchenAnthony.com
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners
Gretchen Anthony
To Dad. Thanks for laughing.
Contents
Quote
June
Part One
Seven Months Earlier
Chapter 1
Retirement Invitation
Chapter 2
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 2010
Chapter 3
Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church Bulletin
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 1990
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Cedar-Isles North Star Sailor
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Feds Receive Most Unusual Welcome Gift - Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard
Chapter 13
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 1978
Chapter 14
Wedding Invitation
Chapter 15
Thank You Note
Chapter 16
Feds Greeted with Second
"Watchers" Statue - Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard
Chapter 17
Dear friends and supporters of EyeShine - February 10, 2018
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Cedar-Isles North Star Sailor
Chapter 20
"Watchers" Group Expands to Kansas City - Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 1996
Chapter 24
Cincinnati Independent Times - March 17, 2018
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
"The Watchers" Elusive and Everywhere - Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Birth Announcement
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 2000
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Feds Watching "The Watchers" - Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Baptism Announcement
Chapter 40
Part Three
Cedar-Isles North Star Sailor
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Dear friends and supporters of EyeShine - June 11, 2018
Chapter 43
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners - Christmas 1985
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Cincinnati Independent Times - June 13, 2018
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners Reader's Guide
Questions For Discussion
A Conversation with Gretchen Anthony
Be it labor great or small, do it well or not at all.
—CHILDREN’S RHYME
June
ONE WOULD THINK being treated like a daft old Betty by a police officer with mustard on his lapel would top Violet’s all-time list of humiliations. But after the fall of Gomorrah she’d just witnessed, it barely registered.
“Mrs. Baumgartner,” he said, as if repeating her name would help. “Why won’t you tell me who threw the first punch?”
“Like I told you, Officer, I couldn’t see. I went momentarily blind.”
“But you can see now?”
For heaven’s sake, she said she’d gone blind, not soft in the head. “Of course I can see now—” She raised her finger to his name badge. “Officer Clive Bailey.”
She paused to let him absorb her demonstration of faculties. “Officer Bailey, I couldn’t see who threw the first punch, but believe me, I know very well it wasn’t my husband. Nor could I see what happened next because of the stars. And the buzzing. Like a swarm of bees in my head and before my eyes.”
“Bees.” Officer Bail
ey made a note.
“No, not bees.” Now that she was on record she thought she ought to be exact. “Like pins—hundreds of tiny, sharp pricks piercing the blackness. And then a million streams of blinding light. Really, I thought my brain was about ready to rip in two.”
She noticed the officer’s right eye had begun to twitch ever so imperceptibly where lid met lash, but he did manage to record the words blinding light. That would have to suffice.
“Okay. So if you were blind, how did you manage to leave the scene?”
“My husband, of course. Edward Baumgartner. He’s a distinguished scientist so I can assure you that he has no tolerance for violence. A man like Edward only uses his hands for the good of others.” She paused, and then added, “Even when he would have had every right to punch the man groping his meaty fingers across his wife’s backside.”
The twitch in Officer Bailey’s eye escalated to full-blown mutiny, and he began to worry at it with the back of his wrist. “I’m confused. A man groped your backside? Or he groped his own wife’s backside?”
“How on earth could he have groped his own wife’s backside? She was off pawing at Pastor Norblad like a Parisian streetwalker.”
Officer Bailey’s hand was so busy controlling the twitch in his eye that none of this was making it into his notes.
“Aren’t you going to write that down?”
The officer sighed and shook his head. “I’ve got enough.” He closed his notebook with a defeated slap and went to slip it into his breast pocket, then stopped. “One last thing, actually. A few people reported something I can’t seem to make sense of. They reported hearing a woman scream—” He flipped back and forth through his pages of notes. “Here it is. They say she screamed, ‘Was it intercourse?’” He raised a single eyebrow and looked directly at Violet. “Any idea who that might have been?”
Yes, Violet knew. Of course she knew.
The last six months, however, had painted in stark contrast the difference between knowing and understanding. Six months ago, she knew she was married to a world-class scientist. She knew their daughter was on track to exceed her father’s success. Violet knew that she, herself, had meticulously navigated motherhood, raising a successful child during an era when it was both necessary to direct her every move, while acting as if Pinocchio had no strings.
But what did she understand about this family of hers? Not her shockingly secretive daughter, who used her mastery of science for far more than professional advancement. And certainly not her bending willow of a husband. Would it break him to stand up for once?
Imagine. A woman of Violet’s stature faced with such fundamental questions. It was disorienting. Distasteful. Her cheeks burned as if she’d been slapped. Her family’s health, its very survival, would forever fall squarely on her shoulders alone.
Yes, Violet knew who’d shouted the question Officer Bailey was asking about. She knew, too, about the pills, and the vodka, and the backside grabbing, and the sobbing, and all of the jokes for which her family would forever be the butt.
She also knew there would be no explaining it away in this year’s Baumgartner Christmas letter.
Part One
Seven Months Earlier
1
Violet
Christmas 2017
Dearest loved ones, far and near—
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners!
By the time you open this letter I’m sure it will be old news that 2017 has been a monumental year for our family—one that we’re certain to treasure until the end of our days. So tonight, as I sit tucked into my warm house with a steaming cup of Christmas tea, I feel nothing but blessed. And while I know that my modest little Christmas correspondences can’t hold a candle to the day-to-day joys and sorrows of your lives, I do hope you’ll indulge this meek attempt to share a glimpse of our year with you.
The biggest Baumgartner news, of course, is dear Ed’s retirement from BiolTech after 30 extraordinary years. How proud we are of you, Ed! Though you know I’m loath to brag, I can hardly constrain myself. How can the Good Lord expect me to go humbly about while congratulatory cards and letters flood our home? I can’t help but repeat here what’s been said to us in those notes—that millions of people around the world are living healthier, happier lives because of this dear man’s research into FBD. And to think that I am the lucky girl who gets to wake up next to him every day!
But as each of us knows, all good things must come to an end, including my brilliant husband’s career. This could mean only one thing: Time for a party! And was it ever! We welcomed hundreds of guests, including many of you reading this letter now, and we thank you from the bottom of our overflowing hearts for joining us in celebrating my dear husband’s life and achievements.
The night included all the trappings, of course. A select few from the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra charmed us with Mendelssohn and Brahms while we nibbled on shrimp cakes and (wickedly expensive but wildly popular!) Brie-en-croute. Later, a jazz quartet, fresh in from their latest tour of New York, Los Angeles and Toronto, rang in the midnight hour while we popped corks for the Champagne toasts.
Now, if you’ll permit me just one modest name-drop (those of you disinterested in the gossipy comings and goings of local celebrities may skip ahead to the next paragraph)...the evening included a most unexpected and wonderful guest! Imagine our surprise when the ballroom doors opened and who should walk in
RING!
Violet nearly leaped from her chair at the sound of the phone.
Good Lord Almighty, she thought. Are You trying to take me home with a heart attack?
An hour or so earlier, before sitting down at the computer to write, she’d paused to consider disabling any possible distractions—doorbell and phone included—but decided no. She wouldn’t put the day’s To-Do list in jeopardy. Silence was a poor trade for accomplishment.
She took a deep breath and ran the tips of her fingers across the nape of her neck to gather herself.
“Hello. Baumgartner residence. Violet Baumgartner speaking.” It struck her that she’d been answering the phone in this manner for more than thirty years.
There was an audible pause on the other end before a man finally cleared his throat and spoke up. “Yes, Mrs. Baumgartner? Harvey Arpell from the Minneapolis/St. Paul Standard. Returning your call.”
Outstanding.
Arpell was top priority on the day’s list. Draft Christmas letter was second, followed by Confirm menu, and those tasks were both well underway. Her mind buzzed with efficiency.
“Now, Mr. Arpell. I need to know if you will be bringing a photographer along with you on the sixteenth. If not, we will need to hire one to meet you there.”
Arpell cleared his throat again. She hoped this wasn’t a chronic condition; phlegmy encounters were so off-putting. She couldn’t expose her guests to that.
“The sixteenth?”
“Yes.”
“November 16? As in, next week?”
“For heaven’s sake, no.” Next he’d be asking if she were catering her party with Costco party trays. “December 16. The retirement party for my husband, Ed Baumgartner. You’ll recall that we discussed it at length during the Overbergs’ fund-raiser for the Minnesota Orchestra last month. You expressed quite an interest in attending.”
“I’m afraid I—”
“I’ve assembled a press kit with Ed’s biographical information, as well as a list of career highlights. I had planned to drop them in the mail to your office today. Unless you’d prefer I have the package couriered.”
Of course he’d remember; he’d commented on Ed’s Medical Legion of Honor lapel pin, which Ed hadn’t wanted to wear but which she’d strongly encouraged. Their wear it or don’t discussion had made them almost late, and yet, here she was, taking calls from one of Minnesota’s premier reporters.
�
��Mrs. Baumgartner, you’ll forgive me. Remind me who your husband is again?”
Violet grabbed the locket at her throat and wrapped it tightly in her palm. This wasn’t at all the conversation she’d been expecting and she began to doubt her choice of reporters. He showed no grasp of the facts nor the opportunity before him.
Nevertheless.
“My husband, Edward Baumgartner, is retiring after thirty years with BiolTech. He is a premier researcher in his field and holds several patents for FBD treatment devices. You likely have heard of the F8 Tri-scope Method, which he developed, and which proved foundational for all subsequent FBD treatment methods.”
Violet had invested no small bit of her life mastering the subtle language required to describe a condition as sensitive as the one to which dear Ed had dedicated his work. His career was her work, too, after all.
“And, by FBD, you mean—what, exactly?”
Good Lord. Violet shook her head. She was most definitely rethinking her choice of reporters.
“Functional Bowel Disorders.”
“Ah, of course.”
“FBD is actually a category of disorder, inclusive of several subcategories of gastrointestinal disorders, including irritable bowel syndrome—which, thanks to all the advertising with which we’re assaulted these days, is more commonly known as IBS—and FD, or functional dyspepsia.” She paused to let him absorb the details and to come to terms with the fact that, yes, she did in fact know what she was talking about. “IBS, alone, is estimated to affect nearly twenty percent of the American population.”
Arpell hmm’d. “That’s an awful lot of—well, you know...” He paused, and experience told her he was weighing his choice of words. There wasn’t a punch line she hadn’t heard—bowels were such an easy target—and she hoped he’d rise above.
“Stomach pain,” he said, finally.
She smiled. Perhaps he wasn’t as thick as he’d begun to sound. “Indeed it is, Mr. Arpell. And my husband, Ed, has been doing his best to soothe that pain for millions of affected people most of his life.”
Arpell was quiet on the line, though Violet believed she could hear the ticking of his keyboard. She had him intrigued.
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