Holiday Magic Read online

  “And he’s reappeared here in Telena,” I mused. “Excellent. I think this concert might be what Santa ordered for him.”

  “I can hear math in his music.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “You could hear math in the wind.”

  “Actually…”

  The past week or so had flashed by in a crush of work. Four of my rooms were now filled with singles or couples, and all of the guests were cheerful and easy, which doesn’t always happen. Now and then I’ll get guests who are the next worst thing to a furious Frankenstein, and somehow it is my fault they’ve made a wreck of their lives.

  One woman complained twice about my scrambled eggs. She said they were overcooked. Twice. No one ever complains about my eggs because they are spectacular. The third time she complained I cracked four eggs in a glass and slammed it down on her table. “Are those under cooked enough?” I asked.

  One man was ticked off because his wife had left him. It wasn’t difficult to see why. He ranted and raved to anyone who would listen about his lousy witch of a wife. Davis counted off and the Old Timers yelled, “Merry Meredith!” when I came out with a platter with raisins that spelled SHUT UP. The guy shut up.

  The rest of my time was filled with B and B business, concert rehearsals, my glowering at my balance sheet, and my massive sense of responsibility to the town of Telena, which was struggling; Telena needed to have a successful Christmas concert series for its economic health. It made me feel ill.

  Sarah told me, “You can’t control me, Aunt Meredith. I have free will. You’re not my mother you know. You’re my aunt. I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions, and you’re not going to ruin my life.” Jacob later said, “How old do you have to be before you can drop out of school forever, because I’m thinking about it.”

  I was burnt through, and I was hardly sleeping.

  Except when I thought of Logan.

  He plain ol’ burned me up.

  Soon it would end. Before things got out of control. I would break things off and that would be that.

  When he found his Future Wife I would move to Antarctica so as not to kickbox her face in.

  “We’re going fishing.”

  “What, now?”

  “Now.” Logan smiled at me, then got serious. “The weather finally broke, nothing on the rods will freeze, and, honey, you’re working yourself to death. I’m tired looking at you. Let me take you fishing for a few hours. I’ve already got lunch in the car; and I bought pink cake and beer. We’re ready to go.”

  I poured him more coffee in my dining room. He was coming in three days a week for breakfast. Mary and Martha switched off waiting on him because he was, “The best tipper in Montana.”

  “I can’t, I’m too busy.” I put the coffeepot down. I desperately wanted to go. I was liquid, walking stress.

  “Come on, honey,” he said, so soft. “Let me help you. I want to help you.”

  I envisioned candy canes sticking out of his fishing vest.

  I couldn’t believe that I found myself nodding.

  “So when did you decide to become a chef, Meredith?” Logan said as we stood in the freezing Missouri River wearing waders and fishing vests and holding the most precious objects of all: fly fishing rods. “Was there a defining moment? Something in your childhood?”

  “I wanted to be an artist, but I had no artistic talent at all. None. My father loved cooking Italian dinners, and my mother loved preparing English breakfasts. I joined in, and voila. A love of cooking was born. I think it was a combination of tomato sauce, garlic, scones, and croissants. I graduated from high school, went to college, finished in three years, then headed off to culinary school in New York and stayed.” I dropped out a hundred details I didn’t want, and couldn’t bear, to share.

  “And you loved it.”

  “Yes, I loved it. I could make food into art.” And I love fly fishing. There is something magical, if shivery cold, about winter fly fishing.

  “Your food looks like art, Meredith.”

  “Well, thank you.” I blushed at his compliment, darn it. I blushed. “But I think food can also be humorous, too, that it should warm the heart, not just the stomach.”

  “Which is why when Ming’s breakfast arrived, her sunny side up eggs and bacon formed a smile, and Torey Higadishi received three shot glasses of orange juice.”

  “One time Torey told me that he needed to see the sun three times a day to feel happy. So the orange juice is the sun from me.”

  Logan’s eyes softened. “That is unbelievably kind, Meredith.”

  “I want people to feel noticed when they’re at my B and B. I want them to laugh. I want them to enjoy their food in a place where they’re comfortable and people know their names and what they like.”

  “I’ll bet Sarah and Jacob appreciate that, too.”

  I thought of Sarah, struggling, lonely at school, furious, and Jacob, dealing with the same destructive emotions brought on by their mother, then felt that sharp swell of fury in my stomach again. “I think they do. But it takes more than food to lighten the heart of a kid in a bad place.”

  “Mind telling me about that situation? I’d like to know. In many ways I can relate to both Sarah and Jacob.”

  I cast again, hoped for a bite, then gave him the story, trying to reign in my simmering anger.

  “You gave up your life in New York to raise the kids, Meredith. That was selfless, heroic.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I hate to tell you the truth, but I wasn’t selfless about the whole thing. I wish I’d left New York with a grin, a skip, and a jump, but I would be lying to you.” The river sparkled all around us, the sky pure blue. “I liked my life there. I liked my job, the excitement. But I was lonely sometimes.” I sucked in a breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Why not? It’s honest.”

  Because it made me too vulnerable. “I was furious with my sister; sometimes I still am. I had to change my life once before when she…” I slammed my mouth shut. Can’t go there. “Anyhow, I came because I love the kids dearly, and I didn’t want to raise them in New York.”

  “How are they doing?”

  “They’re…” I swallowed hard. “They’re fine.” I swallowed again. “Actually, they’re not doing…well.”

  “You’re worried, I know. Tell me about it.” He turned his full attention to me.

  Worried? Worried? I was panicked about Sarah’s behavior, her attitude, the rebelliousness. I felt sick about the poor kid being ostracized in school. She had a mother who had abandoned her, and she was being attacked in school. And Jacob? He was almost completely closed up, depressed, played piano obsessively, and never smiled. It about killed me to think of him eating alone at school, all the other kids ignoring him, or throwing rude remarks his way, his self-esteem shredded.

  “I don’t think I can talk about it. Give me a second, I’m…I don’t know what to do…I’m trying…Sarah is…Jacob he…” I choked back tears, as I thought of those two sweet kids. “I can’t believe I’m cry-cry-crying….”

  “It’s okay, Meredith, cry all you want. Crying’s good. You’re worried about the kids. I understand. I would be, too. Tell me what’s going on. Please. I want to hear it. Maybe I can help.”

  I don’t know why, but as I made a lousy cast into the river, tears falling on my cheeks and running into my fishing vest, I took one more peek at those compassionate green eyes to make sure he truly wanted to hear this, and I burst like a human dam.

  I sobbed my way through the story, my tears landing in the freezing river, and it ended with me crying in Logan’s arms, our fishing poles held out, one arm linked around the other, fishing vest to fishing vest.

  I do not know much about parenting, but this I get: The worry one feels about one’s children who are hurting, lonely, lost, or doing dangerous things can bring even the strongest cowgirl-fly fisherwoman to her knees.

  See now. Fly fishing isn’t only about the fishing.

  An interesting thing
started to happen over the next few rehearsals.

  A woman named Liberty Hall, an attorney in Telena, decided that each rehearsal should have, in the spirit of Christmas, a potluck, and organized everyone into bringing dinner, appetizers, holiday desserts, non-alcoholic drinks, et cetera.

  So each night, we worked hard, ran rehearsal, then we had what many termed “their favorite part,” and everybody ate together.

  Liberty came up to me after dinner one night. “You know, Meredith, I have never been happier to live in Telena than I am now. I have gotten to know so many people, hear all their stories, people I never knew before, yet they’ve been my neighbors for years. I used to be lonely because I didn’t know very many people outside of work.” She smiled at me. “I’m not feeling so lonely anymore.”

  I heard the same story, one way or another, from at least ten other people.

  If I needed proof that people loved being a part of the concert, I had only to listen to the laughter at dinner, see the hugs when we left, the new friendships.

  Darned if I didn’t want to click my cowboy boots together.

  “He blew a duck whistle at me.”

  My evening out at Barry Lynn’s bar with the Three Wise Women was off to a rolling start.

  “What do you mean he blew a duck whistle at you?” Hannah asked. She was wearing a sweatshirt with a picture of Einstein.

  “I mean,” Katie said, “he dropped the kids off at his mom’s, got stark naked, except for his hunting hat, stood at the top of the stairs, and blew a duck whistle at me. That was his way of calling me!”

  “Do you mean,” Vicki said, pulling on her ponytail, “that your husband blew a duck whistle at you requesting…intimate relations?”

  “I’m saying that exactly!” Katie threw her hands up. “That’s how he called me to him. Does he think that’s exciting for me? Does he think it turns me on?”

  We pondered that. A naked husband, at the top of the stairs, blowing a duck whistle at his wife so she would come up for “intimate relations.”

  “I hardly know what to say, Katie,” I said, choking on my beer as I laughed.

  “What’s the statistical probability of a man doing that again,” Hannah wondered, wiping the beer foam from her mouth. “What did you do?”

  “I did what I wanted to do!” Katie harrumphed.

  “And what was that?” I asked.

  “I stomped into the garage, stripped, pulled my camouflage pants on, hooked the suspenders over my boobs, slammed a camouflage hat with feathers over my head, grabbed my hunting gun, and yelled, ‘I’m coming for you, duck’!”

  I spit beer right out of my mouth. “What did Mel do when you came upstairs pointing a gun at him?”

  “Well, it wasn’t loaded, Meredith,” she said. “As soon as he saw me he quacked again, and we ran all over the house. He kept quacking. I kept yelling, ‘Bang, bang! I got you, duck!’”

  “And then?” Vicki prodded.

  “Well, we ended up in the kitchen. The duck laid on the table, shot, but not actually shot, I laid down my rifle, and we quacked together on the table.”

  “On the kitchen table?” Hannah asked. I could tell she was intrigued.

  “You showed that duck who’s the boss,” I said, laughing through my tears.

  “I sure did. He was one lucky duck.”

  “I’m sure.” I laughed. “Two lucky ducks.”

  “Quack, quack!” Vicki said.

  “Okay, folks, here we go,” I said to the mob of people at rehearsal. “We have one problem. We now have a Joseph, but we still need a Mary. Who for Mary?” I asked.

  “I know,” Shawnelle Williams piped up. She was my principal when I went to high school and was now principal at Sarah’s school. “I know the perfect Mary.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Sarah.”

  Barry Lynn said, “She’s right. Your Sarah would be the perfect Mary. Tell her to get rid of all that makeup and the scary clothes, and we’ve got ourselves a mother. And, everyone, to avoid suspension, don’t forget my toy drive!”

  “She’d never agree,” I said. Sarah as Mary? The I-Will-Do-As-I-Want-You-Can’t-Stop-Me child? The girl whose boobs hung out of her shirt? The girl with the black makeup?

  “Ask her,” Barry Lynn said. “She’s a rebel, Meredith, and we all know why. Heck, I’ve been a rebel all my life, and my childhood was a heck of a lot better than hers. Give her the opportunity to be someone else.”

  “Tell her we all want her to do it, that’ll make her feel welcome, feel good about herself, get approval,” Shelby Narrin said. Shelby’s about twenty-five and was an annoying, complainy person until she started volunteering at our soup kitchen and realized it was about time to quit whining about her life.

  “She’ll rise to the occasion, you’ll see, Meredith,” Norm soothed. “It will be a blessed event, too.”

  Chapter 8

  “There’s a horse and wagon like thing outside our house, Aunt Meredith.”

  “A what, Jacob?”

  He pointed out the parlor’s window.

  I scrambled over the couch, got my leg stuck in a cushion, twisted, and fell flat on my face.

  Jacob helped me up. “You’re kind of klutzy, Aunt Meredith.”

  “You’re right, I am.” I got myself rearranged and put together again, then stared out the window.

  The driver and…oh my gosh…the driver and Logan waved back at me. I watched as Logan jumped out of the buggy and came toward the door.

  “Is that the man you’re going to dinner with?” Jacob asked.

  “Uh. Yes.” Logan had control of my mind, I was sure of it. He’d stopped by the B and B two days before and said, “Meredith, I’d like to take you out to an early dinner on Wednesday before rehearsal. I’ll be by to get you at 5:00.” I had nodded my head as if I was a robot.

  “He’s huge. He’s like a giant.”

  I put my arm around Jacob’s shoulders. “Come and meet him.”

  He shook his head. He was so, so shy.

  Sarah pounded down the steps as the doorbell rang. “That’s the date, right?”

  I eyed her outfit, suggestive, inappropriate, and her makeup, suggestive, inappropriate.

  “Don’t argue with me now, Aunt Meredith. You’ve got a man at the door. First date in forever, right? You’ve been on a drought. A barren desert. No water at all.”

  I rolled my eyes as Sarah opened the door. “Hi. We haven’t officially met. I’m the rebellious teenager. I have stressful problems and cause Aunt Meredith all sorts of worries. I know the police by name. They know me, too. My aunt thinks I dress like a—”

  I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Hello, Logan. Come on in.”

  He shut the door behind him, and the entry seemed to shrink exponentially; even our old-fashioned Christmas tree with popcorn and cranberries seemed smaller.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Sarah,” he said, his voice kind. He shook her hand. Sarah looked surprised at first and I thought she blushed, but then she turned to glare at me. I don’t know why she glared at me except to say that she is an angry teenage girl and they glare for no reason.

  “Jacob,” he extended his hand to Jacob. “I’ve listened to you play the piano many times. You’re a talented musician.”

  Jacob hung his head as he blushed.

  “Chin up,” I whispered. Jacob obediently put his chin up. I was working with him to look people in the eye, stand tall. It was a constant battle. He’d simply been metaphorically hit too many times in his life.

  “He’s either playing piano or writing songs. He has more talent than anyone,” Sarah said. “Man, that would be boring for me, though. I prefer sneaking out at night.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. Sarah rolled her eyes back, crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out a hip.

  Logan didn’t say a word until Sarah glanced up at him.

  “Sarah,” he said. “Don’t sneak out at night again. It’s dangerous. You’re a young woman, alone, and you will eventually attract so
meone dangerous to you, and then you will regret ever leaving this home. In fact, you will pray that you were back in it…” Logan had a few more pointed sentences for her then said, “Don’t cause your aunt worry. She cares about you, she loves you, and she doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it, either. You’re obviously bright and articulate. Don’t ruin your life with poor choices.”

  I thought Sarah was going to turn away in a huff, but I think Logan scared her too darn much to do that, standing there with those huge shoulders and that authoritarian air. Yep, I hid a smile. Logan intimidated her. Ha! Maybe I had a secret weapon.

  When he was done, Sarah whispered, “Okay…okay…I hear you…I won’t do it…okay…”

  Then he turned to Jacob. “When did you start playing piano?”

  “A long time ago,” he said, his voice soft. “The ladies at the church let me come in and play. One of them gave me lessons. It gave me somewhere to go when…” He rolled his lips in tight.

  “When our mom was out running around at night,” Sarah said, back to sarcasm. “Or when she was out running around during the day. She’d leave for days at a time. I took care of him.”

  I wanted to slam my hands to my face, then jump on top of my cowgirl hat. How could she have left them like that?

  “She did take care of me,” Jacob said, pointing at Sarah. “I remember watching Sarah make me pancakes for my third birthday, and she made me a cake out of a mix and we put the pink icing on it together. She walked me to school, and she always packed my lunch with Pop-tarts and peanut butter and jelly, and she came to my parent-teacher conferences.”

  The innocent words of a child can pierce right through the heart, can’t they?

  “At Christmas Sarah always wraps up a bunch of presents for me,” Jacob continued. “She makes most of them herself. She can do anything. Art. Painting. Embroidery stuff. Sewing.”

  As Jacob went on and on about the glories of his sister, the only time he was ever animated, I saw, once again, the fierce love those two had for one another. They had raised each other.