Chapter
! Ten #
Asharp rap on the door roused Lucy and she stood up, perched Toby on her hip, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before opening the door. It was Wilf Lundgren, the postman, with a package.
“This came in the last delivery and I thought I’d bring it along since it was on my way,” he said, looking for all the world like Santa with his red nose and cheeks. “Otherwise you wouldn’t get it until Tuesday, Christmas being on Sunday and all.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy, her voice still thick from crying.
“Have you got some trouble here?” asked Wilf, looking past her into the dark kitchen. “I see the lights are out.”
“I must’ve overloaded a circuit.” Lucy shifted Toby to the other hip. “My husband went to get some flashlight batteries.”
“Is that all? I’ve got a flashlight in the truck,” he said, turning and hurrying down the walk to the driveway. In a moment he was back carrying the biggest flashlight Lucy had ever seen and marching straight to the pantry and lowering himself through the hatch to the cellar. “Better unplug a few things,” he said, before ducking beneath the floor. “Ready?”
he called.
Lucy dashed around the kitchen, unplugging appliances, and scurried into the living room to turn off the TV.
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“Ready,” she called back and in a moment the lights were on and the Christmas tree was radiant with glowing colors.
“Well, isn’t that a beautiful sight?” said Wilf, who had emerged from the cellar and was standing in the doorway.
Toby, excited by the sight of the tree, was bouncing in her arms. “Now it feels like Christmas,” said Lucy, setting him down and keeping a watchful eye as he toddled toward the tree. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It was nothing,” said Wilf. “Just being neighborly, that’s all.”
“Well, I really appreciate it,” continued Lucy, who was terrified of the old-fashioned root cellar beneath the pantry and the spiders and mice and snakes she imagined lurked there. “I mean, you went down into the cellar … and you brought that package, too, when you didn’t have to. It was really awfully nice of you … can I give you a cup of coffee or something before you go back out in the cold?”
“I wouldn’t mind a cup,” said Wilf, amused by Lucy’s extreme expressions of gratitude.
“The pot’s still hot,” sang Lucy, pouring a cup for him and one for herself, too, and setting some of her precious Christmas cookies on a plate. Toby had followed them into the kitchen and she hoisted him into his high chair, pouring a glass of apple juice for him.
“Very good,” said Wilf, approvingly, chewing on a cookie.
“Looks like you’ve got company,” he observed, glancing out the window.
“Probably Bill,” said Lucy, going to the door. But it wasn’t Bill, it was Miss Tilley she saw walking carefully along the path.
“Come in, come in,” said Lucy, opening the door and shivering in the cold blast. “Come out of the cold.”
“I was just making my rounds, oh, hi there, Wilf,” began Miss Tilley. “And I thought you might like some of my eggnog. It’s an old family recipe.”
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“That’s so kind,” said Lucy, accepting two old-fashioned glass milk bottles filled with creamy liquid.
“I wouldn’t mind trying some of that,” said Wilf.
“You know, I didn’t get a chance to taste it myself,” said Miss Tilley. “I wanted to make my deliveries and get home before the snow starts.”
“Well, let’s all have some,” said Lucy, popping into the pantry to get the punch cups she received as a wedding present but had never used.
“If you’re getting cups, you’ll need some more,” called Miss Tilley. “The Miller sisters have just pulled into the driveway.”
“Really?” asked Lucy, staggering out with the heavy crystal punch bowl filled with a dozen cups. “What brings them here?”
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” chorused the sisters, entering the kitchen which was becoming a bit crowded.
“We brought you some cookies,” announced Emily, or was it Ellie?
“That’s right. We made them ourselves,” added the other, holding out an enormous tin with a jolly Santa design. “Sand tarts.”
“I haven’t had those in years,” said Wilf.
“My mother used to make them,” said Miss Tilley.
“Well, let’s all have some eggnog and cookies,” invited Lucy. “Can I take your coats?”
She was just hanging the ladies’ matching red coats on the hooks by the door when there was another knock on the door. Lucy was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of planned invasion, or perhaps it was just what people in small towns did at Christmas. Whatever was going on, the table was filling up with people and the house was filled with chatter and laughter. She opened the door, hoping whoever it was had brought food, and found Sherman Cobb holding a foilcovered pan that looked like it contained a turkey. A turkey!
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And behind him she recognized Rachel Goodman and Richie, along with a man she assumed was Bob, Rachel’s husband.
They were all holding foilcovered dishes, except Richie, who had a can of cranberry sauce.
“What is all this?” she asked.
“We heard your oven was broken,” began Sherman, smiling in Miss Tilley’s direction. “So we brought you Christmas dinner. Are you going to let us in?”
“Oh, please, please do come in,” said Lucy.
“By the way, we haven’t met, but I’m Rachel’s husband,”
said Bob. “Do you have a stereo?”
“In the living room,” said Lucy.
“Great. I brought some Christmas cassettes,” he said, handing off a bowl of stuffing and heading down the hall with a shopping bag slung over his arm. Moments later the house was filled with Bing Crosby’s mellow voice.
Lucy was standing there, holding a bowl of stuffing and trying to decide what to do with the turkey when there was yet another knock on the door and Fred Rumford stuck his head in.
“Hi, everybody,” he called, marching in and setting a jug of wine and a case of beer on the table. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” they all cried back.
“Now it’s a party,” said Wilf, reaching for a beer.
“Where’s your dining room?” asked Rachel. “I think we better set the food up there.”
“This way,” said Lucy, feeling rather dazed as she lead the way. “I can’t believe this.”
“I hope it’s all right,” said Rachel. “You didn’t have other plans, did you?”
“No, no. We were just going to have a quiet celebration,”
confessed Lucy, shaking out a cloth and spreading it on the table. From the kitchen she heard voices and laughter, there was music in the living room and Toby and Richie were chasing each other through the rooms. “This is much better.”
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“Good,” said Rachel, setting down the turkey. “Now we’ll need plates and silverware… .”
“In the pantry. I’ll be right back.”
Entering the kitchen she encountered Sue Finch, who had arrived with her daughter and a man dressed in a Santa suit.
“This is Sid,” she said.
“Not Sid, Santa,” he replied, hoisting a bulging red bag.
“And I brought presents.”
The party was in full swing when Bill arrived. Plates were filled, glasses were emptied, music was playing, and the kids were dancing around the tree. Everybody was having a great time.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“The neighbors dropped by to wish us a Merry Christmas,” said Lucy, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Eggnog?”
“Sure,” he said, taking a cup and shaking his head in amazement.
Lucy and Bill were still amazed several hours later, when everyone had left and they were tidying up.
“I just can’t believe it,” said Bill. “They gave us an entire Christmas. Food. Drink. Even presents for Toby.”
“I think Miss Tilley organized it,” said Lucy, clearing off the kitchen table. She was gathering up paper napkins and wrapping paper when she found the package Wilf had delivered. “I forgot all about this,” she said, taking a closer look.
“It’s from your parents.”
Bill glanced over. “It’s probably fruitcake,” he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “They send them every year.”
“Oh,” said Lucy, rather disappointed. “I suppose it’s nourishing, with all that fruit and nuts.”
“If you can digest it,” said Bill.
“Don’t you want to open it?” asked Lucy. “Maybe it’s not fruitcake. Maybe it’s a surprise.”
“My parents don’t do surprises,” said Bill, cutting the tape with a knife. “It’s fruitcake.”