Merriest Christmas Ever

by Betty Jo Schuler

  “Then you’re leaving?”

  He rose to pace the floor. This was the one decision he hadn’t been able to make. “If I leave, Dad will miss Kirsten, and vice versa. And then there’s Mama to consider.” He walked faster.

  Gracie came to him and put her hands on his arms to stop him. “What is it, Merett?”

  “Why don’t I just stay then? Is that what you mean?” If he sounded harsh, he was sorry, but he was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t decide, and didn’t know why.

  Until Gracie turned on her heel and walked away from him.

  He couldn’t imagine life without her, but couldn’t have a life with her in it. She wanted to live in Ferndale: he needed to prove himself in New York. He wanted kids: she thought it was too late for her. He wanted to make love, but she wanted something more. “I should have told you this before. I called a friend about a job in New York a while back. I can start January first, if I want.”

  “If you want? You’ve wanted to leave all along, so, why don’t you do us both a favor and go now?” Her voice rose with each word, and taking a few swift steps, she threw open the front door.

  “Gracie,” he said softly. She resisted when he shoved the door closed with his foot and tried to pull her into his arms. “Sweetheart. Please don’t do this.” She leaned into his shoulder, burying her face, and he carried her to the sofa, and held her on his lap. He rested his chin in her hair. She smelled like honeysuckle. “What’s wrong, Gracie?”

  “Everything, and now you might leave.”

  She didn’t want to lose him. Merett folded her close to his heart, where she belonged. “Tell me about the everything,”

  She told him everything that worried her, from the possibility of Frank leaving Hope, to Faith starving in Chicago. She told him how scared she was the zoning board would close Special Effects, and she would go bankrupt and lose her house.

  Merett kissed her eyelids, kissed her cheeks, kissed her trembling lips. She was bravely fighting tears, and he knew things seemed awfully bad. She was a fighter. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  She sighed, a sound that seemed to rise up from the bottom of her soul. “There’s more.” Tears streaming down her face again, she told him about the child she’d seen on Edge Road. “I felt so sorry for that little girl.”

  Merett hugged Gracie to him, longing to protect her from the world. “You’re not going to lose your house or your business. You’re not going to lose anything or everything. I promise. The zoning board will rule in your favor. If it doesn’t, we’ll find you a place to rent that’s not expensive.”

  Gracie snuggled against his chest. He stroked her hair. She looked up to fix big eyes on him. “You really think everything will be okay?”

  “You’re a survivor, and you’ll rise above all this. A month from now, it will just be a bad memory.”

  She dried her eyes on her sleeve. “Merett?”

  “Mmmm?” He tipped her chin with his forefinger.

  She smiled and poked a finger in his chest. “You are an optimist.”

  “I haven’t felt like one for a long time.”

  “I know, but you’re coming around.”

  Bending his head, he closed her lips with his. He’d been able to cheer her tonight, but what would next day or next week bring? He didn’t know if he could bring himself to turn down the job with Tom, but he didn’t see how he could have it and her. And he didn’t see how he could walk away from her. Merett brushed a curl back from her face. “I’ll come over tomorrow night, and help you set up the parlor for your open house. What you need now is rest. Relax, put your arms around my neck, and I’ll carry you upstairs to bed.”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” she said, chuckling.

  “I’ll be good,” he promised.

  Gracie looked up into his face as he laid her down, and seeing undisguised longing in her eyes, he thought for one crazy moment she might ask him to make love and “be good” that way instead. But she yawned widely instead.

  “Turn over,” he ordered, and without waiting for her to comply, turned her onto her stomach. Beginning between her shoulder blades, he kneaded the muscles in her back until they began to soften beneath his touch.

  “Mmmm,” she said, snuggling her head into the pillow. “That feels heavenly.”

  “Note, I’m keeping my hands above your waist.”

  “Mmmm, hmmm.”

  “But my mind is working below the waist.”

  She didn’t say anything, and he bent his head to look into her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. Kissing her gently on the cheek, he whispered. “Dream about me, Gracie.” She didn’t so much as blink. At the door, Merett looked back at her, sound asleep. “Goodnight, my love.”

  * * *

  Goodnight, my love? Gracie heard those words, and suddenly wide awake, smiled into the darkness after he left, remembering… Merett’s touch. His kisses. His words.

  And when he came by the next evening to help with the parlor, she was still smiling. “I meant to get here an hour ago, but I got busy at work and lost track of time,” he said. “I brought two library tables Dad thought you could use for some of your displays. Will Heber loaned me his truck to bring them. Nice guy, Will,” Merett said, as Gracie directed him where to set the tables. “Said he read in the paper about the zoning board hearing, and wanted to know if there was anything he could do.”

  Gracie gave Merett a hard look. “You published my zoning problem in the Daily Reporter?”

  He shrugged. “It’s part of the legal notices. I don’t control those.”

  “I just hate for everyone in town to know my dirty laundry.”

  “That’s the whole point of the notices, so that anyone who wants to can appear and make a statement.”

  That didn’t make her feel any better, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The evening flew by, and when they had finished, the parlor looked like something between a floral shop and what it was: a well-decorated parlor in a beautiful old house. “The drawing room couldn’t have looked better,” she said, tucking her hand into Merett’s arm.

  Her earlier good spirits had returned as they transformed the room. Merett who’d seemed exhilarated earlier, leaned against the door frame, rotating his neck. “Worn out?” she asked, reaching up to massage his neck muscles.

  “Tired and a bit tense. I’m planning major changes at the Reporter, and have appointments all week, trying to learn the particulars on cost, and so on.”

  “Did you hire the reporter you interviewed the other night?”

  Merett nodded and sank down in the brocade wing-back chair, pulling her into his lap. “He has experience in advertising sales and reporting for a small town newspaper, which is exactly what I need. I also hired a sixty-year old man with thirty years’ experience in printing. Again, just what the doctor called for. Emma suggested I hire some employees. I think I’ll buy her a Christmas present.”

  Merett smiled, and the tiredness seemed to lift from his face. “Henri, my society editor wants an employees’ Christmas party. It’s late to find a place to accommodate our employees and guests—but I told her to try. Will you go with me if we have one?”

  “I’d love to.” Gracie took his face in her hands, and kissed him. He was moving on with his work at the Reporter and his life. Something good had happened to renew her hope, just as it always did, but this time it was better than good—Merett had regained his optimism. Her job was done. Now, everything was up to him.

  * * *

  Merett called Frank when he got home that night, but no one answered. So he called him the next morning, first thing. Frank sounded so chipper Merett thought he must have good news. But he didn’t.

  “Beryl stirred up the hornet’s nest. I play cards with her ex-husband now and then, and I asked, and he told me. I suspect they still sleep together, since he knows what’s going on. But she’s always bugging him, saying her alimony’s not enough, so he doesn’t mind
ratting her out. She told him Gracie was trashing-up the neighborhood with her business—which we know isn’t so. But she’s a hard woman, and I don’t think she’d drop the complaint if you asked her to. Even if she did, the commission might pursue it. Best course is to find someone else running a business, and make an issue of them getting by. I can’t do it today. I have to take Hope to Dr. Hiram. I’ll try to, tomorrow.”

  Hope hadn’t looked well when Merett had seen her, but he didn’t ask. He just hung up, depressed. Frank was taking his sweet time about this. And Merett was more worried than he’d let on to Gracie.

  At breakfast, glad Kirsten had already left for school, he confided in his father. “If I can find a business operating in the same residential zone as Gracie’s, I might be able to save her business.”

  His father took a long swallow of orange juice. “I can’t imagine why Beryl would want to hurt Gracie.”

  Merett didn’t feel comfortable explaining that Beryl had come onto him twice, and both times Gracie had been present, so he related the secondhand blouse incident. “Beryl’s looked down on Gracie since high school.”

  Mrs. Jarvis, setting muffins on the table, paused. Cleared her throat. Sniffed. “Beryl Marcum’s mother grew up in my neighborhood without the proverbial pot to…plant petunias in. She married well, so Beryl had it nice. But her mother’s sister wasn’t so lucky. Lizzy Kendall has to make a living sewing. I wonder if Beryl looks down on her.”

  “Sewing?” Merett jumped up, knocking the muffin basket on the floor. “I saw a sign with a scissors and thimble. Near Gracie’s. The other day. I didn’t think…” It had been one afternoon, and businesses hadn’t been an issue then.

  Mrs. Jarvis looked at him as if he’d lost his marbles.

  “If we can find another home-operated business in Gracie’s neighborhood, the zoning commission may not shut her down.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? There are two in garages. Jed Washburn, the watch repairman, a block north of her. And Tim Sanders, a dog groomer, two blocks over.”

  “And Lizzy Kendall?” Merett asked eagerly. “Beryl’s aunt? Where does she live?”

  “A block south, and she sews in her house. She’s the one with the lighted sign in the front window with a scissors and thimble.”

  Lighted, even. Maybe he could catch Frank at Dr. Hiram’s. He kissed Mrs. Jarvis on the cheek.

  Smiling, she straightened his tie. “Now that’s the boy who grew up in this house.”

  Merett, mentally adding the housekeeper to his Christmas list, smiled as he loped down the front steps.

  * * *

  Gracie opened Wednesday’s Reporter and saw her letter-to-the editor there. With all that had gone on lately, she’d almost forgotten writing it. At first, she thought it was ironic that Merett should print it now, but on the way to her first job, she wondered if his timing might be intentional.

  Decorating the drab tan interior of the local Moose lodge was akin to decorating the Reporter office. It was a challenge, and by the time she’d finished a modernistic apartment for a lady professor, she could think of little other than relaxing. But she listened for the phone until the time she went to bed. Merett didn’t call.

  Thursday’s assignment, decorating the cozy tract house of two newly married career people who were too busy to do it themselves, was pleasant, but sad. Everyone should have time for Christmas. Plucking a soda from the fridge when she arrived home, Gracie checked the answering machine. Two hang-ups after the beep. One message. Hope’s voice was extraordinarily cheerful. “Call me when you come in.”

  “You’re not going to believe this!” Hope said when she heard Gracie’s voice. “Frank is happy about the baby. Did I say happy? He’s ecstatic. He thought I didn’t want children because of our unhappy childhood. I told him it wasn’t unhappy, just poor, and he thought the two were the same thing. That’s why he’s been so intent on making money and buying things and not letting me work all these years. Isn’t he wonderful, Gracie?”

  Hope rushed on. “I can’t believe how badly we misunderstood one another, but everything is fine, now. In fact, it’s never been so good. Frank rushed me to the doctor, and I’m due in late July, near his birthday. He’s hoping for a boy we can name Frank, Junior. Are you speechless?” Hope demanded.

  Gracie’s sitting room seemed suddenly stark and lonely. There were no pictures on the wall, none sitting on the tables, but one day soon, Hope’s house would be filled with pictures of hers and happy Frank’s kids. “You were so sure he would be angry, I am speechless, but I’m glad for you, Hopie.”

  “I’ve never been happier. I feel so different now, so open to the feelings and thoughts of being a mother. It’s as if I suddenly feel pregnant where I didn’t before.”

  There was a metallic taste in Gracie’s mouth when she hung up, as if she’d told a fib. She was glad for her sister, but she felt “left behind,” as Hope used to say when Grace reached a milestone first. First kiss. First high heels. First to marry. Those privileges had been hers. But Hopie would be the first to hold her child in her arms. And Gracie might never reach that milestone.

  Left behind.

  Trying not to feel sorry for herself, or scared, she was making a peanut butter sandwich for her supper when Dorothy White, from across the street, rang the doorbell. Although she peered curiously inside, she refused Gracie’s invitation to come in. “Too bad about your zoning problems. I missed it in the paper, but Beryl told me.”

  Dorothy was reputed to be the biggest gossip in town, so the people who hadn’t read it in the paper would know by now, which was probably Beryl’s motive in telling her.

  “I’m sorry I can’t attend your Open House,” Dorothy blurted, and left quickly.

  In the next hour, six women telephoned to say they couldn’t come. It was ironic that on the same day her plea for small businesses appeared in the paper, her small business seemed headed down the drain. She longed to ask for Merett’s opinion on the matter, but knew he was busy improving the Daily Reporter, and that, at least, made her heart glad.

  * * *

  Gracie had trouble sleeping, and awoke with a splitting headache Friday. Coffee and a bagel hadn’t improved the way she felt by the time Mrs. Jarvis rang the doorbell at nine o’clock. In her hands were two huge wicker baskets. She unwound the woolen scarf she wore wrapped around her neck and over her head.

  Uncovering the first basket, Mrs. Jarvis set half a dozen snowy white boxes on the table. Each was labeled with the name or description of another type of canapé. From the second basket, Mrs. Jarvis took a silver tea service, two candleholders, and an ecru cloth with lace trim. “Now, show me where you’ll be serving,” she said.

  The housekeeper set the so-far unused dining room up beautifully. “Harry said he suggested a mulled cider to you, but fruit punch with cranberry juice would be more seasonal. I’ll make up some, and send it over in the morning. We have dozens of clear glass cups the missus bought at the Dollar Store, if you’d like to use them.” Alice Bradmoore bought cups for entertaining at the Dollar Store? “When you have a pretty face and a fascinating old house that’s supposedly haunted, you could get by with paper cups, but I do despise throw-aways for social occasions.”

  “I’m afraid some people aren’t eager to see my face or my house.” Gracie confided her fears in a rush. “No one called until today to say they weren’t coming.”

  Mrs. Jarvis lifted her chin, and sniffed. “It sounds like someone’s out to cause you trouble. If I were you, I’d think over the past, and see if you can remember an old enemy.”

  Old enemy? Beryl Marcum. The named popped into Gracie’s head. She looked wide-eyed at Mrs. Jarvis.

  The elderly housekeeper nodded her head. “Now that you’ve thought of someone, think how she’d do you dirty, and why.”

  * * *

  Merett caught Frank, outside the zoning office, shortly before two o’clock Friday afternoon, and gave him the news about Lizzie Kendall. For an attorney, he’d certa
inly made himself unavailable. And Merett was furious.

  “Hot diggety,” Frank cried. “Just what we need. A lighted sign is definitely more of a distraction than an unmarked location.”

  Merett was still seething, but saving Gracie, even last minute, was what counted. “I find it hard to believe Beryl didn’t consider her aunt before she stepped in.”

  “Maybe she thought Gracie wouldn’t do her homework. Or maybe Beryl didn’t do hers. Maybe she doesn’t care if her aunt’s shut down. But the fact is, the board will find it interesting in light of their relationship. And even more interesting…” Frank chuckled loudly. “Lizzy is the mayor’s mother-in-law, so I’d say it’s a done deal.”

  “Can I ask you something, Frank? What if I hadn’t found this out for you?” Merett demanded.

  “I was going inside to ask for a postponement.” Grinning, Frank pulled a cigar out and handed it to him. “I haven’t been able to think straight since I found out I’m going to be a father.”

  Gracie had said Hope was afraid Frank would leave when he found out. Stunned, Merett stuck the cigar in his pocket.

  “Can you believe I thought Hopie didn’t want kids? Women sure can give you mixed signals.”

  Was Gracie giving him mixed signals? “Gracie thinks she’s too old for children.” Merett never meant to confide in Frank. He barely knew the guy. He felt his ears turn red.

  “Gracie would make a marvelous mother. She took care of Hope. Still tries to. Drives her nuts, sometimes.”

  Merett patted the pocket with his cigar. “I thought people waited until after the baby was born.”

  “I’ll hand out whole boxes then.” He clapped Merett on the back. “After I get that variance, take Gracie out to celebrate, and tell her to forget that fool notion about not having babies. Dr. Hiram’s counting on her to be next.”