Songs of Christmas (5 page)

“
Mild
heart attack,” Lillian clarified. “No need to exaggerate the situation.”

“Mother, please. Just let Dr. Newton finish.” Emily gave her a look.

“Go on, Doctor. You were saying?” Ezra prodded him.

“Yes, thankfully, it was a mild heart attack, but it was not the first one, which, as you know, makes any cardiac event more significant. Still, you’re coming along nicely, Ezra. You’ll probably be ready for release on Tuesday. But I strongly advise that you move from here to a rehab center for your recovery.”

Ezra looked surprised by this suggestion.

Lillian was, too. “Do you mean a nursing home?”

“Not a nursing home, no,” Dr. Newton replied carefully. “Though many facilities that provide rehabilitation also have sections that care for permanent residents.”

“Permanent residents, hah!” Lillian nearly spat the term back at him. “Inmates,” she mumbled under her breath.

Emily gave her another look. “Why do you suggest the rehabilitation facility, Doctor? Can you please explain?”

“And how long would I be there?” Ezra asked.

Lillian glanced at him.
You’re not going anywhere,
she telegraphed with her eyes. She sat back in a chair next to Ezra’s bed. He was sitting up against the tilted mattress. Only one tube extended from his arm today. That was a good sign. He had more color in his cheeks, and his voice sounded stronger, too. Pretty good progress for only two days after the fall. And at his age. She had nearly had a heart attack herself when it happened. But here they were, back to fight another day.

Ezra’s grip felt stronger, too, as he took her hand in his and gently squeezed.

“About six to eight weeks,” Dr. Newton replied, “depending on how quickly you heal. From what you and your wife told the home care counselor, it sounds as if there isn’t adequate support at home to fully facilitate your recovery.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. Speak English,” Lillian snapped. “Aren’t you just trying to say we’re two decrepit codgers who can barely take care of ourselves when we’re healthy, much less when dealing with a setback? Is that it?”

Dr. Newton wasn’t cowed. “Mrs. Elliot, I need to be sure your husband will have the care he needs, which will include daily physical therapy once those casts come off. There’s no question he can get all that in a skilled-nursing facility. I’m not at all sure he can get it at home.”

“That’s true, Mother. Please try to think of what’s best for Ezra,” Emily advised.

Lillian sat back and pursed her lips. Ezra wouldn’t be happy apart from her. That would slow down his recovery as much as anything. Didn’t Emily and this doctor realize that?

“There’s a very good facility in Beverly that may have an opening,” Dr. Newton continued.

“Beverly? How am I supposed to get down there every day—fly on my broomstick?”

Ezra laughed and patted her hand. The doctor looked like he wanted to laugh, too. Emily looked annoyed. “Jessica and I can drive you,” she said. “And I’m sure Sam and Dan will pitch in. We’ll all help.”

“You say that now, but when the time comes, there’s always something more important. Some emergency with the garbage pickup in town or the parking meters. Your sister is the same with her priorities. I know how that goes.”

“Calm down, dear. We’ll figure it out.”

Lillian turned to her husband. “Why can’t you just come home? We’re not alone. We have Mrs. Fallon, and we can bring people in—as needed,” she qualified. She didn’t want a parade of paraprofessionals marching through her home, of course. That wasn’t going to happen. But they would need a visiting nurse or aide during the day—and a physical therapist, once Ezra was well enough for that.

“Who is Mrs. Fallon?” The doctor rifled through his papers.

“Our live-in housekeeper,” Lillian informed him. “She’s completely devoted to Ezra. She’s been with him for years.”

“She’s a lovely woman, very capable,” Ezra agreed. “But we can’t expect to turn her into a nurse, too.”

Lillian could see both the doctor and Emily about to reply but she beat them to it. “Nonsense. She adores you. She would hate the idea of you being sent away as much as I do. She’ll be happy to help me care for you. We’ll give her some extra pay.”

Ezra shook his head. “She’d probably do it anyway.”

“Yes, she would. I don’t want you shipped off to Beverly or someplace where I can’t see you. I don’t want you shipped off at all.”

The doctor heaved a loud sigh. Lillian had almost forgotten he was there. A beeper clipped to his belt sounded, and he quickly checked the message.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. If you are determined to keep your husband at home, Mrs. Elliot, we’ll need to work out an adequate plan for his care. Twenty-four-hour care,” he repeated, his tone sounding like a warning. “Mrs. Cole, the social worker assigned to your case, can help you with that.”

Lillian had already met Mrs. Cole. She would be easier to get around than Dr. Newton, and he was already in retreat mode. She wasn’t worried. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll speak to her right away,” she promised.

“I’ll look in on you tomorrow, Ezra. Keep up the good work.”

Ezra smiled. “Thank you, Doctor. Same to you.”

Emily rose from her seat and picked up her purse. “I can see you’re determined, Mother. I’ll go find Mrs. Cole and start working on this. We’ll need to rent a hospital bed and bring in a nurse or home health aide during the day, and at night, too. I hope you realize that it won’t just be business as usual. This is going to change your routine.”

“A small price to pay compared to shipping Ezra off to goodness knows where.”

“Thank you for arranging all this, Emily. I appreciate it. I suppose I would prefer to be at home, if that can be worked out,” Ezra said honestly.

Emily’s gaze softened as she looked over at him. He wasn’t just her stepfather; she had known Ezra all her life. He had been her father’s oldest friend and practically the only person in town who had stood by her family when they were weathering some very bad times. She felt protective toward him, as she would toward her own father, had he lived this long.

“I’m happy to help, Ezra. Let me see what I can do.” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then hurried off.

Once Emily had gone, Ezra said, “I know you have your heart set on my coming home, Lily. But it might not work out. I’ve got a broken leg and a broken arm, and I’m recovering from a heart attack. I’m going to need a lot of help, and it’s not going to be easy on anyone. So prepare yourself.”

“I’ll prepare the bedroom on the first floor for you to sleep in. That’s the only thing I’ll prepare. I won’t see you carried off. I know about those places. Next thing you know, they’ll want to keep you there.”

“Don’t be silly. That’s not true at all. I’m sure it’s just as the doctor described: a skilled-nursing facility. Though I will admit, I’d rather not spend two or three months away from home. Away from you.”

“My point exactly. We’ll do fine with Mrs. Fallon and some medical people coming in a few hours here and there. You’ll spring back much faster in your own home, I guarantee it.”

Ezra reached over and patted her hand. “All right, dear. If you feel so strongly about it.”

“I do feel strongly about it, and I’m right. You’ll see.”

* * *

AMANDA HAD BEEN BACK FOR NEARLY A MONTH BUT HAD NOT YET
attended church. At this time of year, Molly often had to work in the shop or cater a party on weekends, and Amanda worked with her. This weekend, with her sisters home, her parents decided that the family would attend the Sunday service together. Their announcement Saturday night was greeted by a chorus of groans.

“Yes, I’m sure you’d all rather sleep late and spend the rest of the morning eating a big breakfast and giving each other manicures,” Molly had replied. “But I need to show off my beautiful daughters once in a while. This is the perfect opportunity. You’ll have to indulge me.”

“And we all have a lot to be thankful for,” Amanda’s father added. “Thanksgiving isn’t just one day of the year.”

Amanda and her sisters responded with a few more halfhearted grumbles but knew it was pointless to argue. Amanda didn’t mind going to church with her family now and again. She always did when she came home from school. But she had gotten out of the habit of attending on her own ever since she started college. She hadn’t even looked for a church in New York.

The old stone church on the green had not changed one bit, she noticed as they drove toward it.
Though maybe there’s more ivy climbing its walls,
she thought as her father searched for a parking space.

The big arched wooden doors still stood open, even though her family was among the last to arrive. With the help of Tucker Tulley, one of the deacons, they soon found seats toward the back of the sanctuary. Amanda was surprised to see nearly every seat filled. She didn’t recognize many faces, though she did see Molly’s brother—her uncle Sam—sitting with her aunt Jessica and her cousins. And Emily Warwick, her husband, Dan, and their daughter, Janie.

Of course, Lillian Warwick and her husband Dr. Elliot were not there. He had fallen down on Thanksgiving night and was still in the hospital. Her family had heard the news through her aunt Jessica. Her father and mother planned to visit him in the hospital that afternoon.

Sophie Potter, another familiar face from her childhood, also sat nearby, and she greeted the Hardings with a nod and a fond glance.

Amanda smiled back. She couldn’t look at Sophie without thinking of apples. Sophie even looked a bit like an apple now, with her round face and pink cheeks. Amanda knew that she still lived on Potter Orchard and wondered if the old woman worked outdoors any longer. It seemed impossible, unless you knew Sophie.

Reverend Ben Lewis was still their minister. She had always liked Reverend Ben. He had a wonderful gift for showing how spiritual ideas worked in everyday life. Even so, her mind wandered during the opening announcements and call to worship, her attention called back only when it was time to sing the first hymn.

The choir wasn’t large like ones she had seen in some bigger churches. Even so, they could have had a richer, more energetic sound, she decided. She wondered if she was being overly critical, returning here after years of studying and playing with professional musicians. Still, she had once stood on those risers herself and sung in that choir, and she was pretty sure it had sounded better than the group here this morning. The choice of music seemed a little predictable as well.

Why don’t you relax and stop being such a big critic,
she told herself.
It’s tough to get any sort of quality performance from amateur singers. The church is lucky to have people giving their time and effort up there every Sunday, no matter what they sound like.

The hymn they were singing, “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” was one of Amanda’s favorites. She sang the final verse wholeheartedly and was pleased to hear that the choir picked up with a strong finish.

“All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all . . .”

The theme of the service was gratitude, as she had expected it would be this weekend. Reverend Ben gathered the children around for his “Time with Children” talk and showed them how the pilgrims set five kernels of corn on each dish at the first Thanksgiving. He even had a dinner plate with bits of corn as a prop.

“I bet most of you have learned that the first Thanksgiving was a big feast, celebrating the harvest and the end of the harsh times the settlers had endured during their first year in America. Why put measly little corn kernels on their dish first, when there was all that delicious food they had cooked? Does anybody know why they did that?”

Amanda watched the children respond. A few hands went up, rather tentatively. Her little sister Betty, however, waved her hand wildly and jumped to her feet when Reverend Ben called on her.

“Look, it’s Betty,” her mom whispered excitedly.

“Shhh. I want to hear what she says,” her dad said.

Betty raised her voice to be heard. “The pilgrims put corn kernels out to make them remember that they only had a little food when they came here . . . and they should be happy to have a lot.”

“That’s right, Betty. Very good.” Reverend Ben nodded his head and smiled. “They put the corn kernels on their plate every Thanksgiving Day after that, and many families still follow that tradition. We do it at our house. For each of the five kernels,” he added, holding one up for the children to see, “we tell everyone else at the table about a blessing in our life, something we’re thankful for. Here’s a bit of corn,” he said, handing one down to Janie Forbes. “What would you give thanks for?”

Janie seemed shy for a moment. She looked down and shrugged. “I’d say thanks for my new dog, Pearl. She sleeps on my bed at night.”

Everyone looked over at Emily and Dan, Amanda included. Emily smiled and shook her head. She didn’t seem the type of mother who would let a dog sleep on a bed. But it just went to show, you never could tell. Amanda liked her even more after hearing that.

After a few more real-life examples, the children were herded out of the sanctuary by their Sunday school teachers. The scriptures were read and the adult sermon soon began, with the same theme.

“An attitude of gratitude is not just for Thanksgiving Day, but can be a daily practice. It’s a way of looking at the world and appreciating the precious gifts in each of our lives that we take for granted.

“No one’s life is perfect, despite the images we see on television and in the movies. And when we visit our Facebook friends,” Reverend Ben added with a grin. “Everyone is always celebrating or going on vacation. We compare and despair, don’t we?

“But happiness and a sense of abundance are not about how much you own, or how big your bank account might be. Or how successful you are in your career. One merely needs to glance at a newspaper or magazine to find a story about some successful, wealthy person who seems to have everything but is unhappy or unfulfilled.”

Amanda listened while gazing at the stained-glass windows. They were still beautiful, filtering the sunlight with jewel-toned hues. But here and there, they were marred with random patches of black plastic and duct tape, covering broken spots, she assumed. She wondered how that had happened and if the windows would be repaired.