Christmas in Icicle Falls

by Sheila Roberts

  He nodded and assured her he could. Once more it was a wrestling match and for a moment, as she staggered about, trying to tame the thing into the tree stand, it looked as if the tree was going to win. But at last she succeeded. Their Christmas tree was up.

  “We did it,” she crowed.

  The tree took a bow, then fell over, whacking her on the head.

  This made her son laugh. “It hit you, too, Mama.”

  Oh, yes, what fun they were having. With a growl, she grabbed the thing again and set it back up. “Okay, you balance it. I’m going to make sure it’s secure.” The tree began to wobble. “Noooo.” She dived under it, sticking one leg up to help keep it in place. Good thing nobody was around with a camera. This would have been one of those awful, embarrassing pictures that circulated all over Facebook and wound up on tacky greeting cards.

  The tree finally gave in and cooperated, and after she’d filled the stand with water and gotten busy stringing lights, she vowed that she was going to buy a nice small artificial tree when they went on sale after Christmas. The real deal was more trouble than it was worth.

  An hour later, after they’d strung it with lights and thrown tinsel on it and hung the treasured ornaments they’d brought with them, the tree was a thing of beauty. And the fragrance it shared sent a silent message: Now, wasn’t I worth it? There’s nothing like the real deal.

  Yeah, well, she had plenty of the real deal outside her window. She really didn’t need a real tree. Still, she couldn’t help feeling pleased with herself.

  “Tío Tito will be so impressed that we did this all by ourselves,” she said, standing back to admire their handiwork.

  Indeed he was when he and Rita and the baby and Mami Luci came over for dinner on Sunday. Sienna had made a casserole and a pan of gingerbread and splurged on a half gallon of eggnog so she could make eggnog lattes.

  “It smells great in here,” Rita said, shedding her coat.

  The aroma from her kitchen swirled with the fragrance from the tree and the whole house smelled like they’d gotten more than a little Christmas.

  “The tree is lovely,” said Mami Luci.

  “It’s a beast,” Tito said as Rita took off little Linda’s snowsuit. “How’d you get it up?”

  “Nothing to it,” Sienna lied. “Right, Leo?”

  “Right,” Leo said with a nod. “The tree fell on Mama,” he added. “And it broke our shepherds.”

  “You should have waited and let me help you,” Tito said.

  “She did fine on her own. A woman doesn’t need a man to put up a Christmas tree,” Rita informed him.

  “I guess not,” he said dubiously. “But there are plenty of things you do need us for, mi corazón.”

  Yes, there were. It would have been nice to have a man around, not only to help with the tree, but for company, also. Sienna would have enjoyed cuddling on the couch with someone and admiring the tree, would have liked to have had someone to talk with about the day’s events.

  There were times when she missed being married so much she could have cried. Not the bad years, but those early years when love had seemed indestructible, when laughter and caring words had been exchanged rather than heated accusations and recriminations.

  Enjoying a meal with family diverted her from her thoughts, but after Rita and the gang had left and it was just her and Leo and, God save her, yet another viewing of Cars, she became freshly aware of the fact that no matter how full she packed her life, there were empty places that refused to be filled.

  Lots of women went through life alone, she reminded herself. Muriel wasn’t married. Neither was her friend Dot. And Mrs. Zuckerman next door had been widowed for years. How did they cope?

  She couldn’t help asking when she took Leo over to Mrs. Zuckerman’s for a playdate with Bandit.

  “You simply accept what is,” Mrs. Zuckerman said as they sat at her kitchen table with steaming mugs of tea while Leo and Bandit raced around the backyard. She added a packet of sugar to hers and stirred it. “I must admit, when I first lost my Alfred, I felt as if the world had come to an end. I didn’t want to go on. But I had two young children. I had to.” She gave Sienna a wistful smile. “You find the strength to do what you have to do.”

  Sienna nodded and gazed into her mug. No tea leaves to read, not with tea bags. Even if she could read the future, she wasn’t sure she wanted to, wasn’t sure she’d like what she saw.

  “You’re still young. You’ll find someone,” Mrs. Zuckerman assured her.

  Tim Richmond sure looked like a find. But finding someone wasn’t the same as finding the right someone. And then there was the matter of keeping him. “It would be nice,” Sienna said wistfully.

  “I know it’s silly at this point in life, but I wish I could meet a nice man. It’s no fun cooking for one.”

  “I wish I knew someone for you,” Sienna said.

  Actually, she did know someone. They both did. Could Bob Cratchett find love again with Mrs. Zuckerman? Maybe a good woman was all that was needed to transform that old, ugly tree. They could be like Beauty and the Beast, the senior version.

  Except that was a fairy tale, and Sienna wouldn’t wish Mr. Cratchett on her worst enemy, let alone a sweet woman like Mrs. Zuckerman. Still, maybe Mrs. Zuckerman could be the making of him.

  Anything was possible. Could love change Robert Cratchett?

  Nah.

  * * *

  The last of the weekend guests had checked out and Olivia’s housekeeping staff had finished changing beds and cleaning bathrooms. Sheets and towels were still being washed in the laundry room, but James had promised to take care of folding them and putting them away so Olivia could get started on baking Christmas cookies for the following week.

  Meadow had volunteered to help Olivia and Brooke and was excited to begin. The three women met in the kitchen, and as Olivia and Brooke began to assemble the baking tools, Meadow went to the fridge.

  “Where’s the dough?” she asked.

  “We haven’t made it yet,” Olivia replied. “Bring the butter and eggs, will you?”

  “Haven’t made it?” Meadow walked back to the workstation where Olivia was setting up her flour and sugar and set down the requested items. “You mean you don’t buy the stuff in the package?”

  “No,” Olivia said, shocked. “I always make my cookies from scratch.”

  Now Meadow looked shocked. “Seriously? Why? Can’t you just buy the dough and cut it up and you’re done?”

  “Cookies baked from scratch are so much better,” Olivia said.

  “I guess,” Meadow said dubiously.

  “You’ve never made cookies from scratch?” Brooke asked her. “That’s like child abuse.”

  Meadow shrugged. “Mostly we bought them at the store already baked.”

  Olivia’s recipe box bulged with cookie recipes that had been passed down to her from her mother and grandmother, as well as ones she’d collected over the years. She couldn’t imagine not baking cookies at Christmas. Everyone baked cookies at Christmas. Or so she’d thought. Had the girl been raised by wolves?

  “Well, of course, buying them is convenient,” she said diplomatically, not wanting to insult the wolves.

  “Mom always said baking was a waste of time.”

  “I guess we all like to spend our time in different ways,” Olivia said. “Your mom was probably busy with other things.”

  Meadow gave a snort and Olivia decided not to go any further down that conversational road.

  “I liked it when we did make cookies,” Meadow continued. “I used to love to dump on the sprinkles.”

  “Then we’ll put you in charge of sprinkle dumping,” Olivia said.

  That made her smile. The girl was so easily pleased. It was an admirable quality and probably one of the thing
s that had attracted Brandon to her in the first place. Well, besides her looks.

  “So, what are we making?” she asked, eager to begin.

  Brooke already had the mixing bowl out and was measuring in the sugar and butter. “We’re making several different kinds, starting with sugar cookies,” she said and held up a tree-shaped cookie cutter.

  “This was my mother’s recipe,” Olivia added. “A ton of butter and almond extract in the dough.”

  “Yum,” Meadow said.

  “While Brooke’s getting the dough ready, you can make the layer cookies,” Olivia said to Meadow and put her to work layering graham cracker crumbs, coconut, chocolate chips, chopped walnuts and sweetened condensed milk.

  It was an easy recipe to make and Meadow was vastly pleased with herself after she’d gotten it assembled. “Okay, what next?” she asked eagerly.

  “You can roll out the dough, if you want,” Brooke said. “That way I can start on the lemon bars.”

  She pointed to the rolling pin and Meadow looked at it as if it were an alien artifact.

  Olivia decided she’d better supervise. She sprinkled some flour on the counter. “You take about this much dough,” she said, demonstrating, “set it on your floured surface. Put some flour on your rolling pin and then you roll it out, always rolling from the center. You want your dough about a quarter inch thick.” With the dough flattened, she made several impressions with her Santa cookie cutter and transferred them to the cookie sheet. “Nothing to it.”

  “You sure do make it look easy,” Meadow said.

  “It is,” Olivia said and smiled at her.

  She was actually enjoying this time with Meadow. Perhaps the kitchen was the place where they could bond.

  “Okay, I’m ready to go for it,” Meadow said, and Olivia handed over the rolling pin.

  Meadow’s first attempt didn’t go well, though. She neglected to put more flour on the counter and the dough stuck to it. “Crap.”

  “I always reflour my surface,” Olivia said, scraping off the dough. “Try again. And put some more flour on the rolling pin, too. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  Meadow didn’t have much better luck the second time around.

  “It takes a little practice,” Olivia said, trying to be reassuring.

  The third try was not the charm and now the air in the kitchen was turning a little blue as Meadow cursed the dough, the rolling pin and Christmas cookies in general. “This is a pain in the butt,” she grumbled.

  Easily pleased and easily frustrated. “Why don’t you take a break?” Olivia said to her. “We’ll put you to work later, when it’s time to frost the cookies.”

  “I don’t want to take a break,” Meadow said with a frown. “If I do, I’ll just go grab my vape and I’m trying to quit.”

  That was commendable. “Good for you,” Olivia said, hoping to encourage her.

  “That’s not what your son says. He says I’m turning into a bitch.”

  Olivia didn’t know how to respond to that. Happily, she was spared when Meadow’s cell phone rang.

  Except Meadow didn’t appear to be in any hurry to answer it. “Go ahead and take your call,” Olivia said.

  “That’s okay. It’s just my mom.”

  “I’m sure she’d like to talk to you. We can spare you for a few minutes.”

  “I can call her later.”

  “Oh, go ahead. We’re fine. Really.” And the work would go a lot smoother if Meadow was occupied with something else.

  Meadow took the call with a reluctant hello and Olivia suddenly remembered what Brandon had said about her not having the best relationship with her mom.

  “I’m kind of busy right now,” she said, turning her back to Olivia. “I’m baking cookies...No, not that kind. We’re making the dough ourselves...Yeah, they really do that up here...No, I like it.” There was a pause on her end of the conversation and she began to pace as she listened to her mother. Olivia caught sight of a frown. “Yeah, I got your text. I’ve been busy, okay?...No, I’m staying up here.” She lowered her voice and started out of the kitchen, but Olivia still heard what she was saying. “That’s not gonna work. They’re all booked for Christmas.”

  Hmm. So, Meadow’s mom wanted to come up and see her daughter for Christmas. They could make room for one more.

  But what would that one more be like? Was she the Meadow prototype?

  Maybe not. Perhaps she and her daughter didn’t get along because Meadow was the black sheep of the family. Olivia could envision a middle-aged nonsmoker, frustrated with her daughter’s choices.

  Meadow was in the kitchen again, her phone back in her jeans pocket. “Is your mom hoping to see you at Christmas?” Olivia asked.

  “Yeah, but I know Brandon wants to be here. And so do I,” Meadow added.

  “And of course we want to have you,” Olivia said. Sort of. Almost. Well, one of them, anyway. Be nice. Invite her mother. “If you’d like to invite your mom to come up...”

  “I don’t think that would work out,” Meadow said.

  Brandon entered the kitchen in search of treats. “What wouldn’t work out?”

  The timer went off on the layered cookies and Olivia took them out of the double oven.

  “Nothing,” Meadow said.

  “We did have a room cancellation,” Olivia told her. “If your mom would like to come up Christmas Eve and spend the night, she’s more than welcome.” There, see what a good mother-in-law she was being? She hoped Brandon appreciated her efforts.

  Meadow didn’t appear to. She shook her head. “Not a good idea.”

  “I think it is,” Brandon said. “She can come up and bring your sister.”

  Meadow had a sister? A Meadow the Second. Oh, trepidation.

  The girl shook her head again, this time vehemently.

  “Babe,” Brandon pushed, “I have to meet your mom sometime.”

  “You haven’t met her mother?” Olivia asked. She’d assumed he had.

  “Or her sister.”

  This was most peculiar.

  “They’ve been busy,” Meadow said.

  “Well, now they’re not. Call ’em back and invite them to come on up,” Brandon said.

  Meadow chewed her lip.

  “We’ll make sure they have a good time,” put in Brooke.

  “Want me to call them?” Brandon pressed.

  “No, I’ll do it,” she said shortly, then marched out of the room, pushing the swinging door open with a shove.

  “What on earth is that about?” Olivia asked her son. More to the point, what had she gotten them all into?

  Brandon shrugged. “I told you. She and her mom don’t get along very well. She says her mom’s a pain.”

  Which meant there were sure to be fireworks. A pain for Christmas, just what Olivia always wanted. She should have kept her big mouth shut.

  Oh, well, she already had one pain. What difference would two more make? Anyway, Meadow’s mom couldn’t be that bad.

  Meadow was back in the kitchen now. “Okay, she’s coming,” she said to Brandon. “You happy now?”

  He grinned at her and pulled her into a hug. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, get lost,” she said, giving him a playful smile. “We’re busy making cookies here.”

  “Okay, I’m going,” he said. “After I get a sample.” He cut into the bar cookies and lifted out a generous piece. “Oh, yeah. Good stuff, Mom.”

  “I made those,” Meadow informed him.

  “You did? They’re as good as Mom’s. You told me you didn’t know how to bake.”

  “I do now,” Meadow said proudly. “Thanks to her.”

  The acknowledgment was touching. “I think Meado
w’s going to become a good baker,” Olivia told her son. At least she had the interest and that was half the battle.

  “I knew it was a good idea to come back home,” he said.

  “It sure was. I just wish we didn’t have to spoil it all by having my mom show up,” Meadow added with a scowl.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine,” Brandon said easily. He gave Meadow a kiss, threatened to return later for more cookies and then exited.

  “Only for him,” she said, shaking her head.

  For once Olivia could identify with her daughter-in-law. She’d felt the same way when her son had asked her to make Meadow feel welcome.

  The first batch of the sugar cookies was out of the oven now and cooling on racks. “I think we’re ready to start frosting,” Brooke said.

  “All right. I can do that. Piece of cake,” Meadow said. She sobered. “I bet you don’t use the frosting in a can.”

  “I bet you’re right,” Brooke replied with a grin. “Mom makes the best frosting.”

  “Yeah?” Meadow looked intrigued.

  “With vanilla extract for the trees,” Olivia said as she mixed the powdered sugar, cream and butter, “and rose water for the Santas. It’s how my mother did it when I was a girl.”

  “That’s awesome,” Meadow said and peered over Olivia’s shoulder.

  “So, the frosting goes into two different bowls. We do green for the trees and pink for the Santas.” Olivia dropped in food coloring and the extracts and nudged a bowl toward Meadow to stir. Once the frosting was finished, she demonstrated with a small spreader, painting a Santa’s pants pink and then dabbing pink frosting on his hat. The tip of the hat received a silver dragée. So did the tip of each Christmas tree after it had been frosted and decorated with a tasteful amount of colored sprinkles. “Remember, sometimes less is more,” Olivia said as she demonstrated.

  “They look almost too good to eat,” Meadow said, eyeing her first try.

  “But they’re not,” Brooke said and helped herself to one.

  “Can I have one?” Meadow asked Olivia.

  “Of course! That’s one of the perks of baking, isn’t it, Brooke?”