by Jane Peart
Holly let herself into the schoolhouse door. No matter if she left in June, she did care about this community, about the people.
Since Vi had volunteered to make the more elaborate costumes needed for the Three Kings, having, as she did, a great many odds and ends of trimmings for the robes of these potentates from the Far East, Holly was left with the more mundane task of fashioning costumes for the lowly shepherds. She was busily sorting among piles of flour sacks that had been washed then dyed, mounds of old curtains, and pieces of quilting on the Saturday before the program was scheduled when Ad dropped by the schoolhouse.
"Oh, it's you," she said offhandedly when she opened the door.
"Well, that's not much of a welcome," he pretended offense.
"I'm sorry. I'm just feeling rather cross. I'm not a great hand at sewing, and I have a half-dozen shepherds to garb properly for the Christmas play," she explained, settling down again.
Ad sauntered around the kitchen, stopping at the table where some of the material and balls of varicolored yarn were stacked. He picked up a piece of material at random. "What are these for?" he asked curiously.
Holly looked up briefly, then back at the stiff cloth through which she was trying to push her needle. With one finger free, she made a circle around her head. "It's for one of those towel kind of things they wore on their heads, and we'll braid the yarn for what goes around it to hold it in place."
"Oh, you mean a 'kufiyya' and an 'iqal,'" nodded Ad.
Holly blinked a couple of times, demanding in astonishment. "How do you know that sort of thing?"
"Oh, editors have all sorts of sources of information," Ad shrugged. "Or bored bachelors do crossword puzzles to wile away lonely evenings, read dictionaries, peruse encyclopedias."
Holly threw him a quizzical look. "Maybe that's time better spent than writing inflammatory editorials."
"So, you heard about that, huh?"
"Who in Riverbend hasn't?"
Ad scowled. "People don't like to hear the truth."
"Well, you sure started a firestorm with this one. You should hear what they're saying at Ned's store."
Ad did not reply. He walked idly around the room, then stopped at the chest where Holly's photo album was placed. Busy with her work, Holly did not notice at once that he was looking through it. After a few minutes she realized he had stopped turning the pages and was studying one in particular. She glanced over, and he turned his head to meet her gaze. His tone was indifferent, but his eyes held hers intently as he asked, "Who's the dashing soldier boy?"
For a second, Holly was tempted to retort, "None of your business." But then she thought, Why not? and with a slight shrug replied, "Lieutenant Jim Mercer. We were engaged."
"To be married?"
"No! For the next dance!" she said flippantly, then, "Of course, to be married."
"What happened? Did you change your mind?"
Holly hesitated then blurted out, "No. He did."
"When was this?"
"About two months before I came to Riverbend."
Ad closed the album abruptly. "Then why do you still keep his pictures?"
Again Holly shrugged, "I'm really not sure."
"He must be some kind of fool," Ad said quietly.
"Oh, no, he's very bright, very smart. He graduated way at the top of his class from West Point," she said continuing to take stitches.
"Then why—?"
Holly put down her sewing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Adam Corcoran, did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?"
"It's the reporter in me; it's in the blood."
"Well, if you want to know the truth, he married someone else."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Holly was surprised that it didn't hurt. The old feelings of humiliation and shame seemed somehow to have disappeared. In fact, she felt an unexpected sensation of freedom as if she had shaken off an old burden.
"I'd get rid of the pictures if I were you," Ad said casually. He sauntered over to the door. There he turned back and looked at Holly for a long minute. "You're a very special lady, Miss Holly Lambeth." At that he made an obeisance, said, "Shalom," turned on his heel, and walked out of the room, then she heard the schoolhouse door shut.
The last day before the holidays was the date of the Christmas program. That week was fraught with mishaps and anxiety. Holly had always heard dress rehearsals were usually disasters, and that a bad one guaranteed a wonderful opening performance. Considering how terrible theirs was, she fervently prayed that the old adage was true. The children stumbled over lines that had been word-perfect in practice; some tripped over the unaccustomed shepherd's robes; angel wings fell off; the Kings' crowns toppled; and the beard refused to stay glued to the Innkeeper's chin.
When Adam had come by to get the details of the program so he could do a preview article and announcement for the paper, Holly told him about the party she was having after the performance. "I want to have a tree and all the trimmings. I'm sure some of the children have never had a real Christmas," she confided. "I've sent away through one of Ned's catalogs for paper cornucopias, colored crepe paper. I'm going to have the children make their own decorations, cut and paste rings to drape on the boughs, and we'll pop corn and string cranberries too."
"You really love doing all this, don't you?" Ad asked her with an appraising look.
"Yes, I do," Holly replied almost defensively. "I always assumed that everyone had the same kind of childhood I had, but I'm finding out that people coming to settle out here had so many other things—survival things—to do, that some of the fun things, the things that give flavor and lightness to life—got lost." She paused for a minute, then said, "I guess they were considered less important, and maybe they are—but, no, not really. I do think they're important. And it's so much fun for me to see how happy these things make the children."
At last the night of the program arrived. The schoolroom had been turned into a theater. Matt Healy had donated chairs from the Town Hall and brought them over in his wagon the afternoon of the performance. As he helped Holly set them in rows, he said, "Riverbend children have never had something like this, Miss Lambeth. Everybody's mighty excited about it. I think the parents don't know what to expect, but they're proud that their kids are being treated special."
"I'm glad. I hope everything goes well!" Holly said. She couldn't remember ever feeling more nervous.
Geneva had offered to help backstage, where a flimsy curtain had been strung across one end of the schoolroom. As the parents began to assemble, Holly greeted them at the door, trying not to let the sounds of loud whispers and shuffling behind the stage distract her too much.
Holly was even pleased to see people who didn't have children in school arrive to support this first dramatic effort on the part of the school. When she saw Ned come with Aurelia and Teddy, Holly thought that perhaps in the spirit of the season, her cousin had put aside her animosity and come. But Ned mumbled that Hetty had a sick headache and wasn't up to coming. Holly sympathized even though she knew it was only an excuse.
Her rueful feelings were fleeting, however, because her attention was needed elsewhere. With everything in readiness, she had to begin the program. As she stepped forward to make her opening announcement, she saw, with happy surprise, Blaine step into the back of the room. She was glad she had chosen a very becoming red taffeta dress frilled with Irish lace to wear for the occasion.
To her amazement and everyone else's delight, the production came off without any hitches—at least none that were visible to the audience. Of course, there were actors whose minds went blank at the novelty of wearing a toga or the sight of his or her parents' faces in the crowd; loud promptings from Holly were seemingly unheard by the rapt viewers. The audience, at Holly's invitation, joined in the final singing of "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" with reverent gusto, and then rose to give the players a standing ovation.
When the grinning cast had taken three curtain calls, Ho
lly held up her hand to quiet the applause and spoke, "I want everyone to please stay for refreshments and for each child to take a gift off the tree."
The party started in full force and the little schoolhouse rang with voices, laughter, and merriment as people mingled, greeted one another, helped themselves to the variety of food provided by the parents; and the actors and actresses, still resplendent in their makeshift costumes, enjoyed being the center of attention. There were cries of excitement as the children found their presents from Holly tied to the tree; the boys began top-spinning contests immediately, while the girls helped each other with the hair slides and ribbons.
Ad complimented Holly and remarked dramatically, "I shall give this a four-star review in my newspaper. Theatrical agents and managers from all over will be beating a path to the door, wanting to sign up all these youthful thespians."
"Oh, Ad!" Holly dismissed his teasing. "But do be sure you check with me so that you get all the children's names and spell them right before you print it in the paper. I know every parent will want to save the clipping when they see it."
Just then Blaine came up and joined them. "Great show, Holly. Everyone did splendidly. You have a real gift for working with children."
"Why thank you, Blaine." Pleased and flattered by his comment, Holly was annoyed to feel herself blushing and even more annoyed to see that Ad noticed it.
After the evening was over one particular incident stood out in Holly's mind. During the party she had felt a tug on her sleeve and turned to see Joel standing beside her holding the hand of a pale, hollow-faced woman. Cissy, looking anxious, stood beside her. "Miss Lambeth, this is our Ma," Joel said.
"Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. McKay," Holly exclaimed. She extended her hand to the shabbily dressed woman and felt a thin, work-roughened hand in her grasp. "Your children are so bright, a real pleasure to teach."
The woman seemed ill-at-ease and hardly looked up as she stammered something in reply.
Holly wanted to talk to her more, try to draw her out, see what she could find out from the mother, but one of the other parents, who was leaving, tapped her on the arm, and Holly had to give them her attention. By the time they had left, so had the McKays.
Later, as she tidied up the remnants of the party, Holly found among the presents that some of the children had given her, a booklet Joel had made for her of carefully pressed leaves. With it was a small card, soiled by much redoing, laboriously printed lopsided letters, "Luv from Cissy." Both gifts brought tears to Holly's eyes. Most of the presents from the other children were the handiwork of their mothers—crocheted pot holders, jars of candied peaches, boxes of homemade fudge—Holly knew these were the ones that she would cherish most.
With school closed for two weeks for the holidays, Holly enjoyed the first free time she had had for months. Knowing the slowness of the mails, Holly had sent her Christmas gifts to her friends and family in Willow Springs right after Thanksgiving. But some things she had ordered by catalog had only just arrived. Even though she knew they would get there late, she wrapped them and planned to mail them anyway. She was on her way into the post office, located at Ned's store when she met Vi coming down the steps.
One look at her friend's face and Holly knew immediately that something was wrong. Usually so poised, Vi seemed distracted and distressed. Holly had to catch her arm and speak to her or else Vi might have gone right past her. "Oh, sorry, Holly, I didn't see you—"
"What's the matter, Vi? Has something happened?"
Vi's eyes brightened with unshed tears. She quickly tried to blink them away.
"Oh, it's nothing really! I just got a letter from Avesta, and she's not coming—"
"Not coming?" gasped Holly, knowing what a keen disappointment this must be to Vi. "After all you've done to get ready for her? Why not?"
Vi whisked out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes before the traitorous tears could overflow. She tried to smile, but her lips quivered at the attempt. "She's had a lovely invitation to spend the holidays with one of her classmates. The girl's family lives in California, and they've asked Avesta to come with them to San Diego to stay at the Del Coronado. It's a beautiful place, a luxurious resort. They have all sorts of things planned for the girls—it's a wonderful opportunity for Avesta to meet the right people." Vi's voice cracked a little, and Holly pressed her friend's hand.
"I'm sorry, Vi, I know how much you were looking forward to Avesta's coming," was all she could think to say to comfort her.
"But, I'm really happy for her, Holly. Really! I mean that's why I sent her away to boarding school. I wanted her to have nice friends, girls from good families who would open doors for her—" She smiled bravely. "There wouldn't be much for her to do here during the holidays, anyway. What girl of sixteen wants to sit home with her mother and sew, for goodness' sake, when she could be horseback riding and dancing and going to parties and balls?"
Holly nodded sympathetically. She felt a sharp twinge, remembering her own former life of parties and festivities—she, too, would probably have chosen the same option as Avesta had at that age.
"It's all right, Holly. I'll be fine. I think I'll have a party on Christmas anyway. You'll come, of course, won't you? Unless you have other plans."
"Yes, of course. I mean, no, I have no plans," Holly agreed, sure that no invitation from Hetty was forthcoming. "I'd love to come, Vi."
Chapter 18
When she first heard about the town's annual Christmas Dance, Holly wasn't sure she wanted to go. But she discovered there was no way of getting out of going. The town schoolteacher was expected to be there along with everyone else in Riverbend. Once she had resigned herself that her attendance was, in fact, a "command performance" due to her position, she found she was looking forward to it. She began to think that it might be fun. It had been such a long time since she had had a chance to get dressed up and step out.
As she thought about what to wear, she remembered with some chagrin that it was only at her mother's insistence that she had brought a suitable party dress with her. Now, as she got it out from her trunk, Holly recalled the day she had watched indifferently as her mother carefully packed it in layers of tissue paper. Then, feeling utterly rejected by Jim, she had felt she would never want to go to another party or dance as long as she lived. She was going to Oregon to "lick her wounds," not to dress up or go to parties! How long ago that seemed. Her life had changed so much since she had left Willow Springs, brokenhearted. Strangely enough, days went by when she hadn't even thought of Jim.
Holly shook out the dress, spreading the skirt across her bed and trying to see it through the eyes of the other ladies who would be in attendance. She knew that as the schoolmarm she would have to pass a gauntlet of criticism as to the appropriateness of what she wore. Examining it critically, she decided that it was much too frothy, too ruffled, too much décolletage for Riverbend. She would have to do something about the neckline for sure—
Maybe she should consult Vi, ask her expert opinion, Holly decided and bundling the dress up in a box, she walked over to Vi's.
Vi ushered her into her fitting room and had Holly put on the dress.
"It's such beautiful material, I'd hate to do anything drastic to change it," she murmured. "But, truthfully, it is a little dressier than most of the Riverbend ladies would wear to the Christmas party—"
"Well, I certainly don't want to wear anything inappropriate."
"No, of course not. Let me think what we can do," Vi circled Holly, "Uh-huh. Well, now, just let's see." Narrowing her eyes Vi surveyed the dress critically. With another "Uh-huh," she held out the material and, nodding, began snipping here and there, making a few tucks with pins taken from the red tomato pincushion strapped on her wrist. Her "magic" needle did the rest.
"How's that?" she asked Holly turning her toward the full-length mirror. Holly saw that Vi had filled in the scoop neckline with some judiciously placed netting, removed some of the roses and rearranged them, and ta
ken off two rows of ruffles. "There now, you'll look pretty as a picture, but you won't cause any 'green-eyed' remarks about looking too citified. A school-marm has to be as 'without reproach' as Caesar's wife—or in Riverbend," she added dryly, "—as the minister's wife."
"Thanks, Vi!" Holly gathered up her things and started to leave, then asked, "You're coming, too, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, I will for awhile. The Bodine sisters asked me to go with them, so we'll be there."
"Good! Then, you'll see me in all my finery. Thank you so much, Vi." Impulsively Holly gave her a hug. "You're a wonderful friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Good-bye, Calpurnia," Vi laughed, and Holly went out the door.
As she walked down the street toward the schoolhouse, the door of the Monitor opened and Ad stuck his head out and greeted her. "Afternoon, Holly. Just wanted to make sure you were going to the dance tomorrow night?"
"Yes, I am, are you?"
"Wouldn't miss it," he grinned. "Polishing up my dancin' shoes."
She regarded him skeptically. "I thought you didn't mix socially."
"Well, I've got to cover it for the paper since I don't have a society editor," he said straightfaced but with twinkling eyes.
Holly shook her head, smiling.
"Be sure and save me a dance," Ad called, as with a wave of her hand she walked on.
The morning of the dance, Holly washed her hair in the newly collected rain water, then sat in front of the stove, drying and brushing it until it crackled and shone with russet lights. Early in the evening she bathed, lavished herself with her rose cologne, put on two petticoats, one cotton and one taffeta that rustled and swished with each movement; then she slipped into the remodeled gown.
Holly did not realize how her new life had enhanced her looks. The rigorous routine of keeping up the little apartment and schoolhouse, chopping wood, carrying pails of water from the well, the exercise of playing games like "Run, Sheep, Run" and "Drop the Handkerchief" with the children outside in the schoolyard, her long walks in the woods and back and forth to town, all had contributed to not only a feeling of well-being, but a radiantly glowing complexion and a slenderly rounded figure.
