A Country Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  The television blared from the living room as Vaughn let himself into the house, entering through the door off the kitchen after stomping the snow from his shoes on the back porch. He unzipped his jacket and hung it on a peg, along with his muffler.

  “Is that you, Vaughn?” his mother called.

  “No, it’s Santa,” he joked.

  He watched as his mother, still holding her needlepoint, hurried into the kitchen. “You’re not hungry, are you?”

  “I filled up on cookies and hot chocolate.”

  His mother studied him as if to gauge how the meeting with Hassie had gone—the real question she wanted to ask, he suspected. “Did you have a...good visit?”

  “Yes.” He nodded reassuringly. “We talked before dinner, but afterward there was a tree-lighting ceremony in the park.”

  “You attended that?” His mother sounded pleased.

  “Sure, why not?” His response was flippant, as though this was the very thing he’d normally do. In truth, though, Vaughn couldn’t recall attending anything like it since he was in grade school. The evening had been quite an experience. The whole town had come alive with music and laughter and people enjoying one another’s company. Christmas had never been a big deal to Vaughn—but he’d never seen an entire community join together like this, either. He knew it had made a lasting impression on him, that it left him longing for the same kind of warmth. For a true spirit of celebration, far removed from sophisticated parties and decorator-trimmed trees.

  “How is Hassie?” his mother asked.

  Vaughn wasn’t sure what to say. Hassie was without a doubt one of the most dynamic women he’d ever met. She possessed character and depth and a heart that poured out love for her family and her community. He’d immediately seen how deeply she was loved and respected. After these hours in her company, Vaughn had understood why. “She’s an extraordinary woman.”

  “I know.” His mother’s voice was soft, a little tentative. Before Vaughn could say more, she’d retreated into the living room.

  Vaughn followed and his father muted the television, obviously waiting for him to enlighten them about his visit.

  “Hassie let me read the letters her son wrote from Vietnam.”

  His mother resumed her needlepoint and lowered her head, as though the stitches demanded her full attention.

  “They were riveting. I learned about the war itself, things I could never have learned from a book, and about the man who wrote them.” At the time, Hassie’s son had been younger than Vaughn was now. In his letters, Vaughn had recognized the other man’s sense of humanity, his hatred of war and his desire to make a difference, to share in a struggle for freedom.

  “We met at the University of Michigan during our freshman year of college,” his father said, and his eyes went blank. He seemed to be back in a different place, a different time. Vaughn knew he hadn’t been accepted into the service himself because of poor eyesight. “He was my roommate. Both of us were away from home for the first time and in an environment completely foreign and unfamiliar. I suppose it’s only natural that we became close.”

  His mother added in a low voice, “He was the most generous person I’ve ever known.”

  “He got a part-time job tutoring a youngster who had leukemia,” his father continued, his gaze focused on the television screen. “He was hired for three hours a week, but Vaughn spent much more time with him than that. He played games with Joey, talked to him, cheered him up, and when Joey died at thirteen, the boy’s mother said Vaughn had been his best friend.”

  “That’s the kind of person he was,” his mother said.

  “Hassie gave me the school letter he earned in wrestling. And then, after I walked her back home, she said there was something else she wanted me to have.” His parents looked up when he paused. Even now, Vaughn could hardly believe Hassie would give him such a gift.

  “What, son?”

  “Her husband’s gold pocket watch. It would’ve been Vaughn’s had he lived.” Hassie had placed it in his hands with tears filming her eyes, then closed his fingers around it.

  “Treasure it, Vaughn,” his mother whispered.

  “I do.” Vaughn’s first reaction had been to refuse something that was clearly a valuable family heirloom, something that meant a great deal to the old woman. He’d felt the significance of her gift and was moved by the solemnity of her words and gestures when she’d presented it to him.

  He would always keep it safe. And he would pass it down to his oldest son or daughter.

  “What else did Hassie tell you?” his father asked.

  “She...said how much Vaughn had loved Mom.”

  “He did.”

  Vaughn studied his father, looking for any sign of jealousy. If he’d been in his father’s shoes—well, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d feel.

  “We planned to marry,” his mother said, “but Hassie probably told you that.”

  He nodded. “She showed me the letter in which Vaughn explains why it would be best to wait until he returned from Vietnam.”

  “Only, he didn’t return. And everything worked out in a completely different way.” His mother took his father’s hand and held it and they gazed at each other for a moment. “But a good way,” she said quietly.

  “I often wondered what Hassie really thought about the two of us getting married,” his father said. He stared at Vaughn as if, after meeting Hassie, he could supply the answer.

  Indeed, Vaughn had seen the look that came over her face when she mentioned his parents’ marriage. “At first I think she took it hard.” This didn’t appear to surprise either of his parents.

  “Our marriage was a reminder that Vaughn was never coming home,” his mother said, “and that no matter how much pain the world brings us, life continues.”

  “She said as much herself.”

  “I think...she was disappointed in us both.”

  “Perhaps in the beginning,” Vaughn agreed, “but she changed her mind later. She told me she felt that her son approved.”

  “I’m sure he did,” his mother whispered.

  His father reached abruptly for the remote, indicating that the conversation was over. Sound flared back, and Vaughn got up and went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee before rejoining his parents.

  “Oh, dear, I almost forgot to tell you,” his mother said. “Natalie phoned.”

  Vaughn’s first reaction was that he didn’t want to talk to her. Not tonight. Not after such an emotionally overwhelming day. Knowing Natalie, she’d want to discuss business, and that was the last thing on his mind. He needed to think before he returned the call, needed to absorb what he’d learned first—about the town, about Hassie...about himself.

  “It isn’t too late to call her back,” his mother said. “With the time difference, it’s barely eight on the West Coast.”

  “I know,” he said absently, his thoughts now on Carrie Hendrickson. Much of the evening had been spent with her. After they’d brought hot chocolate to Hassie and Joshua McKenna, she’d introduced him to her family.

  Vaughn had seen the wary look in her brothers’ eyes and realized how protective they were of her. He wished he’d had more of a chance to talk to Carrie, but they were constantly interrupted. She was a favorite with her nieces and nephews, who were forever running up to her, involving her in their games and their squabbles. She was a natural peacemaker, he observed, one of those people whose very presence brought out the best impulses in others. Like Hassie. And the people in town valued Carrie in much the same way; that was easy to tell. They came to her for advice and comfort. They were drawn to her just as he was.

  “Your father and I are looking forward to meeting Natalie,” his mother said, breaking into his musings.

  Vaughn started guiltily. He was as good as engaged—although, he supposed, all they’d really don
e was discuss the possibility of marriage. He hadn’t divulged his plans to either of his parents. At Natalie’s request, he hadn’t even told them about his job. “She’s anxious to meet you, too,” he said, but without a lot of enthusiasm. The contrast between Natalie and Carrie flashed like a neon sign in his brain. One was warm and personable and focused on the needs of her community, the other sharp, savvy and ambitious. When he’d arrived in North Dakota, he thought he knew what he wanted; all at once, he wasn’t sure.

  “You’ve been seeing her for two years now,” his mother went on, watching him.

  “Barbara, the boy doesn’t need you to tell him that.”

  Vaughn sipped his coffee.This was one conversation he had no wish to continue. “Carrie and I are going Christmas shopping tomorrow,” he said, instead.

  His mother lowered the needlepoint to her lap and stared at him. “Carrie? Who’s Carrie?”

  Vaughn didn’t realize his mistake until it was too late. “A friend.”

  His mother raised her eyebrows as if his answer didn’t please her. “When did you have time to make friends?”

  “She works with Hassie at the pharmacy.”

  “I see.” It appeared his mother did see, because she said nothing more.

  Vaughn wished he understood his own feelings. A week ago he would have rushed to return Natalie’s call. He wasn’t avoiding her, he decided, but the subject of Value-X and Buffalo Valley. In a matter of days—one day, really—he’d become oddly protective of the town...and its people. Hassie, of course, but Carrie, too. Natalie was bound to ask him questions he no longer wanted to answer.

  One thing was clear; he needed to think the situation through very carefully.

  Craving solitude, Vaughn swallowed the last of his coffee, then announced he was heading for bed.

  His mother glanced up at the wall clock. “Aren’t you calling Natalie?”

  He frowned. “Later. Don’t worry about it, Mom.”

  “Vaughn has to rest up for shopping,” his father teased.

  “Ah, yes, the great shopping expedition. Where will it be, by the way?”

  “The mall here in town.”

  “You’re actually going to a mall at this time of year?” His father looked at him as though he’d lost his sanity.

  Vaughn gave a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t know what had possessed him to suggest he and Carrie meet at Columbia Mall. His excuse had been that Carrie was a wonderful source of information about the town. He’d never had the opportunity to bring up the subject of Value-X, and wanted to get her reactions to it. Or so he told himself.

  The truth was, he wanted to know her better.

  * * *

  Hassie sat up in bed, her eyes on the photograph of her son on the bedroom wall. She looked at Jerry’s picture next and Valerie’s, then turned back to Vaughn’s. It was only natural that she’d be thinking about her son tonight.

  Time passed with such inexorable swiftness, she reflected. She had startlingly clear memories of Vaughn as a toddler, stumbling toward her, arms outstretched. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear his laughter. She’d loved to scoop him into her arms and hug him close until he squirmed, wanting to run and play with his older sister. As they grew older, Valerie had listened to his confidences and offered a big sister’s sage advice.

  How carefree life had been for her and Jerry in the early 1950s. Simple pleasures had meant a great deal back then. She could think of no greater comfort than sitting with her husband after a day at the pharmacy, a day they’d spent working together. Jerry would slip his arm around her shoulder and she’d press her head against his. He’d loved to whisper the sweetest words in her ear, and oh, she’d enjoyed being in his arms. In those days, it seemed the sun would never stop shining and the world would always be filled with happiness.

  Turning out the light, Hassie nestled under the covers and let her memories take her back. Valerie and Vaughn used to come to the pharmacy every afternoon after school. To this day she could still picture the two of them sitting at the soda fountain, waiting to be served an after-school snack. They were a normal sister and brother, constantly bickering. Valerie always teased Vaughn, and when she did, he’d tug her pigtails hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Then it would be up to Hassie to chastise them both. Softhearted Jerry had left the discipline to her. Hassie hated it, but knew her children needed to understand that their actions had consequences.

  The years flew by so fast! Looking back, Hassie wished she’d appreciated each day a little more, treasured each moment with her children while they were young. Before she could account for all the years that had passed, it was 1960, and Vaughn was in high school.

  Jerry was especially proud of Vaughn’s athletic talent. He, too, had been a sports star in his youth. Vaughn had played team sports throughout his four years in high school, and they’d never missed a game. One or the other, and often both of them, were at his games, even if it meant closing the pharmacy, although they didn’t do that often. They always sat in the same section of the stands so Vaughn would know where to find them. When his team came onto the field, it wasn’t unusual for him to turn toward the bleachers and survey the crowd until he located his parents. Then he’d smile and briefly raise one hand.

  Without even trying, Hassie could hear the crowds and recall the cheerleaders’ triumphant leaps, while the school band played in the background.

  Watching Vaughn play ball had been hard on Hassie’s nerves. Twice that she could remember, her son had been injured. Both times Jerry had to stop her from running onto the field. She stood with the other concerned parents, her hands over her mouth, as the coaches assessed his injuries. On both occasions Vaughn had walked off the playing field unaided, but it’d been pride that had carried him. The first time his arm had been broken, and the second, his nose.

  His high-school years had been wonderful. The girls always had eyes for Vaughn. Not only was he a star athlete and academically accomplished, he was tall and good-looking. The phone nearly rang off the hook during his junior and senior years. There’d never been anyone special, though, until he met Barbara Lowell in college. She’d been his first love and his last.

  Hassie recalled how handsome he’d looked in his brand-new suit for the junior-senior prom, although he’d been uncomfortable in the starched white dress shirt. The photo from the dance revealed how ill at ease he’d been. His expression, Jerry had said, was that of someone who expected to be hit by a water balloon.

  Hassie had suggested he ask Theresa Burkhart to the biggest dance of the year. He’d done so, but he’d never asked her out for a second date. When Hassie asked him why, Vaughn shrugged and had nothing more to say. Every afternoon for a week after the prom, Theresa had stopped at the soda fountain, obviuosly hoping to run into Vaughn. Each afternoon she left, looking disappointed.

  Packing Vaughn’s suitcase the day before he went off to the University of Michigan was another fond memory. She’d lovingly placed his new clothes in the suitcase that would accompany him on this first trip away from home. Although saddened by his departure, she took comfort in knowing he’d only be gone for a few years. This wasn’t a new experience, since Valerie had left four years earlier and was attending Oregon State. She was working part-time and seemed in no particular hurry to finish her education. Jerry and Hassie had been reassured by Vaughn’s promise to return as a pharmacist himself. He shared their commitment to community and their belief in tradition.

  Soon the kitchen table was littered with his letters home. The letter in which he first mentioned meeting Barbara had brought back memories of Hassie’s own—like meeting Jerry at college just before the war. The day that letter arrived, she’d sat at the kitchen table with her husband and they’d held hands and reminisced about the early days of their own romance.

  Then the unthinkable happened. News of a war in a country she’d barely heard of escalated daily.
The papers, television and radio were filled with reports, despite President Johnson’s promises to limit the United States’ involvement. Then the day came when Vaughn phoned home and announced, like so many young men his age, that he’d been drafted. A numbness had spread from Hassie’s hand and traveled up her arm. It didn’t stop until it had reached her heart. Vaughn was going to war. Like his father before him, he would carry a rifle and see death.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. For a while, men in college were exempt, but with the war’s escalation, they were now included. Vaughn took the news well, but not Hassie. He had to do his part, he told her. It was too easy to pass the burden onto someone else. Citizenship came with a price tag.

  Suddenly bombs were exploding all around her. Terrified, Hassie hid her head in her hands, certain she was about to die. Bullets whizzed past her and she gasped, her heart cramping with a terrible fear. All at once she was cold, colder than she could ever remember being, and then she was flat on her back with the sure knowledge that she’d been hit. The sky was an intense shade of blue, and she was simultaneously lying there and hovering far above. But when she looked down, it wasn’t her face she saw. It was the face of her dying son. His blood drained out of him with unstoppable speed as the frantic medic worked over him.

  Her son, the child of her heart, was dying. He saw her and tried to smile, to tell her it was all right, but his eyes closed and he was gone. Her baby was forever gone.

  A crushing load of grief weighed on Hassie’s heart. She cried out and, groaning, sat upright.

  It was then she realized she’d fallen asleep. This had all been a dream. Awash with memories, she’d drifted into a dream so real she could hear the fading echoes of exploding ammunition as she dragged herself out of a past world and back to reality.