Colors of Christmas

by Newport, Olivia

  “It might happen.” Angela poured the cocoa into the mugs. “Even without snow, it must be quite different than Christmas in the middle of summer.”

  “Yes, quite.” He took the snowy white mug she offered. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

  “To be honest I’m not sure what my day holds.” Angela pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. He was really here. Carole’s absence stabbed her afresh. “How did you get out here this morning? I didn’t see a car on the street that I didn’t recognize.”

  “I walked. I wanted to have a look, and maybe just that. I didn’t know Blitzen would come running out.”

  “If you saw how he got out, you’d be doing me a great favor to tell me.”

  “Sorry. He was just suddenly there. And then your neighbor.”

  “It’s quite a ways to walk from the B&B.” Angela took a long sip and looked at him over the edge of her mug.

  He chuckled. “So you’ve heard.”

  “Everyone has.”

  “Kim. Isn’t that her name?”

  Angela nodded.

  “It’s not so far to walk,” Gabe said.

  “Three miles.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m going into town,” Angela said. “You can ride back with me, if you like.”

  “Are you sure?” He tapped the legal pad on the table. “Looks like you have things on your mind.”

  “I have five days to pull a rabbit out of a hat,” she said. “That’s counting the day of the event. And I have neither a rabbit nor a hat—nor that fancy wand magicians use.”

  “I’d like to help,” he said, “if you’ll let me.”

  Now she did look at his golden eyes and kept herself from blinking. “I’d be happy to have help.”

  “What’s first?”

  Angela glanced at her list of phone numbers and discarded the idea of using them.

  “Let’s start by going down to the church,” she said. “At least some things are within my control there.”

  In a car, the three miles into town weren’t a long distance, but Angela gave Gabe the overview of A Christmas to Remember—at least this year’s version. When she parked and they walked together toward the church, a few heads on Main Street turned. Angela waved as she would have on any other day and turned her key in the lock.

  “I have to organize the choir folders,” she said, leading the way to the rehearsal room. “Experience tells me that come Christmas Eve, people tend to still have music from the fall in their folders. It makes for a lot of noisy paper shuffling during a candlelight service.”

  Angela pulled the stack of black folders from the rack, knowing that a few were missing. Lea Sabatelli, for instance, liked to take her music home and pick out the soprano line on her piano. Angela was glad she did. Lea was the strongest soprano in the choir, and when she was confident the whole section benefited. For years Lea had been leading a stunning descant line when the congregation sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”

  Gabe followed Angela’s lead, pulling out music that was not Christmas-themed and rearranging what was left, Sunday morning’s anthem on the left and Christmas Eve music on the right.

  “Ah, an empty sheet of paper,” Gabe said.

  “Lois,” Angela said. “She always means to write things down.”

  “I should leave it, then.”

  “She gets a new sheet every week anyway.”

  Gabe removed the paper and closed the folder. “Could you use another tenor?”

  “Always! Have you ever heard of a church choir that doesn’t need more tenors?”

  He laughed softly. “You haven’t even heard me sing.”

  “Come to rehearsal tomorrow night, and we’ll work that out.” Angela opened another bulging folder that still held music from last Easter.

  Gabe fiddled with the blank sheet of paper he’d found and began humming “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming” at the unhurried tempo Angela loved best. She paused, closed her eyes, and listened. She hadn’t paid much attention to Christmas music outside of choir rehearsals this year, but with Gabe beside her now humming melody and her mind supplying harmony, she was grateful for the unexpected moment. By the last line of the tune, the notes in her mind took form in her throat, and they finished humming the carol in tandem.

  Angela opened her eyes. Gabe handed her the paper—folded perfectly into an origami lantern. She gasped.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I don’t remember. I’ve been doing it all my life. It’s very easy.”

  “I could use about six dozen by Friday morning.”

  “No problem. We just need some decent paper.”

  “Travis at the paper goods store will have something, surely.”

  “I know the shop you mean,” Gabe said. “I’ll go this afternoon and see what he has.”

  Angela nodded. Finally someone offered to help. “I’ll make some calls to ask some children to sing carols. I’m sure I can find enough older kids who know the words, and the younger ones can come along for the fun. And I’ll see about the lights. I might have some, though I still have to arrange help to string them.”

  She’d been meaning to call the Bergstroms anyway, to see how Allen was doing and whether he’d need surgery. Their Christmas certainly was going awry. But Millie would still be glad to have the lights out of the house, and Angela could also use the ones she hadn’t bothered putting up around her own home this year. A few phone calls might yield more. She’d never find enough to do something grand with the tall spruce at the end of Main Street—or anything at all. That reality remained unchanged.

  “A Christmas tree lot might have some greenery they’ve trimmed away,” Gabe said. “I’ll check. And I’ll help hang whatever needs hanging.”

  “Would you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know where we can get ladders.”

  “Why don’t we meet tomorrow morning at Buford’s for breakfast?” Gabe said. “We can see where we are. I’ll bring the paper for the lanterns. If you don’t like it, we can return it.”

  Angela nodded. She was going to have to buckle down and ask Buford what he had in his back room anyway—but not until she knew what she and Gabe could come up with today.

  Help was a wonderful thing.

  CHAPTER 12

  Angela arrived early for breakfast at Buford’s, already buzzing from two cups of coffee at home. She didn’t know if Gabe was the sort to be early or late, but she was already squirrelly at home even after expending excess energy by letting Blitzen tug her around the neighborhood for an extra twenty minutes. It couldn’t hurt to grab a table and wait for Gabe at the restaurant.

  Christmas on a beach still held some appeal. She’d have to ask Gabe what that was like, and if he’d ever taken a solo vacation at Christmastime before. He was here alone now. Didn’t his parents like to have him home? Maybe he’d traveled internationally other years, or maybe a beach in New Zealand was his usual tradition. If he hadn’t shown up on her street twenty-four hours earlier, she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have flown the coop. If one more thing had gone wrong—it still might, but at least she had someone to talk to who was more interested than the official committee.

  She’d talked herself hoarse the previous afternoon on the phone. She had forty piano students, representing twenty-seven families. In addition, another twenty or so families at Main Street Church had children who could sing on the street. Expanding the age range at least through middle school would give her some strong singers as well as kids who could be trusted to herd the younger ones and keep an eye out for candles getting too close to hair or hats. Without the limitation of the wagon’s size behind the horses, anyone could follow behind. Some families already were out of town. Angela caught parents on their cell phones across the state or across the country. Others were getting ready to leave to join family gatherings elsewhere. But most were staying right there in Spruce Valley and wouldn’t think of missing A Christmas to Remem
ber.

  Liz Bergstrom had assured her that despite his grandfather’s injury, Brian had collected the lights from the elder Bergstroms’ home; screwed in every bulb; plugged in the strings; counted three thousand, four hundred and sixty-seven working lights; and brought them all home. If Angela wasn’t going to hang them somewhere, Brian was. In her own basement, Angela found assorted strings, evidence that in past years Carole’s enthusiasm for Christmas had been catching. She didn’t count them. Perhaps between the two collections there were five thousand, which sounded like a large number but would be hardly enough to catch anyone’s eye if stretched out down all of Main Street. But it was something, and she’d figure out a plan. They might have to call this year The Christmas Everything Changed.

  Her cell phone rang just as she found an empty booth.

  “This is Brian.”

  “Hello, Brian.”

  “My mom said I should call you.”

  “I heard about the lights.” Angela shirked out of her jacket. “Thank you.”

  “She forgot to tell you about the ladders. My dad promised he would make sure you have the ladders.”

  “Thank you, Brian.” Angela had an urge to learn to play the saxophone just so she could teach this boy herself.

  “And I’m going to help. I’m not afraid of heights.”

  “I’m glad to know that, because ladders make me feel wobbly.”

  “Don’t forget to call me.” His plea was plaintive, the tremors of a child left behind by adults in the past.

  “I won’t,” Angela said.

  “I really want to help.”

  “I know.”

  Buford approached with a pot of coffee as she tucked her phone away. Angela’s previous consideration of switching to decaf faded against his determination to fill her cup.

  “Thought maybe things would be looking a little more like Christmas,” he said.

  Angela puffed out her cheeks and shrugged. “A few things have gone wrong.”

  “I’ve heard. Candles. Paper. Lights. Sleigh.” He paused to chuckle, which irritated Angela. “Pretty much everything, from what I’ve heard.”

  Angela didn’t answer. Neither did she drink his coffee.

  “I also heard you’ve been hanging out with the stranger who is trying to ruin our Christmas,” Buford said. “He’s wrecking everything he can get his hands on.”

  Angela tilted her head. “Why would a stranger come to town and try to ruin our Christmas?”

  “A grudge,” Buford said. “Or he’s just mean. He was in the candle shop right before Elinor found those candles on the radiator.”

  “I think the candles had been there quite a while,” Angela said. They wouldn’t have melted in just a few minutes.

  “Somebody slashed all the paper lanterns.” Buford set the coffeepot on the table and leaned against the booth bench opposite Angela. “Seems like something he would do.”

  Angela couldn’t stop the scoffing sound that escaped her mouth. “If he’s a stranger, how do you know what he’d do?”

  “I guess he’s not a stranger to you, now is he?”

  Four days ago, on a biting morning, Buford offered her the kindness of some hot chocolate. Now he was snapping about someone he didn’t know.

  Well, she knew Gabe.

  Angela looked past Buford to the area near the cash register. Without Carole in town to corner the Christmas decoration market, Buford had jumped at the opportunity for extra seasonal profit. His strategy seemed to have worked. The racks were picked over.

  “The committee suggested I check with you about decorations,” Angela said. “But it looks like you’ve done a nice business for yourself.”

  “There’s more in the back. I got another shipment yesterday, as a matter of fact. Can’t decide if I should just save it for next year. Folks might be done buying for now.”

  A whole shipment? Angela perked up.

  “As you know, I may be in need of some items,” she said. “Might you have any long garlands?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Wreaths?”

  He nodded.

  “Could I have a look after I eat?”

  “We could arrange that.”

  “Thank you, Buford.” Angela picked up her coffee. “Oh, here’s my breakfast date now.”

  Gabe hustled through the front door. Angela waved, and he headed her direction.

  Buford picked up his coffeepot and eyed Gabe. “Figured you’d be eating at the B&B. After all, one of those Bs stands for breakfast.”

  Gabe grinned. “Maybe I’m secretly writing restaurant reviews.”

  Buford glared. “Coffee?”

  “Sweet as, mate?”

  The unfamiliar expression threw Buford off balance.

  “He means yes,” Angela said.

  Buford poured.

  Angela arranged her silverware. “How about two orders of your cream cheese French toast with bacon on the side?”

  Gabe nodded. “That sounds delicious.”

  Buford withdrew.

  “Thank you for coming,” Angela said.

  “The Christmas tree lot didn’t have as many scraps as I’d hoped, but I did find some paper.” He slid a few pieces out of a bag. “What do you think?”

  “Mmm. Blue?”

  “A very tasteful pale blue,” Gabe said, “suggestive of evening. It’s got a nice texture, and it’s sturdy. Also, the tree lot did have cans of spray-on flocking, so we can give it a snowy look.” Angela nodded. “Your inner artist is showing.”

  “I hope so.”

  While they waited for breakfast, he showed her how to fold a sheet of paper into a lantern and where they could punch holes to string them up.

  A vision formed in Angela’s mind, and it did not involve a beach.

  CHAPTER 13

  Angela pushed away her plate, leaving only a few bites of French toast crust. “Thanks for breakfast. I’d better see what Buford has in the back room.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Gabe said, “if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I’d welcome it.”

  Gabe had the ticket for their meal tucked under his own plate a few minutes ago, though Angela had not intended to argue with him about it. They gathered their things and walked to the front of the diner, where Gabe paid for breakfast and Angela waved down Buford.

  Buford pointed his chin at Gabe. “Is he coming with you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d like him to.” She met Buford’s eyes.

  Angela had lived in this town longer than she’d lived any other single place in her life. It was a friendly place. Small towns had a reputation for rumors and everybody knowing everybody else’s business, but Angela gave people the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone was like that. Not even most people were like that in Spruce Valley. Half the businesses up and down Main Street depended on day or seasonal tourism in some way. The town was small, but it wasn’t a self-sustaining economic bubble. So why had a cluster of people decided to blame events on a young man from New Zealand patronizing their businesses? Answering that question was not on her to-do list for the days between now and Christmas Eve—four days—and she would spend as much time with Gabriel as she wanted to.

  Gabriel.

  The name she had first known him by. Then it was Gabie in the toddler years. Did anyone still call him that?

  She turned to Gabe. “Ready?”

  He nodded and fell in step behind her as Buford led the way through the kitchen. Angela had been in the diner’s back room a few times over the years. Once, in a spring when she had a burst of energy, she organized a private post-recital party for all her students and their families at the diner. Part of negotiating the cost down had been agreeing to arrange a few volunteers to help with setup and cleanup. The reasons for the other visits escaped her memory now, but one of them had involved Carole. As soon as Buford pushed open the metal door and the smell of cardboard and plastic infused her nostrils,
Carole’s favorite fragrance met it there.

  The room, which wasn’t large, was unadorned cement from floor to ceiling, with cinderblock-and-board shelving to maximize the storage of restaurant supplies along three walls and refrigerators and freezers along the fourth. In the middle of the space were eight large boxes stacked in four sets of two rising as high as Angela’s chin with barely enough room to maneuver around them. All of it was stamped CHRISTMAS in large letters.

  “Buford!” she said. “This is great! I had no idea you would have so much. I should have asked sooner.”

  “I told you, I just got it yesterday. There wouldn’t have been anything for you to look at.” He reached into the corner of a shelf for a box cutter and handed it to Angela. “Feel free to open anything. Just try not to make a mess.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Gabe said, already pulling down one of the upper boxes into the cramped space.

  “I’ll be back,” Buford said. “We can talk about a deal.”

  “Many of the businesses are making donations,” Angela said.

  Buford shook his head and stretched his mouth in a grimace. “Not sure I can go that far. But I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The metal door swung closed behind Buford’s return to the kitchen just as Gabriel sliced through the strapping on the first box. Angela stepped closer to help hold the flaps back while they inspected the unexpected treasure.

  She blinked, lifted a flap, and looked at the labeling on the side of the box more closely.

  “It says ‘Blue’.”

  “And it’s telling the truth.”

  “Blue Christmas decorations.”

  “It takes all types.”

  “It’s a box of blue Christmas garland.”

  “That it is.”

  “I can’t use that.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “Can I?” Angela made herself put one hand inside the box and lift a length of garland wrapped around stiff cardboard. It felt the same as any other artificial garland—better than many that she’d examined in hobby and craft stores.

  But it was still blue.

  “Gabe, it’s blue,” she said.

  “Sweet as, mate.”

  Angela stared at him.