She shook off this pointless speculating. A Christmas to Remember was only eight days away. Rowena and her committee must have most of the planning buttoned down by now.
“How would you like me to contribute?” Angela said. “A few of the children to sing from the sleigh as they did last year? I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem.” She could get some of the older children from Main Street Church, and if they stuck to the first stanzas of several well-known carols, they wouldn’t have to fuss with hymnals or lights to read by. Everyone would know the words. They wouldn’t even have to rehearse. Angela could go home, send a few e-mails, have a few quiet days with Blitzen, show up for an hour on December 23, get through Christmas Eve services, and retreat once again into solitude until her lessons schedule began in the new year.
“Perhaps we should catch you up on what we have already discussed.” Rowena moved her glasses a smidgen down her nose.
“That’s not necessary,” Angela said. “I don’t want to take up everybody’s time. I’ll read the minutes later.”
Rowena cleared her throat. “It was rather an important discussion.”
“I’m sure you got right down to business. I apologize if I caused any delay at all.”
It was possible that, at a subconscious level, she’d left that back door ajar when she answered the phone. She might even have hoped Blitzen would bolt, postponing her own departure for this particular meeting.
Carole used to love this meeting. Her face lit up weeks in advance. She had binders of cryptic notes—more ideas than she could use in a lifetime, she used to say.
No one expected her lifetime to be as short as it was.
For seven long months Angela had been walking around the empty space in her life that Carole ought to be filling. It only started with Blitzen, whose name was a daily reminder that Carole loved these meetings in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Sometimes she grabbed Angela by the wrist and made her get in the car to attend one of the meetings, and Angela had to admit she always came out feeling more excited about A Christmas to Remember. She could think back over each of the last fifteen years, since Rowena had attached the title to the event, and describe what she remembered from each year. Every memory involved Carole.
The surprise she had in store for the whole town that year. Even Angela wasn’t allowed to know in advance.
The irresistible items she had amassed in her basement to sell in her seasonal Yule-Tidings Shoppe.
The handcrafted and personalized Christmas cards made by a pastor’s wife in Illinois whom she discovered on Facebook.
Hundreds of gift bags for the children to pass out while the sleigh progressed down Main Street—and she filled them with practically no budget. All it took was an outgoing personality and people would donate all kinds of freebies.
A new design for the lights on the tallest spruce in town, at the north end of Main Street. It took days to string them, and all the while people guessed and guessed what they might form.
It was memorable every year.
“Go ahead, Ellen,” Rowena said.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Angela said. “Really, I’ll just get up to speed with the minutes.”
“It’s important you get up to speed now.”
Something hot passed through Angela’s midsection.
Ellen cleared her throat. “Members present: Rowena Pickwell, committee chair; Ellen Schuman, secretary; Nan Tarrington; Jasmine Tewell. Absent: Angela Carter, guest member.”
Ellen picked up her pen and made a note in the margin. “Tardy: Angela Carter, guest member. The meeting began promptly at six thirty with a reading of the minutes of the previous meeting, which were brief. In attendance at that meeting were Rowena Pickwell, committee chair; Ellen Schuman, secretary; and Nan Tarrington. Jasmine Tewell was absent due to unexpected out-of-town guests. At the beginning of the meeting, Rowena Pickwell entertained nominations to expand the number of members of the committee and make the work lighter. Everyone present agreed this would be a wise course of action. However, Nan received a telephone call informing her that her daughter had become very ill and she was needed at home. As her departure would only leave two members present, the meeting was disbanded.”
Angela turned her head to one side and scratched at the base of her neck before raising a questioning finger. “I don’t believe I heard the date of that meeting.”
Ellen consulted her notes. “Six weeks ago. The first week of November.”
Angela stretched an uncertain smile. With the right to-do list, a great deal of organizing could be done without meeting. Tonight’s agenda was probably meant to put on the finishing touches.
“Shall I continue?” Ellen said.
“Please,” Rowena said. “Skip to tonight’s minutes.”
Nan flipped her pen. Jasmine dunked her tea bag. Angela didn’t like the way this was going.
Ellen found her place again. “We took a moment of silence to show our respect for Carole Freedholm and express our gratitude for the many years that she was at the helm of A Christmas to Remember and before that the many Christmas festivals that were held under other titles for the enjoyment of town residents and their guests. Her exuberance sets an inspiring standard for anyone who takes her place in planning this year’s event and other events going forward.”
Angela shuffled her feet under the table. Anyone who takes her place? Didn’t they have someone taking her place? Isn’t that why this committee was meeting?
“Please continue,” Rowena said.
“After the moment of silence, it was noted that Angela Carter had not yet arrived. This was unfortunate. However, it was felt best to move forward with the evening’s goal, which was to appoint an individual to fulfill the role that Carole Freedholm so ably filled for so many years. The traditional date for A Christmas to Remember is eight days away, so we can all appreciate that there is not a moment to spare at this point. It is hoped that ample supplies will be on hand to make this year’s event as memorable as it has been every year. It was suggested that the best way to honor Carole’s enthusiasm for A Christmas to Remember is to appoint someone who knew her well to take on the primary responsibilities. The name of Angela Carter was put forward to ensure that this year’s event meets the expectations that Carole herself would have aspired to. In addition, the members present resolved to express gratitude for the quality of work that we are sure Angela will bring to the task. Both the nomination and the resolution passed unanimously.”
Angela felt like she might have to reach out and shove her eyeballs back into her head.
“I really did mean to be on time,” she said. “The dog got loose—Carole’s dog.”
Rowena waved a hand. “This is not some sort of punishment for tardiness. We’re trying to honor Carole by asking the person who knew her best.”
“I’m already quite busy with the music right here at the church, and there are only eight days till the festival. I had assumed the plans were … more developed. I would be happy to organize the children for that night.”
Not happy, but resigned to that one task. What they were suggesting was beyond the realm of reason.
“I understand you helped to clear out Carole’s house when it was rented,” Rowena said.
“Yes,” Angela said. “Her personal items.”
“And her Christmas things?”
“We brought them here to the church to store.”
“See? You already know more than we do. And the man who owns the sleigh?”
“Simon Masters,” Angela said, her voice weakening. “But you all know him.”
“We know you’ll do your very best.” Rowena removed her reading glasses, folded them, and put them in their case. “I’m sure all of us are willing to take an hour’s shift here and there on the night of the festival, just as we always do. Just let us know where you want us.”
Angela’s jaw went slack. The last thing she wanted to do in her grief was try to match what Carole had done in her joy.
Once Rowena stood up, so did the others.
“You can lock up, can’t you?” Nan said.
Somewhere in the middle of her sigh, Angela managed to nod.
CHAPTER 4
Angela’s plan for a quiet just-get-through-it Christmas was already ruined. What in the world were those women thinking? And how long had they been colluding to bring it about? It was hard to believe that this altruistic plot to honor Carole by plopping A Christmas to Remember in the lap of her best friend had occurred to them in the twenty-three minutes they’d been waiting for Angela to arrive.
From her queen-sized bed, Angela stared down at Blitzen in his doggy bed on the floor. She swung one arm down and he raised his head to lick her fingers.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?”
All she’d wanted was a peaceful Saturday. Light the fire. Sit with the dog by her feet, although he was more likely to be on her feet. Perhaps she’d write a few notes to old friends. Read that book. Nap. Most of all, she’d stay out of the stores. Even in a town of ten thousand people, it would be a busy week in the shops. She could almost smell the pot of soup she’d planned to simmer for half the day, and the bread that would rise in the warm kitchen.
Gone. All of it. Now she had only eight days, and she couldn’t indulge herself even for an hour.
Irate, she threw back the quilts, startling Blitzen. Regardless of whether she had any appetite—and she didn’t—he deserved to be fed. Carole had given him only the highest quality of food since he was a puppy, and Angela continued the diet. Pulling on her terry-cloth robe and finding slippers before she walked down the stairs and through the house, she sighed every second breath. She deluded herself that if she leaned far enough out the back door she’d be able to see if the gate had come unlatched, but Blitzen darted out and she had more cataclysmic things on her mind just then.
What would happen if she called Rowena Pickwell and said she just couldn’t do this? An e-mail would be better. She could avoid the doubt and shame that would come from saying something Rowena wouldn’t want to hear in a manner that would allow for immediate rebuttal.
Blitzen was at the back door already, and she let him in. She prepared several days of food for Blitzen at a time, so all she had to do was reach into the freezer and remove a dish and set it on the floor. He knew the motion and skittered to a stop at the end of the kitchen counter where she always set the dish. Next she filled his water bowl. Then, still sighing with such regularity that she began to wonder if her brain was getting enough oxygen, she set up the coffeemaker. She was going to need a lot of coffee today.
While it perked, she reconsidered the question of food. She picked up a banana, a frequent favorite for a quick breakfast. Not today. She put it back in the basket on the counter and opened a cabinet door to inspect the interior. Nothing there. Nothing in the fridge. Nothing. She didn’t want to eat, and she didn’t want to organize A Christmas to Remember. All she’d remember about the Christmas event was that it was foisted upon her.
She could send an e-mail and then leave town. Her sister was always saying she should come visit.
She smacked the counter. The church choir. She couldn’t leave town, not this weekend, nor next. Church organists and choir directors never got Christmas off. In the summer, no one would notice if the choir didn’t sing. She could go away on Youth Sunday, and one of her competent high school students could play the piano.
None of that helped her now.
It took approximately three minutes for Blitzen to finish his meal and slop some water around. Even the coffee wasn’t ready that fast.
“We’ll go for a walk,” she said. “I’ll take the coffee in one of those thermal cups somebody gave me.”
That was last year. If not for the fact that it was red and green, the thermal cup would have risen far above the usual gift fare from her piano students. Right now, no one would think twice about seeing her walking with it, and she would feel only slightly silly. Carole would have liked it. She had liked it, in fact. Angela had tried to re-gift it to her, but Carole insisted she take it back. She should keep it for at least one full Christmas season before she decided what to do with it.
Angela dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, put on a warm jacket, poured steaming coffee into the cup, secured the lid, and put the leash on Blitzen. At the last minute, she dashed upstairs for the Christmas-themed notepad Brian had given her yesterday. It was small enough to fit in a pocket with a pen, and she started out with the theory that sometimes the best ideas came to people when they were out and about. The Main Street shops were still off-limits, but there were plenty of open spaces to walk in the other direction, where the brick buildings so iconic to American small towns of the era gave way first to homes like hers, residences to people who worked in town but lived a little ways out of town, and then fairly quickly to farms where pedestrians could lift their eyes to the horizon and see the red barns and silos two or three farms off and walk without too much interference from automobile traffic.
Blitzen tugged Angela along at a good clip. Every now and then, she got a break when he stopped to sniff around and do his business. Once she made him stop long enough for her to lean against a fence post and start making a random list as thoughts came to her, trying to think as Carole would have thought. She could never be as creative as Carole was, especially with only eight days. But if she could just get the basics in place, that’s all that mattered. If the committee had expectations for grandeur, then one of them should have stepped up instead of being so audibly relieved as they left last night.
Sometimes people who visited Spruce Valley wondered what caused people to move there. There weren’t as many working farms as there used to be. The shops were quaint, but was it really possible to earn a living? There wasn’t any real industry—no factories, no hospital, no military base to provide employment. It was a valid question. A lot of young people left for college and never lived in Spruce Valley again, yet they expected it to be there for the holidays.
Quite a few craftspeople supplied the shops that catered to tourists, whether passing through or visiting for a few days with friends or relatives. Quilts, woodworking, small furniture, toys, one-of-a-kind sweaters, blown glass—that sort of thing. People lived simply. Gradually, over the years, people with more ties to the nearest city were willing to accept longer commutes if it meant they could enjoy a country-style living on the weekends and their children could grow up knowing that food came from the ground and not just a box in the grocery store. Angela had come for a similar reason without the commute.
She’d been married then. Newly wed. Dan had spent two years working in a downtown law firm, which was more than enough for him to know he didn’t want to spend a lifetime doing that. They’d bought the house, and he’d leased a storefront on Main Street, with the thought that he’d buy that property eventually as well, and hung his shingle: DAN CARTER, ATTORNEY. He was not even ostentatious enough to use Daniel or a middle initial. He was just Dan.
She met Carole, old enough to be an older sister but not quite of another generation, and settled in. Back then the dog underfoot was Dasher. Then Donner. Then Comet. Then Prancer. Sometimes two or three of the dogs overlapped in the years they romped through Carole’s home. And finally came Blitzen, who was only three and should live quite a few more years.
Nine months.
When you’re twenty-six and your husband is twenty-eight, you’re debating whether it’s worthwhile to strip the old wallpaper yourself or hire someone, and you wonder if the pipes in the old house are going to be trouble in the winter. In the back of your mind is the idea that maybe you should decide which of the upstairs bedrooms will be the nursery.
You don’t imagine yourself a widow before you reach your second wedding anniversary. You don’t imagine that in this peaceful little town a twenty-year-old with too much to drink will strike your husband on the sidewalk before wrapping his father’s brand-new SUV around the streetlight.
You just do
n’t.
Everyone supposed she would leave town. She’d thought about it. Her younger sister urged her to move back “home,” to the city. Even after just nine months, this was home. Dan had been happy here. Angela held on to that as hard as she could, and when it threatened to slip from her grasp, she held on to Carole as hard as she could. Carole had seen the black scaly oozing inside of Angela’s grief twenty-five years ago and never once turned away. Now Carole was gone almost as suddenly. She was only in her late sixties, but cancer plays no favorites. Diagnosis to death in the space of a month. The vacancy Carole left was like the emptiness that racked Angela when she was thirteen and her mother died suddenly. No one knew where her father was. He’d been gone for years. She and her sister ended up in a hastily arranged foster assignment with a neighbor who took pity.
Carole ran the Yule-Tidings Shoppe from September through the clearance sales in January. In between she stored some things in her home and others in a basement room at the church. All year long she gathered new goodies, while renting out the store space to others with seasonal goods—Valentines, Easter, summer, back-to-school, Halloween, Thanksgiving. It was a narrow space that didn’t take much to convert between seasons. For the time being, the rental fees on the storefront and Carole’s house went into an estate account. The storefront stood empty now. Eventually someone would want the Christmas business. It was an obvious opportunity, but no one wanted to be the vulture who circled the property the very first Christmas Carole was gone. Buford, who ran a diner on Main Street, sold some Christmas items on a rack in the front of his restaurant, but the inventory was fairly basic. He had none of the sorts of surprises that made people laugh, the way Carole always did. Angela couldn’t imagine it was possible that another soul on the face of the earth could love Christmas as much as Carole had. The Yule-Tidings Shoppe and A Christmas to Remember—it all rolled into one gigantic festive holiday snowball for Carole.
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