The Christmas Sisters

by Annie Jones

  “Because that's what my aunts and sisters think I should do for Willa. That's their oversimplified view of what's best for her and, I suppose, for me, too. They think I should rely on the support of my family more to care for her.”

  “That doesn't sound all that far-fetched or unreasonable of a plan to me.”

  “But it's not the plan I laid out for her. I've found a school that says it can offer the best education and opportunity for a child with her disabilities. And they even have a scholarship program that they will offer her to discount her tuition.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “But even with the scholarships, it's expensive.”

  “That's why you want to sell the house so desperately.”

  “I have to get her out of the school she's in now. The system is overburdened, and the teachers—God bless them—they do their best, but they can't do what the residential program says it can do.” She pushed her hair back. She rubbed her palms together. She looked toward the low branches of the Christmas tree. “This new place just might be the thing to give her the grounding she needs to make a future for herself.”

  Sam followed her line of vision to the small, carved snowbird. He clenched his jaw, shut his eyes, then took a breath. “Is this school the only way for her to get that grounding?”

  “Don't you start with me.” She pushed up from her chair.

  “I'm only asking.” He stood too. “Not judging, Nic.”

  She went over to the box of ornaments they'd already selected for the community trimming and started picking through them.

  He waited for her to say more and when she didn’t, he asked, “So why is your family against the new school? Is it the money?”

  “No. They'd do whatever they had to do to help with that, I'm sure.”

  “I guess agreeing to sell the house they grew up in and kept in the family for so long proves that.”

  “Yeah.” She looked around the room like she was already saying good-bye bit by bit to her cherished surroundings. Sadness gave her beautiful face a heart-touching quality that only deepened as she touched a glittery red bow on a white package and whispered, “They don't want me to send her away. That's what makes it hardest for them.”

  “Send her away? To live at the school?”

  Nic nodded. The movement sent a single tear streaming down her cheek. “It's the best of all the programs I could find for her.”

  I could find for her. She hit the pronoun so hard it was like striking a discordant note in a long familiar tune. What she could find for her daughter. Her experience of distrust for others regarding Willa's birth. The very words that touched this discussion off about people working together to make things better. It all began to fit and make sense to Sam. She still did not dare trust others when it came to Willa. But she wanted to, he could hear it in her voice and see it in the way she wavered in the discussion. She wanted to trust others to help but she just wasn't ready.

  Until she was ready, Sam realized, her reluctance would make it virtually impossible for him to do much more than listen, wait, and pray.

  “Aunt Petie and Aunt Collier say there is a whole box of ornaments in the back bedroom that would be fine for the outdoor tree.” Willa dashed in the room as though her heels had caught fire. “They told me to hurry and get it if I want to ride with them over to pick up Aunt Bert.”

  “Pick up Aunt Bert?” Nic took a few steps after her child. “Why can't Aunt Bert drive herself? She does pretty well getting around town when we're not here—and when we are here, too.”

  “I dunno.” Willa stopped long enough to shrug. “They said Aunt Lula would be coming with Miss Snooty-Britches and Aunt Bert would feel left out coming alone.”

  “They did?” Nic didn't like her sisters roping Willa into their ill-fated matchmaking and intended to let them know as much as soon as she got the chance. “Well, you can just tell them for me—”

  “Mommy, is that some kind of famous person in our family?” Willa tipped her head and pushed her glasses up. “That Miss Snooty-Britches? Like when you were Miss Bode County Butterfly in high school?”

  Sam laughed.

  Nic scalded him with a look. Well, it did not scald him as much as lit a fire under him.

  “You sure you got that right, sweetheart? Butterfly?” Sam asked Willa.

  “Butter Queen,” Nic corrected, clenching her teeth all the while.

  “Is that what you were? Butter Queen?” Sam stroked his chin like he had to think that over to call it up from his memory. “And here I thought you were, yourself, one of the finest Miss Snooty-Britches this town has ever seen.”

  “Did you get a crown, Mommy?” Willa began to dance around with her and above her head as though holding an unseen crown there. “Can I see it?”

  “No, I did not get a crown. And it’s a good thing, too, because if I had one, I might be tempted to use it to crown a certain someone who thinks—heaven help him—he's way more clever than he really is.”

  “Once a snooty-britches, always a snooty-britches,” he teased.

  She ignored him with a flick of her hair and an upward tilt of her nose, which even she had to concede only played into his jest. “They were making a funny name up for our cousin, Willa, who is acting all high and mighty, that's all.”

  “Oh. Okay. I'll go get the ornaments now. Aunt Petie said they'd be waiting outside warming the car up.”

  The back door slammed shut as if to verify the plan.

  “Fine. Get the ornaments and give me a second to get a jacket so I can go with y’all.”

  “Aunt Petie says to tell you there's just room for her and Aunt Collier and Aunt Bert and the ornaments and me.” Willa spun around and took off for the back bedroom to fulfill her mission.

  “Oh, we'll see about that.” She started toward the kitchen, but Sam's hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

  “I was only kidding, you know. I never saw you as stuck-up or snobbish when we were growing up. Never.”

  The low light made his hair shine golden and bathed his handsome features in a comforting glow.

  She pressed her lips together. “I know. It was just a joke. No hard feelings.”

  “Good. Then why don't you go over to the church with me instead of your sisters?”

  “Sam, don't you see? It's just a harebrained matchmaking scheme that I don't want to give in to.”

  “Come with me because you want to, not because they tried to trick you into it.”

  “Because I want...to?” Her thoughts swirled, giving her a lightheadedness that made it impossible to maintain her disgust with her sisters' plans.

  “Because I want you to.” He moved closer to her. “Nic, this is a big deal for me. I'd like to go into it knowing I had a friend beside me. You of all people know how important that can be.”

  She did. Not too many minutes ago she had actually wished Sam would have been there for her in her hour of dire need. Though this was not so desperate a time for him, it was, nonetheless, the kind of time when having someone on your side could make all the difference in the world.

  Willa whizzed by with a box that Nic recognized held some cheap plastic ornaments they'd gotten on sale and never used. “If you are going to come with us, Mommy, you better hurry and get your coat.”

  “That's okay, Willa. You go on and tell your aunts I'll be going with Sam.” She met his gaze and sighed. “Tell them I want to go with Sam.”

  Fifteen

  Christmas was in the air. Excitement fluttered in Nic's stomach just to think of it. Not the wintry gold and glitter and the crush of holiday shoppers kind of Christmas she'd have had in Chicago. The slow-paced, serve iced-tea alongside the traditional hot chocolate while country singers crooned carols from a portable speaker perched on the hood of a pickup truck kind of Christmas. The real Christmas.

  At least for her. Simple, Southern, and focused on the right things—faith, home, family, and community.

  Nic stuck her hands in her pockets and ti
pped her head back to look at the top of the extravagant tree Willa and Sam had chosen. They'd set it up outdoors in the untended triangle of a flowerbed where the sidewalks merged to lead to the front steps of the church. Only fitting, it would be there as a symbol of hope and welcome, a gift from the church to all of Persuasion.

  It was a good tree, she decided now that she could really get a look at it. Full and fragrant, it had lots of room for hanging rope and tinsel and handmade ornaments. Room still, even after they had gathered around to sing a few hymns and carols and every one in attendance had placed their contribution of ornaments on the waiting branches.

  Nic glanced over the people still mulling about the refreshment table. If she were in a count-your-blessings frame of mind, she'd have made note that the event had drawn more than twice the number in the morning service, including more than a couple of the regulars from the Sunday fellowship of Dewi's Market. If she were in a miserly mood, however, she could allow that the Dewi's regulars might have come more to scope out the situation than to participate. She might also concede that more than a few among them had simply seen the lights and music and wandered over for the free cookies and drinks. Optimist or pessimist, she had to conclude that this had not been the booming success she had yearned to see for Sam—for the church, she quickly corrected herself. This was, after all, about mending the rift between church and community, not about scoring points for Sam.

  “You gonna help me dig out some of these old decorations to see if we can find some more for the tree or not, girl?” Aunt Bert stood at the side door of the church and beckoned her.

  Nic made a hasty review of the surroundings and found Willa trailing behind Sam as he walked about the crowd greeting everyone individually. Her daughter's face rivaled the holiday lights as she beamed with pride, carrying a plateful of Christmas cookies to offer to everyone she met. And everyone who took one had a kind word for the child. Even those who gave Sam a somewhat chilly reception.

  Willa responded to each person with a smile. Sometimes she even spoke to answer the friendliest of the questions people asked. Nic did not know when she had seen her child so relaxed, happy, and radiant.

  “Do you want to be a party to all this or not, Nicolette?” Aunt Bert bellowed in her this-is-the-last-time-I'm-calling-you tone.

  “I think I do, Aunt Bert,” she murmured, walking backward a few steps, reluctant to let go of the sight of Willa in this shining moment. “I'm not sure yet, but I think I do.”

  “We didn't give people enough notice.” Collier went up on her tiptoes to hang a bent construction paper bell on a bare limb two-thirds of the way up the community tree.

  “You can't expect much of a turnout on a few hours' notice.” Nic held up a golden Styrofoam ball with glittered toothpicks sticking out of it and frowned.

  “Not this close to the holidays.” Petie flicked at a darkened bulb with her painted nails.

  “Don't talk like this was a total disaster, girls.” Aunt Bert collected the stray bits and pieces of the makeshift ornaments she and Nic had rounded up in the church basement. “We saw plenty of folks we haven't seen at the services since—”

  She did not finish but then she didn't have to. Sam fingered a delicate brass harp with a red velvet bow placed on the tree by the family from the cottages. “For those that did participate I am truly grateful. And yet—”

  The December air went still with just hint of a nip in it. The sky had begun to cloud up, giving late afternoon the feel of impending dusk.

  “Just because they didn't come when you thought they should doesn't mean they won't never come.” Willa had to tilt her head way back to look up at him from where she knelt on the sidewalk in front of the sparsely decorated tree.

  “The faith of a child, huh?” He tried not to inject any discouragement in his voice or in his forced smile but he knew he failed. “I wish I could believe that someday people in this town will come around. But I don't think it's wise to cling to that hope and to keep trying half-baked schemes like this one to try to make it happen. Sometimes it's the right thing to do to cut bait and move on, to put our efforts to more productive uses and stop wasting everyone's time.”

  “The things we ask God to give us don't always come when we think they should.” Willa scrambled to her feet and took his hand. “Not in our time, in God's time.”

  He looked down at her. “That's a pretty big nugget of wisdom from such a little girl.”

  “Mr. Freeman told it to me.”

  “Ahh.”

  “For the snowbirds.”

  “The snowbirds?” He frowned, not sure what that meant.

  “Last year when the only snowbird died and there weren't no more, I throwed birdseed out. I watched every day under all the bushes and looked up in the sky for a storm to come and bring in more snowbirds for me.”

  “I see.” He closed his hand around hers.

  The sisters and Aunt Bert moved in close.

  “I waited and waited but I never saw one. I prayed and prayed to God for them to find me, for them to come so I could take care of them. But they didn't.”

  “I know that feeling,” he whispered.

  “I felt so bad that Mr. Freeman carved the snowbird for me. He said the snowbirds didn't come because of...Mommy?”

  Nic moved in and put her hand on Willa's back as she said to Sam, “Because of the droughts and the weather patterns of the last few years.”

  Willa nodded her head. “The snowbirds have to go where they can get fed.”

  “More wisdom I'd do well to take to heart.” Sam touched her hair.

  “But that doesn't mean the snowbirds won't ever come back, just like the people will come to church again.”

  “In God's time,” Sam said so quietly he wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined saying it.

  She grinned.

  On the heels of her aunts and great-aunt murmuring their approval of the child, Aunt Bert yawned and not too quietly suggested, “God's time notwithstanding, it's nap time for this old lady. Petie, Collier, you gonna drive me on home?”

  They moved off, leaving Sam with Willa and Nic. The crowd had thinned to a precious few. Among the hanger-on-ers, the Dewi's delegation clustered together, except Claire LaRue. She strolled up wearing earrings shaped like wreathes that matched the sparkling image on her blue sweatshirt. “Well, hi, y'all.”

  “Hello, Claire.” Sam extended his hand to her even as he sensed Nic bristling in the woman's general direction.

  He understood Nic's reservation. When he learned his old pal from his wayward youth Reggie LaRue had married a girl Collier's age, Sam had figured ol' Reg had had to search out someone too young to know better. After his first few weeks in town he'd changed his opinion, and not for the better. Reggie had simply found someone who held the same worldview, Sam decided, based on town talk and the fact that Claire and Reggie's car was often among the first to arrive at Dewi's on Sundays.

  It had surprised him to see Claire here with her children and to see how much she tried to really throw herself into the festivities. As a man who had suffered from unfair judgment, it dogged him now to see he might have indulged in the same thing himself. Still, aware that Claire had just come from chatting with people who made no bones about disliking his presence in their town and in this pulpit, he remained cautious. “So good to see you and your family out to support the church tonight.”

  “Well, if you can't count on the support of an old friend, who can you count on? Right, Nicolette?” She smiled a bit too brightly.

  “Hmm.” Nic smiled back, sort of.

  “Are you a friend of my mommy and Reverend Sam's?” Willa craned her neck, her head sort of weaving and swaying as she watched Claire.

  Sam followed the movement and realized the child was following the movements of the woman's enormous earrings.

  “Truth to tell, they are more like old friends of my husband's, sweetheart. The three of them go way back.”

  Nic put her hand on Willa's shoulder. Her
eyes shot daggers but she kept her lips sealed.

  “In fact, their friendship goes back to way before Reggie and I were married. Longer than even...” She tipped her head, her short red hair falling against her neck as she tapped her cheek. “What is that expression, Nic?”

  Nic turned as if suddenly fascinated by the tree beside them. “I'm sure I don't know what you—”

  “Oh, I remember!” Claire snapped her fingers. She fixed her gaze directly on Sam, like a cat honed in on a helpless mouse. “Since before you were a gleam in your daddy's eye.”

  Nic pulled Willa close.

  Sam shook his head, not quite sure where the woman was going.

  “I don't have a daddy.” Willa blinked up at Claire.

  That catlike grin went softer then. The faint lines around her eyes framed them in warmth and kindness as she put her hand beneath Willa's chin. “Maybe that's not the saying after all, sugar. We'll just leave it that they've been friends of my husband's for a long, long time.”

  “Then y'all should come to church.” Willa did not shake her finger in admonishment but she might as well have.

  “Willa, show a little respect, young lady.” That it cost Nic to remind her child to pay deference to Claire showed in her tight jaw and rigid back.

  Claire laughed. “No, no. She's right. We should come to church.”

  “We'd love to have you there.” Sam wasn't lying. He would like to see Claire and her children in his church if they came with open hearts to worship God. The churning in the pit of his stomach testified that he did not think that would happen. “Bring Reggie, too.”

  “Not a bad idea. That man could use some religion.” She laughed.

  Sam tried to join in but could not make it sound natural.

  Nic didn't even try.

  “Speaking of that man, I better get back and take care of him. Hope you don't mind that my boys each picked out a cookie to take to him.”