One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  Ezra had respected her wishes and confined the dog to the mudroom, but instead of keeping the door closed, as she would have preferred, he’d placed a barrier across the threshold with a piece of cardboard that merely blocked the bottom half of the doorway. It was just high enough to reveal the dog’s head and shoulders. Lillian pretended to ignore him as he sat there staring at her with those beady brown eyes.

  When the dog finally whined, Ezra chuckled. “Poor little chap. He smells your eggs and toast. I bet he’d like a taste.”

  Ezra eyed the leftovers on her dish. She pulled it back abruptly. “This is human food. It will upset his stomach.”

  “Nonsense. Dogs can eat scrambled eggs.” But Ezra didn’t make a move to take her plate and prove his point. Thankfully.

  She knew that she would have fought him for it.

  Estrella swept into the kitchen, carrying a basket of laundry. She’d been upstairs, making beds and straightening up, as was her routine. She had been with them so many years, Lillian didn’t know what they would do without her. Though, much to her embarrassment now, she had objected to Estrella when she’d been hired to help right after Ezra’s heart attack. Lillian could now see it was a good thing her husband had prevailed in that argument. He’d been proven right that time, though it was a rare instance.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ezra. I see we have a houseguest?” Estrella greeted Ezra with a sunny smile. He was definitely her favorite, though she was always respectful and considerate to both of them. But she did like Ezra better.

  “Yes, and one who isn’t staying long,” Lillian replied. She sighed and focused on the crossword puzzle.

  “Isn’t he cute?” Ezra said to the housekeeper. “Do you like dogs, Estrella? You’re not afraid of them, are you?”

  “Not at all. I like dogs very much. Where did he come from?”

  “Ezra found him last night, eating from the trash bins. We need to find his owners. Doubtlessly worried sick that he’s disappeared. When, in fact, he’s being held captive by a self-indulgent old man.”

  “He’s being kept out of the cold and safe from being hit by a car and from bigger animals that might hurt him. And fed proper food,” Ezra corrected her.

  Estrella looked at Lillian and then at Ezra, as usual showing no reaction to their bickering, which was another reason she had stayed so long in their employment. That was a rare talent indeed, Lillian had always thought.

  “Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Ezra?” Estrella asked.

  “I would. Just some toast . . . and maybe a scrambled egg?” he added.

  “Of course. I will prepare it for you.” Estrella disappeared into the kitchen. Lillian looked up to find Ezra smiling.

  “I know what you’re up to. What do I care? Make the dog sick if you must.” Before she could say more, her cell phone buzzed. She squinted down at a text message from Jessica.

  On the run more than I thought today. Not sure I can make it over this afternoon for the dog. Will be in touch.

  “A note from Jessica,” she reported. “She’ll be a little later than she thought. But will take the dog today,” she insisted, contrary to the message.

  “A little later, you say? Good. I have time to give Teddy a bath. He’s been living rough, poor fellow. Might as well clean him up if I can. For his homecoming.”

  Lillian imagined Ezra bathing the dog in the very tub she used and felt her blood pressure rise.

  “In the laundry room or basement, I’m sure you mean. I’m going upstairs to dress. I don’t want to hear another word about that dog today. Until Jessica comes to remove him.”

  Without glancing at her husband, she rose from the table and walked out of the room as swiftly as she was able.

  She felt the hard edge of her cell phone in her bathrobe pocket. She would call Jessica again once she got upstairs and out of Ezra’s earshot.

  She obviously didn’t understand the crisis here. Jessica had to come today. Immediately. What could be so important that she couldn’t come and take the dog?

  If she denies me this small request, I must take matters into my own hands. There is always a solution to a problem, if one has nerve and will enough. That dog can be let loose, back into the outdoors, as easily as it was brought into this house.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lauren’s aunt’s cell phone rang insistently, resting in the cup holder of the van. “Can you check who’s calling me, honey? Don’t pick up, just tell me who it is.”

  Lauren picked up the phone and checked the screen. “It’s your mother again. Maybe I should answer?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No, don’t. I know what she’s calling about. I just sent her a text. If it’s a real emergency, she’ll call Emily. I’ll get back to her later, once these guys are unloaded and settled down.”

  Lauren set her aunt’s phone down and leaned toward the window, cracked open just a bit for air, despite the chilly weather.

  The cargo area, right up to the back of their seats, was filled with animals that she and her aunt had just picked up at a local farm. Most were in plastic and wire crates of various sizes. Sam had fitted the back of the van with a few cushioned partitions where tethered goats stood side by side, braying insistently, like malcontent airline passengers, while ducks quacked and chickens clucked in a barnyard chorus.

  Only a small baby pig that Jessica had handled with extra care lay silently in his crate. The crate was tucked between their seats so that Lauren could watch him during the ride.

  She wasn’t sure how her aunt managed to stay on the road with the racket going on. Or the aroma, eau de barnyard, that filled the small space and wafted up from their clothes, which were splotched with mud and manure.

  Lauren considered tossing all her clothes out once she got home—her oldest jeans, a worn-out red sweatshirt with a big lobster across the chest, and an ugly green camouflage vest that her father had stashed in the back of his closet. Her big rubber boots could be hosed off. She’d salvage those at least.

  “How’s our little friend doing?” Jessica asked, slanting her head toward the piglet.

  Lauren peered into the crate. He appeared to be sleeping, breathing deeply, his eyelids—almost translucent—closed tight. His pink skin was so pale, and he was so small. So much like a newborn baby. Her heart melted at the sight.

  “He’s either carsick or sleeping. Though I can’t see how with all the chatter going on back there.”

  “Babies are like that, right?”

  Lauren shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Not firsthand, I mean.”

  “Not yet,” her aunt corrected her. She cast Lauren a knowing glance, then turned back to the road. “It was nice to see Joe Wagner. He’s such a nice guy.”

  She had used the word “nice” two times within one breath to describe Joe, Lauren noticed. And she was hardly the first person Lauren had known to do that. “Yes, he’s very nice,” Lauren echoed, her sarcasm lost on her aunt.

  “You two seem to get along so well. How’s that going? I mean, you’re working at his office and playing golf and all?”

  Lauren laughed. “Did Mom ask you to squeeze me for some info?”

  Her aunt smiled and shook her head, her dark curls springing from her loose ponytail. “Of course not. I’m just curious. Sorry to be such a nosy old lady.”

  “You’re not,” Lauren said. “Old, I mean,” she teased her. “I always have fun with Joe. He’s easy to be with. Even to work with,” she added. “We get along well. We always did. But I don’t see any big romance blossoming, if that’s what you mean.”

  Jessica turned to her for a moment, then looked back at the road. “I understand. But you just don’t know about these things, honey. I wouldn’t be so quick to rule him out.”

  Lauren had already ruled out Joe as a romantic possibility, for a few reasons. Yet her sisters, mother, and now aunt were
all encouraging her to take a second look. Were they seeing something she didn’t see? Or just noticing that she was almost thirty, her choices narrowing and her biological clock ticking louder and louder?

  The thing about Joe was he looked good on paper—attractive, smart, successful. Easygoing and kind. There were so many good points to recommend him to an unattached woman her age. Still, each time she considered the question, she knew there was simply something missing. Would she feel differently if she gave him more time?

  She glanced at her aunt. She didn’t want to get into it right now. Jessica seemed to sense that as well.

  “It was good of you to help me today, Lauren. I ran through my entire volunteer list before I called you.”

  “I’m glad you did. This is fun. I bet my sisters aren’t even up yet.”

  “Probably not. I’ll get you home shortly. You’ll have plenty of time to visit with them.”

  Lauren didn’t doubt it. She had no real plans for the day and was happy to make good on her promise to help the rescue group. Her aunt had received a desperate call late last night. A local farm had to close down and clear the property by December first, only four days from now. The farmer’s arrangements for passing on his livestock had fallen through, and all of their noisy passengers would have been sent to slaughterhouses if Grateful Paw hadn’t stepped in.

  It felt good to help save them. Lauren hadn’t expected that part of her morning’s work. And they were almost done now. She would help her aunt unload the animals and do whatever was needed to get them settled. Maybe her uncle or cousins would come out to speed that part of the job along? Then she would head home and have a long, hot shower. Next time her aunt tapped her for this gig, she would wear nose plugs—and maybe even earplugs—she decided.

  She glanced out the window, checking the road for familiar landmarks. They were driving on the Beach Road, but in the opposite direction from her aunt’s house.

  “Do you have more animals to pick up, Aunt Jess?”

  “I don’t think any more would fit, even if I did.”

  “Why are we driving in this direction? Your house is the other way.” Lauren pointed out her window.

  “Oh . . . didn’t I tell you? There’s no room in our barn right now. We’re bringing these guys to Sawyer’s. To Cole McGuire’s barn, I mean. He still has plenty of space there.” She turned to Lauren, looking suddenly concerned. “I hope that’s not a problem? He promised me that he found the hole in the fence and fixed it.”

  Lauren shook her head, her stomach knotting. “If he said he did, then he did. Besides, I’m not representing the golf course today. I just want to help you.”

  “And I’m very grateful,” Jessica answered with a smile. “And lucky.”

  That makes one of us, Lauren answered silently. Of all the days to confront Cole McGuire again . . . She looked and smelled like she’d just rolled around in a hogpen. She glanced down at her clothes and wanted to scream.

  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she reminded herself. She knew this morning would certainly put that motto to the test.

  McGuire was waiting for them, standing just outside the corral near the barn. He waved as the van pulled up.

  Lauren took a quick, deep breath and hoped her aunt didn’t notice her distress. It’s showtime, she silently coached herself.

  Her aunt had turned the van so that the driver’s side faced Cole. He smiled as he greeted her, then noticed Lauren hop out the passenger side. His mouth hung open for a moment, and she felt she’d scored a point or two by catching him off guard.

  Jessica was already talking to him about the animals. Lauren masked her emotions with a neutral expression, as she had been trained to do in her work. Then she walked over to join them.

  “Good morning, Mr. McGuire,” she said politely, the barest note of irony in her tone.

  “Ms. Willoughby. Here to check the fence repairs before more animals check in? I believe the deadline is Monday. By the way, that letter from your firm scared the chickens. They haven’t laid all week.”

  “Really? You should speak to the rooster about that,” Lauren countered.

  Her aunt looked puzzled by the edge in their voices. Lauren hated to stick her in the middle of this, but there was no help for it. She had been perfectly polite and he was still totally disagreeable. As she had expected.

  “I know you’ve met my niece, Cole,” Jessica intervened. “She was nice enough to give me a hand this morning. I couldn’t find a single volunteer to help today.”

  He turned back to Lauren. “You told me you knew of Jessica Morgan. You never said she’s your aunt.”

  “No, I didn’t. What difference does that make?”

  “No difference at all,” Jessica cut in. “Cole, can you give us a hand unloading this gang? We’ll be out of your way in no time.”

  He glared at Lauren, then followed Jessica to the back of the van. Her aunt pulled open the doors, climbed into the van, and pushed out a ramp that led from the tailgate to the ground.

  “Goats first. Whoever said the squeaky wheel gets the oil was right.”

  Lauren stood aside as Jessica and Cole dealt with the first goat. The creature stepped into the daylight, its reaction a mixture of confusion and stubbornness, much like a person forced into a big, unexpected change. Lauren could totally relate.

  “Come along. Don’t be scared. You’re going to be fine.” Cole coaxed the little goat down the ramp, his manner surprisingly kind and gentle.

  He’s a lot nicer to animals than to humans, she noticed.

  Once he was headed for the barn, Lauren took her turn and carried out two crates of chickens, one in each hand.

  “There’s a coop next to the barn,” her aunt said. “Just pop them inside. We’ll check on them later before we go.”

  Lauren took care of the chickens and, after that, two big lop-eared rabbits. Cole was escorting the second goat, and her aunt was taking care of a pair of ducks.

  The van was empty and she had succeeded in avoiding further conversation with him, or even more poisonous looks.

  Eager to go, Lauren decided to wait for her aunt inside the van. She expected Jessica and McGuire had to discuss the care of the animals and how long they might stay.

  She wondered who paid for their feed and hay and other costs while the animals were housed here. The rescue group probably worked something out with him. Glancing around at the little cottage and beat-up truck, she doubted he could afford to cover all the costs himself.

  She slid open the van door and noticed that the crate with the baby pig remained. He was softly grunting and seemed fretful. Lauren lifted the carrier with care. “Hey, there. Don’t worry. We won’t leave you behind,” Lauren cooed to him.

  She headed for the barn with slow, steady steps, taking care not to jostle the baby too much. He seemed scared enough as it was.

  She had just reached the corral fence when a little girl burst through the cottage door and ran to meet her. Lauren stopped in her tracks at the sight. The little girl looked as if she had stepped off a picture in a storybook, with a red jacket matching the apple-red spots on her cheeks. Her blue eyes were shining, and her long brown hair flew behind her like silk ribbons.

  “Hey! . . . Hey, lady! Did you bring us more animals?” the girl called out.

  “Yes, we did.” Before Lauren could say more, the little girl was right beside her, peering into the crate.

  “What’s in there? A baby pig? He’s so cute.” The girl hopped up and down with excitement. Lauren couldn’t help but smile.

  She crouched down so the girl could see inside the crate clearly. “It is a baby pig. But he’s very small and scared. We have to be gentle with him, and talk softly. Loud noises scare him.”

  The girl suddenly looked very serious. “I’ll whisper, is that good?” Lauren could hardly hear her hushed words.


  Lauren touched her shoulder. “That’s perfect.”

  “He’s so small. Can I pet him?”

  Lauren thought that would be all right. The piglet had to be taken from the crate very soon anyway.

  “Sure. I’ll take him out and you can see him better. Just be gentle. Touch him like your fingers were feathers.”

  The girl grinned at that idea. Lauren crouched down, set the crate on the ground, unlatched the lid, then lifted out the piglet. He weighed no more than a pound or two. She suddenly realized how fragile and vulnerable he was.

  She held him out and the little girl ran her fingertip over the piglet’s head. “He’s just a little baby,” she said, her voice full of awe.

  “He is,” Lauren agreed. He squirmed in Lauren’s grasp, then turned his head and tried to suck the girl’s finger. The girl laughed and pulled her hand away. “He’s just hungry,” Lauren explained.

  “Where’s his mother?”

  “I don’t know. My aunt is trying to find him a new mother. There’s a pig in your barn named Tilly? My aunt thinks she’ll take care of him.”

  The girl looked concerned. “I hope so. I wish he could find his real mother.” Her reply was so serious, Lauren was surprised.

  The girl looked up at her. “Are you a farmer? Women can be farmers. I learned that in school.”

  “That’s true.” Lauren managed not to laugh. “I’m not a farmer, but I love animals.”

  “I might be a farmer when I grow up. I love animals, too. Especially pigs.” She gently stroked the piglet again. “What’s his name?”

  Lauren shrugged. “I don’t think he has one. Why don’t you name him?”

  The girl thought about the question for a moment. “My mom had a cat named Mr. Whiskers, but that doesn’t seem good for a baby pig.”

  So there was a mom somewhere? Lauren had already guessed that the girl was Cole McGuire’s daughter, the one he had rushed off to pick up at school the other day. Lauren knew it was too quick to assume, but somehow she sensed the little girl’s mother was not living here with Cole and the girl.