Their First Noel (9 page)

“D
o the donkey sound again!” Greer squirmed on a stool pulled up to the island in the inn's spacious kitchen.

Andy lowered his head. His shoulders lifted and then fell. He groaned. Then he seemed to reach down into the depths of what Corrie decided was the place where his good-guy-who-always-tries-to-put-things-right-and-doesn't-want-anyone-to-see-him-look-silly met his adoring big-brotherness. He lifted his head as he let out a comical “Eee-yaw! Eee-yaw!”

Greer clapped her hands and giggled.

Corrie couldn't help laughing, too. She also couldn't fight back feeling touched by the sweetness of a tough guy like Andy so willing to prove he could help his little sister reenact the nativity play. She pressed her lips together. Since the first time she had walked into this inn her emotions had gone round and round in an amazing mix of joy, anxiety and nostalgia for things she'd never known.

And hope. Hope for snow. Hope for finding her father. Hope for finding her own way. Hope for…

She didn't even know what she hoped for, only that seeing Andy like this made her want that elusive unnamed thing more than anything she'd ever hoped for before.

Andy laughed and gave Greer a hug. His gaze flicked up and his eyes met Corrie's.

Her breath stopped. She thought she smiled. Maybe she twitched. She knew she blushed by the rush of heat she felt in her face. Flustered, she spun around to hunch over her work to place the last piece of the gingerbread roof in place. “Well, you've done it again, Andy.”

“What?”

“Come to my rescue.” She stood back to reveal the basic form of the inn held together with thick white royal icing. “Your modifications made all the difference. Everything fits and so far nothing has buckled, slid, collapsed or tilted. Everything is just where it's supposed to be.”

“Feels that way, doesn't it?” he murmured in a way that made her turn her head to meet his gaze.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat to catch him looking not at the newly constructed inn, but directly at her.

“When do we start decorating?” Greer hopped down off her stool and came close to peer at the inn. She stuck out the tip of her tongue and reached her hand out slowly.

“What's this ‘we' short stuff?” Andy intercepted her before she could touch the inn by looping his arm around her midsection.

“First things first. We have to make sure it holds together before I start with the fondant, marshmallows, coconut flakes and all that other stuff.”

“Wow, fondant? Marshmallows? Coconut flakes? Other stuff?” Greer's eyes seemed to grow bigger with every addition she imagined. “What's fondant?”

“In this case it's quick mix of marshmallows and water and lard that's going to make a kind of…” She rubbed her fingers together, then flexed them into fists, then held them up in surrender. “I'll make extra so you can have some to play with.”

“All right!” The child crouched as if ready to launch herself upward in a great burst of unleashed energy.

Andy lifted his sister up and back. She squirmed, more as if she wanted to get a better look at the unadorned inn than to make an escape. Her legs began to swing and her small feet kicked slightly. “I think your inn stands a better chance of holding together if it doesn't have to share the same space as my little sister here.”

Corrie wiped her hands on the corner of her apron. “Is that your way of suggesting I get it out of here as soon as possible?”

“Just the opposite. Suggesting I should get a certain somebody out of here as soon as possible.”

“I know who you're talking about.” Greer jabbed her thumb into her chest. “And I only wanted to help decorate.”

Andy settled her on the floor again and she rushed up to the counter to look longingly at the basic structure of the contest-entry inn.

“It's no fair.” Greer raised her eyes from counter level
to Andy then to Corrie. “I haven't gotten to decorate
anything
this year. Not even a Christmas tree. Dumb ol' renovations. Dumb ol' inn.”

Corrie looked up at Andy and without saying a word as much as demanded he explain why that was.

“The place is such a… I don't even know where I'd put…” He ran his hand back through his hair. “There hasn't been any time.”

Corrie stole a sidelong glance at her drying inn then folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin to challenge the man's excuses. “There's time now.”

“Yes!” Greer's little fist shot up in the air. She started to jump, but caught herself and just did a little wiggle instead.

Corrie laughed. “And as someone who has spent the better part of the last couple months thinking about decking the halls of this inn, I have a few ideas where to put a Christmas tree.”

“We're getting a tree! We're getting a tree! Andy promised me when I came out here that we would!” Greer's wiggle turned into a jiggle then into a dance that had her hopping on one foot then the other across the tile floor. Halfway to the door, she spun around and nailed her brother with a guarded glare. “We
are
getting a tree, aren't we, Andy?”

He clenched his jaw. His brow furrowed.

Corrie held her breath.

“Ple-e-ease?” Greer begged.

Ple-e-ease?
Corrie wished under her breath. Yes, she wanted Greer to have her tree but if that came with a chance for Andy to see that sometimes not going accord
ing to the plan was its own reward, well, Corrie liked that, too.

Andy's eyes shifted from his sister to Corrie to his sister again. Finally, he exhaled and chuckled at the same time. He bent his head and shook it. “Okay. You got me. A Christmas tree it is.”

Greer clapped her hands and ran out the swinging door.

“Wear gloves and a hat, not just a coat,” Andy called out after the child as he went to the back of the large kitchen and opened the door to the utility closet.

Corrie left him to get his own coat as she checked the royal icing joints of the gingerbread inn. “Great. I can grab my purse and coat on the way to the…”

She raised her head, suddenly aware of Andy standing in the doorway of the closet in his flannel shirt with a bona fide wood-handled, steel-bladed ax slung up on his shoulder.

“…car,” she said in something of a squeak.

“What car? It's just a short walk out into the woods from here.” He held his hand out to urge her toward the door that had just stopped swinging from Greer having pushed through it.

Corrie almost didn't trust her legs to carry her through that door. Still, she obeyed his request, disheartened to turn away from Andy looking all strong, manly and outdoorsy.

“So, we're really going to cut down our own tree, just like you promised, Andy?” Greer spun around in the open lobby space.

“Sure.” He set the ax down long enough to slip into his coat and gloves, careful to keep himself between
the dangerous tool and the excited young girl flitting around the room. “What's the point of owning all this pine-covered prime Vermont real estate if you can't get one measly Christmas tree out of it?”

A tiny thrill trembled in Corrie's stomach. “I used to shake up my little snow globe and dream of the Snowy Eaves Inn at Christmas time and now I'm actually going out on to Mt. Piney to help cut down a Christmas tree.”

The light in Andy's expression darkened for a moment at the mention of the broken snow globe. “Corrie, I want you to know—”

“Are you going to stand here talking or go get our tree?” She didn't want anything to put a damper on this special afternoon. She slid her arm into the sleeve of her coat even as she threw open the front door. A blast of frosty air whooshed into her face, stealing away her breath.

“Brrr.” Andy pulled a knit cap out of his coat pocket. “It's gotten a lot colder since church. Maybe we'll get some snow.”

“No kidding?” Corrie couldn't help laughing out loud at the prospect, whirling around and throwing her arms around Andy's neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“For what?” He staggered backward, laughing.

“For letting me work on my contest entry out here.” The brisk wind picked up her hair and sent it across her eyes and lips. She batted it away to no avail. “For helping me. For taking me along to cut down the Christmas tree. For…for…for snow!”

“I don't make the snow,” he reminded her as he
brushed her hair back then took his own knit hat and fit it perfect on her head, rolling it up and back to accommodate her glasses. “And I can't promise we will get any today.”

“I don't care.” She didn't know if it was the cap or the company but she suddenly felt warm through her entire being. “Just having this moment to hope for it is enough. Just the possibility of something amazing makes it all worthwhile, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, Corrie. I do know,” he said softly.

They stood there looking into each other's eyes, saying nothing.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't think of anything that she felt sure she wouldn't regret. She'd lived her life in the shadow of her mother's regrets and she knew it wasn't any way to make a full, happy life.

“Of course, possibilities are a little like weather predictions. No promise anything will come of them.” He moved closer, holding her by her shoulders. “That's my way of saying—”

“I don't expect anything, Andy. Let's just enjoy this day. This one day. The problems with the inn and my family will all be there for us tomorrow. Let's have this day.”

“Okay.” He nodded.

She thought he might kiss her, but instead he adjusted the cap on her head, gave her a smile then bowed slightly his arm extended. “I give you this day, Corrie.”

She had never had a gift as wonderful as that afternoon. The three of them went out, sometimes trudging, sometimes Greer and Corrie practically skipping along.
Deeper and deeper into the unspoiled, silent woods they went. Corrie had never seen anything like it or known any man like Andy.

He pointed out a prickly fir tree that barely came up to his chest.

Greer kept walking right on past him without even looking at it.

“I thought the goal here was to get a tree,” he called after her.

The little girl glowered at him as only very determined little girls who know they have their big brothers wrapped around their fingers can glower. She crossed her arms and stomped her foot and without a word told him to quit fooling around and find her a proper Christmas tree.

He laughed and jerked his head to coax Corrie into following along.

Corrie took in the smell of damp earth and pine and the lingering hint of gingerbread that clung to her clothes and hair. She wrapped her coat around her. They had long ago lost sight of the inn. She felt as if the rest of the world had fallen away. It was only the three of them, the woods and the Lord.

This was the closest she'd ever had to having the family of her dreams.

Her heart soared. This was Christmas, she decided. To be with people you cared about. To know you could rely on them, no matter how many people had let you down in the past. To believe in the baby born in the manger and the seraphim who sang of joy and peace on earth. Corrie looked toward the paper-white sky and mouthed her gratitude to the God who had brought
her this far, who had sustained her and gave her hope. “Thank you.”

“That's it! That's it! That's the perfect Christmas tree!” Twigs snapped as Greer scrambled to get to a nearly seven-foot pine with full, green branches.

Andy gave the tree a once-over, checking for nests or any other issues that might cause problems later. When it passed inspection, he wrapped his strong hands around the ax handle and told the girls to stand back.

A crack rang out through the stillness of the winter day.

Corrie flinched at the sound but couldn't take her eyes off the sight of Andy, his muscles flexed and his expression intent.

Another blow reverberated through the crisp, cold air. The trunk of the tree creaked. One last whoosh of the blade, a splintering of wood and the tree fell with a muted thud.

“Yea!” Greer rushed up and patted the limbs as though stroking the fur of a pet cat. “It's so pretty. Now we just need to get it home and decorate it.”

“Decorate?” Andy froze halfway down to picking up the tree at the trunk. “I don't have any ornaments out at the inn.”

“No biggie.” Corrie swooped down to take up the trunk of the tree to help Andy where she could. She gave it a tug and a twist, got the branches lying the right way and began to drag the tree back the way they had come. “You gave me this day. There's not a lot of it left, but I know what's in your pantry. You've got popcorn to pop and string and before I leave this evening, I can make sugar cookies to hang on the tree.”

“That could work,” he said as he snagged the ax, rested it on one shoulder then hurried up to take the top of the evergreen in his gloved hand to help Corrie carry it. “I'm sorry I didn't plan better, Greer.”

“That's okay, Andy,” the child said as she hurried ahead of them. “If things don't work out the way you planned, then you can always just make other plans.”

Corrie shot Andy a look, trying not to grin too big as she said, “Well, at least I'm making an impression on one McFarland.”

T
hey got the tree back to the inn and Corrie quickly helped them warm up with some hot chocolate. While they drank that, she laid out the directions for gathering ornaments.

“I can make some sugar cookies to hang on the tree. Nothing fancy, but I can use a glass to make circles and cut out diamonds and crosses with a butter knife.” She narrowed her eyes and let the steamy aroma of chocolate warm her nose as she tried to imagine how to improvise for Greer's sake. “Oh, and I left those clear twinkle lights with the green cord from the park lighting in your truck, so we have those.”

Andy hustled up a pencil and paper and had begun taking notes.

Notes! For impromptu decorating of a Christmas tree. She didn't know whether to laugh or grind her teeth in frustration. Or there was a third choice. She reached over and snatched away the pad of plain white paper. “Thank you, Andy. This is perfect. We can use this paper to cut out snowflakes to hang all over the branches.”

“Hey!” He poked the pencil behind one ear and cupped his hot chocolate in both hands and grumbled with a hint of a smile, “I was making a list of what I need to do to get this whole tree thing organized.”

“Trees do not need organizing.” Corrie slapped the pad on to the counter. “One of my favorite lessons from the Bible is Matthew 12:26—Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

“Yeah. God has it covered, Andy. You don't have to do everything.” Greer downed the last of her drink, set the mug down with a solid thud then wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her bright pink shirt. “
You
gotta make the popcorn.”

“All right, all right.” He held his hands up in surrender and got up from his stool. “But while I do that, you need to go up to my room and get the little sewing kit on top of my dresser so we can string the popcorn once I've popped it.”

She scooted out, leaving them alone.

“I, uh, I didn't mean to lecture you in front of your sister.” Corrie had been so caught up in her own agenda she hadn't considered how she might sound reciting chapter and verse until just now.

“It's okay.” He went to the cabinet and opened it. For a second he didn't get the popcorn out, though.

“Second thoughts on that? Something you want to ask me?”

“Actually, there is.” At last he got down a big box from the overhead cabinet, turned and held it up for her
to see. “Do you think it's cheating to use microwave popcorn on an old-fashioned tree?”

“No.” She laughed and shook her head. “I say, take what's handed you and make the best of it.”

“That should be your motto.” He opened the cellophane wrapper, got out the bag, unfolded it and placed it in the brand new microwave oven. It seemed as if this simple task took every last ounce of his concentration until he punched the button and finally faced her to say, “That is, for the last few days you've certainly made things a whole lot better around town, around the inn, for Greer and for me.”

“Really?” she whispered. Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before. Her whole life she had figured her very existence had made her mother's life worse. She tried to change that but she couldn't change having been born or that her mother had become a person determined not to rely on anyone else, ever. She had worried Andy was like that, now she knew differently.

It didn't alter the reality of their relationship but it still made her heart soar. Andy had not just given her this day, he had given her a moment that she would carry with her for a lifetime. “I've enjoyed being here. I've enjoyed…my day.”

“Yeah, but what has it gotten you, really?” He stared at the window in the microwave oven.

The kernels began to pop, a few at first then more and more bursting in the bag louder and faster.

That's how her heart felt. She wanted to tell him exactly what she had gotten by coming here. A glimpse at what it meant to be a part of a family. Meeting a man
who wanted what was best for others, not one who put himself first. A day. A moment. She didn't need anything else. She wanted to tell him all that.

“You still aren't any closer to finding your father.” Andy cast his gaze down and rapped his knuckles on the countertop. “I feel bad that your helping us is taking time away from that.”

Ding.
The microwave stopped. Andy took the bag out and tore it open.

Corrie snatched up a big bowl she had used earlier to mix the gingerbread in and offered it to him. “It's taken my mind off hitting one dead end after another. Besides, finding my father was the dream. The real goal was to enter the contest and maybe see a real snow, you know, the kind that fills the sky and you can make snowballs with. Not just a dusting.”

“You came all this way.” The aroma of hot salty popcorn flooded her senses as Andy gave an ironic chuckle. “And we don't even have the good manners to have a decent snowfall.”

“I still have a few days left until the contest, you know,” she reminded him. She pressed her thumbnail into a seam made with royal icing to see how it was setting up. “You don't mind if I set my project aside and work on it tomorrow, do you?”

He put another bag of popcorn in. “Just as long as you stay out of the way of the painters.”

“Painters?”

“They dropped off the paint for the dining room Friday afternoon but, of course, they couldn't start because the drywall wasn't finished. They promised to
get started first thing tomorrow, but they're already a day behind schedule.”

“What color are you using for the dining room?”

“Powder blue.”

“Blue? Really?”

“Something wrong?”

“Sort of cold, isn't it?”

“There's a big fireplace in there.”

“Not cold temperature cold, ambiance cold.”

“Well, there are no color photos from when it opened sixty years ago but I asked around. The general consensus was powder blue.”

“Fair enough. You can always warm it up with a good choice in drapes and tablecloths.”

“Drapes? Tablecloths?”

“You hadn't thought of those, had you?”

“One more thing to add to my list. Right now I have to get the painters in and out, which will take a couple of days. I only hope the floors arrive on time so we can install them, then to get the trim work up. After that, if it's not already too late, I can think about drapes and tablecloths.”

She would have gladly volunteered to take on that task if she thought for one minute she'd still be in Vermont by the time the work on the inn was done. Christmas Eve? She'd be back in South Carolina, back at the bakery, back in the life she had always known.

Corrie sighed.

The microwave dinged.

Andy took the second bag out and motioned to the door with a tip of his head. “I think it's safest if we take this out into the lobby.”

He could have been talking about protecting the gingerbread inn from Greer. Or that the light in the lobby was better so that it would be better for working with a needle and thread. But when Corrie agreed with the man she had so wanted to kiss her in the woods, she couldn't help thinking it was the safety of their hearts he was referring to.

Again her thoughts went to her mother and the life lessons she had tried to impress on Corrie. No one can be fully trusted. You will always be let down. In the end you only have yourself to rely upon.

Corrie tried to repeat the worldly wise counsel over and over as she walked from the warmth of the cozy kitchen. But when she brushed against Andy's shirt-sleeve, looked up and met his eyes, the memory of his voice drowned out a lifetime of warnings.
You make the best of everything.

Corrie strode into the lobby with a light heart only to find Greer standing there with her sock monkey tucked under one arm and her lower lip pushed out in an unmistakable pout.

“What now?” Andy wanted to know as he came up to his sister and bent down, his hands on his knees to meet her eye to eye.

“It looked so much bigger outside.” She pointed to the tree.

Corrie stood back and took a long look. “She's right, you know. That wall of windows does sort of dwarf the poor thing.”

Andy scratched his jaw and frowned. “What if I drag one of the smallest tables in from the dining room and we put it up on that?”

“I'll help,” Greer said to show her approval.

“If we do that we ought to have a tree skirt, or a reasonable substitute.” Corrie took a peek at the trunk in the cobbled together wooden stand he'd made for it earlier today. “You wouldn't happen to have a spare sheet would you?”

“Ah!” He held one finger up, and gave a comically maniacal grin. “I may have messed up on the drapes and tablecloths but I more than made up for it on sheets.”

Greer giggled. “Tell her what you did.”

“I placed an order based on the number of bed linens needed sixty years ago.” He winced as he walked backward, talking to Corrie even as he followed Greer over to the dining room to get the table. “You know, back when the place had six guest cabins, each with two beds in them?”

“Ouch!” Corrie called back to him. “So where are all the extras?”

“Supply closet. Top of the stairs,” Andy hollered above the sound of the table's metal stand scraping across the unfinished concrete floor.

Corrie took off and in a shot she returned with a sheet and a question. “So, I take it you also ordered way too many of those, um, golden-colored bedspreads, too?”

“Go ahead, say it.” He peered at her from the side of the tree as he lifted it up onto the table.

“Say what?” She ducked beneath the branches to guide the base of the tree to the center of the heavy, dark wooden table.

“Whatever word you wanted to say before golden-colored? Ugly? Weird polyester? Guest repellant?”

Corrie laughed, backed out from under the newly
settled tree and stood upright to admire their handiwork. “Tacky.”

Andy came to stand by her side, his attention aimed in the same direction as hers. “The tree?”

“The bedspreads,” she clarified.

“Oh, yeah. Tacky or not, I have enough to last me through the next sixty years. So we're stuck with them.”

“Unless…”

“They are nonreturnable,” he muttered.

“I was just going to say, unless you tried something to jazz them up. What about letting the local ladies use them for quilt backing? Then you use some of their work on the beds and sell surplus quilts at the check-in counter.”

“That's not a bad idea.”

“Corrie never has bad ideas!” Greer grabbed Corrie around the middle and gave her a big hug. “I think we should keep her.”

“Knock it off.” Andy gave his sister a light tap on the shoulder. “She's not a lost puppy.”

Strangely, Corrie felt exactly like a lost puppy. Only she felt that way when she thought of returning home, not here in the inn with Greer and Andy.

Andy went out and got the spare twinkle lights and began winding them through the branches.

Corrie showed Greer how to carefully poke a threaded sewing needle through the center of the popcorn and slide it along to the end. She left her with that and went to throw together some sugar cookie dough.

When she had popped the first batch into the oven she came back to find Andy with the lights tangled
into a ball and Greer with only three pieces of popcorn strung, throwing fistfuls of the stuff at the branches and crying.

“I leave you two on your own for fifteen minutes and this is what happens?”

“Maybe we really do need you to stay,” Andy teased then gave a sad smile and added, “Which means if I were you, I'd run for the hills while you still can.”

Corrie gave him a shake of her head then went down on her knees by his sister. She scooped up the sock monkey left limp on the floor and offered it to Greer. “What's the matter, sweetie?”

The child took Buddy Mon-Kay in both hands and curled him into a tight hug. “This isn't working. The popcorn just breaks when I try to string it. I miss my mommy. If she was here, she'd know what to do to fix it.”

Corrie lifted her gaze to Andy.

He let the knotted-up lights fall away and came to their side. He put his hand on Greer's back. “Hey, kiddo. You know Mom is off helping somebody else have a family of their own for Christmas. I got an email saying she'll be back on Tuesday. That's not too long for us to wait, knowing what good work Mom is doing, is it?”

The little girl looked up at him and sniffled. The tears in her dark eyes beaded on her black eyelashes, but once she swiped them away with the back of her hand, they stopped. “No. That's not too long. Families are important. I just wish…”

Andy's face went pale. His jaw tightened.

Clearly, even people who didn't have bitter, overprotective mothers sometimes wished their moms made
different choices. A wall of conflicting emotions rose up in Corrie. She missed her mom. She wanted to comfort Greer. She had empathy for Andy. She felt in that one moment abandoned and comforted.

She stood and cleared her throat. “You know, I have three big bags of miniature marshmallows in the trunk of my car. I bet those would string a lot easier and be just as pretty. Why don't I go get those?”

Andy turned his head to follow her flight as she gathered her coat and headed for the door. “But they're for the contest entry, right?”

“Yeah. It's a quick way to make an easy fondant and I want to mix them with icing to make clumpy, shiny globs of snow. But they're just marshmallows. I can buy more tomorrow.” With that she stepped outside and took a deep breath to collect herself.

What was happening to her? she wondered. Maybe Andy had a point about sticking to the plan. If she let herself get carried away too much, she'd never find her way. She took a deep breath, steadied her resolve and went to get the marshmallows from her car.