Christmas Blessings

by Katherine Spencer

  “Let’s leave them in the mud room for now. I think they’ll be warm enough here for a while. We can put the babies in the kitchen later,” she told the kids. “I hope you don’t mind, Sam,” she called out. “We have to bring some animals inside today.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, though he did. A little. “What about installing heat in the barn? When is that going to happen?”

  “I’m working on it,” Jessica promised.

  Before Sam could comment, Lily said, “Don’t you think Sassy should be inside, too, Mom?” He remembered that Sassy was the party pony Jessica had rescued about a week ago.

  “I think she’ll be fine, honey,” he heard Jessica reply. “A pony can’t come in the house.”

  “Your mom is right. I draw the line at ponies,” Sam called out.

  “But she’s having a baby. You said so yourself,” Lily replied.

  Sam sat up straight in his chair. “Sassy is pregnant?” he called out. “Nobody told me that.”

  Jessica had shed her jacket and boots but still wore a scarf wrapped around her neck. A bright blue scarf that matched her eyes. With her cheeks red from the cold and her curly reddish-brown hair framing her face, Sam was suddenly distracted, noticing how pretty his wife was, after all these years together. As pretty as the day they had met. “We just found out the other day, when the vet came to look her over,” Jessica replied. “I’m sorry I forgot to mention it.”

  “That’s okay, I guess,” Sam murmured. “Are we having breakfast now, or did you guys eat without me?”

  “Of course we didn’t have breakfast without you.” Jessica picked up an apron and tied it around her slim waist, then pulled a big bowl from a cupboard. “How about pancakes? Is that all right?”

  “Sounds perfect. With some scrambled eggs on the side?”

  “Will do.”

  “And some bacon?” he added.

  “Dad . . . really?” He turned to see Lily standing by his chair, looking crushed. “Eggs are bad enough. We absolutely can’t eat bacon anymore.”

  “No bacon? I don’t remember agreeing to that rule.”

  “Let’s talk about it later.” Jessica turned and gave him a look. “I actually forgot to buy bacon, so it doesn’t even matter.”

  Forgot conveniently, Sam thought. He was about to make a joke about Pinky supplying the missing side dish, but he sensed that touch of humor would not go over well. Especially with Lily. His wife and children were so serious about the animals. He suddenly felt like the only one who was not in sync.

  Maybe it was because he was worried about the business side of taking in all these furred and feathered friends. It had only been two weeks or so since Jessica had jumped in full-time, and he knew she would get the financials under control soon. She was so organized and knowledgeable, so good with budgeting. She had been a bank manager, for goodness’ sake. But every time he heard about the cost of care and feeding these orphans, he felt a wave of anxiety. The vet bill for a pregnant pony, for example. How much was that going to cost?

  After breakfast, Jessica headed back out to the barn, but Tyler and Lily stayed inside and kept Sam company. They played video games on the TV, and when that got boring, took out some old-fashioned board games—Monopoly, Battleship, and Clue—which Sam liked even better. Jessica always said he was the biggest kid in the family, and Sam knew it was true. Even at his age, he still loved to play games and liked to win at them, too. Tyler and Lily started calling him the one-armed bandit, since his right arm was still bandaged and out of action.

  After Tyler and Lily headed upstairs to their rooms, Darrell wandered into Sam’s office. “How’s it going? Can I get you anything?”

  “Thanks, I’m fine. Hey, want to play chess?” Sam asked, suddenly inspired.

  Darrell laughed. “Don’t you want a break from board games?”

  “Chess isn’t a board game. It’s more of an intellectual pursuit,” Sam countered.

  “Okay, I’ll get the set. And I have something to show you. A project I’ve been working on.”

  Sam sat back in his chair. “I’d love to see it. Let’s take a look.”

  Darrell left the room and soon returned, carrying the wooden box that held the chess set and his laptop tucked under one arm. He set up the computer on the table in front of Sam then opened a file that showed pictures of an old building with a chain-link fence around it. Sam thought it looked familiar. He knew it was in town somewhere but couldn’t recall the exact location.

  “I was driving around near Aunt Molly’s neighborhood, and I saw this old building, just off the Beach Road. It used to be a cannery, owned by a company called Tillerman. And before that, it was owned by Oliver Warwick, Grandma Lillian’s first husband.”

  Sam looked over the photos of the old cannery, wondering where all this was going to lead. “I know who Oliver Warwick was, believe me.”

  “I thought that was an interesting coincidence. All things considered.”

  “Considering . . . what, exactly?” Sam asked.

  “How the building can be rescued and renovated.” Darrell changed the image on the screen, and Sam saw renderings of an attractive building that looked like it might be apartments. He quickly realized it was the cannery, magically transformed.

  Darrell changed the image and Sam saw plans, confirming his guess and showing the building sectioned off into at least ten units of living space.

  “Wow, Darrell, that’s amazing. How did you figure all this out? I bet you get an A plus on this project.”

  “Inspector Hepburn has been helping me. He showed me around the inside of the place yesterday, and he’s going to give me a set of the original blueprints. I also did some research in the county offices.” Darrell turned the laptop around and searched for another file.

  Sam glanced at the screen and saw what looked like a spreadsheet or budget. Which made sense. Students like Darrell should know how to figure out the costs of the plans they created. They needed to know the practical side of things, as well as the aesthetic.

  “Is that the budget for your renovation?” he asked.

  “A preliminary one. Charlie Bates told me that the town owns the property now and has no plans for it. I think the space would be ideal for apartment units, affordable housing for families in the village who can’t afford to buy their own home. It even costs a lot to rent a place in Cape Light now, Dad. Some families have to cut back on essentials, like food and clothing, just to keep a roof over their heads.”

  “Yeah, it’s tough out there,” Sam agreed. “We’re very fortunate. Very blessed. I like the way you’re thinking, Darrell.”

  “Thanks, Dad. But it’s just the way you and Mom taught us to think. I’d like to work for the common good, not sit in a plush office, designing mini-mansions.”

  Sam felt gratified to hear him say that. He and Jessica had always tried to instill solid values in their children. It was good to see that Darrell had embraced them and wanted to help those in need.

  Darrell had known what it was to live in a house where there wasn’t enough food to eat and the landlord was threatening eviction. It had taken the boy a long time to feel safe and secure. Though he had put those fears behind him, Sam knew that his son had never forgotten the early years of his life.

  “Well, maybe your mom and I had something to do with it,” Sam said with grin. “Still, I’m very proud of you for thinking that way. For holding on to those values.”

  Darrell looked pleased at Sam’s praise. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me.”

  “So, what’s the plan? Are you going to pass all this information on to Charlie? He might do something with it.”

  Or might not, Sam realized. Charlie wanted to bring in developers who would build high-priced housing and condos. He had even tried to change the zoning last year but had been slapped down. The opposition was led by none other than S
am’s sister-in-law, Emily. Years would pass before Charlie could try that again.

  “I’ll need to get Charlie involved, in order to take over the title to the property. But I’d like to find the funding and supervise it myself.”

  Sam nearly laughed out loud. Young men could be so brash. He was like that once himself, wasn’t he?

  “You’re not an architect yet, Darrell. You haven’t even finished your four-year degree.”

  “I can find an architect and an engineer to sign off on the plans and oversee things. I think Inspector Hepburn might help me. He’s always wanted to do something more ambitious than sign inspection slips all day. He told me so himself. And he’s a civil engineer. I bet he knows of an architect who would help.”

  “Okay, I guess that’s possible. But what about the financing? How do you expect to pay for it?”

  “Yesterday, when you got mad at me because I forgot to turn up the heat at the Marino house? I was in the county office and did some research about grants. I can probably get enough money from the county or even the state for a project like that. And Morgan Construction can build it.”

  Having ambitious goals at Darrell’s age was one thing. But this was just pie-in-the-sky talk now.

  “Darrell . . . I’ve never taken on such a big project in my life. Do I look as if I’m up to that challenge right now?” Sam waved his good hand at his casts.

  “You can still supervise it, Dad. Sending a million text messages every day? I know you can do that,” Darrell said in a sly tone. “And we can find a foreman experienced in big construction projects. It won’t be that hard, Dad. I know we can do it.”

  His son’s use of the term “we” touched Sam’s heart. But it still sounded like a lot of crazy talk.

  Sam didn’t answer for a moment. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing and crush Darrell’s hopes or his “can do” spirit. That was not the right way to handle this, he knew.

  “It’s great to see you so inspired,” he said carefully. “I can see that you truly love this work and are going to be great at it.”

  Darryl gave a modest shrug. “Thanks. I do feel fired up by this idea. I’m going to start applying for these grants and funding opportunities. I heard that some of the committees give out awards very quickly, as soon as they review and approve a project.”

  “Really? That’s unusual.” Sam didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t sure how to steer Darrell back to reality.

  What about finishing the semester and graduating? he wanted to ask. What about graduate school, which you need to complete in order to be a real architect?

  But what was the point of arguing with him? Darrell would hit the reality wall soon enough. What grant committee was going to award several million dollars to a college kid? It just couldn’t happen. Sam felt sure that this wonderful-but-outlandish idea would not amount to much beyond a good grade and a great presentation to add to grad school applications.

  “Sure, keep working on it. It’s good experience for you. But I think you’re going to see that it’s very difficult to finance a project of this size, and get all the permits and such, and get everyone to sign off who needs to. Sometimes it takes years to find the money and untangle all the complications on a plan like this.”

  “I know that,” Darrell replied in an overly patient tone. “But I can at least try.”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, you can try. Try your best. As long as you don’t neglect any of my projects. And I know what you’re going to say now, so don’t bother . . . ‘No worries, Dad. Got it covered.’”

  Darrell laughed. “That’s right. That’s just what I was going to say. Still want to play chess?”

  “I do,” Sam replied, relieved that their sticky conversation was over. “Set up the pieces. The one-armed bandit is back.”

  Chapter Ten

  Snow fell on and off all day Friday, just as the weather forecasters—and her mother—predicted. Main Street had been eerily empty, with only the snowplow passing from time to time. Barbara Crosby had called, promising that she would come, despite the weather, but Jean’s mother insisted that the visit wasn’t necessary. Jean would have welcomed Barbara’s cheerful company, but agreed with her mother and thought it best for the nurse to stay off the road. Jean was not looking forward to shoveling Saturday morning, but found some heavy boots, leg warmers, and mittens on Friday night and set them near the door, knowing it had to be done.

  On Saturday morning, she woke to a sputtering, motorized sound. She looked out the window and saw a man pushing a snowblower, clearing a path from the front door to the sidewalk. It took her only seconds to recognize Grant steering the machine, though he wore a wool cap pulled low on his forehead and large sunglasses.

  He was almost done with the path, an arc of snow flying out the side of the machine as he smoothly walked along behind it. Work that would have taken her several hours was now finished, even better than she could do it, in a matter of minutes.

  Grant pushed the machine up the clean path and started on the driveway. Jean pulled a bathrobe on over her pajamas and ran downstairs.

  The noise had woken up her mother, and she called from her bedroom, “Jean, what’s that racket outside? It sounds like the house is coming down.”

  Jean walked into Cynthia’s room, bringing the walker with her. “Grant is digging us out with a snowblower,” she said.

  “A snowblower?” Her mother sat at the edge of the bed and levered herself up. “After I told him not come?”

  “I guess so.” Jean tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

  She helped her mother into the bathroom then quickly put on a pot of coffee. Grant had finished the driveway and was clearing the paths around the house. When he came near the back door, she opened it a crack and held the neck of her robe closed against the frigid air. “Grant, would you like some coffee?”

  He smiled and shut the machine off. “No, thanks. I have to get this blower back to Vera’s house. She wants to loan it to a neighbor.”

  “Oh, sure. Well . . . thanks for doing all our snow. I would have been out there for hours.”

  His smile grew wider. “That’s why I did it. You can tell your mother that I wasn’t disrespecting her wishes entirely. She told me not to shovel. But she never mentioned a snowblower.”

  Jean laughed. “I’ll give her the message.”

  He waved, tugged his hat down, and started the machine again. He steered it down the side path, toward his truck that was parked on the street.

  Back in the kitchen, Jean poured two mugs of coffee. Cynthia sat and sipped her coffee. “Well, is he coming in? I heard you invite him.”

  “He has to get back to Vera’s. By the way, he wants you to know that he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes. But you never mentioned a snowblower.”

  “Very funny,” Cynthia replied, sounding more annoyed than amused.

  Jean hid her grin behind her coffee mug. “Yes, I thought it was, too.”

  • • •

  Despite the heavy snowfall, Jean wasn’t concerned about taking her mother to church Sunday morning. The roads were clear and the temperature much warmer than it had been on Friday or even Saturday.

  Her mother was eager to deliver the Christmas ornaments she had made, which were carefully wrapped in tissue paper and filled two large cardboard boxes. Her mother was looking forward to attending the committee meeting after the service and getting full credit in person.

  “Leave those boxes in the car, Jean. You can come out later and get them,” her mother said when they arrived. Jean thought that was a good suggestion. It was enough just to maneuver her mother into church in her wheelchair.

  They were early, for once. Reverend Ben stood at the big wooden doors, greeting congregation members. He bid them good morning with a warm smile and looked especially pleased to see her mother. He took her hand as he welcomed her. “Good to se
e you out and about, Cynthia. I hope coming to church in this weather wasn’t too much for you?”

  “Not at all. I haven’t felt this well in years. It’s just a little snow, Reverend. We have to expect it this time of year, living up here.”

  “Yes, we do. Very true,” Reverend Ben agreed.

  Jean had to smile at her mother’s offhand attitude, when just the other night the snowfall seemed a major calamity.

  Tucker Tulley, one of the deacons, found them seats at the end of the aisle that accommodated the wheelchair. The service started a few minutes later. Jean’s mother was pleased that they hadn’t missed the lighting of the Advent candles this time, though she didn’t know the family who stood at the altar and led the liturgy.

  “I used to know everyone at this church,” she whispered. “But I’ve been away a long time. People come and go.”

  “Well, you’re back now. That’s what matters,” Jean replied.

  “Yes, I am. For a little while, anyway,” her mother murmured in a wistful tone.

  The service seemed to go by quickly. Jean enjoyed the music, which inspired a Christmas spirit. The sanctuary was completely decorated now, with big wreaths decked with red bows, garlands of fresh pine, and a Christmas tree set up to the right of the pulpit.

  Jean wondered if there were any Christmas decorations stored in her mother’s house that she could use to decorate. There had to be some left in the attic or basement, though she hadn’t come across them yet during her cleaning adventures. If she couldn’t find any, she would buy a few. Her mother would probably say it was an extravagance, but Jean thought she would like to see the house decorated nicely, nonetheless. Jean thought it was important to deck the house out properly this year, to do what she could to give her mother a nice Christmas.

  When the service was over, Vera met them in the narthex. “Are you staying for the meeting, Cynthia?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” her mother replied. “I brought my ornaments. I made quite a few.”