Home for the Holidays (28 page)

During a break in the weather, a snowy Ethel Buckley arrived for afternoon tea. Once she had brushed off and warmed up, she slipped out of the kitchen and brought a cardboard box into the reception area, where Alice was doing some last-minute gift wrapping.

“Jane said you were in here.” She looked at the berry boxes, which Alice had wrapped up in tulle and topped with raffia-straw bows. “That has such a nice country look to it.”

Alice grinned and then sniffed the air. “Do I smell peaches?”

“You do. I’ve been doing a little baking.” Ethel set the box down on the desk and opened it. “Thank goodness for gas stoves. Have you heard when the power might be restored?”

“Tonight, if we’re lucky. Oh, how cute.” Alice admired the little beaded angel ornaments her aunt had produced.

“Carol Matthews showed us how to make these at my last craft exchange.” Ethel placed six of them on the desk. “There’s one for your tree and one for each of your guests.”

“We’ll put them in the stockings tonight.” Alice peered into the box, which held several dozen of her aunt’s blue-ribbon-winning peach tarts, wrapped up in neat bundles with colorful cellophane. “Do I get some of those tarts?”

“If you’ve been a good girl, yes,” Ethel said. “I made up a few for you and your sisters, and some for your guests too.”

Alice was touched. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense. Kept me busy during the storm.” Ethel made a shooing gesture. “I had planned on making them for Lloyd—you know how much he loves them—but I can always whip up another batch after he shakes his flu bug.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I know they’ll enjoy them.” Alice checked her watch. “You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you? Pastor Thompson will be giving his Christmas sermon at seven tonight. I thought we would gather everyone together in Father’s study after dinner to listen to it.” She made a mental note to check the batteries in the radio, in the event that the power was not restored.

Ethel chuckled softly. “I haven’t spent an evening listening to the radio since I was a girl.” The sound of laughter made her turn her head and glance back through the door. “Things are a lot more cheerful around here. You’d have never known it a few days ago.”

“Ted and Allan have everyone in the dining room working on decorating gingerbread men.” Alice smiled. “Laura insisted they make some of them gingerbread women.”

Ethel’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t they a bit old for that?”

“I hope not. I want to make a couple of gingerbread innkeepers myself.” Alice picked up the box. “Let’s put these in the kitchen.”

Just then, however, the phone rang. Alice picked up the receiver. “Happy Holidays from Grace Chapel Inn, Alice Howard speaking, may I help you?”

“I need to speak to Jane Howard,” an unfamiliar man’s voice said.

At the same time, there was a click on the line. “I’ve got it, Alice,” Jane said over the kitchen extension. “Thanks.”

“Okay.” Alice hung up the phone and gave it a quizzical look. The man did not sound like anyone she knew.

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know. Someone asking for Jane.”

Jane waited until she heard a click on the other end before she spoke again. “I’m so glad you called. I was afraid you had gotten stranded somewhere.”

“I was, for a time. I’m trying to find a way out there.” The man’s voice hesitated. “If you think I’m still welcome.”

“Of course you are.” She smiled as Louise walked in. “Is there anything you need me to do? Should I say something?”

“No. If I can’t make it, then …” he cleared his throat. “I’ll try another time.”

“All right. Call me and let me know. I’ll talk to you soon.” Jane hung up the phone. “Did you all run out of candy?”

“Not yet, but Allan wants some powdered sugar for the shrubbery.” Louise glanced at the telephone. “Who was that who called?”

“Just a friend.” Jane didn’t want to spoil her biggest surprise for Christmas.

“I was hoping that the power would be restored by now.” Her older sister brought out a box of 4-X sugar from the pantry and hesitated, as if she were making up her mind about something. “Jane, you don’t feel overwhelmed by all that’s going on in your kitchen, do you?”

That startled her a little. “No. Why would you think that?”

Louise set the box on the counter. “It is just that you seem to be contributing so much to your guests—and to your sisters.”

“You really worry about me too much, big sister. I’m fine and nothing is going to ruin our Christmas.” She made a face. “That already hasn’t happened, I mean.”

“We’re together.” Louise came over and took hold of her hands. “That is the only gift that I wanted.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

Jane had wanted to make Christmas Eve dinner a cooperative effort, carrying over the idea of sharing with each other the happy memories of their childhood.

Six cooks were five too many for her kitchen, however, so she had everyone take turns that afternoon preparing a side dish to go with the baked capons that she had planned for the evening meal.

Laura was the last to work on her contribution to dinner. “Do you think everyone will like this?”

Jane grinned as she opened the oven door to check the capons. “No one ever minds having
two
desserts.”

“My grandfather never did,” Laura said. She smiled a little. “He had a horrendous sweet tooth. I think that’s why Grandma loved to make candy and kept big jars of it in her kitchen year-round.”

“Did you ever visit them in Maine?”

Laura shook her head. “Not very often. My mother couldn’t stand the farm. She left home after school and never wanted to go back. As I got older, the only time I saw my grandparents was when they came to visit us. Grandma made the trip every year, and when Grandpa got too old to handle the long drive, they would come down on the bus.”

“Did your mother have the resources to visit them for the holidays?”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “My mother married very well, several times, and always had more than enough money. We had a housekeeper and a cook, and I had a nanny. Even so, whenever Grandma would visit, she would insist on making Christmas dinner herself.”

“It sounds like they loved you a lot.”

The younger woman shrugged. “They probably came to see me just to spite my mother. I think they knew she was ashamed of them.” She looked down into the mixing bowl. “I never was, though—no matter what Mother said about them. They were married for fifty-three years. Can you imagine, being with the same man for that long?”

“If he was the right man, yes.”

“Well, I’ve never found a man like that.” Laura’s voice changed. “My grandmother spent her whole life with him. After Grandpa passed away, she came down on the bus for one last visit. She went home and died alone a few weeks later.”

Jane felt her heart constrict. “That must have been so hard for you.”

Laura shook her head. “I was glad she went to be with him. I was just a kid, but somehow I knew that she couldn’t live without him.”

But you felt abandoned
, Jane thought,
because she was more of a mother to you than the woman who gave birth to you
. All at once she felt as if she understood what drove Laura a little better.

“We lost our father recently,” she told the younger woman. “Whenever I feel sad, I try to think of him being reunited with our mother.”

“I don’t know why it still bothers me.” She stared blindly at the window. “Grandma never had a job, never left
the farm except to see me and never spent a day away from my grandfather. The only time I ever saw her without him was that last visit.”

“Being a devoted wife is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not according to my mother,” Laura said bitterly. “She always said that men are only good for one thing—alimony. She’s the reason I’ve never gotten married.” She made a disgusted sound. “And now I’ve become just like her. Cold, obsessed with money, and indifferent to anyone’s feelings but my own.”

“You don’t have to be like her,” Jane said. “You can be whoever you want to be.”

“I wanted to be like my grandmother. My mother thought her parents’ life was contemptible because they didn’t have much money or a fancy house.” Laura suddenly thumped down the spoon in her hand. “She was wrong. My grandmother didn’t need those things. She was the happiest woman in the world.”

“Everyone should do what makes her happy,” Jane said. “Not what someone else expects. But it’s hard to find the courage to do that.” She had certainly struggled with it herself.

“Maybe it’s just easier to go along with what your parents and your friends expect of you.” The younger woman grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the spill she’d made. “But my grandmother never did anything the easy way.”

“I guess you have to look at the results and decide if they were worth it.” Jane picked up the glass jar of maple candy that Laura had made and took it over to set it on the counter beside her. “Like this candy she taught you to make. It’s not fancy and you’d never find it in a store.”

“But it’s made with love.” Laura touched the jar. “You can’t buy what comes from the heart.”

Phone calls from the guests’ family members began coming in just before dinner, but this time the conversations were much happier. The five guests kept them brief, too, so that all would have a chance to use the phone and wish their loved ones a Merry Christmas.

Jane had brought out Madeleine’s good china, since they always used it for holiday dinners, and drafted Max to help her with serving the different dishes everyone had made.

Louise had everyone join hands and she said the blessing. “Father in heaven, we thank You for this wonderful meal and the hands that helped to make it. Your blessings have brought new friends to our home and new joy to our hearts. Guide us forever with the light of Your word and the love of Your spirit, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Jane’s savory capons came out delightfully tender and Edwina’s twice-baked sweet potatoes, topped with ground
pecans and a touch of nutmeg, and Ted’s vegetable platter looked wonderful.

Ted refused to take full credit for his colorful contribution, however. “If it wasn’t for Jane and her skill with a garnish knife,” he said, gesturing toward the raw vegetables cut into frills, flowers and other fanciful shapes, “I might have chopped everything into sticks.”

Allan made everyone laugh by explaining his reasons for making the pitcher of minted iced tea. “My wife has forbidden me to do anything in the kitchen but boil water, and only then with direct supervision,” he told the group. “I think it was the fifth pot I scorched that made the kitchen permanently out of bounds for me.”

After dinner, Jane urged Max to remain seated while she brought out his leftover waffles, which she had steamed and rolled around vanilla ice cream speckled with maraschino cherries.

“You’ve done enough for one night.” She turned to the interior decorator. “Would you mind bringing in your dish, Laura?”

Laura looked slightly embarrassed as she carried in the dessert she had made, and everyone around the table stared at the tower of orange-glazed baked puffs, stacked together to form a Christmas tree and draped with a web of delicate strands of spun sugar and stars cut from fresh citrus slices.