Christmas In The Country

by Muriel Jensen

  Since he wasn’t going to get out of discussing it, Jeff tried to think it through. And the case in point—Liza in his arms—served as a clear example for him.

  “Okay,” he said, then caught Bill’s eye in the mirror. “But feel free to jump in to help at any time.”

  “I’m staying out of this.” Bill laughed. “You’re the hero here.”

  “Go, Jeff,” Whittier said, watching him as though he expected to learn something himself.

  Liza waited, her profile turned toward Jeff. That was all the inspiration he needed.

  “I think it happens in stages,” he said. “There’s a woman’s initial reaction the moment you invite her into your arms. At that point, whatever her reaction, the situation remains liquid. She could be stiff or uncertain or receptive, but it could all change in a heartbeat.”

  Whittier raised an eyebrow. “Even if she’s receptive?”

  Jeff nodded. “One wrong move on your part and the second stage will end it all.”

  “The second stage?”

  “Right Her reaction to your reaction at having her in your arms.” He waited a moment to make sure they were all with him. There was a collection of nods. “If she’s an independent woman and you close your arms around her, she’s on her way. If she’s a woman who craves security and you choose to give her space and hold her too loosely, she’s still on her way. Unless of course she finds something in you she relates to and she’s willing to stay and see if you can still be what she needs. That takes you to the third stage.”

  “You make it sound,” Liza said, her eyes wide with fascination, “as though sexual interest requires an engineer.”

  “Well, obviously there’s a difference between an engineer by profession,” he said, “and an emotional engineer. Because you’ll recall that my fiancée married someone else.”

  “Didn’t she feel right in your arms?”

  He thought back. Sylvia seemed to belong to another lifetime. “I seem to remember that I couldn’t tell. She was restless and fidgety, so I left my arms open.”

  “Maybe she needed you to close your arms around her,” Sherrie suggested softly.

  “No,” he replied. “I didn’t want her to have to fight her way out.”

  Bill frowned at him in the mirror. “I want to hear about the third stage.”

  “That’s the place Sylvia and I never got to. The place where you know it’s right. When you can be sure she’s happy there, that she wants to stay, and you can close your arms around her.”

  “If you never got there,” Liza asked, her voice sounding breathless to his ear, “how do you know the third stage exists?”

  “I guess I don’t,” he admitted.

  “It exists,” Bill said, turning the Mercedes into a very busy church parking lot. Out in the cold, crisp night people were talking and laughing and hurrying into the church, women holding their coats closed, men carrying covered dishes in boxes, bags and cleverly fashioned hand-sewn carriers. Bright lights and the sound of music came from the hall when someone opened the door.

  But inside the Mercedes everyone was still strangely spellbound by their profound discussion. Bill turned off the motor, and the interior of the car was filled with silence.

  “Of course,” Whittier said, his voice quiet in respect for the moment, “you’re a married man. You would know.”

  Jeff wasn’t sure what told him, but he felt certain Bill’s knowledge came not from his marriage but from something else. Or someone.

  He didn’t know whether that gave him hope or made him feel despair.

  THE ROCKBURY Community Church’s reception hall was festooned with garlands of greenery and twinkling lights. Couples in festive dress milled around in groups as women in aprons distributed the potluck offerings in order up and down the long tables—hors d’oeuvres and salads first, then entrées, followed by desserts.

  There was a table with a punch bowl that gleamed under the lights, and another set up with coffee and tea, each manned by smiling ladies in aprons.

  A band played romantic holiday music while everyone formed a line and made their way through the buffet line, then carried paper plates back to long tables covered with an unmatched collection of Christmas tablecloths.

  Jeff felt the comfort and the old-fashioned warmth of his surroundings. A place like this, he thought, Sherrie and Liza in front of him in line, Bill and Whittier behind him, made him think that he might one day consider giving up the building of bridges and freeways for smaller engineering projects—like babies.

  But the people who surrounded him with their love and generosity were the same people who were tearing him apart. Liza, whom he loved. And Bill, who also loved her, and whom Jeff liked and respected. And Sherrie, who was kind and helpful and who seemed to fit into their lives, but in no logical, workable way that he could see.

  No. The best thing he could do for himself was to go back to Boston after the show and find a way to start over. Maybe he’d have to consider one of those deals Whittier was so sure would come his way. It would be bound to take him off in a new direction, and that was clearly what he needed.

  Only…Christmas wasn’t about doing for oneself. It was about seeing to what others needed, about giving love and sharing happiness. The trick was in trying to figure out how to do that when you had neither.

  God. Being tied to a chair had been so much easier than this.

  Jeff thought later that it might have all ended differently if Bill hadn’t asked Liza to dance, and if Liza hadn’t told him that her feet hurt. “Why don’t you ask Sherrie?” she said, apparently innocent of the romantic intrigue brewing around her. “She loves ‘White Christmas.’”

  Bill studied Liza a moment and Jeff couldn’t help but wonder if he wondered if she was on to him. But no. The innocence seemed to be real. He’d have bet she didn’t have a clue.

  Bill offered his hand to Sherrie, who sat on the other side of Liza. “Sherrie? Would you like to dance?”

  She looked torn, as though she wanted to both accept and refuse.

  “Go,” Liza said to her under her breath, “so I can have what’s left of his chocolate cake.”

  Sherrie gave her that same suspicious look Bill had, then accepted his hand and let him guide her onto the dance floor.

  Jeff looked away, unwilling to see Sherrie walk into Bill’s arms for fear of witnessing the third stage of touch right there in front of Liza.

  Whittier had left the table, and was dancing with great style and enthusiasm with a long line of attractive older women.

  “Your boss is having a good time,” Jeff said, trying to distract Liza from her sister and her husband.

  Liza swung her gaze to Whittier, dancing now with a pretty, white-haired matron in a lacy red dress. “He certainly seems to be. That’s good. You said yourself that Christmas should be about slowing people down, about reminding them of what’s real in life. Have you noticed that he hasn’t mentioned money, deals or audience share since we arrived?”

  Jeff nodded, smiling at her ebullience. On the one hand, he wondered how a woman who seemed so bright and in touch with people and things could not even notice that her life might be falling apart. On the other hand, another side of him selfishly hoped it would, so that he could pick up the pieces.

  “Are you having a good time?” she asked him.

  He had to lie. “Of course I am. Why? Do I look unhappy?”

  She studied him a moment, then replied with startling frankness, “Yes, you do. And I should do something about that.”

  He was almost afraid to ask. “And what would that be?”

  She stood and came around the table to catch his hand. “I’m going to dance with you.”

  Oh, no. “But I thought you wanted Bill’s chocolate cake?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m full.”

  “Then…maybe we should sit this one out. What if you got leg cramps or…”

  She gave him a smile with a frown in it. “Jeff, that’s for swimming.”<
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  Well. He was floundering. “But your…” He’d started to protest that her husband might object, but Bill and Sherrie were looking into each other’s eyes with an intensity Liza shouldn’t see. “Sure, why not?” he said finally, letting her pull him toward the middle of the floor. “It’s been a long time, though.”

  “It’s like riding a bike.”

  “I had a skateboard.”

  She stopped in the swaying crowd of couples, her arms at her sides, her fingers still entangled with his, and gave him a devastating smile. “Must I remind you that it’s considered polite to cater to the whims of your hostess?”

  He thought it only fair to warn her. “Well, that’s the trouble right there, Liza. I’ve never done well with whims. There aren’t many capricious engineers. We’re ruled by the laws of science and mathematics.”

  “But…an engineer’s job,” she said, “is to take the properties of matter and energy and make them useful, isn’t it?”

  “It is. But things only work within the rules that apply to matter and energy.”

  She smiled simply. “Jeff, this is only dancing.”

  He met.her gaze and held it. “It isn’t, Liza. And you know it isn’t.”

  That was her chance to walk away, but she didn’t take it, so he opened his arms.

  She walked into them, and he knew before he even closed them around her that she wanted to be there, and that she wanted to stay. She leaned into him in a way that was entirely circumspect, yet disarmed him completely because her every move was unconscious and genuine.

  She loved him; he was sure of it.

  Reality crashed around him to the haunting melody of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Not only did she love him, but she wanted him to know it.

  She, Liza De Lane, who was married to Bill McBride and had three children. And on December 23, the day before Christmas Eve, she was practically saying the words.

  All right, he decided. They were going to settle this.

  Liza knew her behavior was reckless, but Whittier was so busy being the gallant with the older population of Rockbury’s ladies, and Bill and Sherrie desperately needed private time together, and she couldn’t have waited another minute to be in Jeff’s arms.

  And it was everything she remembered. Everything she’d dreamed. When his arms closed around her, life suddenly made sense. There had been a purpose to all the wild and challenging machinations of this Christmas in Connecticut. The man who’d used an image of her to get himself home now made a home for her in his embrace.

  She looked into his eyes and saw love there. Joyful and completely distracted, she let her role of wife and mother slip and let him see what lay under the guise—the Liza De Lane who was very much in love with him.

  Without warning, he dropped his arms from around her, caught her hand and led her off the dance floor and toward the front door. He stopped at the long rack’ crammed with coats and scarves in the vestibule of the hall, obviously trying to spot his parka and her red coat.

  He walked around the rack to the second rod, still searching. Liza heard a startled exclamation and a little scream of surprise. She started around the rack of coats and collided with a grim-faced Jeff.

  He turned her physically around and pushed her before him back around the rack and toward the door. He stopped her to help her on with her coat.

  “Jeff, what’s the matter?” she asked. But he shrugged silently into his own coat, then opened the door.

  They were hit by a blast of cold air and swirling snow.

  “Sleigh rides, ten dollars,” a man dressed as an elf shouted from the front of the parking lot. “Let Santa drive you through the woods. Only ten dollars!”

  “Come on.” Jeff caught her arm and pulled her with him toward the sleigh. A very rotund figure garbed in red wool and white fur and wearing the classic Santa hat sat in the front, hands on the reins of a horse-drawn sleigh. “How long’s the trip?” Jeff asked.

  “Half an hour,” the elf replied.

  Jeff pulled a wallet out of his inside coat pocket and handed the elf a twenty-dollar bill.

  “We want it to take an hour.”

  The elf pocketed the bill. “You got it. Gentleman wants an hour trip, Santa Stan.”

  “Ho, ho,” Santa Stan replied with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  Jeff helped Liza into the sleigh then climbed in beside her. He pulled a red-and-green-plaid woolen blanket up over her, then, noticing that her head was bare, drew the hood of her coat up to cover her.

  “Go, Santa,” he called. He put an arm around Liza, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, and the sleigh started off into the lightly falling snow.

  Jeff’s arm around her was the first real clue Liza had that something had gone very wrong with the snug scenario she’d created.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked a little nervously.

  “Not yet,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Liza looked, too, and saw nothing.

  “I’ll tell you when we’re out of town,” he said. He watched her tuck her hair into the side of her hood and caught her bare hand in one of his. “Don’t you ever carry gloves?” he asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, he delved into his coat pocket and drew out the brown lined leather gloves Bill had lent him and helped her put them on.

  She wanted to insist that he tell her what had troubled him, but his sudden change of mood from the courteous, respectful guest to authoritative man-incharge was exciting and she hated to do anything that would change things back.

  She sat beside him, enjoying his arm around her, as the sleigh cut its smooth way through the snow down Rockbury’s main street, then made a turn that led them down a quiet little lane flanked by woods on both sides.

  Every branch was topped with snow, and more drifted down with quiet beauty onto the trees, the road, the horse and Santa Stan.

  Widely spaced streetlights illuminated the straight ribbon of lane ahead and Liza waited patiently for Jeff to explain himself, thinking that she wouldn’t mind if this ride went on forever. Except that something must have happened to make him so suddenly and physically protective.

  The horse clopped along, his hooves the only sound on the quiet lane. Santa Stan guided him with very little movement, making no effort to communicate with Jeff and Liza, seemingly lost in his own world.

  “Do you love Bill?” Jeff asked without preamble.

  Liza’s brain worked furiously. She’d thrown caution to the wind tonight, but how far was she willing to go with this? She wanted him to know the truth, but not quite yet. And tonight—the night before the show—was probably not the best time for revelation.

  “Well…yes,” she said finally, not at all surprised by his dark frown.

  He shook his head. “If you were married to me I’d sure as hell want more enthusiasm than that from you.”

  She indulged herself by concentrating on that possibility briefly. Then she turned her attention back to the moment. “Why do you ask?”

  He looked at her closely, as though judging her ability to withstand what he was about to say. What on earth had happened?

  “Because…” He tried to go on, then faced forward again, obviously deciding to change his approach. “I keep telling myself this is none of my business,” he said, his jaw set, his brow furrowed. “But you mean a lot to me, and you don’t seem to have a clue about what’s going on. And the only way I can save you from being kicked is to say it clearly.”

  “So far,” she said with a teasing smile, “you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

  He turned to her, his eyes dark and apologetic. “Your husband and your sister are fooling around on you.”

  She gasped in shock, not for the reason he thought, but because they’d all been so careful about their little charade.

  “I’m sorry.” He rubbed the shoulder of her red wool coat. “I’ve been noticing their smoldering looks at each other since I arrived, but when I got our coat
s…I found them kissing behind the rack.”

  Liza remembered the surprised exclamation she’d heard, the little scream of alarm. So that was what had changed Jeff into her champion.

  Her brain revved to warp speed, weighing her options. But considering it didn’t even always work well at ordinary speed, she wasn’t surprised when she had difficulty deciding what to do.

  Should she let him believe her “husband” and her sister were having an affair? Believing that had brought about the most wonderful change in him. And she had to think it was because he wanted to be the one to replace Bill in her affections.

  He took her unfocused stare for shock and tucked the blanket more tightly around her, holding her firmly in his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again as the sleigh moved on up the snowy road. The lights were only occasional now, and she thought distractedly that the darkness seemed less friendly than it had when they’d set out. “I can only imagine how much it hurts, but you’re going to have to deal with it before the boys notice. The way Bill and Sherrie were acting tonight, it’s just a matter of time before all of Connecticut knows.”

  Liza closed her eyes against the guilt creeping over her. He was thinking about Travis and Davey, not himself.

  “Fortunately, I think Whittier’s been too excited over the prospect of the show to see anything. And tonight the lovely Rockbury matrons have kept him preoccupied.” He squeezed her to him. “I know the night before the show’s a rotten time to tell you, but Bill and Sherrie seem to be losing their sense of discretion. I was afraid you’d find them in some clinch in a corner tomorrow and be too upset to go on.” He leaned his head against hers for a moment. “This way at least you’ll have a little time to deal with it and prepare yourself.”

  Liza still couldn’t speak.

  “Are you all right?” he asked when all she could do was stare at him. Somehow, at the conception of her plan, she hadn’t foreseen this eventuality—the man she’d come to love being all kindness and understanding because he thought her “marriage” had fallen apart. “Liza, please say something.”