Secret Santa

by Fern Michaels

  Her new dress was meant to be a surprise, but after so many weeks of silence . . . well, not complete silence. She had opened up to Hazel Dawn that day at the Primp ’n Perm but, aside from that one lapse, she hadn’t shared her secret with anyone, not even Silky. And, as Mary Dell had correctly observed on Thanksgiving, Velvet always told Silky everything . Until now.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Silky with her secret, far from it. But at first she really had believed it was a prank pulled by a teenager making fun of an old spinster and though she’d tried to laugh it off as exactly that, she’d felt a little embarrassed about it. Even when the roses continued to arrive, and then the notes, and she began to dream of whirling around the dance floor, wearing a beautiful gown, encircled by Mr. Delacorte’s strong arms, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it truly would happen. Every day when she found yet another rose, a part of her supposed it would be the last, that she’d allowed herself to get caught up in a dream, a foolish dream imagined by a foolish old woman. And so, even though the flowers continued to arrive, she didn’t talk about them, not even to Silky.

  But in spite of her fears, the roses kept coming, the calendar kept advancing and she had not woken up one morning to discover that it had all been a too-beautiful dream, and that she’d been transported back to the cold world of gray dresses and tresses, the lonely future that had once been hers. But now! At last! The long-dreamed of day really had come! In just a few more hours she would be dancing with Mr. Delacorte . . . with Thaddeus. Soon everyone in Too Much would know their secret.

  She couldn’t bear to keep it to herself any longer. If she didn’t share her excitement with someone else she was sure she’d burst! And who better than her very best friend in the world? Who better than her sister?

  Velvet entered the kitchen with Mr. Bowie tucked in one arm, a zippered dress bag from Antoinette’s shop in the other, and a smile on her face. Silky was standing at the stove with her back to her sister, making breakfast.

  “Good morning!” Velvet chirped.

  “Good morning,” Silky responded as she turned around, holding a cast iron skillet filled with scrambled eggs.

  Velvet gasped when she saw the big bags under her sister’s eyes. “My goodness, Silky! You look awful. Are you coming down with something?”

  “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.” She smiled wearily as she shoveled eggs onto the plates. “You look like you had a good night though.”

  Velvet draped the dress bag over one of the kitchen chairs before filling Mr. Bowie’s dish with kitty kibble and retrieving a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator.

  “I did,” she said, setting the pitcher down on the table before getting the silverware out of the drawer. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. With all the excitement around here lately and then the ball tonight, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink. But, I dropped right off.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Maybe you should try to take a nap before tonight,” Velvet said as she laid out the forks, knives, and napkins. “It’d be a shame if you weren’t able to enjoy the ball.”

  Silky, who had just finished pouring their coffee, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  “Velvet,” she said slowly, “about the ball. There’s something we should talk about . . .”

  Velvet’s face lit up and she held up one hand, interrupting her sister.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said with a laugh, “but . . . me first! There’s something I’ve just been dying to show you.”

  Silky looked up at her with a pained expression, protesting that they really did need to discuss something, but Velvet wasn’t listening. She snatched the dress bag from the back of the chair, unzipped it, and pulled out a floor length evening dress, simply but elegantly cut, with a scoop neck and smooth bodice, and six inch wide pleats at the waist that fell gracefully into a sweeping but not overly full skirt, made from a rich, lustrous satin in the exact red of a Christmas poinsettia.

  Velvet’s eyes sparkled like a girl’s as she held the gown against her chest. “Isn’t it beautiful!”

  “Oh, it is,” Silky said quietly.

  Velvet was beaming, so happy that she failed to notice her sister’s somber expression.

  “You don’t think it’s too much?” she asked, then went on without waiting for an answer, so excited she fairly tripped over her own words.

  “I just love it! Of course, I’d never have dreamed of wearing something so bright, not until now. But . . . and I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you sooner, Silky . . . but you know all those roses I’ve been getting? I mean, of course, you do.” She laughed. “You couldn’t have missed them, could you? Well, they really did come from a secret admirer! I think I know who it is, at least, I’m pretty sure I do but I still don’t want to say because . . . well, he wants it to be a surprise. You don’t mind do you?”

  “No, Velvet. Of course not, but maybe you should . . .”

  Velvet clapped her hand against her chest, as if immensely relieved by this.

  “I’m so glad you understand. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I just didn’t want to talk about it before, not to you or anyone, in case it wasn’t really true. But it is! And he is!

  “Tonight, he’ll be wearing a yellow rose in his lapel, so I’ll know for sure that it’s him. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard of? And I’ll be wearing this! Of course, he doesn’t know that. It’s a surprise. But in his last note to me—there were only three and this one came just a few days ago—he said how much he’d love to see me in a dress as red as a poinsettia. And the next day, when I was walking to work, what did I see in the window of Antoinette’s dress shop but this! Isn’t that amazing?”

  Silky nodded and rubbed her forehead. “It is. It’s amazing. But, Velvet . . .”

  Velvet frowned. “Silky, are you all right? Do you have a headache? Maybe you should go lie down. I can take care of the dishes.”

  “No, dear. It’s not that but . . . I’ve been trying to tell you . . .”

  Velvet clapped her hand over her mouth, covering her grin, then quickly removed it.

  “Forgive me.” She laughed. “You can’t get a word in edgewise today, can you? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be chattering on so but I can’t seem to help myself. I feel . . . giddy! Like a schoolgirl going to her first dance! Not that I have any actual knowledge of what that would feel like,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “As you probably remember—I certainly do—I was never invited to dances when we were in school.”

  Velvet paused to look down at the gown and run her hand over the lustrous red satin.

  “But tonight will be different,” she said quietly, her grin softening into a smile, the smile, not of a giddy schoolgirl, but of a lovely woman, mature and secure in her beauty, confident of her worth. She looked up at her sister.

  “Tonight I’m going to the ball. And I’m going to dance every dance.”

  Silky’s eyes filled. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you are. And you’re going to have a wonderful time.”

  Velvet laughed softly and laid the red gown over the back of the chair. She leaned down to embrace her sister.

  “You are the best, dearest sister in the world. You truly are,” she said, squeezing her tightly.

  Silky squeezed her back. “So are you.”

  “Well!” Velvet said, wiping a small tear from the corner of her eye as she finally took her seat at the table. “Aren’t I just getting to be a sentimental old thing? Now, what was it you were trying to say, Silky? You’d better spit it out before I go off and interrupt you again.”

  Silky shrugged a smile and picked up her fork. “I can’t remember now. It must not have been all that important.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Velvet was surprised when, as they were washing the breakfast dishes, Silky asked if she wouldn’t m
ind meeting her at the ball rather than driving together.

  “I promised Mary Dell and Lydia Dale I’d go over to the quilt shop and help out for a bit,” she said. “They’ve got so many last minute Christmas shoppers coming in. And then I’ve got a pile of errands to run, picking up some last minute items for the silent auction, and then I have to get over there early and set it all up.”

  “You’re helping with the silent auction? But you’ve never done that before. Shouldn’t somebody from the Women’s Club be in charge of it? It’s their fundraiser.”

  “I know, I know,” Silky said as she handed one of the wet plates to Velvet, who wiped it dry with a dishcloth. “But it’s for a good cause, the children’s toy drive and all. And I’m not in charge. I just said I’d help. That was the thing I meant to tell you before, but it kept slipping my mind.”

  Velvet frowned. It wasn’t like Silky to forget things.

  “Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? I really think you should go back to bed and get some rest,” she said. “You know, if you gave me a list of what you need to pick up and from where, maybe I could take the afternoon off from work and take care of it for you. I’m worried about you overdoing it.”

  “And let you drive my car? Certainly not. You’ve got a lead foot. And anyway, I’ve got to go all the way to Waco and back. But I’m fine. I’ve already got my second wind.”

  Velvet looked at her sister, who did appear much more animated and energetic than she had before breakfast.

  “All right,” she said grudgingly. “If you’re sure. I’ll just bring my clothes to work with me, change there, and meet you at the ball.”

  Velvet glanced at the kitchen clock.

  “Oh dear. I’d better get a move on. I’ve got to pack my dress, underthings, shoes, jewelry, makeup, and all that hair who-ha.” She wiped her hands on the dishcloth and hurried toward the door.

  “Being female certainly requires a lot of advance planning and equipment,” she muttered as she grabbed her dress from the back of the chair. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”

  Silky untied her apron and smiled.

  “See you tonight.”

  Though the deadline she’d given to the students in Mr. Delacorte’s honors class was more than two weeks off, nearly all of the students had already turned in the transcripts of their oral history interviews. The only exception was Buck Swanson, which didn’t surprise Velvet one bit. The boy may not have been the prankster she’d supposed him to be but she still couldn’t understand how he’d talked his way into honors history.

  Velvet had plenty of work to keep her busy. She began reading through and editing all those transcripts, correcting the spelling and such, and then started the process of cataloging each of them according to name, family connections, dates, events, locations, and the like. Even so, she’d never known a day to pass so slowly. But, finally, it did pass.

  At five o’clock on the dot, Velvet put out the closed sign, locked the door, and went into the ladies’ room to change into her red evening gown. She was so nervous that she over-teased her hair and had to comb it out and start over but by six o’clock she was ready to go.

  As she walked through the galleries and to the front door, she turned out the lights room by room, catching a glimpse of herself reflected full-length in the glass of the largest display case. She stopped for a moment, turned left and then right.

  “Not bad,” she murmured before putting on her shawl and heading out the door. “Not bad at all.”

  The Too Much, Texas Christmas Ball always took place on December 23rd, and was always held in the fellowship hall of the Episcopal Church, which had more gathering space than the other congregations and more elegant surroundings, with wood floors, beamed ceilings and rows of narrow, arched stained glass windows on either side of the room.

  The members of the Women’s Club always went out of their way to make sure that the decorations for the ball were similarly elegant, hanging the doors with ropes of fresh, fragrant greens, gathered from local pines, and placing fresh arrangements of pine and pillared candles in the center of each table and on the sill of each stained glass window. It always made for a charming and festive atmosphere—at least, that was what Velvet had been told. She’d never gone to the ball before but she was looking forward to seeing the decorations she’d heard so much about. Not as much as she was looking forward to dancing with Mr. Delacorte, of course, but she counted this as a little icing on the cake of what she anticipated would be a perfect and perfectly memorable evening.

  This year, some bright and eager new member of the club suggested they step up the decorations and add luminarias, which, in spite of their exotic sounding name, were really just white paper bags partially filled with sand to anchor them and a votive candle to make them glow. Velvet hadn’t heard about this addition to the decorating scheme and so, when she rounded the corner onto Austin Street, she gasped, delighted by the sight of hundreds of flickering white lanterns lining both sides of the street from the corner all the way to the church and then up the walkway to the door, like a ribbon of light leading the way home.

  Velvet handed in her ticket at the door and loitered in the church vestibule for a few minutes, scanning the faces of the people who were milling about the crowded lobby, trying to find a member of her family. She felt very conspicuous standing there, alone and unescorted. Where was Silky? Or Dutch? She didn’t want to go into the ballroom all by herself.

  Noel LeFavre, who was helping staff the coat check table, spotted her on the other side of the room and walked over.

  “Merry Christmas, Miss Velvet! May I hang up your shawl? Your sister and nieces are already inside.”

  Velvet’s pulse started to race and she was suddenly overcome by a wave of doubt and a fear that red was, in fact, not her color. But it was too late to turn back now so she reluctantly allowed the girl to slip her shawl from her shoulders.

  “Oh, Miss Velvet! You look beautiful. You really do!” Noel exclaimed, her voice a mixture of shock and admiration, as if she’d never imagined saying such a thing to the old lady who haunted the dusty galleries of the historical society.

  Noel’s observation was neither subtle nor soft. The sound of her exclamation caused heads to turn and a murmur to spread through the other party-goers. Miss Velvet’s cheeks flamed as crimson as her gown. For a moment, she considered snatching her shawl back from the girl and running out of the building but Father Winston, the rector of the church, who was standing just outside the fellowship hall turned ballroom, shaking hands with the arriving guests, came to the rescue.

  “Miss Velvet!” he called, lifting his hand. Abandoning his post, he crossed the room to greet her. “Merry Christmas. Your sister told me we’d have the pleasure of your company this year. I’m so pleased. Shall we go in?”

  He held out his arm. Miss Velvet accepted it with a grateful smile and, together, they walked toward the door. Perhaps sensing her anxiety, the priest slowed his steps as they reached the entrance and, with his eyes focused front, whispered to her out the side of his mouth.

  “Don’t forget to smile. Ready, then? Big breath. Here we go!”

  Following his advice, Velvet bowed her lips into a smile, took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold.

  The hall was redolent of pine and glowed with the light of a hundred candles. An enormous Christmas tree, at least twelve feet tall, perhaps taller, covered in white lights and decorated with glass ornaments and matching ribbons of crimson, emerald, and gold and topped with a golden-winged angel, stood in the center of the opposite wall. A double row of round tables, covered with white, floor-length cloths, set with silver and glassware that shone like fine sterling and crystal in the flicker of candlelight, ringed the three remaining walls, leaving space for dancing in the center. A few couples were already on the floor, dancing to the strains of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” presented by the band, consisting of a keyboard player, a bass guitar player, a drummer, and a
man who doubled as lead singer and fiddle player, that occupied a platform on the far left corner.

  It was a beautiful room, a magical scene, and just as Velvet had imagined it but even better, because she wasn’t just imagining anymore. At long last, it was truly happening. She was in the room, at the ball. And in the next moments or minutes, she would meet her admirer face-to-face and dance in his arms, free from the farce of secrecy.

  Though he was standing in a corner, engaged in what appeared to be a somewhat heated exchange with Marlena Benton, it took only a moment for her searching eyes to spot Mr. Delacorte. Dressed in full Santa regalia, he was hard to miss.

  Of course, Velvet knew he was to play the part of St. Nicholas that evening, she’d known that from the first moment she’d seen him. But she was slightly taken aback when she saw he wasn’t wearing a suit, which was the picture she’d painted in her mind.

  Nor was he wearing a yellow rose.

  Mr. Delacorte looked up suddenly, as if he felt her staring at him. Their eyes locked, but only for a moment. He gazed at her with an expression of embarrassment and regret until Marlena, frowning even more deeply, poked a finger into his chest. Mr. Delacorte glared at Marlena, his eyes blazing and his jaw set. After another short and seemingly sharp exchange, he stormed off, disappearing through a back door. Marlena marched after him.

  The crimson flame reignited in Velvet’s cheeks. She didn’t fully understand what was going on or what had transpired between Mr. Delacorte and Marlena Benton but it didn’t matter. What she did understand was that Thaddeus Delacorte had not sent the roses, or the notes. He was not her secret admirer. Probably no one was. She understood that. And understood that she’d been made to look foolish.

  Velvet removed her hand from Father Winston’s arm, preparing to flee, but was prevented from doing so by the firm and manly grip of Dutch Templeton, who took her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek.