Bluegrass Christmas

by Allie Pleiter

  “Cut the woman a little slack.”

  Gil grinned. “Sounds like you already did. Dinah told me you bought her a nice soothing beverage afterward in the bakery. Charmer, like I said.”

  “She was afraid to go back into her kitchen just yet. What was I supposed to do? Just leave her standing in the hallway? After all, Curly likes her.”

  “Just Curly?”

  “We’re not in the same place, Gil. She’s just barely getting her feet underneath her where her faith is concerned. I admit, she shows some spine, and…maybe under different circumstances…but not now.” She wasn’t Mac’s type, even with those eyes.

  “Circumstances change all the time. Maybe she’s just what you need.” Gil raised an eyebrow.

  “What I need,” Mac declared narrowing his eyes, “is for people to stop planning my life for me, thinking I need what everyone else thinks I need. God and I can tackle my own path just fine, so leave it, okay?”

  “Yeah,” uttered Gil, drawing out the word with a sarcastic flourish, “we’ll just leave it. For the moment.”

  “We’ll just leave it, period.”

  Stop it, Mary scolded herself as she felt her pace slowing. There was no reason to be afraid of opening her apartment door. Nice people were behind it. Nice people who’d asked her to a local party, to be friendly. “Why is it, Mary asked herself as she caught her scowling reflection in the hallway mirror, that “nice” is so hard for you to get used to? Very pleasant people live in Chicago. You just never seemed to meet any of them. Pausing for a second to apply a friendly smile to her face, Mary put her hand on the door handle. She was about to check through the peephole when she heard Emily’s voice call out “Mary, it’s us!”

  As if Emily suspected she had checked the peephole. Suddenly, instead of feeling like a smart, keep-yourself-safe city girl, Mary felt like a suspicious, overly cautious wimpy girl. It played in her head like an advertising slogan or a 1950s B-movie trailer: “She Came from Planet Mean.”

  These people have been nothing but wonderful to you. You should be thanking God every second for bringing you here. She squared her shoulders and tugged the heavy wooden door open.

  And saw a wall of pine needles.

  Two seconds later, that wall of needles tilted off to one side to reveal Emily Sorrent, dressed fit for a Christmas card in a fuzzy white beret, scarf and mittens. Beaming. “Surprise! I told you we’d get a tree in here! Up the stairs and everything.”

  The tree tilted farther to reveal a sadly resigned Gil and Mac, looking like they’d put up every inch of resistance they had to this little holiday stunt. Emily evidently was as stubborn as Dinah said. Mary didn’t think too many people in Middleburg got away with bossing Gil Sorrent and Mac MacCarthy around. Especially when it meant hauling a cumbersome Christmas tree up a narrow stairway.

  Mac blew a lock of hair out of his face and craned his neck around a branch. “Can we get this thing settled before the sap starts to run?”

  Gil angled the trunk he was holding in through the door while Mac wrestled the top through the arched doorway. “A five-foot tree would have done, Emily,” he noted, working to coax the tip under the lintel as pine needles showered everywhere.

  “This apartment has lovely high ceilings,” Emily defended, tugging off her mittens. “A shorter tree would have looked silly.”

  Gil set the trunk down onto the floor and straightened up with a groan. “A shorter tree would have weighed less, not that it mattered or anything.” His voice said it mattered a great deal, but there was still a hint of humor in his eyes as he looked at his wife.

  Mary was still standing there, holding the door open, probably holding her mouth open, as well. When Emily said she would fix her up with a tree, Mary didn’t think she really meant it. It was just a nice thought, a pleasant thing to say. They weren’t friends or anything; they’d barely met, and already Emily had given her the beautiful blue glass ornament. “I can’t remember the last time I had a tree,” Mary reminisced, wishing there wasn’t quite so much astonishment in her voice. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a tree of my own.”

  Emily looked genuinely shocked, which made sense. The woman probably started planning her Christmas decorations in July if the store’s holiday abundance was any indication.

  “That’s horrible. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you don’t have a stocking to hang over that lovely fireplace.”

  Mary started to say something, but Gil gave her a look and a barely perceptible head shake that silently warned, don’t get her started.

  “Oh, no,” Mary lied. “My mom sent my stocking from home just yesterday.” Note to self: get stocking from Mom ASAP.

  “Well,” said Mac, brushing the last of the pine needles off his jacket, “where do you want to put this thing?”

  How should I know? Mary was grateful for an on-the-spot brainstorm. “Emily, where do you think?”

  It took Emily about four seconds to decide that in the corner by the front windows was the best place for Mary’s first-ever tree. “That way people from the street can see your lights and decorations.”

  “Uh…sure,” Mary agreed. Second note to self: ask Janet to secretly deliver some lights, look up Christmas decorations for beginners on the Internet tomorrow morning. Where was this simple country life everyone kept talking about? Life in Middleburg kept getting more complicated by the minute.

  As the men maneuvered the tree into place, Mary stood beside Emily and whispered, “You didn’t tell me Mac was coming.” She didn’t like the evening’s sudden “double date” atmosphere.

  “Well, Gil couldn’t get the tree up here by himself, and I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Gil looked plenty big enough to bring the tree up on his own, and she wouldn’t have minded a three-foot tree if it would have gotten her out of this.

  Her reluctance must have shown, for Emily furrowed her brows and said, “Mac was going to be there anyway. We just asked him to make a detour to help us out. He’s in his own car and everything—he won’t even be riding with us to the high school.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. “I’m not fixing you up.” She looked back at the pair as they planted the trunk into the tree stand Emily had handed off to Gil. “Yet.” With a wink, she stepped toward the tree. “Gil, it’s not straight. About half a foot to the left.”

  Mary watched, dumbfounded yet she was moved, as Emily gave orders adjusting the tree this way and that. Someone had gone far out of their way to do something nice, completely unsolicited and certainly unexpected, for her. It did something to the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite keep under control. She was spending her first Christmas on her own, as a believer, in her new home, and it was starting to actually feel like a home. The sight of the bare tree looked glorious to her, even though she was sure it looked sadly incomplete to Emily. “It’s beautiful,” Mary claimed resolutely. “Really.” She shook Gil’s hand. “Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he countered gruffly. “Thank Madame Holiday over there. She’s got three up at the farm already, and she was threatening me with a fourth until she remembered you didn’t have one yet. I ought to be thanking you.”

  Mary felt a laugh bubble up inside her. “Enthusiastic, hmm?”

  “That don’t even begin to cover it.” He leaned in. “Just let her run it out, okay? If she comes back tomorrow with doodads and fake snow, just let her. I’d consider it a personal favor. The guys on the farm are pretty much at their limit.”

  “I’ll take one for the team,” Mary joked, liking how it felt. Based on what she’d heard about Sorrent’s burly farmhands, she could barely imagine them choking on cinnamon potpourri and tangling in miles of red velvet ribbon.

  “Much appreciated.” It was the first time she saw Gil Sorrent smile.

  “What are you two all whispering about?” Emily asked, returning from the kitchen with the ornament Mary had hung in the window. She’d come with one of those fancy ornament hoo
ks Mary had seen in her shop, which she now held out to Mary with great ceremony.

  “I was just giving her tree care instructions,” Gil informed. “When to water and all.”

  “Good idea,” Emily concurred. “Okay now, Mary, you do the honors.”

  The size of the lump in Mary’s throat was just plain insane as she selected a bough and hung the single blue ornament on the tree. It was the most ridiculous thing ever. She wasn’t about to let on to anyone that she’d just hung her one and only ornament on her first-ever Christmas tree. “Perfect,” Mary gulped out, trying to sound ordinary even though she felt foolish and exposed.

  Everyone took a second to admire the single ornament, even though it wasn’t much of an admirable display. Mary was reminded that nothing in the world smelled like a fresh Christmas tree. A dozen classic carols rang through her memory, and she thought she’d gobble up the first candy cane she could get her hands on. Would Dinah teach her to bake Christmas cookies? If not, there were sure to be plenty within easy reach with the bakery only steps away.

  “We should get going,” announced Mac, checking his watch. “You know how that place fills up.”

  Gil and Emily had offered to take Mary to the high school choral Christmas program. It sounded like one of those classic student music programs, where the freshman band struggled their way through various arrangements of holiday music, the choirs and soloists showed their young talent, and parents stood in crowds of camera flashes and video-cam tripods. Where she came from, those types of things were a relatives-only kind of affair, but here in Middleburg it seemed the whole town turned out. That may have had something to do with the “cookie walk” afterward—an event she’d never seen before but everyone seemed to find very ordinary. Hordes of people baked their best Christmas cookies, patrons paid $10 for a box to fill to the brim with whatever goodies caught their eye, and the profits bought things like band uniforms and new sheet music. With a degree in classical music, Mary found the whole thing very intriguing—even before frosting was involved. Did high school choirs still do the “Halleluiah Chorus” at the end of every Christmas concert?

  Well, she thought as she wound her scarf around her neck and took a last happy look at the new tree in her living room, there’s only one way to find out.

  Chapter Six

  Mary was just wedging a final almond snowball cookie into the corner of her box when she heard Mac’s voice over her shoulder. “Excellent use of space. You’ve done this before.”

  She laughed. Not a centimeter of cookie box had gone to waste, and she’d had fun plotting just how to get as many cookies as she could for her $10 box. When Sandy Burnside had mentioned most cookies froze quite well—supposedly explaining why she was holding no less than three full boxes—Mary seriously considered investing in a second box. A tug at her tight waistband, however, lent her the necessary restraint. “I did make the most of my box, didn’t I?”

  Mac’s box looked rather scientifically stuffed, as well. “Hey, it’s for a good cause.”

  Mary took a sip of her punch. “I don’t think my sweet tooth qualifies as a noble effort.”

  “Oh, no,” Mac replied, “we do our ethical sugar-bingeing very well here in Middleburg. Cookies for charity have a long and delicious history in this town. I could tell you stories that could put you off peanut butter forever.”

  Mary sat back on one hip, selecting half a candy-cane cookie from the platter of broken “freebies” that was at the center of the cookie tables. “I’m still getting used to lots of things about Middleburg.”

  They moved to the cash register while Gil and Emily were still stuffing the eight boxes it took to feed Homestretch Farm’s many mouths. “Look,” Mac explained, “I feel weird about the tree thing. That was sort of pushy. I thought we should have asked first, but, well, you know Emily. You looked a little taken aback about it. I feel bad.”

  “It was a surprise,” Mary admitted, “I guess I’m just not used to people going to trouble like that for me. I feel…I don’t know, indebted? I don’t even know if Christmas trees are expensive.”

  Mac looked at her. “You don’t have an ornament to your name, do you? No decorations, none of that stuff?”

  Mary actually felt her eyes shift side to side, as if she were letting a secret slip. “I could pull off a string of popcorn given an hour or two.” She suddenly remembered. “I’ve got six Christmas CDs—do they count?”

  “Emily’s gonna have a field day with you.” You should let her. She needs a place to put her imagination these days, and I’m pretty sure their living room can’t hold another nativity scene. You were smart to give her the role of Mary in the play.”

  “I don’t need to be Middleburg’s Christmas charity case.” She meant it as a joke, but it wasn’t that far from the truth. Even though everyone was treating her like some great answer to prayer, she felt like a fraud—like Middleburg hadn’t realized what they were getting in the bargain.

  Mac fished money out of his wallet as the Junior Class Glee Club tied up his purchases. “Don’t think of it that way. To put it in engineering terms, Emily’s like a great big pressure valve. All that holiday stuff builds up, and it needs somewhere safe to go. She got a jump start on it this year, and both the shop and the farm are all decked out. We still have weeks to go, and she needs a new target. The Christmas play and your empty apartment are just great targets. Gil’d probably thank you if you just let her run wild on your place.”

  “Actually,” commented Mary, pulling out her own money, “he already did. Said he’d consider it ‘a personal favor’ if I’d let her ‘snow all over me.’”

  Mac grinned. “You should. That way everyone wins. You get a winter wonderland, MCC gets your full attention on the drama and Gil gets one square inch without mistletoe all over it. Emily can get obsessive. I’d sic her on my own personal holiday dilemma if I could, but I don’t think it’s her style.”

  “Holiday dilemma? Your decorations not up to snuff?”

  “No, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that. Or maybe just expensive. The deal is, I’ll be the biggest Grinch in history if I don’t get my hands on one of those ridiculous blue bears for my nephew. Pressure’s on, and Uncle Mac had better come through.”

  “You mean a Bippo Bear?”

  Mac’s grin all but faded. “Man, what I wouldn’t do with five minutes alone with those idiots who do this to kids at Christmas. Deliberate shortages. A gazillion ads but no product. Setting little kids up for disappointment at Christmas. It ought to be a felony. I reckon this may end up costing me $500, and that’s wrong on so many levels.”

  “Advertising people are just doing their job. The people who make Bippo Bears need jobs, too. And the people who ship them and work in the stores that sell them. Christmas hasn’t gotten so out of whack just because of Bippo Bears. That’s not a fair thing to say.”

  “You know what’s not fair? Sitting watching some harmless cartoon with my nephew when the eleventh commercial with that mind-numbing Bippo Bear song comes on, and he knows it by heart. And he looks at me with those enormous blue eyes of his and says ‘Uncle Mac, I just gotta have a Bippo Bear for Christmas.’ And I already know that every store within a hundred miles of here is long out and can’t get more, but they’re still running that ad. He’s still singing that song. That’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t always fair.” It sounded like a tired retort—the kind of thing best left to T-shirts.

  “No one should have to learn that at five.” Somehow, he’d realized how worked up he’d gotten, and Mary could see him force calm back into his voice, pressing his shoulders down from where they’d gotten hunched up. “Twenty-five, maybe. Fifteen if girls are involved. But not five.”

  Mary couldn’t think of too many single men who’d get so worked up over a nephew’s Christmas list. Most of the men she’d known had Olympic medals in self-absorption, whose holiday or birthday present expeditions never went farther than the gift-card stand at the mall.
The thought of Mac hunting down a Bippo Bear in the darkest recesses of Internet commerce was an oddly compelling picture. He’d be genuinely mad if he failed. It showed in his eyes.

  Mac took a step back and wiped his hands down his face. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I didn’t need to blast you with my frustration. I just want Christmas to be about the baby Jesus for Robby, not about Bippo Bears.” He shifted his weight, making an effort to change topics. “On the other hand, I do have an issue that might actually be your problem.”

  Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that was. “My problem?”

  “Tell me Joseph doesn’t really have to wear a dress?”

  Mary had to laugh. “It’s a tunic. And while it’s technically not pants, I wouldn’t call it a dress, either. No knees involved whatsoever.”

  “I know Joseph was a carpenter, but you always see him holding a shepherd’s crook. I get to hold a big stick, right? I need something to keep up with Gil’s armor. And you’re giving the guy minions. That’s not safe.”

  “Gil comes with his own minions, though, so it was smart casting. And this isn’t about who carries the biggest stick.”

  “Honey,” drawled Mac, grinning and taking the twang in his accent up a few notches, “in this town it’s always about who carries the biggest stick. Y’all better figure that out right now.” He leaned in as they made their way back to where Gil and Emily were finishing up their purchases. “Howard doesn’t get a stick as narrator, but does he get one as God?”

  Mary laughed harder. “You really have brought this down to a highly personal level, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t answer, just stood there, smiling.

  “God gets a very big book, but no stick. The narrator has no props at all. I guess I’d better think long and hard before I decide which props you get. Wouldn’t want it going to your head or anything.”

  Gil came in on the last of the conversation. “Mac? Something going to his head? Can’t be done. This fella’s big head is already at capacity.” He adjusted the six boxes in his arms. “Matter of fact, I’ve been thinking if he becomes mayor, his head just might explode.”