The Christmas Bus

by Melody Carlson

  Just then the doorbell rang again. “Excuse me,” said Edith as she went to get it.

  It was Olive, and her face looked a bit stricken. “I need your help, Edith. Helen slipped on a wet spot on the floor in the kitchen, and she can’t get up.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Edith. “Is she badly hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. She told me not to call 911. But I’m not strong enough to get her up by myself. As you know, Helen is a rather bulky gal.”

  Edith looked back at the old woman. “If you’ll excuse me for just a few minutes, I need to—”

  “I heard the whole stupid thing,” snapped the woman without even turning to see them. “I’ll be perfectly fine on my own. It’s not as if I’m not used to it, for Pete’s sake.”

  Olive’s brows lifted curiously at this.

  “I’ll be right back,” called Edith as she headed for the door. “Come on, Olive.”

  “Who is that?” demanded Olive as soon as the door was shut behind them.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” said Edith. “Well, she’s a guest, of course, but I didn’t get her name yet.”

  “There you go,” said Olive as if making a point. “Letting a perfect stranger into your house, you don’t even know her name, on top of that she’s ruder than all get-out. . . . The next thing you know she’ll be making off with the family silver.”

  Edith laughed. “We don’t have much silver, Olive. And I seriously doubt that she could carry much with her. She looks like she’s about a hundred years old. Someone just dumped her here, poor thing.”

  “Dumped her?”

  “Well, dropped her. She said it was a friend.”

  “Some friend.”

  “That’s what she said too.”

  They were in the church now, and the sounds of moaning made Edith hasten her pace. There in the small church kitchen, just like Olive had said, was Helen Johnson lying flat as a pancake with arms and legs sprawled out like a beached starfish.

  “Are you okay?” asked Edith as she knelt down beside her and attempted to remember what she’d learned at her first aid class, more than twenty years ago.

  “You mean other than being in severe pain and humiliating embarrassment?” said Helen.

  “Can you move everything?” asked Edith, recalling that you weren’t supposed to attempt transporting someone with a spinal injury.

  “What would you suggest that I move?”

  “You know,” said Edith. “Your arms and your legs, does everything work okay?”

  Now Helen waved her arms and legs as if she were making a snow angel.

  “Okay,” said Edith, satisfied. “It looks like you’re pretty much in one piece. Can you sit up?”

  “Perhaps with a little help.”

  Neither Edith nor Olive was particularly large or muscular, so Edith took one hand and Olive took the other, and together they pulled Helen to a sitting position.

  “How’s that?” asked Edith.

  “Better.” Helen rubbed her knee. “Although I do feel a bit foolish.”

  Edith went for a wooden chair now. She thought it might be a better way to help Helen to her feet.

  “You shouldn’t feel bad, Helen,” said Olive. “It’s that dingdong janitor who’s to blame. He shouldn’t have left a wet spot on the floor like that. A person could get killed taking a fall like that.”

  “He probably didn’t realize anyone was going to be here today,” said Edith as she set the chair next to Helen.

  “What’s that for?” asked Helen.

  “I thought we could use it to help you get up,” suggested Edith. “Olive and I can each lift you from the sides, and maybe you can help to hoist yourself up with the chair.”

  “Well, as long as you can keep the chair from slipping,” said Helen a bit skeptically. So they all got into place, and before long they had Helen on her feet, then sitting in the chair.

  “Thank you, girls,” said Helen. “I suppose it’s time to consider having some work done on these old knees of mine. This right one is really howling now.”

  “That’s what I keep telling you,” said Olive. “Get yourself fixed up while you can. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” asked Edith.

  Helen attempted standing now, holding on to each of them as she did. “My hip is okay, but my knee’s a bit sore. I’m sure that’s partly due to going up and down all those stairs earlier. But I doubt that I’m going to be much help to you today,” she told Olive.

  “Why don’t we help you to your car,” suggested Edith. “Do you think you can drive okay?”

  “Of course,” said Helen, ever the stalwart army nurse. “And if someone calls ahead, Clarence can help me into the house when I get there.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Edith.

  So the three of them slowly hobbled off toward Helen’s Crown Victoria, which was parked close to the side exit from the church kitchen. Thankfully, that meant no stairs. They finally had Helen in her car, and she thanked them once again.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” she told Olive.

  “It’s quite all right, dear,” said Olive, glancing at her watch. “Goodness, the kids will be here any minute. I better get moving.”

  “Take care,” said Edith. “And I’ll give Clarence a call right now.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Let me know if you need a hand today,” Edith called to Olive as she was hurrying back to the church.

  “I think you have your hands full with grandma over there,” said Olive. Then she paused. “But thanks anyway. I think I can handle this on my own.”

  Edith was relieved to hear this, and as a matter of fact, she was a bit concerned, not to mention curious, about the old woman whom she’d left behind at the registration table. But when she got inside the house, there was no one to be seen. Everything was quiet, and for a moment she wondered if perhaps she’d imagined the whole thing. But then why would Olive have mentioned it?

  She decided to peek her head into Charles’s study to see if he knew anything. “Sorry to disturb you, dear,” she began.

  He looked up from where he was intently writing. “Yes?”

  “Uh, did you happen to see an old woman anywhere about—”

  He adjusted his glasses and peered at her. “You mean Myrtle?”

  “Well, I’m not totally sure.” Edith held out her hand to about four and a half feet high. “She was about this tall”—now she spread her arms—“and about this wide.”

  He kind of smiled. “I think you must mean our guest. Myrtle Pinkerton.”

  She nodded. “Our guest?”

  “She filled out her paperwork and paid for two full weeks in advance—with cash, by the way; I put it in your little zipper bag—so I could see no reason not to take her to a room. I gave her the Green Meadow Room. Is that okay?” All the guest rooms had names related to shepherds, all taken from the twenty-third psalm. There was, of course, the Good Shepherd Room, the Lamb Room, the Staff and Rod Room (which usually had to be explained), the Cool Water Room, and the Green Meadow Room.

  Edith smiled. “That’s fine, dear. And thank you for helping out when I know you’re busy.”

  “And is everyone okay over at the church?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to let him get back to his work now. “Everyone’s just fine.”

  “Myrtle mentioned that someone had fallen down and couldn’t get up.” His eyes twinkled with curiosity. “But she didn’t seem to think it was an actual emergency.”

  “Yes, that was Helen.” Edith decided to give him the sweet, condensed version for the time being. “She slipped, but she’s okay. Olive and I got her up and into her car. Don’t worry about it. I’ll try not to disturb you again.”

  He smiled. “I can hardly blame you for Helen’s fall, dear.”

  She nodded and quietly pulled the door closed.

  Goodness, how did this day get so busy?

  5

  “I t
hought this was a bed and breakfast.”

  Edith looked up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. Her normal routine was to get up early enough to read from her morning devotional book and enjoy a quiet cup of peppermint tea. Her private time. But Myrtle Pinkerton, ignoring the sign above the door, had just stepped over an invisible line and was now standing with a bulldoggish expression as she surveyed Edith’s kitchen.

  Edith slowly closed her book, glanced at the apple-shaped clock above the stove to see that it wasn’t yet 6:00 a.m., then cleared her throat and stood.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Pinkerton,” she said in a formal voice. “Perhaps my husband didn’t give you our brochure yesterday, but breakfast isn’t served until seven. I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

  “Hmmph. Inconvenience is right. I’m an old woman. I didn’t have any dinner last night, and I am starving.”

  Despite her resolve to maintain her normal professional and cool facade right now (her means for dealing with the occasional cantankerous guest), Edith did feel her sympathetic side taking over once again. Edith’s family and friends had often warned her that she was a softie and that if she wasn’t careful, everyone would walk all over her. But, for goodness’ sake, this poor old woman was virtually stranded at the inn, and although there were a couple of eating establishments in town, they were also several blocks away, and who knew what kind of walking shape Myrtle Pinkerton was in.

  “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the dining room,” suggested Edith in a kind voice. “And I’ll bring you something out. Do you like tea, Mrs. Pinkerton?”

  “No. I only drink coffee. Cream and sugar. And call me Myrtle. I don’t go in for formalities.” She turned around, made a harrumph sound as if she were reluctant to leave, then returned to the dining room.

  Edith suppressed feelings of guilt now. Was she being too rigid with this guest? Really, what harm would come from inviting Myrtle to join her in the kitchen just this once? “Don’t compromise yourself,” she could just hear her children warning her. Or even Polly. “Don’t give in, Edith. Stay firm or you’ll regret it.” Of course, they were probably right.

  Edith considered asking Myrtle whether or not she had any special dietary needs but then decided the best course might be to start brewing coffee first. Besides, Charles would be down before long, and he would be pleased to see that the coffee was already made. After a few minutes, she carried a tray with a cup of steaming coffee, along with cream and sugar, to the dining room. But no one was there.

  “Myrtle?” she called out, thinking perhaps the guest had wandered into the living room or maybe the sunroom, but no one answered. So she set the tray on the table and returned to the kitchen to begin cutting up some fruit for a small fruit plate. Surely fresh fruit would be a safe choice to start with. She also set out a couple of pitchers of fruit juice. Then she neatly arranged a small plate of sliced cranberry nut bread along with the pumpkin bread she had baked only yesterday. She made toast, got out some jelly, and finally set out a selection of yogurts and cereals to choose from—her usual fare when they had only one or two guests in the house. Of course, guests were welcome to order eggs and other cooked items if they liked, and Edith was always more than happy to turn on the stove, but this lighter fare usually suited most guests just fine.

  Still there was no sign of Myrtle. And even when Edith did a quick search of the first-floor rooms, she never found her. Perhaps Myrtle had gone back to her room for something. She waited a bit, but eventually it was only her and Charles, sitting down to breakfast just the two of them. A rather grand breakfast too, since they were accustomed to eating much lighter when no guests were about, often simply oatmeal and juice.

  “Did you see Myrtle this morning?” she asked as she took a slice of pumpkin bread and broke it in half.

  “No, I expect she’d be sleeping in. She mentioned that she was worn out from her trip yesterday.”

  So Edith explained how Myrtle had been up before six and had claimed to be ravenous. She waved at the nicely arranged table. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”

  “She’s a funny old bird, isn’t she?”

  Edith nodded, then lowered her voice. “I have a feeling she’s going to test my patience a bit. Did you really say that she planned to be here for two whole weeks?”

  He smiled. “It’ll be better when the other guests arrive. Besides, I suspect that poor old Myrtle just needs to be loved.”

  “Well, perhaps you can take care of that end of things,” she suggested. “And I’ll take care of the practical things.”

  He set down his empty coffee cup. “Oh, you can’t fool me, Edith. I know you have just as much love to give as I do.”

  “Well, it didn’t feel like that this morning when she was standing in my kitchen and reminding me that this was a bed and breakfast.”

  He laughed. “This should be an interesting Christmas for everyone.”

  “Did you invite Myrtle to church when you talked to her yesterday?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “And?”

  “It sounded as if she plans to come.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Speaking of church, I promised Hal Berry that I’d have a short meeting with the ushers this morning. Seems they have some new idea to make things go more smoothly.”

  “I thought things usually went pretty smoothly.” She refilled her cup with tea.

  He winked at her. “Well, you know Hal. He’s always got some new trick up his sleeve. Remember when he wanted to put the offering plates on sticks so the ushers would have complete control of them at all times?”

  She laughed. “Yes, as if there’s anyone in our congregation with sticky fingers.”

  “Well, old Hal isn’t quite as trusting as you are, my dear.” He bent down and pecked her on the cheek. “See you later.”

  Edith was just clearing the dining room table when Myrtle made an appearance. She had on a gray woolen coat with an ancient-looking purse slung over one arm. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked slightly winded.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Edith as she set the tray back down. “Are you still hungry?”

  Myrtle waved one hand and grasped the back of a chair with the other. “No,” she puffed. “I just walked all the way to town and back.”

  “Did you get something to eat?”

  She nodded. “I went to that silly café, the one with all the Santa Claus paraphernalia all over the place.”

  “Mrs. Santa’s Diner.”

  “That’s the one. Even the napkins had Santa heads printed all over them. Land sakes, I’d think people would get sick and tired of that Santa stuff day in, day out, year round.”

  Edith smiled. “Oh, I suppose it gets old for some folks. But I think it’s rather charming.”

  Myrtle released the back of the chair and stood up straighter and said, “Charming? Humph,” rolling her eyes for added emphasis.

  Edith almost expected her to add a “Bah, humbug” next. But fortunately, Myrtle did not. Instead she turned and began to leave the room.

  “I’m going to my room to rest some,” she called over her shoulder. “That long walk wore me out something fierce.”

  “Church is at ten thirty,” Edith called out.

  Myrtle turned around and tossed her an exasperated look. “I know that,” she snapped.

  Edith tried not to show her relief as Myrtle slowly made her way toward the staircase. Hopefully, the old woman would enjoy a nice long rest this morning, allowing Edith to get a few more things done without interruption. More guests would begin to arrive tomorrow, and it wouldn’t be long before the whole house would be filled. Edith wanted to have everything just perfect for them.

  She managed to mix up a batch of sugar cookie dough, which needed to chill, as well as eight pie crusts that she wrapped and stacked in the freezer. She planned to have an assortment of desserts available to her guests throughout the days preceding Christmas. Sweets to cheer the spirit
s.

  Finally it was nearly ten thirty, and Edith knew that it was time to head over to the church. She had neither heard nor seen Myrtle and suspected that the tired old woman might still be soundly sleeping. And perhaps it was for the best. But as Edith made her way down the center aisle, toward her regular seat up front, she was surprised to see that someone was already sitting there. And she suspected, by the gray coat and frazzled-looking hair, not to mention the width that took up a fair portion of pew, that it was indeed Myrtle. Of course, Myrtle would have no idea that she was sitting in the seat that was reserved for the pastor’s wife. But Edith could see that the ushers were concerned. She simply smiled at Hal Berry, nodding as if to show him that all was well, before she squeezed past Myrtle, taking the seat to her left. It did feel odd to be sitting in a different spot, even if it was only a few feet different. Funny how people can get accustomed to certain things. Even so, she didn’t let on that she was troubled by being bumped from her regular seat. It was silly, really.

  After the singing was finished, Charles took a few moments to welcome newcomers. Today that meant Myrtle. He gave a brief introduction, mentioning that she would be staying at the inn throughout the holidays. And then, to Edith’s complete surprise and probably everyone else’s too, Myrtle stood up.

  “Thank you,” she said in a loud voice, turning toward the congregation as if preparing to give a speech. “You have an interesting little town here,” she continued. “Although I do think you people take this whole Christmas business way too far. Good grief, I actually wiped my mug with Santa faces this morning.” A few titters were heard, although Edith suspected that Myrtle wasn’t trying to be funny. “What bothers me is that you people are going to forget what Christmas is really about.” She shook her finger at them. “It’s not about ‘Jingle Bells’ and candy canes and Santa head toilet-seat covers. It’s not about making a few extra bucks or impressing your friends with the way your place is all lit up. And if this is all that Christmas Valley has to offer, well, I’d just as soon spend my Christmas someplace else!” Then she turned and sat down with a thump.