Bring Me Home for Christmas

Fifteen




Denny stood back and watched as Jack, up on a ladder at the Thicksons’ shed, dumped a pile of snow on top of Preacher’s head as Preacher was backing out of the same shed, his arms laden with firewood.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“Sorry, Preach.”

“Like the three stooges,” Frank Thickson muttered.

Preacher filled Denny’s arms with the firewood. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

“Gimme a load,” Frank said.

“Since we’re here and willing to help, why don’t you go back to the house and check on the family. We’ll bring your wood.”

“I don’t like being done for,” he said.

“Get over yourself,” Jack said from up on his ladder. And then he scooped another pile of snow on his cook’s head. He grinned. “Sorry, Preach.”

“Come down here and do wood!” Preacher commanded. “I’ll clean the roof!”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Jack said. “I got it.”

“You’re gonna get it!” the big man threatened.

Denny chuckled and started moving toward the house with his load of wood. Frank followed and Denny slowed. “Say, Frank, you have a lot of property out here. You ever keep a garden?”

“Summertime,” he grunted.

“There’s a reason I’m asking. I’m leaving my job out at Jilly Farms. You know, it used to be Hope McCrea’s place and Jillian Matlock has been farming it. Very interesting work. They’re going to be looking for someone—”

“Someone with one arm or two?” he asked.

“Jack’s right, you should get over yourself. I served two tours in the sandbox with the Marines—I know an unfortunate number of guys with missing limbs. I know it’s a struggle, but the crankier you are, the bigger your load is gonna be. You seem to do okay with one arm and you’re probably due to get a prosthesis before too long. You could at least talk to Jilly. You could at least try.”

Frank stopped walking. “You think I don’t try?”

Denny stopped. “I couldn’t say for sure whether you try or not. I can say for sure that it would all be a lot easier if you weren’t so angry and a little more grateful for what you’ve got instead of all pissed off about what you’re missing.”

“Oh, yeah? And what is it I’m supposed to be grateful for, Mr. Know-It-All?”

Denny lifted both brows. “Let’s see. A brain that works, eyes that see, ears that hear, two legs and one arm, for starters. Then there’s the wife, four good-looking, smart kids and a roof over your head. A lot of people would give their right arm for that.” Then he walked to the house and deposited the wood on the porch. He walked right past Frank on his way back to get another load.

Denny heard a sound and turned to look back. He saw Dr. Michaels and Mel hustling out to the Hummer, carrying small children. He moved back toward the house and Frank.

“What are they doing here?” Frank asked.

The doctor lifted his bundle into the back of the Hummer before he addressed Frank. “I think they’re going to be just fine, Frank, but they have to go to the hospital. They both need X-rays and antibiotic therapy. We have to be sure it’s not pneumonia. If this has settled into their chests, and it sounds like it has, they’ll just get worse out here without the right medicine—and there’s another storm on the way.”

“I can’t afford no hospital!”

“If you can’t afford it, they’ll still be treated. Mel can help you with some paperwork for assistance—that can be done later,” Cameron said.

“They’ll just heap the bills on me—they’ll get their pound of flesh eventually. I’ll never get on my feet this way!”

“Well, Frank, I believe the price of not taking these little ones to Valley Hospital could be a lot higher than that. I aim to get ’em taken care of so they can get well.”

Then, ignoring any further argument, Cameron got behind the wheel of the Hummer.

Lorraine Thickson hurried out the door and across the porch, carrying two doctors’ bags. “Frank, please watch over Megan and Jeremy. I imagine I’ll stay the night with the boys. I’ll call you later to tell you how they are.”

She climbed in the back with Mel and the little ones, the hatch closed and the Hummer backed away. Frank tromped up the porch step and into the house.

Knowing Becca was in there with Megan, Denny abandoned the idea of another load of wood and jogged through the deep snow to the house. He kicked the snow off his boots before opening the door, just in time to hear Frank angrily bellow, “I don’t need no goddamn charity!” With a swipe of his arm, he knocked the care box off the table and sent the food scattering across the floor. The frozen turkey bounced twice; canned goods rolled around.

Becca was supported by her crutches at the stove, a pan steaming and a spoon in her hand. Her eyes were round with fear. Megan sat straight up on the sofa and screamed, “Daddy!” Then she covered her mouth and began to cry.

Denny took two giant steps into the house and grabbed Frank by the front of his jacket and with a snarl, pulled him right out the front door. He closed the door and pushed Frank right up against it. Denny’s face felt purple with rage and Frank had the intelligence to look a little intimidated, if not scared.

“Listen to me, Frank. Listen! You ever shout at my girl again, I swear to God you’ll be sorry! She is nothing but kindness! I doubt she gives a crap about your sorry ass, but she insisted on coming out here because she loves your little girl.” Frank’s jacket still in his fist, he gave him a little shake and pushed him against the door again. “How can you do something like that in front of that little girl? She loves you! You’d turn your anger on a child of your own, who loves you? Who’s counting on you? What’s she going to think? That it would be wrong for her to eat that food because it makes you so angry? She’s sick!”

Frank’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Mind your own business.”

“It is my business! When you turn on my woman and a young innocent child I make it my business! Now, we’re going in there. We’re picking up the groceries and I want you to tell your child you’re sorry you shouted. If you don’t want to eat, I don’t care. But you tell that sick child that you want her to eat. And if you don’t, we’re going to come back out here and rehearse it again!” They stared at each other a moment and Denny said, “You hearing me, Frank? Because I am not fooling around with you.”

“I hear.”

In a quieter voice, Denny said, “You’re wrong to make the whole world around you suffer because you’re angry. Especially the world your kids live in.”

Frank just looked down.

Denny let go of his jacket. “Let’s go inside and make peace. You were wrong. When you’re wrong, you make amends. It’s not complicated.” He opened the door for Frank to enter.

They went quietly about the business of picking up the scattered food. Denny stored the frozen turkey in the refrigerator, where it would slowly thaw, while Frank picked up canned goods one at a time and tossed them, catching them in between the stump of his missing forearm and his body so he could carry more. This caused Denny to stop and watch; the man had definitely learned some compensating moves! If he’d just get an attitude adjustment, he’d probably make it just fine.

When the kitchen was straightened again, Frank went the few steps to the couch where Becca huddled next to Megan.

“Miss, I apologize for my temper. It’s been a hard winter so far. Megan, honey, let’s eat us some of that soup.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. I don’t need it.” Then she covered her mouth and coughed.

“Come on, baby, I need some. Will you sit with me?”

“Okay,” she said meekly. “The little boys went to the hospital, Daddy.”

“I know, honey. That was smart of the doctor. Mama will be there. She’ll call us tonight.” He looked at Becca. “Will you stay and have some soup with us?”

“I would,” she said, getting up and positioning her crutches. “But I’m going to do a little cooking at the bar because Paige and Preacher are running all over the mountain trying to be sure everyone has what they need before another big storm hits. I’m not much of a cook, but I’m doing what I can. I brought enough soup so even if you don’t feel like messing around in the kitchen too much tonight, you and the kids will have that.”

“I’d gladly pay for the soup,” he said.

She smiled warmly. “No need, Mr. Thickson. It’s all good.” She bent and kissed Megan’s head, against medical advice. “I want you to get better, little girl!”



Denny and Becca sat in Jack’s truck in front of the Thickson house, waiting for Preacher and Jack to finish up. “I think it’s best to get out of their hair,” Becca said. “And just hope Mr. Thickson can mend some fences with little Megan, the poor darling.”

“I was hard on him, Becca, probably too hard. No one understands better than me how overpowering self-pity can be.”

She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ve both come a long way.”

“We have to make a decision now. When do you want to leave?”

“I want to leave right now, but I’m not going to. I’m going to go back to Jack’s and make sure everyone who’s shoveling, plowing, delivering and helping get fed tonight. They’re all throwing themselves into the care of this town and they’ve been awful good to me. The least I can do is return the favor.”

“We might not get down the mountain tomorrow, you know.”

“Then we’ll get down the next day. Or the next. It doesn’t matter—we’ll get there. The important thing to me right now is that we’re both moving in the same direction.”

When Jack and Preacher delivered the last of their wood to the Thicksons’ front porch, Jack transferred two care boxes to Denny and Becca and gave them the names and directions for delivery. Because Becca was on crutches, these boxes were not going to the country, but rather the edge of town, where most of the streets were passable.

They pulled up to a small house, the street numbers hanging kind of drunkenly from the nails that held them next to a warped front door that didn’t look strong enough to keep the wind out. Even though Becca had to contend with her crutches, she was determined to see who lived in this ramshackle little place. She turned herself around and lowered herself carefully to the ground on one foot, holding her lame foot above the snow. The walk was covered with a little more than a foot of snow, less than on the street because of the huge trees that formed a protective canopy. She made her way carefully to the front door while Denny came behind her with a big box.

The woman who opened the door was young, maybe early twenties. She was thin and a little pale. She held a baby in her arms with a coarse Army blanket covering her shoulders and the baby. Hiding behind her and hanging on her leg was a little one, perhaps two years old.

“Mrs. Crane?” Becca asked.

The woman pushed her hair back over one ear. “I’m Nora Crane. Who are you?”

“My name is Becca Timm. We brought you a Christmas box. This is Denny—he can carry it into the kitchen for you if you want.”

A huff of embarrassed laughter escaped her and she stood aside, pulling the two-year-old with her. The toddler peeked out from behind her mother, a thumb in her mouth. Becca stood back so Denny could enter, but then Becca stepped inside the doorway and saw the reason for the woman’s laughter. It was just one room; there was a broken-down couch, a table with two mismatched chairs and while there was a stove, there was no refrigerator.

“Would you like us to put some of this stuff away somewhere for you?” Becca asked.

“You can just leave it.” Then she brushed impatiently at a tear.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you keep food without a refrigerator?”

“There’s just milk to worry about—I keep it right outside the back door.” She gave a limp shrug. “I don’t guess we’ll be here too long.”

“Oh. How old is the baby?”

“About six weeks now. Who sent this food?”

“Well, there’s a group of folks from the church and Jack’s Bar. Will someone clear the walk for you?”

“Don’t matter much,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll be going outside.”

“Nora, do you need a few things? Clothes for the kids? Blankets?” She looked around. “How are you keeping warm?”

“I run the oven now and then. Tell them thanks, whoever sent this over. I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”

“Someone knew. I’m going to tell the pastor you could use some sweaters and blankets. Maybe he knows where we can find some things to help get you through the winter.”

Her lip quivered slightly and she nodded once, but said nothing.

“Do you have any family?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I had a…” She straightened, trying to find some pride. “There’s no one anymore.”

“I think you could use a hand,” Becca said. “I’ll talk to Pastor Kincaid or Jack—maybe someone can help.”

“For the kids,” she said.

“There’s a can opener in the box, along with some plastic bowls, spoons, a couple of knives.”

She nodded again.

“Bye, then,” Becca said. She moved out the door right behind Denny and heard it close behind her.

Denny positioned himself in front of Becca, took her crutches and bent slightly at the waist. “Come on, gimpy,” he said gently.

She looped her arms around his neck, bent her knees to lift her feet out of the snow and he piggybacked her to the truck. Once there, he helped lift her inside. He went around to the driver’s side and jumped in.

She faced him, pale and stricken. “Denny,” she said, her voice just a squeak of emotion.

“We’ll get her some help,” he said, starting the truck. “Looks like the next house is just a few doors down. You going in this one with me?”

“Yes. Yes, I have to. I had no idea this town was so poor!”

“This town is like all towns, Becca—there’s a little of everything. And there are some folks real hard on their luck, but the people who can help, do. That’s worth a lot.” He pulled down the block, past three houses. “Here we are. There’s a porch—let me get you on the porch and come back for the box.”

Becca thought this house looked to be in better shape, though it could sure use some paint and repair. This time when the occupant answered the door, Becca breathed a sigh of relief. It was an elderly woman, and she might not be robust but she didn’t look thin and ill. She was dressed for the cold and had a shawl thrown over her shoulders. Her house was not rich but contained plenty of substantial furniture and the doors and windows appeared to have a good seal against the cold, at least on first glance. “Mrs. Clemens?”

“Yes, hello,” she said, and smiled with warmth. “Did the pastor send you?”

“Yes, ma’am. We have a box of goodies for you,” Becca said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, child. I’m happy to take that off your hands—my social security just doesn’t go that far, especially with my prescriptions! But girl, I’m worried about that young woman down the street! Did Pastor send something to her?” She stepped aside so Denny could enter with the box.

“What’s her name?” Becca hedged. “I’ll be glad to check.”

“It’s Crane. I don’t know the first name, but she’s in a terrible way!”

The difference between this house and the last was shocking. Mrs. Clemens’s furniture was dated and worn in places, but there were homey touches, as well—doilies spread over the arms of chairs, a tablecloth, bric-a-brac, a nice big area rug that was a bit worn but still perfectly functional.

“That poor girl down there. I saw them move in when she had that brand-new baby and not long after, that young man moved out with a trailer and took everything with him. Everything! Furniture and rugs and even the refrigerator. I spoke to him, asked him what he was leaving his poor wife and he shouted at me to mind my own business or I’d be sorry.” She tsked and shook her head. “The shame! I told Pastor there was a young woman in need and I saw him write down her name. I’m so glad she got a box! She did get a box, didn’t she?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Becca said.

“I’m so glad! I look forward to the Thanksgiving and Christmas boxes all year long. But did she get a turkey? Because I don’t think they have enough to get by on down there, and there’s small children…”

“It’s going to be taken care of, Mrs. Clemens,” Denny said with authority.

The little woman grabbed Denny’s forearm in a vice-grip. “It’s gotta be taken care of right away,” she said emphatically. “I’m afraid they’ll freeze to death. I worry about that baby!”

“Right away,” Denny confirmed, patting her hand. “Right away.”

She let out a sigh of relief. Then she let go of his arm and gave it a pat. “That’s good,” she said. Then she turned away and began to pick through her care box. “I do look forward to this all year,” she repeated. “The dollar just doesn’t stretch as far as it used to.”

When they were back in the truck, Becca said, “That was a big promise.”

“I’ll find someone to pull together something or I’ll borrow this truck for a run to Target. They need to be fed and warm. I wonder if there’s formula and diapers…”

Becca gasped. “How dense am I? I never even thought of that!”

“I helped out last Christmas. Mel was the one who knew about the need for formula and diapers and which boxes should include them. She might be the one to talk to about this. But if she’s too busy, I’ll get to the store before we have more snow.”

“They have to be warm and full tonight, Denny,” Becca said.

“They will be warm and full, honey. I promise.”



Becca was back at the bar by three. With Denny close at her side, she explained about Nora Crane and her dire needs. Paige tried putting a call in to Mel at Valley Hospital, but she wasn’t answering her page, which meant she was probably on her way back to Virgin River.

“If Jack can manage without his truck awhile longer, I can go to Fortuna and pick up some things—diapers, formula, maybe a space heater. That baby’s real little, Paige. Can you write down what I’ll need?” Denny asked.

“You don’t have to go to Fortuna,” Paige said. “There’s formula and diapers at the clinic and we have an emergency closet here in town—used clothing, blankets, jackets, that sort of thing, though they do tend to run a little low during the holidays. Does she have a fireplace?”

Denny shook his head.

“Hmm. Maybe one of the guys can do something about the doors and windows. I’ll call Paul—he might be able to send over one of his crew who can nail down a proper strip for a seal. At this stage, even some good duct tape would help around the windows. And we can loan her a cooler with ice for her perishables—she shouldn’t be opening and closing the back door in the dead of winter. I’ll go dig out some of Dana’s old bottles and sippy cups. You know what? I bet I have some clothes just ready to be given to the shelter—how big is the toddler?”

“A little smaller than Dana,” Becca said. “But it’s the baby I’m worried about most. That woman doesn’t have the means to wash clothes, and it’s cold in that house. If you had any infant wear that’s nice and warm…”

“Oh, I have lots. Denny, mind the bar while I gather up some things. And for the woman?” she asked.

Becca shrugged. “I have no idea what she has. She was wearing jeans and had a scratchy old Army blanket around her shoulders, covering herself and the baby with it.”

“We can’t have that,” Paige said, wandering off toward the kitchen.

A feeling of satisfaction grew in Becca’s chest. She thought how much like a successful day with a struggling second grader it felt. One stop at one unfortunate house and an opportunity to find some help for them… It almost felt as though her whole journey to this little town had been justified.

She followed Paige back to the kitchen, ready to finish the meal she’d begun. She found the sink was full of dishes. While Paige talked to Paul Haggerty on the phone about emergency repairs on a poor woman’s house, Becca went about the business of cleaning up. Leaning against the counter and with the dishwasher opened, she began to rinse and load the lunch dishes. She heard Paige give Paul the address and thank him—it brought a smile to Becca’s lips. Then she turned the oven back on and pulled out everything she had stored in the refrigerator.

Becca had no experience cooking for a large crowd but she noticed that Preacher’s meat loaf recipe was four loaves for forty people. She put more potatoes in the pot to boil, increasing her potato casserole recipe. She filled a colander with frozen green beans and thawed them under cold water. By the time she’d patted four meat loaves into shape, Paige came back into the kitchen, her arms heavily laden with clothes, towels and a couple of blankets. She was smiling.

“I think this will do, at least for a few days. I found an old space heater, too. It hasn’t been used in forever—I don’t need it back. We’ll have to get Mel to take over formula and diapers, of course. And if Mel takes them, she’ll have a chance to make sure they’re all right at the same time. And Mel has supplements for adults on hand, as well—Ensure and that sort of thing. Something fortifying for Mommy.”

“Thank you,” Becca said gratefully.

“No, thank you! We can’t be everywhere at once!”

“Paige, what time should this meat loaf be ready?” she asked.

Paige glanced over her big pile of clothing at her watch. “Put it in now, Becca. We should be ready for an early crowd at five, though I can’t imagine who will brave the elements tonight. The rest of us will eat much later. Keep what we don’t serve in the warmer.”

As Paige left, Denny came into the kitchen. “Need me for anything, babe?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I have it handled.”

“Good for you. I’m going with one of Paul’s men over to the Crane house to seal some doors and windows. I’ll put a note on the clinic door for Mel about what we need and the address.”

“Is it snowing yet?” she asked.

“Just a little. The big stuff will probably come later.”

And for some reason, that news made her grin like a fool.

“That shouldn’t make you smile,” Denny said.

“I think we’re stuck another night.”

“Most definitely,” he said. “And my truck is getting more buried by the minute.” He turned to leave, but had a second thought and turned back to her, snatching her up in his arms and planting a giant kiss on her, momentarily taking her breath away. “I’m okay with being stuck another night,” he whispered, running a knuckle over her cheek. “It’s nice and warm under the quilt.” And then he was gone.

Becca went to the phone and dialed her mother. “Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”

“Just leaving work, honey,” she said. “I’ve been watching the weather. It looks pretty serious up there.”

“It’s serious, all right. We’re pretty much snowed in. We’ve been so busy getting ready for a big storm. You have no idea all there is to do around here. First of all, it was important to get the Christmas food boxes delivered—there are people who will really need them and more snow could prevent getting them out. And, Mom, I helped deliver and I saw some need in this little town that just can’t go unnoticed.” She described the young woman with the baby and toddler, the elderly woman who was concerned for her and little Megan, whose brothers had to go to the hospital and whose father was out of work due to his amputation.

She told her mom about cooking for whoever might show up at the bar that night because the cook and his wife were busy making sure anyone who was cold or hungry or in any way needy was being taken care of.

“Meat loaf for forty?” her mother asked. “My goodness, Becca! Have you ever cooked for that many?”

She laughed and said, “I might’ve ordered pizza for about half that many. No—I’ve never been responsible for this many people. Mel and Jack and their kids will probably stay in town tonight rather than going home—she’s the midwife and has a couple of women in advanced pregnancy and can’t risk getting snowed in out at her house. The clinic is across the street from Jack’s. And right now one of their friends, the builder who made sure all the streets were plowed, sent someone from his crew over to the young mother’s house to seal up the doors and windows so they don’t freeze to death tonight. Paige had a space heater for them—God, I hope it works. I think I’ll be worried about them all night.”

“It sounds like you should’ve gotten out of there first thing this morning!” Beverly Timm said.

“Oh, Mom, I couldn’t have,” Becca said. “It’s just…you just can’t imagine… Mom, I’m so glad I was here to help. It’s a little like sandbagging in a flood or hosing down a fire!”

“Is that so?” Beverly asked. “As serious as that?”

“At least as serious as that! I just had to be a part of it.”

“Is that little town growing on you?”

Becca laughed. “I got pretty caught up in the action.”

“Well, as long as you get home for Christmas…”

“Oh, I’ll get—” She stopped. Her voice caught. “I’m sure I’ll be home for Christmas,” she said, but she said it very softly. And what she couldn’t add was, But home might not be in San Diego.