Christmas at Grey Sage

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  When all was confirmed, Maude and Lily walked arm in arm across Lincoln Avenue, where Maude had insisted Lily visit the New Mexico Museum of Art to see their latest acquisitions. An hour later, they awaited their party just inside the door of the Plaza Café. Beatrice and Henry were the first to arrive. They were so laden with shopping bags and boxes that Lily summoned Gordy to the restaurant to pick up the bags and instructed him to hang around to drive them to Canyon Road after lunch.

  In a matter of fifteen minutes, the group had gathered and found their seats around the large table that had been set for them. A caramel-skinned young woman, short in stature with a round face, high cheekbones, and shiny sable braids down her back, promoted the dishes that had made the Plaza famous and then took their orders. Even with her spicy suggestions, most of this Unlikely Christmas Party settled for a bowl of steaming tortilla soup. Kent, the young soldier, ventured out for the Green Chili Meatloaf stuffed with corn, sautéed greens, green chili, and cheese. The Suttons wanted a repeat of an earlier trip to Santa Fe and shared the Indian Taco with shredded chicken, squash, beans, cheese, green chili, lettuce, and tomatoes served on Indian fry bread. With bellies warmed and full, they asked for one more cup of coffee to prepare them for the biting cold wind just outside the door.

  Maude sipped her last bit of hot tea and stood at the end of the table. “While you’re enjoying your coffee, Lily has asked me to acquaint you with a bit of history and what you might expect this afternoon. I must first tell you this: I’ve traveled the world to see great art but find myself still walking Canyon Road with great anticipation and continual appreciation.” Maude went on to tell them that this half-mile strip in the historic district bordering the Santa Fe River was shaded by 150-year-old chestnut trees and lined with over a hundred art galleries, studios, ethnic restaurants, and boutiques.

  “These adobe structures house some of the finest paintings and sculpture anywhere in the Southwest. I think you will be surprised at the international artists represented here. You will also see exquisite glass, handmade one-of-a-kind pieces of jewelry, clothing, and home furnishings. In fact, many of the pieces of pottery and glass you will see at Grey Sage were purchased right here in the galleries you’re about to visit. I know it’s cold, but as you meander around, look for a hidden courtyard or a unique fountain. They’re around. I invite you to return in the spring when you would enjoy the smell of lilacs and the mists from the many fountains. And Beatrice, the hollyhocks will be taller than you and just as delicate.”

  Beatrice beamed, proud of her petite stature and erect posture at her age.

  Maude continued, “I’m sorry they’re bare now, but the chestnut trees lining the riverbank are spectacular during the autumn. Oh, and Christmas Eve? How I wish you could see it. Canyon Road will be darted with bonfires and strolling musicians, and many of the shops will be open and serving hot drinks to those last-minute shoppers. Each season comes with its own beauty and events on Canyon Road, but Christmas here is just as Christmas should be—no place quite like it.”

  Maude’s voice wavered as her mind was suddenly catapulted back to their family traditions. She had tucked those memories away like family mementos in the attic—heirlooms having value and meaning to only a few. But now those memories spilled out unexpectedly.

  She remembered as if it were last Christmas how she and Silas and young Elan had walked Canyon Road as was their Christmas custom—a custom Silas and Maude started their very first Christmas in Santa Fe. They came to purchase one unique gift for Grey Sage, as though their home was a cherished member of the family.

  For Maude, it was. Grey Sage was alive and provided so much for them. It was only right to remember Grey Sage at gift-giving time.

  Maude would instinctively gravitate toward the paintings, Silas the sculptures, and Elan the brightly colored glass. After Elan turned five, they always carried home a beautifully wrapped, hand-blown glass piece and put it under the tree. Then, after Christmas, they carried that piece all over the house to find just the place to display it—a place to maximize the ever-changing light coming through the windows at Grey Sage. Through the years, the colorful, yet fragile gifts selected for Grey Sage were the only pieces of Thornhill Christmases that were not locked away in the Christmas closet.

  Drawing the curtain on her memories, Maude told more stories about Canyon Road’s Native American and Spanish roots and how the area had evolved from an agrarian community in its earliest days to an art colony, and now to an extraordinary shopping experience. She then answered a few questions about specific galleries and where to look for particular items of interest.

  “I think it’s time you experience Christmas on Canyon Road,” she wrapped up. “Shall we go?”

  Ready for the afternoon’s adventure, the party members eagerly pushed away from the table. Lily led them to the van and took hold of the microphone again as Gordy drove down Alameda. “Help the economy, people. Encourage an artist with your acquisition, and purchase at least one spectacularly beautiful item that will always be a remembrance of your December afternoon on Canyon Road. We’ll have a show-and-tell at the dinner table this evening.”

  Lily looked at her watch. Nothing digital for her, she’d once told Maude. It had reportedly taken nearly the full price of one of her commissioned paintings to have her father’s railroad watch mounted as a wristwatch with a heavy sterling-silver band. The watch face was the size of a silver dollar minted in 1900 and could be seen without her glasses. “It’s two o’clock. So you have three hours to feast on the beautiful. Go and gorge yourselves, and meet me at five o’clock sharp at the same spot where Gordy drops us off. You will have walked a mile, and you’ll be ready for the scrumptious dinner Lita is preparing for us. Maude will lead us.” She pointed her finger at the Suttons. “Ted, I know you and Laura will be taking off on your own. Enjoy yourselves. Just remember, five o’clock sharp. Okay, people. Let’s go.”

  They departed the van, and Lily gathered the group around Maude for more logistics before starting their walk.

  As she spoke, Maude’s eyes surveyed the group. Glad they dressed warmly—and in Christmas colors, no less. Hope no one mistakes us for a group of carolers about to stroll down the street.

  She motioned for them to follow and kept a constant eye on them, observing them as they moved from gallery to gallery. The group was quite the study in humanity.

  Beatrice naturally takes the colonel’s arm, which always seems to be extended to her. I’m glad they found each other. We all need an arm every now and then.

  Greg and Iris huddle together most of the time. They really seem to like one another. Kent follows closely behind, not too interested in art. I can only imagine what his eyes have seen.

  Reba gravitates toward the jewelry, but Emily doesn’t seem to be too interested in things. She’s tense. Emily’s being pulled back and forth in a tug-of-war between her role as a dutiful daughter attending to her grieving mother when she really wants to respond to Kent’s interest in her.

  And Lily. Lily’s still finding everything either stunning or startlingly awful, always moving through the galleries like a gust of opinionated wind, rarely using discretion in announcing her uninvited evaluation.

  When Maude wasn’t studying her fellow shoppers, her eye always seemed to be looking for an exquisite piece of glasswork. She picked up several small finds to see how they reflected the light, inquired about a few larger bowls, and ultimately was drawn to a shallow bowl created by a Brazilian artist. She studied it with her trained artist’s eye.

  This could be a table centerpiece. Or it’s shallow enough I could suspend it in front of the window by the piano. The way it would play with the light from the window or even firelight would probably be mesmerizing. The red and gold spiral design looks like the lollipops Elan loved—the special ones from the candy shop on San Francisco Street. Maybe that’s why I like this bowl so much.

  She decided against purchasing it and returned her attention to the others. It ma
de her happy that all of them were true Christmas revelers, enjoying themselves as they looked for just the perfect purchase.

  Lily excused herself and said she’d catch up with them a bit later. When she returned, she clutched a rather large package and refused to give even Maude a hint about what was inside.

  After hours of walking and removing hats and gloves with every gallery entrance only to put them back on again when exiting, Lily’s weary, bag-laden Christmas party gathered at the pickup spot. The sound of “Deck the Halls” played by a brass choir jolted them as Gordy opened the van door with his cheerful greeting. “More snow in the mountains. Need to get going.”

  Lily replied, “Could you please turn the volume down on the radio? We’re already in a fa-la-la-la-la mood, but it might be better if the van stopped pulsating.”

  The passengers situated themselves, and Lily walked down the aisle and back, admiring a multitude of bags tied with Christmas-colored ribbons. “We’re all here except the Suttons. I’m certain they’ll be along promptly. They’re never late, and we’re a few minutes early.” When she reached her seat, she asked, “Did you find a satisfactory hotel, Gordy?”

  Gordy was in no hurry to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maude looked out the van window. “Here they come.” She strained to see through the late-afternoon gray. “Oh, my, they’re dragging something with them. Can’t tell what it is, but it’s large. Is there an extra seat back there?”

  Kent responded quickly. “There’s an extra seat beside me and a couple behind me.”

  Lily stood up. “Good, it may take two. If this is any indication, perhaps we’ll have a most interesting show-and-tell this evening.”

  Ted and Laura Sutton approached the van as Gordy opened the door. Ted sent Laura in first as he wrestled to get a tin structure through the narrow doorway. He pushed and she pulled and together they finally made it through the entrance and up the steps. Next came the sharp left turn into the aisle.

  Kent rose and invited Laura to take her seat. He walked to the front and, with his good arm, helped Ted hoist the contraption above their heads and down the aisle to the empty seats in the back.

  As they passed the colonel and Beatrice, she gasped. “Heavenly days, would you look at that thing! Who in their right minds would buy a six-foot whirligig? Haven’t seen one of those in quite awhile, and I don’t think I ever saw one that big. They don’t have children, so who’ll be playing with that?”

  Ted smiled. “I’ll explain later, but I knew we had room, and I didn’t want to ship this prize home.”

  Gordy zipped through the city streets, but drove more slowly when he reached Bishops Lodge Road as it began to snake through the foothills. The sky was almost dark, but the snow coming down was still just flurries. The van crawled through the mountains for over half an hour before turning down the lane for Grey Sage.

  Maude had taken the window seat, having learned from their ride into town that Lily would be up and down like a jack-in-the-box. But she’d been wrong; Lily was quiet and still the bulk of the drive. Maude leaned over and whispered to her, “You really should reconsider having Gordy stay out here. We have vacant rooms, and he wouldn’t be chancing the drive to town and then back out in the morning.”

  “Good grief, Maude! You’re always trying to take care of someone. Fine. He has a room, but I’ll ask him anyway.” Lily walked the few steps to the driver’s seat, all the while holding tightly to the metal pole to keep her balance in the growing darkness. She and Gordy had a brief conversation, and she returned to her seat. “He wants to stay in town. Think about it, Maude. He’s forty-plus. Who knows? Maybe fifty. He’s a single man who lives with his mother. Give him a break, and let him have a couple of nights on the town without his mother or a group like us. After all, it’s Christmas.”

  “Fine. Let him have his fling in Santa Fe. He can’t say we didn’t offer.”

  Maude looked back out the window, straining to see through the darkening sky as they approached the inn.

  Lovely, that last bit of daylight against the snow on the peaks. Gives an eerie outline to the range. The wind’s settled, but that’s no accurate indication the weather’s getting better or worse. Alo will know.

  Silas and Alo met them at the front entrance—two solid wooden doors that had seen a rabble of folks going and coming over the years. The wind gusts practically blew the group in, packages and all. With Alo’s help, the guests made it inside the doors with their loot and started to their suites to freshen up for dinner. Before they were out of the gathering room to the hallway, Lily blew the whistle.

  “Sorry to have to do that, but it works every time.” Lily tucked the chain and whistle under her poncho. “Listen up, people. Dinner is at six thirty, and be prepared to tell us about your afternoon’s acquisitions and why you made the choice. I can hardly wait after seeing all these packages. It will be like my university art students explaining their latest creation.” Lily picked up her bag and headed to her suite.

  Fortunately, Maude was already heading away and had escaped the main blast of the whistle blowing. She slowed when she passed the dining room, noting something unexpected. She stood for a moment, looking at the table, and smiled with satisfaction.

  When she entered the kitchen, she found Lita in a bright-red apron in front of the oven. “Thank you, Lita, for the fine surprise. The dining table’s quite festive, and I’m so glad Alo built a fire. I know our guests will enjoy it, and so will I. I’m chilled to the bone and back. You seem to know what we all need exactly when we need it.”

  Lita breathed a sigh of relief. She had hoped Maude wouldn’t mind the decorations, but she hadn’t been sure. For that reason she’d kept it simple and had chosen not to surprise Maude by using the silver, crystal, and white that had dressed the table in Christmases past. Instead she’d used a rustic look with forest-green placemats, red and green plaid napkins, cedar branches speckled with pine cones, and a few red candles dotted around.

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t want the prima donna ballerina to be disappointed in the way we do Christmas around here. It didn’t take much effort. Besides, I had to put something on the table. Might as well look a little like Christmas.”

  As Lita took the last of the bread loaves from the oven, Maude tossed her coat in the mudroom and returned to the kitchen, smoothing the gray tendrils that had been tucked under her wool hat all afternoon. She leaned over to smell the warm bread still in the loaf pans. “We’re here. We’re on time. And the aroma of this fresh-baked bread is considerably better than burning red hair.” She pinched off a tiny crumb and then joined Lita as she was putting the salad onto the plates. Together they made final preparations for the meal.

  At six thirty, the Unlikely Christmas Party gathered in the dining room, lining the wall underneath the window with their parcels and bags at Lita’s direction. She invited them to find their seats at the table, where she had made place cards and glued them to small pine cones. She knew Maude, and she knew how Maude would want the guests seated. And she had seen the eye-darting between Kent and Emily and wanted them to be seated to their best advantage.

  When they were all comfortably around the table and Silas had served the wine, Lita and Maude started the parade of plates. The first was of fresh field greens, slivered almonds, crumbled blue cheese, dried cranberries, and slices of fresh pears with a splash of vinaigrette. The bread basket was passed around the table, and herb-seasoned butter followed.

  While the rest of the dinner guests took their first bites, Greg took Iris’s hand. They both bowed their heads as he whispered a prayer. Kent, although seated across the table and next to Emily, immediately put down his fork and joined his parents in silence.

  Conversation stopped but quickly started again when Greg whispered “Amen” and raised his head. The clinking of silver forks against the handmade pottery plates was music to Lita’s ears. Their visitors were eating.

  Lita never rushed their dinner guests, especially when the r
oom was warm with firelight and pleasant conversation. So she waited until the plates were good and empty before she served the second course of lean pork loin slathered in a mustard sauce with rice and her calabacitas.

  Emily, obviously realizing Kent would have a difficult time slicing the pork with one arm in a sling, offered to help. Kent graciously accepted and smiled gently at her—not embarrassed at all, just more aware of her.

  He handed his fork and knife to her. “Guess you don’t want to take the chance of wearing that mustard sauce on your fine red sweater. And frankly, I don’t want it on mine either. So thank you, lovely lady. You’re very kind.”

  “You’re very welcome, and you’re right: I never looked good in mustard.” She looked up at him and grinned. “You’ll not think I’m so kind when I expect you to spoon-feed me dessert.” She finished her job and handed him his knife and fork.

  Kent liked imagining that and decided to eat rather than continue the conversation. After he had taken one bite of the calabacitas, though, he wiped his mouth and called out to Lita. Lita all but ran from the kitchen into the dining room.

  “Miss Lita,” he declared, “I have no idea what this is that just passed my lips except it’s about the best thing I ever tasted. Would you be kind enough to tell me what it is?”

  Lita grinned with relief. “That, sir, is my calabacitas.”

  Kent grinned. “Calaba-what?”

  “Calabacitas. That’s the Spanish word for ‘squash,’” and around here, it’s also basically any squash dish with whatever else the cook wants to add to it. Every cook in New Mexico has her own calabacita recipe. Tonight, you’re having my Christmas version with squash, zucchini, sweet corn, red onion, garlic, and cheese.” She paused. “And my secret ingredient.”