Christmas at Grey Sage

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  Kent swallowed another bite. “Do you share the recipe? I’d really like to be able to prepare this when I get back home to Chicago.”

  “Oh, I’d be most happy to share it.”

  “Even the secret ingredient?” Kent grinned at her and raised his eyebrows.

  Lita took one step back toward the kitchen. “We’ll have to see about that. I’ve never given that to anyone except my daughters.”

  Dinner continued, and when the last bite of pumpkin praline pie was eaten, Maude watched as Lily rose from her chair and left the room. She returned with Lita. “We just would like an opportunity to tell you how very much we enjoyed this meal and this setting, Lita. You cannot find this kind of food and hospitality in Chicago.” Everyone around the table applauded. “Since we’re so comfortable around the table with the fire burning over there, why don’t we just stay here for our show-and-tell? But before we get started with that, Laura, Reba, Emily, and Iris, will you help me clear the table? Let’s be gracious and give Lita a hand. Then perhaps we could have another cup of coffee while we visit.”

  The ladies cleared the table quickly and helped Lita stack the dishes. Within minutes they were back in their seats, and Lita and Maude served the after-dinner cup of dulce de leche coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled lightly with cinnamon. Lily relaxed back in her chair, holding the cup under her nose. “Lita, would you just adopt me and take care of me and make me coffee like this every evening?”

  Everyone except the Suttons laughed and held up their hands as though they wanted to be the next ones adopted.

  Maude watched. Lily’s playing Lita like a fine violin, and Lita’s resonating. No, she’s softening. Maybe Lily’s hair is out of danger.

  Lily turned to Silas. “Silas, this is your home and you’re the consummate host, so maybe you’d like to moderate our show-and-tell this evening.”

  Silas, always the gentleman even when he didn’t want to be, agreed to Lily’s request. “Please forgive me if I cannot recall your name.” He patted his thick, white, wavy hair. “The same thing that leeched the color out of this hair has leeched my brain cells, especially the ones having to do with names.” He paused and looked around the table. “Why don’t we begin with my lovely wife? I do remember her name, and I do know that it’s not possible for her to visit Canyon Road during Christmas without a purchase.” He wrinkled his brow. “Although, I’m not certain I saw her come home with anything.”

  I wish I had purchased the red glass bowl that caught my eye in that second gallery. It would have been a return to our tradition. But maybe we don’t need to turn back.

  Maude sat up straight in her chair. “Oh, you know me well, dearest, and I did make a purchase. Unfortunately, they didn’t come home with me.”

  Silas chuckled. “See, I told you, and I think ‘they’ means more than one.”

  “Actually, they were sold as a pair—a pair of very old, heavy wooden shutters from one of the old adobe homes torn down to make room for a new restaurant downtown. And I plan to hang one on each side of those giant double doors out front.” Maude looked to her right where Lily was seated. “Now the reason I made this purchase is that I was drawn to them and couldn’t bear to leave them sitting out in the cold courtyard. The panels are worn with age and the patina on the wood is shiny and dark, and I know they will accent the front door.” Maude paused. “And from now on, they will be a remembrance that this Unlikely Christmas Party came through our doors during the Christmas of 2005.”

  Reba dabbed her eyes with her monogrammed linen handkerchief. “That’s quite lovely, Maude. We must return to see them.”

  Silas continued. “And ma’am, since you spoke up, why don’t you tell us what your newest treasure is?”

  Reba carefully moved the small, deep-purple bag from her lap to the table. She reached inside for the box it contained and opened it. “This caught my eye, and like you, Maude, I couldn’t leave Canyon Road without it. This delicate ring, a turquoise dragonfly set in sterling silver, was made by a local Hopi Indian. The shopkeeper told me the dragonfly is a Hopi symbol of resurrection, of life again after hardship.”

  Reba dabbed her eyes again, and her chin quivered slightly. “As a therapist, I know what to do after losing my husband. However, making myself do it has been quite another issue. But I’m beginning to, and I’m beginning to realize that I truly have no other option except to move forward. My choice is to learn to do life differently.” Reba paused and wiped her eyes again. “I will remember this Christmas season, the first without my Charles, and how I spent it with new and old friends and my daughter Emily in such a mystical and beautiful place.” Reba put the ring on her finger, held it out in front of herself to admire it, and smiled.

  Silas allowed the silence to linger before he spoke. “And Emily, did you purchase something as meaningful and beautiful as your mother did?”

  Emily’s cheeks reddened. “Unfortunately, my sensitive, deep-thinking mother gave birth to a very practical daughter.” She stood up and bent over to pull a rather large box from underneath her chair, opening the lid to remove the contents. She held up a mailbox painted teal blue and drenched in hand-painted sunflowers. “I bought this because it made me smile when I first saw it and because I hope it will make my mailman and passersby smile too. Don’t you just love it?”

  She held it up, but as she turned it for everyone to see, she almost dropped it. Kent reacted instantly and was out of his chair to assist her before the mailbox could hit the table and crash the coffee cups. When they were both balanced, his arm at her back, she looked up at him. “Thank you, Kent. I’m so sorry. I fear that I’m almost as clumsy as I am practical.”

  Kent took his seat, and Emily looked around the table. “I’ll especially remember this afternoon on Canyon Road when I receive correspondence from you, my new friends.” She returned the mailbox to its box and sat down with it in her lap, clutching it. Then, almost shyly, she said, “And besides, I needed a new mailbox.”

  The guests laughed. Silas continued. “Let’s see. I do remember you, Greg, and your lovely wife, Iris. Did you buy jewelry for your bride?”

  Greg looked at Iris. “Hardly.” He carefully pulled a foot-tall tin sculpture of a prickly pear cactus from his bag, not so much because it was fragile, but because the piece could inflict pain if handled without caution. The tin was painted cactus green and dotted with yellow curled-tin cactus blossoms.

  “I bought this for my desk. I think it will remind me that we are resilient. Ponder it: a cactus can practically grow out of rock and can survive with the least bit of water, and yet, even with its prickly spines, it is still a thing of beauty. I also learned today that the prickly pear cactus provides nourishment. Its pads and flower blossoms can be eaten. But—” He lowered his head and looked over his reading glasses with a grin. “—I’d suggest preparing them with great care first. I’m told the spines are very sharp. And these fine, almost hairlike spines they call glochids are difficult to see but cause so much pain. They’re hard to remove. Sort of like us, I suppose. I know I get prickly, and I can inflict pain without meaning to. And often it’s hardest to see spines that inflict the most pain on others.”

  He caught himself. “There I go, preaching again. Oh, but then comes the sweet part. Jelly can be made from the prickly pears themselves. Such unexpected sweetness. I think this sculpture will be the source of a few sermons for me.” He paused and cleared his throat. “As I have gotten to know my fellow travelers on this trip, I realize that we all chose this journey because we’ve been pricked. We have experienced some pain and just needed a different kind of Christmas this year. This little tin beauty will remind me that even during our struggles, we can survive, and perhaps we can help nourish someone else’s soul in the process.”

  Lily piped up. “I really like that, Greg. That’s what art should do: make us think and feel beyond what we’re seeing.”

  Greg nodded and turned to his wife. “Iris is practical like you, Emily. She bou
ght a small wreath of red peppers to hang in our kitchen back home, but then . . . Show them, Iris.”

  Iris slid something flat and apparently fragile from her bag and held it up—a piece of stained glass about a foot square. “Yes, I must admit vanity got the best of me today. When I saw this iris hanging in the window with its many shades of purple, it just had my name on it.”

  The guests laughed, and Maude responded, “Well, I guess it literally did. How lovely, just like you, Iris.”

  Kent stood up and adjusted his sling, but had no package. “I know exactly where Mom will put that—in her sunny kitchen window. I suppose I’m the last of the Martins, so I’ll take my turn.” He turned to Reba. “Mrs. Parker, I seem to have fallen into the same trap as you when it comes to Hopi Indian jewelry. So I bought this belt buckle.”

  He reached down and adjusted the belt buckle to reflect the light. “It might have even been the same shopkeeper who told me this design is called ‘Man in the Maze.’ I’m not sure if you can see it, but it’s there—a circular maze of seven paths representing the journey of life and symbolizing the journey is not always easy. Seems that’s nothing new to any of us, as my dad said. Anyway, it reminds me of my journey, which has taken me to some hard places—places I didn’t expect, like the war in Iraq and now my recovery.” He nodded at his dad. “I’m learning that the journey is not always about the destination, but sometimes it’s about the surprises along the way, just like being with all of you.” He looked down at Emily beside him, smiled, and took his seat.

  Maude recognized that smile and the pat on his arm that Emily gave him. “Kent, you are so wise, young man. You must be such a joy to your parents.”

  Kent’s face relaxed. “I hope to be, ma’am.”

  Silas turned to the colonel. “Well, Henry, what about you and Beatrice?”

  “Now, Dr. Thornhill, what does an old fellow like me need with anything? My kids’ll just have to dispose of it before long.” Henry slid a small object from a burlap bag tied with red-checkered ribbon. “But I did like this little wooden angel. Quite a lot actually—especially her face. Reminded me of my sweet daughter when she was small. And it’ll be a reminder that God has sent his angels to protect me on three continents. And I must tell you I’ve kept them quite busy. I can just imagine they’d like a rest after ninety-two years of hovering around me.” Before anyone could respond, he nudged Beatrice. “Show them what you bought, Bea. They’re going to love it.”

  Beatrice removed a glass paperweight from a velvet bag. “Look, it’s exquisite, and I met the artist, who told me all about how she made this. These tiny glass ballerinas are each hand-blown separately, and then she melts them into the glass she’s blowing. She said the figures expand as she blows the glass, sort of like blowing up a balloon with writing on it. A crystal ball filled with ballerinas—most appropriate, don’t you think? Would you like to see it up close?” She passed the paperweight to Iris, and it went around the table.

  Silas waited until it reached him. “You’re so right, Beatrice, it is most appropriate.” He faced the Suttons, and Maude was surprised to find that he remembered their names. “I believe that leaves you, Ted. What did you and Laura purchase today?”

  Ted went to the window and stood next to his acquisition. “Well, we’ve collected art from all over the world, but we have nothing like this piece of kinetic art, and we think it would be quite catching in our moss garden next to the creek. It’s made of tin and is a wind sculpture, always moving and reflecting the light, sort of like a whirligig—like you said, Beatrice.” He gave the structure a twirl, and it reflected the firelight, casting colorful rays around the room. “Should be tall enough we can see it from the back deck and our bedroom window. And we’re driving all the way, so we didn’t have to ship it. Would you like to say anything about it, Laura?”

  Laura shook her head in silence.

  Ted and Laura aren’t really a part of the group, Maude noted. They’re just travelers along for the ride. He made no reference to what he would remember about the afternoon or being with this Christmas Party. Maybe they have an ache around Christmastime, like I do. At least I have storybook Christmases to remember.

  Maude spoke up. “You’ll enjoy that, Ted.”

  Silas looked at Lily. “Okay, Lil, what unusual, indescribable work of art did you find this trip?”

  Lily rose. “Okay, people, close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.” She reached under the table, rummaged as they listened, and thirty seconds later, told them to look. Everyone expected some exquisite work of art, but what they saw was Lily, arms akimbo, dressed in a black, shaggy, furry vest that reached her knees. After the oohs and aahs had faded, Lily announced, “This is Mongolian lamb fur—dyed black, of course. It’s extravagant, but it’s warm. And every time I wear it, I’ll remember how cold I was walking down Canyon Road on Tuesday afternoon, December 20, 2005.” She assumed a model’s gait and sleekly strutted around the table.

  Silas chuckled. “Why, Lily, you look like the long-haired, dwarf Nigerian goat we had once. Of course, she didn’t have red hair.”

  Everyone laughed. Even Laura Sutton managed a grin.

  Lily pulled the vest up around her neck with both her hands. “Laugh if you like, but you’ll be seeing this for the rest of the trip, and don’t bother asking to borrow it.”

  Maude rose at the end of the table. “Where in all the world could we have purchased such a diversity of creative gifts except on Canyon Road? It seems we’ve all bought ourselves a unique treasure for Christmas.”

  “Yes, we did,” Beatrice retorted. “And I bought several other gifts, and I can’t even put them under a Christmas tree because there’s not one to be found in this place.”

  Henry patted her hand and whispered something to her.

  Beatrice looked up. “Carl says it’s fine because we’ll have Christmas trees in Colorado.”

  Lily rolled her eyes and made a face at Maude. Then she turned to Laura. “Laura, what would you think about playing the piano for us this evening? Maybe some Debussy or some Christmas carols? Or a song about a whirligig? We don’t care.”

  Laura, never changing expressions, glanced at her husband and then to Lily. “I think not, Lily. I’m rather exhausted, and if you’d all excuse me, I’d really prefer to retire to my room.”

  Lily attempted to recover from the awkwardness. “Of course. Maybe we should follow you. After all, we have a long and exciting day planned for tomorrow.”

  Everyone agreed.

  Lily stood. “Breakfast at eight o’clock, people, and don’t make me use the whistle. Good night and pleasant dreaming.”

  Maude and Silas headed to the kitchen with the last of the coffee cups. Lita and Alo had gone home and left the last of the dishes for them. It only took a few minutes to have the kitchen just like Lita liked it when she arrived to prepare breakfast. Silas checked the fireplace in the kitchen while Maude put away the last of the cups and saucers.

  “I’m done. Let’s go to bed.” Maude knew Silas would have the fire ready to start in their bedroom.

  When they passed through the gathering room to turn out the lights, they saw that Kent and Emily had become quite comfortable in the wing chairs flanking the fireplace. The embers were only slightly glowing, but enough to light Emily’s peachy cheeks.

  Maude said good night and walked arm in arm with Silas down the hallway to their bedroom. “Isn’t young love something, Silas?” she whispered.

  “I’d say so.”

  “I mean, look at those two. They have most of their lives ahead of them, and they look at each other like there’s no one else in the room.”

  “Yes, Maude, but they just met a few days ago.”

  “So what does that mean? I met you when I was ten, but I knew. And here we are sixty years later. And besides, don’t you think Grey Sage is a perfect place for a young couple to fall in love? Especially at Christmas?”

  “I’d say so, Maude.”

  Wedn
esday, December 21

  Sunrays usually streamed through the kitchen windows by this time during the winter, but not so this morning. Maude had designed the house for the light. The kitchen faced east for sunrises and that slanting light of early morning, and her studio faced northeast, washing the room with the indirect light that she preferred for painting. But there was not much light of any kind from any direction this morning. Skies were still thick gray, and the pine limbs were lightly dusted with fresh snow. The wind was curiously still. Grey Sage was quiet at seven o’clock, except in the kitchen.

  Silas filled the coffee urn with Guatemalan coffee and distilled water. Alo was loading up the fireplaces in the dining room and gathering room. By their nature, adobe structures were cool in the summer and warm in the winter, but nothing warmed them as quickly as a crackling fire.

  Lita took the last sausage patty out of the iron skillet and began to gather the ingredients for blue-corn piñon pancakes while Maude measured steel-cut oats to be cooked in apple juice for those who liked a lighter fare. The zucchini bread with pumpkin seeds Lita had made yesterday was ready for her to slice and butter for toast. “Are you planning to surprise the preacher with your homemade prickly-pear syrup for his pancakes this morning?”

  Lita snorted. “Not unless we raise the nightly fee at least five dollars per guest. Prickly-pear syrup doesn’t go easily into a jar. You do remember Silas removing those hairy spines from the palms of my hands last summer, don’t you?”

  “I do, but surely after all Greg said about his cactus last night, you’d be generous enough to allow him at least one spoonful to taste.”

  “We only have a couple of good jars left unless you count the batch of jelly I made that never set up.” Lita poured buttermilk into a bowl. “But it is Christmas, and if I must, I’ll put a small—no, I mean a very small—pitcher of syrup next to his plate. We’ll see how generous he is and if he practices what he preaches. And then for the others, I’ll have the maple syrup from the pantry.”