Do You Hear What I Hear?

by Margaret Brownley

  Nana’s raised a thin gray eyebrow. “Is that the boy who was here? The one with that awful loud voice?”

  “That’s the one.” Sally then explained why the boy felt it necessary to shout.

  “Did his father desert him?”

  Something in her grandmother’s voice made Sally frown. “No, he went to Colorado looking for work. But if everything goes as planned, he’ll be seated in the audience watching Toby perform.” Just don’t let anything go wrong.

  Nana dropped her gaze to the hands knotted on her lap. “I didn’t raise my son to desert his family. You know that, don’t you?”

  The question surprised Sally. The two of them had never discussed her father’s desertion. Nor had they spoken of the fact that he had settled somewhere in Michigan with a new family. “No one blames you, Nana.”

  Nana lifted her gaze. “Your mother did.”

  Her mother died of breast cancer during Sally’s last year of middle school, but they were never really close. Elizabeth Cartwright’s rigid need for order contrasted sharply with a daughter who saw nothing wrong with rearranging her room at three a.m. or stringing paper hearts across the front yard.

  Growing up, Sally felt closer to her absent father than her ever-present mother. He was an artist, and her favorite memory of him was watching him atop a ladder dropping splashes of paint onto a canvas. The design created so randomly sold to a major carpet manufacturer. Unfortunately, the unpredictability that worked in art was disastrous for relationships.

  “Mom didn’t blame you,” she said.

  “Yes, she did. Oh, not in so many words. But after your father left, things were never the same.”

  Studying her grandmother, Sally felt like she was seeing her for the first time. A note of despondency had crept into Nana’s usually harsh voice, reminding Sally of something she hadn’t previously dwelled on. Her father had left not only his wife and daughter, but his mother as well. It must have hurt Nana when her only child abandoned her, too.

  The sudden realization made Sally feel guilty for not having come home for a visit more often. At first she’d blamed a heavy load at school. Later it was work. Even during her few brief visits, she was chained to her cell phone and laptop. She may not have completely cut off her grandmother, as she had her father, but she had certainly deserted her emotionally.

  “I don’t blame you, Nana, for what happened. I don’t think Mother did, either. It was just a very difficult time for us all.” Sally pulled the chair closer to the side of the bed and sat. “I don’t think I ever told you this, but I really appreciate you letting me live with you after Mother died.” It couldn’t have been easy dealing with a moody, angry teenager.

  “It was the least I could do after what your father did.”

  Surprised to see a suspicious gleam in Nana’s eyes, Sally reached for her hand. It wasn’t like Nana to let her mask of indifference slip, and this new, vulnerable side of her took Sally by surprise. Nana’s fall apparently had done more than just break her hip. It had also broken her spirit.

  For several moments neither spoke, at least not verbally. But they clung to each other like two people in a lifeboat.

  Finally, Sally said, “I better go.” She hated to rush off and break the tenuous bond that had sprung up between them. “The pageant . . .”

  Nana pulled her hand away. “Then what are we waiting for? Where’s my coat?”

  Sally sat back. “You want to go? But . . . but why?”

  Nana studied her with a look of regret. “I wasn’t there for you all those years ago when you played an angel. I heard later what had happened that night on stage and always felt bad. My being there tonight won’t make up for my absence then, but if Toby’s father doesn’t show, maybe seeing another familiar face in the audience will help. Besides . . .” She sniffed. “After sitting through all those rehearsals, I have a vested interest.”

  “Oh, Nana.” Sally wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s bony shoulders. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do—I do. But you’re not even dressed and it’s freezing outside. I’d have to take you in a wheelchair and—”

  Nana pushed her away. “Are you saying you don’t know how to push a wheelchair?”

  “Not to worry” came a male voice, followed by the appearance of Mr. Williams, dressed in a red plaid jacket, bow tie, and winning smile. “I was once a race-car driver and can pretty much handle anything on wheels.” He patted the arms of her grandmother’s wheelchair. “Even this old thing.” He lowered his voice and tossed a nod toward the hall. “But we’re gonna have to sneak out the back way. No one’s allowed outside these walls.”

  Mr. Williams was joshing, of course. The care center encouraged outings with family members. Still, Sally wasn’t sure taking her grandmother out on a night like this was a good idea. Nevertheless, she reached into the metal cabinet for Nana’s coat.

  “If you can get her to the school on time, that would be great,” she said. “Just be careful. It’s snowing and the sidewalks are slippery.”

  Somehow Sally and Mr. Williams managed to get Nana into the wheelchair without hurting her. Sally quickly decided that the sweat suit Nana was wearing would have to do. After helping her grandmother into her coat, Sally covered her legs with a warm blanket.

  Mr. Williams grabbed the chair by the handles. “I’ll keep it down to a respectable hundred miles an hour. Like they say, it’s not speed that kills. It’s suddenly not moving.”

  The girl at the reception desk was on the phone, but she pointed to a clipboard and indicated where to sign her grandmother out. If she thought it strange they were taking the old lady out in such bad weather, she didn’t show it.

  The hard part came when they reached the sidewalk. That’s when Dick Van . . . Mr. Williams took off helter-skelter with the wheelchair.

  Sally gasped. “Wait!” she cried and almost broke her neck trying to catch up.

  Okay, she should have known better than to trust her grandmother to the care of a former maniacal race-car driver. But how was she to know that the seventy-year-old man could also qualify as a marathon runner?

  Nana was still screaming by the time they reached the school. But then so was Sally. Mr. Williams wasn’t even out of breath.

  Chapter 12

  After seeing that Nana was comfortably settled in the multipurpose room, Sally slipped outside. Rick should have been there by now.

  It was snowing hard, and the parked cars were blanketed in white. The weather hadn’t stopped parents and grandparents from turning out to watch the very last Christmas pageant to be held at the school. Rick would have to park on the street.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket and checked the local weather. The news couldn’t be worse. The airport was still open, but the main road leading to town was backed up.

  Her heart sank. She was just about to try Rick’s number when she heard a rumbling sound. Visibility was low, but an oversized vehicle turned into the drive, the twin shafts of yellow headlights cutting through the heavy veil of snow.

  She burst out laughing. Rick was driving the cab of a tractor trailer, a snowplow attached to the front bumper. Suddenly she was transported back in time to the winter formal that wasn’t. He had been her knight in shining armor then and he was her knight—

  She quickly squelched the thought. Thinking of Rick in such terms was simply asking for trouble.

  Rick pulled in front of the school, and a tall strapping man climbed out of the cab. He was dressed in a long black coat. As far as he knew, the plane ticket was an early Christmas gift from the family.

  She waited for him to join her beneath the school overhang. “You must be Toby’s dad,” she said.

  “I am. Sam Tucker’s the name.” The bright security light revealed a family resemblance. He and his son shared similar blue eyes and sandy hair.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Rick called from the driver’s seat. “Had to take the old logging road to get here.”

  “You’re not
late,” she called back. “They haven’t started yet.”

  While Rick looked for a place to park, she led Sam inside the school. “Does he know I’m coming?” Sam asked.

  She shook her head. “We thought it would be better not to say anything. In case something happened and you couldn’t make it.”

  “Good thinking. Coming here tonight brings back a lot of memories. Toby has the same part I had twenty years ago. I still know the words by heart. I wish I could have been here to help him memorize it.”

  “The important thing is you’re here now.” The moment Toby stepped out on stage he would see his dad. The thought made her shiver in anticipation.

  She led the way down the aisle to the front row, where Toby’s mother and grandmother were saving him a seat. Sally watched Mrs. Tucker fall into her husband’s arms. Their separation had obviously been as difficult for them as it was for Toby. Angel smiled approvingly as she waited her turn to greet her son-in-law.

  Feeling a surprising sense of envy, Sally hurried up the aisle. No one would be waiting for her with open arms when she returned to Los Angeles. Most of her friends and former co-workers had traveled home to various parts of the country for Christmas. That’s how it was in California. Almost everyone she knew was a transplant. Even her roommate would be gone until the second week in January.

  She glanced at the clock over the door. The still-drawn stage curtains worried her. The lights were still on. The air vibrated with a drone of voices and restless feet. It was nearly twenty minutes after the hour. It wasn’t like Mrs. Greenwell to start late.

  She met Rick at the door. His brown hair glistened with snow, and his fur-lined coat looked like it had been sprinkled with powdered sugar.

  He tilted his head with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “The pageant hasn’t started yet.”

  Rick glanced at his watch. “Maybe Mrs. Greenwell is waiting to hear if Toby’s father has arrived.”

  “Maybe. I’ll check.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Outside they entered through a doorway leading to a room behind the stage. Everyone, including Mrs. Greenwell, was gathered around Toby, who looked like his world had just ended. Sobbing as if his little heart would break, tears ran down his cheeks.

  Sally gasped in alarm. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  A young boy dressed as a shepherd answered. “He swallowed a horse.”

  “He what?”

  A girl wearing an angel costume explained. “Toby was practicing his part when all of a sudden he lost his voice.”

  “Oh, no!” Sally glanced up at Rick, who looked every bit as alarmed as she was.

  “Guess that’s not too surprising,” Rick said. “He’s been overworking his voice.”

  Mrs. Greenwell clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention.

  “I need someone to volunteer to take over as narrator. Does anyone have the part memorized?” When no hands went up, Mrs. Greenwell hesitated. “Whoever takes over will have to read from the script.” Sally knew what a concession that was: Scripts had never been allowed in previous years.

  “Any volunteers?” Mrs. Greenwell asked.

  This time a dozen hands flew up, including Rick’s. Sally stared at him open mouthed. Surely, he wasn’t volunteering to replace Toby.

  “Wait!” he called. “I have an idea.”

  He hurried over to Mrs. Greenwell and said something in her ear. The two chatted for a moment before she nodded. He then dropped to his haunches to talk to Toby. Sally couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was brought a big beautiful smile to the boy’s tearstained face.

  * * *

  Moments later Sally sat between Nana and Rick, anxiously clenching her hands on her lap. Mr. Williams sat on the other side of her grandmother. Whatever he whispered in Nana’s ear made her giggle like a schoolgirl.

  The pageant was now nearly forty minutes late in starting. Rick reached over to cover Sally’s hands with his own.

  Startled by the fiery sensations of his touch, she lifted her gaze to his. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he withdrew his hand.

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.

  Swallowing hard, she focused on the still-empty stage.

  At last, Mrs. Greenwell stepped from behind the black curtains to thunderous applause.

  She signaled for silence, and the clapping died down. “Please accept my apologies for the late start,” she said. “But after forty years of being on time, I thought tonight I’d try something different.”

  Her comment drew chuckles from the crowd. She went on to thank the parents, alumni, and school personnel for their support through the years.

  Then with a teary-eyed smile, she stepped off the stage and took her place at the piano.

  She played a short prelude as the curtains slowly parted. Sally was surprised to see Toby behind the podium. Sally glanced at Rick, who gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  Toby opened his mouth to speak, but instead of the high-pitched childlike voice Sally had grown accustomed to, a strong baritone thundered from the stage. “. . . AND SHE GAVE BIRTH TO HER FIRSTBORN, A SON . . .”

  Sally pressed her fingers to her lips. While Toby mouthed the words, his father stood out of sight providing the voice.

  Rick leaned next to her and whispered, “Do you hear what I hear?”

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered back. “I hear it loud and clear.” What she heard was the voice of love. God worked through His own son to save His people. Now Sam was working through his to save the pageant. A feeling of joy washed over her as the true meaning of Christmas filled her heart and brought tears to her burning eyes.

  Chapter 13

  Thursday, December 15

  The following afternoon Sally sat cross-legged on the bed with her laptop, checking out job opportunities for art directors. She scrolled through the sparse listings. There weren’t but a dozen or so and most, like the Los Angeles zoo’s face-painting job, were of no interest.

  DreamWorks wanted someone who could draw compelling logos. A small company advertised for an art director with a passion for stationery. She frowned. Did people still use stationery?

  A company specializing in exercise equipment required an art director to inspire beach-body perfection.

  Just as she scrolled to the last wanted ad a knock sounded at her door, followed by Angel’s voice. “Someone here to see you.”

  Curious as to who it could be, Sally closed her laptop and scrambled off the bed. Pocketing her phone, she slipped her feet into her shoes. “Coming.”

  Rick greeted her from the first-floor landing with a silly grin on his face. Even the two-story entryway and majestic Christmas tree failed to diminish his presence.

  She paused halfway down the stairs to gaze at him over the banister. The warm approval in his eyes made her feel suddenly self-conscious.

  “What are you doing here?”

  For answer he held up the program left over from the Christmas pageant. “Last night turned out to be an answer to a prayer,” he said.

  Hand on the polished-oak railing, she descended the rest of the stairs. “You mean because of Toby and his dad.”

  “I mean because it took a lot of us to make the night a success.”

  “Yes, it did,” she said, “but I’m not sure I understand the prayer part.”

  “I prayed for a way to save the mill and I believe I have my answer.”

  She pressed her hands together. “Oh, Rick. That’s really good news. But . . . but how?”

  “Dad was always at war with the politicians and environmentalists. Last night got me to thinking that maybe it was time to work with them instead of against them.”

  “Rick Talbot working with environmentalists? I don’t believe it.”

  He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. I just got back from a meeting with the US Forest Service. Got some time? I’d like to show you something.”

 
She nodded. Mrs. Greenwell’s surprise retirement party didn’t start till five.

  “Get your coat. I’m parked in front.”

  A short time later she sat in his Jeep’s passenger seat and stared in dismay at the deteriorating forest they passed. A forest she once worked hard to save. But this looked nothing like the woods of her youth.

  Instead of the lush green trees she remembered, the barren branches of hundreds of tall pines drooped to the earth like unfolded wings. Overgrown bushes, toppled trees, and broken branches vied for space on the forest floor.

  Her heart sank. “What . . . what happened?”

  “Bark beetles,” he said. “The pests attacked the weakened trees.”

  She gazed at his profile. “Weakened how?”

  He pulled to the side of the road, and they both got out of the Jeep. He pointed to an area so thick with vegetation that even the sunlight couldn’t penetrate it. “Pines need room to grow. All that stuff you see on the forest floor competes for light, nutrients, water, and space. It also provides fuel for fires. You may have heard that Oregon had some pretty bad fires in recent years.”

  “Oh, Rick. This breaks my heart. I feel partly responsible.” Not even a birdcall broke the eerie quiet. It was as if the very earth were in mourning. Never could she imagine that the ban on cutting timber would have such a devastating effect.

  He shook his head. “None of this is your fault. Working with environmentalists meant having to do things differently, and my father wasn’t one for change.”

  Surprised that he didn’t blame her, she felt a warm glow inside. “Change is hard for everyone.” It was certainly hard for her. All she wanted—longed for—was one stable thing in her life. Was that so bad?

  “The one thing I learned working for that tech company in Colorado is that as hard as change is, not changing can be fatal. Now it’ll take a lot of people to make things right.” A hopeful glint flickered in the depth of his eyes. “I’m hoping one of them is you.”

  “Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

  “The US Forest Service agreed to give me a contract to thin out the woods providing I can get the environmentalists on board.”