Project Scrooge

by A M Heath

  “So, Uncle Sanford, did you really show up at Natalie’s house in your pajamas?”

  I met Mia and Hunter’s incredulous stares and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Beside me, Natalie giggled, and I squeezed her in a little tighter.

  “But … why your pajamas?” Mia asked, brows furrowed. “Were you about to go to bed or something? Were you in that much of a hurry that you simply forgot to put on your regular clothes?”

  Hunter laughed. “Does love really make a person that stupid?”

  Natalie and I burst out laughing.

  Granny strolled in just then. “Hunter, don’t say stupid.”

  He frowned. “I wasn’t calling anyone stupid, Granny, I was just asking about acting … that way.”

  She gave him a look that said she didn’t accept any excuses. “Drinks are ready.”

  Natalie leaned away from me in order to take her cup in hand.

  “What are we drinking tonight?”

  “Apple cider.”

  I stopped cold, jaw dropped and eyes bulged. “No cocoa?”

  Granny stiffened. “I didn’t think you’d want any.”

  I chuckled. “Well, yeah.”

  She grinned. “Good. Cause it’s cocoa. I made a Mexican cocoa this time. It has cinnamon in it.” With that, she finished passing out the cups.

  “Mmm, this is good, Granny!” Hunter pulled away from his cup and licked the whipped cream from his upper lip.

  I took mine and sniffed it. “Smells good.”

  “So, back to this pajama business,” Mia cut in.

  I took a sip of the steaming cocoa, delighting in the blend of flavors, and turned back to the conversation at hand.

  “Well, Scrooge was in his pajamas.” I shrugged. “It seemed fitting.”

  “And he really quoted all those lines from the book to you?” Mia asked Natalie.

  She nodded with a grin. “Sure did.”

  “Did he get them all right?” Hunter asked.

  Natalie gazed back at me. “More or less. He improvised a little.”

  Her smile pulled me right back in, but, for our audience, I only left a kiss near her ear with a whispered promise to talk to her later in private.

  “Tell me this, Uncle Sanford. Granny let it slip that you didn’t spend a dime on Natalie’s gift. How did you pull that off?”

  I rubbed my jaw with my free hand. “Yeah, well, some gifts are simply priceless.”

  Mia eyed us. “You’ll tell the truth, Natalie; was it a good gift?”

  She nodded, a sweet smile on her lips. “The best.”

  Hunter’s jaw dropped. “What in the world was it?”

  “It was a picture with a note attached.”

  The youths scrunched up their noses, and Granny only laughed.

  “And that was a good gift, huh?” Mia asked.

  Natalie cut her eyes to me.

  I shrugged. “We might as well tell them. It’s not like it was private to begin with.”

  She laughed, then cleared her throat. “Well … you see, the day we made the visits to the shut-ins, we stopped at The Pantry for lunch.”

  Granny slapped a hand over her mouth, but it didn’t suppress her laughter in the slightest.

  “What? What?” Hunter asked, him and Mia both looking from adult to adult.

  “Apparently, it’s a tradition at the diner to hang mistletoe and wait for a couple of people to stand under it. And when they find a couple, the entire diner breaks out ringing bells and cheering for a kiss.”

  “And the two of you were caught underneath it?” Granny asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “We were,” Natalie said with a sigh.

  “Oh, that is just too good!” Granny hooted while Hunter and Mia joined her. “I had heard they did that. As soon as you said The Pantry, I knew where this was heading.”

  “Yeah, well, you could have warned us.” I set my cup on the end table. “We had no clue. All of a sudden, everyone is yelling at us and demanding a kiss. It was humiliating.”

  Natalie gave me a look. “You don’t still regret it, do you?”

  I leaned my forehead against hers, then kissed her face. “I regret nothing … except sharing the moment with strangers.”

  “Well,” I said, straightening up, “they snapped our picture while we were kissing and had the nerve to ask us to sign a waiver so they could hang it on their wall.”

  “Did you sign it?” Mia asked.

  “Nope. I took the picture and left.”

  Their eyes bulged. “You didn’t!” Granny hissed.

  “Oh, I did. It was my picture … and now it’s Natalie’s.”

  Natalie grinned proudly. “He wrapped it in a box with a note that said, ‘Our first kiss doesn’t have to be our last.’”

  The ladies aww’ed, and Hunter eyed me with concern. I winked at him, knowing he’d understand all too soon.

  “So, what’s on the agenda today, Granny?” It was two days after Christmas, but the challenge wasn’t quite complete yet.

  “What else? We’ll be watching A Christmas Carol.”

  I allowed the wide grin to spread across my face and chuckled. Lifting my cup of cocoa in a toast, I said, “Well then, God bless us, every one.”

  The End of Things is This:

  Sanford was better than his word. He did it all and infinitely more. He asked for Natalie’s hand in marriage months later and married her on Christmas Eve the following year.

  He remained a close uncle and companion to Hunter and later to Mia when the two fell in love and married nearly a decade later.

  With Natalie, he raised three children: Timothy, Charlie, and Belle.

  But he never forgot the lessons he had learned that December. Sanford walked the rest of his life cherishing God’s gifts of forgiveness, grace, and mercy. And he never neglected to extend Christ’s love to others but worked through his church and beside his wife to share the love of Christ. And he continued with many of the December traditions, including devouring a variety of cocoa each and every year.

  Dear Reader,

  Before we talk about upcoming releases and the inspiration behind Project Scrooge, I want to take a minute to point out some special characters within this story. I gave away the naming rights to 3 of my characters. Keep an eye out, I expect these characters will make additional appearances in future Christmas in Garland Novellas.

  Arnold and Lucy Israel: Named by Darla Damron in honor of maternal grandparents.

  Carl Gilman: Named by Karen Hoffman in honor of a beloved cousin.

  Abby-Joy (AJ) King: Named by Kaylee Harrison

  I hope you enjoyed my take on A Christmas Carol. Please take a moment to leave a review online. You’ll be doing me a huge favor!

  Being a fan of the classic, I’ve longed to add my take to the long list of remakes. So it was with great joy that I penned this novella. You may be happy to know that this is just the first of several Christmas stories. Lord willing, I’ll be building a Christmas collection in the coming years. You’ll want to follow me online to hear when I announce the next Christmas in Garland novella.

  As for other upcoming releases, Painted Memories, the second book in the Art of Love series, is due out in 2020. And for the first time ever, I’ll be joining three other Christian Fiction authors in a novella collection set in Kentucky during the Great Depression. Catch up with me online to hear the latest about The Librarians of Willow Hollow.

  I invite you to keep reading for a preview of Yesterday’s Christmas.

  I’d love to hear from you. You can visit me online on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, BookBub, Pinterest, and my blog. *Note: I’m most active on Facebook and my blog.

  Whether you’re on social media or not, you can ensure that you never miss one of my sales, giveaways, or new releases by signing up for my newsletter. I’ll send you a direct link to your email anytime something big happens.

  Acknowledgments:

  No published work is a singular effort. Each one takes a team
of people. And I’m so grateful for the team working alongside of me. I’m convinced the Lord has hand-selected each and every one of them. But before I start listing names, I want to first thank my Heavenly Father.

  From the bottom of my heart, I thank You. Only You know how badly I have wanted to write a retelling of A Christmas Carol. And only You know how deeply I am awed by the story. I thank You for the gift of storytelling. For the ability to endure and persevere. This short novella has certainly been a trial, but it was a trial worth enduring. I pray that You use it in the lives of many, as You see fit. And I thank You for my amazing team.

  Critique Team: Jean Hughes, Dana Kamstra, Rachel Lane, Rachel Swander, and Amanda Tero

  Editing Team: Kimberly Bowie, Becky Dempsey, Kim Hampton, Carolyn Neinas, Krista Noorman, Alicia G. Ruggieri, and Jimmy Yates

  Spiritual Content Editing: Judy Thrash

  Paperback Cover: Krista Noorman: I say it every time, but I mean it every time. You always blow me away with your designs, and I can’t wait to see what we create together next time!

  Street Team: Thank you for praying for me and keeping me calm during the rocky seasons.

  And a special thank you to my family and readers. I survive off of your support, prayers, and enthusiasm.

  One

  The wise woman builds her house, but with her

  own hands the foolish one tears hers down.

  ~ Proverbs 14:1

  Christmas Eve, 1985

  I shouldn't have been on any twisted backroad in the middle of a snowstorm, but I most certainly shouldn’t be on this road. I turned on my lights and whispered another prayer.

  Why had I been so persistent in leaving the safety of my daughter’s house when I could have very well stayed put?

  Because I'm miserable, that's why.

  Because as much as I tried to pretend nothing was wrong, all I wanted was to be home alone to wallow in my self-pity in any way that I deemed appropriate. This was to be my first Christmas without Glenn.

  Pretending there was nothing wrong between us had slowly taken its toll on me until I couldn’t bear it another moment. Living apart these last three months hadn’t been easy, but, at least with our separation, I finally knew where I stood. A woman likes to be told that she is still beautiful in her man’s eyes. That she is still an important part of his happiness. Especially once she is past her prime. But whatever Glenn felt, he kept to himself … or kept for another. I had stood under a cloud of doubt for so long concerning his affections for me that I could barely stand up under it. He always claimed he’d never cheated on me, and I never found proof otherwise, but if the man wasn’t passionate about me anymore, whom was he passionate about? After spending countless years feeling like he had one foot out the door, I had finally snapped and pushed him the rest of the way out.

  Self-preservation required distance, and it seemed to have been working. And, yet, there I was on the verge of tears with a darkening sky and snow so thick I could hardly see in front of my car.

  I shouldn't have been there. In fact, none of this should have been happening. If only Glenn had deemed our family more important. Deemed me more important. Those endless hours at work and distant hours at home had only succeeded in killing our marriage.

  It didn't do any good to blame Glenn, even if he was at fault. I had learned over the months that hating him for it didn't change anything. It just made it harder for me to cope. Ignoring him, ignoring the memories, was my best option right now.

  I popped the tape out of the cassette player on the dashboard, putting an end to Kenny Rogers’ and Dolly Parton’s Christmas tunes.

  I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, my knuckles as white as the powder gathering outside of my window. Leaning closer, I paid more attention to the upcoming curves in the road. I knew them by heart, but the snow distorted things until I was no longer confident of anything.

  Lord, please see me home safely. I was such a fool, but, Lord, have mercy on this fool.

  I rounded one bend, but there were more just up ahead. My stomach flipped. I hated this curve. I hated that house just around the curve. I hated this road.

  This road was a shortcut, and, at the time, it had seemed important. In the heavy snowfall, it certainly was important; however, this was no place to be in the middle of a snowstorm.

  But it was more than just slick roads. It was the Tanner house just around the corner. Just up ahead sat Glenn's family home. Just up ahead, my estranged husband was probably sitting inside the house.

  My nerves twisted and jumped like that of a school girl out on her first date. Glenn certainly wouldn't see me as I drove by. He wouldn't be looking out the window, and, yet, I couldn’t help but feel as if thousands of pairs of eyes were watching me as I inched around one curve and got closer and closer to the next.

  A flash of brown shot out in front of my car. I sucked in a screech and slammed on my brakes. The brown, which I now recognized as a deer, jolted from his momentary stupor and finished his leap across the road. My tires spun, first locking up and then turning to one side. I gripped the wheel and yanked it in one direction, but it only turned my car in the other. I yanked it back, and again, it spun harder–too hard–in the other direction until my car suddenly stopped, its nose dipping down into the ditch.

  I sat there in the ditch on the side of the road, first stunned and then angry.

  No. No. No! This cannot be happening. How could You let this happen, Lord? Why now? Why here? Somehow my prayers of protection had turned into me being delivered into the ditch in front of Glenn's house. With more frustration than pain, I opened the door, the blistering wind and a mixture of snow and ice drilling my face. I sucked in an involuntary gasp and tightened the scarf around my neck.

  I bent over and grabbed my purse out of the passenger seat–no, make that the floorboard, where it now sat.

  I checked my car again. There was no one around, and my car was safely tucked far enough into the ditch that no one should hit it if they were to venture down this treacherous road. Not that anyone else was foolish enough to bother. Folks in Tennessee knew to stay indoors when it snowed, so I had no excuse for being out in the weather.

  I slammed the car door closed with more force than necessary, but it didn't release any of my pent-up steam. I knew what to do. There'd be no choice in it. Looking left and then right only confirmed what I knew was true. There wasn't another house on this road for quite a ways. Why did the Tanners have to build their house on the other side of this curve?

  I hiked up the long gravel driveway. The hollow sound of crunching snow under my leather-fringed boots filled my ears, but I didn't delight in any of it. Nearly three inches of snow had already fallen. The snowfall was a rare beauty, but I wasn't taking the time to admire it.

  I bypassed the front door and walked straight to the back. It had been the entrance most commonly used when his mother was alive. I knocked on the door and waited, but I didn’t hear any movement inside. I knocked a little harder, and then the door was snatched out from underneath my hand.

  “Betty?” Glenn said in a question, blinking back his surprise. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  I gave a shrug and an ill-humored grin. “Just thought I'd pop in,” I answered sarcastically.

  His brow, a dark brown dusted with gray, lowered over his right eye–a look I had long ago memorized. He stood before me in sweats and knee-high socks. I knew they were knee-high with the red stripes around the top because I remembered buying them. They looked in need of a wash, but what did I expect since I wasn't here to do his laundry? I fought back the urge to roll my eyes. I'd hate to see his hamper. It was probably empty while his clothes lay all on the floor around it, because he never could put his clothes inside the hamper. The man could shoot basketball like a pro, but socks in a hamper? Humph, forget about it.

  I tamped down all of these ill feelings. I wasn't here to complain about his housekeeping. I had done enough of that over the last thirty years of marriage
. Nope, as much as I hated to admit it, he would be my savior this hour, and there was nothing I could do except thank him.

  He still hadn't caught on to the reason for my visit, but, again, I wasn't shocked. He seemed to notice so little concerning me unless I spelled it out for him. A new dress, a new hairstyle. Nope. Didn't matter.

  He scratched his shoulder, revealing a slight tear in the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Umm,” he started, looking over my shoulder at the covered carport behind me. “Where's your car?”

  I gave him another one of my mirthless smirks. “I parked it out front.”

  His eyebrows shot up, clear to his hairline. But now, at last, he seemed to understand the nature of my visit. Glenn stepped down the concrete steps and onto the carport, peeking around the side of the house.

  I just watched and waited for it.

  Silently, a hand slapped across his mouth as he viewed my crafty parking job. Glenn slid his hand down his face. He turned to me, his lips pinched and his brows still high. He didn't say anything, his chest filling with air, deflating, and filling again. He gave a slow shake of his head. “Well, Betty, I didn't think it was possible for lightning to strike twice, but you proved 'em wrong.” He looked down at his watch, as if it might tell him more than the time. “And on Christmas Eve, too?”

  I snorted, a short bubble of laughter rising and dying on my lips. “Do you mind?” I asked, knowing that he wouldn't. I was the mother of his children, after all. Laura and Peter wouldn't be here without me, nor would the countless father-of-the-year coffee mugs that he had collected since the kids had been born.

  He welcomed me into the house with a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand toward the door. Glenn was right about one thing: lightning had struck twice.

  Two

  There was once a very rich merchant …

  ~ Beauty and the Beast