It was fascinating to watch these kids play their own grandparents. The Loomis twins had talents Gage would never have guessed. People had been complaining about them for years, but Lindsay had found a way to channel their boisterous energy into a creative endeavor. Rachel Fischer’s son, Mark, did a good job, too, in his small role as the youngest son of a desperate farmer. Gage glanced around, surprised to find Rachel sitting with Hassie. Heath Quantrill was nowhere to be seen. No one had said anything to Gage, but he’d thought there was some romantic interest between those two. Well, maybe Heath couldn’t make it tonight; maybe he’d see the play tomorrow.
When it was over, the actors, holding hands, took two curtain calls, their faces flushed with pleasure at the overwhelming response to their efforts. As the audience filed out of the theater, Milly Spencer played Christmas carols on her flute.
Once outside, Gage saw several people heading for Buffalo Bob’s, and wondered if he’d had the foresight to hire additional help. He’d been running the place without Merrily, telling everyone who asked that she’d be back sooner or later. In Gage’s opinion, the person he was really trying to convince was himself.
Both Gage and Leta had been invited to Lindsay’s house for a cast party following the play. His mother had baked several batches of Christmas cookies, and Gage had volunteered to mix a punch—two versions, one for the kids, the other for adults.
Hassie had gone ahead to open the house and put the dogs in the back bedroom, and by the time his mother had finished visiting with people, Gage saw that the students were closing down the theater.
Gage arrived only a couple of minutes before Lindsay. He hadn’t even taken his coat off yet when she walked into the house. She went directly to him. He wished they could be alone for a few minutes, but since that wasn’t possible, he reached for her hand.
“You did a wonderful job. Everyone did.”
Her smile was big enough to drown in. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him, happiness radiating from her. “I’m so proud of everyone. The kids were wonderful and it felt as if, for the first time, the whole community was behind me.”
“You have a right to be proud. Include yourself in this, Lindsay—you did some fabulous work here.”
Christmas music played softly. The high-school class congregated in one corner, their parents in another. Excited, the students chatted nonstop, reliving the play scene by scene, recounting their mistakes, and giggling at the way they’d managed to pull the whole thing off.
In the kitchen, Gage prepared the Christmas punch—with rum and without—then returned to the living room, where he stood back and listened. Before long, Hassie, his mother and Lindsay carried in plates of holiday goodies and set them about the room.
He was astonished at the speed with which the food disappeared. The kids descended on his mother’s fancy Christmas cookies and Hassie’s popcorn balls and Lindsay’s cheese and crackers as if they’d only just discovered food. Sipping his drink—the rum version—he shook his head in amazement.
The students and their parents left en masse an hour later, and both Hassie and his mother were suddenly absent, leaving him with Lindsay.
“Alone at last,” he said, pulling her into his embrace. She didn’t object and slid her hands up his chest, linking her fingers behind his neck. He knew she was exhausted and he should leave, too, but he couldn’t make himself go. Not yet.
“This has been an incredible night, one of the best of my entire life.” Her eyes sparkled like jewels.
Not kissing her then would have been impossible. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“You’re coming for Christmas?” His mother had told him only yesterday that she planned to invite Lindsay to the farmhouse for the day. Until then, he’d assumed she’d be flying home.
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “So will I.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I have a wonderful surprise.”
“For me?”
“No.” She giggled softly.
“Then who?”
“Kevin.”
“Tell me,” he ordered.
Her beautiful eyes met his. “I shouldn’t, but this is too good to keep to myself. I had Kevin research art schools and asked him if he could choose any two, which ones would he pick. He told me, but said it was a wasted effort because there’s no way on earth he could ever attend.”
“There isn’t.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Lindsay said, kissing him again. “I wrote to each school and told them about Kevin and included samples of his work.”
Gage went still, dread working through him.
“They’ve both sent me letters full of praise for his talent and included applications, plus scholarship information. Gage, there’s a very good possibility Kevin could get a scholarship.”
Gage said nothing.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Her expressive eyes registered her surprise at his lack of response.
“No. Kevin’s a farmer, not an artist.”
“But…”
“I don’t mean to discourage you, Lindsay, but this is an area that’s none of your concern. Kevin’s attending agricultural college, and that’s it. I can’t afford to send him—”
“There might very well be a scholarship, and—”
“Lindsay, please, I don’t want to argue. Not tonight. We’ll talk about it another day. Tell Kevin, if you must, but keep in mind that it won’t make any difference.” Unwilling to end their evening on a sour note, Gage kissed her one last time, then hurried across the street to pick up his mother who was over at Hassie’s.
“Is Uncle Jeb coming for Christmas dinner?” Calla demanded, standing just inside the kitchen.
Sarah Stern slid the turkey back into the oven and closed the door. It was the first time her daughter had spoken to her all day. “I hope so. Dennis is driving out to get him.”
“Dennis? Don’t tell me you invited him.”
Sarah ignored that. “Your uncle Jeb will be here if Dennis has anything to say about it. He told me he’s not taking no for an answer.”
“I don’t want Dennis here.” Calla marched into the living room, then slouched down in the overstuffed chair and crossed her arms rebelliously.
“Calla, please! It’s Christmas.”
Her daughter stubbornly refused to look at her. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be with my father right now.”
“But you’re not. You’re here with your grandfather and me.”
Calla snickered as if to say that was a pretty poor substitute. It hurt that her daughter refused to open her Christmas gifts. Sarah had tried everything, but Calla had insisted the only gift she wanted was a plane ticket to visit her father. The argument had begun the day Willie’s Las Vegas postcard arrived.
“Is Dennis playing pinochle, too?”
“Yes.” Sarah knew she sounded defensive, but that was the way Calla made her feel. As soon as everyone arrived, her father was sure to suggest a game of pinochle. He’d taught Calla how to play when she was ten and she’d caught on to the game’s strategy right away.
“Did you invite him for dinner or did Grandpa?”
“Why do you care?”
The surly look was back. “Because.” Then without a pause, she added, “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
“Calla!”
“You think I don’t know, but I do and so does everyone else.” Her glare was full of contempt. “You’re disgusting.”
Sarah had taken all she could from her daughter. She marched into the living room and stood there, hands on her hips. “Listen here, little girl, what goes on between me and Dennis Urlacher is none of your damned business.” She heaved in a deep breath. “Furthermore, you will not say or do anything to embarrass us. Do you understand me?”
Calla met her gaze defiantly. “Did you sleep with other men, too?”
Sarah thought she was going to be sick.
br /> “Is that why my daddy divorced you?”
The ugliness of her daughter’s accusations closed Sarah’s throat. Her hand ached with the impulse to slap Calla’s face and demand an apology. The girl had no way of knowing that Willie was the one who’d engaged in countless affairs. No way of knowing that he’d destroyed Sarah’s self-esteem, crippled her financially and then deserted her and their child.
“What’s going on?” Joshua McKenna asked, as he walked into the house, his arms loaded down with firewood. He set the logs by the fireplace, then stood between mother and daughter. This kind of confrontation was familiar enough, to Sarah’s shame, that her father automatically took on the role of buffer.
“Nothing, Dad,” Sarah whispered. She retreated into the kitchen. As she left, she felt Calla’s eyes following her, her resentment and bitterness burning holes in Sarah’s back.
“Nothing’s happening, Grandpa,” Calla said, refusing to allow Sarah the last word.
Jeb and Dennis arrived shortly after that. Sarah didn’t know what Dennis had threatened, but whatever he’d said had worked. It was the first time Jeb had been to Buffalo Valley in months. Her brother had lost part of his leg in a farming accident three years earlier. Now, the only obvious physical evidence was a slight limp. The psychological damage had been far worse.
Sarah ached for her brother, who was younger by five years, and wished she knew how to help him, how to bring him back into the world. Ever since he’d returned from the hospital, Jeb had lived a secluded life. He’d broken off a promising relationship with a woman from Devils Lake and refused to see most of his friends. Getting him to join in family functions was difficult, if not impossible.
“Merry Christmas, Jeb,” Sarah said, affectionately kissing her brother’s cheek. He looked good, his color healthy. She was pleased to see that he wore the shirt she’d sewed him, a thick one of wool plaid. Despite the loss of his leg, Jeb worked his buffalo herd and lived by himself on a huge spread fifty miles outside of town. He wasn’t as surly now as he’d been right after the accident, but he wasn’t the same man, either. “I’m glad you decided to join us,” she told him.
Jeb scowled, then smiled. “How long until dinner?”
“An hour.” Sarah knew why he asked. As soon as he could, he’d make his excuses and head back to his ranch.
“There’s time for a game of pinochle before we eat,” her father called out from the living room.
“Can I play?” Calla asked, revealing the first sign of enthusiasm she’d shown all day.
“Don’t you want to help your mother with dinner?”
Calla laughed as if the question amused her. “No.”
“I’ll get the cards,” Joshua volunteered. “Jeb, you know where the card table is, don’t you?”
Jeb made his way to the hallway closet.
“I can play, can’t I?” Calla repeated, smiling sweetly at her grandfather.
“Of course you can,” Dennis told her before Joshua could respond.
Calla bristled. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Calla,” Sarah warned, her voice low.
Her daughter cast her an insolent look.
“What’s the matter with her?” Dennis asked, staying behind in the kitchen.
Sarah sighed and tried to act as if it didn’t matter what Calla said or did. “You don’t want to know.”
“How’d she like the silver bangle I got her?”
Embarrassed, Sarah lowered her eyes. “She didn’t open it, but I love my gold necklace. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”
“I wanted to spend a lot more.”
Sarah knew he was saying he wanted to buy her a wedding band, but she let the comment pass, not wanting to argue on Christmas Day.
“I’m real happy with the sweater you knit me.”
“Leta helped. I’ll have you know my entry into heaven was in serious jeopardy with that pattern.”
Dennis laughed and Sarah noticed her daughter watching them from the living room. Dennis did, too.
“Is she still upset about not spending the holidays with her father?” he asked.
Sarah nodded, the hurt inside her expanding. She’d tried so hard to be a good mother. But today, if Joshua hadn’t come into the house when he did, Sarah might actually have slapped Calla’s face. She’d never thought herself capable of such a thing. But these days her daughter seemed to bring out the worst in her.
“Did she open her Christmas gift from you?” Dennis asked.
“No,” Sarah said, with a forced smile, “but it’s her loss.” Sarah had sewn Calla a vest, which had taken weeks. Her daughter had seen a similar one in a catalog and drooled over it for the longest time. She’d gone as far as to cut out the photograph and tape it to the bathroom mirror, knowing it was far too expensive to order. The vest alone cost nearly as much as a return ticket to Las Vegas. Out of love for her daughter, Sarah had designed and made an almost identical vest, complete with the delicate needlework. The fact that Calla refused to open her gift hurt more than Sarah wanted anyone to know.
“Thanks for bringing Jeb,” she told Dennis.
His fingertips gently touched her face. Sarah placed her hand over his, closing her eyes, needing his comfort, hungry for his love. When she looked up, she found that Calla’s expression had turned openly hostile.
“If Dennis is playing cards, then I’m not.” She flopped back into her chair.
Both Jeb and her father paused in their task of setting out the card table and four folding chairs. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Dennis to respond.
“I don’t need to play,” Dennis said with a shrug, willing to step aside in order to appease Calla.
“The hell you won’t,” Sarah cried, refusing to let her daughter insult Dennis.
“It’s a better game with four players,” Joshua commented, sitting down on one of the folding chairs. He reached for the deck and shuffled the pack. “But we can play with three, if that’s what Calla wants.”
Calla frowned, clearly torn. “I bet Dennis wants to stay in the kitchen with my mother,” she said, challenging him to defy her.
“Actually, I think Sarah’s got everything under control,” Dennis said, and joined the other two men.
Calla glared at him so hard that—as he later told Sarah—if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man.
The three men quickly became involved in a boisterous game of cards. Sarah kept herself busy putting the finishing touches to the dining-room table. The next time she glanced up, Calla was sitting, eyes shut, earphones on, as she listened to her iPod. It must’ve been set at its highest volume, because Sarah could hear the music from across the room.
When the men finished the game, dinner was ready. Still talking about the card game, Dennis, Jeb and her father gathered around the table. Ignoring them, Calla stayed where she was.
“Leave her be,” Sarah said, knowing her daughter would try to ruin the meal if she was forced to join them for dinner.
“No,” Jeb surprised her by saying. He walked over to where Calla sat and pulled out her earphones.
“Hey!” Calla straightened and scowled at her uncle, daring him to say something else.
He merely said, “Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s too bad, because I’ve come all the way into town for this dinner. If I have to be there, then so do you.”
“Do I have to eat?”
“Every bite,” Jeb said, not quite managing to hold back a grin. “Even the Brussels sprouts.”
Calla wrinkled her nose, but Sarah could see that her daughter was as sick of her own bad mood as everyone else.
“After we help your mother with the dishes, we’ll play another game of pinochle and you can be my partner. We’ll beat the socks off Dennis and your grandpa.”
Calla seemed about to disagree, but then she gave what looked like an almost-smile and nodded. “Okay. Just as long as you and I are a team.”
“You got it, kid
,” Jeb told her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. Sarah was grateful. They all sat down together and bowed their heads as Joshua said the blessing.
Perhaps later, Calla would open her gifts and appreciate her mother’s love, and the effort she’d made. At Calla’s age, Sarah had been just as insolent, just as unkind to her parents, just as uncompromising. What Sarah feared most of all was that her daughter would make the same painful mistakes she had.
The house had never seemed so empty. Christmas morning, Brandon woke and stared up at the ceiling for long minutes before he found the energy to climb out of bed.
The Christmas decorations Joanie had placed around the house were still there, but earlier, in a fit of rage, he’d taken the Christmas tree and thrown it out the front door. That was what he thought of Christmas. It might have been a stupid, futile action, but he’d felt better afterward. For a few minutes, anyway…
The phone rang around ten, and thinking it might be Joanie and the kids, he rushed to answer it. Instead, it was his parents in Arizona. He hadn’t told them he and Joanie had separated; he figured he’d wait until after the holidays. No need to ruin their Christmas.
With a small deception, he was able to get off the telephone, promising to call back later. What he hadn’t said was how much later.
Opening the refrigerator, he examined the meager contents, reached for a slice of bologna and ate it standing up. When he’d finished, he wandered outside to the barn where the animals were impatiently waiting for him.
“Hold on,” he told Princess, as he grabbed the milking stool. He could sell the milk now that there was only him to feed. The eggs, too. He wouldn’t eat more than half a dozen in a week. As it was, he’d fed the extra eggs and milk to the pigs rather than take it into town. He grimaced; the pigs had been eating luxuriously because he didn’t want to face his friends with the truth.
Some people were probably aware of his split with Joanie. The schoolteacher over in Bellmont might’ve heard—or guessed. He’d written a letter telling her that he and Joanie were withdrawing Sage and Stevie from school. He’d put it in the mail, hoping she wouldn’t receive it until after the Christmas holidays.