A Merry Little Christmas (Songs of the Season)

by Anita Higman

  “Do you know how to operate machinery?”

  Charlie shifted in his chair. “Uh, no.”

  “Or about animal husbandry?”

  He looked bemused. “That doesn’t sound quite right.”

  Franny chuckled. “Guess you weren’t in FFA.”

  “I don’t think so.” Charlie rested his thumb on his chin. “But I was a scout leader one time. Does that count?”

  “I don’t think so.” Franny grinned.

  “So what’s FFA?”

  Oh dear. “It’s Future Farmers of America.” Franny wondered if it were ethical to sell the farm to Charlie. He was likely to perish in an accident on his first day on the job. Or he could be injured. Fortunately, the local doctor only charged a dollar for house calls. “I must warn you, there’s a lot to know about farming. What you don’t know can kill you…or, at the very least, put you in the poorhouse.”

  “I’m not scared of dying, and I’m not worried about the poorhouse.”

  “But there’s a lot to know. You’ll need to keep records on the hogs—when they’re bred and when they’ll give birth. That way you’ll be ready and the sows won’t have their babies in the field. There are recipes for their various feeds, depending on how old they are. You’ll need to know—”

  “Doesn’t sound too impossible. Does it?”

  “Yes, but there are hundreds of things like this to know.”

  “I’ll just hire a farmhand.” Charlie shrugged. “Once I get into town, I’m sure I can find someone—pay somebody to help me out.”

  “Honestly, I’ve never heard of anybody wanting to call himself a farmer that badly. You know, to hire someone else to do the work.” Franny hated to be a dream killer, but the more she talked to Charlie, the more he didn’t sound like farmer material.

  Charlie looked at her as if he were peering over reading glasses. “You know, you’re not like other women I know.”

  What did that have to do with anything? “True. Other women don’t have pig manure under their fingernails.”

  Charlie chuckled. “I mean that you’re different in the way you express yourself. And you have a boy’s haircut, kind of like Audrey Hepburn in…what’s the movie?”

  “Roman Holiday?”

  “Yeah. I like it. Unfortunately, most of the women I know are somehow convinced they’ve got to look just like Jacqueline Kennedy. They all look the same to me…carbon copies.”

  “A fancy bouffant just doesn’t work out here. All that ratting and spraying and primping—oof!” Franny blew her bangs off her forehead. “The pigs wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.” She shook her finger. “But now that you’ll be buying the farm and I’ll finally move to the city, maybe I’ll change my style. Pluck my eyebrows and grow out my hair.” She raised her shoulder in a shrug, hoping it came off as feminine. Working on the farm all day didn’t give her much time to practice her flirting skills.

  “I like your style—just the way it is.”

  His words seemed cozy and familiar, and the sound of his voice made Franny feel as though she’d eaten a red-hot chili pepper.

  Charlie played with the cloth napkin. “You mentioned moving to the city, but what are you looking for?”

  “A life.” She took a swig of her cocoa and then wiped off her marshmallow mustache with the back of her hand.

  “Oh? Are you sure about that?”

  She puckered her face. “Well, I’m surer of making it in the city than you are in farming.”

  He laughed. “All right. That’s funny. You’re funny.”

  Franny relaxed her expression. She hoped he meant that she was funny in an adorable way and not a clownish sort of way. His brown eyes offered a mellow gaze. She broke the connection by looking down into her brew.

  Even though they’d just met, she knew Charlie had the power to make her forget about leaving. But Oklahoma City would have plenty of fine Christian men to choose from. And most of all, there’d be lots of radio stations where she could be close to the magic—close to the music. She would apply at every radio station there. Beg if she had to. And if there weren’t any openings for a deejay, she’d be a receptionist until something opened up. God would make a way. After all, He was the one who’d put the music in her soul.

  Charlie’s mug struck the table, which startled her back to the present. “By the way, my father has an attorney. They’ll take care of the transaction right away. That is, if it’s all right with you.”

  “Sure,” Franny said, “that’s fine.” Charlie sounded so formal all of a sudden. So detached and businesslike.

  He laced his fingers together as if he were trying to hold onto something. “By the way, you’ll know soon enough, I guess. My father is Albert…Landau.” He looked uncomfortable, as if he were sitting on a prickly pear.

  Oh my. Charlie had mentioned his last name, but Franny never suspected he was from the Landau family of Oklahoma City. “Surely you don’t mean…” She knew her mouth was open, so she made a conscious effort to close it.

  “I do. It’s him. I’m sorry.” Charlie shot down the last of his cocoa and moved the mug across the table.

  “You don’t have to apologize.” No wonder Charlie wore such luxurious clothes. And that explained why there was a Rolls-Royce motorcar parked in the yard. And why he didn’t care about how much the farm cost. Charlie could easily buy a vocation. From what the newspapers wrote, he came from one of the richest families in Oklahoma.

  “Franny, are you still with me?”

  She nodded. That was about all she could manage at the moment.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charlie slid his hands toward hers, which were now bonded to the dinette table, but he stopped just shy of touching her fingers. “Please don’t let this news change anything between us.”

  Franny’s skin felt as if it were covered in ants. “You don’t have to worry about anything changing, Charlie, since there’s nothing between us.” Immediately after the words flowed out of her mouth, she regretted them. She was far too impulsive sometimes, and what she’d said wasn’t true anyway.

  Charlie pulled back. “Well, I thought we were sort of becoming friends.”

  “I don’t know why I said that. Please know that we can always be friends.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I’m sure you have plenty of friends, especially lady friends. I mean, you must be used to a huge social circle. You know, dinners and fancy parties.” What must he think of her humble abode? And that huge pile of S&H Green Stamps on the table? Bet the Landaus didn’t sit around getting their tongues gummy from licking hundreds of Green Stamps. Did her surroundings look like the city dump to him? He surely wasn’t used to cracked wallpaper, yellowed linoleum, or rusty metal kitchen cabinetry. How would he live in such a crude farmhouse with these plain furnishings after a life of luxury?

  Charlie fingered his gold watch. “Looking from the outside in, I appear to have it all. But mostly my life’s been as hard as iron and just as cold.”

  “When you have everything, it’s hard to imagine how life can be the way you describe it.” Franny shook her head, touching her fingers to her forehead. “What’s the matter with me? That sounded so—”

  “It’s all right.” He put up his hands. “I’ve heard that before. What people don’t realize is…well, money doesn’t come without strings, even for the children in the family. Especially for the children in the family. Lots of pressure. Lots of eyes on me, watching my every move.”

  Franny glanced out the kitchen window. “Is someone watching us now?”

  Charlie chuckled. “No. I just mean in general. But I get inspected often enough that it makes good clean living as you know it almost impossible.”

  “Well, looking from the outside, my life may look good and clean until I start scooping manure out of the chicken house, dehorning the cattle, and giving cows their medicine in unmentionable places.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie smiled. “But I’d rather do all that than give my father updates on
my failures. You see, he wants me to run his company someday, but he won’t let me do that until I make a go of an enterprise on my own. He won’t trust me otherwise. Every young man wants to please his father, no matter how difficult it might be.”

  Charlie leaned back in his chair. “The rest of the story is…over the years my father has set me up in a variety of businesses. I’ve been unsuccessful at every one of them. Because of all my past failings, I also see this as a personal challenge.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you failing at anything. You seem so with-it to me.”

  He folded his arms against his chest. “I put on a quite a show, don’t I?”

  “But I’m certain God has given you a talent.” Franny leaned on the table, her palm cupping her cheek. “Perhaps you just haven’t found it yet.”

  “Well, like you, I’ve always loved music.”

  “Really?”

  “I play the guitar and piano some, but I always wish I could do better.”

  Franny tugged on a strand of her hair. “How marvelous, to play.”

  “Unfortunately, my father doesn’t see it that way.” Charlie looked as though he wanted to say more but stared at his hands instead.

  Franny had intended to ask him why he wanted a farm that was a two-hour drive from Oklahoma City, but maybe he’d just answered her question. “In the papers, I read that your father is a philanthropist, a good man. I just assumed he had a happy family.”

  “Assumptions can be such runaway fantasies.”

  “What is it like to live inside the Landau family—you know, with that kind of burden of expectation?”

  “It isn’t a storybook life,” Charlie said. “I can tell you that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve survived it so far, but thanks. Sympathy isn’t something many people feel toward the Landaus.”

  Franny had only known a small version of that kind of family pressure, but in the end, she knew her parents would want her to be happy, even if it meant selling the farm. She had to admit, though, now that she really was leaving, she felt some anxiety along with the excitement. Maybe that’s why she’d kept the sale price high all those years—she was a little afraid of the bigger life that lay beyond her small world.

  Charlie dipped his head and caught her gaze. “You seem to be in outer space with your thoughts.”

  “I was. Funny how new people can sometimes make a person see what was there all along, even if she couldn’t see it before. Does that make sense?” Franny asked.

  “Yes, it does.”

  While Franny absorbed the revelations, her dog, Henry, lumbered over to them. “Hey there, boy. Where have you been?” She ruffled his ears with affection and then looked at Charlie. “Henry’s been my best chum for a long time. He’s not moving as fast these days. He’s got arthritis, and he mostly stays in the house, but he’s still my Henry. Aren’t you, boy?”

  The dog wagged his tail and then ambled over to Charlie to give him a sniff or two.

  Charlie reached down and scratched him behind the ears. Henry nudged his pocket. “Sorry, boy. Are you looking for a treat?”

  “Sometimes my father would put a small rawhide chew in his pocket and Henry would try to nudge it out. Ever since then, he’s always enjoyed the game as much as the treat.”

  Henry curled up on the rope rug next to Charlie and looked up at him through shaggy tufts of gray hair. His black eyes seemed a little forlorn, but then Henry lived with sad eyes most of the time. It was as if he too hadn’t fully recovered from the storm that had changed their lives. “He must like you, to sit next to you.”

  “It’s nice to be liked.” Charlie turned his focus from the dog back to Franny. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Henry doesn’t come with the farm, if that’s what you’re wanting.”

  Charlie grinned. “No. I was going to ask you something else.”

  “What is it?”

  “Stay with me.”

  “What?” At first Franny thought he was joking, and when she realized he was serious, she rose from the table, nearly knocking over her chair. “I hope you mean something else by your remark, because your proposal is indecent!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Charlie suddenly realized he’d been paying more attention to Franny’s pretty gray eyes than to what he’d been saying. “Wait a minute. No, that’s not what I meant. What did I say?”

  Franny picked up the mugs from the table and headed to the sink. “I’d heard folks in the city did that sometimes…you know, live together in sin and all…but—”

  Charlie bolted from his chair. “I didn’t mean what you think you meant. Or I meant.”

  Franny scoured the mugs with a vengeance, as if she could scrub the words from her memory.

  “Look, if you have a pastor, even the good reverend would endorse what I was so clumsily trying to offer. I promise you it was as innocent as snow on Christmas morning.”

  “What did you mean, then?” She turned around, her face red enough to look sunburned.

  “I meant that you could teach this city boy how to farm and I would pay you. We’d both benefit. Well, me more than you, but I’d learn how to farm and you’d have some extra money to live on in the city. That way you wouldn’t have to live off the money from the sale of the farm. You could put it away as a nest egg for your retirement.”

  Franny seemed to mull it over. “We couldn’t possibly stay under the same roof.” She puffed out some air, making her bangs fly. “It wouldn’t be—”

  “Of course not.” He slowly returned to his seat. “I would stay at a hotel in town and drive out every day. You could live in the house.”

  “All right. You’ve redeemed yourself.” Franny grinned. “A little.” She went to the water bucket on the counter, lifted the metal dipper, and took a sip.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear earlier.”

  She sat back down at the table. “You’re forgiven.”

  “But you do appear to have quite a fervency about you.”

  Franny crossed her arms—tightly. “Only when absolutely necessary.”

  Charlie grinned. Fact was, he liked her fire. She had morals and grit and loved music as much as he did. But also, he liked the way her cheeks lit up when she got riled. Most of the women he knew were pale, pampered imitations of what an authentic woman should be. Since he’d never met a real woman before, he found himself mesmerized by the sight of one. In fact, he couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “By the way, there isn’t a hotel in town. Used to be, but it closed down about ten years ago. But my father fixed up a tiny apartment over the toolshed. I could stay there while you live in the house. After the papers are signed, you’ll own all of it anyway.”

  “No, I could stay in the apartment. I insist.”

  “Well, I’m not sure you’ll be able to handle the rustic surroundings. The mattress is lumpy, there’s no room service, and I think a squirrel has taken up residence in the tiny bathroom attic.”

  He rested his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “I can handle it.” Charlie wasn’t about to tell her about his fear of squirrels. “Money hasn’t made me that soft.” She looked uncertain, but her doubt-filled expression also made him want to prove her wrong.

  Franny shook her finger. “But only for three weeks. I want you to succeed for your father. I do. I’ll help you as best I can. But I’ll only stay for three weeks.” She splayed her hands on the table. “I’ll leave right after Thanksgiving.”

  “More than fair.” Franny slid her hand over to his sleeve and grasped a tiny bit of the material between her fingers. The simple gesture became surprisingly intimate, or maybe he just wanted to take it that way. She really did resemble Audrey Hepburn. Only with soft gray eyes.

  “Because, you see,” Franny went on to say, “if I don’t leave now, I might not ever have the courage again. I have to know whether I can do something besides tend animals. I have to find this dream. Somewhere out there, it has my name w
ritten on it.”

  “I’ll learn fast. I promise. And then you’ll be on your way. I can already see myself milking all your cows.”

  “Well, that sounds good except that I have beef cattle, so milking could get pretty awkward.” She lit up. “But I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  “I really do want us both to have our dreams.” He leaned toward her. “I won’t hold you back, Franny Martin.” And God help the man who ever tries.

  Franny licked her lips. “Well, I’d like to visit more, but I haven’t finished the chores.”

  “I should help you.”

  “All right. I still have some of my father’s overalls and boots in the attic. They’ll probably fit you. You’ll need them. You wouldn’t want to ruin all your fine clothes.”

  “I’m ready.” Charlie scooted back his chair. “As they say in the city, ‘Let’s book it.’ ”

  * * * * *

  Many hours later, accompanied by screaming muscles, Charlie flopped down on the scruffy mattress in Franny’s makeshift apartment. The bed exhaled, making plumes of dirty smoke with a smell he couldn’t quite place. But then, he was content not to know its origin. What an apartment. Franny hadn’t exaggerated. At all. The three tiny rooms were rustic—so primitive, in fact, that he could see right through the floorboards offering a lovely view of the farm tools…which were more like instruments of torture than equipment.

  He felt keenly annoyed with himself. He’d been caught whimpering like a pup, at least in his thoughts. Had wealth indeed made him go soft?

  Charlie undid the hooks or fasteners or whatever they were that held up his overalls. The clothes were too big, but they would work. And he would do the job. He’d never been afraid of hard work, at least not the kind that required his brain. The only thing he truly was afraid of was failure. Oh, and squirrels. Ever since he’d been bitten by one of the varmints when he was six, he’d been afraid of the things. Charlie broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about the various ways those razor-sharp teeth could gnaw off his foot during the night.

  He crept over to the bathroom, flipped on the bare bulb, and looked at the holes and loose boards in the ceiling. Hmm. There was no running or scratching, but he shut the door anyway. Showers weren’t going to be a picnic. But then, one didn’t die of being dirty. Maybe he’d forgo showers for a while.