Grancie said, “We are that. This family knows how to have fun. We know what Christmas is all about: God changing human history forever and giving us something to be joyful about every day, and especially on Christmas.”
Jesus, I know I usually ask you to forgive me, but not now. Thank you. Thank you for what Grancie said. Grancie had no idea, but she’d just said the thing I needed her to say—a perfect setup. “So, with all this joy we have around here, what if we could spread some of it to someone else this year? To someone who doesn’t have much joy every day like we do.”
Mom set her mug of hot chocolate on the table beside her. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, Julia Avery Russell, daughter of mine.”
I hated it when Mom said my whole name. It was a reminder of my initials. What had she been thinking? I could never in my whole life, until I got married, put my initials on anything. Jackson already called me Jarhead.
“You’re thinking we should invite Mr. Lafferty here for Christmas.”
“No, ma’am, I am not. But that’s not a bad idea if my idea doesn’t work.”
“So, tell me. What’s your idea?” As tired as they were, Mom and Grancie were curious and sat up straighter in their chairs and looked interested.
“Lately I’ve been hearing all kinds of stories about the good things Mr. Lafferty has been doing for this town all his life, not just at Christmas. And I don’t think he’s had a real Christmas since his grandmother died. And Grancie, you told me about the fancy Christmas parties they had at Emerald Crest. I know he remembers because he still remembers the Christmas songs I play for him.”
Grancie answered, “Oh, they had no big Christmas parties after Henry was born, so he wouldn’t be remembering those. But I imagine Colleen made that place magical for him at Christmas. We could see the outside lights from the road, and I have a feeling it shimmered just as much on the inside. And like I told you, his mother and grandmother played the piano, and he would remember that.”
Then Mom said, “Your dad still gets someone to hang lights from the trees outside, and Ben said Mrs. Schumacher puts up a small tree every year. Just so you know, Julia, we have invited Mr. Lafferty to come to our house for Christmas several times, and Grancie and G-Pa invited him for years as well, but he doesn’t want to leave Emerald Crest.”
“That’s because he’s afraid, Mom, and that’s mostly what I’ve been thinking about. You know what you said, Grancie, about not wasting time thinking about things you can’t do? Well, we know we can’t get him out of his house for Christmas. So, what we can do is … we can take Christmas to him.”
That got Grancie’s attention. “You mean give up our family traditions and have our family Christmas at Emerald Crest? And we would all go out there for Christmas dinner?”
“Not exactly. I mean take a Christmas party to him. We should do something for him to make him feel like he belongs to the community and show the community he’s a kind man, just a little different, but not like the stories the kids make up about him. He built the library, and he’s never seen it. He’s helped people that he’s never met.”
Mom moved to the edge of her chair. “Are you talking about inviting all those people to Mr. Lafferty’s house?”
“No, ma’am. That would be just about the whole town. I know that mansion is almost big enough, but all those people would send Mr. Lafferty into doing wheelies straight out the back door to his studio.”
Mom asked, “If not the whole town, then who’s coming to the party?”
“I was thinking about our kid’s choir from church. That’s only about twelve, and we fit in the church van. Mrs. Wilson always takes us to sing at the hospital, and we go caroling, and we do the Christmas play at church. But what if the children could go and sing for Mr. Lafferty? And maybe some of the parents would go with us and take cookies and hot chocolate like a party. And we could all take him presents.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Julia. It’s really a sweet idea, but we would have to convince your dad that it would work and not cause hard feelings. He would not want this to be upsetting to Mr. Lafferty. And we don’t know how he would react.” Mom sat back in her chair, and Grancie didn’t say a word.
“He deserves a party and presents, Mom. The presents don’t have to be expensive ones—just something that we could make for him. He keeps giving and giving, and nobody gives him anything.”
“But he likes it that way. No one knows he’s the one who gives, and we can never tell his secret.”
“We won’t, and we don’t really have to take presents. I’ve already thought about it. Nobody will know his secret. We’ll only go out and sing a few songs for him. But then he would know people cared about him. All he knows is keeping secrets and living like a recluse because people were mean to him a long time ago. He might like people who were kind to him. And if we could take a bunch of people out there and they could meet him, then they’d stop telling those awful stories about the mean old man or the ghost that lives in that haunted green mansion. They need to know the truth. At least part of the truth.” I didn’t want to stop and give Mom a chance to say no, but I ran out of things to say.
Grancie sat like a silent statue in her chair with her feet propped on the ottoman, but Mom sat on the edge of her chair, just about to start her hand-wringing routine. That was what she did before she said no. “It sounds sort of good, Julia, but do you have any idea how many ways this could go all wrong? I envision everything from unruly children to broken expensive pieces of art to cups of spilled punch and mud tracked through the house and—”
Grancie interrupted. “I love it. We should do it because we don’t know how many ways it could go right. Something like this could be a changing moment in Henry Lafferty’s life. Obviously, he’s fond of Julia. He invited her to come out every week. And he has such respect for John and Ben. And now Mrs. Schumacher is thinking about moving back in, and Edgar Hornsby is out there every day. I think Henry is opening his door a bit, and we should just walk right through it with a big, happy Christmas party. If planned just right, this could be all kinds of wonderful.”
When Grancie said that, I could have hugged her so hard she’d have trouble breathing. She was not a glass-half-empty kind of woman. Dad always said Grancie could look at an empty glass, think it was beautiful, and say, “Oh my, what an opportunity to fill the whole thing with whatever we’d like.”
“We could make it wonderful, couldn’t we?”
Mom answered, “I’m not so certain. And do we have time to get these plans together, Nancie? We have Thanksgiving and the hospital gala and so many other things on the calendar.”
I stood up. “I could do it. I don’t have all that stuff. I don’t even have a calendar. I just have school.”
Grancie chimed in. “And I’ll help. Julia, you and Mrs. Wilson could be responsible for the program, and I’ll be responsible for all the Christmas goodies. We can do this, Jennifer. You clear it with Ben, and I’ll help if you need me. Julia, you clear it with Mrs. Wilson, and you might get your mom to be in on that conversation, and I’ll do the rest. I just need to know how many will be going.”
I was just about jumping up and down. “I can see it now. The choir can sing; I can play the piano; Piper can do one of her Christmas ballet dances; and we can even do a play in sign language.”
With that, Mom started the hand-wringing. “Julia, you only have three or four weeks. Let’s just stick with the music. We know nothing about plays in sign language.”
“Then I’ll write one, a simple one, and I’ll get Mrs. Walker to come and teach us. She’ll do it because she likes Mr. Lafferty.”
Sunday morning was even colder than Saturday. I thought I was the first one up. I had a big job to do today. I had to convince Mrs. Wilson that visiting Emerald Crest and singing for Mr. Lafferty was a good idea, and I couldn’t even tell her all the reasons it was the right thing to do.
I squirmed through church, and I spotted Mrs. Wilson on the second row of the choir. I to
ld Mom we needed to make a beeline for the choir room as soon as the pastor said amen. No way was Mrs. Wilson getting away before hearing me out.
When the pastor mentioned Thanksgiving and the first Pilgrims, I just zoned out. I already knew more than I wanted to know about Pilgrims and Indians and roasted turkeys. But when I heard him mention the word courage and how many ways it took courage to do what the early settlers did—leaving their families, sailing across an ocean on a ship without a motor, landing on foreign soil with nowhere to live, and making friends of hostile neighbors—then I listened. Now that was real. None of that made-up cartoon stuff. Being grateful for the people who came before us and what they did made more sense to me. That took real courage.
And I needed courage if my plan was going to work.
Mom and I spoke with Mrs. Wilson, and she listened when Mom told her about my idea. Not only did she agree, she said she had been thinking and praying about a different kind of project for the choir this Christmas, and this was the answer to her prayer. She put it on her calendar for Sunday afternoon, December twenty-third, at five o’clock.
“I must confess, Mrs. Wilson, this was all Julia’s idea. We’ll take care of all the arrangements if you just have the choir ready. Julia is determined to do a short program in sign language. I suppose we’ll just have to see if she can make that work.”
Mrs. Wilson played with the curls resting on my shoulder. “Oh, I just imagine Julia already has it all figured out. Count on me to help.”
Mom spoke up. “Oh, you must understand that this may not happen. I need to check with my husband about Mr. Lafferty first. And then if it’s a go, you can tell no one about it, and I mean no one. It will be a complete surprise, so we need to give some thought as to how we can keep this under wraps until the very day we go. I already have some ideas, but we can talk later after I see what Ben says.”
“I understand. I penciled it on the calendar, and I’ll wait to hear from you before I send out a note to the parents about the importance of rehearsals for a big surprise. They’ll love it. Christmas is all about surprises.”
Yes. The first big checkmark off the list. We joined Grancie in the car and told her the good news. She said, “It was just meant to be.”
Grancie went home after lunch, and I told Mom I would be in my room for the afternoon, working on the Christmas play. The house would be quiet until Dad and Jackson got home later. Quiet time to think.
In exactly five Sundays, we would be surprising H with his first-ever Christmas party with new friends. My mind was a muddled mess of things I needed to do. Grancie always said a list kept her on track, so I sat at my desk and started one that included Piper, Mrs. Walker, and writing a play. Then I looked through a couple of my books to get ideas about writing plays. I wasn’t so sure I could do that.
Reading made me sleepy, so I napped for a while. When I woke, I got up and moved my slipper chair over to the window overlooking the fruit trees and took my crocheting out of the brown paper bag. I thought looking out the window and crocheting might help me think of something good. I had crocheted so many granny squares already I didn’t even need to look. My fingers knew what to do.
The view from my window said winter was coming—gray skies, brown grass, leafless apple tree limbs, and no more apples. I glanced out the window, especially when a bird flew by, and I crocheted, and I thought. Looking, crocheting, and thinking, all swirling around and around in my head like Piper’s gerbil on his wheel, going nowhere fast.
Nothing came to me that would make me flick my index finger against my thumb at my forehead, like the lightbulb came on and I got it. That was until the sun went down behind the mountain in the distance. It looked like a halo on top of the peak. And that’s when it came to me—a mountain surrounded with light. I knew how to write this play.
Mrs. Schumacher comes through the garden room just as I answer my phone. She stands waiting.
“Oh, hi, Dad,” I say, trying to hold my excitement.
“You remember how you would shine my shoes when you were younger just because I did something extra nice for you?”
“Yes, sir, I do remember.”
“Well, my shoes will be shining for this gala. I found what you’re looking for, and I got my shoes dirty doing it, crawling around in the back side of that shed.”
“You’re serious? I can’t believe it. It’s been in the shed out back all this time?”
“Yes. Jackson helped me get it into the truck, and we’ll be out there within the half hour.”
“Great! I’ll let Mr. Hornsby know you and Jackson are bringing it. And Piper? Well, she’ll be beyond excited. You’re the best. I’ll check this off my list, and thanks so much. Oh, and I’ll get on the shoe shining this evening. Love you.”
Mrs. Schumacher smiles as I end the call. “Surely not the mountain?”
“Yes, ma’am, the mountain.”
“That’s good. Henry would like you to come up as soon as you can take a break—something about one detail for the gala.”
“On my way.” I practically skip up the steps to H’s room. He’s as full of questions as I am. Maybe that’s another reason we became friends.
He may ask me thirteen questions, but he’s not about to allow me to see what he’s working on until he’s good and ready.
I stopped working on my play and went downstairs when I saw Dad’s truck coming up the driveway. I made myself a peanut butter sandwich and listened to the report of their trip, what they saw, and what they brought home. They planned to dress the pheasants out back while still in their hunting clothes. I wondered whoever decided to call it “dressing” pheasants. Seemed more like it would be undressing them to me.
G-Pa asked Mom for two large pans, her chef’s knife, and her strongest kitchen shears. He handed Jackson the shears and said, “Son, you killed some of them, you’ll be eating them, and it’s time now you learned how to dress them.” When I heard him explaining to Jackson about using the shears to cut off wings and how he had to be careful of the sharp bones, and then how he’d have to cut off the legs and clip the skin in a certain place to peel it off the bird, I looked long at that peanut butter sandwich.
“The smell might get to you the first time, but it’ll pass. Now, when you cut the bird’s head off, you just run your finger down in his neck to remove the crop. Real hunters cut the crop open to examine it for the bird’s last meal. Could be kernels of corn or seed or even grain. That tells them where the bird’s been feeding, and that’s the best hunting ground. Come on, boys, we have pheasants to dress.”
That’s when I wrapped the peanut butter sandwich up, put it in the fridge, and headed straight back upstairs. Mom asked, “Julia, don’t you want your sandwich?”
“Not anymore. I’m going back to my room to work on the play.”
“I’ll call you later. We’ll have a bowl of soup and our Sunday-night treat: popcorn.”
There was a slight chance I could eat a bowl of soup later, but there was no—and I mean no—chance I’d put a kernel of popcorn in my mouth tonight. And I might end up a vegetarian before Thursday.
I sat at my desk, twirled my pencil, and looked at my story idea. I liked it, and I could see it. It was a good Christmas story, and I thought H would like it, but my play had big problems. Three boys and nine girls in the choir, and two of the boys didn’t sing. They just mostly stood there hoping whatever we were doing would soon be over. Not enough time to learn and rehearse lots of lines, no way to build a set and take it, and nobody knew sign language. But Grancie had said not to waste time on can’ts.
So, what can I do to fix the can’ts?
The Russell hunters were out back at the shed, making so much noise the neighbors down the road could probably hear them. I glanced out the window. It was almost dark, but I could see the light on outside the shed. How could they be laughing and carrying on while doing what they were doing to those poor birds? I wished I had earplugs so I didn’t have to hear them.
Wait a m
inute … I didn’t need to hear them to imagine what they were doing. G-Pa had already put a picture of that in my brain. That was like Mr. Lafferty. He didn’t need to hear to know what was going on if I gave him the picture. That’s when it came to me. Mime. Why didn’t I already think of that? Mime eliminated two huge can’ts. No one had to learn lines or sign language. And Piper would be so great at helping with mime because it was a lot like dance.
I started writing the simple story on my yellow legal pad. One person could read it while Mrs. Walker interpreted, and the rest of us would be mimes. Piper could do one dance, and we could learn the signs and sing “Go, Tell It on the Mountain.” That would be it. It didn’t have to be long. But the story had to be something, really something. H had to get it—the story and the story behind the story. That was the most important part.
I came down early the next morning for breakfast. Mom stirred the oatmeal and then started buttering the English muffins. I whispered to her, “I finished my play. I figured it all out. I just hope Mr. Lafferty will like it.” I looked around to see if Dad was coming in. “Did you ask Dad last night? What did he say?”
“I did. We talked, and I’ll let him give you his decision.”
It wasn’t long before we were all around the table and Dad was praying. I thought I couldn’t wait. I was scared to ask. It was like being in the courtroom when the jury’s decision was already made, and I was waiting to hear but not sure if I wanted to know. Finally, Dad spoke. “Julia, your mom says you came up with an idea about a Christmas party.”
“Yes, sir. And Grancie wants to, and Mrs. Wilson said yes, and I’ve already written the Christmas play. And it’s really good.”
Silent Days, Holy Night Page 12
