The procession reached the tall fir trees near the spot where the White House tree grew. Up the road Anna glimpsed Sam’s battered truck and a gleaming red truck-and-trailer combination that he’d rented to transport the tree to Washington. A tractor and a large sled would bring the tree to the road once it was felled. Sam had described the whole process to her.
The television van pulled to the far left of the road and stopped behind Sam’s truck.
The driver of Estelle’s pickup braked just behind the van, and Estelle spoke into the bullhorn. “The television crew will stay here, and a cameraman will be allowed near the tree site for the cutting ceremony,” she said. “We will proceed up the road a bit and be able to see some of the action from there. As I explained to all of you before, we can’t stand around and watch the tree fall. Someone might get hurt.”
“I wonder where she got that idea,” Jimmy said. “It’s not as if this whole thing hasn’t been a series of pratfalls already. All we need is to crush a few people under the White House Christmas tree to make the day complete.”
“I think it’s been great,” Vivian said. “Even if I’m wet and cold and I’ll have to use a wheelchair to get through the next week, I don’t regret a minute.”
“Follow me, choir members,” Estelle said through the bullhorn. The truck eased to the right of the van.
“Is there enough room for Estelle’s truck to get by?” Anna wondered out loud.
As if in answer, the truck tilted to the right and stalled. Estelle screamed, but she didn’t fall this time. She recovered quickly, glanced nervously at the television van, where a grinning cameraman was pointing his camera straight at her, and raised the bullhorn to her lips. “Would the male members of the choir please assist us out of this ditch?” she asked calmly.
Everyone laughed, and the men and boys put their shoulders into the job while the cameras rolled. The truck’s tires spun slush and mud over everyone in the general vicinity, but nobody seemed to care anymore. Soon the truck was free, and the choir, no longer looking the least angelic, burst into “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” with no prompting from Estelle.
“There’s Sam!” Vivian called to Anna as they passed the row where the White House tree stood. “He’s with that TV star. Frankly, I think Sam is better looking.”
Anna had already noticed Sam and John in conversation with the television personality and two more representatives from the White House. Sam glanced her way, and she waved at him. He smiled and waved back, causing her heart to lurch with pride. The man she loved was providing a Christmas tree that the president and his family would enjoy all season and thousands of visitors to the capital would admire, as well.
“Oh, Anna, the look on your face gives you away,” Vivian teased. “You’d better marry that boy.”
“I guess I’d better,” she agreed, waving at him once more before following the choir and Estelle up the hill a few more yards. “If he’ll have me.”
“Are you kidding?” Vivian hooted. “He’s stepped into the cow patty of love with both feet.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I’ve got to get you out of the country, Viv. You’re lapsing into some really strange expressions.”
Estelle stood in the back of the pickup. “Now everyone turn around and watch,” she instructed. “When the tree crashes down, I want the orchestra to accompany me on the ‘Ave Maria’.”
“Lord, she’s really going to do it,” Anna whispered to Vivian and Jimmy.
“You mean sing?” Jimmy asked in a low voice. “Why shouldn’t she?”
“According to Sam, her singing is like raccoons mating,” Anna said softly.
A chainsaw fired up, and a hush settled over the choir. Anna could tell which tree was being cut when its top began to quiver. “There,” she said to Vivian and Jimmy, pointing.
“This is really neat.” Vivian slipped her arm through Jimmy’s. “The White House tree being cut, and we were there.”
“Yeah, thanks, Anna.” Jimmy put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “Thanks for putting up with us this weekend.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, meaning it completely. Her friends were important, too, she realized. Besides, Sam had been quite busy the past twenty-four hours with his mother and stepfather, anyway.
The teenage boy in braces hurried over to them. “When it goes, we’re all going to yell Timber!” he whispered. “We passed the word around the choir.”
“Does Estelle know?” Anna whispered back.
“No, but don’t you think it’s a perfect thing to do?”
Vivian patted the boy on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Thanks for letting us in on it.”
The boy hurried back to his spot, the tree wobbled, and as the top branches disappeared, the choir shouted “Timber!” and threw their hands in the air.
Estelle jumped at the unexpected reaction, but she had no time to think about it because the orchestra launched immediately into the “Ave Maria”. Taking a deep breath, Estelle Terwiliger began to sing through the bullhorn.
Thirteen
Sam was scheduled to leave for Washington that same afternoon so the tree would arrive as fresh as possible. The television crew stayed in town for one last shot of the famous fir departing Sumersbury. Sam had promised the merchants he’d drive down the main street, and every able-bodied person for miles around planned to be on the sidewalk waving as he passed in the red truck-and-trailer.
Vivian and Jimmy had gone into town to explore and be on hand for the sidewalk waving campaign, as had Sam’s mother and stepfather. Sam had asked Anna to stay and talk to him while he made last minute preparations for the trip, and she’d grabbed the chance to be alone with him before they were separated again.
“What a day this has been, huh?” he said, taking the stairs to his bedroom quickly.
Since yesterday he’d moved and talked faster than before, but Anna figured anybody in his position would be wired.
“I just have a few more things to throw into the suitcase,” he added over his shoulder, “and I wanted your advice about which suit to wear for the White House tea next Wednesday.”
She followed him up the stairs, her step slower than his. “I think the filming went pretty well, all things considered.”
He glanced up from the suitcase lying open on the sleigh bed. “Yeah.” He chuckled. “All things considered. When I heard Estelle’s ‘Ave Maria’ coming over that bullhorn, I just about croaked. You should have seen the expression on Dev’s face.”
“Dev?”
He took two shirts from the refinished dresser and tucked them into the suitcase. “The guy from the TV series. You know, Devlin Maxwell.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“So which one should I take?” he asked, hurrying to the closet and pulling out two suits.
Anna stared at the gray and dark blue three-piece suits, both well cut and expensive looking. “Do you know I’ve never seen you in a suit?”
“You won’t catch me wearing one any more than I have to, either. This is an honor, but I can’t wait for things to get back to normal around here.”
“I’d take the dark blue,” Anna said.
“Yeah, I think so, too.” He returned to the closet for a garment bag and hung the suit inside it. “You know, getting caught up in this frantic pace reminds me how much I hate it.” He zipped the garment bag and laid it next to the suitcase on the bed.
Anna had nothing to say. She sensed that he wanted her to agree that frantic was bad and quiet was good. She couldn’t.
“Anna?” He walked around the bed and took her in his arms. “Listen, I know the past two days have been a mess, and we’ve hardly had any time together. I wish you could go to Washington with me. Is there any way? We could buy you some clothes once we got there, and—”
She pressed her fingertips gently against his lips and shook her head. “I’ve just had a week off. Several of my clients want their design projects done before Christmas, and I have a bi
llion things to do. I’d love to be with you, but I can’t afford to take another week.”
He rubbed her back and sighed. “Sometimes I curse myself for not getting to know you when you first moved in. If we’d met at the beginning of the summer, instead of at the end, you probably wouldn’t still be at that job.”
She stared at him and her stomach began to churn. “Sam, I—”
“I know. I know.” He cupped her face with one hand. “You can’t march in there and give them your resignation right now. But Anna, it’ll happen sooner or later. We both know that. You belong here with me, not slaving away in that madhouse they call New York. Look at how depressed you’ve been acting, knowing your week is over and you have to go back there tomorrow.”
Anna trembled as she sensed the approaching storm. She should have seen it coming and diverted the conversation. Instead, she’d been lost in her own thoughts about this very subject, and Sam had misinterpreted her silence. The timing was lousy, but she couldn’t allow him to misunderstand any longer. She gazed deep into his blue eyes. “Sam, I love you, and I love being with you.”
“Same here. That’s why—”
“But I’m not depressed about going back to New York tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the work I have planned for next week.”
His stunned expression told her what a powerful hold his fantasy had on him. Then he seemed to grasp for some explanation that wouldn’t destroy it. “I can understand why you’d enjoy next week in New York. It’s the Christmas season, and from what you did around here, I can see how much you love anything connected with the holidays. But after New Year’s, you’ll see that—”
“It’s not because of Christmas.” She hated this, but leaving him with a fantasy that could never happen was cruel. “I’ve rediscovered the joy in my work. I hope to continue in interior design for a long, long time.”
“But you said you were burned out,” he mumbled, looking dazed.
“Maybe I was. I’ve had lots of time to think in the past few days, and I concluded that my burnout had more to do with my self-image than with the job. Eric had subjugated my talents, my personal preferences, so that he could take center stage. Then he left, handing me another blow. But I’m healing.” She stroked Sam’s cheek and gazed at him, her heart full. “The country solitude, the weaving, and most of all your love, have given me back my sense of self. And now all my old enthusiasm has come rushing back, too.”
“But Anna, what about us?”
She winced at the agony threaded through his words. “I still love you, more every day.”
“I want us to be married,” he said, the plea wrenching at her heart. “I want us to have children, to sit on the porch together, to be a family.”
She smoothed the frown above the bridge of his nose, as if she could erase his tortured expression with a loving caress. “Families come in different shapes,” she said gently. “I need to keep doing work I love. It’s a big part of who I am. Besides that, I like the hubbub of the city. If I couldn’t be there a fair share of the time, I’d miss the excitement.”
He turned away from her with a groan. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. What do you want, some sort of commuter marriage, where you rush home every weekend, get reacquainted with me and rush back on Sunday night?”
“You make it sound so grim.” She put her hand on his arm. “That’s essentially what we’ve been doing so far, and it’s been working. People find creative ways around these problems all the time. Lots of couples—”
“And what about the picture in your apartment? What about children?” he asked, still not looking at her. “Do you have a creative solution for them, too? Or would you as soon skip that part, since it might be too complicated?”
“I don’t know.” She took her hand from his sleeve. “I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I don’t think it’s up to me to provide them all. The idea in a partnership is for both people to work at a solution so each of them can have what they need.”
“I’ll tell you what I need.” He wheeled and looked at her with tears in his eyes. “I need a home, a real home, with you and me sharing the same bed every night. I want children who snuggle under their covers knowing that Mommy and Daddy are just down the hall if they wake up in the night with a bad dream. And I don’t want the job of explaining to a sobbing three-year-old that his Mommy has gone off to the city again because she finds that life more exciting than staying with her family.”
Anna gasped. “That is so rigid! It’s a cozy picture for you and the imaginary children because your work and home are here, but where does it leave room for me to be myself?”
“What’s wrong with the weaving?” he cried out. “Why can’t you be yourself as a weaver?”
“Because I’m not your grandmother!”
He reeled back as if she’d slapped him. “I never said that I wanted you to—”
“Oh, yes you did.” She clenched her fists at her sides. “Not directly, but in a million little ways, you’ve tried to reincarnate her in me. Well, I’ll tell you something. Maybe Hilary Schute could be happy living here and weaving in her spare time, but I can’t. I have a career, and I intend to pursue it. If you can’t accept that about me, we may as well part company now.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears while she waited for his answer. Surely he wouldn’t let this issue tear them apart.
His shoulders sagged. “I don’t see any way it would ever work out,” he said. “We want two different things from life.” His gaze, when he turned it on her, was bleaker than the gray sky outside the bedroom window. “You’re right. I have been dreaming about recreating what my grandparents had. I still think it’s a dream worth having.”
“That’s your answer, then?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Yes.” He turned away. “Yes, it is.”
She struggled to breathe. It was over. Really over. “I’ll…I’ll arrange for your loom to be returned,” she choked out.
“Don’t bother.” He cleared his throat. “I had intended to give it to you for Christmas. Consider it an early present.”
“No.”
“Anna, I don’t want the loom back. It would only remind me of what we’ve lost.”
“You didn’t lose it! You threw it away!”
He faced her one last time. “I’m not the one willing to settle for a part-time marriage.”
With a sob she turned and ran down the hall they’d stenciled together, past the poinsettias on the stairs, through the parlor filled with pine scent and the glow of ruby glass. She loved all of it, and she loved Sam, but not enough to sacrifice her soul.
* * *
Anna threw herself into her work that week. If this was to be her life, then she was determined to make the most of it. She’d planned several weaving projects to coordinate with designs she’d created for clients, and when she wasn’t at the store or consulting in people’s homes, she sat at the loom long into the night.
She’d decided to finish weaving everything that was already commissioned and then take a hiatus while she hunted around for a good buy on a used loom. She would have preferred returning Sam’s loom immediately, but switching equipment at this stage would have fouled up some important weavings for her clients.
She worked through the weekend and tried to forget that Sam was back in Sumersbury by now. As she wove the skeins of yarn she’d bought from Tessie, she shoved aside several packages in shades of green. She’d intended to make a Christmas present for Sam, a blanket in the same weave as the blue one his grandmother had made. Only this blanket would be green to symbolize their love — evergreen, like the trees that Sam tended with such devotion.
Late each night just before she fell into a restless sleep, she’d wonder if the following day would bring a change of heart in Sam. She checked her messages faithfully each morning before she left for work, and again each night, but the only people she heard from were clients. Sam kept his silence.
Before her break with Sam, she’d expec
ted to spend Christmas in Sumersbury. Now that was out, and she couldn’t get a flight to her parents’ this late. Typically, Vivian and Jimmy came through and invited her to spend the holiday weekend with them.
She’d promised to be at Vivian’s house by noon on Sunday, Christmas Eve day. Vivian wanted her there by Saturday night, so they could all watch the Connecticut Christmas special on television together, but she’d declined. She had no desire to watch the special, and besides, she had plans for Saturday. She was returning Sam’s loom.
Late Saturday morning, she picked up her rented van. Back at the apartment building, she paid one of her teenage neighbors to help her carry and load the loom. Once that was accomplished, she tied it securely and used moving blankets to add padding on all sides to protect it from any bumping. Not that it would be a problem. She planned to drive slowly and carefully.
As she left the city and began the familiar drive to Sumersbury, she felt a grim determination set in. No matter what happened with Sam, before the day was over, the loom would be back with its rightful owner. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on what might have been if Sam had understood her needs. He’d made his position clear, and she would now underline hers.
Snowflakes spattered against the windshield, and she reached for the wiper mechanism. The snow added to her sense of determination rather than frightening her. She knew the road, and once she’d delivered the loom, she’d head for her own farmhouse, where she’d stay until morning. The holiday weekend wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but at least she was still in charge of her life.
* * *
John had been the foreman at the Christmas tree farm for years, long before Sam’s grandparents died. Through all those years, Sam had considered him one of his good friends, until now.
The first day back from Washington, John had called Sam on his short temper and demanded an explanation. Sam briefly outlined the scene with Anna and expected his friend’s support. John was big on family togetherness, always had been.
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