Merry Hearts: A Small Town Holiday Novella
Page 10
I pick up the phone and call over to Beverly’s home.
“We’ll be over shortly. Dottie and Marvin just got here. Dottie brought a mess of pies and cookies. I was going to send some your way anyway. We’ll all just pile our gifts in the truck and head to Rustic Peak,” Beverly agrees.
Ria is handing foil-wrapped sandwiches to Braxton as he and Walker head out into the backyard.
“Tell them to add more chairs to the list and to go ahead and grab a couple of folding tables. I’ll go upstairs and find some more tablecloths,” I instruct Ria.
Myer and Dallas pull up with the kids in a gorgeous horse-drawn sleigh that he restored for her. She is beaming as she tells us about it and Beau excitedly suggests we all go for a ride in it later.
As everyone else starts arriving and more packages come through the door, chaos ensues. Babies are being passed around, dogs are running underfoot, and voices are talking over each other. And laughter—oh, the laughter.
The boys finish their day, and then they build a fire in the pits on the back deck. They set up tables and chairs to relax with a beer while all the girls sit around the living room, chatting and enjoying each other’s company.
Ria, Beverly, Dottie, Vivian, Madeline, Ms. Elaine, and I listen as the girls talk about the boys. We give our advice on how to handle the men in their lives as we sip on eggnog or mulled wine.
“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. I’ll never forget the advice Gram gave all of us early in our marriages. She said the best way to get a man to agree to anything is to ask him with your shirt off. Do you want to remodel the kitchen? Ask him with your shirt off. Do you want a new pair of boots? Ask him with your shirt off. Do you want to try for baby number two? Ask him with your shirt off,” Dottie recounts.
“Really, Momma?!” Dallas exclaims.
“Don’t let this silvery hair and these wrinkles fool you. We’ve all wrangled a few cowboys in our day. You think we don’t know what it takes?”
Ria eyes them over the top of her mug. “A few of you wouldn’t even be with your cowboys if it hadn’t been for the little push we gave them.”
We give each other knowing smiles as they try to protest, but we all know the truth. Gram’s generation meddled in our lives and gave us a foundation of faith, as they shared their wisdom and helped us navigate becoming wives and mothers. They passed the torch to us, and soon, we will pass it to these beautiful, strong women, so they can do the same for the next generation, just as it should be.
We eat, drink, and open gifts all afternoon. We take turns between cuddling the new babies and playing with Beau. Old favorite holiday movies play in the background. It’s one of the best Christmases I can remember.
Finally, the sun begins to set. Ria and I load everyone down with leftovers as they start dispersing, heading home with their little families. When the last ones drive off, I stop and look at the paper-strewed living room with blankets and cushions tossed about, and I start to tidy up.
Ria walks in, carrying two full mugs. “Leave it and throw another log on the fire. I want to sit and enjoy the mess with you for a while longer,” she says.
“It’s a Wonderful Life?” I ask.
“Put it in,” she says.
I load the movie into the DVD player, and we curl up on the couch.
“I don’t think you have to ever worry about it ending up just me and you, staring at each other across the breakfast table, sis,” I say, reminding her of our conversation this morning.
“No, not in Poplar Falls.”
Pop Lancaster
Jefferson and I park in the church parking lot. First Baptist Church of Poplar Falls is as much a part of us as Rustic Peak Ranch. Betty Sue and I joined the congregation of fifteen people before our wedding all those years ago. I can still see the tears in her eyes as she walked in on her father’s arm and came down the aisle to me. I was a nervous wreck until I saw her smile. She was a beauty, and I was the luckiest man alive because she’d chosen me.
“You all right, Pop?” Jefferson asks as I stare up the snow-covered hill behind the chapel.
“Just remembering,” I say as I pat his hand on the seat beside me.
I release the seat belt, and he reaches behind us to grasp the poinsettia in the backseat.
“You want me to come with you?” he asks as he passes it to me.
“I’d like a couple of minutes alone first, if you don’t mind, son.”
He nods his agreement, and I wrap the ends of my scarf higher to shield myself against the cold. I make my way up the hill. Thankfully, the snow is a fine powder, and my boots grip the ground. I walk through the field of gray and white stones, each one proudly announcing the life and death of one of God’s precious children. When I make it to the willow tree, I walk to the place where my beloved was laid to rest. I set down the flowerpot and remove my gloves. Then, I take my handkerchief from my pocket and brush the snow from her headstone.
Here lies Betty Sue (Gram) Lancaster. Beloved daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, and friend. She finally knows.
“Hello, sweetheart. I brought you your Christmas poinsettia. I bet you thought I forgot. I’m sorry I didn’t get it here sooner. It’s been an eventful Christmas this year. As you know, Braxton and Sophie married, and they welcomed our great-granddaughter this fall. She’s about as precious as a child can be. She looks like Sophie, which means she looks like you. I wish you could have met her. Of course, you probably met her before any of us, didn’t you? I saw the faint angel kiss on the back of her neck. Walker finished his and Elle’s home, and they are getting married in a couple of months. And our baby girl, Doreen, finally accepted Emmett’s ring. I know you waited patiently for that one. I even have myself a new lady friend. Ms. Elaine, the new vet’s mother. She is a pretty thing, soft-spoken, God-fearing, and likes to play bingo. I think you’d like her. She’ll never take your place in our home or my heart, but it’s nice to have someone’s hand to hold and share a meal with. Maybe a kiss or two on the cheek. The family is growing, and I’m growing old. I expect I’ll be seeing you sooner than later. I sure do miss you, darling.”
I hear Jefferson’s footfalls coming up behind me, and I wipe the tears from my eyes.
He lays his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, Momma. Merry Christmas.”
I take his hand, and he helps me to my feet.
“Let’s get out of the cold, son. A fire and eggnog are waiting for us. Your mother would laugh at us anyway, standing out here, freezing, talking to the ground. She’s not here. She’s celebrating with Jesus,” I say as I start back down the hill.
He stops and turns back. “You’re still here. I know you are. I see you when I look into the girls’ eyes. I hear you when the choir sings ‘Amazing Grace’ on Sunday mornings. I feel you in the breeze and smell you when I enter our kitchen. You’re everywhere. Merry Christmas, Momma.”
The End
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This book is a love letter to the fans of this series. You guys are amazing and I love receiving ever single message about your favorite characters and your requests for more books about our motley bunch of ranchers. There may be more stories to tell about Poplar Falls in the future and I will keep you all posted.
As always, I have to thank my wonderful team of professionals for making me look good. Jovana Shirley is a godsend… Judy Zweifel as well. Their eagle eyes and mastery of literature are priceless. Stacey Blake, thank you for making the inside of my books so lovely. Sommer Stein, you are an artist and I adore your work.
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Last, but certainly not least, my Miller. You are the reason I can write about happily ever afters. Thank you for loving me the way you do.
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Amber Kelly is a romance author that calls North Carolina home. She has been a avid reader from a young age and you could always find her with her nose in a book completely enthralled in an adventure. With the support of her husband and family, in 2018, she decided to finally give a voice to the stories in her head and her debut novel, Both of Me was born. You can connect with Amber on Facebook at facebook.com/AuthorAmberKelly, on IG @authoramberkelly, on Twitter @AuthorAmberKel1 or via her website www.authoramberkelly.com