Christmas at the Hummingbird House (6 page)

Derrick pointed helplessly to the pantry.  “There’s an urchin in there with all our silver!”

“There are children in the toolshed!” Paul cried just as Purline raced into the kitchen, a dustcloth in one hand and a can of spray polish in the other.

“What?” she demanded, breathing hard.  “Who screamed?  What’s wrong?”

With his arm still lifted toward the pantry, Derrick began, “Purline, there’s a …”

Paul interrupted, “Purline, did you know there were two …”

Understanding dawned as they each came to the same conclusion.

“Your children,” Derrick said.  They had been so preoccupied with the Christmas trees that neither of them had noticed when Purline came to work, and of course they had far too much on their minds to remember the children she had told them she was bringing today.

At that moment, the door to the pantry swung open and the little girl came out, still clutching one of the candlesticks. Purline put aside the cleaning supplies and opened her arms to the child, her face breaking into a tender smile.  “Mimi, come here to Mommy.”

Mimi complied, her expression solemn, and Purline stood the child in front of her, stroking her hair affectionately.  “Sweetpea, this is Mr. Paul and Mr. Derrick.  They’re mommy’s bosses, or at least they think they are.  This is my little girl Naomi,” she told the two men.  “Mimi for short.  She’s eight years old.”  She looked down at her daughter.  “Say hello, and then get back to work.”

“Hello, Mr. Paul and Mr. Derrick,” she said in a voice so sweet and earnest that even Paul’s lips quirked with amusement.  “I’m sorry I screamed at you, Mr. Derrick.” 

Purline gave a brusque, approving nod, her lips tightening with an almost repressed smile.  “She’s smart as a whip.  I know she don’t look that much like me, but that’s because she’s adopted.  We brought her back from a mission trip to Honduras when she was six years old.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Paul.  “That explains it.”

“We wondered how you could have school age children when you’re so young,” Derrick explained.

She said pertly, “Well, now you know. Or you could’ve just asked.”

“Well, it hardly seemed appropriate,” Paul demurred.

Derrick said helpfully, “We talked about adopting when we were younger.”

“But since neither of us actually like children …”  Paul let the sentence trail off with a self-explanatory shrug.

“We tabled the idea,” Derrick concluded.

The back door opened and two small, brown-haired, freckle-faced boys in matching red parkas came in on a gust of cold air, surveying the two men suspiciously.  No one could doubt that these two belonged to anyone but Purline.

“These here are the twins,” Purline said, “Jacob and Joshua.  They started kindergarten this year.  Boys, this is Mr. Paul and Mr. Derrick. ”

“Well, now,” said Paul, clearly feigning enthusiasm, “fine-looking young men, I’m sure.  But, Purline, I’m afraid we really can’t have them playing in the toolshed.  There are far too many dangerous things in there.”

Purline looked skeptical.  “How would you know?  The last time you were anywhere near the toolshed was to unlock it for the yard man.”

“And I’m afraid that goes for the silverware, too,” Derrick said, ignoring her.  He took a hesitant step forward, smiling apologetically at the little girl, and snatched the candlestick from her hand.  “I’m sorry, my dear, but some of these pieces are quite valuable. Surely you can find a nice coloring book instead?”

Purline gave him an exasperated look and took the candlestick.  “She’s not playing with it, she’s
polishing
it.  Didn’t you say all that silver had to be done by Friday?”

“Well, yes, but …”

“Mr. Derrick,” put in young Naomi earnestly. “What is valuable?”

Derrick put on his kindest smile as he bent down to her.  “It means worth a lot of money.”

“Or it can mean ‘treasured,’” added Paul.

“In whichever case,” said Derrick, “it means you must take very good care of it because it’s not a toy.”

“We need a lot of money,” said one of the twins behind him.

Both Paul and Derrick looked at him, concerned.  “You do?”

The two boys nodded gravely.  “We have to buy a goat.”

“A goat?”

Naomi explained, “To send to Africa.”

“So the children can go to school,” added one of the twins.

“And have shoes,” said the other.

Paul looked at Purline helplessly, “I’m afraid I’m lost. You’re sending a goat to Africa?”

“It’s their Christmas project for Sunday School,” she explained. “You know, the goat makes milk, the milk makes cheese, they sell the cheese, the goat has babies, they sell the babies, the babies have babies and pretty soon everybody in town is making cheese and buying shoes and going to school.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Derrick, enlightened.  “Well, we’ll be glad to contribute, of course.  How much do you need?”

She gave him a quelling look.  “Get your own goat.  This is for the kids.”

“But,” Paul put in, “surely a little help …”

“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” she interrupted firmly, and turned to the boys.  “Did you find the rake in the shed where I said it was?”

The two of them nodded, in unison, and replied, in unison, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then get out there and start raking out the flower beds like I showed you.  When you get a nice big pile, you come on in and I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The twins raced out, slamming the door behind them.  Purline returned the candlestick to the little girl and gave her a pat on the bottom.  “Go on, scoot.  We both’ve got to get ourselves back to work.”

“Purline,” said Paul, alarmed, “we really can’t ask your children to work for us.”

“You don’t have to,” returned Purline. “I am.”

“But,” objected Derrick, “there are child labor laws!”

“It’s their holiday!” added Paul.  “Surely they could just sit quietly and … and watch television or something?”

She scowled at them.  “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, everybody knows that, and I’m raising good Christian children.  You think I’m gonna go to all the trouble to feed them and put clothes on their backs and nurse them when they’re sick and carry them back and forth to school every day for eighteen years just to see them end up in federal prison?  No sirree, you can bet I won’t!  My kids are going to learn the value of a dollar just like I had to when I was their age.  Besides,” she added, picking up her dustcloth again, “how else are they gonna earn money for that goat? I’m paying them a nickel an hour.  Lunch’ll be ready in half an hour.”

With that, she sashayed out of the kitchen, swinging the door in her wake, and there wasn’t much left for Paul or Derrick to say.

In a moment Derrick ventured, “They seem nice enough.”

“As far as children go,” agreed Paul.

“But they’ll never earn enough money for a goat before Christmas,” Derrick said.

“Not at a nickel an hour.”

“I understand the concept of working for a reward, I do.  It’s rather sweet, really.  But …” 

“Perhaps we could offer to increase their salary,” Paul suggested.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Purline called from beyond the swinging door, and Paul and Derrick both winced guiltily.

She pushed back through the door, hands on her hips, glaring at them.  “They’re my kids and I’ll raise them the way I see fit.  Don’t y’all have some trees to put up?  Do I have to chase you out of here with a broom?”

“But Purline …”

She shifted her eyes around the kitchen.  “Where’s my broom?”

Paul raised a hand in self-defense. “What I was going to say,” he persisted, “is that it looks as though we’re going to require some additional assistance with the trees.”

“All of the decorating really,” Derrick put in, “if we expect to have it done before Sunday.”

“Do you know anyone who might be able to help?” asked Paul.

A corner of her lips turned down sourly.  “That’s what you get for leaving everything till the last minute, and depending on that crazy woman to get it done.  And no, I don’t know anybody that’s got time to help.  Besides, the Lord …”

“Helps those who help themselves,” Derrick finished with a sigh.  “Yes, we know.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Paul grumbled.

“It means you’d better get busy,” retorted Purline.  She turned smartly on her heel to leave and then stopped, head cocked toward the window.  “Y’all expecting company?”

It took them a moment to realize that the low rumbling that grew louder with every moment was the sound of a motorcycle engine, and even when they went to the window and saw it for themselves they could hardly believe it.  The big black beast skirted the mountain of Christmas trees in the drive and made its way to the back parking lot, powerful engine chugging and pulsing.  There it stopped, and the rider got off. By this time there were three faces crowded at the kitchen window, their breath making individual circles on the pane.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone, were you?” Paul said.

“He certainly doesn’t look familiar,” Derrick replied.

He was a big man in jeans and boots with chains, wearing a black leather jacket and blue bandanna skull cap, beneath which a long ponytail trailed down his back. Tattoos were visible on his hands and neck.  He approached the porch of the Hummingbird House with a swaggering, confident stride.

“Looks like he’s up to no good to me,” Purline observed suspiciously.

“Patrons of the Hummingbird House don’t ride motorcycles,” agreed Derrick. He thought about that for a moment.  “At least they haven’t so far.”

Paul pushed away from the window and started toward the back door.  “Well, we can’t just stand here staring at him.  We’re in the hospitality business, after all.”

“You be careful,” Purline urged, following close behind.  “My kids’re out there.”

Paul gave her an uncertain look, and then opened the door.

“Good morning, sir!” he called out, perhaps a trifle too heartily.  “How are you this fine morning?”

Thus encouraged, the stranger took the steps two at a time, his hand extended. “Top of the world, my brother,” he replied in a distinctive Australian accent. “And yourself?”

He was an interesting-looking fellow.  He had bright blue eyes, mutton chops down to his chin, and a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once. But his smile was good and his grip solid.  It was, in fact, perhaps a little too solid, and Paul had to flex his fingers when they were released.

Paul said, “I’m Paul Slater, and this is …”  He glanced behind him for his partner, who reluctantly came forward. “Derrick Anderson.  We’re the proprietors of the Hummingbird House.  Do you have a reservation, by chance?”

“I do not,” admitted the stranger.  “What I do have is a strong back and a willing pair of hands.  And while I see you’re fully staffed in the lawn maintenance department …”  He glanced with a twinkling eye toward the twins, who stood staring with the rake clutched between them.  “I wonder if you might have need for a helping hand here and there about the place, it being the holiday season and all.”

Paul drew a delighted breath to reply but was stopped by a hard tug on the hem of his sweater.  He glanced back to meet Purline’s white-eyed gaze, motioning him back inside the house with an exaggerated jerk of her chin.  He returned an uneasy smile to the stranger and said, “Just one moment, please.”

He stepped back into the kitchen without completely closing the door, and Purline hissed, “Are you crazy?  You’re not going to take a complete stranger in this house without knowing a thing about him!”

“Actually,” Derrick pointed out a little timidly, “that’s kind of what we do.”

“Nobody just rides up to a house and asks for work,” Purline went on, ignoring Derrick, “not in this day and age.  He’s probably staking out the place right this minute.  He could be a serial killer or worse!”

“What’s worse than a serial killer?” Paul said.

“He’s not even from around here,” Purline said.  “Just ask him if he’s got references.  Just ask him.”

“We didn’t ask you for references,” Paul pointed out.

She scowled.  “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because if you’d’ve asked, I would’ve had them!”

“And come to think of it,” Paul added, “
you
just walked in one day and asked for work.”

Her scowl grew fiercer.  “Now you listen here to me …”

“Oh my goodness,” Derrick said softly.  Sudden, delighted understanding dawned in his eyes.  “Harmony!”

Purline broke off and both she and Paul turned to Derrick, looking confused.  Then Paul’s face broke into a delighted smile.  “Harmony’s surprise!”

Paul turned to Purline and gave her arm a reassuring pat.  “Not to worry, my dear.  He has references.  Harmony sent him!”

Purline did not look in the least reassured as Paul and Derrick went back out onto the porch.

“Mister, um …” Paul faltered, and the stranger stepped forward, smiling.