Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

by Mary McDonough

  I don’t have to be possessed of magical powers to get on a plane, she thought, hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat. There’s no reason I can’t go back to my home and my friends right now and let Danny and Emma handle the dispersing of the estate. Like her brother had said at Norma Campbell’s party, she was of no use. And while it had been their mother’s wish that all three of her children make decisions about the estate together, there was no way Daniel could enforce that wish. She, Andie Reynolds, was a free agent. “Ignore those that make you fearful and sad . . .”

  No, Andie thought. No. She would not indulge in self-pity or give in to fear. “We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think.” And she would not think like a coward or like a person in despair. She would stay in Oliver’s Well and do what she could to restore peace in her family and to right the wrongs she had committed, however innocently. She thought of what the man in the Eclectic Gourmet had said, that she had helped him in a time of serious trouble. Well, why couldn’t she help herself in a time of serious trouble? “You yourself, as much as anybody in the universe, deserve your love and affection.” The Buddha had said as much, and she would be wise to heed his words.

  As Andie was passing End Quote, Oliver’s Well’s only independent bookstore, a young man wearing a gray cardigan over baggy corduroys came dashing out.

  “Ms. Reynolds,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember meeting me. . . .”

  Again, Andie managed a smile. “Of course I do,” she said. “It was at the booksellers convention in Nashville two years ago. You’d just bought End Quote from the previous owner.”

  The man nodded and extended his hand. “That’s right. Chris Owens. Look, I know this is last minute, but when I saw you passing by I thought, I just have to ask. I hope I’m not imposing on your family time, but do you think you might possibly do a reading or give a little talk sometime before Christmas Eve? I can’t pay you what you’re probably used to,” he added worriedly, “but—”

  “There’s no charge, Chris,” Andie said quickly. “And I’d be delighted.”

  Chris Owens looked thrilled. “Thank you so much,” he said. “Your books are very popular in Oliver’s Well; I can hardly keep them in stock. You’re our very own celebrity!”

  Andie forced another smile. “Let me check my schedule,” she said, “and I’ll call you this afternoon to set up a time and date.”

  Chris Owens thanked her again and hurried back into the shop. Andie walked on toward the municipal parking lot. She thought of what the Buddha had so wisely taught his followers. “No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”

  Andie unlocked the door to her rental car and slid into the driver’s seat. She knew she was being tested. She just hoped she could pass the test. And she hoped that in her present suffering she would find the hidden gift.

  CHAPTER 45

  “Let’s get the atmosphere going,” Emma suggested. “I’ll put on some music.”

  The family was gathered to decorate the Christmas tree, a Virginia pine that Daniel and the children had cut down earlier that day. After securing the tree in its stand, he had gone to the kitchen to make hot chocolate with marshmallows, all made from scratch.

  “The tree is enormous!” Emma commented when he returned to the living room, carrying a tray of the hot sweet drinks. “How did you manage to get it on and off the roof of your car?”

  Daniel shrugged. “I managed,” he said. “I like to do the holidays right.”

  “Daniel has always been of the more is more and less is a bore school of thought,” Anna Maria said, helping herself to a mug of hot chocolate.

  “You should have come with us this afternoon when we went to the tree farm,” Daniel said to his sisters. “It was fun. What were you doing?”

  “I spent the afternoon with Maureen,” Emma told him. “We did some Christmas shopping.”

  “Andie?” Daniel asked.

  Andie looked at her watch and said, “I was in town, running some errands. My cookies must be ready.” She went off to the kitchen at a trot.

  Emma thought her sister looked stressed, and not just because of the threat of burnt cookies. Rumi hadn’t yet put in an appearance, although according to Daniel she was planning to join them.

  “This is my favorite song,” Marco shouted as the opening strains of “The Little Drummer Boy” reached their ears. “I want a drum set.”

  His father frowned. “And you’re not getting one.”

  Before Marco could protest the unfairness of this decision, Andie returned to the living room bearing a plate piled high with treats. “I don’t know if these cookies are as good as the ones Sophia and Marco made the other day. . . .”

  Sophia and her brother dashed over to their aunt and each took a cookie. “This is yummy,” Sophia said. “I love raisins and chocolate chips together. And that dinner you made us the other night was really good, too, Aunt Andie.”

  Andie smiled at her niece. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you liked it. Where I live we take turns cooking dinner and we all eat together. You get to learn a lot about different kinds of food that way.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Sophia said.

  “What if you’re not in the mood to eat with the group?” Emma asked her sister. “I know sometimes after a long day at work I just want to hole up by myself and eat whatever’s hanging around in the fridge.”

  “As long as you’re not sneaking out on your night to prepare the meal,” Andie explained, “you’re perfectly free to have your dinner in your own place.”

  “Dad never makes vegetarian stuff,” Marco announced, reaching for his second cookie.

  “But we eat a lot of vegetables and fruit. Mom says we have to. Aunt Andie, when you’re a vegetarian do you—”

  Before Sophia could finish her question, Daniel said, “Andie, don’t fill her mind with that—”

  Emma shot a look at her brother and he closed his mouth. And she recalled his vehemently denying that Andie’s memory of an argument between their parents was indeed a real memory. She went over to her sister, put an arm around her shoulder, and squeezed. “You were always a good baker, even when you were a kid,” she said. “I remember those bundt cakes you used to make in high school, the kind with a coconut filling. Yum.”

  The doorbell rang then and Anna Maria went to answer it. It was Rumi, a long striped scarf wound around her neck. She gave the family a general greeting and went into the hall closet to hang up her coat. When she returned Andie offered her a cookie. “They’re just out of the oven,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite recipes.”

  “No thanks,” Rumi said, without, Emma noticed, even the courtesy of meeting her mother’s eye. “Is this Uncle Daniel’s homemade hot chocolate?” she asked, already reaching for a mug. “I’ll definitely have this!”

  This is ridiculous, Emma thought. She wondered why Rumi had even bothered to come to the tree trimming if she had so little use for her mother—unless, of course, she had come specifically to antagonize Andie. Rumi is basically immature, Emma thought. She can’t fully cut the cord that ties her to the role of child to be taken care of, noticed, and pampered. It was too bad, after all the good guidance her parents had offered her.

  “Me and Sophia are the luckiest people,” Marco suddenly announced. “We get to decorate two trees, this one and the one at home!”

  “Sophia and I,” Daniel corrected.

  Emma gave her sister’s shoulder one more squeeze, for which she received a grateful smile, and said, “Let’s get started.”

  With Daniel’s help Emma had hauled the cardboard boxes that contained the family’s Christmas decorations from the attic. The boxes had been carefully sealed with tape and each item within had been individually wrapped in tissue paper.

  “Mom had such respect for everything in this house,” Emma said, as she knelt by one of the opened boxes, “from the most insignificant piece of flatware to the most precious of it
ems, like that Lenox dessert service Andie and I uncovered.”

  Daniel nodded. “She knew about value. She understood what it means to be house proud. Wow,” he said, holding up a long marquise-shaped ornament. “I haven’t seen this stuff since Dad was alive. After his death Mom pretty much ignored the holidays.” He looked to Emma. “Remember how she used to love to decorate every room in the house? But without Dad around, she just lost interest.”

  “I’m sure that’s not unusual,” Emma said. “Sad, but not unusual.” She lifted the next package from the box she was emptying and unwrapped the tissue paper from it. “I remember these,” she said. “Mom had these monogrammed stockings made for us at the yarn shop that used to be downtown. The Cable Company, I think it was called. It was only there about a year.”

  Anna Maria laughed. “No wonder it closed, with a name like that!”

  Emma continued to explore the box and after a moment unearthed the delicate German glass ornaments that had belonged to the Carlyles. There was one in the shape of a rotund American style Santa Claus and another in the image of the older European Father Christmas. There were several in the shapes of animals—a graceful swan, a proud rooster, a roly-poly pig, and a mischievous kitten.

  “Handle these carefully,” Emma told Sophia and Marco, who had abandoned the glittery chain they had been untangling and had come to join her. “They’re very fragile. And if they break you could get a nasty cut.”

  “Look,” Andie said, breaking her long silence. “Here’s the glass peacock. Its tail is still perfect. Mom said I could have this one day if I wanted.”

  “Really?” Emma asked, looking at the little ornament her sister was holding.

  “Yes,” Andie said. “Why?”

  Emma shrugged. “It’s just that Mom knew the peacock was my favorite ornament. Every year I wanted so badly to be the one to hang it on the tree.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Andie said. Then she got up, crossed the room, and handed the peacock to her sister. “Here, Emma, you should have this for your own. Take it home with you after Christmas. It really means nothing to me.”

  Rumi, sprawled on the couch, laughed. “My mother doesn’t care about possessions. She’s above all that. Although I’m surprised the peacock isn’t her favorite, too, with the crazy, colorful way she dresses.”

  Emma restrained a sharp reply. She was aware of Anna Maria’s unhappy expression; she didn’t want to see Daniel’s. Andie, ever Andie, calmly responded. “Possessions aren’t wrong,” she said mildly, “but they can get in the way of more important things. If you have possessions just to have them they begin to own you.”

  Rumi rolled her eyes. She got up from the couch and left the room. Emma, still holding the peacock ornament, crawled to her feet and followed her to the kitchen. Rumi took a glass from its cabinet and turned on the cold water faucet.

  “You missed a delicious dinner the other night,” Emma said. It wasn’t what she wanted to say—which was something on the order of “grow up!”—but this supposedly enjoyable family event wasn’t the place for a confrontation.

  Rumi shrugged. “I’ve had vegetarian food before. It’s no big deal.”

  “Maybe, but your mom is a good cook.”

  “Is she?” Rumi laughed. “I wouldn’t really know. She hasn’t cooked for me since I was eight.”

  Emma could barely restrain her annoyance. “Come on, Rumi, surely that’s an exaggeration and you know it.”

  Rumi shrugged, drank the water and put the glass in the sink. Without another word the two went back to the living room, Emma all too aware she had accomplished absolutely nothing. She watched as Rumi went over to Anna Maria and gave her a big hug. Andie had to have seen it, even from the corner of her eye.

  “Dad liked this sled ornament,” Daniel was saying. “I think it belonged to his father when he was a boy. You know, after listening to Paddy Fitzgibbon at Norma’s party I’ve been wondering what else he might be able to tell us about Dad.”

  “Or what Joe Herbert might be able to tell us, for that matter,” Emma said. “Or anyone else in this town who knew him well.”

  “We’re all strangers to one another,” Andie said quietly, almost to herself. “Even to those who know us best.”

  Rumi laughed. “Some people just don’t try to understand the people in their lives.”

  “You’re right, Rumi,” Emma said with what she hoped was a meaningful look. “Some people don’t.”

  CHAPTER 46

  The following morning Emma paid a visit to another of the real estate agents Daniel had chosen as finalists. As if it were a contest, she thought. Well, she supposed in a way it was—free market competition, with number 32 as the prize. She was less than impressed by the personal manner of this agency’s representative, who was brusque to the point of being unpleasant, but as Emma was still considering buying the house herself, asking smart questions of the agents under the pretense of hiring one could only help her think through the logistics of a purchase. After all, if she decided to buy out her siblings she would have to make them a fair and market competitive offer.

  When she had gone a few yards in the direction of her car, Emma spotted Joe Herbert coming out of the post office just ahead. She waved and he waved back. Joe was a year or two older than Emma, and a great deal taller. She thought he might be close to six and a half feet tall. His eyes were keen and observant; his smile was ready and transformed what might have been a stern face into one that you couldn’t help but deem trustworthy. Even in the warmest of weather Joe wore a long-sleeved dress shirt and his signature bow tie. He had one in just about every color and pattern a person could imagine. Today’s bow tie was celery green embroidered with tiny sprigs of parsley.

  “We were just talking about you last night,” she said when she joined him.

  Joe laughed. “Ah, that’s why my ears were burning! Do you have a question about the estate’s financial health?”

  “No, actually, we were wondering what you could tell us about our father that we don’t know. I mean, you worked side by side with the man for years. You knew him uniquely.”

  “As did you,” Joe pointed out. “And Daniel. And Andie.”

  “Yes,” Emma admitted, “that’s true. It’s just that parents conceal so much of themselves from their children, purposely or not. It can be interesting to learn about your mother or father from someone who interacted with them outside the bounds of family.”

  “The trouble with asking questions about someone you love is that you never know what the answers are going to be—disturbing or pleasant.”

  “And in Dad’s case?” Emma asked.

  Joe smiled. “Entirely pleasant.”

  “So, how’s business?”

  “To be honest,” Joe said, “it’s almost too good. There are nights when I can’t get out of the office before eight. I wouldn’t mind so much but for my kids. I mean, I didn’t become a father not to see my own children. And my long hours put a strain on Jenna, who has enough on her plate caring for her patients.”

  “That is a danger of success,” Emma said. “Losing the rest of your life in the process.” And I, she thought, should know.

  Joe frowned. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. But I just have to hope that a solution will present itself before too long.” And then he smiled. “After all, nothing stays the same for long, does it?”

  “Even when we wish it would! You know, Joe,” Emma went on, “I have to admit that at first I was puzzled when Mom chose Danny to be trustee of the estate. Frankly, I seemed like the better choice, at least the more obvious one. But he’s done a fine job of it all, with your guidance. I really appreciate all you’ve done for the family. We all do.”

  Joe shrugged. “It’s just my job.”

  “No,” Emma said. “It’s more than that.”

  “Okay,” Joe admitted. “It’s my vocation.”

  Emma nodded. “I understand. Helping people manage their money is, well, it’s almost an intimate exper
ience. It’s such a matter of trust. You’re privy to someone’s hopes and dreams, to their successes and failures. It’s a bit like being a doctor or a lawyer in that way, I imagine.”

  Joe smiled. “I’ll ask Jenna and get back to you on that one.” He checked his watch and whistled. “Look at the time. I’ve got a client coming to the office in ten minutes. Good to see you, Emma.”

  “You, too, Joe. Have a merry Christmas.” Emma watched for a moment as Joe hurried off toward his office, then continued on to her car. And as she drove back to Honeysuckle Lane she thought about what Joe had said about being overworked, and the glimmer of an idea began to take hold.

  It’s not an outrageous notion, she told herself, steering the car along. After all, if she were to move back to Oliver’s Well, wouldn’t it make sense that she and Joe join forces? It would probably be to the benefit of each of them; she couldn’t see any obvious downside, at least not at the moment.

  But nothing was set in stone, Emma reminded herself, as she passed the local bank branch, still housed in a fairly elaborate nineteenth-century building. She had not yet made the commitment to return to the scene of her childhood, and indeed, might never make that commitment. Still, joining forces with her father’s former apprentice and partner was an idea she would keep hold of, if lightly.

  Because as Joe had said, nothing stayed the same for long.

  CHAPTER 47

  Daniel pulled up in front of the Unitarian Universalist Church. He recognized Reverend Fox’s ancient Volvo in the lot and smiled. How that thing was still running was anyone’s guess. Maybe, Daniel thought in a moment of whimsy, God is his mechanic.

  While the family had been decorating the Christmas tree the day before, Daniel had got to thinking of how his father had loved to add the strands of silvery tinsel in great big handfuls, and if his mother later edited her husband’s handiwork, he never seemed to mind. It was always Caro who climbed the ladder to place the star atop the tree, after which Cliff would applaud and declare the Christmas season officially begun.