She leaned in, feeling his warmth. “I love you, too.”
He nudged her yet again.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! “Edward Baumgartner, you just spilled coffee all over my lap!”
* * *
FINALLY, THE ENTIRE FAMILY—all five of them—gathered at the tree. It was late afternoon, several hours past the time they typically sat down to open presents, but Adam had napped longer than usual. In the time he’d slept in the crib Violet kept in the guest bedroom, they’d finished off last night’s Swedish meatballs, a full pot of coffee and half a tray of Christmas cookies, all while opening and reading aloud the pile of holiday letters received at the Baumgartner house over the past several weeks.
As usual, people had very little to report other than more gray hair and a growing list of grandchildren.
The Endreses, however, had forgone the typical family photo this year in lieu of a picture of Kyle and Richard standing beside a bland concrete structure, surrounded by strangers. The caption read, EyeShine brings the gift of sight to Togolese refugees in Monrovia, Liberia. August 2018.
Well. That was different.
Violet had feared Eldris would call and ask to include a picture of Adam in this year’s family photograph. But in fact she hadn’t. Hadn’t even asked to put a present under the tree or donate something to his stocking.
Eldris, it appeared, was playing by the rules. And Violet wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that.
Anyway, now Adam was awake and hungry, drinking a bottle in Ed’s arms, and dressed in a green-and-red jumper that read, Grandpa’s little elf.
“I’m just so glad he slept,” said Cerise. Violet could now see she’d done her best to cover the dark circles under her eyes with makeup. “I don’t know if he’s teething, or what, but he’s been up two or three times a night all week.”
“He’s awfully flatulent,” said Ed, patting baby’s bum. He lifted Adam diaper-side-up to his nose and sniffed. “All this rich holiday food passing through your milk, making him gassy. Try a hot water bottle on his belly. Should loosen him up.”
“Merry Christmas to us,” said Barb, handing Cerise her mug of warm mulled wine for a sip. “Any chance there’s a full night’s sleep wrapped up in any of these boxes?”
Violet smirked. “Perhaps.” Oh, she couldn’t stand herself, she was so smart. There was, in fact, a gift certificate under the tree for one night at a lovely boutique hotel downtown. She’d seen it featured in the newspaper for its amazing brunch menu and called that very afternoon. Now their getaway-for-two was wrapped in ribbon and bows with a tag that read, “Sweet dreams, Cerise and Barb.”
“Mom,” said Cerise, “open yours first.” She handed her a gift wrapped in lovely silver paper with a white satin ribbon running long tails below its bow.
“How lovely. Thank you.” She took the box from Cerise, and nearly dropped it. It was the size of a shirt box, so naturally she’d expected it to weigh as much. Only, it felt as if it were full of bricks. “What on earth?”
Cerise and Barb exchanged pleased, knowing glances.
Those two. “I see you enjoyed yourselves.” She smiled and pulled at the ribbon, which slid loose with the luscious feel of silk. She wrapped the yard or so of ribbon carefully around her palm and set it next to her on the side table. Most definitely reusable.
Now, where to begin? She turned the package over and examined its wrap for the best point of entry. The silver paper was thick and the tape barely translucent against its sheen. Perhaps it was best to begin at one of the ends.
“Just rip it, Mom!” Cerise was practically hollering, though laughing as she went.
“Hang on,” said Barb, leaping to her feet. “I’ll get a knife.”
“No need,” said Violet, running a fingernail along the back center seam. “I think I’ve got it.” She had torn the paper slightly, but she assured herself it did not matter. As it was, she’d had to toss out several rolls of wrapping paper this year in order to make room for the new rolls of child-appropriate paper she’d purchased to wrap Adam’s gifts. Life, she reminded herself, was bountiful.
The silver paper, once freed, fell to the floor at her feet. Inside it, as she suspected, was a plain white shirt box. She pulled off the lid and stopped at the tissue paper layer. “Edward,” she said, looking for him. He was just over her shoulder, still bouncing the baby. “Are you watching? This is from Cerise and Barb.”
“Yes. Go ahead. Adam and I are both watching.”
She pulled back the tissue and found a book. Coffee-colored leather binding. On its cover the words Adam Hesse Baumgartner.
“Oh.” She heard herself cooing. “A baby book. How wonderful.” She looked at Cerise and Barb, being sure to make eye contact with each of them.
“Um, sort of,” said Barb. “Open it.”
Violet didn’t have to be told twice. The leather crackled as she pulled at the cover, working itself a new crease. Ivory paper pages, at least 32-pound stock. The first several were blank, but then came a surprise—a triple-fold insert.
“Pull it out, Mom,” said Cerise. She was practically bouncing with excitement. If Violet didn’t know better, she’d ask if she needed to use the restroom.
Nevertheless, Violet pulled open the insert and discovered that across her lap lay a family tree with two major branches, Hesse and Baumgartner. At its top, the name, Adam.
“With all the excitement of Adam being early. And the baptism—” Cerise shot Barb a sideways smirk. “Anyway, you never got to do the family tree for Adam’s room. So we did it for you.”
Violet found herself without words. All she could do was run her fingers along each branch. They were all there—she and Ed, their parents, her aunts and uncles. Even crazy Aunt Tabitha and wonderful Auntie Tate.
“How?” she asked. One word was enough.
“Dad knew most of it,” said Cerise, smiling at her father, who still stood, looking over Violet’s shoulder.
“And my parents had the rest,” said Barb.
Gracious. That meant—“You spoke with your parents?” Violet did her best to keep her voice light, free of judgmental inquisition.
“Well, yes, I have spoken to them. But not about this. We received an entire library’s worth of genealogy books on our doorstep when they moved out of the house in Ohio.”
“No notice,” said Cerise, nodding. “Just twelve boxes of books and a sweaty delivery guy wanting a tip.”
The two of them laughed, and Violet watched them briefly share a private moment.
“Anyway,” said Barb, “it gave us the idea.”
“Do you like it?” asked Cerise.
She did. She loved it. The intricacy of the hand-drawn tree. The dates and details and names. How many generations? She’d have to take the time to count.
“The tree is only part of it,” said Cerise. “The rest is any written documentation we could find. Newspaper articles, government records, letters, whatever.”
“But how—with Adam and work and—”
“Like I said, my parents had most of our information already,” said Barb.
“And Dad helped with the rest,” added Cerise, again nodding in her father’s direction.
Violet felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She reached up, covering it with her own. She couldn’t turn to look at him. That would lead to tears, and tears would stain the precious gift open across her lap. “Thank you, love,” she said, leaning into him as best she could. “And all that time you spent squirreled away on your computer I thought you were busy with Hair Supply nonsense.”
Ed patted her. “Oh, there was plenty of that,” he said. “But mostly this. I was happy to do it.” She felt a kiss land on the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Violet.”
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
THIS BOOK MAY never have come to life if my fathe
r hadn’t once written a Christmas letter about my mother’s new can opener. He was my first teacher, and I’m forever thankful he encouraged me to find the humor in (nearly) everything. Thanks to my mom, who allowed her family of characters to be just the people we are.
Thanks to my cheerleaders—a whole lifetime of them. Most recently, my incredible agent, Holly Root, who’s one badass woman and human being. To my editor, Natalie Hallak, whose love for these characters is contagious and her editorial insight spot-on. Thanks to my fellow writers: Karen Cimms, Laura Broullire, David Williams, Josh Moehling, Laska Nygaard, Katherine Dickinson, Tim Hennum and Bree Powers. And to my bestest readers: Bethany, Vicki and Renee. Brian and Tracy, every story is better with you in it.
Finally, to Chad and our boys with love. Yep, it’s real now.
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners
Gretchen Anthony
Reader’s Guide
Questions For Discussion
Violet is a matriarch with high expectations and very specific tastes, who greatly values her social standing and family history. Why do you think these things are so important to Violet? Why do you think she constantly needs to feel in control? How did your feelings about Violet and her actions change as the novel progressed?
Discuss the evolution of Cerise’s relationship with her mother. How does it change over the course of the book? Are there aspects that remain the same? How do their perspectives on family evolve?
The unexpected news of Cerise’s pregnancy brings Violet’s world crashing down—literally. Do you think Violet’s reaction to the news would have been different if Cerise was straight? In what ways does her being gay affect her relationship with her parents? Do you believe them when they say they already knew she was gay?
Violet is forced into an uncomfortable isolation after her accident. How does this is affect her? Does it affect her social standing, or does she only believe that it does? Would she have behaved differently during Cerise’s pregnancy if the accident had not occurred?
At various points in the book, Barb encourages Cerise to be more honest and direct with her parents. Yet the behavior of her own family comes as a surprise to everyone. Do you think she would be able to follow her own advice? How does her family and history affect her vision of herself as a mother?
Discuss the ways in which parenthood alters Cerise and Barb’s relationship. What issues does it force them to address? What strengths and weaknesses does it reveal?
It seems like everyone was keeping a secret at some point in the book, such as Cerise and her pregnancy, Richard and his band, Rhonda and her Watchers scheme. Are there any secrets that you felt were justified? Do you think keeping secrets always has consequences? Do most families keep secrets from each other?
At first, Edward and Richard seem like opposites. What characteristics do they share? What do they respect about each other? How does their friendship serve them?
Discuss the reveal that Kyle is the one who helped Barb and Cerise become parents. Were you surprised? Do you think Rhonda was justified in ending the relationship? In your opinion, would their relationship have worked even if Rhonda hadn’t found out?
Do any of the characters resemble real people in your life? Which character did you relate to the most? Who would you be most likely to have as a friend?
Why are Violet’s Christmas letters critical to the book? What do you think the discovery about them at the end says about Violet? What does it say about Edward? About their marriage? Do you write or receive holiday letters?
What will you most remember about Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners?
A Conversation with Gretchen Anthony
Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners tells the story of a formidable matriarch who goes to wild efforts to wrest back control of her family, and the antics that ensue. What was your inspiration for the characters and story?
We’ve always loved Christmas letters in our family. My dad and I used to sit in the living room together and read them aloud, saving the ones we knew would provide the most entertainment for last. To this day, my brother and I have an ongoing competition for who can write the funniest letter. He says I always win; I say he does.
Even so, the very nature of the holiday letter is disingenuous. A year in the life of your entire family on a single page—that’s not even possible! No one can capture ups and downs of all that living with absolute honesty. And even if they could, who would want to read it?
We’ve all read those letters, too. The Violet kind. The ones that leave you thinking, Yeah, right. She was the seed of my inspiration. I wondered, what if someone actually believed the high-gloss story she presented to the world? And I wondered, how would she react if she was forced to acknowledge the growing cracks in her facade?
The novel has a great Minnesota flavor, filled with details that bring the setting to life. Can you talk a bit more about why you chose this setting and what it means to you?
Well, geez, you bet! That’s so nice of you to ask. Are you sure you’ve got the time?
Translation for non-Minnesota readers: Sure. I’ll tell you. But remember, you asked. Don’t blame me if you get bored.
I’ll be the first to admit: this place has got a hold on me. I was raised in Minnesota, then moved away for nearly twenty years and swore I’d never come back. The winters really are crazy cold. But like my husband says, there’s a siren call to those of us who move away. We can’t imagine raising kids who don’t know the summers here—great blue stretches of lake and sky, broken only by trees. We love our schools. We love our theaters and our music. We love our woods and our water and—oh, heck! Listen to me going on and on.
Everything non-Minnesotans say about us is true: we manage to be both passive-aggressive and genuine, outwardly nice and subtly cutting, unwilling to admit to the cold while equally preoccupied by the weather. We Minnesotans are a complex bunch. It’s what makes us so interesting. I imagine that, for anyone raised elsewhere, trying to understand us must feel like cracking the Enigma code. And yet, as a Minnesotan, I’m obligated to give you as many clues as possible. We just can’t help ourselves.
What was your toughest challenge writing Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners? Your greatest pleasure?
Writing this book was a years-long exercise in maintaining my momentum and confidence. This isn’t the first novel I’ve written but it’s the first book I felt I might have a shot at publishing, and with that realization came long periods of fear and doubt. Thankfully, I have terrific writing group partners and they kept me inspired and moving forward. If it weren’t for my colleagues, this book would still be scattered chapters on my laptop.
The most fun I had was writing Richard. I can’t remember a character who flowed more easily onto the page. I think he may even be my alter ego. Originally, I called him Dick but my fabulous and smart editor, Natalie Hallak, suspected the name was too “on the nose.” I’ll let the reader decide.
Can you describe your writing process? Do you write scenes consecutively or jump around? Do you have a schedule or routine? A lucky charm?
For me, writing fiction is the process of answering the question, “What if...?” What if a perfectionistic mother began to see her facade crumble? What would she do? How would the people around her react? What consequences would their reactions ignite? It sounds as if I focus on plot first, but I find that my characters drive plot. To put them in realistic situations, I need to understand them first. I develop the emotional plot well before the action plot.
It takes me about two years to complete a book, and only about half of that is writing. The first year, I spend my time thinking about the characters—imagining them in various situations, trying to hear their voice, reading other books or watching movies that may help to inspire them. My kids find it hard to believe that when they find me watching a movie, I call it “work.”
Do you read other fiction while writing or do you find it distracting? Is there a book or author that inspires you the most?
One of the best moments of my life was when my agent, Holly Root, told me, in essence, It’s your job to read. Until then, I’d always looked at reading as an indulgence, something I did to avoid the stuff I was really supposed to be doing. But my job? That changed everything!
I’m always reading something. When my writing feels stuck, I look for books or characters to inspire me, to help me look at an issue differently. When the writing is going well, I read to relax—it quiets me and allows my mind to rest.
Since my books tend to have big, quirky characters, I have a few books I return to when I need a master course in how to ensure they’re also redeemable: A Prayer for Owen Meany and The World According to Garp by John Irving. Where’d You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple. Last year I was enthralled by Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor character in Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine; I think that may go into master class rotation, too.
How did you know you wanted to be a writer? Can you describe the journey to publishing your first book?
I’ve always been a writer, but I think that’s different than being a novelist. I had a career in corporate communication for nearly twenty years and I loved it because the job is both strategic and creative.
I only had the courage (or maybe the drive) to try to establish myself as a novelist about ten years ago. (Those of you doing the math at home know that I’m much older than your average debut novelist.)
Sometimes, when I read an article about a breakout young writer I think, Should I have taken that path? Was I exercising some sort of fear by not pursuing my fiction career earlier? But, no. I realize now that I wasn’t always interested in writing fiction. I never dreamed of writing the great American novel or becoming the next Fitzgerald. I did, however, always enjoy writing first-person essays. The funnier, the better. And those, I did write. Some years it wasn’t anything more than a Christmas letter or a well-buried blog, but I wrote. I wrote because I enjoyed the stories I could tell.
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