“Another time.” Joey beckoned Polly to follow him onto the porch.
What else had Pa done?
“When did your father start to lose his memory?” he asked.
Chapter 4
Joseph walked home, grateful he hadn’t chosen to ride on this particular day. Walking and thinking went together like blue skies and sunshine, and he needed to process what he had learned.
According to Polly, her father had been in decline for some time. Her mother’s death might have triggered it, although that impression came more from instinct than anything Polly had said. At home they adapted to the imperceptible changes in his behavior, but lately she had worried something was wrong. The first, and so far the only, time he had revealed his weakness in public happened at the engagement party.
Joseph could sense Polly’s embarrassment. “People have big hearts. They’ll realize he’s ill, given time.” But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone else yet, not until she had no choice.
“I don’t know if I should continue working on the Christmas program,” she had confided. Joseph insisted she must. She was the heart and soul of the play. Without her, the children would shrivel up on stage. What could he do to make things easier for Polly?
He hadn’t found a solution when he arrived at the church for the afternoon’s rehearsal the following day. A subdued Polly was already there, as well as Alice, dressed in her almost-Sunday best.
I’m supposed to have supper with her family tonight. The events of the previous twenty-four hours, including an interview with a potential client, had all but driven the appointment from his mind. If it wasn’t so late, he would decline to attend. He doubted he would so easily forget an invitation from the woman he loved.
Alice wasted no time in staking her claim on him. She shifted a particularly peculiar hat—complete with velvet ribbons and poinsettia flowers—to a coquettish angle as she looked up at him. “There you are, Joseph! I’m hoping we can leave rehearsal a little early to stop by the emporium. I would appreciate your advice on some Christmas presents I’m buying.”
“But I’m needed at the rehearsal.”
Their conversation had reached the front. Polly looked composed if somewhat pale. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, boys?” She winked with her usual good humor.
They all chorused their agreement. Joseph noticed a platter of cookies waiting for them and sensed a reward for good behavior had been promised. Why he would rather stay and eat cookies with the children before walking Polly home rather than enjoying fine dining with the Johnsons, he couldn’t say.
But a commitment was a commitment. He tipped his hat to Polly and offered Alice his arm. “See you tomorrow night, then.” They skipped rehearsal on Wednesday afternoons, due to the midweek prayer service.
Joseph turned his mind away from Polly and focused on Alice. “I see Martha didn’t come today.”
Alice shook her head. “No. Elisabeth is only in one scene, and they’re not practicing it today. She wanted to come ahead, but I told her to stay home.”
If Martha didn’t come to rehearsal, how long would Alice continue? Joseph wasn’t a conceited man; otherwise, he might think she wanted him to herself without her niece’s interference.
Joseph decided to make the best of it. Being seen on the arm of the daughter of the richest and most powerful man in town wouldn’t do his reputation any harm either. He could think of worse ways to spend an evening than in the presence of a lovely, witty woman, even if she was shallow at times.
“Do you mind stopping at the emporium?” Alice asked. “I’m not certain what my brother will like, and I hope you can help.” She explained what she had observed of his tastes since his return to Breading as they approached the store.
“I’ll help if I can.” He stepped forward to open the door.
Before he put his hand on the knob, a man exited. He was piled so high with packages that Joseph couldn’t see his face until he passed. Mr. Jessup, looking lively and as pleased as Santa Claus’s elves on Christmas morning.
“Why, Joseph, I thought you’d be at the church.” He juggled his arms so the packages settled more securely and lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Polly my secret. It seems God has answered my prayers and provided a bountiful Christmas for us!” He looked as though he wanted to clap his heels and leap for joy.
A glance at the pile of parcels suggested a stellar Christmas morning for the Jessup household. “God be praised, sir. I am mightily happy for you.” If Alice hadn’t tugged his arm to enter the store, he would have offered to help carry the packages. He settled for asking, “Are you headed straight home, sir? To Dover Street?” He wanted to be sure the man remembered the location of his house.
“Of course I am! Where else would I go?” Jessup looked surprised at the question. Had the previous evening’s events passed out of his mind? “I’ll see you later.” He traipsed down the sidewalk singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” off-key.
Alice glanced over her shoulder at his departing figure, her nose wrinkled, before shrugging her shoulders and entering the mercantile. Joseph paused inside the door to breathe in the familiar scents of tobacco and licorice overlaid with the smells that always reminded him of Christmas: pine needles and cinnamon and peppermint. Something more warmed the air, and he turned his head, seeking the source. There it was. In the corner, the merchant’s wife was pouring out hot chocolate with peppermint sticks for stirrers.
At the counter, Alice was leafing through the latest catalog from Montgomery Ward. She motioned for him to join her. “I value your opinion. After your years at college, I’m sure you have a better sense of current fashions for men than … anyone here in Breading.”
The hat she had chosen for her brother had in fact been common back at college, but Joseph feared it might make him look like a dandy here in Breading. “That was a popular style at school. I’m sure whatever you think would be fine.”
“Maybe I should ask the milliner to make one.” Alice took out a piece of paper and traced the pattern.
Joseph excused himself and headed for the corner where he had seen the children with the hot chocolate. “Is that only for the little ones, or may I have some, too?” He smiled at the young woman, the store owner’s daughter.
“Whoever wants it. Christmas, chocolate, and chilly days just naturally go together. But you’re only the second adult to indulge.” She poured him a cup.
He thanked her but refused the peppermint stick. Cradling the cup in his hands, he blew on the hot liquid. “Oh? Who else imbibed?”
“Mr. Jessup. He was so happy, saying how God had given him a surprise gift so his family could have a good Christmas. He drank the chocolate while Father rang up his purchases.”
“I ran into him on the way in. He seemed to be in fine spirits.” Joseph sipped the warm drink.
“Are you ready?” Alice returned from the catalog counter.
Joseph gulped down the rest of the chocolate and placed the cup on the table. “I am now.”
“Merry Christmas!” Pa called merrily as he entered the kitchen.
Polly turned around from where she was hanging up her coat after returning from church. To her surprise, a half dozen packages weighted down his arms. She took the top bundles and placed them on the table. He looked happier than she had seen him in a long time, almost like … back when Ma was alive.
“Where did all this come from?” The family’s finances didn’t allow for this kind of extravagance, whatever the parcels held.
“God dropped a gift in my lap!” Pa took some coins from his pocket. “I even have some left over. I was on my way to the emporium to buy some nails to fix the front steps. And there was a twenty-dollar bill. I don’t remember putting it there, but I must have. After I paid up our account at the mercantile, I still had enough money to buy presents for Christmas.”
How did the money get there? Maybe Mr. Johnson had given his employees a bonus. He had done that a few times. Th
at must be it. Polly couldn’t help thinking the money could have gone for more urgent matters than Christmas presents, but she wouldn’t dampen Pa’s happiness for anything. “Where do you want to put these?” Polly reached for the top package.
“Oh no, my dear. I must have my little secrets.” Pa chuckled and handed her a different bundle. “Carry that one. I’ll keep them in my room until Christmas.”
Polly followed Pa to his room. She made a note of the nooks and crannies where he stashed the items away, in case he forgot between now and Christmas. Now and again that happened. Pa would wander around the house, looking for his glasses or a missing sock. Polly had become the guardian of Pa’s memory.
She looked at the package Pa had grabbed out of her hands. He had included something for her, too. A little piece of her gladdened at the thought. When was the last time she had looked forward to opening presents on Christmas morning?
She told herself she didn’t need them. Gifts were for the little ones, and she had everything that mattered in Jesus.
But now she had something to look forward to, like everybody else.
“What can we give to the children in the play?” Polly asked her fellow committee members when they gathered for rehearsal the following afternoon. Pa’s shopping trip triggered her thinking. With the gifts Pa had bought, she could contribute the money she had saved for her family.
“Why, I have that all taken care of.” Gabe Noell walked in on their discussion. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“You know the church can’t afford to pay you any more,” Pastor Denton said.
“No need.” The older man waved away the objections. “Consider it my gift to all of you.” Whistling, he headed for the front door.
As he went out, Pa came in. What was he doing here in the middle of a workday? Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Had he forgotten to return to the bank after lunch?
Pa paused beside a stained glass window, light illuminating his features and easing away the years. He looked as uncertain and lost as a child. When he saw Polly, his face crumpled like a baby’s.
“Polly.” He sank onto one of the pews. “I’ll take over here,” Joseph said. “You go take care of your father.”
She hurried to Pa’s side. “What’s happened, Pa?” She lowered her voice. “Did you forget where you are?”
He shook his head. “I came to the church. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew I would find you here.”
Each statement left Polly more confused than the last, but she kept her composure. “What is it? Is someone hurt?”
Pa sat on the bench, rocking back and forth. Polly heard the door open but didn’t look up.
“Shall I go for the doctor?” Pastor Denton had joined them.
“That won’t be necessary.” Jack Hurd, the town sheriff, had entered the sanctuary, followed by the banker and Alice. “We’re here to arrest Mr. Jessup for bank robbery.”
Chapter 5
Joseph couldn’t have avoided hearing the sheriff’s unexpected and unwelcome announcement even if he had wanted to. His voice rang louder than even the pastor’s during a heated Sunday sermon.
At the interruption, Jemima and her brothers stopped in the middle of the scene with the shepherds. No one spoke for the span of a second.
“That’s enough for now.” Joseph broke the silence. “Mrs. Denton has cookies waiting for you at the parsonage.” He reached Jessup in three long strides. “The church is usually a sanctuary against arrest.”
“He can’t use this building to hide out from his crimes,” Mr. Johnson scoffed.
Abashed, Sheriff Hurd put away the handcuffs he had ready to clap on Mr. Jessup’s wrists. “If you’ll just come with me, sir.”
Mr. Jessup looked at Polly in bewilderment and sank lower on the pew, looking ready to put his arms over his head and curl up in a ball. She placed herself between her father and his accusers.
“What is all this about?” Joseph refused to let them waltz out with Polly’s father without some kind of explanation. “That’s none of your business.”
“He stole the bank’s money, that’s what he did.” Mr. Johnson had no qualms about spilling the beans. “Walked out of the bank with twenty dollars of the day’s receipts in his pocket.”
“That was a gift from God.” Mr. Jessup’s words were as good as a confession.
Polly’s face turned as pale as translucent oilpaper, and Joseph noticed that the arm she had draped around her father’s shoulder trembled.
“So you admit you had money in your pocket when you left the bank last night?”
“It was a gift from God,” Mr. Jessup repeated. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,” the sheriff said. Jessup didn’t struggle but shuffled down the center aisle of the church after the law officer and the banker. He glanced about him, almost as if he expected worshippers to arrive and music to begin.
Casting a despairing, pleading glance in Joseph’s direction, Polly followed her father. Before he could respond, someone tugged at his elbow. Her face puckered and she turned away.
“Let them go,” Alice spoke fiercely. “I knew something was wrong when we saw him with all those packages last night. The Jessups have never had that kind of money. The nerve of that old man.”
Joseph straightened his shoulders. “That old man, as you call him, is a friend of mine. And he needs my help.” He hastened down the aisle.
“But what about my father?” Alice’s voice trailed after him.
Joseph didn’t tarry long enough to hear her complaint.
Polly stumbled out the door only moments after her father. She hesitated in the middle of the street, uncertain which direction to head. Spitting snow, unexpected this early in the season, punched the air. Even as she sped down the street, the snowfall increased in intensity, more like sleet, biting into her hair and skin. She pulled her shawl closer around her and wished she had worn an overcoat. This kind of storm was fine, as long as she was inside beside the fireplace to watch it fall.
Pa won’t have a fire. She hated to think of him, confused, cold, and alone, but the family would expect both of them home soon. Since they were old enough to take care of themselves for a little while longer, she decided to go with Pa. How long he could manage on his own in the town jail was uncertain.
Last night Pa had been so pleased with his unexpected windfall, one he thought God had provided. He didn’t want it for himself; no, he delighted in providing an extravagant Christmas for the family. What she perceived as Mr. Johnson’s generous bonus for his employees had generated genuine goodwill toward the banker in her spirit. She blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her. How had last night’s happiness transformed so quickly into today’s disaster? Had Pa somehow pocketed money that belonged to the bank?
With all the thoughts circling around Polly’s head, she almost passed the jail. She turned on her heels and her foot slipped on the icy ground. Stumbling forward, she grabbed a lamppost, and her fingers stuck to the cold metal. A few tears spilled, melting the snowflakes that landed on her cheeks. Wiping away the dampness with her hands, she straightened and crossed the boardwalk into the sheriff’s office.
Mr. Johnson sat at the sheriff’s desk, alternating between dipping his pen into an inkwell and scribbling on a sheet of paper. At the sound of the door opening, he glanced up and his eyes narrowed into a glare. “Miss Jessup.” He said her name as if she were guilty by association.
“Mr. Johnson.” With quaking heart, she knew she must speak up for her father. “I’m sure this must all be some unfortunate misunderstanding.” She glanced over his shoulder, hoping to spot her father or the sheriff, but the door to the cells was closed.
“There’s no mistake.” The banker infused sympathy into the words, but one look at his face told Polly the truth. He had Pa in a vise, and he intended to take advantage of it. “I’ve already told the sheriff, and I’ve written it out here.” With his forefinge
r, he tapped the papers he had been writing on.
Anxious to know the nature of the accusations, Polly reached for the papers, but Mr. Johnson pulled them back. “Now, Miss Jessup. These don’t belong to you any more than that twenty-dollar bill belonged to your father, and I can’t let you look at them without the sheriff’s say-so.”
Polly wanted to scream. After a scant five minutes at the jail, she had already antagonized Pa’s accuser further. She took a deep breath and walked past the banker to the door. “Sheriff Hurd? It’s Polly Jessup.”
An anguished cry and clanging bars reached her ears through the thick door, followed by scuffling feet. The sheriff opened the door, his heavy key ring jangling from his belt.
“Miss Jessup. You shouldn’t have come down here. There’s nothing you can do.”
Polly tried to peer around the sheriff without success. The slim line visible through the crack in the door didn’t reveal Pa’s whereabouts. “Can’t I at least see Pa?” Her voice cracked. “Make sure he’s warm enough? What are you going to do about his supper? Does he have a blanket?” The questions tumbled out of her as if she were a parent leaving her children with friends overnight.
“No one’s going to starve in here. Mrs. Hurd will bring him a sandwich later tonight.” He closed the door behind him.
A cold supper wouldn’t warm him like the spicy stew simmering on the stove at home. Polly told herself to stay calm. “Thank you kindly. But what about a blanket? He wasn’t dressed for the cold.”
“Miss Jessup.” The sheriff had reached the end of his patience. “No one has ever died of cold in this here jail. And we don’t coddle the prisoners. Now you go on home. We’ll see about getting your father legal representation. You can come back in the morning with some fresh clothes, seeing as how we’ll have a hearing tomorrow, since the judge will be in town.”
A hearing. “So soon?” How could she prepare in so little time, when she still didn’t know the exact nature of the allegations? “Can’t I at least know what the charges are?”
Woodland Christmas Page 10
