A Carol Christmas (23 page)

“They’ll say, ‘Now, there’s a woman who understands Christmas,’ ” Aunt Chloe retorted. “This hat is symbolic.”

“Of what? A bad dream?”

Aunt Chloe raised her chin, making the bird wobble precariously. “This hat represents the Twelve Days of Christmas.”

Mom stared at her.

“You know, a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Heaven help us,” Mom said and turned back toward the kitchen.

Aunt Chloe’s smile suddenly lost its mooring and slipped away. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave me begged for approval.

What could I do? I came over and hugged her. “You look very festive.”

She smiled at me. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m glad someone in this family understands art.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said.

“I just want to make a good impression on Ben’s friends,” she told me.

You’ll make an impression
, I thought, and a fresh dread crept over me. But a small voice seemed to whisper, “Look how much trouble she’s gone to.” Seeing things in that light how could I not love the bird? Well, okay, not the bird. The hat was still horrible. But I loved my aunt for her efforts to support Ben.

“It looks like you’re balancing the leaning tower of Pisa on your head,” Mom said from the kitchen. “It will probably fall off in the middle of the service and you’ll embarrass Andie.”

Finally, after all these years, someone in my family was acknowledging the Hartwell embarrassment factor? I could hardly believe my ears.

“I have twenty bobby pins holding this hat on,” Aunt Chloe announced. “It’s not going any place. And I’m certainly not going to embarrass Andie.” She turned to me for approval. “Am I?”

Oh, boy. What to say? Honesty might get the hat off her head, but then her feelings would be hurt. I remembered the toxic spill I’d created in my insanity induced honesty over Mom’s business and suddenly couldn’t find my voice.

Mom saved me by speaking first. “Oh, do what you want. You will, anyway. The artichoke dip’s out. Come try it.”

The mention of food distracted Aunt Chloe and, with relief, I followed her out to the kitchen for a sample of dip.

We were setting out the crab salad and French bread, our traditional Christmas Eve fare, when Keira arrived with Gram. Gram stopped at the dining room table on her way to the kitchen like a general making an inspection.

Mom already had it set for Christmas Day with her good china and crystal. There was one extra setting for Wee Willie, who Mom claimed was a Christmas orphan this year, but no place setting for Dad yet. This was because Mom still didn’t know he was coming. I had decided to wait until the last minute to give her the good news. You know, surprise her. (Okay, I admit it, I was a complete coward and I was procrastinating.)

“I’m glad to see you didn’t break tradition,” Gram said, giving a nod of approval to the presence of the centerpiece she had made forty years ago. The stuffed Santa going down a cardboard chimney was awfully cute, but every year he got more worn, and his chimney looked ratty and ready to crumble. It was probably time for this centerpiece to retire.

“I put him out this year for Andie,” Mom said, “but next year he gets exiled to the North Pole. I’m going to try that cylinder vase with the cranberries and floating candles.”

“Cranberries and floating candles can’t compete with tradition,” Gram said. “I’ll take Santa home tomorrow and give him a facelift.”

I knew Mom wanted to say, “Take him home and keep him,” but there are some things you just don’t say to your mother.

Gram had entered the kitchen now. Aunt Chloe’s hat stopped her in her tracks. “Are you wearing that thing on your head to the service?”

And that started the great hat controversy again, which raged until Ben walked through the door.

“All right, enough fashion discussion,” Mom said as she set a veggie platter on the kitchen table. “Let’s eat.”

We settled around the table and dug in. Mom started to pour a healthy slug of eggnog for Ben, but he said, “No milk, Mom. Not when I’m singing.”

“I can hardly wait to hear you,” said Gram. “What are you singing?”

“ ‘O, Holy Night.’ ”

“Oh, I always loved that song, Gram said.

She cleared her throat and started to sing in an off-key, wavery voice. We, her fellow diners, began to squirm in our chairs. Well, all except Aunt Chloe, who closed her eyes and smiled.

Gram came to the chorus and launched into her crescendo. As she moved for a high note, somewhere outside a dog began howling. I moved my hand away from my crystal goblet.

Keira shot me a can-you-believe-this look, and Mom sat in her chair with her lips pursed in daughterly disgust. Aunt Chloe was now swaying to the song as if to some invisible beat, the partridge on her head swaying too, as he clung to his precarious perch.

Gram finally hit her high note. Nothing on the table shattered, although I feared for my eardrums.

At last she wound to a soft finish. Aunt Chloe burst into thunderous applause and we followed suit with a polite but short round of clapping.

“That was very dramatic, Mom,” said Aunt Chloe.

“You get your musical talent from me,” Gram informed Ben with a prim smile.

He just nodded.

I hoped Gram wouldn’t get carried away by any sudden urges to join him when he sang at church. That on top of Aunt Chloe’s hat would make a double whammy the members might never recover from.

I passed when Mom pulled out Spritz cookies and her home made Almond Roca. Gram’s warmup for the big event had started my stomach turning somersaults.

Ben checked his watch. “We’d better get going.”

“All right,” said Mom, pushing away from the table. She picked up a couple of dessert plates. “Let’s just load the last of these dishes.”

With four women on K.P., the kitchen was set to rights in record time.

“Andie and Keir can come with me in my truck,” Ben offered as we put on our coats.

“I hope you cleaned it since we were in it last,” Keira said.

“Yeah, right. And I put a vase of flowers on the dash.”

“We’re right behind you,” Mom said as we went out the door.

“Thanks for the warning,” Ben joked. We walked toward the truck and he asked softly, “What’s with that thing on Aunt Chloe’s head?”

“She made it specially for tonight,” I said.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Lucky us.”

“Well, I’m not sitting next to her,” said Keira.

“We’ll stick her between Mom and Andie,” Ben said.

“Oh, thanks. Why me?”

“I have to sing,” Ben reminded me.

The church foyer was packed with people when we arrived. Some remembered me from when I’d hung around in high school and stopped to say hello. Most of them cast discreet glances at Aunt Chloe’s hat, then looked quickly away, as if she had a horrible but fascinating disfigurement.

Aunt Chloe was oblivious, happily chatting with one and all and feeling right at home. That was a good thing, I told myself. It was nice someone was feeling comfortable.

“Andie!” cried Mrs. Bailey, coming up to me, arms outstretched. She gathered me into a hug. “I thought I saw you the other day.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bailey,” I said, and hugged her back, thankful she didn’t mention me being in the truck with the dog-eating tree that almost took out her cockapoo.

“Your mother tells me you’re very successful in New York so I suppose we’ll never get you back to Carol,” she said.

Not as long as I’m breathing
. “I do like New York.”

“Well, I hope you’ll have time to stop by for a cup of tea before you leave.”

“Absolutely.” I could always make time for a sane person.

Right before we entered the sanctuary a skinny, stooped man with a beaky nose and a balding head sidled up to Aunt Chloe. “Hello, there. I haven’t seen you here before.”

The way my aunt always dressed, he’d have remembered.

“I’m Oscar Johnson,” he said and shook her hand.

“I’m Chloe Percy. My nephew here is singing tonight.” Oscar nodded approvingly at Ben, then returned his attention to my aunt. “I’m a widower.”

“Really?” The sudden glint in my aunt’s eye made her look like a woman who had just discovered a department store clearance rack.

“Let’s get a seat,” Ben said and started to herd us toward the sanctuary.

“Nice meeting you, Oscar,” Aunt Chloe said and gave the old guy a little finger wave.

He stood straighter and waved back.

“You’re shameless,” I teased.

“Yes, and proud of it.”

Teenagers had been stationed at the doors to the sanctuary, and were giving out candles which would get lit at some point in the service. “Maybe someone will set Aunt Chloe’s hat on fire,” Ben whispered to me as we walked in.

“Cute,” I whispered back and wished I’d had the nerve to set it on fire before we left the house.

We filed into a pew and sat.

I did a quick check on the other women in my family. Gram was sitting serenely with her hands folded in her lap as if she’d done this all her life. Maybe she had and I never realized it. It dawned on me that there was much I didn’t know about my grandmother. Sometime after I hit puberty, she got pushed to the sidelines, an extra in the play about the life of Andie. I’d never even thought to ask her if she missed Grandpa.

I vowed to change my wicked ways and be a better granddaughter. I could accomplish that even from New York, I decided. I’d send her lots of cards. No phone calls, though. She’d just pump me about my love life and remind me that my eggs were aging.

Keira was busy checking out the other worshippers, especially the good-looking male ones. Yes, here was a woman ready to get married. Mom was studying the candle in her hands like an actress getting into her part. She and Dad had never been big on church. I wondered if Gram had made her go when she was a kid.

Aunt Chloe was looking around her raptly. “Everything is so lovely,” she whispered to me. “Someone here has wonderful artistic sensibilities.”

The sanctuary did, indeed, look gorgeous. Cedar swags hung along the walls from big gold bows and filled the air with fragrance. Pink, purple, and white candles flickered inside an Advent wreath on the altar up at the front. An arrangement of pillar candles nestled in greens, glowed softly on the piano on stage.

I caught sight of Gabe and his family seated on the other side of the room. He turned his head as if he’d felt me looking at him, and smiled at me.

Gabe Knightly, secret torch bearer. Not wanting to encourage him or myself, I flashed him a quick smile, then looked away. But just because I’d moved my gaze didn’t mean I wasn’t still seeing him. I wondered what my life would have been like if I’d stayed here in Carol. Maybe Gabe and I would have worked things out and gotten married. Maybe we’d be sitting in a pew with two little kids wedged between us.

The last of the worshippers filed in and the service began with everyone singing “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful.” Gram’s own unique rendition of the song echoed out over the congregation, torturing every ear in the place. We finished the final chorus before Gram, who made sure she had the last word. Her voice hung on past the most determined singer, even past the musicians, who were trying to drown her out with an extended finale. She finally let go of the note, which also put an end to the only other sound remaining in the church: the howl of some neighborhood dog that floated in to us through the stained glass windows.

I closed my eyes as a couple of middle-schoolers in the row in back of us snickered.

It suddenly felt very hot. I looked down at my hand to see if the candle I was holding had melted yet. Amazingly, it hadn’t. I sure wanted to.

We sang a couple more songs, then listened to a short sermon. And then came the main attraction, as least as far as the Hartwells were concerned: Ben’s solo.

He walked up to the piano and stood behind the accompanist. I noticed he was limping slightly. He had probably re-injured his leg that night we were out playing in the snow, but if he did I knew he wouldn’t admit it to any of us, especially Mom, who would be eager to say, “I told you so.”

I sneaked a look her direction. She was doing the doting mother smile. Tonight Ben could do no wrong.

The accompanist started to play, and soft piano notes drifted out over the congregation like snowflakes. Ben began to sing. The boy can sing, and tonight he sounded like an angel.

As Ben sang, the lights dimmed and ushers with long taper candles moved down the aisles, lighting the candles of the persons on the end of each pew. Those persons held their candles to the person next to them, spreading the tiny, dancing dots of light throughout the darkness.

Mom pressed her candle to mine, setting it on fire, and whispered, “I love you, sweetie.”

I don’t know if it was Mom’s words or all those glowing candles, but in that moment I felt old family ties reaching out and wrapping tenderly around me.

I turned to Aunt Chloe as Ben sang for us to fall on our knees and hear the angel voices. “I love you, Auntie,” I whispered as our candles touched. It was the truth. I loved my crazy aunt, wild Christmas hat and all.

The dots of light swelled to a glowing sea as Ben finished. The pianist began to softly play “Silent Night,” and the minister motioned for us all to stand and sing.

It wasn’t until we came to the end of the song that I realized Gram was quiet. I sneaked a look her direction. She held her candle in both hands. Her eyes were shut and she was smiling, the epitome of a contented woman. Her whole family with her in church, her grandson singing. I could understand how she felt. I was feeling pretty contented myself, especially now that Gram was quiet.

The pastor said a final prayer and announced that cookies and punch would be served in the fellowship hall. And with one final song we blew out our candles and filed out of the sanctuary.

Once in the fellowship hall Gram found another woman her age to chat with and Keira found a hunk to flirt with. I moved next to Mom.

She smiled at me and kissed my cheek. “That was lovely. I’m glad we came. And I’m glad you came home.”

So was I. I felt a warmth spread through my chest.

“Andie,” someone called. I turned and saw Gabe coming my way.