“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it’s blue.”
She dropped the garland. “Maybe in New Zealand, beach tones suit expectations at Christmas, but this is Spruce Valley. People expect evergreens, and you’d better have a good explanation if you show up with fir or pine rather than spruce.”
Gabe shrugged. “I’d say you have a good explanation, wouldn’t you?”
“For myself, perhaps.”
“You did tell me the candles were blue.”
She twisted her lips. “Not because I want them to be.”
“Blue candles. Blue paper. Blue garland. I see a theme.”
“Not an attractive one.”
“It’s Christmas! It’ll be stunning.”
She couldn’t imagine it. A blue Christmas? Not a silvery, sparkly blue in someone’s living room, to suit personal taste, but for the entire town? Sliding to one side, she read the sides of several more boxes before shuffling farther to read the rest.
“They all say blue. Garland, wreaths, and bows. They all say blue.”
“Yes, I noticed.” Gabe tapped another box.
“Did Buford really think he was going to sell this much blue Christmas decor?”
“Maybe he didn’t know it was blue,” Gabe said. “He’s a man who’s keen on a good deal, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would, as a matter of fact.”
“He was offered a good price and believed he could turn a profit.”
“Even in blue.” Angela sighed.
Gabe rubbed his hands together. “I love a creative challenge.”
“I might, too, with a bit more notice.” And with a bit more notice, she could have been creative within the traditional bounds of Christmas observation in Spruce Valley.
“This is Wednesday morning, and we’ve only got until Friday evening.”
It was impossible. The whole mess was impossible. What was she thinking when she allowed herself to be optimistic? They could fold and flock a few paper lanterns, but it would take hours to string them up and down Main Street, not to mention the lights. Brian was sweet, but he was an eleven-year-old. Did he understand enough about electricity to be careful? Where did all the lights even get plugged in? How was it she’d never paid attention to that detail? She couldn’t be certain how many children would turn up to sing carols in the street, and for all she knew one of the horses could go lame.
“Can we open the rest?” Angela asked. “Just to make sure they’re not mislabeled?”
“Never hurts to be sure.” Gabe picked up the box cutter and began slicing.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
Eight boxes of blue Christmas decorations.
“This is not the tasteful pale snowy blue of your paper,” Angela said. It was the penetrating blue of a sports logo, as if a manufacturing plant had leftover paint and spilled it into the machinery churning out what should have been green—or at least silver or gold—Christmas items.
She could ask Gabe to look after Blitzen and she could still catch a flight to a beach. She could cancel the choir anthems for Christmas Eve and offer a tantalizing amount of money for one of her more than competent teenage piano students to play carols for the church services.
“It’ll be all right,” Gabe said softly. “I won’t leave you in the lurch.”
She blew out her breath. He was a guest in Spruce Valley. It wouldn’t be right to leave him in the lurch, either.
“I’m just having a hard time these days,” she said.
“I know.”
And he did. She knew that.
“At least it would give us quite a bit to work with,” she said.
“Now you’re talking.”
“I still have nothing for the old spruce at the end of Main Street. Even if I did, it would be more than a three-day project.”
“One thing at a time.”
Buford came whistling through the door. “Solves your problem, right?”
Angela caught Gabe’s eye. “We’re considering the options.”
“We both know you don’t have any others, don’t we?”
She sucked in her lips for a few seconds and said, “There is the small matter of the color.”
“Blue,” Buford said. “Original, I’d say.”
“Your diner is done in yellow and purple,” Angela said. “I’ve never noticed you to be partial to blue.”
Buford laughed. “I’m not partial to yellow or purple, either. Economics.”
“As I mentioned, many businesses make donations. We don’t operate with much of a cash budget.”
“You don’t expect me to take a loss, do you?” Buford put his hands in his pockets.
“Your accountant would say it would be a nice tax write-off,” Angela said. “End-of-year giving.”
“I give to the Methodist Church causes all through the year,” Buford said. “And the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts and the YMCA and refugees coming from war-torn parts of the world. I’m not heartless, but I try to be a good steward just as the Lord impresses upon all of us.”
“What did you have in mind, Buford?” She suspected his donations to Scouting were in exchange for popcorn and cookies.
“I got a very good price,” he said. “The supplier was eager not to have to store them and have them in inventory when their tax liability is assessed.”
“Mmm.” Angela was listening. “Surely you can still take a small percentage off.”
Buford shook his head. “No, but I’ll add on only the smallest percentage necessary to cover my own costs for transportation and storage.”
Angela looked around the back room wondering what storage expense he could have incurred since yesterday afternoon.
“Seems to me I’d be doing you a favor if I got these boxes out of your way,” she said. “I’ll get the dolly from the church and get them out of here before your lunch rush starts. You won’t have any more storage expense or inconvenience, and it would be more than fair for the committee to pay what you paid.”
Gabe folded in the flaps of the garland box. “She strikes a hard bargain, wouldn’t you say?”
Buford grunted. “I’ll go in the office and get the paperwork so you can see for yourself that I’m agreeing to your terms. But I’ll need the committee’s check before the week is out.”
CHAPTER 14
Gabe’s rental car was too small to be much help with the size of the boxes in Buford’s storage room, so it took three trips with Angela’s car for the two of them to transport the cartons to the church, where they lined them up against one wall in the hallway outside the sanctuary. Angela rummaged through a closet and found tablecloths she was certain no one would be looking for and draped them over the boxes. Eventually people would find out that everything was blue this year instead of evergreen with red velvet ribbons, but they didn’t have to know today, so she lettered several PLEASE Do NOT TOUCH signs and taped them in plain sight.
The racket from downstairs provided an incessant reminder of why Angela had agreed to eight cartons of blue Christmas decorations. Allen Bergstrom was following his doctor’s instructions to take it easy, but the rest of the property committee was hard at work. A construction disposal bin was positioned outside the downstairs wide double doors, and the committee, along with a couple of hired younger men, were hauling out load after load. From what Angela could see and overhear when she ventured halfway down the stairs, the unanimous decision seemed to be to discard everything in the storage room except a couple of ladders and a metal file cabinet. Whatever wasn’t ruined by the dampness was so long forgotten that there wasn’t any point in keeping it. They’d clear the room, fix the broken pipe, put fresh paint on the walls, and have the whole business put back together by New Year’s.
Angela watched as the carved carolers were dragged out and thudded into the bin.
One of the hired disposal workers cracked a joke about the thousands a
nd thousands of lights. Twenty-five thousand. Angela remembered now that Carole had given that estimate once.
She couldn’t watch anymore and turned to go back up the stairs.
Gabe was in the foyer with his stack of sturdy blue paper.
“I could fold the lanterns, if you point me to a space,” he said. “No point in going back to the B&B to do it when we’ll want them here, right?”
Angela nodded. “This does seem to be turning into command central.”
The meeting room made the most sense, and she led the way. The lighting was good, and the table’s polished surface would be safe for a delicate project.
“Want to try again?” Gabe said, spreading paper on the table like a deck of cards.
It was tempting.
“I’d better make some calls,” Angela said. In her coat pocket, she still had the folded sheet of paper Rowena had slid across this same table two days earlier with the names and numbers of men who had given at least preliminary consent to help set up A Christmas to Remember. It would all have to be done tomorrow and Friday, but at least it wouldn’t come down to Gabe, Brian, and her. At least some of these men had helped in the past. The tasks would be different this year, but they knew the general idea and between them they should be able to round up vehicles and equipment. Angela paced the hall as she worked her way down the list and wrangled more firm consent to help.
But not from everyone.
She tried not to begrudge people their reasons for bowing out.
Neither did she get the block of hours she was hoping for, but the voices of experience assured her that if they had the right ladders and enough of them—she made a note to call Ned Bergstrom—the crew would know what to do. Most of the nails and hooks they used stayed up year-round, a detail she’d never noticed but that would be easy enough to confirm.
Angela strode back to the meeting room and paused in the doorway, stunned at the progress Gabe had made with the lanterns. Several dozen already stood sentry on the table, lined up in precise rows showcasing their exact folds and tucks.
“Impressive,” she said. “Was I really gone so long?”
“Sit,” Gabe said. “I’ll show you again.”
“I don’t know. I won’t be good at it.”
“You might be.”
“I should run home and let Blitzen out. And feed him.”
“Just one.” Gabe slid a sheet of blue paper toward her.
Tentatively, she lifted it with two fingers.
“Here’s your first fold,” he said, showing her.
His technique was swift and certain. Hers was slow and clumsy. But he waited for her at each step, encouraging her to crease her folds and press the corners, and more quickly than she might have imagined she’d folded her first lantern.
“One more?” he said, his eyes twinkling.
She glanced at the wall clock. “One more.”
Angela still had to watch Gabe’s movements closely, but they produced another pair, and he added them to the lanterns marching across the table.
“See?” he said. “Don’t you feel better?”
She sucked in a breath and gave a laugh. “You know what? I do.” Her pulse had slowed, and her shoulders had lowered.
“Art does that to people,” Gabe said.
“Are you an artist—in your real life?”
“Art is something that happens in your soul.” He tipped his head at her. “You know that because of your music.”
“I teach piano lessons and direct a church choir.”
“Are you telling me you never let loose with Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor when no one is listening? With all the stops out?”
She laughed again. “Sometimes. When I’ve finished practicing the service music for the week.”
“This is what I’m talking about.”
She stood up. “I still have to go let Blitzen out and feed him.”
“I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Will you?”
“Of course. It’s choir practice night, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. You can make it?”
“If I’m going to sing on Sunday, I certainly ought to practice once.”
“Gabe, I can’t begin to express my thanks. You’ve been so much help. And not just everything you’re doing. Just having you here. It means everything.”
“You knew who I was right from the start, didn’t you?”
“I like to think I would have recognized you if I’d met you on the street,” Angela said. “Carole always kept photos on display, but it’s hard to be sure. When I heard there was a man named Gabe from New Zealand …”
She didn’t care if Gabe saw the tears in her eyes or heard the waver in her voice.
He reached for a box of tissues and handed it to her.
She blew into one. “Your great-aunt Carole would surely love to know that you came, that you somehow knew someone on the other side of the world needed you because she couldn’t be here, and you came.”
“Careful, or you might have to pass that box back to me,” Gabe said.
“What a pair we are.”
“We both loved her, and she loved the both of us,” Gabe said. “In my whole life, I’ve never had a Christmas morning without a phone call—or a Skype call these last few years—from Great-Aunt Carole. Being with you is the right thing.”
“Your whole life is almost as long as I knew her.”
“Then we shall carry on the tradition of knowing each other, and she’d be pleased as punch.”
Angela smiled through tears. “She would.”
Gabe waved her off. “Go feed the pooch. I imagine I’ll have these finished when you get back, and we’ll have time to grab something to eat.”
“Not at Buford’s.”
He grinned. “Somewhere with good meatballs.”
She spotted the blue tubs on her porch half a block away. Nora’s lights. Untangling them might take half the night, but she’d take all the lights she could get. From now on, she would be grateful for her neighbors.
Two and a half hours later, Angela once again unlocked the church building and flipped on lights, this time down the hall leading to the choir rehearsal room. Once they’d run through parts and sung through all the anthems both for Sunday morning and the candlelight Christmas Eve service in the evening, they would move to the sanctuary and practice everything one final time with the organ. This was the system she’d been using for years.
“Where shall I sit?” Gabe asked.
Angela pointed. “The tenors are there. You might want to sit on the end and leave plenty of space.”
“Ah, yes. People have their usual spots.”
“They get used to hearing each other a certain way. I find the harmonies work best if I don’t scramble it up too much.”
Angela handed Gabe a music folder and made a mental note that before Sunday she’d have to find a robe for him to wear. She had a hunch he was a more-than-competent sight reader, and most of the music was traditional enough to be familiar. As she spread her own music on the piano, other singers drifted in.
“Goodness, we have a visitor.”
Angela looked up.
“Hello, Kim. I think you’ve met Gabe around town the last few days.”
Gabe gave his best boyish grin. Angela stifled her smile as she watched Kim fumble to respond.
“Gabe is going to be in town through Christmas,” Angela said. “Isn’t that nice? He asked if he might sing with us. How could I turn down someone who wants to sing at Christmas?”
“Hmm.” Kim took her music folder from its slot and found her seat in the alto section.
The rows filled in. Nan found her seat in the soprano section yet angled her eyes at Gabe. Travis, from the paper goods store, gave Gabe a fist-bump greeting before sprawling in position to anchor the basses. Most weeks someone was missing. As starting time approached, Angela grew slightly anxious that Lea Sabatelli hadn’t appeared, but she reminded herself Lea had phoned h
er just the other day with questions about the music. She might be a few minutes late, but she was as mindful as ever about learning her part well.
Absently, Angela started picking out with one finger the tune to “Once in Royal David’s City,” trying to fill her mind with the full and beautiful sound of her favorite recording of the great processional hymn. Someday she hoped to have a choir robust enough to sing it the way it was meant to be sung, including a soaring descant. Once in royal David’s city stood a lowly cattle shed, she heard in her mind.
She hadn’t expected anyone to sing it tonight.
It was Gabe. “Where a mother laid her baby in a manger for his bed.”
Angela’s fingers found the four-part harmony under his voice.
“Mary was that mother mild, Jesus Christ, her little child.”
My, what a voice he has. He had stilled the room.
The door flung open again, and Lea rushed in.
“I’m so sorry! I never meant to be late.”
“It’s no problem,” Angela said, relieved. “We’re just getting started.”
“I was in the middle of making supper when I got the call.”
Several of the women gasped.
“The baby?” one of them said.
Lea nodded rapidly. “A month early! Who would have thought? Of course, babies do come early. You just never think it’s going to be your own grandchild who comes early.”
“She’s all right?” Kim asked.
“Perfect!” Lea said. “Mommy is, too. We’re all very excited. I’ve been on the phone and was able to change our flights. You’d think it would be impossible this close to Christmas, but we managed. Of course, we had to pay a premium, but it will be worth it to be there. Mick and I are both flying out first thing in the morning. I just wanted to let you all know the good news and drop off my music in case someone else needs it.”
“Congratulations, and safe travels.” Angela forced the syllables out. She could hardly begrudge Lea a grandmother’s joy. Yet there wasn’t another soprano like Lea in Spruce Valley. No one could carry the Christmas Eve music the way she could.
Lea hustled out as quickly as she had come in.
“We’d better get started,” Angela said. The morning anthem would be a piece they were also singing during the candlelight service. They might as well get to work.
Colors of Christmas Page 22
