by Lea Wait
She focused on the woods. There’d be less snow in the woods. She wasn’t going to let on she was having trouble just walking across a field.
“Almost there!” he cheerfully called to her over his shoulder.
Thank goodness, she thought. Her nose was dripping, her face felt as sweaty as though she’d run a marathon, her hands were frozen in their gloves, and her feet were already sloshing in the melted snow inside her boots.
When Will finally stopped, she took a deep breath. True, the air was clear and smelled of pine, and the sky was clear Parrish blue, the color named after the artist Maxfield Parrish, who’d used it so lavishly. But it required all her energy to focus on the positives and not on her frozen feet and hands and the burning in her chest and thighs.
Will looked down at her. “Those drifts were pretty deep, even with me opening a path. Next time we go for a walk we should wear snowshoes.”
Next time? “I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath a little.”
“I can see that.” Will was clearly trying not to laugh. “Luckily, there are a lot of trees not far from here.”
“Good!”
He bent down and untied the saw on the sled. “Let’s leave the sled here. When we find our tree we’ll carry it back this far and then put it on the sled to pull it over the field.”
“How much further are the trees?”
“These,” Will gestured at the woods in front of them and to the sides, “are trees.”
“I mean—where are the trees we’re going to cut?”
“Oh? You meant those trees,” Will teased. “True, most of these are a little high for the living room.” He looked up at the thirty- to fifty-foot pines surrounding them. “These are the old-timers. Been here for decades. We’re probably looking for one about, oh, ten years old. We can trim the branches, here or at home, if the shape isn’t quite right, or we need to top it, or take a few inches off the bottom to fit in Aunt Netttie’s old Christmas tree stand.”
“Any other lessons? Before I freeze to death?”
“Well, I’m about six feet tall, so I’d say a tree a foot or so taller than I am would leave space for a stand at the bottom and a star at the top. How does that sound?”
“As though you’re ordering a suit or a car. I think we’re better off just walking and seeing if we can find a tree we like, no matter how tall or short or wide or narrow it is. One that has personality.”
“Okay. Personality. And a little over six feet tall.”
“So—onward! Now,” ordered Maggie. This could be is a test for our possible future life together, she thought as they started walking. Can we even agree on choosing a Christmas tree?
“When I was growing up in New Jersey I remember reading books about people cutting their own Christmas trees,” Maggie said, determined to let Will know she was enjoying what he’d planned. “I always envied them. It sounded so traditional.”
“Then I’m glad we’re doing this. Now you can cross it off your bucket list. I’ll admit I’ve only done it a half dozen times myself, when I’ve been in Maine for Christmas. When I lived in Buffalo we used to buy our tree at a lot, like you probably did.”
We. That would have been Will and his wife. The wife he’d loved so much. The wife who had died because of an ectopic pregnancy.
They were silent long enough so they knew that’s what they were both thinking of. There was no way they were going to avoid their pasts, and their previous marriages. Christmas itself was entwined with memories.
“If we cut extra branches, we could use them to decorate the tops of the kitchen cabinets,” Maggie said. “Or make a centerpiece for Aunt Nettie’s party. You can’t have too many pine boughs around during the holidays.”
“You and Aunt Nettie can be in charge of decorating. I volunteer to put the lights on the tree.”
“Good. I hate having to untangle them and check all the bulbs and then make sure they’re distributed artistically on the tree. Tree lights are all yours!”
The trees in the woods were free spirits. They hadn’t been raised on a Christmas tree farm with plenty of space to spread their branches. None were perfect cone shapes. Branches had been trimmed by deer, slanted by storms, and pushed downward by heavy snows. In areas the sun reached, many had grown together, their branches woven between them into random paths for squirrels and birds.
“We’re probably going to put the tree in the corner of the living room,” said Maggie, wondering if they’d ever find a tree that was suitable. “So we only need one with branches good enough to decorate on one or two sides.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed Will reluctantly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
A little further in, highlighted by a beam of sunlight, they found the tree they’d been looking for.
It was a smidgen taller than Will, and its branches weren’t too wide. One side had hardly any branches at all. And in one place its trunk made a short twist sideways before turning skyward again.
“I love it,” Maggie declared. “It has personality. And,” she added practically, “it won’t need much trimming.”
They hunkered down on each end of the two-person crosscut saw and began moving it rhythmically back and forth through the pine more easily than Maggie had anticipated. She and Will worked as well together sawing as they did setting up an antiques show booth.
Even adding a few lower branches from a nearby tree to use for decorating, it didn’t take long to get both the tree and the extra boughs to the sled, and then to the car.
As they were tying the trunk down over the tree a trim gray-haired woman wearing jeans, L.L. Bean boots, and a long knitted scarf over her sweater came out of the farmhouse to join them.
“Will! Good to see you! And this must be the much-spoken-of Maggie.”
“It is,” Will agreed. “Maggie, meet Nick’s mom, Mrs. Strait.”
“Will, at this point in life you might as well call me Doreen, same as your aunt Nettie does. I’ve known you practically your whole life. Nettie called to invite me to the girls’ Christmas party. Thank you both for helping her to host this year. It means a lot to her. To all of us, really.”
“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Strait. Um, Doreen. She just told us about it this morning, or we could have planned it earlier.”
“If I can bring anything, you let me know.”
“I think Aunt Nettie has it all figured out already. But thanks. And thank you and Nick for letting us have one of your trees. Maggie’d never cut her own Christmas tree before.”
“It was fun, Mrs. Strait. Cold, but fun.”
“Doreen, please. Glad you enjoyed it. Wish Zelda felt that way. She did when she was little. Guess if you’ve been doing something all your life it’s more a chore than a privilege. I think Nick’s going to get after her tonight to get ours cut. Or more likely, he’ll do it himself.”
“Teenagers, Doreen.” Will shook his head in understanding.
Will had spent years teaching high school. Maggie worked with college students, but he probably knew at least as much about teenagers as she did.
“Don’t I just know it. If he’d let her take the saw and go out to choose a tree with Jon Snow, the young man she’s sweet on, why then she’d be out there as excited as she was when she was six. But no, Nick’s told her she can’t even see Jon, so she won’t let him see her happy about anything.” Doreen shook her head. “Nick’s stricter than he needs to be, but she’s his baby girl. And Zelda’s not at an age when she wants to listen to her daddy. Wish I remembered how old Nick was when he got sensible again. I suspect it was after Zelda was born, more’s the pity. Anyway, wanted to say Merry Christmas to the both of you, and thank you for helping Nettie host the party.” Doreen reached over and took Maggie’s hand in hers. “Thank you, too, for sharing your time with Will with us old ladies.”
“We’ll see you in two days, then,” said Will.
“You most definitely will,” Doreen said and waved, heading back to her house.
> “Merry Christmas!” Maggie called after her. She turned to Will. “Sounds as though Nick has a problem with Zelda’s boyfriend.”
“I told you. Zelda’s been a challenge recently.”
But her grandmother hadn’t made it sound as though the problem was only Zelda, Maggie thought. Fathers and daughters… Maybe Nick was being a little overprotective. Teenage years weren’t easy for anyone.
She settled back and enjoyed the ride. Thank goodness she wasn’t adopting a teenager. She’d have a few years to get used to motherhood first.
5
Christmas Out Of Doors. Winslow Homer wood engraving for Harper’s Weekly, December 25, 1858. One of Homer’s illustrations showing disparities in American culture. On a snowy city street corner two drunks hold each other up, a boy with a shovel asks for work, and an old woman looks troubled. Above them, in a private home, though a wreath-decorated window, two wealthier women are celebrating Christmas. 5.75 x 9.15 inches. Price: $225.
The rest of the day sped by. Aunt Nettie happily announced that all three of her friends had accepted her invitation, and she refused to take her after-lunch nap until they’d installed the tree in the living room and made sure it fit in the corner.
The small room was going to be very full. But after all, it was Christmas. The more the merrier.
The tree needed to “relax” after coming inside, so although Aunt Nettie looked expectantly at the boxes of ornaments and lights Will brought downstairs, she handed Maggie a list of what they’d need from the grocery store for her party, and agreed to lie down while Will and Maggie did errands.
Maggie left her soaking boots inside to dry and wore her sneakers on this trip, assured that the parking lots would be plowed. “I’m glad Aunt Nettie is going to have her party. She seems so excited about it.”
“I don’t mind her inviting her friends to the house. I only wish she’d talked to me about it before you got here. I’d made plans for us, and now we’re planning around her.”
“Doreen Strait seemed excited about the party, too. I guess it really is a tradition with them.”
“Tradition or not. She should have talked to me before you got here.” Will sighed. “But I should try to get Aunt Nettie out more to see her friends. She hasn’t socialized much since I’ve been here.”
“I suspect you haven’t done much of that either. It’s tough on both of you.”
Will glanced at her. “Not easy. But it’s the way life is now. This fall I’ve kept busy getting the house set up. Now that’s done, I’m hoping to have new projects to keep me amused.”
“Oh?”
“For one thing, I’m going to try selling my antiques on-line. Maybe eBay. That’s what I’m setting up in Aunt Nettie’s old bedroom upstairs.”
“Really? We’ve talked about that before,” said Maggie. “We didn’t think it would work well for either of our specialties. Prints, because they don’t show well on-line, and kitchen and fireplace tools because of their shipping weight.”
“True. But neither of us has actually tried it, and my situation is different now. I can’t travel to shows, and there’s a limit to how much I can sell locally. So I decided I’d test our assumptions; see if on-line could work. I have the inventory. I have the time. Might as well give it a try.”
Maggie nodded. “Why not?”
“I’ve got a camera and tripod set up, and basic mailing supplies. I’m going to let people on my customer list know where to find me on-line, and then begin listing my smaller, less expensive pieces, after the first of the year. Start slowly. Give it six months. Maybe a year. If it doesn’t work, I should know by then. If it does work, great. The best part is, I can do it on my own time, while Aunt Nettie is napping, or late at night.” The car in front of them pulled over to check out the wreaths and kissing balls being sold by a vendor on the side of the road, the way blueberries were sold in late July. “In today’s world we have to keep trying new ways to reach customers. Like your putting your antique prints in Gussie’s new shop on Cape Cod.”
“I’m still excited about that. The shop looks wonderful. I took a lot of prints there Thanksgiving week. Gussie’s already sold a couple of thousand dollars’ worth. Of course, she gets a percentage. But those are prints I wouldn’t have sold otherwise. We’re both pleased.”
“How often will you have to go to the Cape to change inventory?”
“We haven’t decided yet. She and Jim are taking a delayed honeymoon cruise in January and then plan to relax and organize their new house, so after Christmas she’s going to close the shop until March. I’m planning to take a couple of days during spring break at the college to drive up to visit and add more botanicals and other spring prints.”
“Here we are.” Will turned into the busy Hannaford Supermarket parking lot, and for the next hour the most serious discussion they had was deciding which cheeses would be best for the fondue Maggie suggested she make for dinner (a combination of Swiss and Gruyere) and how many loaves of thin-sliced bread they’d need for Aunt Nettie’s tea sandwiches.
Maggie had a sudden memory of having tea at Lord & Taylor’s Bird Cage Room as a child and eating tea sandwiches filled with colored cream cheese and chopped olives. And egg salad. And liver pâté. Will watched with amusement as she got more and more excited about the party, looking at Aunt Nettie’s list, calling on her memory, and filling the cart.
“Maybe we could have crabmeat sandwiches, too. Or shrimp?” she said, lingering over the seafood section. “How wonderful to be able to get fresh fish at the local grocery.”
“Why don’t we just have a bowl of shrimp?” Will asked. “Not everything has to be a sandwich, does it? It doesn’t matter if we have too much. We can eat the leftovers.”
Maggie agreed. “A bowl of shrimp, then. And maybe four or five kinds of sandwiches. Oh—and one of them has to be cucumber, of course!”
“Of course,” said Will, trying to keep a straight face. “I am now seeing a side of Maggie Summer I never dreamed of. Cucumber sandwiches?”
“With a touch of red onion,” she added, ignoring his gibe. “And black pepper, of course. And mayonnaise.”
The cart load was growing higher.
“You realize I’m an unemployed man,” teased Will.
“Oh, let me do this. My house gift for Aunt Nettie,” said Maggie.
“Don’t worry. It’s not a problem,” said Will. “Although don’t plan on doing this every day.”
“Of course not. We’ll be eating oatmeal three times a day from now on.” She reached up and kissed him. “With blueberries. I remember. You said Aunt Nettie liked that.” Several people walking by smiled, wheeling their carts around them.
“Maggie! This is a supermarket.” Will blushed slightly behind his beard.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Maggie checked Aunt Nettie’s list one more time. “I think that’s it. All we have to do is decorate the tree and the house, and make the sandwiches right before the party, put Christmas music on in the background, and we’ll be set.”
Will checked the time. “Aunt Nettie will be waking up, and I can get the lights on the tree while you cut up the bread and grate the cheese. I’m looking forward to your fondue. As I remember, the tradition is that if you drop a piece of bread in the fondue you get a kiss. Right?”
“You won’t even have to drop the bread,” Maggie assured him, and gave him a preview.
6
The Christmas-Tree. Wood engraving by Winslow Homer for Harper’s Weekly, December 25, 1858. (Companion to print at beginning of Chapter 5.) Scene in an elegant home where a dozen children are playing around the Christmas tree with a drum, doll, and bugle. Father holds up more gifts for them. Seven adults watch and smile, enjoying the scene. 5.75 x 9.15 inches. Price: $225.
Decorating the tree took longer than Maggie had anticipated. Each ornament had to be placed in the best spot, and almost every ornament had its own history to be recalled and shared. But by noon the next day Aunt Net
tie declared it “Perfect!”
And it was. Maggie admitted to herself that she hadn’t cared as much about a tree since she’d been a child. That caring made the tree, and the holiday itself, special.
The extra pine branches they’d brought back from the woods were now on the tops of cabinets and around the banister to the second floor; candy canes filled glasses on the tables; and red candles stood festively in silver candlesticks on the living room mantel. The fireplace was newly stacked with wood, ready to light. All was ready for Aunt Nettie’s party except the food, and they had twenty-four hours to prepare that.
“For lunch we can heat the rest of the fondue and serve it like Welsh rarebit, on toast,” suggested Maggie. The fondue had been delicious, but it would be good to finish what was left before they started cooking again.
“Today while you’re taking your nap, Aunt Nettie, Maggie and I are going out for a drive. Just to get a little fresh air. We won’t be gone long.”
“Take your time. I’m a little weary from decorating the tree,” Aunt Nettie agreed. “Why don’t you stop and get those good fried scallops and haddock we like so much for dinner.”
“Good idea. And when I get home I’ll make a salad to go with them,” Will promised. “Take it easy until we get back. Save your strength for your party tomorrow.”
After Aunt Nettie was safely nestled beneath her quilts, Maggie and Will were off.
“To get fresh air?” Maggie asked quizzically.
“Actually, I wanted to show you something. Get your opinion about an idea I have.”
“You know I seldom keep my opinions to myself.” Whatever he was going to show her, Maggie had the feeling it was important. She braced herself a little. Should she bring up her adoption plans? Or wait until he asked about them? Everything was going well so far. True, they hadn’t discussed any sort of mutual future. But they had plenty of time. And every day they spent together was a gift.
