Homespun Christmas

by Aimée Thurlo

Before they could ring the bell, J.R. opened the door and greeted Myka with a smile. “I thought I heard a familiar voice,” he said. “Robyn and I were just talking about you, Myka.”

  The awkward-looking kid Myka remembered was taller now, about six foot one, and although he’d put on some weight, he was still slender. He wore brown framed glasses that made his hazel eyes seem owlish.

  “You’ve done a great job kick-starting Independence,” he said. “It’s good to see people taking charge of their destinies.”

  As his glance shifted to Joshua, Myka introduced them.

  “You remember Joshua Nez, don’t you?”

  “Long time, dude,” he said with a nod, then waved them inside.

  “I hear you’re retired now,” Myka said.

  “Too young for that. More like between careers. Right now I’m keeping busy helping Dad with his business.”

  “Myka, is that you?” Edgar Vega called out from farther inside the house.

  “Yes, Mr. Vega,” Myka answered. “Where are you?”

  “He’s in the den,” J.R. said. “Dad spends a lot of time in there, but it’s awfully cold in winter. I want to put in a fireplace, some skylights and full-length windows as soon as possible. His eyesight isn’t what it used to be and he needs more light.” J.R. looked at Joshua. “At your convenience, I’d like to talk remodeling with you.”

  “Anytime,” Joshua said. “You have my number?”

  “Got it from Robyn,” he replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

  As they entered the den, Edgar Vega, a slender man in his early seventies with thinning gray hair, was wiping his hands on a rag. The painting before him was still in the early stages, sketched out with thin strokes, but it was clearly a Southwestern landscape. He gestured to the closest chairs, then placed the rag on a small worktable covered with paints and brushes.

  “Hi, Myka, Joshua. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, pushing the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt farther up his arms.

  “It’s good to see you, Mr. Vega,” Myka said, noting the faint scent of turpentine. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”

  “Sir,” Joshua greeted.

  “I was ready to take a break, so your timing’s perfect,” Edgar said, taking a seat on a tall, three-legged stool beside his art supply table. “So tell me. What brings you here today?”

  Myka glanced at Joshua and gave him a nod, knowing this would be better coming from him. As she sat back, he explained about his dad, the maps and the historical documents.

  After he finished, Joshua added, “I was hoping that maybe you and Dad had discussed his research, or that you’ve looked into Brooks’s legacy at one time or another.”

  “I’ve done both. The questions surrounding Silas Brooks have always piqued my curiosity, but your father’s research was more comprehensive than anything I’ve done. He’d spend hours studying those old newspapers and reading whatever he could find about the man. It was personal for him. Your dad identified strongly with Brooks.”

  “Really?” Joshua asked. “How so?”

  “You have to look past the surface to see it. Although one was wealthy and the other not, there was a lot more to their stories than money.”

  “Like what?” Joshua pressed, curious.

  “Let’s start with Brooks. Although his family diversified their holdings, their biggest moneymaker was a firearms manufacturing plant in the Midwest. Silas despised weapons, but he did what his father expected and took over when the time came. Yet as the company prospered, he became guilt ridden. After Silas’s wife and baby died during childbirth, he was convinced that he’d been cursed by the ghosts of those killed with his family’s weapons.”

  “I’d always heard he was a troubled man, but I didn’t know the whole story,” Myka said. “Did you ever meet him?”

  “He commissioned me to do a painting of a prominent New Mexican historical site. He left the choice to me and I took months to decide.”

  “And he was okay with that?” Myka asked.

  “Yes. He wanted something special and knew I’d come through,” he said. “That painting turned out to be one of my best. It focused on the Cross of the Martyrs in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains near Santa Fe. It’s a monument dedicated to the Franciscan friars in 1920. Since Brooks rarely left his house, I took the finished painting over to him. He loved it and asked me into his home for some cognac. He didn’t have many guests, so I was incredibly flattered.”

  “That house was really something in its heyday, I would imagine,” Joshua said.

  “It was. I’ve never seen anything like it—before or since.” He lapsed into a long silence. Eventually, he continued. “When it came time for me to get paid, he asked me to wait for him, then closed the door and stepped out of the sala. I heard what sounded like furniture being moved and the clack of wood. I thought something was wrong, so I went into the entryway and called out, asking if he was okay. He met me a second later, annoyed because I’d left the room. He handed me my money, all cash, and told me to leave.”

  “Did you ever figure out what was going on?” Joshua asked. He was beginning to understand his father’s fascination with Brooks. Every detail he uncovered led to another, even more interesting one.

  “Since he paid me in cash, I figured he must have had a secret panel stuffed with money in the house somewhere, but I don’t know for sure,” Edgar said. “Your father checked for loose floorboards or a trap door just last year, but he didn’t find anything.”

  “Does Mayor Allen know this story?” Joshua asked.

  “I doubt your father would have said anything unless he’d actually found those missing documents.”

  Joshua nodded. “Yeah, Dad was like that.”

  “If Brooks really did leave a will behind, my guess is that it’s still somewhere in his house.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Vega,” Joshua said.

  “I know you and your father had differences, but he was very proud of you, son. You always came first...no matter what the cost.” In a thoughtful voice, he added, “Like Silas Brooks, your dad paid the price for family.”

  The change in Mr. Vega’s tone caught Joshua’s attention. “You mentioned before that my dad and Brooks were alike. How do you figure that?”

  Edgar started to speak then shook his head. “It’s not for me to say.”

  “He’s gone, Mr. Vega. If it’s something that might help me understand Dad better, I’d sure like to hear it.”

  After a long moment, Edgar finally nodded. “When a son looks at his father, all too often he sees only part of what’s there. There’s judgment, history, sometimes pride, and all that colors the reality,” he said. “You saw a hardworking janitor that some misguided people in the community looked down on, but he, like you, had bigger dreams once.”

  “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”

  “Probably because there was nothing more to be said,” Edgar answered. Looking directly at Joshua, he continued, “Your father was a first-class woodcarver, and although you may not know this, he had his own shop at one time. He loved his work, but business came in spurts, and when your mom got pregnant, he realized he needed a steady paycheck. His job at the plant gave him a salary and health insurance, so he closed his shop and never looked back.”

  “If he loved woodworking so much, why didn’t he open a shop once I was in college and on my own?”

  Edgar shook his head. “As we age, our dreams change, Josh. He no longer had the energy nor the inclination to deal with the ups and downs of an unreliable career.”

  “I wish he’d told me.” Joshua felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d misjudged his father for years and there was nothing he could do to make it right.

  “Adam was a proud man. He never felt the need to explain himself to you or anyone else.”
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  “Proud, he was,” Joshua agreed.

  They left the Vegas’ home soon afterward, and Joshua didn’t speak until they were back in his truck. “My dad and I weren’t so different after all.”

  Myka reached over and took his hand. “You two loved each other, and that’s all that really matters, Joshua.”

  “I know now how hard it must have been for him to walk away from his dream.” He took a deep breath, still reeling from what he’d learned. “When our firm closed its doors, I knew in my gut I’d rebound, but Dad faced overwhelming odds—and he did it with grace.”

  “Hemingway defined courage as grace under pressure,” she said.

  “That was Dad...”

  He lapsed into a heavy silence, lost in thought. At long last he spoke. “I can’t change the past, but there’s still one thing I can do for him. Dad loved this town. To him it was home. I’ll continue to play my part in bringing it back, not just through HMI, but by restoring the buildings on Main.”

  “Independence is your home, too, Joshua.”

  He shook his head. “No, Myka, this is your home...and Dad’s. Sooner or later, I’ll have to leave. There’s just not enough work around here for an architect, and that’s part of who I am. I have to make a living and plan my future.”

  “You’ve been working part-time for HMI as an unpaid consultant, but the company can afford to pay you now. It won’t be a lot, but let me see what we can offer. Maybe your future is here and you just don’t know it yet.”

  He wanted to say no, but the truth was he needed the funds. He’d agreed to a minimal fee for his consulting work for the town, but the first stage of that was already over, and he’d used most of the money for living expenses and supplies to paint and fix up his father’s house. At the moment he was getting by, but not by much.

  “All right, thanks,” he said.

  As he looked at her, he realized that their parting was as inevitable as the next sunset. Myka belonged in Independence as much as HMI did, but he’d worked hard to become an architect. He had something of value to offer the world and he wouldn’t let Independence bury his dreams. Myka lived in the here and now, and it would hurt leaving her behind, but his own brass ring was on the horizon, and he had to chase after it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THREE MORE DAYS flew by. Though she still avoided it, the freight elevator had been repaired. The new wool processing areas were in use and work areas were available to their special crafters—like Mr. Gomez, who did straw inlay work. The basement housed the woodworkers and their noisy tools.

  Myka walked down the hall, smiling, Robyn at her side. No matter how busy it got, she could always hear the sound of laughter. As they passed the dyeing room, Liza came out holding a sample of dyed roving. “Look at this blue. We used the mixture your contact gave us. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

  Myka drew in a breath. It was an exquisite blend of violet and indigo. “It’s gorgeous! Let me know when it’s spun. I have a feeling this will fly off our shelves.”

  “That’s good news,” Robyn said. “I put a small description online, and we’ve got orders coming in already.”

  “You priced it correctly? We need to charge extra,” Myka said.

  “Oh, yeah, and the price hasn’t kept people away.”

  “That’s fabulous!” Myka glanced at her watch. “I better go, I’ve got to meet the mayor. He asked me to stop by his office as soon as I could.”

  “Is there a problem?” Robyn asked.

  “I don’t think so. It’s probably just paperwork.”

  As Myka headed toward the stairwell, Robyn reached for her arm. “Come on. Let’s take the elevator. I’ll ride down with you.”

  Myka shook her head. “No, I can’t go in there.” She hated the way the two women looked at each other but pushed it out of her mind. “It’s only one flight anyway, so it’s no big deal.”

  Myka hurried downstairs. People didn’t understand how stubbornly memories could cling to certain places. She couldn’t go into the freight elevator without being overwhelmed by the past. It was far easier to avoid it altogether.

  Myka drove down Main Street alone, glad that Bear was with Sophie’s cousin today. Paula had offered to take the big guy on a long hike, so Myka had readily agreed.

  Minutes later she parked in the rear lot of the insurance office where Phil worked half days. As she was getting out of her SUV, Mayor Allen stepped outside to meet her. “Good! You’re here,” he said. “Come in.”

  He escorted Myka into his small office and offered her a cup of coffee. “I’ve got to tell you, when you first came up with the idea for Handmade in Independence, I thought the business end of it would eat you alive. I gave you a month before you ran away screaming.”

  She laughed. “There’ve been plenty of times I wanted to do just that.”

  “You’ve proved that your greatest strength is the ability to work around obstacles. That’s why I wanted to speak with you,” he said, leaning over and resting his elbows on the desk. “Municipal revenues are still hurting, and when our fire chief asked me for sixty-five thousand to repair and purchase essential equipment I had to turn him down. Unfortunately, that means our fire station will close. We’ll have to depend on County and a much longer response time, so our insurance rates, both business and residential, are going to skyrocket.”

  She sat back, dismayed by the news and desperately trying to come up with a way around this new hurdle. “So you called me here to give me a heads-up?”

  “Yes, but also because you always manage to pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat, and that’s what we need right now.”

  She ran a despairing hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to tell you except we’ve got to find a way to save our fire department.”

  “I’ve been looking for alternate funding sources, but I keep coming up empty.”

  “There’s an answer to this, Phil, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s exactly why I came to you. You believe there is an answer and, somehow, I know you’ll find it.”

  “You have more faith in me than I do. I’m not a miracle worker.”

  “Actually, Myka, I think you are.”

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Myka was walking down the long hallway to her office when she noticed the doors to the freight elevator had been screened off with a band of pink fabric. She knew yellow was the color of crime scene tape, but what was pink?

  Passing Sara Chase, one of their most experienced spinners, Myka pointed to the closed doors. “What’s going on?”

  Sara hesitated. “The electrician is double-checking the new controls. Molly needed to block off the elevator while testing the system,” she said. “We put a pink ribbon across it because Liza had several spools in her purse—she’s using it for baby afghans.”

  Sara hurried off, but figuring that the woman was as pressed for time as she was, Myka quickly put it out of mind.

  She entered her office, and after leaving voice mails asking Joshua and Robyn for a morning meeting, Myka stood by the window staring at her reflection in the glass. Now that she was running HMI, everyone seemed to look to her for answers. Yet she was still just Myka. Did they see more?

  “What’s up? I got your message,” Joshua said, stepping into her office.

  “Sit down. I was hoping we could do some brainstorming. Robyn’s coming, too.”

  “I’m here,” Robyn said, hurrying inside. “Sorry, the website crashed when I rebooted the system. Too much traffic.”

  “So we’re off the air?”

  “We were, for about twenty minutes. Now we’re up and running and better than ever. I got J.R. to redesign our site and it looks amazing! You can click on any item, then hover over it with your mouse to see the details. He’s also standing by to
set up a widget that’ll lead customers to instant live help during business hours instead of the email question-response system we’re using now.”

  “Live help from whom?” she asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you about hiring someone full-time to take those calls. During business hours, of course.”

  “We can’t afford it,” Myka said.

  “Part-time then, and not live, but responding no later than next day?” Robyn pressed.

  Myka considered it, then nodded. “Okay, let’s try next day and see how it works out.” She reached up and adjusted the collar on her blouse. “Right now we’ve got a more immediate problem.” She told them what the mayor had said about the fire department.

  “Myka, that’s really bad news, not only for us, but for everyone in town, especially all the new businesses still in start-up mode. Most are operating on a shoestring and a prayer. Look at Sophie. She and her mom used all their savings to open that bakery. They figured if we could do it, so could they, and they’ve been counting on lunchtime business from our workers,” Robyn said.

  “No one realizes just how close to the margin we’ve played things,” Myka added.

  “HMI is taking the place of Independence Vehicle Accessories in people’s minds, but this time, it’s a success they’ve helped create, and some of them want their own chance to dream big,” Joshua said.

  She drew in a sharp breath. “IVA was a huge corporation with manufacturing facilities all around the country. We’re a tiny dot on the map, with barely a hundred workers.”

  “You started a company in a town that was all but dead, and now it’s showing a profit. When the people around us look at HMI, they see...possibilities...for themselves and Independence,” Joshua answered. “They see their future.”

  “I’m more worried about the present. We have to keep the momentum going, and right now, that means finding a way to save our fire department,” Myka said.

  Robyn paced around the room as a heavy silence descended.

  “This won’t work, Myka,” Joshua said at last. “When you try to force an idea, you get nowhere. We need to go about our jobs and see what comes to mind as the day goes on.”