'Tis the Season

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  * * *

  Friday passed in a blur. Snow had fallen all through the night and well into the morning, and snowplows worked ceaselessly to keep the roads clear. John spent the morning atop Sam’s tractor plow, and by noon he had both the driveway and the road up to the tree site passable.

  No sooner had he finished than television crews arrived in a van equipped as a mobile station. As the van parked in front of the house, Anna beat a quick retreat to the barn, where John was putting away the tractor.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you wanna be on TV?” he asked with a grin as he climbed down from the tractor.

  “Absolutely not. Besides, everyone who watches this special is supposed to think Sam decorated the house, or if not Sam, then some loving, motherly type who’s taken this poor boy under her wing.”

  John glanced at her. “Guess you don’t fit that picture.”

  She met his assessing gaze and wondered if John had figured out more than Sam had about their relationship. “No, I don’t,” she agreed as they walked outside together. “This is my profession, not a hobby.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with that.” He scooped snow from a drift beside the barn and molded it between his gloved hands.

  “There is if I want to settle down in Sumersbury. I don’t think Sam would like me to commute back and forth.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s your work, not his.” He threw the snowball, which hit the side of the van with a splat.

  “John!” she reprimanded with a chuckle. “I think someone’s in there monitoring the equipment. What will they think?”

  He shrugged and grinned at her. “That not everybody in Sumersbury is crazy about this TV special idea.”

  “Oh.” She laughed with him. “Thanks for understanding about my job. I hope Sam agrees with you.”

  “If he doesn’t, he’s a damned fool, and I’d tell him so to his face, too.”

  “I’ll bet you would.” She started to walk away but paused as a long white car drove in and parked next to the van. “What’s with the limo?”

  “That’s probably the guy who’s gonna narrate the special. He plays the father in that family TV show, the one with the four kids, and the wife’s a stockbroker. You know the one I mean? Tuesday nights it’s on.”

  “I don’t watch much TV.”

  “Well, anyway, it’s him. Take my word for it. Tomorrow everybody’ll be scrambling for autographs.”

  “Do you think we’ll all make it through tomorrow without a major disaster?”

  He scratched behind his ear and glanced at the van and the limo. “If you ask me, the disaster’s already happened. All that’s left is to see if it gets worse.”

  * * *

  At ten the next morning, Anna stood with Vivian and Jimmy behind the rock wall that divided Sam’s property from the road. They’d tramped a path for themselves to this vantage point for viewing the parade that Estelle had arranged, complete with Santa Claus.

  Sam’s mother and stepfather sat in wooden chairs on the front porch, drinking coffee. When they’d discovered they would have to walk instead of ride to the tree site, they’d elected to stay on the porch. Sam’s mother was also miffed that the interior of the house had been filmed before she’d arrived. Anna hadn’t been able to coax much friendliness from her, so finally she’d given up and suggested to Jimmy and Vivian that the view would be better nearer the road.

  Finally, fifteen minutes later than scheduled, the strange procession appeared in the distance. In the lead was the television van, a cameraman sprawled on its roof while he trained his lens back down the road. Behind the van came Santa in his sleigh pulled by the pet doe.

  When they drew closer, Anna could tell that the doe’s transformation into Rudolph had been less than a success. The antlers kept sliding sideways, and Santa had to leap out of his sleigh every few seconds, shout “Cut!” and reposition them. She wondered if the cameraman listened to Santa’s filming directives.

  Trailing the sleigh was a pickup with Estelle Terwiliger, swathed in imitation ermine and looking like a polar bear, enthroned in the back. With wide, sweeping motions she directed the Sumersbury Town Choir marching behind her. A second cameraman walked backward next to the truck and alternately swung his camera from Estelle to the choir singing “O Come, All Ye Faithful”.

  Estelle’s fur-covered rump rested uneasily on the seat of a carved wooden chair that Anna suspected had been liberated from the pulpit of a local church. Her bouncing came partly from the bumpy road and partly from the energetic way she directed the choir.

  “Holy Toledo,” Vivian whispered as Estelle’s conducting lifted her several inches from her seat. “With arm motions like that, she could part the Red Sea.”

  “I imagine Estelle could part the Red Sea if she cared to,” Anna said. “She’s quite a woman.”

  Jimmy glanced over at her. “And besides all this, there’s an orchestra up on the hill and a pond with costumed skaters?”

  “That’s right. Sam and John took three loads of kids up in the back of the truck this morning. They were all in position by nine-thirty, including Sam and John at the tree site.”

  Vivian nudged Anna in the ribs. “Is this supposed to be funny? You didn’t tell us it was supposed to be funny.”

  “It’s not,” she replied. “But Sam figured all along that it would be.”

  “Sam’s a yummy guy.”

  “And Vivian knows yummy when she sees it,” Jimmy added, grinning.

  “Right, Jimmy-boy.” Vivian linked her arm through her husband’s and gave a squeeze. “Whoops, there go the antlers sliding off again. I guess that red blinking thing under the deer’s chin was supposed to be Rudolph’s nose, huh?”

  “Yes,” Anna said. “There’s a wire running along the bridle and back to a battery pack in the sleigh.”

  Vivian peered at the white-bearded man in the sleigh. “Do you know who’s playing Santa? He’s definitely got the belly for it, unless those are pillows.”

  Anna smiled. “Those aren’t pillows. Santa is Edgar Madison, who’s known for staying drunk between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Estelle gave him the role of Santa in exchange for a pledge to stay sober for the holidays this year. I guess she didn’t want the TV cameras to catch him staggering down the main street of town today.”

  “The temperance movement is alive in Sumersbury.” Vivian rolled her eyes. “I hope that poor deer won’t have to pull chubby Edgar up the hill to the ceremony, though.”

  “No.” Anna watched the doe’s patient trek along the road. “Santa and the sleigh will stay here, in Sam’s yard.” She noticed Tessie in the choir and waved.

  Estelle picked up a bullhorn and bellowed out, “‘O Holy Night’! On the downbeat!”

  “Cut!” cried Santa, leaping from the sleigh to right Rudolph’s antlers once more.

  The cameraman swung his lens toward Estelle, and she must have seen him do it, because she bellowed out a second command. “Give it all you’ve got, choir!” she shouted, and in her enthusiasm stood with both arms raised.

  The move wasn’t wise. The pickup hit a bump in the road, and Estelle tumbled to the bed of the truck. Members of the choir rushed forward to help her, but the driver, unaware that his charge was crawling on her hands and knees in the back, kept driving.

  Eventually he heard the shouting from the choir and stopped. Estelle regained her seat, although the imitation ermine was smudged and her hat was askew. She retrieved the bullhorn and directed it toward the front of the parade. “Are the antlers ready, Edgar?” she called.

  “Antlers ready!” pronounced Santa, climbing into his sleigh.

  “‘O Holy Night’!” Estelle repeated into the bullhorn. “On the downbeat!”

  Vivian couldn’t control her giggles, and she hid her face in Jimmy’s shoulder until she was calmer. “I will cancel any and all my social plans when this airs,” she said to Anna. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from my television set that night. And we haven’t even gotten to the skaters
and the orchestra yet.”

  “The government guys seem unfazed by this.” Jimmy tilted his head toward a gray sedan where two hatless men in topcoats and business suits leaned against the fender. “Every once in a while they crack a smile, but that’s about it.”

  “They’ve seen crazier stunts than this in their day, I’ll bet,” Vivian said. “Hanging around the White House probably blunts you to all other forms of entertainment.”

  Anna laughed. “I’ve missed you, Viv.”

  “Have you? I find that hard to believe with an entertaining fellow like Sam Garrison around.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Sam’s wonderful, but I like being with you, too.”

  “Spoken like a true friend. Jimmy and I will make every effort to visit you when you settle into this rural utopia.” She smiled at Anna before returning her at­tention to the parade. “Ah, the sleigh’s turning in the driveway. That poor creature will get her rest at last.”

  “Who mentioned anything about my settling down here?” Anna said.

  “Nobody, but I can’t imagine why not.” Vivian continued to watch the parade. “You and Sam are bonkers about each other, and Jimmy and I are living proof that marriage is a wonderful institution for people in your condition.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Never mind that now,” Vivian said. “We’re following the choir up the hill, right? I don’t want to miss a single bit of this. Will the cameras pick us out, do you think, way in the back?”

  Jimmy took her hand as they started off. “Viv, I expect you’ll have a movie contract a week after this special runs.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m so photogenic,” Vivian said, laughing. “Come on, Anna. We’ll talk about your love life when this is over, I promise.”

  With Santa out of the parade, the second cameraman climbed back into the van and let his partner on the roof finish the coverage of the trek up the hillside. As the pickup lurched upward, Estelle steadied herself with one hand on the tailgate and directed with the hand that held the bullhorn. Periodically she brought the bullhorn to her mouth and commanded, “Louder! With more joy!”

  “Easy for her to say,” panted Vivian, who had decided to join in the singing, too. “She’s riding on a frigging truck. How much farther?”

  “I’m not sure. The last time I came up here, I was riding in a truck, too.”

  “I’m not cut out for this,” Vivian complained, sagging dramatically against Jimmy. “Carry me, Jimmy-boy. Pretend you’re Rhett Butler and I’m Scarlett O’Hara.”

  “I have a better idea,” Jimmy said, propping her upright. “Let’s pretend we’re Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid robbing a train, and we’ll leap aboard that truck with what’s-her-name.”

  “Estelle Terwiliger,” Anna said, laughing breathlessly as she trudged beside them. “That’s what we get for being city slickers who don’t get enough exercise.”

  “We could turn back,” Jimmy suggested hopefully.

  “Not on your life.” Vivian struggled on. “If you won’t carry me, I may have to crawl up this hill, but I’m not missing the pond and the skaters and the felling of a mighty oak.”

  “Fir,” Jimmy said.

  “Right. Fir. I’m going up there. I’ll take a bath in Ben-Gay tonight.”

  “I’m going, too. I certainly can’t miss this,” Anna said. “Besides, the pond’s just ahead.” She peered around the jumble of choir members trying valiantly to sing and march going uphill. “I think I hear the orchestra playing ‘The Skaters’ Waltz’.”

  Jimmy gulped for air. “If you two can make it, so can I.”

  They reached the clearing, and Estelle chopped off the end of the Christmas carol with one clean swipe of her arm. Then she rose from her chair and regally turned to watch the skaters on the pond she’d ordered up from Sam.

  Anna couldn’t see very well, and apparently neither could the choir members, who broke ranks and surged around the truck to get a better view. The cleared portion of the narrow road was clogged with the television van, Estelle’s truck and the town choir.

  “Jimmy, help me up onto your shoulders,” Vivian demanded, hopping up and down trying to see over everyone’s head. “I’ll miss it.”

  “My shoulders?” Jimmy stared at her. “Anna’s friend Sam is the one with the shoulders, Viv. I’m a poor office worker, remember?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Vivian said. “I’m not overweight and you’re stronger than you think. Kneel down and let me climb on.”

  Anna smothered her laughter as Vivian straddled Jimmy’s neck and he grasped her boot-clad ankles before staggering to his feet.

  “Oh, you should see this!” Vivian exclaimed from her wobbly perch.

  “Thanks, Viv.” Jimmy groaned. “I’d love to. Maybe you could hold me on your shoulders. I’m not overweight and you’re stronger than you think you are,” he added, weaving a little as he fought to keep his footing on the slushy road.

  “What’s it look like?” Anna craned her neck.

  “Would you like to climb onto Vivian’s shoulders?” Jimmy asked, grimacing as his wife shifted her weight. “I saw that in the circus once. I’ll bet we could get on TV if I held both of you up at once.”

  “Jimmy, don’t be ridiculous,” Vivian said. “You’re such a baby. Move a little to the right, so I can—There! A perfect view. Oh, they’re so cute!”

  “Color commentary, if you please, Viv,” Jimmy prodded, “for the rabble here below you. Cute doesn’t provide a very clear picture.”

  “Well, the girls have on long skirts and fur hats, and they’re holding little muffs. The boys aren’t fixed up too different from the way boys dress today, except they have on those little flat caps like golfers sometimes wear and bright scarfs. The orchestra must be like ice cubes, though. Those poor kids’ lips and fingers look blue, even from here.”

  “But they sound pretty good,” Anna said. “I’m glad that something went as planned, for a change, and—”

  “Oh, no!” Vivian clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear! Whoops, there goes another one.”

  “What?” Anna and Jimmy begged together.

  “Oh, those poor kids. They’re not used to skating with long skirts. Look out!”

  “Ouch, Viv,” Jimmy cried. “Let go of my hair!”

  “Just like dominoes!” Vivian wailed.

  “Vivian,” Jimmy said, “stop bouncing around, or—”

  “Steady, Jimmy,” Anna cautioned. He listed toward a snowbank, and Anna hurried forward to help, but Jimmy’s momentum carried all three of them along as Vivian began to shriek. Arms and legs flailing, they landed in four feet of snow, which cushioned the fall but covered them from head to foot in wet flakes.

  After a moment of silence, Jimmy’s string of mumbled curses told Anna he was all right, and Vivian began to laugh. Anna looked at her two friends, hair and eyebrows covered with snow, and she began to laugh, too.

  Then she realized that the orchestra was no longer playing. She turned slowly and discovered a camera pointed directly at her and the entire Sumersbury Town Choir standing in a semicircle behind the cameraman. Still laughing, Anna picked up a handful of snow and flung it toward the camera.

  Jimmy took his cue and made a snowball, but his aim was off and he hit one of the men of the choir. The fellow grinned and raced for the edge of the road, where he made his own snowball. With a whoop, Vivian jumped into the fray, and before long everyone except Estelle Terwiliger was laughing and throwing snow­balls. The cameraman, caught in the cross fire, retreated to his van while Estelle brayed for order through her bullhorn.

  “Stop! Stop this minute!” shouted Estelle, dodging incoming snowballs. Nobody stopped. “Behave yourselves!” she bellowed. No response. “What about the tree?” she screamed at last, and slowly everyone grew still and smiled sheepishly at one another. “That’s better,” Estelle announced. “Now, sopranos over here, tenors there. Altos and basses, you know your places.”

  “Hey, that r
hymes,” Vivian whispered to Jimmy.

  “I’d be quiet if I were you,” he mumbled back. “You’ve already caused enough trouble.”

  “Me? Anna fired the first shot.” Vivian punched Anna playfully on the arm. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Jimmy glanced at Anna and smiled. “You did start that whole thing, come to think of it.”

  “I guess I did.” She chuckled and brushed the snow from her coat. The choir was reassembled, and with another command from Estelle, they launched into “Silent Night” and began marching up the road again. “It was fun, too,” she admitted under cover of the singing.

  “I do declare,” Vivian said as they tramped along behind the choir, “you’re turning into one spunky gal, Anna Tilford. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the procession went by the pond, teenagers with skates over their shoulders or instrument cases in one hand hurried to join the choir. Anna was close enough to hear when a boy in braces spoke to a woman in the back of the choir.

  “Mom, did you guys really have a snowball fight back there?” the boy asked between verses of the Christmas carol. “Somebody said you had a snowball fight on camera.”

  “We did.” The woman sounded proud of herself.

  “And I thought we were bad, having that pileup on the ice. Did you see that?”

  “Some. I guess the poor girls should have practiced with those skirts before today.”

  “Will they show that on TV, Mom?” the boy asked anxiously. “If they do, I’ll be pretty embarrassed.”

  His mother laughed. “Listen, son. On the way up here, the reindeer’s antlers slid off about forty times, and the red nose never did work right. Estelle Terwiliger fell down in the bed of the truck. Then you and the rest of the skaters turned into a pile of pick-up sticks, and the choir got into a snowball fight.” She laughed again. “We’re putting on a terrific show. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town got invited on the Late Show. Now let’s sing.”

  Anna smiled to herself. A year ago she never would have thrown that handful of snow at the cameraman. She wouldn’t have taken her nighttime hike over the path, either, or suggested using her own weavings in a client’s decor. She was becoming her own person at last.