The Mountain Between Us (17 page)

“It was tradition,” Shelly said.

“Not a tradition we intend to revive,” Lucille said. “People will have to settle for coffee and iced tea. The Elks Club is providing that.”

“I'm kind of looking forward to this,” Olivia said. “I've never been to a really big Thanksgiving feast. And Lucas is beside himself, dreaming about all the good things to eat.”

“Do you realize this will be the first Thanksgiving we've spent together in seventeen years?” Lucille asked.

“That's so sweet,” Shelly said. “And it's Maggie's first Thanksgiving with us, too.”

This had been a year of firsts, Maggie agreed. Her divorce, finding out about her father, moving to Eureka, falling in love with Jameso. And now a baby. It was almost overwhelming.

“It is going to be a good Thanksgiving,” Lucille said. “I guess hard times really do bring out the best in some people. It's a shame we can't get the good without going through the bad.”

Without her divorce, or her father dying, Maggie never would have ended up in Eureka. She wouldn't have this baby now or all of these new friends. Looking back, she could say the pain was worth it, though she wouldn't necessarily choose to go through it again.

“We all have a lot to be thankful for,” she said, squeezing Lucille's hand.

“We do,” Lucille agreed. “Sometimes the difference between a blessing and a problem is just a matter of perspective.”

Maggie told herself she should remember that next time she had doubts about Jameso or their future.

 

Thanksgiving morning, Olivia, Lucas, and Lucille carried four foil turkey pans full of mashed potatoes to the school. The kitchen was filled with volunteers setting out dishes, heating gravy and rolls, and preparing the meats. Olivia was surprised to see D. J. in his black watch cap and a long white apron, basting a turkey at the giant oven. He looked so at home there, so a part of things.

He was even newer to town than she was, yet he'd fit right in, transforming himself from city dweller to rugged mountain man seemingly effortlessly. You'd have thought he'd been born hunting his own food and splitting firewood, while she still felt out of place much of the time. When people bragged about surviving rugged winters, digging themselves out of blizzards and thawing frozen pipes, it didn't sound exciting and memorable to her—it made her want to pack her bags and flee south.

“Is D. J. a good cook?” Lucille asked.

“He made turkey for us last year.” Lucas waved across the room. “Hey, D. J.! We'll save you a seat.”

No!
Olivia thought. But she couldn't voice her protest without upsetting Lucas and drawing a lot of unwanted attention. Maybe D. J. would be too busy cooking to sit with them.

Having deposited their contributions to the meal, she and Lucille followed Lucas back into the cafeteria. The cavernous room was filled with children scurrying about handing out name tags or decorating the butcher paper tablecloths with crayons. Mothers settled infants into high chairs borrowed from the Last Dollar for the occasion, while a group of old men claimed the spots closest to the serving line. The Elks Club and the Elks Auxiliary, dressed in crisp white aprons with red trim, took their places behind the serving dishes, and a half-dozen high-school girls scurried around with pitchers of tea, water, and lemonade, filling glasses.

Promptly at noon Bob climbed onto a chair and clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. “We're going to get started in just a minute here,” he said. “But before we do, I wanted to give y'all a little history on Thanksgiving in Eureka County. The first one of these here dinners was back in 1883, when the first miners came here. They were from Cornwall, England, from Ireland and Wales and Germany, and from the eastern states. They didn't have a lot in common but a thirst for adventure and gold. But they wanted to settle in to their new homeland, and they'd heard about this American custom of Thanksgiving.

“But there weren't a lot of women with them to cook a fancy meal, and they didn't have all that much food anyway. They decided to pool the things they had and have dinner together, to enjoy a little fellowship and toast their good fortune in coming to this beautiful place, where they all hoped to make their fortunes.”

Someone started to applaud, but Bob shushed them.

“Come on, Bob, we're hungry!”

“Shut your trap, I'm almost done.” He scowled at the assembled crowd until everyone quieted down again. “I just want to thank everybody who pitched in this year to keep the tradition going,” he said. “This is really what it's all about . . . what it was about that very first year . . . everybody coming together to celebrate and enjoy each other's company. We divide up the work, share in the bounty, and nobody has to eat alone.”

More applause this time. It rose and swelled to fill the room. Olivia's throat tightened. She took a hasty drink of water. What was wrong with her? She wasn't the sentimental sort. Thanksgiving was no big deal to her, that dinner with D. J. was the first time she'd even celebrated the holiday in years.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the man himself emerged from the kitchen and came to stand beside her. “This is pretty special, isn't it?” he said.

She nodded, afraid if she tried to speak she might get choked up. Damned emotions.

Reverend Adam Kinkaid stood now and cleared his throat. “Please bow your head for the blessing.”

Olivia didn't pay attention to his words, merely let them wash over her in a soothing drone. It was odd to think of a whole town full of people in one place like this. The Dirty Sally and the Last Dollar and every other business was closed. Even the police officers were here; anyone passing through town could speed with impunity. She'd never been much of a joiner, but it felt good to be a part of this. Accepted.

“Amen,” the reverend concluded, and another cheer went up from the crowd. People surged toward the serving line and the feasting officially began.

When Olivia returned to the table with her full plate she saw that someone—she suspected Lucas—had switched their place cards so that D. J. sat between the two of them, though she had made sure before that Lucas had the center position, a buffer between her and the man who still had the ability to upset her so.

“This looks cozy.” D. J. came up behind her and set his own overflowing plate in front of his place card. He pulled Olivia's chair from the table. “Have a seat.”

What could she do but sit? With so many people to accommodate, the chairs were very close together, so that when he sat their thighs almost touched and they had to be careful not to knock elbows. Every time he shifted in his chair, she felt it. As a result, she scarcely tasted the food, though Lucas and D. J. raved about everything.

“The mashed potatoes are delicious as ever,” D. J. said.

“The turkey's good, too,” she said automatically.

“Did you try the venison sausage balls?” He held up what looked like an eyeball-sized knot of leather. “They're really good. A little spicy, though. And a little chewy.”

She choked and reached for her water glass.

“What is it?” He patted her back, none too gently.

“Oh, nothing.”

Apparently satisfied she wasn't going to choke, he popped the rest of the sausage ball into his mouth and chewed, a thoughtful look on his face. “Your mother looks like she's holding up pretty well,” he said after a moment.

Olivia looked down the table to where her mother sat with Maggie and Jameso, Janelle and Danielle. “She's doing okay. I know having the press dig into her personal scandal has been hard, but most people have been supportive and that helps. And she's a really strong woman.”

“I always thought you two didn't get along.”

“We didn't, when I was younger.” She laid down her fork and pushed her plate away. “I was a really mixed-up kid. After my dad left, she worked all the time and I spent a lot of time alone. I craved her attention, and the only way I knew to get it was to act up. Now that I'm a mom myself, I realize how much grief I gave her.”

“It's good you could patch things up.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Another of those good things coming out of bad that her mom had talked about? She wasn't ready to look at it that way. Bad things were just . . . bad. The good things were separate, not a result of the bad. You didn't have to have one to get the other. Life wasn't some big balance scale with tragedy and happiness meted out in even measure.

“The mural's looking good,” D. J. said. “Are you almost finished?”

“Almost. I just need another few days. I should be done by next week.”

“You should do more with your art. It's really good.”

His praise warmed her and fueled her confidence. “I'm thinking about asking one of the gift shops if they'd be interested in carrying my painted T-shirts next summer,” she said. She hadn't mentioned this idea to anyone before now, afraid she was reaching too far.

“That's a terrific idea. And maybe some of your jewelry, too.”

She nodded, feeling light enough to float out of her chair. “I thought I could spend this winter making extra stuff.”

He patted her knee, a friendly gesture that nevertheless made her light-headed. “You'll do great.”

A commotion by the door saved her from having to answer. Sleigh bells jangled and people began to cheer. She turned in her chair and saw Santa, who looked suspiciously like Reggie Paxton, striding into the room with a flour sack over his shoulder. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he shouted. “Merry Christmas! All the children gather round. I have something for you!”

Squealing and giggling, the children swarmed him. Olivia even spotted Lucas in the group. “Santa” handed a candy cane to each one. “Be good and I'll be back with more presents on Christmas Eve!” he shouted. “May you all receive gold nuggets instead of coal in your stockings!”

Everyone laughed, and some made comments about really needing that gold. Santa turned to leave, but the door flew open ahead of him. A driver from the highway crew strode in, white confetti dusting his orange wool cap and padded jacket. “Sorry to interrupt the celebration, folks,” he said. “But I need all the plow drivers to report to the county barn. We finally got that snow we've been waiting on, and it's really coming down.”

C
HAPTER ELEVEN

O
nce the snow began, it showed no signs of stopping. It came down by the foot. Plow drivers had to work overtime keeping even the main roads clear. The county agreed to foot the bill for plowing for the time being, accepting an IOU from the city that Lucille only hoped they'd be able to pay. The bank fronted a loan to pay the town's two police officers, but that, too, was only a temporary fix. And every time she turned around, a new expense loomed.

“What are you going to do about Christmas decorations?” Cassie stopped Lucille on the street one morning to ask.

Lucille bit back a groan. The lighted candy canes and bells hung from every lamppost and street sign in town required hours of overtime from the park maintenance crew and a hefty monthly light bill. “I don't see how we can afford to put up the decorations this year.” She felt like Scrooge, canceling Christmas.

“We have to have decorations for Yule Night,” Cassie said. The annual nighttime festival was less than a week away. The Elks Club built a bonfire in the park, the various service organizations sold food and drinks, and local shops stayed open late to encourage Christmas buyers. The night was a big boost during an otherwise slow time in the local economy.

“I'm open to suggestions,” Lucille said. “But it can't be anything that costs money.”

She expected Cassie to launch into another tirade about Lucille's mishandling of local funds, but once again the librarian surprised her. “I always thought those bells and candy canes were tacky,” Cassie said. “And they look more worn out and faded every year. My grandmother told me in her day they decorated with evergreen wreaths and red bows. Simple, but classy.”

“That would look beautiful,” Lucille said. “There's plenty of evergreens in the national forest we could use for wreaths, if people are willing to make them.”

“The historical society can do that,” Cassie said. “I'm sure the library has books that can show us how. But we'll need bows. Red velvet is nice.”

“I don't suppose anyone has a few dozen yards of red velvet they'd like to donate,” Lucille said. But the words sparked a dim memory. “On second thought, I might have something we can use. I think in the shop I have some draperies from a mansion in Telluride. We could cut them up for ribbons.” Hey, if it worked for Scarlett O'Hara, surely it was good enough for Eureka. “I'd be glad to get rid of the things.”

“We'll meet on Saturday at the library,” Cassie said. “Bring your daughter and anyone else you can recruit. And we'll need men with trucks to help us hang everything.” Not waiting for an answer, she left.

Lucille stared after her. How was it possible to loathe and admire one person so much? Say what you would about Cassie, she knew how to get things done. And she loved this town. Maybe more than anyone else.

 

“I can't believe Cassie volunteered to do this,” Maggie whispered as she joined Lucille and Olivia at the library Saturday morning. “She's not exactly the volunteering type.”

“She's happy to do anything where she can be in charge and take credit,” Olivia said.

“True, but I'm grateful all the same,” Lucille said. “It's one more problem solved.” One in a very long list.

Cassie was definitely in her element. She'd ordered every man she could corral into the woods to cut bushels of evergreen boughs, and raided the thrift store for their stock of wire coat hangers, which she bent into wreath forms. She unearthed a coil of rope from somewhere, to use as the base for garland, then oversaw the wiring of the evergreens to the coat hangers and rope. She bossed and berated, coaxed and corrected until the pile of beribboned wreaths and garland stretched from one end of the library to the other. D. J. and the crew of plow drivers took over from there, festooning lampposts and street signs with the greenery.

Snow started to fall again while they were working, frosting the decorations, adding to their beauty. The businesses and homes in town had done their part to add to the festive mood, decorating with wreaths and lights and wooden cutouts of everything from manger scenes to Santa and his elves. “It has a wonderful, old-fashioned look,” Maggie said, snapping a picture for the paper.

“Best of all, we won't have a light bill for these decorations,” Lucille said.

“The Elks Auxiliary is talking about doing paper-bag luminarias all down Main Street for the Yule Night Celebration,” Maggie said. “And the Presbyterian choir plans to dress up in Victorian outfits and go caroling.”

“That night is a big one for the businesses down here,” Lucille said. “Anything we can do to draw the tourists is good.”

“Losing that money hurt, but I do believe it's brought us more positive publicity than bad,” Maggie said. “We get calls at the paper almost every day asking about the little town run by volunteers.”

“That's good, but volunteers can't pay for diesel to run the plows, or the salaries of policemen, or funds to repair water and sewer mains. For that we need cash.”

“Any luck getting anything out of Gerald Pershing?” Maggie asked.

“Not yet. But Doug and Bob are working on a plan.” So far their attempts to get in touch with Gerald hadn't been successful. They'd abandoned the idea of Lucille calling him directly, opting instead for the story that the town itself was looking for advice from the man who handled Eureka's other investments.

“Oh?” Maggie brightened. “What is it?”

Lucille laughed. “I can't tell you that. You're my friend, but you're also a reporter for the paper. We don't want any of this getting out until it's over and done.”

“Can't you even give me a hint?”

“No, but when it's over I'll tell you everything. You can have an exclusive.”

“I should hope so. The
Miner
is the only paper in the county.”

Maggie started back toward the shop, admiring the festive decorations once more. Why hadn't they thought of this before? They'd never be able to go back to those tired old lighted candy canes now.

She'd reached the shop and was sorting the day's mail when her cell phone rang. She checked the number. Doug. “Hello?”

“We got through to Gerald's secretary this morning and she's set up a phone meeting for us at one,” he said. “We need you to be there.”

So soon? She'd almost convinced herself that Gerald was never going to return their calls, that they were done with the man for good. She swallowed hard. “All right.”

This was her penance for dragging the town into this mess, Lucille thought an hour later as she sat in Reggie's office above the Last Dollar Café. She had to sit here and remain composed while the man who had lied to her and embarrassed her and cheated the town lied some more. She had to pretend she didn't feel anything when she heard his voice, and that the night they'd spent together meant nothing. Well, it obviously had meant nothing to him, but that knowledge only made her feel sick to her stomach.

“I'm going to put him on speakerphone,” Doug said as he dialed. He sat behind Reggie's scarred wooden desk, the others gathered around him. Lucille sat in the leather client's chair directly in front of the desk, hands in her lap, feet flat on the floor, determined not to let her expression betray anything. She was here in her official role as mayor, not as the scorned woman.

The secretary answered. Doug introduced himself and asked for Gerald.

“Doug! Good to hear from you,” boomed the familiar, velvety voice. “How are things in Eureka?” He sounded so friendly, as if he'd last spoken with them only a few days ago.

“They're good. How are you?”

“I'm well. Busy as always. I hated to leave town so suddenly. I had an emergency back here at the office . . . you know how that goes.”

Lucille felt the others watching her. She clenched her teeth until they hurt and refused to look at any of them.

“We're hoping you'll come back to visit us soon,” Doug said. No wonder the guy was the first choice for the male lead in the community theater plays. He sounded so calm and friendly, as if he really meant the words. “Lucille says hello.”

She gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white.

“Lovely woman. I hope she got my note. I hated to run out when she and I were just getting to know each other, but this business couldn't wait.”

There was no note. She'd looked everywhere for one, refusing to believe he could be so cold as to make love to her all night, then leave the next morning without a word. But, of course, he'd so clearly planned to do just that, having cleaned out his condo before she even got there. He'd realized that in the throes of passion she wasn't likely to notice missing toiletries in the bathroom. “Say hello to her for me,” he said.

“I'll do that.”

She wanted to scream. But, of course, she couldn't. She settled for glaring at the phone, letting anger burn away the shame.

“What can I do for you today, Doug?” Gerald asked. “I'm rather busy, but I can give you a few minutes.”

“I was hoping you could give me some advice,” Doug said. “Or rather, give
us
advice. I'm calling on behalf of the city. I guess you keep up with the price of gold these days.”

“Yes, gold is a popular investment, though I still prefer technology stocks.”

“Yes, well, Eureka owns quite a few mining claims that have been forfeited for back taxes. Most of them are probably worthless, but several of them have potential to be producing mines again, what with the development of new technology and the increase in the price of gold.”

“You're saying you expect to take gold from these mines?”

The men exchanged glances. None of them missed the new interest in Gerald's voice.

“One of the mines is particularly promising,” Doug said. “We've been doing some assaying and are very encouraged by what we see.”

“How can I help you?” Gerald asked. “I admit I know nothing about gold mining.”

“But you know stocks. Our plan is to sell shares in the mine in order to raise the capital we need for the technology and equipment to mine the ore and extract the gold. I was hoping you could tell us how to go about selling the shares.”

“A public offering is a very long, involved process. It could take you two years or more to receive permission to trade stock.”

Reggie had already explained all this to them, but Doug did a good job of conveying surprise and disappointment. “I had no idea. Is there anything else we can do? The gold's just sitting there, useless unless we can get it out. But we can't get it out without equipment and miners . . . I suppose if that Swedish technology stock pays off well . . .”

“There are other ways to raise capital,” Gerald said. “You can solicit private investors.”

“And you can help us with that, right? We'd be willing to pay you an appropriate fee.”

“I might be able to help you. I'd want to know more about the project and the potential for profit. I never sell any investments I'm not confident will realize a good rate of return. I have a reputation to protect, after all.”

The man was amazing. Even though they all knew he was a liar and a cheat, he sounded absolutely convincing. Lucille saw doubt on the faces of some of the men.

“Why don't you come out here and see the mine?” Doug said. “We'd be happy to show you around, let you see our plans and the research we've done. We're excited about the project and we think it'll be a real moneymaker for everyone involved.”

“My schedule is very full right now, but perhaps I could make some time.... I'll have to get back to you.”

“Do that. We'd be happy to see you anytime. I won't keep you any longer. And thanks so much for your advice.”

Doug replaced the phone in the receiver. “I think I need to go take a shower now,” he said.

“Do you think he bought it?” Paul asked.

“Oh, I think he bought it,” Junior said. “You could hear the greed in his voice.”

“I predict he'll be out here before the end of the week,” Bob said. “He won't be able to think about anything else. Gold does that to a man.”

“If he comes out here, I'll show him the mine and make my pitch,” Doug said. “But I think Lucille should be the one to persuade him to buy the shares.”

“Take him out to dinner and act real friendly,” Paul said.

“Seduce him, you mean.” She was seeing a new side to her town council, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Apparently, they now saw her as some femme fatale.

“It's what he did to you, isn't it?” Bob said. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“I don't know if I can do it.”

Bob put a hand on her shoulder. “Sure you can. Don't think about what he did to you . . . think about taking back your dignity by cutting him off at the knees.”

She could think of a few things she'd like to cut off of Gerald. “I'll try. But we have to get him here first.”

“He's probably making reservations already,” Reggie said.

Someone had said revenge was a dish best served cold. An icy day in December might be the ideal time to serve that particular entrée. “I don't suppose there's any truth to what you told him about the mines?” she asked. “Could any of them be re-worked to produce gold?”

“Not likely,” Junior said. “Most of them never yielded much of anything in the first place.”

“I've heard lots of talk about re-working some of the mines that were good producers once upon a time,” Bob said. “When they shut down years ago it wasn't because there wasn't any gold left in them, just that the gold that was left was too hard to get to. They didn't have the technology and tools miners do today. But the mines the city owns were pretty much duds from the get-go. Not much hope there.”