The Christmas Lamp

by Copeland, Lori

  The lamp looked even more fanciful.

  Shaking her finger at Aaron, she moved on. Mimsy would be waiting for her at the back door, expecting dinner.

  As she walked home she consoled her loss with the thought that at least something would be waiting for her.

  She dodged an icy spray from a delivery truck as it flew past. She detested bad weather, and if this stuff stuck around, winter would be early this year.

  She had slipped the key into the lock when she sensed it. Then the faint “tinkle” of breaking glass reached her ears. The speeding delivery truck came to her mind.

  Stepping back to the edge of the porch, she leaned out to look for the tree, and sure enough, it was gone.

  Picking her way out to the sidewalk for a better look, she spotted the truck driver standing in the intersection. The pavement had just enough glaze to be treacherous. He took off his hat and wiped his eyes.

  Heartsick, she turned back and made her way onto the porch where she rested her head against the front door panel.

  There went the tree.

  If she knew Jake Brisco, which admittedly she didn’t, when he said something he meant it. She made a mental note to cancel Saturday night’s annual tree lighting.

  Nativity had just suffered their first fiscal cut.

  4

  Jake rifled through a sheaf of papers, his mind on Grandma’s frantic phone call this summer. You have to come save my town, Jake. You’re smart like your grandfather. You’ ll know what to do. I go out so little lately, but I still love my town and its people. I can’t sit by and watch it die.

  As soon as he could get away he’d taken a leave of absence, and now here he was. Why, he had yet to figure out. These people were hung up on tradition; they’d gone nuts every holiday and now their town was in trouble. Granted, the new highway hadn’t helped, but their holiday expenditures could put even the best of towns into the red. He detested Christmas and all its phony sentiments. Couldn’t a man believe in the Almighty without all the gimmicks?

  Roni’s voice drew him back to his purpose. Clearing his throat, he said, “Believe me, I’d rather be Bob Cratchit standing before you this morning than Ebenezer Scrooge.”

  His gaze met the grim expressions in the room, and he realized the office staff failed to appreciate the humor.

  Judy’s face was a combination of fatigue, horror, and confusion. Roni looked like a child who’d had a prized Christmas toy snatched from her hand.

  Tess just looked confused.

  Jake didn’t relish his role as bad guy; these were honest, hardworking small-town folks who valued tradition.

  But if he was to help Grandma save her town, he had no other choice.

  “Not all the tree decorations broke this time.”

  Jake glanced over. Her mind was still fixated on that tree.

  Roni fidgeted with a paperclip. “Actually, it would take very little to replace them.”

  “This time?” Jake shook his head. “I’ve been in Nativity for two days and the tree’s gone down twice.”

  Roni’s muffled, “You hit it first,” surprised everyone, including Jake.

  “Pardon?”

  “Agreed,” she acknowledged. “But the town can’t help it if a motorist can’t see an object the size of a barn.” She met his steady gaze and her thoughts were clear. She’d lived in this town all of her life and she’d never hit the tree.

  Judy ran a hand through her messy hair, which Jake noted looked as though she’d thrown it up into the air and jumped under it that morning. “Man, Duke and I work our fannies off. We don’t eat expensive dinners out. We don’t go to the movies or buy our clothes anywhere but Kmart — our biggest treat is taking the kids to Walmart on Friday nights, having a fast-food hamburger, and doing the grocery shopping. Christmas is the only time of year we get to forget that we’re poor and just enjoy the season.

  Christmas won’t be the same without the big tree.”

  “I’m sorry, Judy. I hear you, but we have to start somewhere,” Jake focused on Roni. “You’ll inform the media of the change?”

  She nodded, tight-lipped. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to know her heart wasn’t in the agreement.

  Off to a great start, Jake. Alienate the staff, especially this one. Roni was intelligent and sensible; nobody liked the cuts, but she would see the wisdom in his decision. So why was it so hard to witness the childlike disillusionment in her eyes? She loved her town.

  When he was a kid he’d found every excuse to avoid holidays in Nativity, a tiny burg in the middle of nowhere. During his teen years he’d been obnoxious about the holidays, and his conscience still hurt when he thought of all the times he’d argued with his aunt about the subject. He’d didn’t want to leave his friends and spend the holiday with Grandma — a woman he barely knew.

  Judy blew her nose.

  “Okay, moving on to purchasing expenditures.” He glanced up. “Does this office really use five boxes of paper clips a month?”

  After work, Roni stopped at the bakery for a loaf of Limpa Rye. During the holidays Jolsen’s Bakery featured a different type of bread every day. Limpa Rye was a favorite of Roni’s elderly neighbor, and she liked it okay.

  Stepping into the fragrant establishment, she wasn’t surprised to see that this one business was thriving. This time of year brought a tremendous increase in bakery revenue, so much so that Eugenia, the owner, was talking about getting rid of her old gas-guzzler and purchasing one of those subcompact models.

  “I’ll be right with you!” Eugenia called over the heads of a sea of customers waiting to buy. Some were taking their time about their selections. Roni located an empty table and sat down. The pleasant aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg surrounded her.

  The bakery didn’t smell this festive any other time of the year. Eugenia’s fruitcakes, which owed their unique flavor to an ancestral recipe, lined the counters and folks were buying. The Branson Christmas Tour buses were starting their annual pilgrimage to The Strip, and occasionally one still turned off the main highway so the passengers could purchase a Jolsen’s goodie.

  Roni smiled to a neighbor and eased off her shoes. She had written the notice regarding the new position on the town’s annual tree. The article would come out in the weekly paper. Folks would be upset. They would miss the spruce as much as she would. Even the thought dampened her spirit, but she wasn’t going to let Brisco’s cuts upset her. She’d be around long after he was gone. Her gaze shifted to the window, where the light ice coating had dissipated overnight. Today’s weather was downright balmy, and she had to admit the fifty degrees didn’t add much to her holiday mood. Others seemed unaffected as they hurried by the window.

  Roni, you’re a sentimental fool. Shake it off. You can’t let Brisco ruin your holiday.

  Speak of the Devil. Jake Brisco walked by and turned to enter the bakery.

  “Be with you in a minute!” Eugenia parroted over a sea of customers.

  He lifted a hand in response, his eyes perusing the showcase. Shrinking back in her chair, Roni fumbled for her shoes with her toes. The last thing she wanted was more fiscal cut talk.

  When Jake lifted his eyes, recognition flickered.

  She smiled.

  He smiled back. After a moment, he walked toward her table as the small room filled to capacity.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she responded. “Busy place.”

  Taking a chair, he sat down. “I heard they’re making rye bread today.”

  “You like rye?”

  “Love it. How about you?”

  “I enjoy it. They make Limpa Rye during the holidays. Ed, my next-door neighbor, likes it, so I always purchase several loaves for him during the season.”

  “What’s limpa?”

  He was a rye man. Didn’t matter what sort, she decided.

  “Swedish rye made with molasses and brown sugar. Better buy two loaves and freeze one if you like it. This is the only time of the year you can depend on Eugenia to
have a lot.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to keep an extra loaf. My hotel room only has a tiny refrigerator.”

  “Oh … right. Well, I have a large freezer. You’re welcome to store an extra loaf there.” She could have bitten her tongue off. Why had she offered her freezer? Wouldn’t she see enough of him in the coming weeks?

  “Thanks. Coffee? Soda?”

  “No, I’m just waiting my turn. The bakery is almost never this busy this early in the season. Maybe taking down the tree won’t spoil everyone’s holiday after all.” She caught her tongue. “Also, Mimsy will be wondering where I am.”

  “Mimsy?”

  “Mom’s cat. I kept her.”

  He nodded. “Part of the family.”

  The noise level in the close room increased. Folks vied for fruitcakes and Limpa Rye, chatting happily among themselves. Roni felt she should try to carry on a conversation but decided against the effort.

  After a bit, Jake scribbled a note on a napkin and passed it across the table. She glanced at the message. “Are you angry about the tree?”

  Reaching for the pen, she scrawled. “I’ll miss it.” She pushed the paper back to him.

  His eyes scanned the note. The paper slid back. “Are you angry?”

  “Very.” Back.

  “What choice did I have?” Back.

  This one took a while. What choice did he have? Permit the tree to be knocked down at least once or twice more? According to his estimates, and they were probably accurate, that would lead to a pretty sizeable replacement cost. Should she support tradition or sound judgment? She picked up the pen. “None. You were right. Do I have to like it?” She slid the napkin across the Formica.

  He wrote, “You can hate it, but don’t blame the messenger.”

  Eugenia yelled. “Roni! You’re up!”

  Roni shoved her feet into her shoes and reached for her purse. “My turn.”

  Nodding, he settled back in the chair.

  She purchased two loaves of rye and a fruitcake for Ed Carlson. There hadn’t been a Christmas in the past several years that she hadn’t brought the ninety-year-old this treat.

  Tradition, she conceded with a smile, and turned to see Jake Brisco watching her. She frowned. Something he’d know nothing about.

  Thank goodness the bakery didn’t have a thing to do with city finances.

  Ed Carlson had been married sixty-seven years when his wife, Thelma, had a stroke and died. After that, Roni and her mother had looked after the old gentleman. Roni tried to talk him into moving into an assisted-care facility, but Ed would have none of it. He still got around, albeit in a limited capacity. Tonight it took him almost five minutes to open the front door. He was in his robe and slippers, and Roni guessed that he hadn’t dressed all day. A thatch of white hair stood up on the back of his balding head from where he’d rested his neck on the back of his recliner. He squinted through the screen door glass to identify the visitor.

  “It’s Roni, Ed!”

  His hearing was gone as well.

  “Who?”

  “Roni!”

  “Roni?”

  “I brought you some rye and a fruitcake!”

  “Is it Christmas already?”

  Grasping the aluminum handle, she opened the door and eased inside. The house smelled of old man and neglect. A 32-inch TV screen blared in the background.

  “What month is it?” Ed asked as he shuffled behind her to the kitchen. “I thought I just ate turkey a day or two ago.”

  “You did. I’m getting an early start on my Christmas shopping this year.” She set the fruitcake and bread on his table, which was littered with dirty chili bowls, open cans of Hormel Beef Stew, and pork and beans. “Where are all the leftovers I brought you?”

  He cupped a hand to his ear. “What say?”

  “Leftovers! Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes?”

  Casseroles, veggies. She cooked enough for two days at a time, and brought them regularly.

  He shrugged. “Haven’t seen them.”

  She opened the refrigerator and caught a bottle of ketchup before it hit the floor. The shelves were stacked with foil-covered dishes dating back several days. “You haven’t touched your meals.”

  With a puzzled expression, he peered over her shoulder. “Why I’ll be — I didn’t know any of that was in there.”

  She started to empty the bowls that had been there too long to still be edible, in case he might remember them tomorrow. “Did you keep your doctor’s appointment this morning?

  “Eh?”

  “Doctor’s appointment? Did you see the doctor today?”

  He shook his head. “Haven’t seen him in weeks.”

  She had offered to drive him to his appointments, but he insisted on keeping his 1985 Cadillac and driving himself. He had a limited driver’s license and could not drive more than fifteen miles from home. Most days the car sat in the garage.

  Roni dumped leftovers into the trash since Ed didn’t have a food disposal. Last Christmas she had finally persuaded him that a microwave was safe and it would not give him a lethal dose of radiation. After a few months he started to use it, saying he didn’t figure he had that much time left anyway.

  “Did you go to the Community Center for lunch?”

  Nodding, he shuffled to the table and examined the fruitcake. “They gave us this little piece of meat that wouldn’t fill a hollow tooth, plus a little bit of corn or something and some dry mashed potatoes. I miss Thelma’s cooking.”

  Patting his shoulder, Roni sympathized. “I know it’s hard to live alone.”

  “Yes — you would know that,” he said. “Your mom was a good person.”

  “She was, and I miss her too.” Straightening, Roni returned to cleaning the refrigerator shelves. “The new consultant came yesterday.”

  “Oh? Mary Parson’s grandson?”

  “Yes. Seems the first casualty is the town tree. You’ll read about it in Saturday’s paper.”

  “The Christmas spruce?”

  “It’s been knocked down twice already, and Brisco thinks it costs too much to keep putting it back up.”

  “Hang the cost. That tree’s tradition. My Thelma loved that spruce.”

  And she had hit it more than her fair share of times, Roni silently mused. “Apparently Mr. Brisco doesn’t agree with us. He feels that if the town is to become financially sound we’ll have to make sacrifices. The tree is the first thing to go.”

  “That’s a shame. It won’t seem like Christmas without that tree.”

  “It sure won’t.” She dumped the last of the leftovers and wiped the refrigerator clean. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Nope.”

  Roni opened the cabinet and scanned the near empty shelves. “You like macaroni and cheese, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I believe I do.”

  “Then tonight we feast on macaroni and cheese, rye bread, and for dessert, fruitcake!”

  Just let Brisco try and snatch that tradition away.

  5

  The festive holly that adorned the break room couldn’t overcome the uneasy silence the following morning. Members of the ice rink committee fidgeted with foam cups, their jaws set like tenacious pit bulls. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and the thermometer outside the window read sixty-three degrees. Jake stood before the grim faces with anything but zest for what he was about to do.

  “As you have probably guessed, we are here to discuss the ice rink.”

  Logan Stokes erupted first. “The weather will turn. Just give it another day or two.”

  A woman Jake would not have chosen to tangle with on this or any other issue was next. “The rink should have been up and operating by now — certainly by parade night.”

  Jake sat back and let the comments fly. So-and-so wasn’t on top of the situation. They couldn’t start the season with so-and-so sitting on his thumbs. At that point Mr. So-and-so took objection and pointed out that he was not God and he didn’t control the weather.
>
  Jake excused himself during a verbal fray and stepped outside his office to the water cooler. Downing three Advil, he tipped his head and swallowed a cup of water.

  A rosy-cheeked Roni came out, fanning her face. She grabbed a cup and filled it with water. “You too?”

  “They’re an opinionated bunch, aren’t they?”

  She nodded to the bottle of pain reliever. “Do you have any extra?”

  Uncapping the bottle, he dumped two in her hand.

  “One more.”

  One more landed.

  Downing the tablets, she shook her head, turned on her heel, and walked back into the ruckus. Jake trailed behind.

  Arms folded over chests as the two reentered the room. “It’s a little late to be deciding against the rink,” Logan declared.

  “Late, yes,” Jake picked up. “And there will be a stiff cancellation fee, but it will be a drop in the bucket compared to actually installing and using the ice. Consider a gazebo talent contest. The facility is large and can accommodate fifty or more. Give local talent a chance to shine. Discover new voices.”

  The woman shook her head. “That wouldn’t be Christmas. We’ve never done it that way.”

  Jake looked at Roni. “Any suggestions?”

  She mutely shook her head.

  Jake dropped a folder on the table. “We’re looking for cuts, not expenditures. We need alternatives.”

  His audience sat stiff as ramrods, judgment fixed. Roni stared at her hands, and he knew he had disappointed her once again, but artificial ice? They had to be kidding.

  Roni carried a sack lunch to the gazebo, her gaze fixed on the nearby activity. A dump truck backed up to the town tree, the beep, beep, beep driving a stake through her heart.

  Removing a tissue from her purse, she wiped clean the concrete bench and sat down. She could have picked a more heartening place to eat, but she wanted to remember the tree, once resplendent in its glory, now disgraced.

  The bucket of a front-end loader lowered, and workmen shoved the spruce into the container and yelled. The lift rose and with one resounding burp dumped a town custom.