Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

by Mary McDonough

  And it had occurred to Daniel that a nice way to commemorate the senior Reynoldses and their love of Christmas would be a good old-fashioned candle-lighting ceremony. So he had set up today’s meeting with Reverend Fox to discuss the logistics. Though his mother had grown up in the Episcopal Church, she had embraced membership in the Unitarian Universalist Church her husband preferred. Daniel had often wondered how his mother’s parents had felt about her choice. Why, he wondered, had he never asked her?

  He was alerted to a text from the reverend; he was running a bit late and would Daniel mind waiting about five minutes? Daniel texted his reply—no worries—and, as the day was mild, he decided to wait for Reverend Fox on the front steps of the building. And for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few days, he thought about the article he had found in his father’s writing table, the one about the trial and conviction of a man named Brian Dunn. He had tried to put what Andie had told him about his parents’ argument out of his mind, but it was no use. The fact that they had differed so strongly about what came down to an issue of ethics—of right behavior and loyalty—bothered him. And why in the end had his father not come forward as a character witness for Brian Dunn? Had Cliff Reynolds simply bowed to his wife’s opinion? Had it been to keep the peace in the home or had he really come to change his mind and agree with Caro, that his coming forward on Dunn’s behalf might seriously hurt his business? Had his father chosen his family’s financial security over an act of altruism for a friend? Daniel had to admit it was probably what he would do in a similar circumstance.

  And all this speculation was based on the assumption that what Andie said had happened had indeed happened. The truth in all its large and small detail about what transpired all those years ago was another thing lost to Daniel and he would simply have to accept that. Easier said than done, he thought.

  The front door of the building opened then, and Reverend Fox beckoned Daniel inside. “Daniel,” he said, extending his hand. “Hello. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Reverend Fox was about Daniel’s age; he and his life partner, Matt Lehrmitt, lived in a restored farmhouse not far from the Joseph J. Stoker House, only one of the many historical sites the OWHA had helped to preserve.

  “Reverend Fox,” Daniel said, shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “It’s my pleasure. How are you, Daniel? I haven’t seen you at a service since your mother’s funeral.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve been busy,” Daniel said. And then, he laughed a bit awkwardly. “I know. A person should never be too busy for God.”

  Reverend Fox smiled. “Joining the congregation on Sundays isn’t compulsory. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty of negligence. So, why don’t you tell me what you have in mind for this memorial ceremony?”

  What Daniel had in mind was something very simple; he didn’t, he told Reverend Fox, even want the distraction of music. “It will be just my wife and sisters,” he explained. “I thought we might light candles in my parents’ memory and each say a few words. And, of course, if you could offer a prayer. . . .”

  Reverend Fox agreed to a date and time for the ceremony. Daniel thanked him and took his leave. Just before he left the building he stopped and turned to look at the giant quilt that had been made by members of the Women’s Institute back in 1908. He flashed back to Andie’s wedding, which had taken place in this very room, under that very quilt. He remembered how happy she had looked, and how pretty. She had been so young and hopeful then....

  And then Daniel remembered how promptly Andie had offered the peacock ornament to Emma, and how she had hosted that lovely meal for the family. And he remembered Rumi’s rude remark about Andie’s colorful clothing, and the criticisms of her mother’s behavior and beliefs. He felt truly ashamed of how he had been treating his sister—and of how he’d been encouraging his niece to treat her. What he had said about Andie to Anna Maria at Norma Campbell’s party was inexcusable. He felt a genuine tenderness for his oldest sister in that moment, a feeling that was very new to him. And he remembered again his promise to Bob, Emma, and to Anna Maria that he would treat his sister with more respect and kindness....

  So much for promises, he thought guiltily. But tomorrow was another day, wasn’t it? Andie would say that it was never too late to change....

  Daniel turned away from the massive quilt under which his oldest sister had taken her marriage vows and left the building. Mom, he thought. Dad. I’m trying my best. I truly am. But I don’t think that my best is good enough.

  CHAPTER 48

  “This place certainly seems to be a success. I think it must have something to do with the rosy colored walls. Pink makes everyone feel good, doesn’t it?”

  Andie smiled. She and Emma were at the Pink Rose Café, sharing its version of the classic afternoon high tea. On a three-tiered plate were laid out small thin sandwiches and an assortment of petite cakes and pastries. Andie thought of her mother’s Lenox tea set. Would it ever belong to her? she wondered. And if it didn’t, would it really matter so much?

  Yes, she thought. It probably would. Just as it would matter to Daniel and to Rumi if the Bullock desk were to leave the family.

  “I ran into Joe Herbert this morning,” Emma said. “He’s such a nice guy.”

  “What was his tie like?” Andie asked.

  “Celery green with sprigs of parsley. And speaking of color, thanks again for letting me have the peacock ornament.”

  “My pleasure.” Anyway, Andie thought, from now on she would associate the peacock with her daughter’s unpleasant remarks. She would work hard not to hang on to that memory, but given her current weakened state of mind and emotion . . .

  “What was your favorite ornament from when we were kids?” Emma asked.

  “That’s easy,” Andie said. “It would have to be the Victorian balloon. It seemed so exotic to me, so appealing to be able to take off into the sky and have all sorts of adventures.” Andie smiled ruefully. “I suppose Danny would say that even as a child I had my head in the clouds.”

  Emma frowned. “It would do our brother good to lighten up and float a bit.”

  Andie didn’t reply to her sister’s comment. Instead she voiced a question that had long been on her mind. “You know, I’ve never really understood why Mom left her wedding rings to me. I mean, I’m the divorced child, the wild child, at least in her eyes. Maybe she still held out hope that I would suddenly see the error of my ways and settle down and marry again.”

  “Well, you are the oldest daughter,” Emma pointed out, licking a bit of powdered sugar from her fingers, “and Mom was a traditionalist. I suppose she thought leaving the rings to you was ‘the thing to do.’ ”

  “Sure, but it would have made more sense to leave the rings to you. Or why not leave them directly to Rumi?”

  “I guess we’ll never know. By the way, what ever happened to your wedding ring?” Emma asked. “The one Bob gave you?”

  Andie smiled. “I sold it not long after the divorce. I needed the money. Bob couldn’t afford much in the way of child support.”

  “But you were living with Mom and Dad.”

  “I hated being so dependent on them,” Andie said. “So I decided to sell the ring to supplement my measly income. I didn’t get much for it—it was a pretty narrow band—but it helped pay for diapers and mashed carrots for a while.”

  “I’m sorry, Andie.”

  “Don’t be. I was okay with it. So was Bob; I told him what I’d done and he admitted he’d done the same thing with his. We laughed about it. But when Mom found out . . .”

  “How did she find out?” Emma asked.

  “I kept the ring in a box in the top drawer of my dresser. I don’t know what Mom was doing snooping around my room, but one day she noticed that it was missing. She asked me about it and I told her. She was shocked.”

  “It was your ring to do with as you wanted,” Emma said. “Why do you think she was so upset?” />
  “I know why she was so upset, because she told me. The ring was sacred; it represented the union that had created my daughter. There was more in that vein. Mom put more importance on my wedding ring than I did.”

  Emma nodded. “The traditionalist. Still, you and Bob were divorced. Her attitude doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  Andie shrugged. “To Mom it did. Remember, not only was a she a traditionalist, she was a real romantic at heart, defying her family’s choice of husband for the sake of love. It really was a courageous thing to do.”

  “I wish I was as courageous as Mom,” Emma said ruefully. “I should have ended things with Ian a long time ago, instead of just letting the relationship slide along. I took the lazy way out.”

  Andie shook her head. “I don’t think you’re lazy or a coward, Emma. I suspect that for whatever reasons you simply weren’t ready to leave the relationship. And then, you were ready and you acted. As Rumi says, ‘There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.’ ”

  Emma smiled. “Is there?”

  “Yes,” Andie said. “I think that there is.”

  While Emma poured them each more tea, Andie let her mind wander. She had no idea if Mary Bernadette would keep her promise not to advertise the gift of the Bullock desk until after Christmas. Maybe it would serve Andie right to be shamed with the truth before she could make things right by telling Mrs. Fitzgibbon that she had been misguided in giving the desk to the OWHA. Coming clean before more time passed was the mature option. In fact, she could tell her sister right now what she had done and then, make amends. Promises could be broken, even if they shouldn’t be.

  But looking across at Emma with her perfect posture, always calm and in control of her emotions, Andie felt simply too embarrassed to confess. She had long ago realized that one could never underestimate the power of embarrassment. It could render a person speechless, immobile, and unable to do the right thing.

  “I wonder if I’ve accomplished anything by coming back to Oliver’s Well this Christmas,” Andie said suddenly, with a bitter laugh. “I certainly haven’t succeeded in mending my damaged relationship with my daughter.”

  Emma smiled kindly. “You’ve helped me with going through Mom’s belongings. I couldn’t handle all that on my own. Not that Danny would have let me. And you’ve helped me understand why Ian might be clinging to what no longer exists. And you’ve helped me by simply being who you are. My sister. My friend.”

  Andie reached for Emma’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Hey,” Emma said, “let’s do something fun when we’ve finished here. Let’s do something that has nothing at all to do with estate sales and damaged relationships. I read about a vintage store in Somerstown that exclusively sells clothes and memorabilia from the eighties. It’s called Time after Time. Remember the Cyndi Lauper song by that title?”

  Andie laughed. “I do. I love that song. But the eighties are already vintage?”

  “Guess so. How about it? It should be pretty cringe-worthy. Massive shoulder pads. Big plastic earrings. Ripped fishnet stockings.”

  “Sure,” Andie said. “I’ve always had a soft spot for Boy George.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Daniel smiled as he surveyed the crowd that had gathered in the heart of town this evening. The weather had consented to be as near Christmas-like as possible; temperatures had fallen rapidly since the late afternoon and had now settled at about thirty-five, encouraging the appearance of goofy holiday-themed hats, brightly colored mittens, and furry ear muffs.

  The Christmas Parade and Festival was arguably the biggest annual communal event in Oliver’s Well. Shop owners were happy to participate in open house hours, with merchandise on deep discount and window displays to rival those found in big city department stores. Restaurants and cafés provided happy-hour-priced wine, hot chocolate, and free snacks. The Wilson House welcomed those who wanted to visit the displays of Oliver’s Well artifacts and to view the videos the OWHA had produced through the years, chronicling the founding and the development of the association. About a dozen performers set up on various street corners and played guitar or violin, juggled balls and pins, or performed simple magic tricks. And each year a different member of the Chamber of Commerce volunteered to play Santa Claus; like Santa at the end of the famous Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, he was pulled along Main Street in a sled set upon a float decorated with papier mâché reindeer, noisily jangling jingle bells, and a blanket of artificial snow. The most popular part of the float, Daniel thought, was not Santa but the handful of local children dressed adorably as elves, complete with pointy hats and shoes. When the float passed the yarn shop at the end of Main Street, it was then time to look forward to the ultimate event of the evening—the lighting of the massive fir tree that had been erected at the small square at the intersection of Main and Market streets.

  People came from all the neighboring towns to stroll, eat, chat, and to buy. It wasn’t unusual for a shop to make more money on this one night than it did in the three weeks leading up to Christmas. Richard Armstrong of the Angry Squire had told Daniel that the restaurant was routinely completely booked for dinner as early as the first of December.

  Daniel found himself alone with Rumi, Marco, and Sophia; Anna Maria, Andie, and Emma had gone off to check out the sales, and shopping held no interest for Daniel and the youngest Reynoldses. He estimated there were close to four hundred people gathered in the center of town, and though he wasn’t particularly worried about criminals—there hadn’t been a violent crime in Oliver’s Well in almost twenty years—he didn’t want either of his children to come to any harm in the throng.

  “Sophia, keep an eye on your brother,” he told his daughter. “I don’t want him getting lost in the crowd. You know how he tends to dash off.”

  “I’m on it, Dad,” Sophia assured her father, every inch the responsible older sister. She took her brother’s hand—under great protest—and steered him toward a juggler dressed in a bright and motley assortment of garments.

  Daniel smiled at his niece. “I can’t tell you how I used to look forward to this night when I was a kid,” he told her. “I swear I started obsessing about it in August.”

  “Uncle Daniel,” Rumi said, taking his arm, “you’re such a sentimentalist.”

  “Guilty as charged. I’m a sucker for anything that tugs on the heartstrings.”

  “It’s what makes you such a good dad.” Rumi sighed. “Too bad my dad couldn’t be here tonight. But he really wanted to see his old friend Tom. He’s got some sort of cancer, and Dad said he’s really been down.”

  “Your father is a good man.” And Daniel remembered the feelings of tenderness toward his oldest sister he had experienced after his meeting with Reverend Fox that morning. “And your mother’s not so bad, either,” he added with a smile. “Try to go easy on her.”

  “It’s just that she can be so frustrating,” Rumi said with a sigh, removing her arm from his. “She’s always quoting some guy who’s been dead for like a thousand years. Sometimes I wish she were just an ordinary mother, boring and predictable.”

  “But only sometimes?” Rumi shrugged and Daniel decided not to pursue the subject. “So, what’s your favorite part of the festival?” he asked.

  Rumi’s face took on a distinctly sheepish look.

  “What?” Daniel prodded. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, I didn’t tell anyone, but the Artful Soul agreed to show a few of the bracelets and necklaces I made recently. You know they have that section of the shop for new local artists and craftspeople to showcase their work. And tonight is my debut, so I guess that’s my favorite part of the festival.”

  Daniel smiled. “Good for you! But why keep it a secret?”

  “I don’t know,” Rumi admitted. “I guess I’m kind of scared. What if nothing sells? What if I told Aunt Emma or Mom and they each bought something just to make me feel good? I don’t want that happening.”

  “I understand.
But you know your mother and aunts might see your work if they happen to stop in at the Artful Soul.”

  “I know. I guess I can’t do anything about that.”

  “Well,” Daniel said, “I wish you success. Maybe you’ll make some money.”

  “I don’t really care about the money,” Rumi said. “Honestly. If I do make some money I’ll use it to buy more materials so I can make more pieces. And maybe before long I’ll be able to afford a course in metalworking.”

  She’s more like her mother than she knows, Daniel thought. “So it’s not about profit,” he said, “at least, not at the moment.”

  Again Rumi shrugged, and again Daniel decided not to pursue his questioning. Suddenly, the kids came dashing toward them, no mean feat in such a crowd.

  “Dad,” Sophia cried, “can we go into Billet-Doux? My friend Rebecca just told me they have awesome hot chocolate.”

  “Yeah, Dad, can we?” Marco echoed. “They put peppermint sticks in it!”

  Daniel shrugged. “Sure. We’ll all go.”

  Together the four members of the Reynolds family made their way to the specialty card and gift store, where Rumi wandered off to look at the handmade notebooks and Sophia and Marco got on line for their hot chocolate. Daniel was idly looking at a rack of greeting cards when he became aware of a man standing next to him.

  “Daniel,” the man said, extending a hand. “It’s so good to see you.”

  For a second Daniel didn’t recognize the man. And then it came to him; it was Reggie Beaton, Cliff’s childhood friend. Mr. Beaton had left Oliver’s Well over twenty years before for a job in New York City.

  “Mr. Beaton, hello,” Daniel said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a while.”

  Reggie Beaton laughed. “And I’ve gained at least thirty pounds since I last saw you. And you’ve grown a few more inches!”

  “What are you doing back in Oliver’s Well?” Daniel asked.

  “I decided to retire here in my old hometown.” And then Mr. Beaton moderated his jovial tone. “I was very sorry to hear of the death of your parents. My wife and I sent condolences, but I’m afraid both times I was working at our office in Basel and couldn’t get back in time for the memorial services.”