Rescuing Christmas

by Nancy Lee Badger

  “Surgery!” she and her father yelled at the same time.

  The doctor raised his hands, trying to calm them. “Until we know if your ankle is fractured, no food or drink. Once the X-rays are read, we’ll know. Other than the ankle, any other pains popping up?”

  “Nope. Andy cushioned my fall. If my boot hadn’t caught in the hole in the roof, I wouldn’t be in this bed wearing a short excuse for a bathrobe with no back!”

  “Try to relax and we will do our best to get you back on your feet.” The doctor smiled and left the room.

  “Ellie, I have a deep hankering for one of your sister’s butterscotch scones.”

  “I promise to stop in and get some, if I can ever get through the pile of paperwork today’s incidents have created.”

  “Heard my crew screwed up. Explain.”

  She was going to remind him they were her crew, now, and she was in charge at the moment they caused Mr. Wainwright to drive into the pond. “Dad, there was an incident, yes, but I have it under control. Mr. Wainwright’s fancy little silver car ended up half submerged in the pond. A bloody nose, and muddy clothes were the extent of the damage.” He didn’t need to know about the tossed papers, the lack of a vehicle, and having to postpone his trip to Montreal all because their fire engine took the corner on his side of the road.

  “Tell me about this fella, the driver.”

  “Mr. Wainwright seems…nice. Even though he’s from New York City and owns some big company, I doubt he’ll sue the town. In fact, he thanked me.” When she thought how she’d really love him to show his thanks, both cheeks heated.

  “Well, keep on top of that fella.”

  “Dad!”

  His smile proved he knew exactly what he’d said, and how she would take it.

  Chapter 4

  The sheer window curtains let the morning sun in much too early, although Bradley decided the smell of bacon helped ease the pain. In the city, he was normally an early riser, but lulled into wakefulness by a soft melody on his noise machine. The inn was much too quiet. He rarely ate breakfast, though Mona made sure he had something hot and fresh in his office around 9:30. Where she got a freshly toasted bagel with cream cheese in the financial district was a mystery.

  Dressed in his loose borrowed clothing, he descended the stairs on his way out the door. Sean, the muscular innkeeper called to him, and he politely stopped.

  “Where you headed? Breakfast is in the dining room. Coffee, too. The other guests are eager to talk with you again. You and your empire intrigued them all.”

  He had no inclination to talk to people that were only interested in hob-knobbing with a millionaire. “I’m not really hungry. Can I get a mocha latte?”

  The innkeeper smiled. “Not anywhere around here. Maybe at the bookstore.”

  A mocha latte from a bookstore?

  “I will give them a try. I have a list a mile long. But, you could tell me how to access the Wi-Fi?”

  “Sorry, we don’t have it running, right now. A problem with the modem, supposedly. Hope to get it fixed tomorrow or the next day.”

  Ouch. “Is there a place in town where I can access the internet?”

  He scratched his chin, staring at the ceiling. “Hmm. I think the bookstore has Wi-Fi. Saw a little sign in their window announcing it last year.”

  “The bookstore? The same one that has lattes?” He loved bookstores, yet so few still existed. He put that place on his mental list of today’s tasks. “What about a pay phone?”

  While the innkeeper laughed, Bradley pulled open the front door and bounded down the stairs. He needed to contact the car rental agency to report the accident and request a replacement vehicle. He supposed the man who owned the garage, and must have towed his vehicle, had a phone. The company’s phone number should be on the rental agreement. He had stashed it in the glove box.

  Strolling down the sidewalk, his breath formed a small cloud. It was cold, and he lacked winter clothing, even though Sean had told him to take anything from a closet off the kitchen. Wearing someone else’s leftovers was not his thing. He held his wallet in his left hand since it would only weigh down the sweatpants, but gloves would have been nice.

  The breeze seeped through the thin material of the sweatpants and sweater, but at least his feet were warm. He should have accepted a jacket and a hat from the innkeeper, but escape made more sense. He’d stuffed his feet into two pair of socks before trying on the borrowed tennis shoes. It would do for now, but if it finally snowed, he would need a parka.

  He headed straight to the garage, passing several stores that looked dark and still closed. He hoped the garage was open. He passed a small pet clinic, a dollar store, a small grocery store, and a bus stop crowded with eight or nine children. Several mothers stood shivering with their babies in strollers, while standing watch over the older siblings.

  Garland and wreaths decorated the entryways of every shop, while tiny strings of lights, currently dark, wove back and forth overhead and across the street. Window displays favored greens and reds, while a few statues of Santa and reindeer made him reminiscent of happier times, shopping with his mother. The Christmas season and all holidays meant more to him when she still lived. Why had he shied away from celebrating?

  Lights glowed from within the garage’s office, so he turned the knob and let himself in. He could see his wrecked vehicle on a lift in the main garage. Under it stood a man who he assumed was Mac Gilman, the owner. He was cranking on something, then paused to write something on a clipboard.

  Bradley rapped on the glass between them. Startled, Mac dropped the clipboard. Regaining his dignity, he picked up the clipboard and strode into the office.

  “I assume you’re the owner of this wreck?”

  Bradley winced. If that was the man’s honest assessment, ordering a replacement was a prudent idea. “Yes, I am he. I need to report the accident and get a replacement car. Can you tell me what I should tell them?”

  “Well, I’m not an insurance agent, but I know cars. Ain’t no fixing this hunk of junk. From the engine to the radiator, to the front axle to the airbags…adds up quick. You’ll be needing a police report, too. Have you reported the accident?”

  “There was an officer at the scene. I think he said his name is Jackson. Is there a police station around here?” He had not noticed any police vehicles parked in town.

  “Yep, it’s on the next street over, behind the grocery store. Can’t miss it.”

  “I’ll go talk to them, then come back for your report.”

  He set the clipboard on a desk cluttered with a box laden with metal parts and a tiny lit Christmas tree. “I have to go deliver these to a farmer up the road. Lots of folks around here do their own repairs. Then I have to pick up some parts in Pine Cone. Might get back before dark, but depends on traffic. Best to check back in tomorrow morning.”

  Tomorrow? This was not going the way it should. What could he do? “Then I will be back first thing tomorrow. Thank you.”

  The mechanic nodded and poured a cup of coffee into a ceramic mug with a chipped lip. The thick brown liquid pouring from the glass pot looked like mud. He had ingested his fill of mud last night at the inn, which was another reason he hoped to discover a store that sold delicious coffee. Shivering, he realized it was time to find some clothes.

  No, the police report, otherwise I will be stuck in this tiny town.

  He headed around the corner to the street that ran behind the stores on Main Street and noticed the fire department building on the next block. A fire truck was backing into the bay, its rear alarm beeping as it went.

  I should thank them, too.

  Talking to the police was more important. As he walked down the street, he spotted two SUVs painted with police department colors parked behind a low-slung brick building that looked no bigger than the garage. Two officers stepped from the door and noticed him.

  “I recognize that sweater, but you’re not Sean from the Peabody Inn,” one officer said. “My mo
ther knitted that.”

  He had forgotten about the big stylized ‘S’ in the middle of the lightweight hand-knit sweater. “Mr. Peabody loaned it to me. I had a little accident yesterday with my car and ruined all my clothes.”

  The officers looked at each other and smiled. “You’re the one who had a run in with a big red fire truck and its new chief.”

  It wasn’t a question, so he did not answer. “Mac, at the garage, says I will need a police report when I call the rental agency. I dealt with Officer. Jackson, I believe was his name. Is he here?”

  “Nobody left inside. Bet Ray’s on his day off. He’ll be in tomorrow. Have a nice day.” They walked to their respective police vehicles, leaving Bradley shivering on the sidewalk.

  As they drove away, he glanced at the police station. Walking up to the door, he tried the knob. It was locked. Shaking his head, he muttered “Small towns.” Once he discovered the inn offered coffee not fit for human consumption, no exercise equipment, or even Wi-Fi, he wondered how soon it would be until he could put the entire town behind him.

  The image of a brown-haired, mud-covered firefighter rose out of left field, and for a split second he thought staying around might actually be a good thing. Why, he had no idea.

  More importantly, he could do nothing without the police report, or a phone. He supposed another day wouldn’t matter. Mona would not expect an update for at least a week. The redhead wasn’t waiting for him as yet, either.

  Buying new clothes would take up some time, then he could check back to see if Officer Jackson had returned to the station, in case he worked a later shift. Besides, he could use a cup of coffee right about now.

  Returning to Main Street, he searched for the general store that Sean mentioned sold clothing. He found it wedged between a gaily decorated bookstore and a tiny pharmacy. On the other side of the bookstore stood a little ice cream shop. The ice cream shop’s dark storefront had a For Sale sign in the window. Selling ice cream in the winter in Vermont sounded like a hard sell, even without snow clogging the sidewalks.

  Bringing his attention back to the nicely decorated windows of the bookstore, he thought how many bookstores back in the city had shriveled up and closed. He would try to find time before he left town to look through the stacks. With no Wi-Fi at the inn and a missing mobile phone, a book might make the long night palatable.

  His taste buds craved a mocha latte and a something freshly baked, but Mona was the genius who always delivered them to his office. Today, in this little town, buying clothes was imperative. He stepped inside the general store and groaned. The walls were covered with hats, scarves, and kitchen tools. Bins of nails, screwdrivers, and sponges stood near the cash register. Toward the back he spied racks of work-shirts and parkas. Nothing seemed to be arranged in any particular order.

  This shall be another challenge. I pray they accept credit cards.

  ***

  Ellie struggled to continue smiling. The Christmas Festival was right around the corner, but how could it take place with such warm and snow-free December weather? No snow meant they might have to cancel all their plans. The festival’s cancellation meant not enough funds for all the equipment the fire department needed. The defibrillator was older than dirt, the hoses on their main engine were fraying, and the automatic garage door was on the blink. The rescue crew really wanted a toboggan to safely carry an injured person on a stretcher behind a snowmobile. She also mustn’t forget their recently destroyed extension ladder.

  The warm weather was unusual. By this time of year, Snowflake Valley was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The evergreen branches of the pine trees and the bare limbs of white birch and maple trees were usually sprinkled with snow. Ice would normally cover the frozen surface of the pond near town, as well as the stream running along the west edge of town.

  The only things white or cold in Snowflake Valley were the ice cream cones sold at the ice cream shop. No, that wasn’t correct. The ice cream shop closed up yesterday. Had she really seen a For Sale sign in the window? Her sister ought to rent the store and expand her own very successful business.

  Even though Ellie was happy for her sister, the weather reports didn’t indicate any change before the fast-approaching end of the year, which would be much too late for a successful Christmas Festival.

  Her head filled with other ideas, things townspeople could do without cold temperatures or snow, but nothing that would bring in the money that the usual festivities would. She was personally looking forward to a horse-drawn sleigh ride. Ice skating was also fun, especially when one skated with friends and family. She thought about the hot cocoa and fresh-popped sugary kettle corn that folks purchased to eat while riding in a horse-drawn sleigh. Her mouth watered. They tasted better than a fancy glass of wine or a grilled steak in a big city restaurant.

  In her honest opinion, none of the other ideas that the festival committee had mentioned would prove profitable. Maybe she had better look outside the box before the time constraints meant doom for the townspeople and the fire department.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed to the big red pickup. She wanted to check in on Mr. Wainwright.

  He said to call him Bradley.

  Bradley had no vehicle, and she sensed the accident was too fresh in his mind. Coddling him by helping him get around town might ensure he would continue his trip without engaging a lawyer to sue the town.

  ***

  Bradley could not believe his eyes. Even if they had not decorated every corner of the general store for the holidays, the Scotch plaid and checked shirts were a splash of color that fit in with Vermont’s normally cold and snowy weather. Overwhelmed, he walked past parkas, ski pants, boots, gloves, scarves, and hats in every style and color. That they sat beside boxes of matches and tied batches of kindling was too funny, for a man used to top-name department stores. As he looped his way back to the cash register near the front door, nets filled with fragrant pinecones hung from cast iron hooks.

  Stepping closer, he sniffed.

  “We sprinkle them with different holiday spices. They’ll make your whole house smell great.”

  Turning, he nodded at the shopkeeper, a rosy cheeked grandmotherly type, complete with a gray bun and frilly apron. She smiled broadly, then turned away to answer her phone. “Let me know if you need anything, sir.”

  Following the list in his head, he looked around and chose a pair of jeans, the only style of slacks in the place. A black t-shirt and a muted blue and green plaid flannel shirt would have to do. At least he would be warm. A pair of boots that fit would make his feet feel almost human. Gloves, too.

  After piling his purchases on the counter, he fished out his credit card while he waited for the shopkeeper to finish her chatty phone call. Still waiting, his mind wandered to the pretty firefighter who had slid down a muddy hill to rescue him. She in no way blew the curvy redhead out of the water, but there was something special about her features, her voice, even the way she smelled that made him want to learn more.

  The shopkeeper said good-bye to her caller and raised an eyebrow at the pile on the counter. He paid for his goods and wasn’t surprised the store had no delivery service. He had a hunch he would have to hike back to the inn with his newly acquired load, before having a chance to check out any more shops.

  With the bags weighing him down, he walked back to the inn. The outside air was warmer, now that the sun was out, which made him happy. He detested snow covered streets and sidewalks. Too messy.

  His smile disappeared the moment he stepped in a puddle he hadn’t noticed. The muddy water soaked his socks and borrowed sneakers. Great!

  Stopping just outside the inn’s entrance, on the worn rug on the porch, he set down the bags, and stripped off the offending footwear. Grabbing his bags and damp clothing, he entered the inn, praying he would make it to his room without meeting any of the guests.

  “Mr. Wainwright? Are you all right?”

  No such luck.

  “I am fine, Mr
. Peabody. Just heading up to my room. I purchased new clothing, and will return these borrowed togs to you, shortly. I am afraid some items might need a major washing,” he said, glancing at the damp sneakers gripped in his hand.

  Sean chuckled. “I can see that. Bring all of them down when you next plan to go out, or come down for dinner. Well, well, well,” he said, turning toward the entrance, “Here comes trouble.”

  Bradley’s curiosity won out as he climbed the stairs, pausing at the top of the landing, feigning a search for his room key. The inn’s front door opened and Elinor walked in. His chest tightened and his shoulders tensed. She had changed, and wore jeans, a clean navy-blue jacket, black leather boots that reached her slender calves, and no hat. Pink from the cold, her cheeks looked healthy. She looked like a milk-fed farmer’s daughter, not the acting chief of a town fire department, and smelled of soap and something floral, even from a distance. When she spotted the innkeeper, she stopped in her tracks.

  “Coming to see me, Ellie?” Sean asked.

  Bradley could not see his face, but Elinor cringed. She did not seem to like the guy and he was curious about why she was here. Did she come to see me?

  “Sean, we need to talk about the possibility of canceling the Christmas Festival. Since your business is a sponsor, I thought you ought to know.”

  “Canceling would be detrimental to the entire town, not to mention the fire department. When will you make a decision?” He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Please don’t do that. We talked about this.”

  Her voice had lowered. Bradley went stock-still.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You know how I feel about you. I was looking forward to taking a sleigh ride with you, under the stars.” He leaned in as if he meant to kiss her.

  Bradley cleared his throat, and the couple sprang apart. He dropped his clothes on the landing and walked down a few steps. “Oh, pardon me, but I wanted to ask if there was anything I could do to help with the festival.” It was a lie, of course.