An Endless Christmas, page 8
“Take my tea. Take my hat. Take my cousin . . .” Bella said, a hint of her father’s voice in her words.
“YOU’RE SURE IT’S OKAY for me to take Jericho out this afternoon, Grandpa Wilson?”
That Micah. Hard to say no to that boy. How had Katie done it? Looked him right in the eye and told him she wasn’t going to marry him. Strong woman behind all that delicate. “Told you, Micah, it’s fine with me. Good to get him some fresh air and sunshine. Good for all of us. The neighbor boy helps with that when he’s around. Kids’ schedules fill up fast these days.”
“True for all of us. No matter our age. Life gets too busy with things that aren’t all that important,” Micah said, a crease forming in his forehead.
“You doing okay down there in alligator country?”
He chuckled. “We don’t see many alligators near Fort Myers, Grandpa. Yeah, I’m doing . . . okay.”
“Have you given any more thought to what I told you? Your grandma and I will find a way to help out, if you want to start on grad school. Whatever it takes, Micah.”
“It’s not a good time right now.”
Should I say it right out? Or keep my nose out of the boy’s business? “Micah, sometimes those who are the most generous have an issue letting others be generous with them. And, I mean, a heart issue.” There. He’d said it. He watched Micah’s expression for evidence that he’d pushed too hard.
“It’s more blessed to give than to receive, right, Grandpa Wilson?”
He would need two deep breaths for this one. “But if we aren’t willing to receive, aren’t we keeping someone else from a blessing then? Seems kind of selfish, doesn’t it? And I know that’s not who you’ve ever been.”
Micah scrunched his mouth, obviously chagrined. Score one for the old man.
CHAPTER SIX
DEB SUGGESTED SHE AND KATIE walk from the restaurant to their next stop, one of many antique shop options in downtown Stillwater. The rest waited for Rhonda to pick them up in the van. Katie’s suspicions that Micah’s mom had prearranged their alone time as an opportunity to have a talk with her were quickly confirmed.
“Kind of tough to be thrown into a family like this at Christmastime, isn’t it.” Deb looped her infinity scarf around her neck as they walked.
“To be fair, I didn’t make it any easier on everybody. But they’ve been”—Katie searched for the word she wanted—“storybook wonderful.”
Deb laughed. “You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but that’s the exact word I used to describe the Binders when I first started dating Tim. I didn’t grow up in a family like this.”
“You already know I didn’t either,” Katie said. “Not even close.”
“It took me a long time to realize Tim’s family members were genuine. About everything. Their love for one another. Their ‘live each moment to the full because it might be the last’ philosophy. Their faith.”
“I’m more reserved than most of the Binders.” Reserved. Let’s call it that.
“I’m still reserved, as you may have noticed, Katie.” Deb smiled her direction. “But I eventually let go of the resistance that was standing between us.”
Is that what she thought Katie’s problem was? Resistance?
“I’d be the last person to pressure you, Katie. I know what it’s like to find all the hugs and intense love for one another a little overwhelming.”
Deb knew. She knew. Something inside Katie’s chest relaxed.
“But I’d also hate for you to miss out on what it’s like to be embraced more fully than you could have imagined. Championed. Included. Loved no matter what.”
“Is that what you found?”
Deb’s chin disappeared into her scarf for a moment. “The first time Tim’s folks invited me to dinner, Dodie hugged me and told me she loved me. The first time. I hadn’t heard those words from my own parents since—” She slowed her pace. “I still haven’t. Not unsolicited. They’ll say it if I speak the words first. Sometimes.”
Deb picked up the pace again. Even with the press of people on the street, Katie heard her muffled sigh. “It’s not the same.”
Deb could smile as broadly as any of the natural-born Binders. She loved as strongly. Laughed in sync with them. Acted the epitome of kindness. But her childhood didn’t train her for this. How did she make the transition? And what did she put Tim through in the early days of their relationship? Was he right now counseling Micah how to survive a woman like Katie?
A guy shouldn’t have to go through survival training to love someone.
Katie had the power to spare him that. Should. Right after Christmas. Katie had enough memories of holidays turned sour with heartbreak. And she had enough respect for the meaning of holy days to exert what little willpower she had to postpone the inevitable a few more days.
“Katie? Did you hear that?”
She reined her thoughts back to Main Street, Stillwater. Still. Water. Still waters. Two days from Christmas and she wasn’t thinking of Luke’s verses about shepherds abiding in the fields but a psalm of a Shepherd leading her to still waters. “Hear what?”
Deb pointed toward the waterfront now visible as they crossed the intersection. On the street that hugged the river, a slow-moving pair of beefy horses pulled a ruby-red mini-wagon driven by a man whose snowy beard looked completely legit. Naturally padded belly too.
Katie stopped when they topped the far curb so she could watch the horse-drawn wagon’s progress. Happy families and young couples and others closer to Grandma and Grandpa Binder’s age waved from the small wagon. “That looks like fun.” Focus on the fun, Katie.
Deb kept moving. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Katie pulled her eyes from the charming scene to catch up with her guide. Buildings soon blocked the view that had captured her. “Sure.”
“Don’t let the Chamber of Commerce hear me say this, but I prefer Stillwater in the off seasons. When it’s quieter. Fewer people. There’s still plenty of activity to choose from. And the beauty of this place never dies.”
The group reunited at the Staples Mill shops after their brief separation. The next hour ticked by with a trip down history’s aisles. Christmas-themed antiques took center stage just inside the doors and in the window displays of several of the shops the group of women visited. Although drawn to a vintage nativity set and antique bubble lights, Katie bypassed the holiday memories and walked deeper into each store. She started at the back and worked her way forward. She moved in and out of range of the others. When she drew close, she observed the Binder women’s ease with one another and delight over their “finds,” most of which they enjoyed, discussed, then walked past, as if owning were not as important as celebrating the item’s existence.
Katie shared that in common with them. For a brief moment, the thought made her feel like part of the family. How could a single thought both warm and terrify her?
A display of antique brooches caught her eye.
“When I get married,” Elisa said, leaning over Katie’s shoulder, “I’m going to make my bridal bouquet out of antique pins and brooches. I saw a couple of brooch bouquets on Pinterest. Gorgeous. Plus it would last forever.”
Forever.
“You can keep shopping if you want,” Grandma Dodie said, leaning on a distressed Hoosier cabinet. “But I think it’s time for me to get off this leg. Rhonda, would you mind taking me home?”
The women all agreed they’d seen enough and were ready to head back to the cottage together. They took a short detour to a corner grocery store for two gallons of milk, then wound their way north to Lubber’s Lane.
“The men are cooking tonight,” Grandma Dodie said from the front passenger seat. “Should be interesting.”
“Micah’s a great cook,” Katie said. “As long as the heat source is an outdoor grill.”
“Or campfire,” Deb added. “Speaking of which—”
“The boys are already on the case,” Dodie assured them.
Katie waited for someone to explain. Allie leaned over the seat and offered, “Bonfire tonight. One of my favorite events during Christmas Week.”
“Bonfire?”
“Down by the pond every year,” Elisa said. “Unless it’s a year without snow.”
“So,” Katie ventured, “you roast marshmallows and sing a Christmas version of ‘Kum-baya’?” Katie tried to imagine which Christmas carol most closely mimicked “Kum-baya” and decided it might not have been written yet.
Deb turned toward Katie as much as her seat belt would allow. “Different kind of bonfire. We burn the past year’s regrets.”
RHONDA PULLED THE VAN close to the back door of the cottage to give Grandma Dodie the best chance of getting into the house without slipping and falling. “If I’d worn my Sorrel boots,” she said, “instead of these flimsy things, you could have parked behind the barn and I would have walked.”
“Mmm, not today, Mom.” The look on Deb’s face stirred Katie’s diagnostic instincts. Had Deb seen something in Grandma Dodie’s coloring or gait or breathing that Katie had missed? Entirely possible, as consumed as Katie had been with her own problems. Self-focused. She’d learned it at home from practiced professionals. And there it was again. Self-absorption. She turned her attention to clearing the way from the van to the back door, kicking a chunk of a fallen icicle from the path and making sure the mudroom entry was free of boots and other winter gear.
“Ohhh,” Grandma Dodie said as she stepped into the cottage. Her word lingered, not like a cry of pain, but as if she’d just gotten an inside joke or hidden message. “Yes. Yes, leave the van right there for now. Katie, let me take your purchases and put them someplace safe. I have a small favor to ask you.”
Take your blood pressure? Test the grip strength of your extremities?
“Would you take these shriveled carrots out to Jericho in the barn? They’re no good to us, but he’ll love them.”
Jericho. The horse.
“I haven’t been around horses much.”
“Jericho is as gentle as they come. Go on. You might want something warmer on your head, though.” She pulled a red knit hat from the tote bag where she kept her knitting.
“It has my name on it!” Katie fingered the white stitching that matched the hats of all the real Binder grandchildren.
“Good thing you women didn’t get me for lunch a minute sooner or your name would have been missing the e.”
Katie felt the soft, thick yarn and thicker-still ribbing, the stitches uneven enough to mark it as hand-knit. “Thank you.”
“I know you won’t have much call for it in Florida, but when you come back here, it’ll be waiting for you.”
Oh, Grandma Dodie. Katie hoped the threads of the embroidered name could be snipped off and the hat reused for someone else.
The other women skirted past Grandma Dodie and Katie, on their way to other projects. Katie pulled on the hat, which covered her ears and forehead well, and took the limp carrots Grandma Dodie offered.
“Go around by the back entrance to the barn. Then you won’t spook him.”
Katie didn’t relish the idea of a horse that spooked easily.
“There are a few deer apples in a bucket by the barn entrance, too, Katie. He loves those,” Deb called from the doorway between the kitchen and family room.
Apparently, she had one more family member to meet. A horse.
She crossed the space between the cottage and the barn. The snow glistened as if a quadrillion LED lights lay buried under its surface. Such pure colors—the white snow, stark red barn, crayon-blue sky. She rounded the corner of the barn and came nose to nose with the nicker she’d heard.
The horse shook his head, rattling his bridle and the jingling bells attached to a leather strap. Who wouldn’t jump back with an animal that size shaking its head at the sight of her?
“Katie, Jericho is harmless. More overgrown kitten than horse.” Micah’s voice soothed, as it always did.
She ducked around the massive beast’s head and found Micah standing beside a pull-down step on a black two-person sleigh with a deep red, deeply tufted interior.
“Your carriage awaits,” he said.
The chestnut horse’s flank shivered. “He’s wearing a diaper?”
“We call it a diaper bag. Or a bun bag. So as not to hurt his feelings.” Micah winked. “Believe me, you’ll be grateful for it. Climb in. Nice hat.”
“Thanks.” After some searching, she found good handholds on the sleigh and stepped in, with Micah’s help. The lush velvet interior showed signs of wear, as did the black paint. How long had it been in the family? “Oh wait. I have these,” she said, dangling the shriveled carrots in front of Micah’s nose as he climbed in beside her.
“Nice. If you prefer that to the snacks I packed to bring along—”
“Very funny. They’re for Jericho.”
At the mention of his name, the animal turned his head, one large, dark eye glaring at her.
“You made him very happy.”
Katie tucked the sleigh’s lap robe around her legs, carrots still in hand. “That’s happy?”
“No. This is.” Micah wrapped one arm around her, cupped her chin, and tilted his head to the side to kiss her. Tenderly, as he always did.
When the kiss ended, Katie stifled the urge to grab fistfuls of his coat and pull him back toward her. Her heart pounded in her throat. It beat a rhythm that said, Please, Micah. Don’t let go. The pounding in her brain overrode that self-absorbed noise.
“Got it!”
The two in the sleigh turned toward the speaker. Uncle Paul. With a camera. Standing just a few feet behind them. “You’ll love that shot. It will make a great engagement picture. Or maybe next year’s photo Christmas card. Have fun, you two.” Paul worked his way around the sleigh on Katie’s side. “Are these yours?” he asked her, retrieving carrots from the snow. She didn’t remember dropping them. It must have been the kiss.
He gave Jericho’s shoulder a pat. “See you in an hour or so? We’re cooking tonight, Micah.”
“I remember. Does the pizza place deliver this far out?”
“Not sure Grandma Dodie would go for that. Homemade pizzas, maybe. Christmas-themed.” Uncle Paul fed the carrots to the horse then left them alone, stopping to snap two more pictures.
Micah picked up the reins and said, “Don’t worry, Katie. We have a plan.”
So do I. And neither one of us is going to like it, judging from that kiss.
THE SLEIGH RUNNERS made a shooshing sound as they slid along the snow on Lubber’s Lane. Jericho’s slow, plow-horse pace kept the sound low-pitched. The afternoon sun fought hard to warm the scene between the fingers of trees in its way. The blanket helped. Micah’s arm around her helped more.
“Can you talk and drive at the same time, Micah?”
He lifted the reins to show that Jericho needed little nudging from him. It was as if the horse knew the route. “It’s not like texting and driving. Yes, I can talk. What’s on your mind?”
So much. Too much. “What do you really want out of life?”
“We’re starting with the easy questions, huh?”
“I’m serious.”
Jericho eased them down an incline then dug into the snow-packed back road to climb the next hill.
“What do I want out of life?” He took the reins with both hands. “A faster horse?”
“Wrong answer.”
“Jericho’s not very fast, you may have noticed.”
“Cut him some slack, Micah,” Katie teased. “He’s doing the best he can for an animal his age. How old is he?”
“Older than I am.”
Katie shifted to face him. “How long do horses live?”
“About this long. But back to your original question . . .”
Easygoing, but without the irresponsibility that accompanies too many easygoing people. One more thing to love about Micah. To love. To lose?
“What do I really want out of life? Besides you?” he asked.
She studied the stitching on the leather gloves she wore. A lose thread. She tugged on it to tighten the gap, but two more stitches worked lose. Better to cut it off. “Besides me.”
“A great family Christmas . . . with you. A new year full of adventure . . . with you. A lifetime . . . with you. Babies . . . with you.”
“Micah!”
“Eventually.”
He wasn’t making this easier. “Micah, if you could have any job or pursuit in the world, what would you want to be doing?”
“You’ve asked this before.”
“And you’ve never given me an answer that didn’t sound like a comedy routine.”
He flicked the reins. Jericho responded by keeping his one-note pace, lifting his tail and dropping something into the diaper bag.
“There’s another word for that,” Micah said. “Although . . .”
“Would you be serious for a minute? Please?”
At the crest of a hill, with a panoramic view of the St. Croix River unobstructed by trees in this one spot, Micah pulled back on the reins. That command, Jericho obeyed. The soft clop of horse hooves stopped, as did the constant shooshing sound of the sleigh runners.
Micah said nothing. He stared ahead, then down.
“I read a lot,” Katie said, her voice barely registering in the winter quiet.
“I know. I love that about you.”
“It frustrates me when I read a novel about a conflict between people that goes on and on when all they’d need to do is sit down and talk to each other for a few minutes. And listen to each other.”
He faced her then. “Don’t I always listen to you? Most of the time?”
“You’re a good listener.”
“Then . . .”
“We have things to talk about that neither one of us has been willing to address.”
“What things?” His man-face turned to boy-face. He closed his eyes a moment, then reinstalled his man-face. “What things, Katie?”
“Tell me what you want to do with your life. It matters for the discussion.”
