A Merry Little Christmas (Songs of the Season)

by Anita Higman

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  On Saturday, Charlie kept his promise by driving Franny into Lancaster for a treat at the Doo-Wop Malt Shop. When he parked in front of the shop in his Rolls-Royce and then helped her out of his car, there were more gawks from the customers than there were tunes inside the jukebox. I must be dreaming. Franny tried not to swoon too much over the attention, and for the most part, she thought she kept her grins to a minimum.

  Charlie had become less guarded about his family’s name, and so it wouldn’t be long before people were chin-wagging about “that Landau boy” trying to be a farmer. Oh well. There was no putting the brakes on the gossip once the locomotive had gotten revved up.

  The weather had warmed a bit, and the last of the melted snow had turned into glistening diamonds in the sunlight. Franny adjusted her wool dress and the matching bow in her hair. So nice not to wear overalls.

  Charlie pulled a nickel out of the pocket of his trousers, fed the parking meter, and then placed his hand at her back. Just as he was about to open the door for Franny, he pointed next door. “There’s a music store. Do you mind if we go in there first?”

  “Don’t mind at all.”

  Once inside Finnegan’s Music Store, an elderly man, who was Mr. Finnegan himself, came out from a back room. She remembered him from her youth. He’d aged over the years and wrinkled, but he wasn’t craggy, just seasoned.

  Organ music played over the speaker system. Too bad Mr. Finnegan didn’t modernize his store’s music a bit—he might get more customers.

  The older gentleman looked up from his work at an adding machine. “May I help you two?”

  “Oh, I’m just looking around, sir. But I like everything I’m looking at.” Charlie touched the strings on a guitar and murmured, “Mmm. Fender Stratocaster.”

  The older man’s face creased into a smile. “I think I know a kindred spirit when I see one. So, you play?”

  “Yes, the guitar and the piano. But not as well as I would like.”

  “Ahh, yes.” Mr. Finnegan took down the guitar that Charlie had been fingering and handed it to him. “That’s what I’ve said about my playing for the past fifty years. One thing I’ve learned is that true art can never achieve perfection. It’s impossible. Man is flawed, and therefore art is not without flaws…but that is also the beauty of it. The reason?” He raised his finger with a little shake of fervor. “Our defects help to draw attention to the One who is perfect, without failings or limitations.”

  Franny smiled at the older gentleman, absorbing his wisdom. She’d always remembered that about him—his wise sayings and kind face. Mr. Finnegan didn’t seem to recognize her, though, from all the times she’d frequented his shop as a kid. Perhaps his eyesight wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” Charlie handed the guitar back to the man. “And this is a beautiful instrument.”

  “That it is.”

  Charlie sat down on the piano bench but merely touched the keys.

  Franny walked past a display of trumpets and French horns and then fingered one of the acoustic guitars with wistful imaginings. Hmm. Someday…maybe…with Charlie’s help.

  The older man spoke up again. “I’ve been trying to retire for a few years, but nobody wants to take the business off my hands.”

  Charlie turned back toward the man. “Really?”

  “I have just enough students to keep the place running, and I haven’t had the heart to close it down. Not yet, anyway. Too many kids would suffer, since we’re the only place like it in the whole area. But I can’t hang on forever. I’m getting a little brittle around the edges. You know, as old as Methuselah. So I ask everyone who comes into the shop if they know of anyone who might be interested in it.”

  The skin prickled on Franny’s arm. She could feel it in the air—God was up to something wonderful. She waited and listened.

  “I see. Thanks for letting me know.” Charlie went quiet for a moment as he stared at the keys.

  “I’m offering a very reasonable price,” the older man singsonged. He went back to polishing the old wooden counter, but he seemed to have a twinkle in his eyes.

  Charlie looked across the store to Franny.

  She nodded at him. This is it. This was the music store Charlie had been dreaming of.

  He joined her on the other side of the store, away from Mr. Finnegan. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think God has been working on this for some time, putting this together for you. Charlie, you were meant to be here today to hear this.” Franny tugged on his sleeve, hoping and praying he wouldn’t walk away from such divine orchestration.

  “But how will we do both…run the farm and a music shop?”

  “I’m sure God has that worked out too. You just don’t know how yet. But if you continue to lease out the wheat acreage and cut back on the number of hogs and cattle you raise, you should be able to do both.”

  “Franny, you’re not using the word we, and it’s getting me a little worried. I have to know what you think about this.”

  “But it’s your farm, Charlie. And it will be your music shop. You shouldn’t allow me to have too much say in what you do. This is a big decision.” And I don’t know if your heart is as lost in love as mine.

  At the moment, technically speaking, Franny was still the hired help. Of course, the hired help was dating the boss, but with no real commitments. Charlie had made no declarations of love. Nor would she force any promises or announcements. It wouldn’t be right. Love would need to flow naturally from his lips or not at all. Perhaps if things didn’t work out between them, she could buy her farm back and Charlie could have his music shop. But that thought wasn’t easily managed. The idea of not sharing her life with Charlie seemed unbearable now.

  “Franny, look at me.” With his forefinger he raised her chin to meet his gaze. “That’s no longer the way I see things. Trust me.”

  He had a look in his eyes she couldn’t quite make out, but it made Franny’s heart beat a little faster.

  “So, please tell me, how do you feel about this shop? I want to know.”

  “Well, I’ve always loved it in here. I even love the way it smells. I used to come here as a kid and pretend I could be like the well-to-do children who got lessons and learned to play. But my parents couldn’t afford it, so I always went away dreaming.” She glanced around. “There’s a lot of potential here. If you advertised maybe you could build up the number of students. Hire more teachers. Maybe even offer a greater selection of instruments. It could be quite grand.” Franny got lost in the moment, realizing how the shop could be her delight too. God really had made their hearts big enough to love all sorts of things. But the biggest stumbling block hadn’t even been mentioned. Mr. Landau came to mind. “What about…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your father? With the way he feels about music, would he try to stop you?”

  Charlie’s smile faded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Charlie always knew the day might come when he’d be forced to step out of the spotlight—the one his father had focused so intensely on his life. “Well, if I bought this music store, my father wouldn’t be in the stands cheering for me. That is the one thing I’m certain of—but whether he’d try to stop me, I don’t know. Franny, perhaps it’s time to take my own course, make my own life. Even if it means going it alone, without my father’s approval. Or his financial help. I do have some money saved. I have to do what I think is right, and this feels right to me.”

  “So will farming still feel like the right thing too?”

  He wanted to brush her concerns away with a kiss, but words would have to do for the moment. “I don’t regret buying the farm. I doubt I’ll ever be a great farmer, but I am beginning to feel what you’ve been talking about, the way the land gets to you. And if I hadn’t come to buy your farm, I never would have met you.” He let his finger slide down her cheek and under her chin. “Both were a divine gift, and no m
an could be happier with them.”

  “I see.” She smiled, touching his hand.

  But the part he couldn’t tell Franny was how his father might react when he told him that he intended to marry her. Even though his father had been cordial to Franny at the dinner, there was no guarantee he would endorse their union. He sensed that the two new directions in his life might set off a clash that could escalate into an all-out war. One battle at a time. “I need to know…do I have your blessing to buy the shop?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Then I think we have something to say to Mr. Finnegan.” He offered her his arm, and she took it.

  Charlie led her to the front of the store, where Mr. Finnegan still buffed away at the same spot as he tried to sneak glances at them. He seemed to already know what they were going to say.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?” Mr. Finnegan chuckled. “I overheard you two talking. I hope you have some good news for me.”

  “We do.” After Charlie introduced himself and Franny, he said, “I am interested in buying your business, but of course we’ll have to negotiate the price and discuss the details.”

  “I assure you, you’ll find me a most reasonable man to deal with.” Mr. Finnegan shook Charlie’s hand.

  “I’m sure I will.” Charlie handed him his business card. “Here’s my information. My attorney will be in touch with you soon.”

  “Anytime at all would be fine. I’m always right here.” Mr. Finnegan patted his hands together like a small boy. “This is a very good day for me…for us all. You’re an answer to my prayers. Thank you.”

  “You’re an answer to mine as well, sir.” Charlie shook the man’s hand again, and the elderly gentleman put his soul into it, pumping his hand with gusto. What a good man. Too bad his father hadn’t ended up a bit more like Mr. Finnegan.

  “Merry Christmas.” The older man gave them a little salute.

  “Merry Christmas,” they called back and headed out the door.

  Charlie’s spirit had never felt so light. “I think we should celebrate this momentous decision.”

  “What better way than the Doo-Wop Malt Shop?” The pink-and-green neon sign blinked its welcome to them as Franny opened the door.

  This time Charlie walked through while Franny held the door for him. “Thank you, miss.” He bowed slightly.

  They got a few stares as they strolled through the door that way, which made them both laugh. Merriment was a new feeling for him, and he knew at once that it felt like a great way to live.

  Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a malt shop. He glanced around at the chrome barstools, the jukebox, and the milk shake machine behind the counter. Quaint and cozy—a good place to be with Franny.

  Once seated in the crescent booth at the front, Charlie ordered one white cow vanilla milk shake, and just as Franny suggested, he asked for two straws and chocolate sauce swirled on top.

  When the waitress brought their malt, they slid their straws into the foam and leaned forward to sip their drink. Their noses touched, and Franny laughed. “This is good. I haven’t taken the time to have one of these in about a year. Usually too busy with chores. And I’m happy about what we’re celebrating. I really am.”

  Charlie wondered what she was leading up to. “Do I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

  Franny went serious. “I promise I won’t bring it up again, and I don’t want you to think I’m not happy about the music shop. I’m thrilled. But please tell me one more time that I haven’t interfered too much with your life. Your father might see what we’re doing…you know, buying the music shop…as mutiny. I would hate to encourage you to do something that could drive a permanent wedge between you and your father. Family is such an important part of life, and I could never forgive myself if I caused a—”

  “Franny.” He took hold of her hands. “My father and I were struggling long before I met you, so please don’t worry that you’re causing a rift. But you have to understand that my father has made me jump through so many hoops over the years, I feel like an animal in Barnum & Bailey. I will continue to give my father respect. I feel God would want me to…but my father can no longer dictate my life.”

  “I understand.” Franny relaxed her hands in his. “I’m with you.”

  “That’s just where I’d hoped you’d be.” Charlie gave her hands a squeeze and then released her. He took another swig from the straw, and she did the same. His talk had become bold, but somewhere inside he hoped he wasn’t a prairie dog poised to run back into its burrow. It was hard to know how to be a man of integrity, and even harder to live it. When he’d had a few more minutes to think about the consequences of buying the shop, he realized there was a good chance his father would disinherit him. Where would his mettle be then—cowering in a hole? “So, you feel better then, about my father and our plans.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good.” Charlie took another sip of the malt and then slid out of the booth. “I think we need some music.” He headed to the jukebox. He found the song he’d hoped for, slid a coin into the slot, and walked back to Franny. Elvis began to sing “Blue Christmas.” It was a melancholy tune, but it brought back the memory of the day he’d first met her—when they’d slow-danced together. Now he would dance with her again as the woman he loved, and it would be unforgettable. He stretched out his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  Charlie led her to the little checkered dance floor next to the jukebox. She placed her palm against his, and he placed his hand on her waist. Then they disappeared into the music, barely noticing the other customers grinning and nodding in their direction. Together they swayed back and forth, and with each intoxicating beat of Elvis’s song, they were more deeply enveloped in a golden haze—just the two of them. Perhaps it was the sweet-sad lyrics or the unhurried and evocative style that worked its charm, but he doubted it. It was just being near Franny. That was all the magic he needed.

  Her cheek, oh-so-soft against his, and the rose scent of her hair was a wonderful overload on his senses. Charlie moved her a little closer to him, feeling mighty glad that he wouldn’t have to live the song’s lament and be without Franny for Christmas. “A moment ago, you asked me if you’d interfered with my life. You have. You’ve interfered with my life in the most wonderful and profound way.”

  “Oh? I have?”

  “Yes. You’ve made me fall in love with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Even though Franny rode back to the farm in Charlie’s Rolls, it felt more like hovering on a bank of clouds—the poufy, blissful kind that would never think of turning into a rainstorm. On the dance floor, when Charlie whispered his endearment, she had thought he’d said something else—maybe “dove” or “above.” Surely not “love.” But when she had him repeat the words to make certain there was no misunderstanding, she burst into tears. Charlie gave her his handkerchief, and in spite of her sobs she was certain it would be remembered as one of the most romantic moments of her life.

  When Charlie helped Franny out of his car she got a little drifty, gazing into his dark brown eyes. How many sighs could a girl endure before she passed out from hyperventilation? But she’d have to come down from her dreamy state soon, since they had a load of not-sodreamy chores to do before supper.

  As they walked toward the house together, Franny glanced toward the lane. A car drove up the road at an alarming speed. “I wonder who that is.” She shielded her eyes against the sun.

  “Do you know the car?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  They waited for a moment until the car pulled up into the yard and slowed to a stop in front of them.

  The vehicle, on closer inspection, looked to be an ancient green Chevy station wagon, and it looked like it had been through a mud bath, which made the driver barely visible through the windshield. Franny walked toward the car as a woman got out. “Noma, is that really you? I can’t believe i
t. What a wonderful surprise.”

  Noma chuckled as she pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’m mighty relieved that you’re so glad to see me.”

  “Well, of course I am.” Franny pulled the woman into a hug, and they stayed that way for a moment or two, rocking back and forth. Franny could feel the woman’s bones through her thin coat, and it made her heart ache for the older woman. “I was afraid I would never see you again. I’m so glad God thought otherwise.” When Franny released Noma she turned to Charlie. “You remember Noma from the diner.”

  “I’m glad you came,” Charlie said. “By the way, how did you find us out here? There aren’t any road signs.”

  “Well, I stopped and asked some people in town. They told me the way.” Noma glanced away for a moment.

  Franny touched her arm. “Did they treat you well in town?”

  “Well, when they saw me, they got a little absentminded about how to greet a woman, but other than that, they was just fine.” Noma looked at Charlie and then back at Franny but said no more.

  “What is it?” Franny asked.

  “I guess I do need to tell you something.” Noma licked her lips. “But I’ve just arrived, and I hate to burden you with my story. It’s not pleasant to hear.”

  “You can tell us anything,” Franny said. “I promise it’s all right.”

  “Whatever you have to say, Noma, it’s safe with us.” Charlie walked toward her car. “Maybe we could get you settled and then you could tell us about it.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Franny looked at him with a grateful smile. “And we could sit in the kitchen with some apple cider.”

  Noma hesitated, looking worried, and then seemed to yield to the idea. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “You’re welcome, but we haven’t done too much yet.” She grinned, which made Noma smile.

  Arm in arm, like old friends, they walked toward the house while Charlie brought in her one small bag. Perhaps he sensed that Noma needed the listening ear of a woman, because he disappeared outside.