In the sunniest part of the afternoon, the pastor backed the truck up to the end of the street where it was blocked, right in the middle of the street, between the clinic and the church, and unloaded was a large container made out of some kind of strong plastic. Pastor Shipton ran a hose out to the big box, and while it filled, he set up a folding table about twenty feet away and unloaded a bucket of balls. It appeared the pastor had rented himself a dunking booth, but he wouldn’t give any information to the curious crowd that began to form. And just as the pastor would have planned it, most of the onlookers were townsfolk.
June, a huge cotton candy in her fist, was drawn to the sight, as was Elmer. “What’s this?” she asked.
“No one seems to know,” Elmer said. “What are you eating?”
“What does it look like I’m eating?”
“Should you be eating that junk?”
“Shh. I’m a doctor.”
Elmer sighed in frustration. “The cobbler’s children have no shoes.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Harry Shipton finally shouted into a microphone, “While we’re waiting for this tank to fill with icy-cold water, can I take a minute to thank the Presbyterian Women for all the hard work they’ve put into the festival. Ladies, are you around here?”
A couple of women came forward and gave a wave.
“How about Susan Stone? Susan?” She walked over and lifted a hand in a half wave, then tried to escape, but Harry held on to her. “Stay here a second, Susan. Julianna Dickson? Are you here?”
“She’s back there!” someone yelled.
“Well, get her up here! We need her.”
“Pastor, what’s going on?” Susan asked.
“Just a little fun, Susan. You deserve to take your best shot.”
“What?”
Julianna came through the crowd holding the baby and dragging a four-year-old. “What?” she said.
“We’ve had a situation in our town that’s been almost impossible to ignore. Well, okay, we didn’t try very hard to ignore it, but not because we’re nosey. It’s because we care so much about each other. We have a couple of guys, a couple of our best Grace Valley guys, who find the need to make amends with those they’ve insulted. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have a couple of good, well-meaning guys, some of our best, who are seriously in the doghouse.”
People began to cheer and applaud.
Harry went around to the back of the tank, which was open about halfway, and stuck his hand in. “Oh boy. Cold. We’re looking for amends, here.” There were more cheers.
“Now, ladies, it has come to the attention of the town that you two have put your husbands in the doghouse—and deservedly so. But we all think the time has come to give them a chance to make some amends, get themselves back in your good graces. Don’t we, folks?” The crowd cheered in response. “Guys? You ready, guys?”
They came out of the side door of the church, prancing. John was wearing a short, tight, turquoise wet suit and his daughter’s water wings. Mike was wearing an old-fashioned gentleman’s bathing suit, circa 1900, and carrying a parasol.
They came together in front of the tank and lifted their arms high in the air, as if in victory. Then they split apart and, going back to the opened truck, lifted out a large prop and carried it to the front of the tank. They leaned the painted prop of a doghouse against the tank to the absolute delight of the crowd.
“Now,” Harry said to the women. “Who wants to go first?”
“Oh, let me,” Julianna said, handing Harry the baby and giving Susan the hand of the four-year-old.
Mike took a bow and turned the tank. With John’s help a plastic backdrop was raised to catch the balls.
The crowd went nuts as Julianna took her stance as a pitcher with blood lust in her eyes. Mike cautiously climbed onto the seat so it looked as though he sat inside the doghouse.
The first two balls missed and the crowd moaned miserably. But the third hit. Mike crashed into the ice-cold water, and the cheers could be heard in the next town.
Mike dragged himself out of the icy water, shivering, his lips blue, and yelled. “You keep pitching those balls till you love me again, baby!”
“Get back on your perch, Mike, darling,” she yelled back.
“Don’t be a pig about it, Julianna,” Susan pleaded.
All in all, Mike went down five times, John three. Susan went easy on John because of the condition of his butt. But never in the history of the Grace Valley Harvest Festival had amends been so gloriously met.
Although Tom didn’t attend the festival to enjoy himself, he never failed to. There was rarely any trouble. Oh, there was the odd fight that started with arguing and ended in fisticuffs, the occasional drunk who needed a place to sleep it off. But basically the festival was a chance for people to come together and do something for each other, for their town.
The Saturday-evening festivities were going to kick off with a presentation from the high-school choir, then a couple of local bands—one rock for the young set, a group with a slower tempo for romantics—would set up on the stage and provide the music for dancing. The lanterns would soon be lit, the small bonfire in the middle of the park would warm the stargazers, and then they would sleep fast and do another day of festivities.
The fall festival also proved to be a time of coming together, year after year, without that ever being the conscious plan of the committee. This year was no exception. He noticed that Daniel, Blythe and Sarah had set up pony rides just at the edge of town—their way of breaking the town into the truth, Daniel and Blythe were brother and sister. Sarah would soon join their family as a wife and sister-in-law. She was sporting a generous diamond engagement ring, while Blythe was wearing a handsome gold bracelet. Tom bet if he could get it off her, he would find some kind of sentimental engraving. But the most important fact was that all three looked content.
“Officer, is there going to be some sort of military presentation?” a woman asked.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not privy to all the goings-on. Maybe the high-school color guard is here.”
“Oh. No, I was thinking of some combat-type exhibition. I saw someone in fatigues.”
“Could be army personnel here. We have an army post not far…”
“With his face painted?”
“Face…? Ma’am, you saw a military man in fatigues with face paint? At the festival?”
“Well, no. Back there.” She pointed. “Behind that house. The garage, really.”
“Hmm,” Tom said, looking. “I wonder if the school’s ROTC group has something going on.”
He drifted away from the woman and tried to melt into the crowd, out of sight. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting. He slipped around to the back of the clinic, then into the neighborhood east of the roadblock. He tried to creep around behind a couple of houses without looking as if he was creeping, but for a man Tom’s size, that wasn’t easily done.
It didn’t take him long to spot. Clarence. He was all done up like a Ranger, complete with a branch of something in his hat and greasepaint on his face. Clarence crouched behind a bush at the side of a shed in a backyard, far enough from the crowd to keep from drawing too much attention to himself, yet frighteningly close with a gun. Fortunately for Tom, Clarence was not as good at not being seen as he probably once had been.
Tom went back around the block, quickly. He found Lee Stafford leaning against his car, talking to a neighbor. Tom drew him away and whispered in his ear. Then he went across the street to the café. There he found Clinton with a big rack of glasses to wash. “Hey, Clinton, take a break. I need you a minute.”
“What’s up, Chief Toopeek?” the boy asked.
“Come with me, will you? George, I need Clinton a minute. He’ll be back.”
“Sure thing,” George said.
“Follow me, son,” Tom said. Clinton tossed aside his apron and went along. Tom led the way, but didn’t explain until they were well away from the people. “It’s y
our dad, Clinton. He’s acting out.”
“Oh man, what’s he doing?” Clinton fairly whined.
“I’m not sure. He’s all done up for combat, carrying his gun. He seems to be spying on the fair. He might be thinking he’s in country again.”
“His PTSD might be acting up,” Clinton said.
“I’d like to get him in custody with as little commotion as possible. I don’t expect we can talk him out of any delusions he’s having, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to get him out of here and disarm him. It’s got too much potential to turn bad.”
“I know, Chief. I’ll go with you.”
“Has he ever had trouble recognizing you?”
“Not that I ever noticed.”
“Are you comfortable walking up to him?”
Clinton shrugged. “I lived with him for sixteen years. I reckon I can walk up to him.”
“If you can do that, I’ll come around the back. Clinton, I’m going to have to cuff him. I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t expect he’ll come along on request.”
Clinton hung his head for a moment, then lifted it again. “I understand.”
Tom didn’t really think Clarence would open fire on the crowd, but then, who knew what fragile hold he had on reality. One thing was certain—he had to get Clarence out of there, get his gun, get him taken care of.
“Maybe this is a good thing, Chief,” Clinton said. “If he gets in enough trouble, gets himself locked up, they’ll put him back on his drugs. It might set him to rights again.”
Tom clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Clinton was a big kid. If not for the fact that he wore a prosthetic leg, he could do some real damage for the football team. He was brave. He’d been through a lot. “I’ll hope for that, Clinton. Let’s go.”
Clinton walked straight down the street toward the house behind which his father crouched. Tom went through the backyards, sticking to the shadows, skirting close to houses and garages. Clinton walked up the driveway of the house while Tom, staying low, crept around the back.
“Daddy?” Clinton called. “What you doing back there, Daddy?”
“Clinton! Get down! They’ll see you!”
“Who’s gonna see me, Daddy?”
“The whole village has been invaded! Are you blind? I’ll get you and your mama out of there in—”
He was cut off as Tom hit him from behind, knocking the rifle from his hands. They rolled onto the ground. They were much the same size and Clarence was unexpectedly strong. Tom got him facedown on the ground, a knee in his back, and managed to cuff his wrists together behind him. “Easy, Clarence, easy. You’re going to be okay now.”
“What the hell you doing, Injun? We got us an invasion here!”
Tom sat back on his heels, winded. “Yeah, I know. We’ll take it from here. Clinton, go find Deputy Stafford. He’s waiting. Tell him to bring around the car.”
“Sure. Can I go with my dad?”
“’Course you can, son. We’ll get in touch with the VA, have somebody come out for him right away.”
Clinton crouched down and rubbed a hand along his father’s greasy forehead. “It’s going to be okay now, Daddy. You’ll see.”
June sat on the top of a picnic table and watched her friends and neighbors dance to some of the best crooning around. The band was from Westport and specialized in love songs to dance to. Apparently Nat King Cole was a personal favorite. John and Susan were back in each other’s arms. The Dicksons, too, had mended their fences and danced not far away.
But there were some other fun couples worth watching. Aunt Myrna waltzed with her young attorney and they looked to be having a real time of it. Birdie and Judge cut a mean rug with something that resembled the rumba. Then there was Elmer rocking along with Jessie. And there were the two who weren’t present but had been mentioned many times over the weekend—Chris and Nancy. They were at the hospital, but at least they were together.
Some couples in town had presented images that were not true, she realized. Blythe and Daniel, thought to be married for over thirty years, were not married at all. And her old beau, thought to be divorced, was barely on hiatus from his marriage. And then, she thought with a sly smile, there was herself, the spinster town doctor… Oh, there were going to be some raised eyebrows.
She pulled her sweater tighter around her, chilled even though she sat near the fire. She looked down at her dusty boots and when she looked up, he was standing there in front of her. She had to blink to clear her vision, because he had shaved. His cheek, scarred from his fall last summer, was ruddy and rough-looking. But it was the best-looking cheek she’d ever seen.
“You!” she said in a breath. “How did you…?”
“It’s not important how. What’s important is, I’m here to stay.”
“With me?”
He reached for her hand. “Try to get rid of me.” He pulled her off the picnic table and into his arms, leading her to the asphalt where everyone danced.
“I didn’t expect you so soon. Do you know what this means?”
“What?”
“That I don’t have to try to hold my stomach in anymore!”
Anyone who saw the way he laughed, like the jest had been the most intimate, and the way he pulled her closer, would have known everything that very moment. And they watched. The town watched. Though Jim tried to be discreet, his lips found her neck and his large hand slid over the slightly round spot on her abdomen. As if on cue, there was the slightest flutter within. He jumped back in surprise, looking down at June.
“She’s been a little feisty. I might’ve given her too much cotton candy.”
“She?”
June nodded. “What do you think of that?”
“That’s perfect,” he said.
It was all John and Susan could do to keep their feet moving. Elmer led Jessie to the side, stopped dancing and stared. Tom Toopeek wasn’t dancing anyway, but he was leaning a hip against a picnic table on which Ursula sat. His wife had been talking when Tom suddenly quit listening, crossed his arms over his broad chest and smiled a secret smile.
“Who is that, Tom? Who is that dancing with June?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I think he’s going to be a new neighbor,” Tom said.
“But who—”
June and Jim danced, whispered, held each other close. They were oblivious to the stares because they had each other. But the whole town watched, because she belonged to them. And they knew, though they hadn’t been told.
Their doctor was deep in love.
Dear Reader,
It was such an honor to be asked to create a Christmas story that would take place in Virgin River, especially because, in my mind, the miracle of Christmas is synonymous with that special town. Virgin River seems to be a place of kindness, friendship, love and miracles.
In this story you’ll meet Ian and Marcie, two courageous people who have weathered too many storms in their young lives. Both need two things to help them get to a place of peace and happiness: namely, faith and love. Between them they have a lot of history, but at the same time they’re just getting to know one another. And what they find in their renewed relationship could bring them closer to the peace and serenity they need so much.
The Virgin River novels are part of an ongoing series, and A Virgin River Christmas is a special addition to that series. While many of the well-known Virgin River characters are present in this book, you don’t have to read the first three in the series to feel at home here. But for those of you who have started at the beginning, and have waited patiently for this next book, let me put you in the time frame. A Virgin River Christmas takes place just a few weeks before Christmas—right in the middle of Whispering Rock—the third book in the series.
Christmas can mean many different things to each of us. For Marcie and Ian, I’ve tried to create a special time for two people who couldn’t be more deserving.
It was a privilege to create this story. I hope you’ll treasure it
.
My best wishes to you and yours,
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5387-6
JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN
Copyright © 2002 by Robyn Carr.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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*(new reissue available June 2010)
Robyn Carr, Just Over the Mountain
(Series: Grace Valley Trilogy # 2)
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