Now if I could just get Max to do that, Alice thought. “The tour is wrapped up for the day and the others are shopping in town,” she told the pastor. “Max was kind enough to help me with the flower arrangements.”
“Miss Howard saved me from being dragged on yet another trek through the local shops,” Max said more bluntly.
The reverend’s eyes grew thoughtful as he studied the other man. “Are you a native of Boston, Max?”
“Born and raised, just outside Cambridge.” He smiled. “You’ve got a good ear for accents. I thought after all these years down here, I’d gotten rid of mine.”
“You have, very nearly. I’m predisposed to pick up a Boston accent,” the pastor said. “My family is from Beacon Hill.”
Alice rarely heard Rev. Thompson mention his childhood home, but Louise had told her that it was one of the most affluent areas in the city.
“Is that right?” Max Ziglar’s attitude shifted and he regarded him with open curiosity now. “How does a rich boy from Beacon Hill end up a pastor in a small town in the middle of nowhere?”
“With the blessings of almighty God,” Rev. Thompson said easily. “I know a number of people from the Cambridge area. Do you still have family there?”
“No. None at all.” Max looked around as if searching for an avenue of escape. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to walk outside and get some air.”
“Of course.” With a heavy heart Alice watched the businessman trudge out of the church. When he had departed, she said, “I’m sorry, Pastor. Max is …” Like Louise, she was not sure what he was. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he did or said something to throw her off. There was one thing she was sure of, however. “Max is not a happy man.”
“Why is he here with you instead of with his group?”
Alice related how Max had been disagreeable until she had coaxed him to come along with her to the church, and what he had told her about his wife and son on the drive over.
“I know he’s only here for one more day,” she told the reverend, “but I’d like to do something to help him feel a little of the Christmas spirit, if I can.”
“Spending the holidays alone after years of sharing them with a wife and family can be painful,” the pastor said gently. “As you know, my wife and I didn’t have children, but after her death I felt her loss most keenly during the holidays. Being around others who still have their families with them is particularly difficult. You can’t help but envy them.”
She had never thought of the problem from that perspective. At the same time, she understood missing a loved one. Christmas was not the same without her father. “How did you deal with it, Pastor?”
“I can never replace Catherine, but after her death my ministry gave my life renewed purpose and direction. In a sense, I allowed my congregations here and in Boston to become my extended family.” His gaze went to the Nativity scene. “It is at Christmas that I always think of the passage from Psalm 138:3 [KJV]: ‘In the day when I cried thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul.’”
“I don’t think that I can convince Max Ziglar to take up a life of service in one day.” She made a face. “I can’t even get him to go into shops.”
“He feels like an outsider, Alice. It’s also a matter of what he’s comfortable with. That’s probably why he works so hard to keep people from getting close to him.”
That made sense to her. “I wish I could have brought him to my last ANGELs meeting. The girls are always so cheerful and full of energy, and they wouldn’t remind him of his son.”
Rev. Thompson looked up as the door to the church opened and Max came back inside. “You know, I think I may be able to help.”
After Max had rejoined them, the reverend surprised Alice when he invited the businessman to have dinner with him at the rectory.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to talk about Boston with anyone in a long time,” he said, when Max began to refuse. “Did you follow the Red Sox this year?”
“I’m a Bostonian, I have no choice,” Max grumbled. “I still cannot believe what happened during the playoffs. Did you catch game three with the Yankees?”
“Unhappily, I did.”
As the men chatted about baseball, Alice felt a little glimmer of hope. Maybe the pastor is right, maybe this will work.
Alice related Max Ziglar’s sad story to Louise and Jane later that night at the inn, and immediately her two sisters saw the businessman in a different light.
“I wouldn’t feel very cheerful listening to everyone chatter on about their families while all I had to look forward to was going home to an empty house,” Alice said. She gave her sisters a sorrowful look. “Which is where I would be right now, if you two hadn’t come back home.”
As a widow, Louise understood how difficult it was to maintain a positive outlook after the loss of a spouse, and the thought of being estranged from her daughter Cynthia was abhorrent, so she could sympathize with Max’s bitterness over his son.
The only aspect that still troubled her was that Max Ziglar remained estranged from his son ten years after the death of his wife. Surely by now he might have found a way to mend the breach between them.
“You left him with Pastor Thompson?” she asked Alice.
“Kenneth insisted and Max had no objections. They were still talking about runs batted in or something when I left the church.” Her short brown hair bobbed as she shook her head. “I will never understand what men find so fascinating about sports statistics.”
“It’s inherent in the male of the species,” Louise said. She looked over at Jane, who had been particularly quiet. “You will have to handle Laura and Max tomorrow evening when you go to tour the Bellwoods’ home. Are you up to the task, my dear?”
“I can swing it, I think.” Jane rested her chin against one hand. “What was Max’s son’s name again, Alice?”
“John. Why?”
“I was just curious. You said he was an artist. I was hoping someone might have heard of him.” Jane shrugged and added, “Do you need anything for the hospital party?”
“No, I have everything packed up and ready to go.” Alice brought out the boxes of handmade stockings that her ANGELs had filled with small, donated gifts for the children’s ward patients at Potterston Hospital. “I checked with the ward nurse, and we have more than enough stockings for the current inpatients and anyone who might be admitted over the next few days. All we have to do is meet Lloyd and Pastor Thompson in the lobby after dinner.”
“Lloyd’s going with you?” Jane asked.
“Pastor Thompson convinced the mayor to hand out the stockings to the children,” Louise told her. “I would imagine that Lloyd will make a very convincing Santa Claus.”
The next morning, however, disaster struck when Lloyd telephoned the inn to tell Louise and Alice that he would not be able to accompany them to the hospital.
“I woke up this morning with a fever,” he said, his voice very hoarse, “and it feels like I’m getting the flu.” He paused to sneeze and then apologized. “I don’t want to risk infecting any of the children.”
“Go to bed and rest,” Louise told him. “I am sure we can find someone else to play Santa.”
Unfortunately, every likely candidate the Howard sisters called had prior commitments and as a result was unable to take the mayor’s place. In mid-afternoon Louise telephoned the pastor to pass along the bad news. Kenneth Thompson didn’t seem worried, and since he had the Santa Claus costume with him, he took responsibility for finding a last-minute replacement.
“I think I know the perfect person for the job,” he told her. “I will meet you and Alice at the children’s ward at seven, as we planned.”
After dinner, Jane had to leave to escort the tour to the Bellwoods’ home and her sisters had to get ready for their party. Louise took care to dress in her brightest holiday outfit, a long-sleeved, dark-blue dress with large silver stars and snowflakes decorating the fabric. Sh
e came downstairs to find her middle sister carrying the boxes of stockings from the kitchen.
Alice, who was playing the part of Santa’s helper, had dressed in a dark-red sweater, brown corduroy slacks and Aunt Ethel’s jaunty, green knit hat with the white pompom to complete her outfit.
“You look positively elfin,” Louise told her.
Alice grinned. “While you look like the Queen of Winter.” She set the boxes by the front door and thought for a moment. “We have the stockings ready, some of my ANGELs are coming by to help pass them out and the pastor will be there to officiate. All we need is Santa to make his appearance.”
“I’m still curious about whom the minister will draft to play Lloyd’s role,” Louise said as she slipped on her gloves and coat. “Do you think he asked Henry Ley to fill in?”
“No, Henry and Patsy are out of town. Patsy told me that they were spending the holiday with relatives in Maryland.” Alice followed her out to the car, but hesitated and looked toward the trees at the edge of the property. The full moon had come out and illuminated the landscape with soft, silvery light. “That’s odd.”
“What is, dear?” Louise followed her gaze.
“Jane and I hung up all those pinecone bird feeders yesterday, and there were birds in every tree.” She nodded toward the peanut butter and birdseed encrusted cones. “We resupplied them today, but apparently there have been no birds around to feed at them. It’s just like Fred said.”
Louise rubbed her gloves against her ears. “They have probably been off snuggling in a hollow trunk, if they have any sense. It is freezing out here.”
“I guess you’re right.” Her middle sister gave their homemade bird feeders one more worried glance. “I hope they come back.”
Alice drove to the hospital in Potterston, where they found the ANGELs waiting for them in the lobby. Five girls from Alice’s preteen ministry group were dressed in their holiday best. They appeared eager to hand out the stockings their group had made over the autumn for the young patients at the hospital.
“You look terrific, Mrs. Smith,” Sissy Matthews, Louise’s most dedicated piano student, said. “Do you think the kids will like what we made for them, Miss Howard?”
The project had actually been Sissy’s idea, after Alice told the group about the sick and injured children on the pediatric ward who would not be able to spend Christmas at home with their families.
“I think they will love it, honey.” She surveyed the other girls with a smile. “Has anyone seen Pastor Thompson and Santa yet?”
“They went upstairs to see the kids a little while ago,” another girl confirmed. “That Santa Claus wasn’t Mayor Tynan, though, Miss Howard.”
“But he was awfully big.” Sissy giggled. “His trousers weren’t long enough to cover his ankles.”
In fact, none of the girls knew who had come to the hospital to play Santa, which seemed somewhat strange to Louise. But then she, Alice and the girls went up to the ward and saw Rev. Thompson and Santa visiting with the ambulatory kids in the patient playroom.
“Is it true that you bring presents down the chimney on Christmas Eve?” one little boy with bandages on his neck and shoulder asked as he climbed onto Santa’s knee.
“I do indeed.” A big hand in a white glove steadied the little patient.
His answer made the child’s expression turn woebegone. “But we don’t have any chimneys here at the hospital.”
“I will tell you a secret,” Santa said, making his deep voice drop to a theatrical whisper. “When there are no chimneys, I use doors.”
A second boy hobbled over on crutches. “Can you make my leg straight, Santa?”
Santa’s dark eyes went to the complicated-looking orthopedic boot encasing the child’s foot and calf.
One of the nurses stepped forward. “Your doctor will do everything he can to help your leg heal, Peter.”
The boy’s lower lip wobbled. “But can’t Santa do that with magic now, so I can go home?”
“I’m not a doctor, son,” Santa said honestly. “No magic can replace the time your leg needs to heal, either.”
“At least you only have one hurt leg,” a little girl in a wheelchair said. She had heavy casts on both of her legs.
“If there was something else you could have for Christmas,” Santa asked the boy on crutches, “what would it be?”
“A new baseball glove,” the boy said promptly. “I play shortstop, and my old one is getting too small.”
“Alice,” Louise said in a low voice, “is that…?”
Her sister stared through the playroom window. “I think it is.” She blinked deliberately. “How did Kenneth manage this?”
Louise only shook her head, still dumbfounded.
Alice led her ANGELs, letting the girls be the ones to pass out the gift stockings to the young patients. Louise went to stand beside Pastor Thompson and watched as Santa crouched down beside the girl in the wheelchair to ask what she wanted him to bring to her on Christmas Day.
“Something to scratch my itches,” the little girl said, and thumped a small fist against one of the plaster casts. “I can’t get at them with these on.”
A slight smile appeared under the white mustache and beard that Santa wore. “Santa can show you how to do that right now, sweetheart.” He rose and after a brief consultation with one of the attending nurses, went over to a shelf where various games were kept for the children.
“Pastor, I’m speechless,” Louise murmured. “How on earth did you bring this about?”
“It only took a little persuasion.” He smiled down at her. “I believe that he needed something exactly like this to happen.”
Santa returned with a thin, blunt-tipped stick about the length of a drinking straw.
Alice came over to join them. “I’m amazed, Pastor. Maybe you can also help me find a gift to give to Jane for Christmas.”
“Remember, it’s not the gift that is important, Alice,” he told her, “as much as the love with which it is given.”
By that time Santa had showed the little girl how to insert the thin blunt-tipped plastic stick under the edge of her cast.
“You should always ask a nurse or grownup to help you do this, or you might scratch the skin inside,” he told her as he showed her how to funnel the stick into her cast. “But if you’re careful, it will scratch all your itchy spots under there.”
“Thank you, Santa!” the little girl threw her arms around Max’s neck and gave him a grateful hug.
Chapter Twelve
Jane was looking forward to doing her part as guide for the tour group. Since it was the group’s last day in Acorn Hill, she planned to make it a memorable one. She was also firmly committed to avoiding busywork for the rest of her vacation.
After this I will go home and spend time with my sisters, and stop being such a ninny about the holidays.
As she waited in town for the tour group late that afternoon, she took a moment to walk by the Good Apple Bakery. Clarissa Cottrell was decorating gingerbread men on a table at the front of the store. Three small children, two girls and one boy, stood pressing their noses against the glass panes and watching. The children wore matching white and green striped knit caps with red pompoms on the crowns.
Jane joined the wide-eyed youngsters and smiled at their mother, who was resting on a bench in front of the bakery. “Wow, those look terrific, don’t they?”
“She’s making the eyes and buttons out of raisins,” one of the little girls told her solemnly. “Mommy says that’s because raisins taste better in gingerbread and they don’t melt like chocolate chips.”
“Look!” the boy tapped the window. “She’s putting on hats like ours.”
The smiling Clarissa piped white, green and red icing on three of the large cookies before holding them up for the children to see.
“Be right back.” Jane went inside the warm, fragrant bakery and returned a minute later bearing three gingerbread men, which she presented to the children. �
��You have to save these for after dinner,” she warned, “or your mom will get mad at me.”
Jane saw the tour minivan pull up by Town Hall, so she excused herself to meet the group. There were only four of them, and Edwina explained that Max had opted for not taking part.
“I think he made other plans,” she said, looking a little puzzled. “To do what, I can’t say, but he was quite adamant.”
“Oh well.” Jane shrugged. “We’ll simply have to have a fabulous time and make him sorry he missed it.”
The rest of the group didn’t appear very enthusiastic. Edwina looked tired; Allan had red, watery eyes and kept sneezing into a handkerchief; Ted seemed nervous and fiddled with his camera; and Laura kept tapping her foot as if everyone else were keeping her from an important appointment.
Maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t have to deal with Max Ziglar, Jane thought. “We are going to have a great time tonight, I promise. Samuel and Rose’s farm is one of the nicest in the area, and their house is simply fantastic. Just follow me.”
On the way to the Bellwoods’ home, Jane noticed in her mirror that the van seemed to be having some mechanical trouble. The engine stalled twice on the driver when he stopped at intersections, and she thought that the amount of white exhaust coming from his tailpipe seemed rather excessive.
When they reached their destination just outside of town, Jane got out of her car, went up to the minivan and tapped on the driver’s window.
“Are you having some trouble?” She pointed to the engine.
The driver rolled down the window as his passengers left the vehicle. “I am, miss. I’m going to head over to the garage in Potterston while you folks are here and have the mechanic take a look at it—they’re open until nine. If necessary, I’ll see if I can arrange for another van while I’m there.”
“Is there some way I can get in touch with you?”
He wrote something on a piece of notepaper and handed it to her. “Call me at this number when they’re ready to go.”
“Is everything all right?” Edwina asked when Jane rejoined the group. “The van was acting up on the drive over.”
Home for the Holidays Page 12