Bluegrass Christmas

by Allie Pleiter

  Mary saw he was about to go, and she didn’t want to let him leave without asking one question. “Speaking of kin,” she added, catching him with her voice when he shifted his weight to rise, “Why don’t you think the potluck Christmas Eve supper is a good idea? I mean, no offense, but it’s not like you have a family to worry about or anything.” That came out all wrong. Of course Mac had family—she’d met his parents and he’d talked about siblings and nieces and nephews. But he didn’t have a family of his own. “That didn’t quite come out right. I’m sorry.”

  “No,” he admitted, “but I think I know what you mean.” He settled back into his seat. “And I suppose it’s a fair question, seeing as I don’t have a wife or children, you might reckon I’d spend Christmas Eve with my folks. The truth of the matter is that I have a very important Christmas Eve tradition. One I’m not thrilled to give up, if you don’t mind my saying.” He relaxed in his chair, crossing one long booted leg over the other in the manner of someone about to tell a story.

  “Five years ago my sister Nancy got real sick around Christmas time. Just after she had my nephew, Robby, to be exact. Anyways, we’d had plans for a big Christmas Eve thing, with the first grandbaby and all. Ma was pulling out all the stops. Except it came to a screeching halt when Nancy and the baby got sick and had to go back into the hospital. I’d come down with a bit of a cold, so I couldn’t go see her or Robby, but Ma and Pa and my other sisters spent every minute there. So, instead of a big celebration, I ended up spending Christmas Eve alone. By myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” she offered.

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “I mean, it started out as a first-class Mac pity party, with me feeling all sorry for myself. I did feel bad at the beginning—and plenty worried about my new little nephew and all. But that’s just it—that worry and feeling sorry forced me to turn to God. It turned out to be one of the most amazing nights of my life. I reckon I’d have never spent that night in front of my fire praying and reading my Bible like I did if things hadn’t been as bad as they were. I’d never have remembered what an amazing gift a baby can be. Up until that night, I’d been so busy, I’d forgotten all the real stuff behind Christmas. Not that I don’t love the noise and chaos of Christmas Day with my family. But I need both parts—what Ma calls my ‘Silent Night’ and the craziness of the next day.” He looked up and caught her eyes. His eyes were straightforward and transparent; they made it easy to believe what he was saying. “So now maybe you can see why I’m in no hurry to trade that in—even for Middleburg’s sake. They’re both part of Christmas for me.”

  It wasn’t what she was expecting. She thought she was about to be lectured about horning in on traditions or how everyone should get to celebrate in their own way—something less personal than this story. The thought of a man deliberately spending such a festive evening alone with God came as a shock of sorts. The men she’d known didn’t behave that way—they just didn’t run that deep.

  In the music and retail advertising circles she had traveled, work went full tilt right up until Christmas Eve. Which meant everyone who worked together spent Christmas Eve together as sort of a finish-line extravaganza. After concerts or the final stretch of retail ad campaigns, Mary had spent the last two Christmas Eves at parties that started at the office or the concert hall and went on through the night. Parties that mostly seemed about consumption—running through as much food, alcohol and money as possible. Mad dashes to find the holiday cheer that always seemed just out of reach, or the thing everyone else had. After all, Christmas concerts were just another workday for musicians. This past year had been particularly surreal; Thornton had gone through so much champagne that he’d tried to corner her in the coatroom of the restaurant where they were all having dinner. As a matter of fact, it had been the frantic excesses of that evening—and the emptiness of that following holiday morning—that had begun her journey back to the church. She’d been so disillusioned by the experience that on Christmas morning, she had wandered the city until she found a church service and stepped into a sanctuary for the first time since elementary school. It was one of the reasons another Christmas in the advertising business had become too much to bear.

  “Too many people spend Christmas Eve alone, Mac, and not because they want it that way.”

  “That’s probably true in a city like Chicago, but not so much here.”

  She couldn’t let that go. “Are you so sure?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Aside from the point about getting everyone together to celebrate the drama, don’t you think there ought to be a place where people can come if they don’t have somewhere else to go for Christmas Eve?” She made a point to keep the emotion out of her voice. Truth was, she suspected that without the potluck, she’d be spending Christmas Eve cleaning up after the drama so that the sanctuary was ready for Christmas morning services. Part of her knew that she’d probably get an invitation from someone in Middleburg, if not several, but another part of her worried she was too new to end up anywhere but amid boxes in the church basement.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, sure I think it’d be fine to invite people to get together if they need somewhere to go. But to make everyone?”

  “Oh, so you mean it should be some kind of last resort? A lonely hearts club for the poor souls with nowhere else to go?” He’d hit a nerve, making her feel inferior to him because she resisted a night alone during the holidays when he’d mastered his solitude.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “So the folks who need to get together, who haven’t achieved your level of spirituality, can band together to get each other through the holiday as long as they leave you alone?”

  Mac’s eyes darkened into the color of stormy seas. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I didn’t say anything like that. I’m trying to be nice.”

  “Nice? By making anyone without significant holiday plans feel shallow?

  “What’s up with you? I came here to explain myself, and you stomp all over me.”

  “You came here after eavesdropping on my music. Thanks for that, by the way. How long were you down there listening? ‘Both songs,’ you said, right?”

  He stood up fuming. “Now look here. I’m not stalking you. I was on my way to look for you when I heard you singing. I thought you sounded nice, but I didn’t realize what a crime it was to compliment you. And you’re way out of line on the Christmas Eve thing, if you ask me. If you want to know who’s passing judgments, it’s you, expecting me to ditch something important to me just because you’ve decided something else is more important to you. Turning Christmas Eve from a holiday into some kind of civic test I’ve got to pass or fail.” He stormed toward the door. “You haven’t lived in Middleburg long enough to know how much I don’t take to being backed into a corner, ma’am. I don’t. Not at all. I’ll do the play, and do it gladly. But you’ve got me at my limit, so don’t push me beyond it.” He added “Please,” almost as an afterthought before he ducked down the stairs.

  Mary heard his heavy footsteps stomp out of the choir loft and balled her fists. How had that conversation gone from complimentary to confrontational in so short a time? She heard the sanctuary doors bang shut and decided she was glad she couldn’t make out whatever it was that Mac was mumbling. She was sure it wasn’t “Merry Christmas.”

  What happened, Lord? He’d startled her, but that wasn’t grounds for jumping down his throat. He’d offered personal information, gone out of his way to explain himself. The uncomfortable truth was that he’d simply hit a nerve—the exact wrong nerve—and she’d overreacted. He couldn’t know how much personal meaning Christmas Eve held for her, or that his own personal connection with the night was at odds with hers. Oh, Lord, this is all wrong. Couldn’t we be dealing with Easter? Why’d You give me the idea to host a community Christmas Eve?

  Chapter Eight


  Dinah Rollings came up to Mary after the next rehearsal, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Nicely done. You handled those two well. Even the best horse trainers would have been breaking a sweat over Howard and Mac tonight.”

  Mary sighed, pushing the stress out of her shoulders with the breath. “They were prickly, weren’t they?”

  “Well, pricklier than usual.” She walked with Mary through the sanctuary as they began shutting off the banks of lights. “This mayor thing is turning out a whole lot more complicated than anyone thought it’d be. I give Mac credit, though, for doing it at all. Most of us wouldn’t have had the nerve.”

  “It’s my fault,” Mary conceded. “It’s asking a lot of him to spend Christmas Eve at the church.”

  Dinah stopped and turned to look at Mary. “You are not. You’re asking him to rethink ideas and take hold of a better one. I think the Christmas Eve thing is a fabulous idea—course, you already know that. But the way I see it, you’re not asking anything different than he’s asking of the town to think about voting him in as mayor.” She furrowed her brow for a moment, considering. “Come to think of it, that may be why it bugs him so much. Cuts a little too close to home.”

  “No one wants to get stressed out at Christmas.”

  “And no one wants to be alone—okay, maybe except for Mac, but we already know he’s odd. I mean, look at that bird. The guy needs a normal pet, don’t you think?”

  Mary laughed. “Well, that may have had something to do with it, too. I don’t think it’s done wonders for Mac’s stress level to have Curly belting out nonstop opera. And now…”

  “Culture’s good for guys.” She hesitated for a moment. “And what do you mean by ‘and now’?”

  Mary shut off the last of the lights. “He hasn’t told you?”

  “I haven’t talked to him much this week. Come on, what’s behind the ‘and now,’ Mary?”

  “Mac’s been playing the radio to try and find Curly something new to sing. Well, Curly found something, but even Mac’d consider it worse than the first.”

  “Curly’s got a new song, hm?”

  “The Chipmunks’ ‘Christmas Song.’” It really was hysterical when you thought about it. Every time Mary tried to imagine Curly’s screeching tenor rendering the squeaky, cheesy tune, she burst out laughing. If she didn’t think he’d find it so offensive, Mary would have asked for a command performance.

  Dinah’s eyes grew wide. “No. You’re kidding!”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Dinah erupted into giggles alongside Mary. “That’s rich. That’s just priceless. Oh, I think I’d pay to hear that. I might even pay to watch Mac listen to that.”

  “Don’t ask him. Please. It’d just make things worse.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. This is just so delicious. Curly. Singing chipmunks. I couldn’t make this stuff up. Oh, Mary, you just made my day. And don’t worry about Mac. He and Howard will get over themselves in time to get everyone on board for Christmas. And you’ve got me—and Janet, and Emily—on your side. That’s got to be worth three grumpy mayors at least.”

  They’d reached Mary’s office and she locked up for the night. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. You just stick to your guns.”

  Mary looked up from the box of props she was sorting when she heard the knock on the church storage room door. The last person Mary expected to see in the open doorway when she looked up was Howard Epson. “Hard at work, I see?” he said a little stiffly.

  “Lots to do,” she proclaimed, pushing the box back into its place on the shelves. “Nice to see you, Howard.”

  “Do you have a moment, Miss Thorpe?” he asked formally, officially. As if he’d prefer to have this conversation somewhere more conventional than a storage room.

  “Please, you can call me Mary. I was just on my way to the kitchen for some coffee. May I pour you a cup? We can talk in my office.” She still loved being able to say that phrase “in my office.” Freelancers and musicians just didn’t have offices. Most of her work got done on her kitchen table, in ad agency conference rooms and in rehearsal halls. It felt marvelously homey to have even the tiniest of offices.

  “That’d be fine.”

  They collected their coffees and settled into Mary’s small office. “Mary,” Howard spoke, setting his mug down on her desk carefully, “I’ve come to talk about the Christmas Eve potluck.” His manner had become, if possible, even more official. She wondered, at that moment, if she’d ever seen him laugh. Smile, yes, but she couldn’t recall hearing the big old man laugh.

  “I figured you had,” she offered, trying to sound as encouraging as possible. His formality was more than a bit intimidating. Did he know that and wield it, or was it just an unavoidable by-product of his take-charge personality?

  He adjusted the buttons on the cardigan sweater—standard grandfather issue to go along with his white hair, round build and silver glasses. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this.”

  “I’m glad,” she commented, remembering she’d asked both him and Mac to consider the idea carefully before rejecting it outright as they seemed ready to do. “Please, go ahead.”

  “I feel a certain obligation,” Howard began, folding his hands across his lap, “toward your success here. It was my idea to bring you on board because I felt this town was in grave danger of a deep division. One of the reasons we’re investing in this little drama is to help renew the town’s community spirit. I take this town’s best interests to heart every day. I take my mayoral calling very seriously.”

  That was obvious. “I’m sure you do. I think that says a lot about you, Howard. And a lot about Middleburg.”

  “So I’ve decided that a higher level of civil service is required. I’ve prayed about this, long and hard, and I’ve decided that if I’m serious about my commitment to town unity, if I started this by bringing you here and if you believe this potluck is going to achieve that goal…well then, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t sacrifice my family’s private celebrations for the greater good.”

  He pronounced the words as if she’d asked him to undertake a suicide mission. He looked down and folded his hands across his lap with grave resignation. Howard was so tremendously, deeply serious that she didn’t dare smile, even though she found his attitude a bit absurd. It was, after all, just a holiday potluck supper.

  But Howard—and half of Middleburg, for that matter—didn’t see it that simply.

  “Howard, I admire your willingness to give this a try.” She tried to make her voice as formal as Howard’s even though it felt foolish. “I think that’s very…civic of you. I appreciate it more than you know. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

  “It’s my prayer that you’re right, Miss Thorpe. The last thing this town needs is another reason to argue. Especially at Christmas.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” Mary didn’t know where the urge to call him sir came from, but he seemed to like it. “I’ll do my best to make good on the trust that you’ve given me.”

  His declaration made, Howard rose and took his coat from where he’d folded it across the back of his chair. “Middleburg is an astounding place, Miss Thorpe. A rare, wonderful place.” She could see that he meant every dramatic word. The man really loved his hometown.

  Mary extended her hand warmly. “I hope I come to love it as much as you do, Howard. I’m sure I will.”

  “See you at rehearsal.” He shook her hand with a public official’s firm grip. “I’ve all my lines memorized already, ahead of schedule.”

  As God/Narrator, Howard had no need to memorize his lines as he would “read” his part out of a giant prop Bible. She’d told him that, twice, but she swallowed her point and smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Good day.”

  It wasn’t until he’d left the room that Mary realized he’d never touched a drop of his coffee. What an odd, surprising fellow Howard Epson was.

  Mac hit Enter, thinking there was somethi
ng supremely wrong with the world when a grown man paid that much money for a blue singing teddy bear. He knew Bippo Bears were just the fad of the hour, and that if he went over to his sister’s house in January and asked Robby to show him his Bippo Bear, the boy might not even remember where he put it. Mac knew all this. He knew the evils of consumerism, he knew the craving was purely a profit-seeking game the toy retailers played every year. None of that stopped him from doing whatever it took to make Robby happy. Maybe it was that they’d come so close to losing him on his first Christmas. Mac could just never stomach the thought of disappointing that boy at the holidays. His role was indulgent Uncle Mac, and maybe that was best. Mac, you have no spine. You’d make a lousy parent.

  He shut down his computer and closed up the office for the day. After an errand or two, he’d settle down for a relaxing night memorizing the last of his lines for the play. Curly had fallen off his passion for chipmunk tunes, and things were feeling almost normal around his house. As a matter of fact, Ma had only harped on him once this week about his approaching thirtieth birthday.

  His birthday. Only weeks away now. It did bug him that he was turning thirty, but not in the way others seemed to think it did. He wasn’t having some sort of benchmark-year crisis, but he didn’t want to enter his fourth decade on earth just sliding into some bland expected path. He’d always felt wired differently than everyone else—as if doing things differently were part of his nature. And while other folks might think of that as odd, Mac thought of it as being equipped for God’s more unique tasks. He could take more heat, swim upstream, go against the grain and be creative better than anyone he knew. Someone like that just doesn’t do the “settle down with a spouse and kids and an Irish setter” lifestyle that his sister had done. He loved Robby, but always thought he was more suited for the adventurous bachelor uncle than any kind of stable homestead.