The Christmas Bus

by Melody Carlson

She emailed Jared now. “Dear Jared,” she carefully typed, still using the formal and, according to her children, “old-fashioned” greeting. They usually just wrote “Hey Mom” or sometimes launched right into their latest news without a proper heading. But she still liked to start all email correspondence with “Dear”—it just seemed polite.

  Dear Jared,

  I’ve just come up with a promotion idea that I’d like you to display on my website, that is if you’re not too busy. I want to announce that for the first time in the seventeen years of its operation, the Shepherd’s Inn will be open throughout the entire month of December. And also that, as a Christmas special, I will be offering a 25 percent discount to all guests. Plus, all guests will be included in all the Christmas activities at no additional cost, including the Christmas Eve party and Christmas dinner and so on. Can you please take care of this for me?

  Sincerely,

  Edith Ryan

  Then Edith hit the magical “send” button and returned to her currently empty email inbox and waited expectantly. Well, she didn’t really think he’d get back to her immediately, but sometimes he was a regular Johnny-on-the-spot. Still, when he didn’t respond after a couple of minutes, she decided to distract herself with a quick game of Spider Solitaire. What could it hurt? But before she’d even dealt the second row of cards, she heard the familiar little bing-bing sound, announcing that new mail had arrived. And sure enough, it was from Jared.

  no problem, E. done deal. jr

  She smiled to herself as she signed off, then shut down her computer. Despite his computer “shorthand,” Edith knew that Jared had taken care of everything. Just like that. Now, didn’t they live in an amazing era! Hopefully, she’d get some responses to her Christmas special by the end of the week. Guests, as instructed on the website, emailed or called Edith directly to book rooms, and she hoped that they’d have all five rooms booked by the weekend. Or at least some of them—perhaps it wasn’t imperative to have a full house, although that would be her preference. And who knew what kind of interesting guests they might have during the holidays. Perhaps like Charles had said tonight, they might even entertain angels or the Lord himself without ever knowing it.

  She hummed to herself as she puttered in the kitchen, putting on the kettle for their nightly cup of tea, and as she measured the tea she imagined the sorts of people who might book rooms during the holidays. Perhaps there would be some older couples who, like Edith and Charles, didn’t have family to gather with this year. Or maybe a young family who’d recently relocated from the East Coast, finding themselves without relatives nearby. Well, Edith and Charles could become their temporary family! And they would show their guests the best sort of hospitality that a place like Christmas Valley had to offer. Really, it would be such fun! Perhaps it truly was a blessing in disguise that her children were unable to come this year. It would give her the opportunity to really reach out to people who might otherwise have a sad and lonely Christmas. A chance to practice real hospitality—just the way the good Lord intended. She couldn’t wait to tell Charles about her plan!

  The kettle was just beginning to sing when Charles came into the kitchen. Edith turned and smiled at her husband. “I have a surprise for you!”

  At first Charles, like she had been, was dismayed to hear that none of their children would be coming home for Christmas, but she quickly moved into the second part of her surprise, and before long his eyes lit up too.

  “That’s wonderful, dear,” he said as he set his mug of orange pekoe tea down on the small kitchen table. “You may be the only one who actually took my little sermon seriously.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive way. “Oh, nothing, really.”

  “What?” she insisted, leaning forward to listen.

  “Oh, I think that some members of our congregation may think that angels are an antiquated old fairy tale.”

  She frowned. “That’s too bad.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Mrs. Fish is certain that angels only visited the biblical characters, not modern-day people like us.” He shook his head. “And Peter Simpson believes that angels are simply metaphorical, symbols of God’s attempt to reach mankind, or something to that effect.”

  “Oh . . .”

  Charles shrugged. “I was beginning to feel that I’m a bit out of touch with my parishioners.”

  Edith didn’t speak, but she was considering what Polly had told her about Helen and Olive and their concern that Charles was getting old.

  Then her husband smiled. “But now I come home to discover that my own dear wife has taken my words to heart.” He reached over and put his hand on hers. “That is a great comfort.”

  “It’s a comfort to me too,” she said. “I was so discouraged to think that our kids weren’t coming. It just didn’t seem like Christmas.”

  “I wonder who the Lord will bring to our home,” he mused. “Perhaps we should take a few minutes to pray about this, Edith, to invite our Lord to direct the right people to us—the ones who need a bit of Christmas Valley cheer and hospitality to warm their hearts. Do you think?”

  She nodded and bowed her head, and together they asked God to guide the perfect people to the Shepherd’s Inn for the holidays.

  “Isn’t it exciting?” she said when they finished.

  He squeezed her hand and nodded. “Yes, dear, it is!”

  But the next day came, and not one phone call, not one email had arrived by the afternoon. Even so, Edith busied herself with the same sort of preparations she would do when expecting her family to fill the house. She even called Polly to tell her of the plan.

  “What a great idea,” said Polly, who had missed Charles’s midweek sermon the night before. Edith explained where the inspiration came from, and Polly said she wished she could be around to watch what happened.

  “I’ll tell you all about it when you get back,” said Edith.

  “So have you had any bites yet?”

  “Not yet,” said Edith in her optimistic way. “But it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Jared changed my website. I’m sure they will come.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Polly, but Edith thought she heard a tinge of doubt in her friend’s voice.

  “And if they don’t,” said Edith, “well, I’ll just do like the good Lord says. I’ll go out to the streets and invite strangers to come in.”

  “Really?” Polly sounded a bit shocked now.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, Polly. I can’t imagine there would be many strangers roaming the streets of Christmas Valley right at Christmastime.” She laughed. “But you just never know!”

  4

  On Friday morning the phone rang, and it turned out to be a woman named Carmen Fields from Redding, California. She had just found the Shepherd’s Inn website.

  “Do you still have rooms available?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yes, we do,” said Edith, not wanting to admit that all the rooms were currently available.

  “Well, my husband and I decided that we’d like to do something different for Christmas this year,” she said. “And it seems that everyone else in our family has plans.” She cleared her throat. “Plans that don’t include us.”

  “Well, we would love to include you with us,” said Edith happily. Then she took down the pertinent information and booked the room. “And there’s a nice website for the town,” she informed Carmen. “It tells a bit about us and some of the activities that happen around here at Christmastime.”

  “Sounds perfect,” said Carmen. “We plan to drive up, take our time, and spend a night somewhere along the way. So I guess we’ll see you on Monday then.”

  Edith smiled to herself as she hung up the phone. It was starting to happen. A real beginning! And, remembering her wise husband’s suggestion on Wednesday night, Edith took a few moments to ask God, once again, to send just the right people to their home. She also thanked him for choosing Carmen and Jim Fields and even asked his blessi
ng on their travels as they made their way up here by car.

  By noon on Saturday, Edith had booked two more rooms. One was for a single man named Albert Benson. Judging by his voice, he was older and, Edith guessed, sad. Although she had no reason why. No matter, they would do whatever possible to cheer him up during his stay. The next booking was done online. A couple from Spokane by the name of Lauren and Michael Thomas, just the two of them. No children yet. Oh, well, Edith assured herself, God was in control of the guest list, and it wasn’t for her to question.

  But later in the afternoon she received a call from a woman named Leslie. “I have a child,” she began tentatively, “a five year old daughter. . . . I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s wonderful!” said Edith. “I was just hoping that someone would have children. It just feels more like Christmas with little ones around.”

  “Her name is Megan, and she’s still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that her daddy left us more than a year ago. . . .”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The guy was a total jerk. The only good thing he ever did for me was Megan. But for some reason she still thinks he’s the greatest and doesn’t understand why he can’t come spend Christmas with us. Anyway, I needed someplace to go . . . to get away from here, you know what I mean?”

  “Well, you and Megan are more than welcome to make yourselves at home here,” said Edith.

  “Great. I’m taking the whole week off, so I plan to drive over on Tuesday. Is that okay?”

  “No problem.”

  And so it was that all but one room was booked. Edith was busier than ever now, but it was just the way she liked it. Naturally, she’d sent her Christmas cards weeks ago and had, just last week, finished wrapping and shipping her children’s Christmas presents, but she still had plenty to do to make her guests feel completely welcome and at home here. She was just carrying a load of clean towels upstairs when she heard the doorbell ring. Setting the basket on a chair, she turned and hurried back down. Too early for guests to be arriving, thank goodness. She opened the door to see Olive Peters standing there.

  “I tried to call, but your line was busy,” she explained. “I came to collect the costumes. We’re going to do a fitting this afternoon.”

  Feeling more generous than the last time they’d talked, Edith offered to help her carry the boxes over to the church.

  “Oh, I don’t want to bother you,” said Olive, impatiently looking at her watch. “And Helen promised to help me, but as usual, she’s late.”

  “Why don’t I give you a hand?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got your hands full. Aren’t you busy getting ready for all those kids of yours to arrive?”

  So Edith explained how things were going to be different this year.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” exclaimed Olive. “You and Charles must’ve lost your minds.”

  Edith blinked. “Why—what do you mean?”

  “Inviting a bunch of perfect strangers into your home during Christmas?”

  “Well, I do run a bed and breakfast,” said Edith. “We’re accustomed to having strangers as guests—”

  “But for Christmas, Edith?” Olive firmly shook her head. “It just sounds a little odd. Christmas is a time for friends and family. If you and Charles were going to be alone during the holidays, you should’ve told us. We would’ve gladly invited you over to our home. You shouldn’t be stuck here with a bunch of strangers.”

  Edith forced what she hoped was a believable smile. “But that’s just it, Olive, we want to do this. Don’t you remember Charles’s midweek sermon about being hospitable? We wanted to open our home to people who don’t have a place to go during this time. We thought it would be fun.”

  Olive pressed her lips together and studied Edith for a long moment. “Well, all I can say is that you two have a very strange idea of what constitutes fun. And I certainly hope that this whole crazy plan doesn’t backfire and blow up in your face.”

  Just then Helen drove up, and Edith was relieved that she was now off the hook for helping Olive with the costumes. She led the two women up the two flights of stairs, then turned around in concern to Helen. “Oh, my, I hope this doesn’t hurt your hip,” she said. “I forgot all about your surgery.”

  “No problem,” huffed Helen, clearly out of breath. “That replacement hip,” gasp gasp, “is as good as new.”

  “But I might need one now,” said Olive just as breathlessly. It seemed that she too was trying to recover from climbing the two flights of stairs. “Or maybe I should focus on my knees first. They’ve been giving me trouble lately.”

  Edith opened the door to the attic and turned on the light. “I’ll warn you that it’s very dusty up here,” she said as she led them over to the corner where the cardboard boxes of costumes were stored.

  “All six of these?” exclaimed Olive when she saw the clearly marked boxes. “For one little nativity play?”

  “That means more trips,” said Helen with a frown. “You didn’t warn me that I was signing up for hard labor today, Olive.”

  Olive went over and picked up a box. “Well, at least they’re not terribly heavy.” Without commenting, Helen followed her lead. Edith, deciding not to waste a trip down the stairs, picked up a box herself, the largest one as it turned out, and it was a bit on the heavy side.

  By the time they were all downstairs, both Helen and Olive looked thoroughly winded, but they somehow managed to get out the door and were slowly making their way over to the church when Charles poked his head out of his study. “What’s going on?”

  Edith explained about the costume boxes, and before the two women had a chance to return, Charles had retrieved the other three from the attic and was already carrying two of the boxes across the street. Edith smiled as she watched him. Maybe this would give Helen and Olive something to think about. Maybe witnessing Charles’s ability to carry the boxes without being the least bit out of breath, since, regardless of the weather, he regularly walked two miles every morning, would show those ladies that he wasn’t exactly over the hill yet.

  “Those two,” he said when he came back into the house. “I’ll be surprised if the pageant doesn’t turn into a complete fiasco.”

  “Really?” Edith looked at him with concern. “Do you think they’re going to make a mess of it?”

  He laughed. “Oh, probably not. After all, as Olive assured me, she does have her little notebook, her attack plan . . . that should keep the affair somewhat on target. But the way those two were arguing just now, about who was boss and who was going to do what, well, I just hope they don’t set too bad of an example for the children.”

  “I do miss Judy,” said Edith.

  “We all do.”

  “And I know this sounds terrible, but sometimes it’s difficult to believe that Judy and Olive are actually related.”

  He laughed again. “Hopefully, Judy won’t be too disappointed when they get here and see what’s become of her pageant.”

  “Maybe she’ll be able to save the day.”

  Just then the doorbell rang again.

  “This place is like Grand Central Station today,” observed Charles. “I hope I’ll be able to get my sermon finished.”

  “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “It’s probably just Olive and Helen again. Anyway, whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. You get back to your work, dear.”

  But it wasn’t Olive or Helen. Instead, Edith found a short and rather squat woman standing at her door. The woman’s hair was gray and fluffy, and she appeared to be quite elderly. At least eighty or ninety, Edith suspected.

  “Can I help you?” she asked the woman, who didn’t look one bit happy to be there.

  “I suppose you can. My friend just dropped me off here.” She looked over her shoulder and scowled. “You got any room in your inn?”

  Edith blinked. “Someone dropped you off ? Right here? And you need a room?”

  “That’s what I said,
isn’t it? You got a room or not?” The old woman shifted her shabby-looking overnight bag to the other hand and sighed in clear exasperation. “You’re not deaf, are you?”

  “No, of course not.” Edith opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

  “Well, that’s better.” The woman shoved the overnight bag toward Edith as if she were a bellboy.

  Without questioning this, Edith took the bag and led the woman over to the long oak table that she used as a registration area, setting the bag down on the chair beside it. She wasn’t quite sure what to say now.

  “Come on,” said the old woman impatiently. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “No . . .” Edith studied the woman. Something about her reminded Edith of Ulysses, a bulldog that had belonged to her grandfather when she was a little girl. Maybe it was the square, flat face, or the loose jowls, or perhaps it was something in those intense, slightly beady eyes. But Edith had never quite trusted that dog.

  “Well, then . . . what’s the problem?”

  Still, Edith didn’t like to judge people on appearances. “I’m sorry, but people usually call ahead first, to get reservations, and I’m just caught a little off—”

  “Look, if you’re booked up just tell me, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “No,” Edith said quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly. “We do actually have an available room.”

  “Fine,” snapped the woman. “I’ll take it.”

  “Right,” said Edith, still trying to grasp what was going on. She hated to be rude, but she really wanted to know why this woman had decided to come here of all places. It wasn’t as if they were exactly on the beaten path. Just the same, she slid the information form toward the woman. “You’ll just need to fill this out for me.”

  “You mind if I sit down?” demanded the woman. “My feet are killing me.”

  “No, not at all,” said Edith, removing the bag from the chair and offering the woman a seat. “I’m curious as to how you heard about us.”

  “My friend knew where you were located. It was his idea to drop me here. I s’pect he didn’t want me around during the holidays.” She made a disgusted sigh. “Nice friend, huh?”