by Greg Kincaid
George had no idea what to say. If a copy were available, he would have consulted the page of the etiquette handbook that addressed such things. At least Todd didn’t describe his plight as “knocked up” to go with “shacked up”—that was a good start. George would have to think very hard about how in the world he’d tell Mary Ann about the wedding, and how in the world he’d keep the baby a secret so that Todd and Laura could tell her themselves. He was no good at secrets. It seemed that Mary Ann would sense he wasn’t telling the whole story before he even finished. The best way would be for Todd to handle it all himself.
Maybe they were right to tell him first. Dads have a knack for being rather matter-of-fact about things and weren’t like moms—prone to overreacting. George asked, “Do you want me to tell your mother about the wedding, or are you going to tell her?”
Todd thought a minute. “I can call her, or it would be a nice surprise for her. When she gets home on Thursday, I could tell her then.”
George concluded that this was a bad idea. “Tell your mom that you just got married as a surprise? I don’t think that works.”
Todd nodded his head affirmatively. “Sure it will! When I tell her, she’ll be really surprised.”
Laura looked away, trying not to laugh but too full of joy to argue. It was something she’d always wanted. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted it until it happened. Maybe not exactly like this, unplanned, but it was a gift. This would always be her Christmas baby. Even her doctor was excited for her. The rheumatoid arthritis might add to the fatigue, he warned her, but there was no reason she couldn’t have a perfectly uneventful pregnancy. The depth of her joy seemed immeasurable.
George remained concerned that his wife would come unraveled when he told her. “Maybe you should just tell your mom, Todd. At least about the wedding. I think that would be better. Call her tonight if you can reach her, or tell her tomorrow.”
Todd had his own plans. “That won’t work so well. We’re going to get married tomorrow, Wednesday.”
George stood up and walked about the room, hoping he could figure this out on his own but knowing that wasn’t likely. He tried to start over, beginning with the basics. “Don’t you want to have a wedding with family and friends, not just the judge?”
Todd looked to Laura for support but not without first saying, “We want things to be in the right order. You know, get married, have the baby, grow old, and die.”
George looked at his philosopher son. “Yes, I guess that’s the way it works. I mean, usually, but don’t you think your mom should be there for those major life events? At least the happy ones, like getting married, having babies, stuff like that?”
“We went to the courthouse. I already got the license. We can do it tomorrow at nine in the morning. Then it’ll be all finished. We talked to the judge. He said that would work.”
“Judge Borne?”
Todd remembered the name. “Yes, that’s the one.”
George continued pacing with his hands folded behind his back, unsure if he could get this horse back into the barn. He hated to interfere, but there would be consequences if he didn’t. Chiefly, Mary Ann would never be able to pick up a sharp—or even a blunt—object without lunging at him. That didn’t seem safe. George didn’t have time to process. Or time to come up with an elaborate list of options. Only one thing came to mind. “Todd, let me ask you something.”
“Sure,” Todd said.
“Do you think that you and Laura could wait just one more day? Get married on Thursday, at our annual holiday party, after your mom gets home? She’s due home by late afternoon. One more day shouldn’t make much of a difference, but it sure would mean a lot to your mother.”
Laura interjected. “You’re saying we could get married at your annual holiday party?”
“That’s right. Most everyone is going to be out here anyway. Your family. Our family and friends—all of Todd’s siblings. The judge. So why not make it a combination holiday and wedding party?”
Laura tried to steer George from making things more complicated. “I don’t know, Mr. McCray. Maybe it would just be easier if Todd and I handled it ourselves, at the courthouse. Privately. Very simply. We just elope. That way no one can be mad at you. Or us. No one’s feelings get hurt because of not getting invited or getting to sit at the right table. It’s just Todd’s and my decision. We do it. We announce it. It’s over with. That’s what Todd and I talked about—what we had in mind. Nice and simple. Planning a combined wedding and holiday party sounds like an awful lot of work.” She wanted to say for a man, but she decided that was unfair, so she tried to explain. “A wedding and a holiday party are entirely different, and I’m not sure how you could combine them. There are surprise birthday parties, but not surprise weddings. And you’d only have a day to do it. All by yourself.”
George thought about it. Laura was right. He could ask Mary Ann to cancel Anna Claus’s last few visits and come back early to help, but if that didn’t work, he would have to do it all by himself, and he knew nothing about planning a wedding. Zero. Zilch. George felt embarrassed for even offering up the idea. “You’re right. There just isn’t enough time and what do I know about planning a wedding.”
Laura tugged on Todd’s sleeve and pointed to the other room.
“Just a minute, Dad. We need to talk for a few more minutes.”
Todd and Laura moved into the kitchen, talking softly, trying not to laugh too loudly at the idea of George planning their wedding. Todd grinned. “Even I knew that was a bad idea.”
“But he seemed hurt when we said we didn’t want him to do it.”
“Nah…” Todd observed, “he’s fine.”
Laura was still intrigued. “Maybe we should just do it? I mean, why not? He’s right. Everyone we know and love will be there. If we do it at the courthouse, it won’t be something we’ll remember in ten years.”
“With my dad in charge, it might be something we’ll wish we could forget.”
While Todd and Laura talked, George sat down and tried to call Mary Ann. He needed to know where she was and when they might be able to talk—after he got this all sorted out. There was no answer. He concluded that she was on the road but outside of coverage. He left a message, telling her to call back when she could.
Todd and Laura returned to the room just as he hung up. They were holding hands. Todd announced their decision. “Dad, we’d like to wait until Thursday to get married and do it here. Your idea is a good idea. We’ll do that.”
Laura stepped forward. “We mean, if it’s not too much work for you?”
George was feeling sick to his stomach. There was no way he could do this, and now there was no way he couldn’t do this. Too much work? “Of course not. If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen.”
Todd asked, “So everyone is going to be here Thursday night anyway?”
George shrugged. “Yes. As far as I know.”
“So you’ll just add wedding cake to the Christmas cookies?”
George looked to Laura for support but stammered, “I guess…uh, that’s about right. There might be a few more things to do besides cake.”
Laura sat down on the sofa. She had always wanted a real wedding, but that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t help but smile again at the idea of it all, but another rush of pure joy pushed away the anxiety she’d been feeling over the pregnancy. She was going to marry Todd, whom she loved and who loved her back. They were going to have a child. Her life was good, and these two McCray men were a part of it. And, hopefully, would continue to be a part of it for many years to come. Why not just surrender to it? She wasn’t so sure how her own mother and father would react, but she’d just have to deal with it. With any luck they’d understand, support her.
“George, it’s kind of you to do this. It’ll be fun. Something we’ll always remember. I’m sure my parents would love to help, too. We can pull this off.”
“It’s settled.” George walked over to the leg
al pad that Mary Ann kept for phone messages and ripped out a new piece of paper. “Now, exactly what do we need for a wedding?” He looked to Laura. “A dress?”
Laura rested her head in her hands: laugh or cry. She looked up. Smiled. “Yes, Mr. McCray. I’ll need that.”
He turned to Todd. “You want a best man?”
“What’s that?” Todd asked.
Laura tried to help. “At weddings the bride and groom often have a good friend stand up beside them.”
George added, “For moral support.”
Todd wasn’t completely sure what they meant by “moral support” or why he needed such a person, but he was happy and glad to go along with the plan—and then he had a Todd thought. “Sure, I know someone who will stand up for me.”
“Okay, then.” George remembered an important question. “Are you going to tell your mom about the wedding, or do you want me to?” Todd hesitated, and George had no confidence that it would happen, so he volunteered, “I tell you what—I’ll do it.”
Laura nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Who was that?” Keenan asked after his mother hung up the phone.
“The first call was your dad. The second one was George McCray, Mrs. McCray’s husband. Do you remember him?”
“Yes,” Keenan said, recalling the night at the barn. “He’s friends with Dad.”
“He wanted to invite us to a holiday party out at their house Thursday night. He needs some help. He wants a little girl and a very responsible seven-year-old boy for about a five-minute job. He asked me if I knew where he could find two such children in Crossing Trails.”
Keenan connected the dots. “We could do it.”
“Perfect. I told him that you could help. He said you should wear your Sunday-school clothes. Is that okay?”
Keenan nodded and asked, “What did Dad want?”
Abbey kept it short. “He has a job interview. Tomorrow.”
Keenan shifted his attention back to the television screen, where the ads screamed Christmas and Santa and toys to ask your parents for. He couldn’t think of what he wanted this year—it didn’t feel much like Christmas, though Emily thought otherwise. She sat beside him, busily coloring, gluing, and sprinkling glitter on a motley assortment of Christmas decorations as she hummed an off-key “Jingle Bells” tune. She told her mom, “Mr. and Mrs. McCray don’t have any decorations on their tree except for the picture I drew, so I’m going to make them some more.” She added hopefully, “Next time I ride Lady Luck, I’ll give them the pictures.”
Keenan said nothing further to his mother but wondered what she’d meant—he knew the word “job,” but “interview” he wasn’t so sure about. He just figured from the way his mom had said it that it meant work instead of no work. So would his dad get a better apartment? A new truck that didn’t break down? Maybe one of those monster trucks with huge wheels and a roll bar? That would be fun to ride in. Keenan looked up again and asked, “Do you think he’ll get the job interview?”
“The job, honey. ‘Interview’ just means the people with the job are going to speak to him and see if he’s the right guy. I don’t know, Keenan.”
She seemed irritated, so he left it alone.
—
George proudly perused the progress he’d made on his wedding checklist. By the time he was ready for bed, he felt he had the bulk of the wedding planned. At least most of the important details were wrapped up. To think that people spent months fussing over something that would last only ten minutes—and that was if Judge Borne dragged things out. Tomorrow, George would just have to get the house ready. The tree was still bare but for Emily’s drawing. Maybe no one would notice, especially if he set some of the other Christmas decorations out. That he could do before lunch. Good thing he hadn’t dragged all those boxes back down to the basement yet. Then he would drive to Walmart and buy every Christmas light he could find, but just the white ones.
He looked again at his list. There was the wedding dress. His grandmother’s dress was somewhere up in the attic. Hopefully, it would fit—at least close enough. Girls like old things, antiques and scrapbooks, so that would probably work well. Laura’s mother could help with any little alterations that might be necessary. He would call the bakery tomorrow. That left flowers and rice on his list. Walmart might have flowers, but if not there was a big box of packing peanuts in the basement. They could work as flower petals to sprinkle down the bridal path, which would start somewhere in the kitchen, he guessed. The peanuts weren’t that easy to clean up, but he had a good shop vac. Throwing rice at folks who were trying to have a good time seemed like a dumb tradition, so he just scratched that off his list.
With the wedding planned, George was ready for bed. He tried to call Mary Ann again. Still no answer. Maybe she was still out of coverage. Or, more likely, had gone to bed early herself. It was probably for the best. She’d keep him up all night talking about it. Overreacting. He could call her tomorrow.
—
When George got up on Wednesday morning at five, he remembered that he had a considerable amount of work to do. In thirty-six hours he had to have the house cleaned and decorated and a wedding laid out. He also needed to convince Mary Ann that he had it handled and that everything would be just fine. He decided that wedding planning was a lot like woodworking. Once you had all the pieces correctly cut and sized, putting them together was the easy part. Some glue and nails was all it took. Still, he sure could use Mary Ann’s help—just in case he overlooked something or didn’t have it quite right. It was better to know now, before he had all the pieces hammered in place. It was too early to call her, so he went out and fed and watered the stock—mostly Angus steers, an eclectic assortment of chickens, turkeys, and ducks, and a few dozen hogs that he had irreverently named after various food products: Sammy Salami, Betty Bologna, Pete Prosciutto.
It was snowing lightly, and the sky was steel gray. The temperature was in the high twenties, so not uncomfortable.
After George did the chores, he walked out to where the long McCray driveway met the county blacktop and picked up the morning paper, sheathed in blue plastic, so he could check the weather. It would be a shame if a big snowstorm rolled in and no one bothered coming to the wedding/holiday party. Particularly after he had planned it out so efficiently. He guessed that was why so many folks had June weddings. Dodged the snow that way.
George threw another log in the fireplace before sitting in his recliner and opening the paper. His wife was on the front page. “Not again,” he muttered, peering closely at every word. George noted that the story had gone out on AP and was therefore distributed regionally, if not nationally.
In a rare departure from a centuries-old routine, Anna Claus has ventured from the chilly reaches of the North Pole to make Crossing Trails, Kansas, her holiday locus. Like word of a rare solar eclipse, news of this unusual holiday sighting has spread fast. Children are coming from all over the state and beyond to visit. This reporter found the female Claus surrounded by children in Dodge City, Kansas.
Her husband, good old St. Nick, has a large cast of helpers, but Anna Claus travels lightly. Her only helper, Noelle, or Elle for short, sits beside her, greeting children with an almost reckless enthusiasm. Elle is a rather unusual dog. Mrs. Claus indicates that with her large snowshoe-size paws and small body, Noelle is well equipped for moving across the tops of snowdrifts and guiding Mrs. Claus’s sled to the far reaches of the world. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Claus prefers sled dogs to high-flying reindeer.
If Anna Claus is new to greeting children, Noelle is an old hand. She sits politely, tail wagging, wearing a white stocking cap and little red boots, and extends a paw to each child. She patiently allows small children to drape their little arms lovingly around her neck. Her short legs make her just the right height. She never seems bored or weary of her work, because for her this is surely not work.
With such long lines, each child’s visit with Anna Claus must be brief. She has limite
d time to deliver her important message. “Children find just as much joy in giving as they do in receiving, so I ask all the children what they are going to make or give those they love. I sometimes also ask them to help me—shopping for Santa is hard. Warmer gloves and a new sled seem to top their suggestion list.”
Is it any surprise? Who wouldn’t bolt—front and center—to receive a hug from Anna Claus and give a hug to Noelle?
George’s phone vibrated on the table beside him. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen. He set the paper down and answered it.
“George, it’s Anna Claus.”
“Good, I wanted to talk to you. How’s it going?”
Her words were garbled and crackled, and the phone went dead. George held the phone away from him to make sure it was lit up and working on his end. With spotty rural cell-phone coverage, this was nearly a daily occurrence. “Mary Ann, are you still there?” Suddenly a message alert appeared on his phone. He walked over to the kitchen window, where the signal was a little stronger, and retrieved the voice-mail message, listening to his wife’s voice.
“If you could see these children’s faces, hear how sweet they are, you’d understand. I’m heading for Abilene now, my last stop. Oh, one more thing. The phone charger for my car isn’t working. I’m borrowing someone else’s phone. Love you. I know I said I’d get home by two tomorrow to help with party preparations, but the crowds of kids just keep getting bigger. I’ll definitely be back by five, though. We’re going to have a great Christmas!”
George looked at his phone as if he were looking at his wife—in disbelief. He’d been telling her for a year to get a new charger for the car—hers never seemed to work. Maybe he’d put one in her stocking this year. Not a romantic gift, but a practical one. He called her number and left a message of his own. “I’m sure you’re right. Sorry you’ll be running late, but it’s going to be a great Christmas. Much better than you could ever imagine. Please try to call me back.”