Maybe what he said was true. The idea made her angry. “Just let them try to say you stole anything. I know a couple of very good lawyers, a handful of journalists, and two U. S. senators.”
“And you’d make a fuss for me?”
“Of course I would. I’d raise so much hell rock stars would be holding concerts on your behalf.”
This surprised a chuckle from him. “I believe you would.”
“Please.” She hesitated, then took his hand, the fingers thick and calloused, so different from Jimmy’s. “I want to make a nice Christmas for all of us,” she said. “You have everything in that truck we need.”
He gently withdrew from her grasp. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” She had to restrain herself from jumping up and down like a girl who’d just been granted her fondest wish.
“Just remember your thanks if they come to arrest me.” He stepped back and took his coat from a hook by the door. “Is that the only coat you have?”
She looked down at the fur. “I’m sorry. Does it offend your Buddhist sensibilities? I don’t believe in killing animals for fur either, but I inherited it. And it is warm.”
“I’m not offended—I just think you’re liable to get it dirty digging around inside the truck.”
“I’ll be careful. And I don’t have another coat.” She’d worn this one as often as possible since Mrs. Stanowski had passed it on to her, out of a sense of obligation, or maybe it was her way of saying I’m good enough to wear your coat, so why didn’t you think I was good enough for your son?
“You’re going to need something to carry all that stuff on,” Moe said.
“What do you suggest?”
“There’s a couple of sleds in the shed.”
The pair of children’s sleds were actually nailed to the wall on the back of the shed, the old-fashioned type with wooden platforms and metal runners. Mae’s sons must have used them when they were little. Did she even remember they were here anymore? Reuben wrenched them from the wall and dropped them in the snow. “They’re so rusty and beat up they’d be hard to ride on, but they’ll be okay for hauling groceries.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone sees us and asks what we’re up to.”
“Last night Elena said something about her and Ernesto taking the boys down to the lake this morning,” Reuben said as he led the way around the shed.
“That’s where Jimmy is, too. He said he was going to catch fish for our dinner, but I’m hoping to bring back something a lot better.”
“Then let’s go.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him, but she hung back.
“You’d better lead,” she said. “I’m not exactly sure where the truck is parked, or even how far away.”
“And yet you’re certain you can carry a load of groceries back here?”
“It can’t be that far,” she said. “And I’m determined to do this. I won’t give up.”
“And I guess I have to not give up with you.”
“Come on. You’ll be a hero.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever been one of those.” He set off through the snow, the empty sled bouncing along behind him.
Having made the trip to the cabins on the back of a snowmobile in a snowstorm, Barb had no idea how far they were from the highway, but she reasoned Mae’s business couldn’t be too remote. Still, the going was tougher than she’d expected, the unpacked snow rising past her knees, drifts making it difficult to gauge distance or landmarks. She clamped her mouth shut, determined not to utter so much as a squeak of complaint. Any hesitation on her part might make Reuben give up.
At least he was breaking trail for her, for which she was grateful. “What were you in prison for?” she asked when they were out of sight of the cabins.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Not anything violent, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t worried, just nosy.”
He faced forward once more. “I got popped for burglary. And drugs. I had a problem, but I’m straight now.”
“Is that why you turned Buddhist? Part of your rehab?” Wasn’t finding religion part of recovery for some people?
“Not exactly.” His breath came in puffs of white fog as they trudged up a small hill. “I’m not really Buddhist. I mean, I’ve done some reading and it seems like an okay religion, as religions go. I mainly tell folks that to get them off my back about the holidays.”
“What do you mean?”
He reached the top of the hill and waited for her. “You okay, or you want to rest a little?”
“I’m fine.” She panted, trying to catch her breath. She wanted to ask how much farther they had to go, but bit back the words. “Do you have something against Christmas?” she asked instead. “Bad memories or something?”
He set out walking once more and she hurried after him. If she let him get too far ahead she could end up lost in this world of white drifts and evergreen trees that all looked alike. “The reason I work on Christmas isn’t because I don’t believe in celebrating,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t have any family to celebrate with. They washed their hands of me when I went to prison.”
She heard no trace of self-pity in his words, but she ached for him just the same. “Have you talked to them since you got out?” she asked.
His shoulders hunched. “I called my sister once. She hung up on me. I don’t blame them. I stole from her and from my mother, too.”
“They might like the man you are now a lot more than the addict you were.”
“Maybe. But maybe they can’t forgive all the bad things I did.”
Was that true? She supposed it might be possible for Michael to do something so awful she couldn’t forgive him, but she was glad she couldn’t imagine what that might be. “Maybe they couldn’t forgive you right away,” she said. “But time might make that easier.”
“Better to stay away.”
No, not better, she thought. Not better for the mother and sisters who had to miss him more at this time of year than any other.
But maybe not. What did she know, considering the sheltered, spoiled life she led? Maybe forgiveness was easier when you had money and position and no real trouble in your life.
“You should try again. This year. I guarantee they think of you over the holidays, and they probably think of the good things more than the bad. Your calling might be the one gift they’ve really been wishing for, even if they can’t say it.”
He grunted, a noise of dismissal.
“You remember the story Mae told, about the man who came home to his sons at Christmas?”
“I figured that was her old man. So what was he—a soldier?”
“No. He came home from prison. Apparently, he embezzled some money and got caught.”
He turned, brown eyes searching her face. “No lie?”
“No lie. She lost everything she had. It all went to pay back the people he’d taken money from. She was angry and hurt—but when he showed up at Christmas, she realized her boys needed a father. And she realized she still loved him, in spite of everything.”
“Hmmph. I wouldn’t have guessed that one.”
“Your mother and sister still love you, even if they don’t like what you became. I think you owe it to them to try for a second chance.”
“You sure like bossing people around, don’t you?” But there was no heat in his words.
“I guess I do.” She smiled.
He turned away from her and started walking again. “I’ll think about it,” he said after a moment.
Maybe it was none of her business, but she was sure she was right about his family. Blood truly was thicker than water and if he had been her son—if Michael had been sent to prison for stealing and doing drugs—she would never have stopped loving him, even if she’d ended up so angry she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. That was the way mothers—good mothers, anyway—were wired.
They topped another rise and he raised his arm to point to their left. “We’re almost there.”
The truck was a boxy wall rising out of a snowbank, smaller mounds of snow behind it for Barb and Jimmy’s car and the Rodriguez’s pickup, the bed piled high with what she realized must be all of their possessions. All around them was a flat expanse of snow, sculpted into stiff waves by the wind. “I can’t even see the road,” she said, dismayed. “We’ll be here until next spring, waiting for it to melt.”
“You won’t have to wait for it to melt. Those big rotary plows the state uses will cut right through it. As soon as the danger of avalanches in the passes ahead is gone, the highway department will bring a crew through here and open the road in a manner of hours.”
“That would be the nicest Christmas present I could think of,” she said.
They trudged the rest of the way to the truck and kicked through drifts to reach the back of the trailer. Then they had to scrape aside the snow with their hands to free the door. “Don’t know why I didn’t think to bring a shovel,” Reuben grumbled.
“My hands are frozen.” Barb surveyed her soaked gloves, then stepped back from the now-cleared door. “But it doesn’t matter. Open up.”
He took a key from his pocket and fit it into locks on the double doors at the back of the trailer, then shoved one door open. The smells of citrus fruit, cinnamon, coffee and garlic descended on them in a cloud. Barb’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. “Boost me up,” she said. “Time to go shopping.”
“I’ll get in first and help you up.” Reuben hauled himself into the trailer, then shoved boxes aside to clear a space for them to stand. He leaned down and Barb grasped his hand. “Be careful,” he cautioned. “Watch for sharp edges and slippery spots.”
“I will,” she promised, and he helped her up beside him.
“What exactly do you want?” he asked.
She surveyed the stacks of boxes and crates. “We need a ham—that’ll be easier to cook than a turkey. Stuffing. Potatoes. Fruit. Pies would be good. Milk for the children, maybe?”
“Produce is up here. Meat’s toward the back. Canned goods on the left.”
They sorted through and moved aside boxes in search of the items on Barb’s list. She tilted her head sideways to read the stenciled labels on boxes and cartons. When she found something she wanted, she pointed it out and Reuben pulled the box down and set it in front of her. “What next?” he asked.
“I can’t take the whole carton. Open it.”
He hesitated, then pulled out a pocket knife, folded open a blade and slit the carton along the side. She pulled out a couple of packages of gravy mix and set them aside. “Now, how about that box up there labeled Green Beans.”
She plowed her way through oranges, eggnog and eggs. “This is better than a sale at Sack’s,” she said as she handed him a spiral-sliced ham wrapped in gold and red foil.
“Don’t forget, we have to carry all this stuff back,” he said. “Don’t get carried away.”
“It’s Christmas. Of course I’m getting carried away.”
But at last even she agreed she’d done all the damage she could. She had candy for the children, coffee and chocolate for the adults, and even some treats for Pearl. “Hand me that package of paper plates and I guess we’re done.”
He obliged, then hopped to the ground and turned to reach back for her. “I won’t let them fire you, I promise,” she said, while he still had hold of her.
“I guess if anyone can stop them, it’ll be you. You don’t take no for an answer.”
“No, I don’t.”
She tried to help him arrange her “purchases” on the sleds, but finally gave up. Her efforts were more of an impediment than a help. While he stacked and tied and muttered under his breath, she walked along what must have been the shoulder of the road and looked back toward the fishing camp. The tracks she and Reuben had made on their way to the truck showed clearly in the smooth snow, the choppy, crooked rambling of some ungainly creature.
For the first time, she noticed the small, faded sign hanging from a tree beyond the highway ditch. “Fishing Cabins” the sign advertised, with a painting of a group of log cabins beside a large trout hanging from a hook. An arrow pointed ahead. “You’d have to know the place was there to even find it,” she observed when Reuben dragged the sleds alongside her.
“I think Mae likes it that way.”
“I don’t see how she stands being along here all winter.”
“Not everybody enjoys a crowd,” he said. “Maybe she had enough of that before her husband stole that money. Being alone gives you time to think.”
“Think too much and you’ll go crazy,” she said.
“She’s not all alone. She has friends, like that Officer Kates. Not everyone is a social butterfly like you.”
“I guess not. All right. Let’s head back. I have a lot of work to do.” She took hold of the rope attached to her sled and tugged. The overloaded sleigh scarcely moved.
“You’re going to have to put some real muscle into it,” Reuben said. “Fortunately, most of our route is downhill.”
But first they had to get over the line of drifts beside the highway. Barb tugged and fought and swore. “Maybe we should leave it and I’ll come back,” Reuben said, without enthusiasm.
“No. I’m going to do this.” She grabbed the rope with both hands, dug in her heels, and hauled back with all her might.
The sled moved—an inch, then another. Barb huffed and puffed, plowing her way through the drift, afraid to stop moving for an instant. On the other side of the drift the ground sloped down, and the sled picked up speed. Soon Barb was running to stay ahead.
Reuben laughed and loped after her, his sled in tow.
Their return pace was faster. By the time they drew in sight of the cabins, Barb was soaked with sweat beneath her fur coat, and she could no longer feel her fingers and toes, but a sense of triumph warmed her from the inside out. She stopped on the edge of the woods beside the cabins.
“What do we do now?” Reuben asked, halting beside her.
“I want this to be a surprise, so I need to make sure no one sees us.”
“I’ll take care of that.” He dropped the rope for his sleigh and strode into the clearing. No one came out to greet him, or called to him from the other cabins. He looked back toward Barb and motioned that the coast was clear.
She hauled her sled toward the last cabin in line, the only unoccupied unit in this front grouping. Reuben retrieved his sled and followed. She stopped in front of the door to the cabin. “Can you open it?” she asked. “It’s locked and I don’t want to have to explain to Mae why I need the key.”
“If I say no you’re going to convince me to do it anyway, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “You catch on fast.”
He took hold of the doorknob, put his shoulder against the door and shoved. The lock popped and the door swung open. “Hurry, let’s get all this inside before someone sees,” she said.
He helped her unload the sleds, piling all the groceries on the two double beds in the cabin. “Thanks.” She turned up the dial on the thermostat by the door and peeled off her wet gloves. “You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”
“Oh, no. I’m in now. I’ll help you clean the place up.”
“If I was a more gracious person I’d insist that you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I really would appreciate your help.” Like the other cabins, this one had clearly been neglected since summer. Dust coated every surface, and the air was musty and stale.
“I know where Mae keeps the maid’s cart. What are you going to do once the place is clean?”
“I’m going to decorate. Then I’m going to cook.”
“You can cook?”
She made a face at him. “Not a lot, but heating a precooked ham isn’t hard, and even I can do stuffing from a box and gravy from a jar. It won’t be gourmet, but it will be better
than canned soup.”
“And when are you going to tell the others?”
“Tonight, when the children do the posadas thing. This will be the last house. They’ll come in and we’ll have a party. A real Christmas party.”
He shook his head. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“The first time I saw you, climbing out of that Lexus in your mink coat, I thought you’d be one of those women who look down their noses on everything and everybody who wasn’t up to your standards.”
“And I knew you thought that.” She laughed at his embarrassed look. “Women in mink coats get judged just as harshly as ex-cons sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes the judgments are justified.”
“And sometimes they aren’t.” He nodded. “You’re all right.”
“So are you.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on. We’d better get to cleaning. We have a lot to do before dark.”
Chapter Nine
If Barbie Sue Bowman had decided to wow the beauty contest judges with her decorating and party organizing talents all those years ago, she might have won that Miss Texas pageant after all, Barb thought as she put the finishing touches on the old cabin. The place was truly transformed. As soon as they’d finished the heavy cleaning, she’d banished Reuben, telling him to make sure Mae was part of the night’s Posadas procession, and that everyone should make cabin four their final stop.
She tacked up red paper tablecloths to hide the drab walls, and pushed the beds to one side and covered them with blankets and pillows to serve as makeshift sofas. She draped the scarred table with another holiday-themed cloth and piled oranges and apples in baskets and filled bowls with candy. Every saucer and shallow bowl in the cabinets had been pressed into service to hold a candle, and the aromas of pine, cinnamon, and vanilla drove out the scents of staleness and disuse. Paper plates decorated with poinsettias and plastic cutlery tied with red ribbon awaited the feast.
And what a feast it would be—ham and potatoes, green beans and broccoli and fruit salad. No one would mind that almost everything came from a box or can, and for dessert she would assemble a trifle of cubes of pound cake, canned peaches, pineapple and cherries, and whipped cream from a can. Coffee for the adults and milk for the children rounded out a meal they’d all never forget.
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