“When we finish, I’ll be ready for lunch.” He moved his ladder again. “I thought you might enjoy a picnic in a secret place.”
She laughed. “Now, Sam, I promised Estelle we’d be there by two, and it’s nearly noon. We have to save our hanky-panky for the sleigh bed.”
“Woman, how you misjudge me!” He pretended to be insulted. “Do you think every time I say the word picnic I mean seduction?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re right, but this time I promise to restrict myself to a few soul-shattering kisses.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him. “What is this place, a childhood hideaway?”
“Nope, but it sure is secret. Classified, even. Can I trust you?”
“Implicitly, Agent Garrison. What have you got around here, a missile site?”
“A Christmas tree site. Only my foreman, John, two White House aides, and I know where the tree is. Want to be part of that elite group?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know. Do I? What if enemy spies take me hostage and shoot me full of truth serum?”
“I’m willing to take the chance. Besides, I need your advice about a spot for the pond that Estelle wants. John’s no good at spatial relationships.”
“I had no idea the tree’s location would be so hush-hush.” She attacked the last section of stenciling for her half of the room. “Why would anyone care where the tree is growing?”
“The White House aides explained that some nut might decide to make a political statement by vandalizing the tree or something. I think that’s unlikely, but I have to play by the rules.”
“Would you like to blindfold me and lead me there?”
“Anna, my love, I would trust you with my life, so I think I can trust you with a Christmas tree. There, I’m done with that strip.” He climbed down from his ladder.
“And I have only a little to go on this wall.”
“While you finish that, I’ll make the sandwiches.”
* * *
Half an hour later, they bumped along the dirt road that led from behind Sam’s house and up a gentle slope dotted with elms and maples in full autumn color. Then the terrain leveled out into a meadow, and he stopped the truck. Farther up the road, where the hill became steep again, stood a phalanx of evergreens. Wide lanes separated each line of trees. Unlike the baby firs and spruces Anna had seen in front and to the side of Sam’s house, these were well over six feet tall, with even taller trees in the rows behind them.
“There’s a small stream running through this meadow,” Sam explained, pointing. “Right now it’s pretty overgrown with grass and weeds, but I could dam it up and make a pond for Estelle. The TV van would have to go right by it, so if she wants her skaters to be on display, they’d be on the way to the cutting site. What do you think?”
“It would be beautiful, especially covered with snow. If you’re willing to take the trouble, I’m sure Estelle would be overjoyed.”
“The darn thing might not freeze.”
“That you can’t control. I also assume you have liability insurance in case a skater falls.”
He groaned. “I have all the insurance I need, but dear God, what a mess this could be.”
“You could also tell Estelle you won’t do it.”
“She’s already got some teenagers excited about being on TV. I know all of them, and three of the boys help me cut and stack trees during the sales season. I can’t disappoint those kids.”
“You’re a real softy, you know that?”
“I know. Besides, the TV people called this week, and I mentioned Estelle and her plans. They asked if she was the mayor, and when I said that the mayor takes orders from her, they wanted her name and number. They plan to coordinate directly with her. They sounded delighted with her ideas and said that a network senior executive had been afraid the special would be dull.”
“Nobody should worry about that,” she said, laughing. “Looks like you’re really caught.”
“Yep. Oh, well, by Christmas the circus will be over.” He started the truck again and swore good-naturedly when it jolted over a pothole. “I’ll have to grade this before December, too. I imagine Estelle would like me to pave it and put in curbs.”
“You’ve known her a long time, haven’t you?”
“All my life. She’s the one who advised my grandfather to plant Christmas trees on this unusable slope. In her typical bossy way, she found him a cut-rate price on seedlings and kind of forced him into trying it.”
“No wonder she feels proprietary about the television special.”
“That’s right. Chances are the White House tree is one of those first seedlings that Estelle pushed on my grandfather thirty years ago. He bought some on his own soon after that, so I’m not really sure, but this honor belongs partly to Estelle.”
“I’m glad you told me that,” she said. “And when did you start helping your grandfather with the trees?”
“When I grew as high as the shovel. I can still remember the first summer I helped plant.”
“Wasn’t it hard to dig here? I see a lot of rocks.”
“There are a lot of rocks, believe me. That wall on the far side of the house is what we took out while we planted. Considering the slope and the rocks, Christmas trees are about the only crop this hillside could grow. I have to give Estelle credit.”
Anna gazed at the wide rows of evergreens. “Is it hard to cut down trees your grandfather and you planted?”
“No, because I don’t kill the tree. Whenever possible I use stump culture. See that?” He slowed down and pointed to a stump with a single sturdy limb growing from it. “Now look through the rows, and you’ll see others. Cutting these trees is a little like shearing sheep. It works especially well with Fraser firs, which most of these are.”
“How about the White House tree? Will you keep that stump?”
“Especially that one. To show my grandchildren.”
Anna knew without a doubt that he meant it. Sam fully expected to have children and grandchildren someday. Tradition and family were crucial to him. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t decide how she felt about that.
“Not many of these have been cut,” she said as they passed trees nearly twenty feet tall.
“No. Most are too big for Christmas trees, unless a city hall wants one, or the president of the United States.” He stopped the truck. “Here we are.”
“Where is it?”
Sam pointed to his left. “Down this row and five trees in.”
“You don’t have to worry about me giving away your secret.” She peered past him at the giant trees. “One looks about like another to me, and I’d probably never find this particular row again.”
He laughed. “I guess it’s like being parents of twins. I wonder how anyone can’t tell these trees apart.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s go hobnob with greatness.”
He carried the picnic basket, and she tucked an old blanket under one arm. Despite the blanket, he’d assured her they’d have a sedate picnic. Anna glanced at her watch. Considering that it was now almost one o’clock, they didn’t have time for anything but a sedate picnic.
“Here it is, all seven hundred pounds of it.”
She stared upward at the immense fir tree. “I was wrong,” she said. “I could find this one again. It’s magnificent, Sam. I’m sorry you have to cut this beauty down.”
“Me, too.”
“Really? But you’ll let another grow from the stump, right?”
“Sure, but I’ll be sixty by the time it reaches the same height. Giants like this aren’t quickly replaced.”
She glanced at the freshly cut stump on the far side of the White House tree. “What happened to the one beside it?”
“That was the tree I entered in the contest, the twin, so to speak, of this one.” He glanced at her. “My business sense told me to take part in that contest. But I won’t again.” He gazed down the row of firs. “I may never cut another of these big trees.�
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“I understand,” she said softly.
“I’ve justified it this time because the White House tree will give joy to so many people, but I’m still not certain it’s worth the sacrifice.”
“But what about the other trees you cut, the smaller ones?”
He shrugged. “I’m not as sentimental about those, I guess because the tree can grow back in a few years. And some I sell as live trees, which is even better. They’ll end up in somebody’s front yard and eventually be this size.”
“Makes perfect sense to me.”
He smiled at her. “I figured it would to someone who’s careful not to step on cherished memories when she redecorates a house.” He put down the picnic basket. “Let’s eat.”
Sam was as good as his word, and except for one lingering kiss before they climbed back into the truck, he didn’t initiate anything between them. They returned to his house with twenty minutes to spare before their appointment with Estelle Terwiliger.
“I’m glad you showed me the tree,” Anna said as they drove to Estelle’s house. “And I’m glad it’s the last big one you plan to cut down.”
“The town won’t like that, so I don’t plan to tell anyone just yet. They’d as soon have me win the contest every year, I think.”
“They’ll have to come up with some other way to put Sumersbury on the map.”
He smiled at her. “Yeah, like having a renowned weaver in town.”
She flinched. “Was that a gentle nudge or a strong push I just felt?”
He groaned and cursed softly. “Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
But their interchange dampened the mood. They rode in silence the rest of the way to Estelle’s house, a powder-blue Cape Cod a block from the main street of Sumersbury.
“Is there a Mr. Terwiliger?” Anna asked when they pulled onto the concrete driveway.
“Used to be. He died about five years ago. I could say that widowhood made Estelle a busybody, but it wouldn’t be true. She’s always minded everyone else’s business.”
“She’s spreading rumors around town that we’re lovers. Did you know that?”
He reached for her hand. “Yes, I knew that. Frankly, that’s one rumor that makes me proud.” He kissed her fingertips.
“We’re about to choose a quilt for your bed, the bed that we’ll pick up today from the man who’s refinishing it. I wonder if tonight I’ll feel as if the whole town is at the keyhole, watching us.”
Sam laughed. “You’ll learn to ignore that feeling. And I promise to do everything in my power to help you ignore it.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It will be.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s buy a quilt to cuddle under. I think I’ll specify to Estelle that we want a very soft quilt. That should keep the gossips in business.”
“Sam!”
His blue eyes sparkled as he helped her down from the seat. “They only pry because they’re jealous.”
“And you’re incredibly smug.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
Estelle’s living room, overflowing with ceramic figurines, dishes of papier-mâché fruit and numerous dried flower arrangements, was made even busier by the quilts draped across two sofas and four chairs.
“My goodness,” Anna exclaimed as Estelle ushered them through the foyer and into the room. She felt as if she’d stepped into a craft bazaar.
“Amazing, isn’t it, what a little time and ingenuity can produce?” Estelle said. “All the accessories in this room are handmade, either by me or a member of our guild. By the way, I understand you’re a weaver, Anna.”
Shoot. Here it comes, an invitation to join the guild. “I’m only a beginner.”
“Now, now, don’t be modest. The guild welcomes all levels of ability. We meet here on Wednesday evenings. I know that presently that isn’t convenient for you, but perhaps someday it will be.” She smiled conspiratorially at Sam.
“Perhaps,” Anna said, not looking at Sam.
“And Sammy,” she said, laying her hand on his arm, “I’m glad to report the preparations for December are moving like clockwork. The television people are so accommodating. I’ve found a pair of antlers for the deer, and Tommy Andrews thinks he can rig up a blinking red nose. Can you imagine that?” Estelle glowed like an old-fashioned Christmas tree light.
“Not too easily,” Sam admitted.
“We’ll have quite a spectacular show, I can tell you. The choir and the orchestra are in rehearsal, and the shop decorations will be—But here I am running on and forgetting my manners. Let me take your coats. Can I get you something to drink, or perhaps some cookies? Homemade.”
“Thanks, but we just had lunch.” Anna removed her nylon jacket and handed it to Estelle.
“I’ll bet Sammy could do with some cookies, couldn’t you?” She beamed at him. “You never were one to turn down homemade cookies.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Oatmeal-raisin?”
“That’s right, your favorite. I’ll bring in a plateful.” She carried away the coats without waiting for further comment.
“You are putty in that woman’s hands.”
“To her, I’ll always be seven years old.”
“Maybe that’s because you act seven years old around her.”
“I forgot about the cookies until I walked in the door and smelled them. I have a weakness for Estelle’s oatmeal-raisin cookies.”
“So I see.”
“Here we are,” Estelle announced, reappearing with a mounded plate of cookies and a napkin. She handed the whole thing to Sam. “Enjoy yourself.”
Anna coughed to keep from laughing at the delight on Sam’s face as he picked up the first cookie and bit into it. Then he seemed to remember his manners and held out the plate to her. “Sure you won’t have one?” he mumbled around the bits of cookie in his mouth.
“No, thanks, really. I’ll start looking at the quilts.”
“Let me show them to you.” Estelle bustled in front of her and launched into a sales pitch for each of the quilts in turn, with Sam trailing behind.
Anna was grateful that the plate of cookies kept Sam’s mouth full so he couldn’t make his threatened remark about wanting a “very soft” quilt. She conducted her conversation with Estelle on an impersonal note while they discussed colors and patterns.
Aided by Sam’s nods of approval, she narrowed the choice, eliminating all but two of the quilts. Both featured shades of blue, and either would complement the blue woven blanket they were using as the focal point of the bedroom. The prices were about the same.
She turned to ask Sam which he liked, but the merriment in his gaze worried her. She flashed him a warning look.
“I’ve been listening to all this talk about color and design,” he said, “but it seems to me nobody’s brought up the most important quality to be considered.”
Anna clenched her teeth.
“As the person who will be using this quilt, the thing I’m most interested in is—” he paused and winked at her, “—sturdiness,” he finished, gazing mildly at Estelle. “I’m a practical guy.”
“Well, of course you are,” Estelle said. “Most men are. So I’ll tell you, in confidence, that the starburst pattern that Delores made is stitched more carefully, with better thread, than the garland-patterned quilt Jane made. If you ever repeat that to either of them, I’ll deny saying it, but the fact is, Delores’s quilt will wear like iron.”
Anna let out her breath. “That settles it for me, then,” she said. “I liked the starburst better, anyway.” She turned to Sam. “Do you want to buy that one?”
He set the empty plate on an end table and wiped his hands on the napkin before walking over to the starburst quilt. He picked up a corner and fingered it gently. “Yes,” he said, “this will do fine.”
She knew he’d just made his softness test, but despite his teasing before they’d walked into the house, he’d had no i
ntention of embarrassing her in front of Estelle. She felt her level of trust move up a notch.
“I’ll get you a bag for it,” Estelle said, picking up the empty plate. “More cookies, Sammy?”
“Thanks, but I’m stuffed.”
“I’ll wrap up a few for you to take home, then.” She left without waiting for his reply.
“You finished off that whole plate?” Anna asked when Estelle was gone.
“I needed something to do with my hands,” he murmured. “Watching you wandering around looking at quilts while I imagined how you’d look under each of them, naked, had me in a state of—”
“Sam, for heaven’s sake!” She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway, where Estelle would reappear at any moment.
“We picked the right one, though,” he continued, smiling at her. “That blue starburst will look terrific with your hair all spread out on the pillow, and your—”
“Will you stop? I—”
“She’s coming down the hall,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“I think these women do wonderful work,” Anna said in a normal tone.
“Yes,” Estelle agreed. “The quilts are very time-consuming. I don’t have the patience for them, myself, so I admire those who do. Here’s your bag of cookies, Sammy.”
“You really shouldn’t send me home with these,” he protested.
“Nonsense. I enjoy baking.”
Anna had a sudden inspiration. “How about gingerbread cookies? Do you make those during the holidays?”
“Why, yes, generally even a gingerbread house for my grandchildren, if they’re coming here for Christmas.”
“Estelle, would you consider baking some holiday shapes in gingerbread and selling them to me to use in decorating Sam’s house? I could hang them in the windows, or maybe from the beams.”
“I would consider baking them, but I’d never charge Sammy for cookies.”
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