Carol Ritten Smith (12 page)

Beth shook her head. “He won’t. He’s so wound up, he wouldn’t even recognize
me
if I were Santa.”

“Good. Then you do it,” he said, taking a step toward the door.

Beth grabbed his arm again. “Please.” Her bottom lip began to tremble. “I’m begging you.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll do it. Where’s the suit?”

“In the cellar, but I’m too afraid to go down there to get it.” She handed him a wall lantern.

• • •

Tom lifted the trap door in the floor and grimaced. He could understand why she didn’t want to go down there herself; the place had always given him the willies. Lantern in hand, he proceeded down the stairs into the dank smelling cellar. Above his head, the schoolroom’s floor reverberated from activity and dust from the floor joists sifted down onto his shoulders. He looked around, and sure enough, he found a large box marked “Santa Suit.” He set the lantern down and carried the box awkwardly up to the cloakroom, and then went back to retrieve the lantern. When he returned, Beth was shaking the creases out of the suit.

She held the pants for him. “Hurry, we haven’t much time.” While he stepped into them, draping the loose suspenders over his shoulders, she delved into the box and came out with a silky white wig and beard. She slipped the beard over his head, unmindful of the stinging snap she gave his chin with the elastic, then slapped the wig on his head and topped it off with the red stocking cap.

“I’ll need a pillow or something,” Tom said, holding the red pant’s expansive girth away from his body.

“Here,” She grabbed a couple of coats off the stack on the table and stuffed them down inside.

Tom grinned lasciviously from ear to ear behind the beard.
Who’d have thought the prim little schoolteacher would be shoving her hand where she definitely had no business shoving it.
When he felt himself becoming aroused, Tom grabbed the coats from her. “I’ll do it. Get the jacket.”

She held it while he shoved his arms into the sleeves, and then came around front of him and buttoned it over his lumpy girth. As if he were a helpless child, Tom held his arms out as she wrapped the wide black Santa belt around his waist and cinched it tight to hold the “belly” from slipping down a pant leg. She stood back to scrutinize the Santa before her.

“How do I look?”

“Passable, but your suit’s all creased.”

“Well, what do you expect?” he retorted. “I’ve come all the way from the North Pole in a sleigh.” His eyes twinkled behind the beard, like the jolly old man himself.

Beth laughed in relief, hugged him around the neck and kissed his bearded cheek in gratitude. Then embarrassed, almost mortified — her cheeks flaming nearly as deep red as the flannel suit — she shoved the empty box under the table.

“The class is going to recite ‘A Visit from Saint Nick.’ Come in anytime near the end.” She slipped back into the classroom and Tom hoped no one would speculate about the schoolteacher’s heightened color.

He stood listening at the door for his cue, unable to ignore the sweet familiar scent of her hair lingering in his silky beard nor the memory of her arms around him. He’d been as surprised as she was by the impulsive hug and kiss. He wished he hadn’t been wearing the beard. Then he would have felt her lips upon … Stop it! He was beginning to be aroused again.
Wouldn’t that make a great entrance? Santa walking in with an erection.
He forced himself to think of the children and what he should do when he got inside.

“ … and laying his finger aside of his nose.” Oh hell, that was his cue. Taking a deep breath and nearly choking on a bit of beard fluff, he opened the door.

No one, other than Santa, could get away with interrupting a group recitation. With a hearty “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas,” Tom ran down the center aisle to the front of the classroom, ringing a large circle of sleigh bells and causing quite a commotion. Babies began to cry in fright, but the toddlers and older children crowded around him, while the oldest ones, wise to the Santa sham, stood back lest someone think they still believed in such nonsense.

Tom was rather surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Under the guise of Santa, he felt completely at ease with the children.

“All right, boys and girls,” his voice boomed above the din, “who’d like to help me hand out these presents I see here under the tree?” After a plethora of “me, me, me’s,” he realized he couldn’t very well choose one student over another without playing favorites, something the
true
Santa would never do. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Your teacher can be my helper. What’s her name?”

A chorus of children chimed, “Miss Patterson.”

Beth was shaking her head in refusal even before Santa motioned her to come forward. “All right, Miss Patterson, come give me a hand.” When he saw her hesitate, he hooked his thumbs into his belt and ordered, “Hurry up now. I can’t keep those reindeer waiting all night.”

Beth was pushed to the front while Santa plunked his bulky body down upon the piano stool, playfully spinning around and around. When he stopped, Beth was standing before him, arms akimbo, green eyes sparkling. “No spinning on the piano stool, please.”

“Right. Sorry, Miss Patterson.”

The children giggled, delighted to see Santa reprimanded by their teacher.

Beth handed Tom the first treat bag. “This one is for Peter Brown, Santa.”

“Ho, Ho, Ho. Peter Brown, come on up here and sit on my knee for a bit. We need to talk.” The boy climbed up on Tom’s knee and Tom proceeded to question him. “So Peter, have you been a good boy this year?”

“Uh huh.”

“Helping with the chores?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want anything special for Christmas?”

“Uh huh,” he answered again, leaning in so close to inspect Santa’s beard that Tom had to set him upright.

“And what would that be. Speak nice and loud, ’cause Santa can’t hear too well.”

“I want a baby brother.”

Tom chuckled while Peter’s parents shrank in their seats.

“A baby brother. Well, only God gives out babies. But I’ll bring you something else. How would that be?”

“Okay, I guess.” He slid off Santa’s knee and took his treat bag to show his parents.

• • •

If ever Beth wanted to say a prayer of gratitude, it was now. Tom was a spectacular Santa. He hugged and ho ho ho’ed, handed out candy bags, and entertained parent and child alike. When he finally raced out the school, everyone applauded enthusiastically. As far as she was concerned, his actions tonight canceled any offensive or embarrassing comment that he had previously made to her.

While the children opened their treat bags to find candies and oranges and little toys, the women set out the lunch. There wasn’t a mother there who didn’t congratulate Beth on the best Christmas concert Whistle Creek had ever had. Beth merely smiled her thanks, humbled by the fact it had very nearly been the worst Christmas concert in the history of Whistle Creek.

Tom returned a few minutes later, the back of his shirt damp, and the dark hair at the nape of his neck curled with perspiration. He stopped at the copper boiler for a coffee, proceeded to the lunch table, and piled a serviette high with goodies. As he made his way to sit with Mary and Earl, he received several hearty back slaps and secretive congratulations on a job well done. He barely seated himself before Davy came over to show him what he’d received from Santa.

Across the room, Beth watched Tom and Davy, their heads close together, taking turns peering through a miniature kaleidoscope. Beth smiled. Tom was a good role model for Davy. At that very moment, Tom glanced at her and returned her smile.

And she felt her heart trip a little.

Wagons lined up on either side of Whistle Creek’s First Methodist Church. It was Christmas Eve and families, bundled in layers of clothing to ward off the cold night air, came in masses to attend the evening service. The yellow glow from the candles and oil lamps inside bid one and all a warm welcome, and soon the small church was filled to capacity.

At the front, fresh evergreen boughs and holly sprigs graced the altar, and Beth had to agree with Davy; she had never seen anything so beautiful.

They sat on the left hand side of the church, squeezed into the pew like peas in an overcrowded pod. Ahead of them, on the opposite side, Bill sat with Annaleese and her family. He spent every spare minute he had with the Hewns. Mr. Hewn worked as a section man for the railway and was often away from home. To ingratiate himself with the family, Bill volunteered to do the chores during his absence. With no boys in the family, his help was most welcome, especially by Mrs. Hewn.

For the third time, Davy pried himself loose from between Beth and the bulky man sitting on the other side to stand and have a gander about. The man smiled tolerantly, though Beth sensed growing annoyance. Still, she decided her little brother was no more restless than any other child on Christmas Eve, so she reprimanded him only slightly. “Davy, you’ll have to try to sit still when the service starts.”

“I will. I’m just lookin’ to see if Tom is here.” Suddenly he pointed to the doorway at the back of the church. “Look, there he is. He’s with Mr. and Mrs. Betner.”

Davy quickly slipped past her and she managed to grab him by the elbow. “Where are you going?” she whispered.

“I’m going to say hi.”

“No, you’re not.” She tightened her grip on his spindly arm. “The service is about to start any minute. You can talk to him afterward. Now sit.”

“Jeepers.” Clearly miffed, Davy sat down, wiggling his rump into the bench seat. Before long, he rotated again to see if he could see his friend. Beth got him facing forward just as Reverend Harding stepped up to the pulpit with the opening prayer.

When everyone rose to sing the first hymn, she held the hymnal low to accommodate her little brother who was just beginning to read. She needn’t have bothered since he was standing on the pew facing backwards, trying to catch Tom’s attention. Those nearest were amused by the lad’s actions, but Beth wasn’t. With a swipe of her arm, she hauled him off the pew to stand beside her.

“Enough!” she whispered vehemently. “Keep it up and you’ll get a lump of coal from Santa.”

Apparently the ultimate threat worked, because he meekly endured the rest of the service, never once turning about. But Beth, occasionally hearing a strong clear male voice singing above all the others, had to fight temptation not to turn and look herself.

Immediately after the service, the moment there was a clear passage, Davy grabbed Beth’s hand and made a bee-line toward Tom who was sandwiched between the Betners. He pushed past Earl and tugged on the hem of Tom’s suit jacket. Tom turned and, upon seeing the boy, grinned. “Whoa there, Bud. Don’t tear my suit. I’ve only got the one.”

“For heaven’s sake, Davy, be careful,” Beth admonished.

Tom smiled at her, immediately noting she’d let her hair hang loosely around her face. It suited her. “Good evening, Beth.”

“Hello, Tom. Mary, Earl. Merry Christmas.” To Tom she added politely, “That was a lovely service.”

“Yes, yes it was,” he replied just as courteously. “Lots of Christmas carols.”

Davy piped up. “I could hear you singing, Tom. You sing real good!”

“Yes, you do.” It was out before Beth knew she was even going to say it.

Tom laughed off the compliment. “Must have been someone else.” Then speaking to Davy, he added, “Though when I was your age I used to sit on the front stoop and sing at night. Pretty soon, I’d have a whole chorus of coyotes joining in. We got so good, we started singing harmony.”

“Ah, go on.” Davy knew a yarn when he heard one.

“No. It’s true.”

Mary gave Tom a good-natured slap. “Such a story and in church no less!” Then drawing Beth aside, she asked, “My dear, Earl and I were wondering if you and the boys would care to join us tomorrow?”

Beth was taken aback. “Oh, Mary, how nice of you to ask, but we wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense! I love cooking for a crowd and now that most of our gang has moved away — well, it just doesn’t seem like Christmas unless the house is full. And our turkey is huge this year. Believe me, you’d be doing us a favor.” Mary wrapped her arm about Beth’s shoulders. “And if the boys want, they can go sledding. Maybe all of us. And then later we could warm up with some hot cocoa.”

She was very persuasive and Beth felt herself weakening. “It does sound wonderful, but I imagine Bill will be going to the Hewn’s.”

“Then you and Davy come.”

“May I bring something?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“I’d honestly like to. I baked Christmas pudding and I didn’t realize until it was too late that the recipe said it would feed twelve.”

Mary laughed. “Then this is working out perfectly, because I didn’t get around to making mine. You bring your pudding and I’ll take care of the rest. I plan on having the meal around two. But come early so we can visit while things cook.”

The two ladies returned to the men.

“Ready to go, dear?” Earl asked his wife.

“Yes, I think so. I want to get the turkey prepared tonight.” She turned to Tom. “Be sure to bring your guitar tomorrow. Maybe you could favor the Pattersons with some of those lovely coyote carols.”

Tom and Beth looked wide-eyed at each other and uttered in unison, “You’re going to Mary’s for Christmas?”

Davy was exuberant about spending the day with Tom. He let out a whoop and a holler, the likes Whistle Creek’s First Methodist Church had never heard, and announced, “This is going to be some Christmas!”

Mary smiled. “Yes, hopefully one we will all remember fondly.”

• • •

“Well, that takes care of everything.” Mary removed her apron and draped it over a chair. “The potatoes and turnips just have to finish cooking and in a few minutes Earl can carve the turkey. Let’s sit and relax a bit.” She led Beth into the parlor. “Funny, I thought Tom would have been here by now.”

A minute later, Tom burst loudly into the kitchen, stomping the snow off his boots onto a mat. He had a box of chocolates in one hand and his guitar in the other. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” he yelled.