A Humbug Holiday Page 5

  I laughed to myself. "Nothing more Victorian than that."

  Chapter 9

  While Lana had gone for the elegant, rustic look in her holiday decor, Emily had opted for charming country. Wreaths of dried orange slices tied up with rafia and bundles of cinnamon sticks dangled across the reclaimed wood mantel on the stone fireplace. My little sister had decorated an old, weathered wagon wheel with greenery and tiny pine cones. The bottom was finished off with a massive red and green plaid bow. The wheel, with all its festoonery, hung proudly over the hearth where Christmas stockings made from printed feed bags hung from brass hooks. Her tree was an adorable mix of linen bows, teensy sparkling stars and decorated gingerbread men. Redford and Newman trotted right over to the tree that seemed to miraculously be growing cookies from its limbs.

  "No way you two. Sit down over there. I don't want to be blamed for headless gingerbread ornaments," I scolded.

  "I stupidly allowed the goats to walk through the room this morning." Emily took the bottle of wine I'd brought, my usual contribution to family dinners. "I lost three ornaments before I realized what a mistake it had been."

  "Ah, my girls, I miss them. Do I have time to visit Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug before dinner?" I'd become an aunt to the cutest pair of goats on the planet, and I couldn't get enough of the little darlings.

  Emily took hold of my arm. "No, you're not getting out of social time. Everyone's in the kitchen filling Christmas Crackers for the festival. Lana's idea, of course. She said it's not a Victorian Christmas without them. Although I doubt they added in slivers of paper advertising a party business back in the nineteenth century."

  I shook my head. "That woman never stops being a business barracuda."

  Emily tilted her head. "I don't know if Lana can be categorized as a barracuda." She moved her chin side to side. "Actually, it fits." She stopped me before reaching the kitchen. "What do you think of Mom's new friend?" she whispered. "Nick is giving him a tour of the farm right now. They had to carry flashlights," she said with an eye roll. "But you know how proud Nick is of his farm."

  "As he should be. It's perfect. Love your decorations too, by the way. I'm glad I can come here and to Lana's for holiday cheer. I seem to be lacking it this year. Which brings me to your prior question. Why didn't Mom warn us ahead of time?" I nodded at her. "Yes, that sounded just like sixteen-year-old Sunni. I apologize but my teenage self has been rearing her silly head all day today."

  "I think Mom kept it a surprise because she worried it might ruffle some feathers, especially with a certain daughter." She looked pointedly at me.

  "If she'd told me ahead of time, it would have given me some time to prepare mentally. He seems like a very nice man though. I'm sure my teenage self will slowly fade back into history . . . eventually."

  We walked into the kitchen. The warm aromas circling the room made my stomach rumble. I pressed my arm against my belly to quiet it.

  Mom held up a shiny gold tubular package tied on each end with a white ribbon. "I think I'm getting the hang of these." She shook it once. "I hope I remembered to put in each of the treats."

  "As long as you didn't forget the important one." Lana held up the thin blue strip of paper with her party planning advertisement."

  "Thank goodness the Taylor family hasn't succumbed to the commercialization of Christmas," Emily quipped.

  I had a good laugh as I pulled up a chair next to Mom. Lana passed over a shiny rectangle of paper and an empty toilet paper tube. "The long, thin piece of cardboard is the cracker snap. It goes through the middle of the tube and sticks out on each end."

  "That's how two people crack it apart," Mom added. She pulled a few bowls of wrapped candies and plastic snowflakes closer. "Fill the tube with the goodies, and don't forget Lana's advertisement." Mom leaned closer. "I forgot one and had to redo the whole thing." The smell of her perfume, the same kind she'd been wearing since I was old enough to realize that the floral scent wasn't just part of Mom's own natural sweetness, sent a spark of longing for my childhood through me. I couldn't stop myself from giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  "I'm glad you're here, Mom."

  She wrapped her arm around my shoulder for a squeeze. "Where else would I rather be than with my beautiful daughters. I just wish Neal had found the time to visit. Last I heard he was in Thailand or something like that." She shook her head forlornly. "It's so hard having him traipse around the world, but I suppose he's happy. And it's important to be happy." She flicked her eyes my direction to let me know her last comment was meant mostly toward me. Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. "How did work go today?"

  "Not terrific. I have to interview some of the cast members about the play. They're all local business people. My first interview was with the man playing Scrooge, and boy, did he fit the part. He's sharp, abrupt and kind of mean. And get this—his name is Evan Weezer. Quite the phonetic irony."

  Emily and Mom laughed.

  Lana picked up one of her advertisements. "Oh, that man is so pushy. Never stops shoving his business card into people's faces." With that, she shoved the tiny strip of paper with her contact information between the hard candies and plastic snowflakes.

  "Not the only form of irony around the table tonight," Emily quipped and exchanged a secret wink with me.

  The back door to the kitchen opened. Nick and Chris stomped their shoes on the doormat before walking into the kitchen. "Hmm, Emi, those scalloped potatoes smell so good." Nick patted his stomach. "I'm hungry enough to eat the entire dish on my own."

  Mom immediately straightened her posture when Chris stepped into view. "What did you think of the farm?" Mom asked.

  "Like it came right out of a country painting," Chris said. He was wearing a pale green sweater that had a picture of Rudolph embroidered into the fabric. "But I have to say my favorite part of the tour was the goats."

  I perked up at the mention of my girls.

  "They are quite the cutest thing I've ever seen," Chris continued.

  One solid point gained in the liking Chris column. Anyone who saw the mind-boggling adorableness of Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug could not be all bad.

  "I'll have to visit them tomorrow during the day," Mom said. "I can't picture myself hiking around the farm in the dark. Too many ways to break a hip."

  Lana, Emily and I had a good laugh at her comment.

  Mom looked somewhat hurt by our response. "Why is the vision of your mom breaking a hip so funny?"

  "Glass of wine in the living room, Chris?" Nick asked, with a head motion letting him know it was a good time to duck out. The men scurried away with two glasses and the wine.

  I plucked up some candies for the cracker. "It's not funny, of course, Mom. But how old do you think you are?"

  "Old enough to break a hip," Mom replied sharply.

  Lana placed another finished cracker on the growing pile. She was like an automated machine when it came to creating party goods. "Anyone is old enough to break a hip, Mom. It's just we consider hip breaking a plight of the very old, like eighty or ninety."

  Mom shuffled in her seat, showing her agitation. My sisters and I exchanged guilty looks. We'd obviously hit a nerve with mom.

  "You girls just wait until you reach your sixties. You'll see what I mean. I can feel my bones turning to powder as I sit here. But that might be because I'm slowly starving to death while being forced to stuff and wrap toilet paper tubes."

  Emily got up and gave Mom a hug. "I'll start getting the plates ready. We're sorry, Mom. It's just none of us want to believe that you're getting older. You have to stay Mom forever."

  Mom's soft, pink cheeks plumped back up with a smile. "Well, as much as I'd like to stay around forever, I haven't figured out how to do that. That's why I hope you girls will understand why I've started this new friendship with Chris."

  All eyes were suddenly on me.

  "I'm accepting it," I said hesitantly. "Slowly but surely. I want you to be happy, Mom. That's all that matters. And since C
hris seems to understand the magic of Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug, I think he'll grow on me quickly."

  "That's wonderful to hear, Sunni." Mom turned to Emily. "Now when do we eat? Your poor Mom is wasting away, powder bones and all."

  Chapter 10

  After a slightly tumultuous start to the evening, Emily's dinner party ended with all of us nearly comatose from good food and laughter. Chris had a marvelous wit, and it had been years since I'd seen my mom laugh so much.

  I'd had two helpings of Emily's rich and decadent potatoes au gratin and two pieces of her caramel brown butter cake. My entire body had been moving slowly all morning in a sort of food hangover, but a brisk walk to town in the wintry chill blowing down from the mountains pepped me right up.

  Scottie Sherman texted that the cast had arrived for the dress rehearsal and since she'd shooed me off so abruptly the day before, she was going to make it up to me by letting me hang around before dress rehearsal. But I was under strict orders not to take pictures. She didn't want the costumes and makeup to be seen before the performance.

  Two teenage boys were standing guard when I reached the tent entrance. One boy, who was taking his security role quite seriously, stepped in front of me. "No one is allowed inside the tent while cast members rehearse." His voice was just changing, and it cracked halfway through his speech. But that didn't shake his confidence.

  "Actually"—I pulled out my press identification—"I'm with the Junction Times and Mrs. Sherman is expecting me."

  "Yeah, that's right, Tucker," the other boy said. "Remember when Mrs. Sherman told us we could let in the reporter?"

  Tucker hesitated and stared down at me, trying to assess whether I was legit or up to no good. He seemed to land on legit. He stepped back, glanced furtively around to make sure no one passing by caught a glimpse of the activity within and opened the tent flap just enough for me to squeeze inside.

  Chaos was in full motion under the big top. The first set was the scene from inside Scrooge's shop. A giant multi-paned window revealed the snowy village outside. The dark gloomy shop interior was lit only by two candle nubs and the fire in the hearth fizzled with just a tiny red flame. The set decorations were nice but the costumes and makeup were nothing short of Broadway caliber.

  Scottie came scuttling out of the huddle of people with a light green program in her hand. She passed it to me. "These finally came back from the printers. They'll tell you the names of each character, and their business information is printed right below their names. It should help with your article."

  I looked down at the program. A picture of an English village was printed across the cover. Beneath it were the words, "You're Invited to Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol".

  "Thank you, Scottie. This will help me keep names straight. By the way, the costumes and makeup are amazing."

  "Aren't they?" She gazed around the room wearing a grin from ear to ear. The man playing Scrooge's dead partner, Jacob Marley, shuffled past wrapped in cumbersome plastic chains. His face was covered with pale yellow foundation and dark rings were smudged under his eyes. His entire head and chin were wrapped in the macabre, traditional bandage Victorian undertakers used to keep corpses from going slack-jawed in preparation for burial. It was hard to tell whether the actor, Hubert Cummings, owner of a local funeral home, coincidentally enough, was having a harder time with the chains or the bandage on his head. Either way, he looked properly creepy, just as a haunting spirit should, I thought and then quickly breathed a sigh of relief that my own spirit looked far more dashing than dead.

  "Just wonderful, Scottie. You've done such a great job." I decided it couldn't hurt to heap on the praise. She'd been more than generous by allowing me in on the top secret dress rehearsal.

  "I'm so glad you think so." Then she pointed a teacher finger at me. "Now remember—no pictures. We don't want anyone to see the cast until tonight's performance."

  "I promise. No pictures." Her admonition reminded me about my theater date with Jackson. I was a mix of excitement and nerves about the evening. "Of course I'll be at the performance tonight. Looking forward to it."

  "Marvelous," she chirped. A clamor and loud voices on stage grabbed her attention. "I better get up there before someone throws a fist. Opening day jitters have everyone on edge." She hurried off.

  "So, the reporter has returned to the scene of the crime," a baritone voice said from behind. I turned around and came face to face with an impressive Ghost of Christmas Present. Danny Danforth wore a dark green satin coat that hung to the floor, or at least tried to with his impossible height. The collar, bell shaped sleeves and hem of the coat were trimmed in fake gray fur. A thick fuzzy brown beard, a few shades darker than his hair, had been glued to his face and his naturally thick brows had been enhanced too. His big head was crowned with a wreath of holly leaves.

  Danny held out his arms. He had an enormous wingspan. "What do you think? Christmas ghost from my head"—he peered up to get a glimpse of the wreath on his head—"to almost my toes." He looked down at his shoes. They were the same black loafers from the day before. "There wasn't enough time to find shoes my size to fit the costume. Although, who really knows what type of shoes a spirit should be wearing. Frankly, if I'm ever a ghost, I hope I'm barefoot."

  His comment made me smile. Poor Edward had been stuck for eternity in stiff, new Hessian boots. I hoped things were better for him this morning, now that Ursula and Henry had moved on to patching walls, a much quieter task.

  "I must say you really fit the part," I said. "You're just what I would expect the Ghost of Christmas Present to look like." I pulled out my notebook. "Scottie gave me the program so I have your contact information, which I'll be sure to include in the article. How are you feeling about this year's play? Are you looking forward to the performance?"

  "Hmm," Danny said and made a show of pretending to rub his beard in thought. "I can see why guys like these big beards. Makes me feel important and serious." This agent was certainly more delightful to talk to than the number one real estate agent.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm proud of what we've accomplished here. Scottie has done a great job. I think people will be pleased. You can quote me on all that. Now for my off the record comment. I wish that Weezer hadn't been cast in the lead. He already thinks he's far superior to the rest of us. But then, he does mirror his character in many ways." Danny laughed at his own comment. The thunderous sound reminded me of the day before when a wind gust sent the corner of the tent sailing up like a runaway kite.

  "By the way, did they ever find out what happened to the tent yesterday? Did the missing tent stake show up?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think so but I left early to meet with a potential client."

  "Danny," Scottie called from the stage. "Danny, we need you."

  "Time for my lines already?" he asked. "I haven't even seen Marley on stage yet."

  Scottie held up a brass lantern. "No, we need you to hang the lanterns on the street poles."

  "Of course, always call the tall guy instead of dragging out the ladder. Nice talking to you again, Miss Taylor. But I'm off. Giant duty calls."

  "Thank you."

  I hadn't seen Ebenezer Scrooge walking down from the side exit of the stage until Danny's large physique moved out of view. The two men skewered one another with scowls as they walked past each other. Evan had a black top hat on a gray wig and mutton chops glued to the sides of his face. He was wearing a black frock coat over a gray vest. The makeup team had added dark scowl lines to his forehead and face. They looked perfectly at home on his pinched face.

  "Those two can produce a winter storm with the way they look at each other." The woman stuck out her hand. "I'm Carly Gomez." She held out her arms displaying long flowing sleeves made from lacy white gauze. "Ghost of Christmas Past, in case the pale white makeup and long dress didn't give it away." She stared down at the dress with its frilly collar and adornments. "It's sort of a gothic mix of a bridal gown and a nightgown. At least I'
m not wearing a tattered old hooded cloak like Brian, the music shop owner. He's playing the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Be."

  I smiled admiringly at her. "Your costume does sort of look like something a vampire might wear to bed, but it's lovely and very ghost-like. I'm Sunni Taylor," I added.

  "Yes, the reporter from the Junction Times. I own Fuzz, Fur and Fins Pet Shop in Hickory Flats."

  "I thought I recognized you. Not with the pasty white complexion, of course. I buy my dogs' favorite bacon treats at your store. They love them."

  "Yes, the bacon flavored treats are a customer favorite. I was hoping to get a quick word with you before the rehearsal starts. I see Scottie gave you the program. It has all my relevant contact information, but I was hoping you could add a bit in about our annual pet adoption day. It's on December 29th in our parking lot."

  I opened my notebook. "I will make sure to mention it. It sounds like a good cause."

  "We generally end up matching every dog and cat with a new owner. What kind of dogs do you have?"

  Before I could answer, several shrieks and a general clamor came from the stage side of the tent. The large painted backdrops were falling down a like a strand of dominoes. People rushed forward to stop them from ripping and bending, but the heartbreaking sound of cardboard shredding filled the air. It was followed by a gasp. Scrooge's shop window had been ripped in half, effectively splitting the window down the middle.

  "Oh wow, that's going to set us back. I better go see what I can do to help." Carly headed off.

  "I'll be sure to feature the adoption day in the article."

  I watched for a few minutes as everyone, with the exception of Evan, scrambled to make sure there was no more damage to the set. Evan was standing away from the noise, talking on the phone. As he spoke, his assistant Tim, came out from behind the stage. His face was pale with worry as he searched anxiously around for his boss. He spotted Evan and took a deep, steadying breath before walking toward him. His fingers anxiously tugged at the bottom of his coat as he neared Evan.