Southern Fried Christmas

by Marian Merritt

  “Merry Christmas, Denny.”

  As he laid his tired head on his pillow, thoughts of sitting in his mother’s living room when Chelsea awoke on Christmas morning and Kelly’s face when she opened the gift he’d bought her, consumed his thoughts.

  Douze

  Christmas Day

  Kelly awakened to the sound of footsteps in the living room. She smiled when she glanced at the clock. Six AM. Chelsea sure was an early bird.

  Last night she’d carried the child to her bed and tucked her in. Somehow, the act seemed to shatter her image of Denny Labouve. How could he not be here to tuck his daughter in on Christmas Eve? Was this standard behavior for him?

  When Kelly peered around the corner into the spacious living room, she caught her breath. Denny sat in Mameré Milla’s rocking chair drinking a cup of coffee. A quick scan of the room revealed Denny as the only occupant. No Chelsea.

  A sigh escaped, capturing Denny’s attention. There would be no returning to bed now.

  She entered the room and in a soft voice said, “Merry Christmas.”

  Denny stood when she walked in. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  His signature smile squeezed at her heart. “I thought you were Chelsea.”

  She smiled. “I thought you were Chelsea. That’s why I got up.” Kelly tightened the sash of her thick robe.

  “I can’t believe she’s not up yet.” Denny gazed into his coffee cup. Kelly sensed, for the first time since she’d met him, his reluctance to speak. He lifted his gaze and peered toward her. “Coffee?”

  Kelly strolled into the kitchen and poured a steaming mug of coffee. She inhaled the warm scent then savored her first sip. The act allowed her time to watch Denny. He paced along the row of windows and gazed out into the dreary day. A light mist filled the skies. The gloom of the day reflected in his countenance. Darkened bags encircled his brooding eyes. Her chest tightened at the sight and the implication. How much had he slept?

  The shuffle of fuzzy slippers on wood flooring grabbed her attention. “Merry Christmas.” Eula appeared in the kitchen wearing a purple velour robe and her energetic smile. “Denny, you’re here. We missed you last night.” Denny’s mother stood on the tips of her toes and brushed a kiss on Kelly’s cheek. “Good morning, Kelly. I hope you slept well.”

  “I did. Thank you and Merry Christmas.” She hugged the small lady.

  Eula scanned the room. “Where’s Chelsea? I can’t believe she’s still asleep.”

  Denny approached his mother and embraced her. “Merry Christmas, Mama.

  Eula patted his back. “Merry Christmas, son.”

  Mameré Milla entered the living room, her gray hair swept up in a perfect bun. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

  “I can’t stand it any longer. I’m waking up Chelsea.” Denny headed toward the small back room where Chelsea usually slept, planting a Christmas kiss on his grandmother’s cheek along the way.

  Kelly embraced Mameré Milla. “Merry Christmas.”

  “She’s not in there.” Denny burst into the room. His ashen face contorted by his confusion. “Where is she?” He glanced toward Kelly. “Maybe she’s hiding from us.”

  Eula rushed down the hallway. “She’s probably in the bathroom.” Kelly heard several doors being opened then closed.

  “She’s not in there. I didn’t see her anywhere.”

  Kelly’s pulse quickened. Could Chelsea still be angry with her father? Should she tell him about Chelsea’s concerns?

  Mameré pointed to the door of Kelly’s bedroom. “What’s that?”

  Denny rushed to retrieve the white piece of paper taped near the doorknob. “It’s from Chelsea.” As he read the note, his lips pursed and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe she would do this.”

  “Wh-wh-what? Do what?” Eula scampered to his side.

  “She’s taken the boat to Mrs. Orphelia’s place. She said ‘No one should be alone on Christmas.’ What was she thinking?” Denny shook his head. “It’s getting colder by the minute out there, and we’re expecting freezing rain.” The note shook in his hand before he crumbled it into a ball. “I’ve got to borrow a boat and look for her.” He raced toward the phone on the coffee table.

  “I’m coming with you.” Kelly charged toward the bedroom to change. Snippets of the conversation she’d had with Chelsea shot through her head. Had she unknowingly encouraged Chelsea to do this? As she pulled the turtleneck sweater over her head, pain pierced the deepest part of her heart. She could never forgive herself if anything happened to Denny’s daughter.

  When she returned to the living room, Eula extended a thermos and a small, insulated cooler. “Here’s some coffee and sandwiches leftover from last night. You can use my raincoat; it’s hanging in the boat shed. Denny’s gone down the road to get his cousin’s boat. He’ll pick you up at the dock. Come, I’ll drive you there in the golf cart.”

  Mameré Milla stood as Kelly headed for the door. “Wait.” The elderly woman reached for her hand. “Before you head out, I would like to pray.”

  Kelly stood at the doorway and bowed her head with Eula while Mameré prayed for safety and protection over Chelsea, Kelly, and Denny. Kelly hugged the sweet woman before she fled toward the garage.

  Once at the dock, Kelly wrapped herself in Eula’s raincoat against the biting rain and waited for Denny. Soon a small boat with a cabin pulled up alongside the wharf.

  “Ready?” He extended his hand to help her board.

  She climbed in and settled into the small cabin. At least they would be protected from the rain, which was more than Chelsea had in Denny’s boat. Denny peered out the opened window, navigated the boat into the bayou, and then gunned the engine. His creased brow and drooping eyes spoke volumes. Kelly knew how worried he was. Her gut coiled with dread. She needed to tell him about their conversation last night. Would he blame her for Chelsea’s disappearance?

  She cleared her throat. “Denny, Chelsea was upset last night.”

  He glanced her way then back toward the bayou. “About what?”

  Kelly relayed last evening’s events to Denny.

  “That’s what this is about. She would never have gone out alone in my boat. She’s mad at me.” His jaw jutted forward, his gaze fixed on the bayou ahead.

  The drone of the engine and the patter of raindrops filled the small cabin. She told him about Chelsea’s concern for Mrs. Ophelia and her response about taking the woman Christmas dinner.

  “I would have agreed to that.” He kept his gaze forward. Kelly studied his distinctive profile. Lines she hadn’t noticed before were etched along the corner of his eye. Her heart longed to assure him of Chelsea’s safety. But how could she offer what she herself wasn’t sure of? Lord, please protect her.

  Kelly wrapped herself tighter in Eula’s raincoat. The boat’s small cabin provided protection from the rain and wind but did little to keep the damp cold from seeping in. A foggy mist enveloped the banks of the bayou creating surreal images from the outlines of cypress trees. Fishing camps, shrouded by the mist, cast eerie shadows along the banks.

  “We’re almost there. Her cabin is just around the bend.” He glanced Kelly’s way then returned his gaze to the bayou. “We just have to get there and back before this weather gets worse.” He reached for her hand and held tightly. “Kelly, would you pray for her protection?”

  “I already have.” She squeezed in return. Her heart went out to him. She sensed he was trying to be brave, but deep down she knew he was worried

  ****

  Shortly after they passed his fishing camp, his boat appeared, stranded in the middle of shallow water. Thank you, Lord. Denny pointed. “Look!” His pulsed raced. Please let Chelsea be safe. “The water level is lower than normal and she must have been going fast enough to ride on the water. When she slowed she must have gotten stuck in the mud.”

  “Can we get close enough?”

  “I’m not sure.” He had to take the chance. To get to Chelsea.

&n
bsp; Denny lowered the engine speed and idled toward his boat. His empty boat. Kelly darted out the cabin and balanced herself on the bow. Could he get close enough so she could reach his boat?

  When a few yards separated Kelly’s outstretched hand and the side of his boat, the engine rumbled and a jolt nearly sent her flying into the water.

  “Kelly.” He disengaged the engine and rushed to her side. “Are you OK?”

  “Yes. Chelsea. Chelsea, can you hear me?” Kelly stood close to the edge. Her voice—hoarse from emotion.

  Denny stretched as far as he could to peer over the side of his boat. No good. He couldn’t see. Was his daughter lying unconscious on the floor of his boat just a few yards from him? And he not able to get to her? “Chelsea, it’s Daddy, are you there? Chelsea, please.” His pulse raced while the increased raindrops blinded his vision.

  “Kelly, look for something we can use as a bridge.” He scanned the boat.

  He knew of mounds of scrap wood at his fishing camp, but that would require going back there, leaving his daughter. Please, Lord.

  “Daddy!” A shriek bellowed through the pouring rain and into his soaked ears.

  Chelsea.

  Thank you.

  She stood up from the bottom of his boat. His chest tightened at the sight. Her hair lay flat and plastered to her face. The drenched windbreaker clung to her tiny frame.

  Kelly raced back to the bow next to Denny. “Thank God, she’s safe.” She leaned over the boat and cupped her hands. “Chelsea, throw us the rope.”

  Denny realized what Kelly proposed. He stood ready to catch the lifeline to his daughter.

  In a state of helplessness, he waited while Chelsea scrambled toward the bow of his boat. She gathered the saturated rope and flung the coil toward him. The rope dropped inches from his grasp. “Try again.”

  Again, he watched while her tiny hands worked through the stinging rain to gather the line. She rolled the waterlogged rope and hurled it again toward his outstretched hand.

  He caught it. And pulled. Nothing. His boat did not budge.

  “We’ll have to tie it to this boat and pull.” He wrapped the rope around a cleat on the front of his cousin’s boat. “Chelsea, sit on the bottom of the boat near the console. Stay put. We’re going to get you out.”

  He raced back to the cabin while Kelly stayed near the bow.

  Denny engaged the engine and shifted into reverse. The roar of the engine competed with the sounds of streaming rain on the cabin’s roof. But through all the noise, his boat would not move. As he increased power, a slow shifting started. Then more. Through the downpour, he watched the keel slide through the muck and ease into deeper waters. Once there, he joined Kelly who had already started pulling on the connecting line.

  When the boats were inches apart, he hopped across and darted toward his baby. She sat between the captain’s seat and the console, shivering. He lifted her into his arms. She clung to him. “Chelsea, honey, you’re safe now. Are you OK?”

  “Oh, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to do something good for someone.” She sniffled. “And I was mad.”

  Denny wrapped his arms tighter. “It’s OK. We’ll talk later.”

  “I shouldn’t have taken the boat out. I wanted to make sure Miz Orphelia was all right. But she wasn’t even at her cabin. When I left, I got stuck in the mud.”

  “Honey, I’m glad you’re safe.” He kissed her forehead. “Here, get into Cousin Gary’s boat.” He handed her to Kelly, who stood in the pouring rain with outstretched arms.

  Treize

  Kelly sat crossed-legged on the rug and raked a comb through Chelsea’s tangled, damp hair. “I hope I’m not hurting you.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Are you two warm enough? I can throw another log in the stove.” Denny added his wrung-out shirt to the makeshift clothesline near the stove in the small fishing camp.

  Kelly’s jeans and socks hung next to Chelsea’s wet clothes. The sweatpants and socks she wore were from Denny’s stock he left at the camp. She’d been relieved that the pants had a drawstring waist.

  She sensed the tension in Denny. He paced the width of the small room and peered out into the driving rain.

  “Do you think it’ll ease anytime soon?” she asked.

  He rubbed his chin and cast a weary gaze in her direction. “It’s hard to say. When I called Mama earlier, she said the weather report called for freezing rain or possibly snow this afternoon. I’d like to head back when this heavy stuff eases.”

  Chelsea turned toward her father, pulling a strand of hair with her. “Snow? For real? You mean we might have a white Christmas here in Caneville?” She spun around toward Kelly. “Did you hear? Snow. Here. That’s so exciting.” The blue of her eyes sparkled.

  “That would be exciting.” Kelly combed through Chelsea’s bangs then handed her the comb. She’d prayed for white Christmases every year for as long as she could remember. But now she wasn’t sure spending Christmas Day in a primitive fishing cabin in the middle of a Louisiana swamp during torrential rains was an answer to her prayers. But then again, she’d learned never to question how God chose to answer prayer. Or did she?

  Denny stood over Chelsea and extended his hand. “Little lady, I believe we need to talk.”

  Chelsea grimaced then placed her hand in his and allowed him to lift her up.

  He led his daughter to the tiny kitchen table. Once seated, he began, in a calm voice, to lecture her on the dangers of her actions. He spoke to her with sternness when necessary, but bathed the whole conversation in love.

  Kelly retrieved a coat from the rack and stepped out onto the screened-in porch where the sound of rain falling on the tin roof intensified. She settled on the worn rocker and gazed at the bayou. Her heart twisted. Denny’s compassion when dealing with his daughter had touched her. The type of father she wanted for her own children. But the memory of last night flooded her thoughts. Was this the same man who’d disappeared last night? Where was his love for his daughter then? Her misgivings about Denny grew. There were too many unanswered questions and too many unknowns about this charming Southerner. She shivered. The cold here seemed to seep into her bones and touch a place deep within.

  After about an hour, Denny walked out onto the porch. “Chelsea’s taking a nap. Seems she got up at five this morning.” He slipped into the rocker next to hers.

  “Denny, I feel responsible.”

  “This is not your fault. Please don’t think you’re responsible.” His gaze connected with hers and conveyed warmth and understanding. “This was very poor judgment by a ten-year-old girl.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Man, I keep thinking of all the things that could have happened to her. Part of this is my fault. She was scared that I’d got together with someone from my past.”

  She wanted to ask about last night but didn’t feel she could. There were no promises between them. He didn’t owe her explanations for his actions. Besides, she planned to attend a New Year’s party with her ex-boyfriend. Who was she to question Denny?

  He lifted his head and stared out toward the bayou. Sadness settled within the lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Kelly sensed his weariness and concern for his daughter. “Is she OK now?”

  “Yes, I explained what happened last night, and she feels much better.”

  “Good.” A part of her wanted to know more, but a part accepted that if his explanation calmed Chelsea’s fears then he must have had a good reason for his absence last night. But then how much would he tell a ten-year-old?

  “Kelly.” He turned his chair to face her. “Thank you for praying and also for being with her last night. It means a lot to me. Chelsea really likes you. And…well…” He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers. His brown eyes spilled with tenderness. “I do too.”

  Did he like her only because his daughter did? She turned her gaze toward his hand entwined in hers. His warmth radiated through her, straight to her heart. Could she trust this? A rela
tionship that had no chance of survival. Her brain cried out…no, no. But somewhere deep in her heart a voice cried out…yes.

  Lord, I need Your guidance.

  ****

  Denny laid his other hand upon theirs and watched the slight quiver of Kelly’s lowered lashes. Had his words been too forthright? He didn’t want to scare her away. How could he tell her how much he cared for her? How she’d captured his heart in the short time they’ve known each other?

  “Denny.” She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “I adore Chelsea. And…”

  He drowned in the gentleness of her amber eyes. How could he expect more? Regret sat like a lead weight in his stomach. He didn’t want her to have to tell him it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t stand hearing the words deep down he knew to be truth. He placed his index finger on her lips. “Shhh…don’t say any more.”

  “Daddy?” Chelsea stood at the camp’s door. Her gaze shifted from him to Kelly. She lifted the board game she held in her hand and smiled. “I found the Trouble game. Can we play?”

  Kelly untangled her hand and flashed a smile toward him before turning her gaze to Chelsea. “Sure, honey.” She turned back toward Denny. “No chance this rain will let up anytime soon?”

  He stared toward the bayou. Torrents of rain continued to fall. “Not anytime soon. Looks like we’re in for Trouble.”

  Kelly cleared her throat as she entered the camp behind Chelsea. “No pun intended. Right?”

  He followed her in. “No pun intended.”

  Sitting at the small table playing numerous games of Trouble, most of which Chelsea managed to win, filled their afternoon. They took one break to enjoy the leftover sandwiches Eula had packed. Not the Christmas dinner he’d envisioned for Kelly, but the time together felt right. He enjoyed watching Kelly and Chelsea interact. He also enjoyed Kelly’s enthusiasm through the afternoon. After several hours the roar of the rain dimmed to intermittent pitter-patter. “Looks like this may be our window of opportunity, ladies. We should head home.”