The Herald Angels Sing

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Of course I’m glad they found each other,” Pru said. “I love Trace, and we’re all a really good little family.”

  “But you’re feeling left out?” she guessed. “Are they in a…oh, what does Darcy call it when she wants to hide away with her handsome landlord?”

  “Love bubble,” Pru supplied with a laugh, grateful that Gramma wasn’t too old to use the many phrases she hears from the young people around her. “No, they don’t go into a love bubble at home. They’re really cool about that, which is probably why they haven’t had a chance to do what needs to be done to give me a baby sister or brother, if you catch my drift.”

  “Drift caught,” Gramma assured her. “But then what ails you, child?”

  “It’s not the marriage, it’s the wedding,” she repeated with more emphasis. “I’ve been excluded from it. Me. The person they call General Pru who is the most masterful list maker and task planner anyone would ever meet. They hired that stupid, overpriced, head-full-of-dumb ideas wedding planner.”

  Gramma inched back. “I had no idea you were feeling that way.”

  “So don’t tell my mom,” Pru said. “Please, whatever you do, don’t tell my mom.”

  “Don’t tell me what?”

  Pru whipped around at the sound of a familiar voice. “Mom!” It was only a glimpse, only a millisecond, but Pru saw the instant flash of hurt in her mother’s eyes.

  Oh man. How much of that had she heard?

  Chapter Two

  She hated the wedding planner?

  Every protective, nurturing, maternal instinct in Molly—and there were many—stood up, brushed off, and began to search for a way to fix this problem.

  “Were you listening?” Pru had a rare guilty look in her hazel eyes, and some color drained from her creamy skin, leaving one little blotch of red where a pimple plagued her. Molly even wanted to get rid of that. Anything to make her precious, sweet girl completely content.

  She hates the wedding planner? How could Molly not know that? Because Pru was dear and considerate and unlike every other teenager on earth. Yes, many moms said that about their kids, but in Pru’s case, it was true.

  “Of course I wasn’t listening,” Molly denied easily, because she hadn’t intentionally eavesdropped on the conversation. She’d merely taken off her boots in the kitchen and walked back here in silent, stocking feet and heard. “Now what can’t you tell me?”

  Of course she knew, but she wanted Pru to confide in her.

  Pru’s glance at Gramma would be surreptitious enough to miss…if Molly wasn’t completely and utterly in tune with this girl she’d given birth to and raised as a single mother.

  “Don’t you be worrying about anything, lass.” Gramma spread her aging hands wide over the table full of gifts. “Or lookin’ at your pressies.”

  Except everything on that table was a gift Molly had asked Gramma to wrap for her because of the meeting with Cassie. Molly barely glanced at them, her mind whirring for an answer to solve Pru’s problem.

  What was it her own mother had said a million times? You’re only as happy as your least-happy child. And this child, her only child, was not happy.

  “So how was the meeting with the wedding planner?” Pru asked with a forced cheerfulness that twisted Molly’s gut.

  The wedding planner…that Pru hated. Which was such a shame, because Cassie was an absolute doll with fantastic ideas. “Really good,” she said.

  Pru kept her fake smile in place as long as she could, then averted her eyes, making Molly swallow hard. And then she caught Gramma secretly giving Pru’s hand a squeeze of support. Oh God. That was Molly’s job. And so was wrapping these gifts. And being available to her daughter the day before Christmas Eve. Mom guilt crawled up her chest.

  Gramma cleared her throat and leaned closer, no doubt picking up every nuance of the dynamics in the room, as she always did. “What did your girl think of your plan to have the wedding party come down two by two instead of one at a time?”

  Molly clasped her hands together, remembering the idea. “Oh, wait until you hear what she came up with to make that even better.”

  Pru lifted some colorful paper and a package of Matchbox cars for Christian, slipping to her knees to start wrapping without even looking at Molly.

  “What is it?” Gramma asked, putting a hand on Pru’s shoulder as if she wanted to offer the same comfort that Molly did.

  “Well, I told her that all my brothers and my sister had fallen in love in the last year and a half, thanks to my dad. And a few amazing dogs,” she added on a laugh.

  “He still denies Darcy and Josh,” Pru said, giving Molly some measure of relief that at least she was still talking to her.

  “Well, you can’t deny the dogs,” Molly said. “And Cassie loved the idea of our attendants coming down the aisle as couples—”

  “My idea,” Pru muttered.

  Molly’s heart dropped. “Yes, it was.”

  “Along with Meatball being Trace’s best man-dog.”

  Molly sighed. “Yes, also your idea, Pru. In fact, when I told her these ideas of yours, she loved them all.” Okay…not exactly how the conversation had unfolded, but if it made Pru feel better, what difference did it make?

  “She did?”

  Encouraged, Molly dropped down on the chair next to her to tell them both the new plan. “She thinks the dogs should come in, too, right down the aisle between each groomsman and bridesmaid. So Andi and Liam will have Jag, and Shane and Chloe will have Ruby, Garrett and Jessie will have Lola, and so on.”

  Gramma gave a hoot. “And Darcy and Josh have two, and Aidan and Beck have Ruff, who is nine dogs in one.”

  Molly laughed. “Ruff will be fine, since he’s been training to be a therapy dog for Beck’s uncle. And, yes, Darcy and Josh will have Kookie and Stella. The church is cool with it, and since the reception is here, we can put them all in the kennels if things get out of control, but we do have a few dog trainers on hand, so…” She eyed Pru, who was even more industrious than usual in her wrapping job. “So, it’ll be fun,” she finished. “Don’t you think, Pru?”

  “Oh yeah. And Gramma and I will walk down the aisle alone? The only ‘couple’ without a dog?”

  Dang it. She hadn’t even thought about the maid and matron of honor.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Pru said before Molly could answer. “Like we’ve always said, I’ll need to snag Meatball during the ceremony. I mean, I have to have something to do as maid of honor.”

  Ouch.

  “You gave your mother that beautiful bridal shower,” Gramma Finnie reminded her gently. “’Tis the most important job you have, lass.”

  “But…” Pru pushed some of her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Yeah.” Her voice was soft, and it made Molly ache some more.

  What else could Pru do? And then she remembered one other little item Cassie had mentioned, but it had seemed unimportant at the time—a minor task that would essentially take care of itself while Molly was dressing.

  But maybe she could build it up a bit.

  “Well, there is one other kind of critical part of a wedding, and it is entirely up to the maid of honor to plan and execute.” Was that true? Well, it was now.

  Finally, Pru met her gaze with genuine interest. “There is?”

  “You, my sweet little maid of honor,” Molly said, tapping her daughter’s nose, “are in charge of the somethings.”

  “The what?”

  “The somethings,” Molly said. “Old, new, borrowed, and blue.”

  All that interest disappeared. “You have them all,” Pru said. “New dress, old Claddagh ring that belonged to Grannie Annie.” She pointed to the gold band Molly now wore on her left hand that would be turned after she married Trace. “You’re borrowing Chloe’s veil, and you’re wearing that snazzy blue thong we got at Victoria’s Secret.”

  “A thong on your wedding day?” Gramma tsked but added a sly smile. “And here I thought the garter was scandalous.”
/>   Molly laughed, but Pru shook her head.

  “I got all the somethings covered a long time ago, Mom. Just like I thought of the dogs. And the Christmas sleigh to take you to the church,” she added with a little uncharacteristic edge in her voice.

  “Pru.” Molly closed her eyes, ready to reprimand her for the tone, but forced herself to step into Pru’s shoes, which would be easy since they wore the same size now. She had to remember Pru wasn’t a little girl, and she was a big part of this wedding. The reason, really, it was happening. Had Pru not been conceived on a snowy night all those years ago, would she and Trace have ever reunited and fallen in love? Unlikely. So, she wanted Pru to dance and celebrate and be part of the event, not plan it.

  But this was Pru, and planning was her thing.

  “There is so much more to the somethings than merely grabbing certain items when you get dressed,” Molly said, hoping she could figure out what that much more might be.

  “There is?” Pru asked, glancing at Gramma Finnie. “Did you know that?”

  “Aye.” Gramma nodded, and the glimmer in her eye told Molly the older woman knew exactly what she was up to.

  “So much more,” Molly added.

  “Like what?” Pru asked.

  “Like…” Molly rooted around for something to make the somethings seem more important than a throwaway tradition. “They have to be…” Help me out here, Gramma.

  “A surprise,” Gramma interjected.

  “Oh, yes,” Molly agreed, sending a silent flash of gratitude with her eyes. “A surprise. To me, on the morning of the wedding. And only you can know what they are. Well, you and Gramma, since you’re both the ‘of honors’ in this one.”

  Pru frowned. “I don’t remember reading any of that in the wedding books I studied.”

  Oh. She’d studied wedding books. Of course she had. This was Prudence Kilcannon, industrious planner of all things.

  “The surprise part is an Irish tradition,” Gramma announced with so much certainty that Molly could have kissed her parchment-soft cheek. “You know what they say?”

  “No.” Pru wasn’t quite buying this.

  “Well, the saying goes…” Gramma took a slow, deep breath. “‘Shock the bride with old, new, borrowed, and blue…’” She hesitated enough for Molly to know this was no Irish proverb like the ones she trotted out for every occasion. This was a stone-cold ad lib with a brogue.

  “And?” Pru prodded, with enough doubt that it was obvious she suspected the same.

  “‘And she’ll be favored…with not one child but two.’”

  Whoa. Molly’s eyes widened. Maybe Gramma had gone too far in this assist. “Oh, I don’t think that’s what—”

  “Two?” Pru straightened like the four-star general they teased her about being. “Then this is the most important job of the whole event.” Her eyes glistened. “I do want a little sister, Mom.”

  “Pru, we can’t…we don’t…” How could she tell her that that little sibling was not happening, and not for lack of trying?

  “Mom, we all know you want another baby.” Pru reached out, her hand warm on Molly’s arm.

  Molly managed a shrug. “It’s not up to me. I’ll let the man upstairs figure that out.”

  But Gramma and Pru were beaming at each other now, like Gramma hadn’t just made up that silly poem on the spot.

  Didn’t she?

  Pru leaned back and rubbed her hands gleefully. “Oh, we have got to get to work on this and fast! Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and then it’s Christmas, and nothing is open the following week, and then it’s the wedding.”

  “Then what are we waitin’ for, lass? Let’s get to thinkin’ and doin’ the somethings.”

  Pru showed off a mouthful of braces, complete with red and green bands, and the smile shot right to Molly’s heart.

  “Oh, the somethings are going to blow your socks off, Mom.”

  “Or your thong, as the case may be,” Gramma deadpanned with a rise of her white brows.

  They burst into laughter that came right from their bellies. Oh yes. Molly was only as happy as her least-happy child, and the only one she had—for now, at least—looked very, very happy.

  “Mom, can I stay at Waterford tonight?” Pru asked.

  Molly’s laugh faded. “On Christmas Eve eve? We were going to have pizza night and help Trace wrap his Kilcannon presents.”

  “You and Trace have pizza night and wrap.” Pru leaned into her great-grandmother with that silent conspiratorial exchange Molly knew so well from these two. “I want to stay here so Gramma and I can get an early start tomorrow on the somethings.”

  “All right.” Plus, she wouldn’t mind the alone time at home in case there was some truth to Gramma’s fake poem. “But tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so—”

  “So we’ll all be in this house at five o’clock, like every other Christmas Eve,” Pru said. “Gramma will light the lantern for the window, and we’ll exchange some early gifts and then go to Midnight Mass. But what we do before that is our business.”

  “But—”

  “Mom, please? Can just this one thing for your wedding be all mine?”

  If that made her happy, even if it meant giving up the day tomorrow, then Molly would, of course, agree. When she nodded, Pru and Gramma shared another glance that Molly should have been able to interpret, but suspected it was another secret, silent message between great-grandmother and great-granddaughter.

  “I already have a plan,” Pru whispered.

  “You’re in charge,” Molly said, pushing up.

  “You have to promise to let us handle it completely,” Pru said. “And not to worry, ask questions, or poke around where you aren’t supposed to.”

  Molly crossed her heart. “I promise.” Leaning over, she gave each of them a kiss on their heads, quite satisfied that she’d averted a prewedding disaster and, most important, made her daughter happy again.

  Chapter Three

  “Can I make my mother and granddaughter a fire before I leave?” Grandpa poked his head into Gramma’s upstairs living area where Pru had set up Somethings Central after dinner that night. “And may I offer a friendly Irish setter to join you?”

  Without invitation, Rusty came trotting into the room, somehow avoiding the papers and notes Pru had spread on the floor.

  “My, don’t you cut a fine figure in your fancy clothes, lad?” Gramma slowed the rock of her chair as she looked her son up and down. He did look pretty dressed up in a pullover sweater and slacks he usually wore to church. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  He narrowed eyes exactly the same blue as his mother’s. “Finola Brennan Kilcannon. We had a deal that you were on my side in this ridiculous family campaign.”

  She laughed. “You sound like your father when you call me that.”

  “Then maybe you’ll listen to me and put that subject to bed.”

  “Well. You look dressed enough to put something to bed,” she muttered under her breath.

  Pru snorted at a comment that only Gramma Finnie could get away with, but Grandpa closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “I’m going to Bella Peterson’s Christmas party.”

  “Then you’ll be coming home covered in cat hair,” Pru said.

  “Or the cat lady’s long blonde hair,” Gramma added.

  He shot her a look, but then surveyed the room, and Pru looked up to study him. Her grandfather was, what, sixty? He certainly wasn’t decrepit, but he sure seemed way too old to date, in Pru’s eyes.

  But her aunts, uncles, and parents didn’t agree. All they ever did was try to set him up, either to make him happy—though he seemed pretty happy to Pru—or to return the favor for what he’d done for all of them.

  All along, Grandpa insisted he wasn’t ready to date anyone, and Pru understood that. Grannie Annie had died only four years ago, from a heart attack that no one ever dreamed could happen, ripping the soul right out of the Kilcannon clan. Yes, her memory was fading in Pru’s head, but it had t
o be strong for Grandpa.

  “A man comes up here and kindly offers to make his two favorite ladies a fire on a chilly December night, and he gets teased and tortured by his own mother.”

  Pru stroked Rusty’s soft red fur as the dog settled next to her, and Gramma resumed rocking with an apologetic smile. “We’ll take that fire, lad, with gratitude.”

  He nodded, satisfied, and made his way across the room with a quick glance at Pru’s notes and two tablets plus a laptop, all open to different sites about wedding traditions, Christmas nuptials, and creative somethings.

  “What are you two concocting now?” he asked as he picked up some logs from the basket next to the fireplace.

  “Oh, we’re just—”

  “It’s a surprise,” Pru interjected. “As many things at Christmas are, so don’t look too closely.”

  “I get it.” He made a show of covering the sides of his eyes while he knelt to kindle the fire. “I’m forever grateful I didn’t know last year’s big surprise, which turned out to be one of the best Christmases of my life.”

  Of all their lives, Pru thought, remembering the drama around little Jack Frost, the “missing” terrier. “Well, we don’t have anything quite that big and dramatic this year,” Pru said. “This Christmas is all about a wedding.”

  “Then why all the secrecy?” Grandpa asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

  “Just…because.”

  “Aye,” Gramma said. “Just because.” She knew why they were being secretive: If there was any need for Gramma and Pru to leave Waterford to get the perfect somethings, then Grandpa would offer to take them, and then Gramma Finnie wouldn’t get a chance to leave and drive and feel young and alive again.

  Her great-grandmother might think this whole thing was for Pru to get her wedding planning on, but there was another, equally important side bennie to this project, which was giving Gramma Finnie a purpose and fun.