Noelle

by Greg Kincaid

  “I’m a class act. No doubt about it.” He turned away from her, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and stared at the opening screen of the PowerPoint presentation at the front of the classroom. It read FINDING HIGHER GROUND: CHILDREN AND DIVORCE.

  Lately being around Abbey made him feel worse than he already did. She seemed hell-bent on destroying him, squashing him like some bug on the kitchen floor. He pictured himself far, far away—an anonymous life working as a fishing guide in some remote corner of Canada. He had this fantasy often enough to have started searching for jobs elsewhere. There was nothing for him here. Not anymore. Leaving this life and Crossing Trails, Kansas, behind made sense. He felt he was steeling himself against her. If she didn’t want him, fine. Didn’t want him to see their children, that was fine, too. He’d move on. Let the relationship die. Put this chapter of his life behind him and start over fresh somewhere else. Like one of those bands that travel across America playing small towns, he would just pack up his instruments and move on to the next gig. The fact that his father had done the same thing to him, so many years ago, made it both easier to imagine these thoughts and less forgivable to act on them.

  Link’s internal monologue was interrupted when the instructor came into the room. He was a balding, sixty-something man. He moved slowly, deliberately, with a cane. He wrote his name slowly across the chalkboard: “Gary.” When he was finished, he turned to the mostly young men and women in the small courthouse classroom and spoke. “We’re here tonight to talk about your children and your divorce.”

  Abbey hoped this guy was good. He would have to be.

  Link hoped he’d be brief. If not, he would walk out. What could the judge do to him—take away his kids? Send him to Alaska? That was fine. Maybe he’d send Link to a remote corner of Canada, where the fishing-guide business was good.

  Hank’s house was modest, even for rural Kansas. It had been built by his great-grandfather in 1884, on top of the hand-dug cellar of the original stone-and-log cabin. The old cellar was still intact, the walls lined with mason jars of canned tomatoes, corn, and green beans, dates long faded, stacked neatly on rough-hewn shelves. In the 1960s a new kitchen was built onto the back of the house. While they were bringing indoor plumbing to the kitchen, the Fishers splurged and put in a small bathroom. On the west side of the house were two bedrooms, next to each other. On the east side was the long living room, with red pine floors and a potbellied stove that still did its best to heat the house during cold and snowy winters.

  However humble, the interior of Hank’s house was neat and orderly. He didn’t see the need for many material possessions, but he took good care of what he had. Like the members of a lot of rural farm families, he was cash poor but land rich. Hank was a Bible reader, and he took the injunction against ostentatious wealth seriously. To him, things were the camels that would never fit through the eye of God’s needle.

  With his health fading, Hank was only marginally involved in farming. He’d sold his dairy cattle a few years back and had hired sporadic help for most of the remaining chores. His wife had died and his children had long since grown up, with lives of their own and modern houses in suburbs that seemed a world away. The farm was all that Hank knew. He’d lived in that house his entire life. Moving seemed like giving up, dying. He tried to live as independently as possible. Still, he knew he couldn’t do it without the help of family and friends. As much as accepting help was difficult, he felt as though moving into town would not be an option. He’d tried to pay George and Mary Ann for their help, but they refused to accept anything except friendship for payment.

  After Mary Ann called to tell him she was on her way over, he struggled out of his chair, went into the spare bedroom, and opened the old trunk he used for storage. There was something he wanted to give George. He found what he wanted and placed it in a recycled grocery sack, then returned to his chair to wait. He tried to cajole the pain from his legs and lower back to reside elsewhere. “Why don’t you find a new home?” he muttered. When he was relaxed, he closed his eyes. Soon he was startled by the knock at the door. He looked up. He breathed in a long, deep breath so he could speak loudly. “Come in!”

  Mary Ann always brought a lot of energy to the room. She thought she was getting older. As far as Hank was concerned, she was still the young girl he’d known for most of her life.

  “Good morning, Hank.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked past him. “Let me put this in your fridge—more of the leftovers from Thanksgiving.”

  “I haven’t finished the last plate you brought me.”

  Mary Ann closed the refrigerator door and turned to Hank, concerned. “Are you eating?”

  He laughed. “You bring more than one old man can eat.”

  Mary Ann shrugged. He was probably right. He didn’t eat that much. She stood in front of him and tried to look him over for signs of pain or illness. “You feeling decent?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “What is it Hank? Energy low? Joints still aching?”

  He shook his head in agreement. “Yep. I don’t feel like doing a darn thing. I’m as lazy as a coon dog in August.” He patted the armrest. “I may live in an easy chair, but life doesn’t feel that easy. Not anymore.” His ruddy cheeks, seemingly permanently sunburned from years in the fields, showed small, broken blood vessels. Hank believed that hard work and perseverance could get him through most anything. When that ability to “get at it” left him, he found strength and meaning from his friendships and the little things, like the animal shelter, that he could do for the community. “How about you?”

  “Hank, I want to talk to you about being Santa.” She’d been dreading this discussion, but George was right—he was there anyway. She’d been confusing what she wished Hank could do with what Hank could do.

  His chin dipped. “Mary Ann, I decided that I can’t do it. Not anymore. I don’t have the strength.”

  “It’s okay. George told me you were leaning in that direction, so the library board discussed some other options,” Mary Ann said, all the while thinking that was an awfully simple way to sum up what had happened at that fateful meeting.

  “Like what?” he asked, a bit relieved that they’d come to the same conclusion.

  “Well, of course my first choice would be that you continue to do it, but we understand that even Santa slows down at some point, so we have a backup plan.”

  “George?” he proposed hopefully.

  “No, we’re thinking about doing something…different. We thought it might be fun to have Anna Claus visit Crossing Trails this year.”

  “Anna who? Who the devil is she?” he asked, intrigued. “Santa’s other half?”

  “Yes—that’s the idea. We’ll let Santa take a rest. That way next year maybe you’ll feel better and come back. I volunteered to do it. If you’ll let me.”

  “So you want to be Mrs. Santa Claus?”

  “I’m willing.” She nodded.

  “You got me on that one. I don’t know much about being Anna Claus. What does she do?”

  Mary Ann shrugged. “Best I can tell, no one knows for sure. I was hoping maybe you could help me figure it out.”

  “Hmmm. Some kind of women’s work, I guess?”

  Mary Ann felt it again. A bristling anger. She tried to suppress it. She knew that Hank was making an assumption and not expressing an opinion. And he was, after all, from another generation.

  “I suppose you’re right. That’s what most people would think. Doing Santa’s laundry, cooking elf meals.”

  Hank could tell from the look on her face that Mary Ann was a bit put off by his response. “But that’s not how you see Mrs. Claus?”

  “Not how I want to see her. Hank, to tell you the truth, I wonder if the Claus family needs a do-over.”

  Hank sat up. “Tell me what you think.”

  “When Santa got into business over a hundred years ago, children had very little. They needed hope. Sometimes an app
le or a piece of candy was all it took. Today so many children have too much already. Others have too little. Next to nothing. Children see the differences, and they wonder why Santa brought the neighbor children every single thing they asked for but brought them next to nothing. So it seems like Santa spoils some and disappoints others. It can be hard for children. Grade-school teachers talk about it. They see it in the little ones at school.”

  “But what can Santa—I mean, Anna—Claus do about that?”

  Mary Ann shrugged, a bit dejected. “I don’t know. I guess that’s my problem.”

  “I think most parents would applaud you for trying to bring about some changes. But let me say this. It isn’t all about the children. The parents are reliving their youth. If you change things up, aren’t you going to take something away from the parents?”

  “You’re right. Anna Claus could make the tradition better, but some still might think I’ve ruined it.”

  “So you’re stuck, Mary Ann.”

  “How so?”

  “This could be Anna’s task. Finding that balance.”

  Mary Ann turned away, seemingly irritated at herself. “Whichever way I go, I’m afraid I’ll upset people or feel disappointed in myself—for not doing the right thing.”

  Hank nodded. “It’s like you said, no one knows what to expect from Mrs. Claus. Maybe it’s up to you to find out what she’s all about.”

  Hank reached down and pulled a lever by the side of the chair. The chair moved forward so that he was less horizontal. He reached down again and grabbed the bag. “You know, Mary Ann, I adore George.”

  “Yes, he’s adorable.”

  “To be honest, I was going to ask you to give this to him.” He handed the sack to Mary Ann. “Don’t tell him, but I’m much more excited about giving it to you.”

  Mary Ann looked inside the bag. It contained Hank’s old Santa suit. “Thank you.”

  “It might be too big for you, but wear it if you can.” He took her hand and continued, “Mary Ann, if anyone can restore dignity and kindness to Christmas, it’s you.”

  Mary Ann wanted to cry with gratitude. For the first time since that library-board meeting, she didn’t feel like she was merely, stubbornly, trying to prove a point. There was so much more to it than that. She bent over and hugged the old man.

  He held her hand tightly. “Whether you use it or not, I got a feeling in my gut that you can make this suit fit you.”

  “Hank, I’ll take good care of it. Thank you for trusting me with this.”

  They both knew she wasn’t talking about the suit. Hank had given Mary Ann his blessing, trusting her to show the same care and concern for children who believed in Santa that he’d shown for the last forty-two years.

  He kissed her on the cheek. He then patted her hand in his own one last time before letting it go. “If I was Anna Claus needing some help, I’d come looking for Mary Ann McCray. Just trust yourself. That’s it.”

  Todd snapped the leash on Elle. Gracie was sprawled out in front of the sofa with her head resting near Laura’s feet. “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Laura asked.

  “To tell my parents.”

  “Is that why you’re home a little early?”

  “I wanted to get it over with, and”—Todd hesitated—“I was thinking maybe we should do it together…go talk to them. What do you think?”

  Laura shook her head. “I’m not getting a good feeling about this. I talked to my parents without you. Remember?”

  “So you want me to talk to them privately?” Todd asked, a little unsure.

  “Yes, I want them to say what they think without worrying about my feelings.”

  “I care about your feelings.”

  “I know you do. But they’re your parents, so you need to tell them. On your own.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. So go now and tell them.”

  “Okay, I’m taking Elle.”

  “If you insist.”

  —

  When Todd was nineteen, his father gave him the old blue GMC pickup truck. Todd loved the truck and kept it running beyond its best years. The passenger window was stuck about two-thirds of the way up. This suited Elle. She got her long, tubular body up on her hind legs and stuck her entire head out the window. Her big, flappy ears were pushed back by the cool early-December air that rushed over the truck as it moved down 36 Highway. She could howl with impunity, and Todd took it as a sign that she both felt good and didn’t mind telling him. Occasionally he would lean over and give her a good scratch on the hindquarters. She would turn and look at him approvingly, dart across the bench seat, give him a quick kiss with her nose, and then return to the window with a face that seemed to say, Ain’t life grand!

  Todd had to wear a stocking cap and gloves to keep warm. He had his left hand on the steering wheel, his right hand free, ready to steady the dog if she fell or lost her balance. The sky was gray with streaks of cobalt black. Isolated flakes of snow drifted aimlessly down from the forlorn sky. Todd guided the old truck around a gentle bend flanked by leafless elms and hedge trees. He could see the familiar sight of the farmhouse in the distance, atop McCray’s Hill. His home had always felt like…home. But today it felt different, not quite so comfortable.

  Todd wasn’t sure why Laura was making such a big deal about this, but he trusted her and knew that there were things in life that got past him. Maybe this was one of them. He pulled onto his parents’ driveway, turned off the ignition, and opened the truck door. Elle leaped excitedly to the ground. They went in together, Elle pushing ahead of Todd, through the back door, as if it were more her home than his. Todd announced, “Mom, it’s me.”

  Mary Ann set the fabric samples she’d been experimenting with on the dining-room table. She still hadn’t decided if she should try to salvage Hank’s suit or start from scratch. But Anna Claus would have to wait for now. She went into the kitchen to greet her son and hugged him. “I missed you!” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You’ve only been out here twice since you got back. Have you been that busy?”

  He looked away from his mother and back at the dog. “I have been busy.”

  “Well, come into the dining room and sit down and tell me what’s going on.” Todd glanced at the stacks of pictures and fabric swatches cluttering the tabletop. She explained, “I’ve been trying to decide what my Anna Claus suit should look like.”

  “Who’s Anna Claus?” Todd asked.

  “She’s Santa’s wife. She lives at the North Pole, too.”

  “How come I never heard of her?”

  Mary Ann picked up a few of the old-fashioned Mrs. Claus pictures she found on the Internet and studied them. They were all so totally out of date. None of them set the right tone. “Good question. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. This table is a mess, and I’m tired of looking at all this red and green—let’s go sit in the living room.”

  As she sank into the sofa and Todd took a chair, he turned to his own agenda. “I moved into my apartment.”

  “Yes, I knew that. I’m excited to see it. Are you going to invite us over someday?”

  “Someday.” Elle whined at Todd’s feet, so he helped her to jump up into his lap as if it were her throne. He massaged the dog’s paws between his thumb and index finger. “Elle doesn’t do so good in our apartment. Or at work. She gets into everything. Doesn’t mind very well. And she barks too much. But she’s still a great dog.”

  Mary Ann had spent enough weekends visiting Todd and Elle to realize that the little dog could be a challenge. She got up out of the chair, pretty sure what was coming next. Mom, I’ve got this problem with the landlord because of Elle, and I’m thinking maybe the cabin might be a better home….She touched her son’s shoulder and stood beside him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I like Elle, but she is a handful.”

  Mary Ann got down on the floor. “Come here and see Anna Claus.” The misshapen hound jumped off Todd’s lap and wig
gled her way onto Mary Ann’s, where she was welcomed with a big hug. “Are we going to have to send you to the principal’s office?”

  “She’s not bad.” Todd tried to find the words. “I know she’s difficult, but she’s one of the most loving dogs I’ve ever known.” He laughed. “Sometimes she disappoints.”

  Mary Ann gently stroked one of Elle’s large, fuzzy ears. “You’re not going to be the world’s best service dog if you can’t behave yourself, are you?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Yes?” Mary Ann was fully expectant of what was about to come.

  “Well, you know Christmas is getting pretty old, and he’s Dad’s dog.”

  Mary Ann shook her head. No argument so far. “Those two are a pair. No doubt about it.”

  “Well, I was thinking maybe you’d like to have Elle as your dog. She’s a very good dog, but I’m not sure I can find the right fit for her as a service dog.”

  Mary Ann gave Elle a little nudge to move off her lap as she stood up from the floor and brushed the dander from her pants. This was going in a slightly different direction. Sure, the dog was the problem, just as she’d thought—animals were usually the problem for her son—but Todd wasn’t seeing the cabin as the solution. She’d have to walk him back a bit. Mary Ann sat down on the sofa and watched as Elle tried to figure out if she’d be invited onto her lap again. Mary Ann gave her a firm Not on the good couch! look, and the dog wandered over to Todd, where she settled at his feet.

  “Todd, I like Elle—she’s very cute, and that smile is adorable—but she doesn’t mind very well, she’s curious to a fault, and she barks too much. We both know that. Besides, she’s only been here ten minutes, and she’s shed enough hair to stuff a king-size mattress. I don’t think that’s the kind of dog I’d be in the market for. Even if I were looking for a dog. And I’m not. If she’s a problem at your apartment, maybe you should consider some other options.”

  Todd gazed down at Elle. “Could you just watch her for a week or two? While I try to find another home for her?”