Home for the Holidays

by Rebecca Kelly

  “Thank goodness.” Ethel pressed a hand over her heart and then gave Jane a stern look. “I should make you give me the recipe for every single thing you feed me, anyway. Lord only knows what you put in that seafood gumbo you sent over last week.”

  “Well, there were those raw squid tentacles …” Jane laughed with delight at her aunt’s wide eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

  “Keep it up, Miss Smarty.” Ethel wagged her finger at her youngest niece. “You’re going to get a lump of coal in your stocking.” She regarded Alice and Louise. “So, how are you girls planning to spend your first day of vacation?”

  “Today we’re going to do some shopping,” Alice told her. “We were so busy with guests last week that we never got to town.”

  Jane hung up her potholders. “Why don’t you come with us? We’ll spend money and show off your hat around town.”

  “I wish I could, dear, but I’m hosting a craft exchange at my house this morning. That’s why I’m here. Do you still have those lacquer trays that you sent to Daniel from San Francisco?” She looked around the kitchen. “I need to borrow four of them.”

  “Sure.” Jane retrieved the small black trays, which were hand painted with bamboo and varied Oriental flowers. “What’s a craft exchange?”

  “Some of the ladies from church get together and teach each other how to make a special holiday craft, like ornaments and such,” their aunt said. “Florence Simpson usually hosts it, but she’s gone until January. Carol Matthews is bringing her beads, which everyone loves, and the trays will keep them and the other small parts involved from rolling off the table.”

  Ethel was the director of Grace Chapel’s church committees, and often volunteered to fill in as host for various meetings and study groups when their committee leaders were unavailable.

  As their aunt tucked the trays into the tote bag she carried, she stopped and drew out something cylindrical wrapped in tissue paper.

  “I almost forgot. I picked up a candle for your window while I was at a craft fair in Potterston. It’s handmade and scented.”

  Alice unwrapped the candle, which was large, white, and beautifully decorated on the sides with holly leaves and berries made of red and green wax. The scent of peppermint from the candle mingled with the buttery fragrance of Jane’s cookies. “It’s lovely, Aunt Ethel.”

  “You have to put it in the front window on Christmas Eve,” Ethel told them, “and keep it lit all night.”

  Louise frowned at that. “I would rather not leave a burning candle untended, Aunt.”

  “The woman at the craft show told me that it’s a tradition for innkeepers,” Ethel insisted. “She said that an inn owned by Christians keeps a candle burning in the window through Christmas Eve to light the way of the Holy Family, as well as to welcome guests. You girls know that you can’t turn away any traveler who comes here on Christmas Eve either.”

  “I remember reading something about that,” Alice said. “It comes from an old German custom. You burn the candle all night and welcome any visitor, in case the Christ Child might come by.”

  “We’re closed for business until after Christmas,” Jane reminded their aunt. “But we promise, on our honor as good Christian innkeepers, not to turn away any pregnant women being led around on donkeys.”

  “Don’t make jokes about this, young lady,” Ethel said, obviously not amused. “There are always good reasons for following the old ways.”

  The youngest Howard sister nodded gravely. “Like keeping all the Christmas candlemakers employed.”

  Ethel’s stern mask cracked, and Alice laughed along with her aunt and sisters. She felt safe in the knowledge that no matter who came to the door on Christmas Eve, he would always find a warm welcome at Grace Chapel Inn.

  Shopping in town was fun for the Howard sisters; it was a rare occasion that the three of them could do it together. They first went to the General Store to pick up some household items and found a jolly Santa collecting goods for the store’s annual community Christmas food baskets drive. For the sisters’ contribution to the cause, Santa gave them each a candy-cane pin made of twisted red-and-white chenille strips to wear on their coats.

  “Bless you, ladies,” said the jolly old elf, who was really the store manager in costume. “Santa couldn’t ask for better helpers.”

  “Santa could put more chestnuts out in the produce section, though,” Jane said and winked.

  The sisters took a leisurely stroll down Berry Lane, stopping now and then to look in windows or step inside to make a purchase in one of the shops.

  Louise was particularly drawn to the sterling silver service and serving cart displayed in the front window of Time for Tea. Wilhelm Wood, the owner, had displayed ceramic versions of the many cakes and treats of a genuine English high tea, and had so many different varieties of boxed and tinned tea stacked on the cart that she sighed with delight. “Silver is so heavy and impractical,” she told her sisters, “but there is nothing quite as elegant.”

  “Look at that crystal honey server.” Jane peered in. “What does he have in there, gold dust?”

  “That or some very glittery honey,” Alice said with a laugh.

  Wilhelm noticed them and stepped outside to exchange greetings. “Are you contemplating a new tea service for the inn, ladies?”

  “We are being sorely tempted by that and your teas, Wilhelm,” Louise told him. “But the silver is a bit out of our price range.”

  “Wait right here.” The shop owner disappeared inside, and returned with a small brown bag, which he handed to the eldest Howard sister. “These are some samples of my new holiday blends. Try them, let me know what you like and I’ll make up a box of them for you. Christmas discount included.”

  They thanked Wilhelm and then walked on to the florist shop.

  It was good to be out in the crisp, cold air, Alice thought. The combination of bright decorations and Christmas music and happy faces was positively exhilarating.

  “That’s the last item on our list,” Louise said as they emerged from Wild Things. “Do you need anything else for your wreath, Alice?”

  “No, I’m going to use some of the old ball ornaments we have from last year, and I already have a spool of metallic ribbon for the bow.” Her stomach rumbled. “Is anyone else hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry,” Jane said. “Let’s take these bags back to the car and stow them in the trunk. Then we won’t have to bother with them at lunch.”

  As they walked to the parking lot behind Town Hall, the sisters exchanged greetings with friends and neighbors they passed who, like them, were out doing their holiday shopping. There were many visitors in town too, so the sidewalks were somewhat crowded, and occasionally the sisters had to stop and step aside to allow someone struggling with bundles to pass.

  “I don’t recall seeing this many people last December,” Alice said as they made way for a young couple who emerged from the antique shop burdened with a large porcelain lamp and a tapestry-upholstered footstool. “Tourism seems to have picked up quite a bit.”

  “I have had to refer a number of last-minute requests for reservations to the Burgeron Inn in Potterston,” Louise said. “The last time I called, the reception clerk told me that they were booked through to New Year’s Day. All the other hotels and motels are filling up fast too.”

  Alice frowned. “Why are they so packed?”

  “There’s a parade and two conventions in Potterston, according to the Innkeeper’s Journal,” Jane said, referring to the trade magazine to which she subscribed. “The hotels will probably stay that way through Christmas.” She gave Louise a mischievous look. “Sure you don’t want to open our doors? We could probably fill all the guest rooms without any trouble.”

  “I’ve waited all year for this vacation, Jane.” She gave her a stern look. “We’re going to enjoy it, even if I must nail the front door closed.”

  A young man with black-rimmed glasses stepped up to the sisters. “Excuse me, ladies
, but would one of you mind taking a photo of us?” He had a large, expensive-looking camera on a strap around his neck. “I’ve already adjusted it. All you have to do is frame and shoot.”

  “Sure, I’ll try.” Alice gingerly took the complicated-looking camera and peered through the frame window.

  The young man was standing with two ladies and two other men by a minivan with a round logo on the door depicting a house and the words “Country Home Tours” scrolled around it. A middle-aged man wearing a driver’s hat tried to step out of the picture, but one of the women urged him to remain in the shot. A couple of sour expressions suggested that not all were enthusiastic about the picture taking.

  “Smile, everyone.” Alice snapped the photo and then carefully handed the camera back to the visitor.

  “I really appreciate it, ma’am,” the young man said. “Happy holidays to you.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned back. “The same to you and your friends.”

  Once they had secured their purchases in the car’s trunk and had walked over to the Coffee Shop, Alice checked her watch.

  “We’ll still have some free time after lunch,” she said, catching Louise’s eye as she opened the door to the restaurant. “Would you like to do some browsing?”

  Louise understood what she meant immediately. Both she and Alice had yet to find a gift for Jane. In years past she and her late husband, Eliot Smith, had sent her youngest sister a gourmet food basket, and Alice had sent her gift certificates, but now that Jane was living with them, they wanted to get her something more personal. They had discussed buying something for the kitchen or the gardens, but overseeing those areas was Jane’s work.

  “We should get her something for fun,” Alice had said. “You know, something that she doesn’t need or that she wouldn’t buy herself.”

  The only problem was that Jane would not give them a clue regarding what she wanted.

  Louise had even asked her sister point-blank what she would like for Christmas, but Jane had only shrugged and replied that anything would do. Alice’s suggestion of browsing was clever; while they were walking through the stores they could pay more attention to Jane, who might show interest in something.

  “That’s fine,” Jane said, evidently unaware she was the reason for it. “I love to browse.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” June Carter, the owner of the Coffee Shop, came from behind the counter to greet them. A robust woman, she had the easy personality of someone who enjoyed being around other people. “Would you like a booth or a table?”

  The middle-aged driver who had been with the group Alice had photographed excused himself as he passed by the sisters and went to use the pay phone outside.

  “A booth,” Louise said. An unfamiliar odor drifted near her face and made her nose wrinkle. “Is that cigar smoke I smell?”

  “I do believe it is.” June scanned the room. “Excuse me for one second, ladies.” She strode to a table of five people, where she tapped a heavyset man on the shoulder. “Sir, I’m sorry, but there is no smoking permitted in the restaurant.”

  The man scowled up at her. “Why not?”

  June blinked. “Out of courtesy for others.” Because she had no ashtrays, she took an empty saucer from a nearby table and placed it in front of him. “I must ask you to put it out or smoke outside.”

  “You should have a sign up somewhere,” the older man grumbled as he stubbed out the end of the big cigar he had just lit. “Can we order now or what?”

  “Thank you for cooperating. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” June returned to the sisters and rolled her eyes as she picked up three menus. “Tourists.”

  Chapter Two

  June showed the sisters to the only unoccupied booth, and excused herself again. “Hope will be with you in just a minute.” She went back to take the orders from the cigar smoker and his four companions, who were sitting a table away from the Howards.

  “So where shall we browse first after lunch?” Louise asked as she opened her menu.

  “I haven’t been to the antique shop in a while,” Alice said. “Or Sylvia’s Buttons.”

  “I’d like to go to Fred’s Hardware,” Jane said, and then saw her sisters’ expressions. “We need a new outdoor bulb for the porch light. The old one was flickering when I switched it off this morning.”

  “I suppose Fred’s new train display has something to do with why you didn’t pick up one at the general store earlier,” Louise said.

  “Not at all.” Jane put on an innocent look. “If I had, I’d still have thought of some other sort of hardware we needed to give me the excuse.”

  “Let’s not forget that we have gift baskets to make up for our friends, and tomorrow I would like to start delivering them,” Louise said. “Perhaps we could go by Viola Reed’s in the evening, after she closes the shop.” Viola, who owned the Nine Lives Bookstore, was one of Louise’s good friends.

  “I promised Rose Bellwood that we would come by to see the Nativity presentation at her farm,” Alice said. “She mentioned that Samuel has built a new crèche for this year’s performance.”

  “I’m not interested in getting my money back,” a low, gloomy voice said.

  Jane and her sisters could not help looking at the speaker at the table across from them. It was the man who had been smoking and he was evidently discussing something with his four companions.

  “Those are the people I took the picture of, aren’t they?” Alice murmured.

  Jane recognized the young man in the black-rimmed glasses from the street. At first glance the two women and the older man seemed like nice, contented people, but the big cigar smoker looked as unhappy as he sounded.

  “Their problems are their problems,” the man continued, jabbing the air with his unlit cigar. “They have an obligation to us and we can’t let them walk all over us like this.”

  Jane thought he looked like the type of man who expected people to jump when he snapped his fingers, but there was something else about him. She sensed a deep melancholy from the tone of his voice and the brooding quality of his dark eyes. Had it been any other time of year, she might not have noticed. But now, during the holidays, when everyone else seemed so happy, the big man’s dismal expression made him stand out from his companions.

  “I didn’t see anything about refunds or rescheduling, but let me check the brochure again,” a thin, suddenly agitated-looking woman with spiky short brown hair and rather heavy makeup said. Her big, dangling silver earrings bobbed as she sorted through her purse. “We could call the Better Business Bureau and lodge a complaint.”

  “I don’t want to make complaints.” The cigar smoker twisted in his seat, making the large platinum and diamond clip he wore on his tie flash. “We purchased the full package, not two-thirds of it. I don’t think we should leave until we get what we paid for.”

  Jane wondered what could have been bought that someone would only deliver in thirds.

  “Be reasonable, Max,” the other woman in the group said. Salt-and-pepper curly hair framed her plump face, which was as pleasant and calm as her voice. “What happened is no one’s fault. Naturally the company can’t send a replacement. People want to be home with their families during the holidays.”

  Now Alice looked up from her menu and started watching the other table.

  “They should have thought of that before they scheduled these dates.” Max clamped his cigar in his teeth and chomped on the end. “This is no way to run a business. Doesn’t matter that it’s Christmastime. If it were my company, I’d have had at least two replacements on standby, ready to get to work.”

  Jane’s sympathy quickly faded. “I bet one of them would be named Cratchit,” she said under her breath.

  Louise gave her a direct look. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, dear.”

  “This isn’t eavesdropping.” Jane gestured to the short distance between tables. “This is being made to overhear.”

  Alice leaned clos
e. “Should we ask June to move us to another spot?”

  Louise shook her head and gave the other group a slightly disdainful glance. “I’m sure they’ll quiet down when their meal is served. Just ignore them.”

  But trying not to listen in on the conversation at the other table was difficult for Jane. Especially when what they were discussing sounded so interesting.

  “Do we really need a replacement?” the young man with the camera asked. “After all, we are expected. We’ll just explain what happened and ask the people to let us go through by ourselves.”

  “I don’t know about that, Ted.” The fifth member of the group, a lean, tanned man with thick white hair, finished his coffee and patted his trim mustache with a napkin. “The residents might object to us simply wandering around unsupervised. These are private homes, after all.”

  What on earth are they talking about? Jane decided she was not leaving the restaurant until she found out.

  The pleasant-looking older woman excused herself from the table.

  The thin woman with the silver earrings made a rude sound. “We can be trusted to go about on our own. Are we schoolchildren, Allan?”

  At that moment the other woman from the group was passing by the Howards’ table on her way to the restroom, and Jane heard her murmur, “If the shoe fits.”

  Really, people should have better manners when they are in a restaurant, Louise thought. The next thing you know one of them will take out a cellular phone.

  Hope Collins, their waitress, provided a welcome distraction by coming to the table to take their orders. “Hello, ladies. What can I get for you today?”

  Alice asked for a tuna sandwich and clam chowder. As the waitress wrote on her order pad, Alice added, “Hope, do you know those people over there?”

  Hope glanced over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. “They’re tourists staying over at a hotel in Potterston. One of the ladies in the group—that nice, older one—told me that they’ve been going around seeing historic Pennsylvania homes for the last ten days. Sounds like some sort of new Christmas vacation package thing that’s just been started this year.”