Christmas at the Hummingbird House (12 page)

ELEVEN

We Need a Little Christmas

A
lmost fifty people crowded the dining room of the Hummingbird House for the Geoffery Allen Windsor reading.  Paul and Derrick rushed around like pleased parents at a child’s birthday party with trays of apple cider and cookies, trying to find folding chairs and cocktail napkins. At precisely two thirty, Paul went to the scrolled antique dictionary stand they were using as a lectern and introduced the writer in glowing prose and stentorian tones.  The applause rattled the rafters when their guest of honor at last took his place behind the lectern.

Some of the crowd spilled out into the hallway, where there was standing room only. Cici, who had driven Ida Mae to the event, stood at the back of the hall with Paul and Derrick.  “Congratulations,” she whispered.  “Quite a turn-out.”

Derrick rubbed his hands together excitedly.  “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” worried Paul, “we weren’t expecting quite this many people.  I would have borrowed some chairs if I’d known.”

“Ida Mae said they announced it in church Sunday,” Cici said.

“Ah,” said Derrick, nodding.  “That’s probably Purline’s doing.”

Purline had made it a point to finish her morning chores in record time and make certain the children had finished theirs as well so that they all could attend the reading because, as she told the children, “the Bible’s not the only good book, you know.”

Paul said, “I’m glad Ida Mae was able to come.  It’s good to see her out and about.”

“It’s good to
have
her out and about,” Cici said adamantly, and then lowered her voice as disapproving heads turned in her direction.  “She’s never been in such a mood as she’s been about that damn recipe,” she went on.  “You know how obsessive old people can be when they lose something.”

“No,” replied Derrick with a perfectly straight face, looking at Paul.  “I wouldn’t have any idea.”  The missing crepe pans had not turned up, and not a day went by that Paul did not remind everyone of the fact.

Paul scowled at him, “Speaks someone who’s been whining about losing a letter opener for two days now.”

“That letter opener is eighteenth century,” objected Derrick, “I paid a fortune for it at auction.”

“Anyway,” Cici went on, “I thought this might cheer her up. She’s just about to ruin Christmas for all of us, as if things weren’t bad enough.”

“Well, I for one think it was unforgiveable of those young people to run off to Cabo without you,” Paul said, managing to get his outrage across even in a whisper.  “I don’t care if it
is
their honeymoon.  Children are so selfish.  After all, they’ll have the rest of their lives together, but how many more Christmases can they expect to have with you?  Not,” he assured her quickly, “that I wish you any bad luck.”

Cici let that pass with an unhappy shrug.  “It’s not just that.  Dominic left to spend Christmas in California this morning and Lindsay is a wreck.”

“What?” demanded Derrick and Paul echoed in chorus, “What?”

More disapproving heads turned and Paul gestured toward the reception area.  When the glass door closed behind them, Cici explained, “You know all the kids were coming in this week to spend Christmas at Ladybug Farm.  But Dominic’s daughter in California broke her leg and she’s all alone, so of course he had to go be with her for the holiday. Her brothers are going to surprise her by flying in for Christmas, so how could Dominic stay here?”

“But why didn’t Lindsay go with him?” Derrick asked.

Cici replied, “Well, with Kevin and Lori gone, and now Dominic, someone had to stay and run the winery.  We have tours and tastings scheduled right up until Christmas Eve, and, aside from Lori, Lindsay is the only one of us who’s ever led one. Of course, Bridget and I tried to tell her we could manage just fine, but the truth is, a last minute ticket to California this time of year is
so
expensive, and they really couldn’t even afford Dominic’s ticket.”  She sighed. “It’s just so sad.  This was supposed to be their first Christmas together, and Lindsay’s trying so hard to be brave about it.  But every time you look at her, her eyes get all watery, and it just breaks my heart.”

“But your house was so beautiful,” Derrick objected, as though that should make a difference.

Paul patted her shoulder helplessly. “That’s the saddest story I ever heard.”

“I know,” Cici said with a sigh. “We had such big plans.”

“I wish there was something we could do to help,” Derrick said, and then he brightened.  “Why don’t you all come on the sleigh ride tonight?  It’s going to be marvelous.  Horse-drawn sleighs through the moonlight, across the bridle paths up to Leaning Rock, where an amazing champagne supper awaits.  It’s just the thing to take your minds off of things, and we have plenty of room in our sleigh.”

Cici smiled.  “You’re so sweet. Thank you, but …”  Her smile turned regretful.  “It sounds like something Lindsay would enjoy with Dominic, and I’m not sure that’s the thing to cheer her up just now.”

Derrick’s enthusiasm vanished.  “Oh.  I suppose not.”

Seeing the disappointment on both men’s faces, Cici linked an arm through each of theirs.  “Come on, let’s go back in and listen to what the miracle guy has to say. I’ll tell you the truth, if he can get me home without having to listen to that old woman grouse every mile of the way, that’ll be miracle enough for me.”

But no miracle was forthcoming, it appeared, as Ida Mae ambled out with the last of the crowd an hour and a half later.  “Dry as dust,” she complained, disgruntled, when Paul inquired what she’d thought of the speaker.  “Rambling on and on about this and that when you could tell by his face he didn’t give a flip what he was talking about.  I prefer my preachers with a little more fire to them.”

“Actually, Miss Ida Mae,” Paul started to explain, “Mr. Windsor is not …”

But Cici, standing behind Ida Mae, frantically waved him silent.  “I think you might have enjoyed him more if you’d turned up your hearing aid, Ida Mae,” she suggested.

Ida Mae scowled. “I told you, I got no use for the dad-blamed thing.  I can hear you just fine, can’t I?  A lot better than I want to, most days.”

Purline came up behind them, pulling on her parka and red knit gloves. Her three little ones, already bundled up, trailed behind.  “Well, I thought he was real interesting,” she said.  “I got him to sign my mama’s book for her.  See here, he put her name in it and everything.”  She opened up a dog-eared paperback copy of
Miracles for the Modern Age
to show them.

“Hmmph,” Ida Mae said, peering over Purline’s shoulder.  “Looks like a bunch of hen-scratching to me.”  She glared at Cici.  “We going home, or what?”

“If you’ll wait a minute for some of the traffic to clear out,” replied Cici patiently, “I’ll bring the car up so you don’t have to walk so far.”  She turned to Paul.  “What’s with that camp set up in your parking lot, anyway?  Are you having a carnival too?”

Paul winced.  “Long story.”

He looked as though he might go on to explain, but at that moment the door that led to the attic staircase opened behind him and Mick came through, balancing a stack of magazines and newspapers that reached almost to his chin.  A few of the magazines on top slid to the floor as he side-stepped quickly to avoid bumping into Paul.  “Sorry, mate,” he said with a grin.  “Didn’t see you there.”

Today his bandanna skullcap was printed with jolly Santa Clauses, and the chains on his motorcycle boots jingled when he walked.  The children grinned when they saw him and called, “Hi, Mr. Angel Man!”

He returned, “Hello, my little cherubs.  Ready to lead the way to your mum’s car?”

Purline caught the twins by the flapping hoods of their coats as they surged forward, and Paul bent to pick up the spilled magazines.  “What’s all this?” he asked.

“The kids started cleaning out your attic for you,” Purline explained.  “It’s okay if they take this stuff, ain’t it?  Recycling’ll pay them a penny a pound.”

“By all means.”  Paul lifted an eyebrow, impressed, and returned two magazines to the top of the stack in Mick’s arms.  “Very clever of them. I like to reward ingenuity.”

Mick moved toward the door, and Cici opened it for him.  Another magazine slid off the stack and landed at Cici’s feet as he edged by. “Oopsy-daisy,” he said, and it was such a silly thing to hear coming from a man like him that Cici laughed.  She picked up the magazine and was about to return it when Ida Mae snatched it from her hand.

Ida Mae gripped the magazine with both hands and stared at it while cold air flowed in from the open door. “Well, I’ll be,” she said softly. “I’ll just be.”

Cici said, “What?”

Ida Mae shook the magazine in front of Cici’s face.  “
Good Housekeeping
, December 1963!  Ain’t you got eyes, girl?  Look at it!”

Cici did, and so did Purline, and so, crowding over her shoulder, did Paul.  For a moment Cici, scanning the colorful headlines and cover photo, did not understand. And then she did. “Christmas Angel Cake,” she read, “page forty-two.”  She grabbed the magazine from Ida Mae and flipped through the pages. Sure enough, there it was, complete with full color photos and a recipe: the Christmas Angel Cake.  She stared at Ida Mae.  “Are you telling me this is it?  This is the recipe we’ve been tearing the house apart looking for these past two weeks?”

Ida Mae’s crevassed face was transformed like a Christmas tree when the lights are turned on.  Her eyes actually shone as she retrieved the magazine and hugged it to her chest.  “Praise Jesus,” she said.  “This is it.  This is the one.  Thank you, Lord.”

Cici looked at Paul, her own eyes wide with astonishment.  “It’s a Christmas miracle,” she said.

“Now,” Ida Mae declared with a nod of her head that sent her gray curls to bobbing, “we can have Christmas.”  She poked Cici sharply in the ribs with a boney finger.  “What are you standing there for, girl?  We got baking to do!”

Geoffery Allen Windsor sat on one of the garden benches, watching the sky turn that peculiar shade of winter lavender that it did when it couldn’t decide whether to snow or not, wishing he’d bought a pack of cigarettes at the airport.  He hadn’t smoked in thirty-five years, but he’d decided Bobbie had the right idea.  If you were going to go—and there was little doubt that everyone, inevitably, would—why not go out on your own terms? Besides, smokers had a built-in excuse for going out by themselves and doing nothing at all except being alone.  At this stage of his life, that was all Geoffery really asked: to be left alone.

The other guests had already started happy hour in preparation for a cold night of sleighing under the stars.  He could hear their muted laughter through the wavy-paned windows of the lodge and smell the warm aroma of the spicy canapés that were being served with drinks by the fire in the parlor.  One thing about the Hummingbird House, there was never a lack of good things to eat—or drink.

The signing had been his most successful in over a year.  He should have been thrilled. Instead, he had felt skewered by all those hopeful, excited faces, so eager to have something to believe in, so certain that he could supply it.  He had felt weighed down by the responsibility, pinioned by lies.  When he looked out over the crowd, he saw the man he used to be and was too tired to be any longer.  As soon as some of the gaiety died down inside the house, he was going to sneak back to his room and try to find a flight home for tomorrow.  He couldn’t be around these people anymore.  He just couldn’t.

Geoffery was cold sitting alone in the garden, and he wished he’d brought a cup of cider, or a glass of scotch, with him.  But it certainly wasn’t worth going back inside for.  All that noise and Christmas gaiety, everyone wanting to congratulate him on the success of the afternoon’s reading.  He had chosen the B&B for the peace and quiet.  He’d done his bit, paid his dues. He’d played the role of Geoffery Allen Windsor to perfection.  Now he’d earned his solitude.

That was why, when he heard the crunch of a footstep on the pebble pathway behind him, he got up quickly and walked the other way.  He hadn’t gone ten yards before he stepped right into the path of a wheelbarrow.  The wheelbarrow was filled with firewood, and it was being pushed by the muscular biker-dude-looking man who seemed to be in charge of maintenance around the place. Mick, Geoffery thought he was called.

He drew the wheelbarrow to a stop and declared with a grin, “Caution, good fellow!  I don’t have a license for this thing.”

Geoffery returned an automatic smile and stepped around him. “My fault entirely.”

“Ah, going my way, I see.”

Mick fell into step beside him with the wheelbarrow rattling along in front, and Geoffery swallowed down his annoyance.  He had intended to go the opposite way, in fact.

“I’m taking this load here up to the hilltop so everyone will be nice and cozy for their star-gazing tonight. The gentlemen don’t take any chances when it comes to everybody being comfortable.  You’ll be going along, I reckon?”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Geoffery.  “I’m a little leery of sleigh rides without any snow.”

Mick chuckled and agreed, “I thought the same, but the bloody things are ingenuous.  They have tractor wheels instead of runners.  The horses are real though, I’m given to understand.  Should be quite an evening.  They’re expecting a meteor shower, you know.”