Chapter 8
The next evening, Reese walked into the cozy kitchen of the big McNally farmhouse dressed in a dark suit, a crisp white shirt, and a Christmas red tie. His father and Pamela sat at the table finishing up dessert from dinner.
“Oh, you look pretty, Daddy.” Pamela sighed. “I wish I could go to the party.”
“You would be bored.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “It’s one of those adult parties where people stand around and talk.”
Harold McNally gave him a thumbs-up sign. “You do look good, son.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go, Dad?” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “I could still get a sitter.”
“No.” His father smiled. “Pamela and I have a big evening planned here, with two Christmas movies from the Redbox.”
“Ms. Martha is coming over to watch movies with us, too, and bringing snacks.” Pamela’s eyes brightened. “She makes good snack mix, with nuts and pretzels and cereals and stuff. Even with M&M’s in it.”
Reese raised an eyebrow at his father.
He fiddled with a napkin. “Martha wasn’t busy tonight, so I thought she might like to join us. The Christmas season is hard when you’re by yourself.”
Pamela slid out of her chair. “I’m going to go call Laurie,” she said. “Have a good time, Daddy.”
Reese waited until she left the room. “Are things getting serious with you and Martha?” he asked. “I know you’ve been seeing her for some time.”
Harold pushed up his glasses and ran a hand through his now-white hair. “She’s a fine woman,” he answered.
Reese nodded. “I like Martha Seymour.”
His father looked relieved. “You don’t really expect love to creep up on you when you’re nearly an old man.”
Reese grinned. “You’re fifty years old, Dad, hardly an old man.”
“I guess.” He smiled then. “She does make me feel young and sparky in many ways. I hadn’t thought that would come my way again.”
Reese laughed and clapped his dad on the back. “Take joy where you can find it, Dad. Life is short. You know Pamela and I only want your happiness.”
He studied Reese. “Would you two be all right if I decided to hitch up with Martha and move in with her down the road in Kinzel Springs?”
“You could live here. This is your home.”
He waved a hand. “Nah. She likes her place, and I’m getting real comfortable visiting in it. Pretty mountain home.” He glanced up at Reese. “I’d like to think maybe you’d stay on here at the old home place, marry again, and raise some more McNallys.”
At Reese’s flush, he stood to put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ve been praying you and Veda would get back together. I know you’ve never stopped loving her, and I saw the way you both looked at each other when she came by to drop off Pamela last week. The old feelings are still there.”
Reese dropped down into a kitchen chair. “I still love her, Dad, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to commit to me and stay here. You can’t really blame her after all that happened.”
“Veda’s no fool; she knows what Dee Dee was like.” He sat back down across from Reese. “You’ve explained things, haven’t you?”
Reese scraped a hand through his hair. “Yes, but I’m not sure she forgives me. Betrayal is hard to get over. Maybe I don’t deserve to get Veda back, Dad. I acted like a fool.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, son. But we don’t have to pay for them the rest of our lives.” He reached across to pat Reese’s arm. “Give her time.”
“Speaking of time, I’d better head to the O’Neill place to pick her up.”
“Well, you have a good time. I’ll clean up a little here in the kitchen and then go check on Pamela.”
A short time later, Reese and Veda mingled among the fifty or more guests at the Mimosa Inn. As Reese introduced Veda around, his gaze kept drifting over her bare shoulders above the dark green velvet dress she wore. The dress was the perfect color and style for her, setting off her hair and coloring, the sleeves dropping off the shoulders, with a knotted velvet rose tucked in the V above her breasts. A drop necklace with a glittering gold Christmas ball hung around her neck.
“You really look beautiful tonight,” he whispered to her as the couple they’d been talking to moved away to the refreshment table.
“You’ve said that.” She grinned at him. “You look handsome, too.”
Her eyes moved across the room, then, to where Jack and Grace were welcoming late guests. “I remember when Jack Teague was quite the ladies’ man around Townsend. Grace seems to have brought a big difference to his life.”
“Yes, and everyone is glad for the change, and for all Grace has brought with her—reopening the Mimosa, becoming active in the community, and taking on Jack’s girls with such love.” He paused. “I’ve always felt a connection with Jack: both of us used by somewhat disreputable women and left with children to raise.”
“I’d almost forgotten his story until Grace mentioned it the other day.”
Reese saw Lewis and Leanne Connor heading their way. “Remind me someday and I’ll tell you Jack and Grace’s story, Veda. It’s a good one.”
The evening moved along pleasurably. The gracious old Victorian inn was decorated gloriously for the season, with a huge Christmas tree, draped in gold and burgundy ornaments, strings of period bubble lights, and curling, shiny gold ribbon, setting the scene in the main room. The mantels over the inn’s fireplaces echoed the gold and burgundy color scheme, with rich fruits, pinecones, and nuts mixed among the greenery. All the tables glittered with candles, and a lavish spread of Christmas hors d’oeuvres, tiny festive sandwiches, colorful fruit and vegetable platters, and a tempting array of holiday sweets covered the sideboards and buffet. Even the air was enticing, filled with the spicy aromas of Christmas greenery, holiday candles, potpourri, and baked goods.
Veda networked with Reese and on her own, among the members of the board and with the Co-op crafters and artisans, at ease and laughing. It did Reese good to see how loving and welcoming everyone acted to Veda. She could hardly feel like she didn’t belong here.
“I think you’ve been the center of attention all evening,” he told her at one point. Noticing her face seemed flushed, he asked, “Do you want to walk outside for a moment? Grace and Jack decorated the back porch, the old gazebo, and strung lights all over the trees. It’s a pretty sight at night.”
Reese steered Veda down the hallway and out the back door of the Mimosa Inn. They moved through the screened porch, stuffed with wicker furniture, and outside to the patio. The night was clear, with stars twinkling in the skies to accompany the display of white lights around the property.
Veda hugged herself against the chill, looking around in wonder. “This is beautiful, Reese. It must have taken days to put up all these lights.”
He pointed toward the river behind the inn. “Jack even strung lights along the swinging bridge.”
An odd gust of wind whistled around the corner of the building, blowing Veda’s skirt tail. She straightened her dress, a strange look passing over her face. She shivered, looking around.
“It’s cold. I guess we’d better go back in,” he said.
Another gust of wind blew up from the river, stirring the leaves on the shrub beside them, swishing across them.
Reese felt Veda tense, and then she gripped his arm. “We have to go home, Reese. Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean, something’s wrong?” He frowned at her. “We can’t simply leave all of a sudden. It would be rude.”
“Well, then, make something up.” She stayed tense beside him, as if listening for something he couldn’t hear.
“Look, Veda . . .”
She shushed him. “Sutton is in trouble. I can feel it.” She glanced at him in wonder. “I can hear it.”
“What do you mean, you can hear it?” He felt annoyed. “This isn’t a time to get weird, Veda.”
Sh
e looked toward the river. “I’m leaving with or without you, Reese McNally. And we have to go now.” Veda turned and headed back into the house. “Will you take me, or do I need to ask someone else?”
“I’ll take you,” he grumbled. “Go in the back bedroom and get our coats, and I’ll make some sort of excuse.”
Veda said nothing as they sped down the highway toward the O’Neill Farm except, “Hurry.” As they neared the turn off the highway, she tensed again and leaned forward, looking out the window. She turned around in her seat, mumbling a set of numbers, while Reese made the turn.
“Call the sheriff and give him this license number.” She repeated the numbers again to him. “It’s the thieves. I saw their truck pulling out of the road to the farm as we pulled in.”
“How do you know it was the thieves?” He glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled out his phone.
“You just tell the sheriff I saw a truck leaving our private drive with the back loaded with trees. That’s enough to tell him.”
“You’re acting odd, Veda. What’s going on?”
She kept her eyes on the road ahead, hugging herself in the cold. “Just hurry, Reese. Sutton is in trouble.”
The next hour went by in a whirl. Reese and Veda found Sutton in a heap on the floor of the cantilever barn behind the O’Neill farmhouse, unconscious, with his head bloodied.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Reese said to Veda at one point, while they sat with Sutton, waiting for the ambulance.
“It’s okay. I almost didn’t listen myself.” She patted his cheek. “Thanks for bringing me home. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay at the party longer.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He stood as he heard the ambulance’s siren.
The emergency personnel soon had Sutton loaded, assuring Veda and Reese that they didn’t see any serious damage but cautioning them that only tests would reveal his condition accurately. Veda insisted on riding in the ambulance with Sutton, Reese following in his car.
It proved to be a long night in the emergency room before they were assured Sutton was all right and could come home.
Chapter 9
The next week moved swiftly for Veda, as Christmas closed in. Sutton returned to work at the Christmas Tree Shop after a day of rest, the thieves—a trio of local brothers—were found up the highway after the theft and all arrested, and the Co-op grew more crowded with last-minute shoppers every day.
Veda baked the night before the Christmas Eve service at the church, making several dishes to take to the potluck dinner afterward. She stood now in her storyteller’s outfit, adjusting the chip bonnet at the mirror.
Sutton leaned into the bedroom, letting her know it was time to go. He smiled at her, gesturing to Rita Jean’s picture on the dresser. She’d be proud, he signed.
“I hope so, and I hope I’ll do credit to her.”
He nodded, winking, and then tapped his watch, reminding her it was time to leave.
When they arrived, the little white church by the river was packed for the service. Many in the valley who didn’t attend the church regularly came to enjoy the holiday service and to share in the big dinner afterward, held next door at the Mimosa Inn.
Sutton and Veda stopped to greet Reese, his father, and Martha Seymour as they walked in the front door.
“Sit with us,” Reese said, taking Veda’s arm. “I already delivered Pamela to the back to get ready for the nativity pageant.”
Inside, a hush eventually fell over the church as the lights grew dim and the service began. Reverend Westbrooke led the congregation through the Bible readings of the Christmas story, while the children entered the sanctuary, acting out the parts of the familiar account of Jesus’s birth. Between each part of the story, the choir led the congregation in singing the beloved hymns of Christmas, so familiar to all.
Veda’s heart lifted at the words of the old songs, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” “Angels We Have Heard on High”—with a special wave from Pamela—plus “Away in a Manger” and “We Three Kings.” At the end of the pageant, everyone stood to sing “Joy to the World” as the children filed to their seats.
A short message followed from the pastor, and then it was time for Veda’s story. Saying a little prayer to herself, Veda walked up to the stage to look out at all the people of the Townsend community.
“Aunt Rita Jean loved you all,” she said. “And she loved sharing a special story with you every Christmas Eve. I hope you will enjoy this story I’ve chosen to share with you tonight.”
She moved closer to the edge of the stage, holding the hand mike so her voice would carry to all. “In ages past,” she began, “the old ones were the storytellers. It was the way things were passed on to the next generations. The Cherokee revered the Great Spirit, who created and presided over all the earth and provided for His children. The Cherokee believed spirits presided over everything, although only the Great Spirit was worshipped.”
Veda paused as a wisp of a breeze whispered through the church, making the flames of the candles flicker. She suddenly knew the story she’d planned was not the one she’d tell tonight.
She felt new words rise up inside her, and her voice grew bolder. “The Spirit of the Wind was called Oonawieh Unggi in Cherokee. Native Americans believed one could hear the Great Spirit in the wind and see Him in the clouds. In the Cherokee tribe that my great-grandmother, Unole, was raised in, it was believed that the first daughters in the Watie family were given a special gift and could hear the wind sing. My great-grandmother was a first daughter, my aunt, Rita Jean, was a first daughter, and I’m a first daughter. The story a first daughter is to tell travels on the wind, and the story I am to tell you tonight is a story about Oonawieh Unggi, the Wind God of the Cherokee.“
Looking out to see her audience, rapt and eager, Veda continued, the words coming to her as she told the tale. She remembered, as Rita Jean had taught her so many years ago, just where to pause, where to drop her voice or let it rise, and where to repeat ongoing phrases to knit the story together. In her heart, she heard the whispered words very good, daughter, as the story moved along, and she knew of a certainty, then, that the age-old gift of storytelling had been passed down to her. She could feel the story in her bones as she told it, and the words came easy and free.
There was a moment of pure silence when Veda ended her tale, and then the applause began, people standing to their feet, several wiping away tears. Vincent Westbrooke came to hug her impulsively, telling her that she’d given sweet tribute to her aunt in the service and made the memory of her rise lovingly before them all.
As Veda slipped back into her seat, Sutton leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek, rubbing a hand over his heart to let her know he was touched and pleased. On her other side, Reese slipped a hand into hers to squeeze it.
The service closed with the singing of “Silent Night,” as the congregation passed the flames of lit candles throughout the church, followed by a lively rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” as Santa came in with ho-ho-hos and a sack of presents for the children.
The rest of the evening and the dinner at the Mimosa passed in a happy blur for Veda. So many people came to hug her and tell her how Rita Jean’s memory had been blessed by her story and how it seemed as though Rita Jean was present with them, telling the story herself and keeping them mesmerized with the telling.
Pamela received a glittering angel ornament for the tree from Santa, to remember being in the pageant, and she came to show it to Veda.
“You were very good as an angel,” Veda told her, examining the pretty ornament Pamela laid in her lap. “I think this ornament even looks like you.” She held it up. “Look, it has dark hair.”
Pamela grinned, taking the ornament back. “You did good, too, Veda. I told you that you could tell a nice story like Rita Jean.”
“So you did.” Veda grinned back.
“Daddy says you and Sutton are coming over to
our house for Christmas brunch.” The child’s eyes brightened. “You can see what Santa brought me for Christmas when you come.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “And I’m bringing blueberry muffins with cream cheese glaze because you said you like them.”
“And Rita Jean’s breakfast casserole?” Pamela straightened her skirt.
“Yes, and Rita Jean’s casserole. And pumpkin bread and sausage balls for your daddy.”
She nodded. “Those are his favorites.”
“I know,” Veda said, remembering Christmas brunches the two families had shared for years and years.
Pamela leaned over conspiratorially. “My daddy has a Christmas gift for you, but he won’t tell me what it is.”
“He’s very secretive.” Veda grinned at her.
Laurie skipped over to join them, with Beth following, and the subject changed. The rest of the evening moved on as if in slow motion, filled with joy and ease.
The next morning, Veda picked up the phone to call Reese on his cell. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I guess with a child in the house, you’ve been up since dawn.”
She heard him groan.
“Listen,” she told him, “Sutton and I have loaded the truck and he’s driving over with the food and stuff.” She hesitated. “But I want you to meet me at the oak.”
“It’s spitting snow,” he grumbled. “Have you looked out the window?”
She clamped down on her impatience. “I know that, Reese. But could you do just this one little Christmas favor for me? Humor me, all right?”
“Well, sure,” he said, realizing he’d annoyed her. “How soon?”
“Oh, give me ten minutes, I guess.”
“Okay.” He paused. “What’s this about, Veda?” His voice sounded worried.
“I’ll tell you when I see you.” She hung up before he could ask more.
Veda hurried to get to the oak ahead of Reese and then waited where she’d planned, so she could see him coming down the path.
As he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly and simply stared. Then he moved slowly toward the tree, looking around for her.
When the Snow Falls Page 34
