Christmas at Grey Sage

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  In the hallway, though, she stopped to take a breath. Everything was moving so quickly. Yes, it was mainly because of her own plans, which she felt were right and true. But still . . . Some small part of herself questioned her decision to have Christmas again at Grey Sage.

  For a moment, Maude relived those first few days of shock, disbelief, and agony following Elan’s death. That season had been beyond anything they’d ever experienced before—or ever would. From the moment Silas had climbed down to the rock-filled crevice and cradled Elan’s lifeless body, examined every limb, looked desperately for a pulse . . . the world had changed. Elan’s death became the hinge upon which time hung. On one side was the time they’d had with him, and on the other side was the time in which they had him no more. The house was cold and silent on that other side. But slowly, they’d learned how to do life without him. And in time, their faith, though shaken to its roots, sprouted again.

  But Christmas was never the same.

  Maude walked down the east hall with coffee in hand and jangled keys to find the one for the storage room. She stopped before opening the door and placed her palm against it.

  I locked away Christmas in this room after Elan died. If it weren’t for our Unlikely Christmas Party, I’m not certain I’d be standing here. She took a shaky but fortifying breath. But . . . it’s time, she told herself.

  Inserting the key into the lock, she slowly turned it, then opened the door and walked in before she could change her mind. Her eyes perused the shelves and boxes like she was searching for Christmas again—her memories cloaking and squeezing her.

  It’s quieter than a tomb in here. And all the boxes . . . These boxes are covered in dust. Guess that’s what happens when things are locked away untouched for more than twenty years.

  She chose one box, dusted off the lid, and placed it on the floor. After a moment of staring at it, she knelt to open it. She was sorting through the tree ornaments it contained when Silas walked in. He too paused to take a look around the room, his eyes falling on the visual reminders of Christmases past.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “Lita said I’d find you here. Need any help?”

  Maude got up off her knees and hugged him, hoping he wasn’t feeling the same pain she harbored. She tried to lighten the moment. “So, Scrooge is gone, and my sweet Silas has returned?”

  “Well, just the sound of that word Scroogey made me realize the folly of my ways. And look—” He motioned as Alo came through the door. “Alo’s here with me, and we’re waiting for our morning’s orders.”

  Knowing Silas processed things best when busy with hands-on work, Maude pointed out the boxes and bins that needed to be carried to the gathering room. “And I’m looking for two Christmas tree stands,” she instructed. “They’re around here somewhere. Once we find them and haul these boxes into the gathering room, you gentleman will need to find us two Christmas trees and cut some fresh pine for the garlands.”

  Silas reached for a box on the shelf above Maude’s head. “Here’s one of the stands. I’m guessing it would have been too much for you to have put them both together. And I was wondering about breakfast. I don’t usually go to work until after I eat.”

  Maude stood with both hands on her hips. “Compromise? Breakfast isn’t for another hour anyway, so what about at least getting these boxes out of here before then? Then after breakfast, maybe some of our guests will want to join you to find us a couple of Christmas trees. And while you’re out doing that, the ladies can begin the decorating.”

  She carefully stepped back through the maze of boxes. “It’s all yours, gentlemen. Start hauling. I’m headed to the kitchen to help Lita plate the hash and scones.”

  Grumbling, because that’s what old men did at such chores, Alo and Silas moved boxes and wiped the dust away as they stacked them. That is, until Alo saw something he hadn’t thought of in a very long time. He stopped, staring at the large black plastic bins on the top shelf next to the door, straining his eyes to read the faded words on the label. It was Maude’s curly-cue handwriting.

  Silas tried to hand him a box. “Here, Alo, take this.”

  But Alo didn’t move, his eyes fixated on the shelf. Silas finally looked up, following Alo’s gaze to the black plastic bins. Alo figured Silas knew all too well what filled those four bins.

  Alo turned to look at him. “Elan’s train. I forgot about Elan’s train.”

  Silas moved toward Alo. They both stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the bins. “I know. I packed those bins many years ago. I should have done something with that train set, but . . . I never got around to it.”

  “Or my friend, maybe you decided it was Elan’s, and you had no right to do anything with it.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments before returning to their work.

  Maude kept herself busy helping get breakfast on the table. By the time it was ready and the chairs around the dining table were occupied by guests, the gathering room was filled with dusty boxes of tree ornaments and manger scenes and an array of luggage lined up in the front hallway.

  Plates were served, and the coffee flowed. Amid conversation describing sore muscles and bruises that had appeared overnight, the colonel turned to Alo. “I heard some howling in the night. Didn’t sound like a dog. Is that common around here?”

  Henry’s question brought a sudden silence followed by a round of comments from the other guests who had heard it too.

  Alo spoke up in reply. “Wolves. Not so common, but they’re moving back into these parts. Haven’t seen one yet, only tracks.”

  Beatrice wiped the jelly from her lip. “Oh, I saw Peter and the Wolf last year in Chicago. The music was divine, and so was the dance. Made me want to get my ballet slippers out again. I do that sometime anyway. But honestly, I was a bit appalled with the wolf, especially after they strung him up.” Beatrice, without even trying, totally perplexed the others.

  Obviously attempting to rescue them all from Beatrice’s rambling stories, Kent called for Lita. “Lita, most talented chef, could you describe what we’re eating this morning?” He knew how to make her smile.

  “The hash is made of sweet potatoes grown right down the road and chorizo, which is a spicy Spanish sausage, and scrambled eggs with a dash of secret ingredient.” She winked at Kent. “And what goes better with cinnamon-and-raisin scones than orange butter?”

  Kent waved his napkin in silent applause. “Delicious. We’re all still waiting for you to adopt us.”

  When there was little left on their plates and the prickly-pear jelly bowl was empty, Maude stood at the head of the table to make her announcement. “Well, friends, Lily and I have talked, and the good news is that we are adopting you, at least for a couple of more days.”

  The guests glanced around at each other without saying a word.

  “I know this Christmas isn’t turning out exactly as any of you planned, and honestly, not as we planned either. The weather has made it impossible for all of us to travel. So we need to make new plans for us all since we’ll be spending Christmas here together. Lita tells me we have plenty of food for the next few days. Now, it may not be a Christmas dinner like you would have in Chicago, but nonetheless, we’ll have Christmas dinner Santa Fe style. Or maybe Lita-style.”

  Kent pushed back away from the table. “I’m not concerned about anything we eat at this table. I’ll just have more time to discover Lita’s secret ingredient.”

  Maude turned to Beatrice. “And since you’ll be late meeting your daughter for Christmas, Beatrice, we have something special planned for you. We are decorating Grey Sage today, and we could use your help. The only thing that looks like Christmas around here is the snow on the cedar trees, but come lunchtime, I expect this place to look like Christmas exploded in here. Silas and Alo will go out to cut a couple of Christmas trees and some fresh greenery just for you. In fact, some of you gentlemen may want to go with them. And ladies, Beatrice could use your help adorning the trees
and putting some garland and candles around.”

  Everyone clapped and smiled, and the chatter started. Maude was relieved. “And, I might add, as our Christmas present to you, there’ll be no charge for your room and board for the next couple of nights. Please consider yourselves our guests for Christmas.”

  Maude saw Lita’s wide grin from across the room.

  Colonel Walton stood. “You mean we’re going to have Christmas around here after all? Well, then, let’s get started. I used to be fairly good at swinging an axe.”

  Lily rang the bell that Lita had placed next to her plate. “Okay, people, the first order of business is this: Get your luggage back to your rooms, and then get yourselves busy with making this place look like it’s Christmas around here. Maude says when the decorating’s done, then the real partying and games begin. Get to it, you Party people.”

  That handled, Lily went to Maude. “You did it. And I’m spending Christmas with my very best friend.”

  Maude hugged Lily. “See, I told you. They’re happy, even Beatrice, and we’re having Christmas at Grey Sage for the first time in many years.”

  Maude left Lily at the table and went straightaway to turn on the Christmas music. She stood at a distance in the doorway, imagining the hustle and bustle ensuing in every direction once the fun started this morning. The sound of Bing Crosby crooning “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” coaxed her to tears. Happy tears.

  I am home, and Christmas is returning to Grey Sage.

  The return of Christmas at Grey Sage had been slow in coming, but the pace was picking up, and Maude was hoping for willing hands to assist her.

  I’ll put Lily in charge of the decorating the trees. Beatrice and Emily can help her. That way Beatrice is corralled and Emily and her mother are separated. Reba and Iris can handle the greenery and putting out the manger scenes. They need to get more acquainted. And Laura . . . She sits around looking like someone licked all the red off her peppermint stick. I know how to fix that. That’s the ladies taken care of. Now on to the gentlemen.

  Maude turned to Henry. “Colonel, you seem to have a special knack for keeping that fire going. So, would you mind taking on that responsibility this morning? Oh, and if you’d please add the fireplace in the gathering room just off the kitchen, I know Lita would show you where the never-empty coffeepot is—the one with her special coffee concoction—if you’ll keep her fire going.”

  The colonel bristled a bit. “But I told you I was mighty good at swinging an axe. I know you’re just looking out for this old man, and I’ll enjoy that special coffee, but in my day . . .”

  Alo responded. “We don’t discount you, sir. But in this wind, I’m counting on my chainsaw to cut these trees down before the wind cuts me into.”

  Maude chimed in. “The keeper of the fire on a day like today, Colonel, is front-line work. And Alo, we need greenery, but we don’t need the snow that comes with it, so give it a good shaking before you start bringing it in.”

  Before she could ask, Kent spoke up. “Ma’am, I only have one good arm, but it’s a good one, so don’t count me out with the tree cutting.”

  “Great. Why don’t you and your dad go with Alo and Silas? It’s biting cold out there, but if I know Alo, he’s already chosen which trees to cut. He knows every inch of this property, and I’ve accused him of knowing the chipmunks by name. You boys will have this done in short order.”

  Kent saluted Maude. “Yes, ma’am, and these branches will have not one snowflake on them when we bring them through the door.”

  Maude moved closer to where the Suttons sat on the loveseat. “And Ted, would you help the colonel haul in the wood? You can follow Silas now, and he’ll show you where it’s stacked. Just leave your jacket hanging in the mudroom if you’d like.”

  Ted agreed. Laura sat silently beside him.

  “Laura, I know Lita could use a bit of extra help in the kitchen. She’s a great teacher if you’re interested in a cooking lesson.”

  Laura appeared slightly alarmed, but Maude nodded encouragement. Laura will come out of that kitchen with a different attitude after a couple of hours with Lita. Lita’s a joy giver, and Laura needs an overstuffed gift bag of joy this morning.

  With a smile, Lita took Laura’s arm and led her into the kitchen.

  Maude continued passing out assignments. Her artists’ and writers’ retreats had sharpened her discernment about folks and honed her skill of pairing them together. “Now Lily, you and Bea and Emily are in charge of decorating the trees. You might want to start going through those boxes of decorations over there until the trees arrive. Hope you don’t mind the dust.”

  Maude pointed Reba and Iris to the boxes with the nativity scenes. “Just choose three or four, and put them out where you think they should go. If you come across the one made of olive wood, maybe you could put that one on the hearth.”

  Maude remembered their trip to Israel one Christmas, and meticulously choosing this particular set for its delicate wood grain. But mostly she remembered why she’d always put it on the hearth: It was unbreakable. She turned to look at the stone hearth, and imagined a curly-haired little Elan assembling and reassembling every piece, telling the Christmas story over and over again.

  The morning bustled with activity. The men traipsed off through the snow to cut trees and branches. The women brushed years of dust off boxes and brought the colors of Christmas back to Grey Sage. Christmas music poured through the speakers in every room, and Lita kept the coffee urn full and the teakettle whistling. Maude floated from the kitchen to the gathering room, directing and admiring their work, but mostly remembering how Christmas used to be at Grey Sage.

  Lita opened a drawer, pulled out an apron, and offered it to Laura. “May I call you Laura since we’ll be cooking together this morning?”

  Laura reluctantly tied the apron around her neck and waist. “Yes, of course, please do. And I’ll call you Lita.”

  Lita motioned for Laura to follow her to the pantry. “I’ll hand you some things, and could you please put them on the kitchen island? Our mission this morning is to get a hot lunch prepared, and at the same time, start the baking. I’ve already done some baking because I was expecting our daughters and their families, but they can’t get here because of the weather.”

  Lita organized a brigade of flour, cornmeal, sugar, a whole tray of bottled spices and seasonings, cans of tomato sauce, onions, and potatoes.

  “Oh, my, this is an odd assortment.” Laura looked around, lost.

  Lita had grabbed a big stock pot. “Do you cook? Or do you like to cook?”

  “I get by with simple meals, but if it goes beyond that, we call the caterer.” That was nothing she wanted Lita to know, but it just slipped out. “Although, I do salads very well.”

  “Great. You will make the salad for lunch. But first you must make my famous Cold Christmas Cake, a family recipe passed down to me. Five generations of Hopi women in my family have been making this cake. It’s important to get it made this morning. It has to stay in the fridge for two days before cutting.”

  “Oh, a cake?” She felt the doubt kick in. “I must tell you I’ve never made a cake before. Perhaps since it’s such a family tradition and you have done it so often, maybe I could do something else while you do the cake.”

  “No, thank you. I trust you with the cake, but I trust no one to make my chili. This recipe will be a piece of cake for you.” Lita laughed a hearty laugh that signaled how happy she was when rattling pots and pans. “You play piano, right?”

  Laura nodded.

  “My daughters play piano. I never got to learn, but I know playing piano means you can read music, words, and work your fingers. So that’s all you need to make my Cold Christmas Cake.” Lita patted Laura on the back and handed her a half pound of walnuts and a half pound of pecans. “See that cutting board over there? Get it and chop these nuts up coarsely, not too fine. Then I’ll tell you what to do next.”

  Laura complied and slowly
began chopping the nuts, checking to make certain they were the right consistency. As she worked, Lita told her about Doli and Catori growing up and taking piano lessons, and how the piano recitals always caused such a stir in their home. Surprised at herself, Laura rattled back about how it had caused the same stir when she was growing up, and how afraid she was to play in public, and that’s why she’d decided to teach music theory.

  “The nuts look great. Now put them in this big bowl.” Lita handed her a large stainless-steel mixing bowl. “Next step—and we’re cheating just a bit here, but cooks have secrets, and I hope you’ll keep mine—we’re using boxed vanilla wafers.”

  “Cookies in a cake?” Laura hadn’t heard that one before.

  Lita chuckled. “When you finish with these cookies, they won’t look like cookies anymore.” She handed her a rolling pin and a plastic bag. “Put the cookies in here. Roll them, pound them, I don’t care. They just need to be fine, almost like flour when you finish. This is a good thing to do when your knickers are in a twist about something.”

  For the first time, Laura laughed. “That’s funny. I don’t think I’ve ever worn knickers.”

  “Maybe not, but I’d wager your apron strings have been in a knot about something or other.”

  Laura laughed again. “Yes, you’d be right about that.” She pounded, rolled, then pounded some more, and listened to Lita’s wild stories about growing up with a sister and a brother farther north in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and all the wild animals they’d tried to make pets.

  “That sounds like a perfect childhood,” she offered at one point.

  “I suppose it was. When you finish pounding and rolling, mix those crumbs with the nuts in the bowl. What about your childhood? Where did you grow up?”