Читать книгу Holiday Homecoming - Jean C. Gordon - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“Mom, sit down and let me do that.” Natalie walked across the kitchen and lifted the spatula from her mother’s hand. “What happened to your sleeping in and letting me take care of breakfast? Where’s your walker?”

“By the table. I woke up and didn’t see a light on in your room yet. Since I was awake, I thought I’d get things started.”

Natalie looked at the clock over the kitchen sink that had been there as long as she could remember. Ten after five. “I would have been up in five minutes, anyway, if I hadn’t heard you and gotten up.”

“I’ve got bacon in the broiler and have already started cracking eggs to scramble. I’ll just finish them.”

Natalie took her mother by the shoulders, surprised at how delicate she felt under her hands, and helped her to the kitchen table. “Sit. I suppose you make breakfast for Claire, too, when she gets up for work. Seriously, you could set the coffeemaker and let them fend for themselves.”

“I’ve been telling her that for years,” her father said from the doorway. He walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Not that I’ve had much success. How’s it going for you?”

Natalie motioned to the table. “I have her sitting.”

“I knew calling you was the right thing.”

“Right back at you, Dad.” She looked at her mother and father, who were still obviously in love after thirty-five years of marriage and six children. A warm cloak of safety wrapped around her. She could have used some of that inner security last night with Connor. If only it was something she could pocket and take with her when she left the house.

Natalie turned to the stove and finished breaking eggs into a bowl. She beat in some milk until they were smooth and sunny yellow.

“Oh, no, you’re not letting Natalie cook.” Her younger brother, Paul, one male half of the two sets of Delacroix twins—Paul and Renee, and Marc and Claire—walked in and sat at the table.

“And good morning to you, too.” She poured the egg mixture into an iron frying pan.

“The last time I remember you cooking breakfast, you almost burned down the lodge at Sonrise.”

“I did not,” she protested.

“Sure you did. You volunteered to get up early and make pancakes for the church youth group at our annual campout. Mr. and Mrs. Hill were the leaders then.” He prompted her memory. “A fawn or bird or something distracted you and you let the pancakes burn. The kitchen filled with smoke.”

She remembered all too well. It wasn’t a fawn or bird that distracted her. It was Connor splitting wood for the campfire planned for that evening. Contrary to Paul’s embellishments, she didn’t cause any fire, or fill the kitchen with smoke. However, the stack of blackened pancakes and Mrs. Hill stepping in to finish cooking breakfast were enough to win her razzing for the rest of the day. Connor had made it better, sitting with her at the campfire and stealing a kiss—their first—when the Hills weren’t watching.

She suppressed the nostalgic longing for that more innocent time. “That was more than ten years ago. I’ve perfected my breakfast cooking since then.” A faint whiff of well-done bacon drifted from the stove. She quickly opened the broiler and took the pan out.

“So I smell.” Paul got in another good-natured dig. “You know I’m only teasing. We’re all glad to have you home for the holidays.”

“I’m glad to be here, too.” Natalie placed the bacon on a plate, gave the eggs another stir and scooped them into a bowl.

“Dad and I are going to go cut a Christmas tree Saturday morning. Want to come along?”

Natalie smiled to herself. The annual trek to the local Christmas tree farm to find the perfect tree had always been one of her favorite holiday activities, one she’d missed the past few years. Last Christmas, she hadn’t even bothered to put out the small ceramic table tree she had.

“Claire’s coming,” Paul said, adding Natalie’s next oldest sister to the outing. “I don’t know if Andie and Rob and the kids are.”

“You don’t have to talk me in to it,” Natalie said. “You know I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss Pharaoh Mountain Farm’s mint hot chocolate for anything.” Even Andie being there.

“Paul,” their dad said, “if you have your social schedule all worked out, want to finish your breakfast and get to work?” He winked at Natalie.

Paul and his twin, Renee, were the most social of her and her five siblings, not that she and the others weren’t social. Or at least, she had been social.

They guys polished off their food and left to start the morning milking.

“Want another cup of coffee, Mom?”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s not like I can’t get up and walk over to the counter.”

Natalie ignored the edge to her mother’s voice. “I’m getting one for myself. I can refill yours. You should make the most of the special treatment. Who knows when you’ll get it again?”

“You’re right.” Her mother handed over her coffee mug. “I have to admit that I’m not missing having to go to work every day, except for the people.”

Natalie filled both mugs. “Any chance you could go part-time when you go back? You already have an almost full-time job with the farm books and business management.”

Her mother pressed her lips together, making Natalie wonder if she’d overstepped the child-parent boundary by edging into her parents’ financial situation.

“Milk prices have been uncertain, although the new yogurt plant in Amsterdam may help keep them more even. I figure I might as well hang on full-time until I can collect Social Security benefits.”

That was more than ten years away. She wished she could help financially. That had been part of her dream of being a network news reporter, although she suspected her parents wouldn’t accept help, even if she had the means to give it. At least she’d had enough money left from her cashed-out retirement plan account to come up with her share for the Hawaiian trip she and her siblings were giving their parents for Christmas. They had everything covered, down to someone to help Paul with the farm work. She couldn’t remember the last time Mom and Dad had been away.

“Here you go.” She handed her mother her coffee.

“Don’t worry about us,” her mother said. “You know your Dad wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

Natalie knew that, but she was more concerned about Mom.

“And Paul has some good ideas, like getting in on the yogurt deal, and he’s taking over a lot of the management work I’ve always done.”

“Good.” She reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. “You need to concentrate on getting better.”

Her mother squeezed back. “So, how did choir practice go last night?”

“About that.” Natalie looked at her mother over the edge of her coffee mug. “Why didn’t you tell me that Connor is the pageant director?”

“Because I was afraid you’d say no if I had. Right?”

“Maybe. Probably.” She put her coffee down. “Drew Stacey said that Andie had offered to play if he couldn’t find anyone else. Why didn’t you let her? Connor. Me. You know what happened.”

“Andie doesn’t play or sing nearly as well as you do. I’m hoping you’ll do the solo. Besides she has enough on her hands with the kids, helping Rob on the farm and her part-time job.”

Her mother’s last words stung, even though Natalie knew she didn’t mean them in a hurtful way. Mom was stating fact. Until she found a new job, figured out her life, what did she have to do?

“And—yes, I’m interfering—you and Connor have some unfinished business. Working together might help you finish it.”

Natalie’s stomach churned as if her last swallow of coffee had been one too many. Yes, she and Connor did have unfinished business—at least she did with him. But she wasn’t sure she had enough strength left in her to finish it. Nor was she certain anymore that God would give her that strength.

* * *

Connor stomped through the fresh dusting of snow that had arrived overnight to cover the parking lot of Pharaoh Mountain tree farm. With the clear blue sky and temperatures up near freezing, it was a perfect day to get a Christmas tree for the parsonage—for someone who wanted to get a Christmas tree. He, personally, hadn’t had a tree ever. He knew it was childish, but Natalie refusing his proposal in front of the tree they’d just finished decorating together in her Syracuse apartment, complete with the Christmas star he’d given her for the top, had killed any interest he might have in putting one up for himself.

Last year, when Jared had been living with him, he and their then six-year-old half sister Hope had gotten one for the parsonage, and Becca and her kids had come over and helped decorate it. His only input had been to insist they put something other than a star on top. He couldn’t see a flashing star atop a tree or anywhere else without seeing Natalie saying, “I’m sorry...” This year, he’d thought he was home free until the women heading up the church’s hospitality and evangelism committees had decided it would be a good idea to have a community-wide open house at the parsonage the weekend before Christmas. All Connor had to do was supply the tree. They’d take care of the food and the rest of the decorating.

He gripped the saw he’d found hanging in the parsonage garage. He couldn’t tell the women that he didn’t want a Christmas tree in his house. So when Josh had canceled their workday to go into the office, Connor figured he might as well get it over with.

“Connor,” someone called from behind, pulling him out of his morass. Claire Delacroix jogged up beside him, her cheeks turned rosy from the cold, just like Natalie’s always had. “Picking up your Christmas tree?”

“That and some wreaths and boughs and stuff for the parsonage. The hospitality and evangelism committees are going to decorate for the open house.”

“Want to join us? We’re getting the tree for Mom and Dad’s house.”

“Sure,” he said before considering who “we” might include. He hesitated. No, Natalie would be home, wouldn’t she? In case her mother needed help.

“We’re meeting at the chocolate hut,” Claire said. “That’s what we call the outbuilding where you pay for the trees.”

His lack of knowledge of the tree farm must have shown on his face.

“You haven’t been here before.”

“No.” At their house growing up, the tree had appeared Christmas Eve after they’d gone to bed. When he was older, he’d assumed Mom picked them up at a discount somewhere on her way home after she’d finished her Christmas Eve shift at the diner.

“They have the best hot chocolate with mint. Free with every tree. Don’t tell Mom and Dad, but that’s really why I got up early on a Saturday morning to come.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure what all the excitement about hot chocolate was. His plan had been to get in and out as fast as possible.

Claire waved as they tromped toward a building the size of a large shed that looked like a miniature log cabin. Both of her parents, along with her brother Paul and Natalie, were standing in front.

“You should probably go ahead without me. I don’t want to horn in on what sounds like a family tradition.”

“Since when?” Claire laughed. “You used to be at the house so much, Mom called you her middle son.”

“That was back in high school.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his ski jacket, fighting the old feeling of being an outsider that he’d thought he’d shed when he’d left Paradox Lake for college.

“Come on. It’ll be a lot more fun with us than by yourself.”

He walked over to the building with her. Fun wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

“Hey, look who I found in the parking lot,” Claire said.

Almost in unison, Natalie’s parents and brother gave him an enthusiastic greeting. Even Natalie smiled.

“I’m picking up a tree for the parsonage,” he said. Lame. Why else would he be at a Christmas tree farm?

“For the open house.” Terry nodded. “Where are you putting it? In the living room or the dining room? With the high ceilings at the parsonage, you’ll want a tall tree.”

Connor hadn’t thought about the best place to put it. He just wanted to get the job out of way. “Last year, Jared and Becca put the tree in the living room.”

“That’s probably best,” she said. “You’ll have the buffet set up in the dining room.”

The ladies will have the buffet set up. He was trying to stay as much out of the event as he could, putting his efforts where they belonged—on his Christmas church services and the pageant.

“The girls can help you.” Terry’s eyes twinkled with mischief, just as Natalie’s used to. “They’re both almost as good at picking out the right tree as I am. I’m going to wait here.” She tapped her walker. “No hiking the hills for the perfect tree for me.”

“I’ll stay and keep you company,” Natalie said. “Four people are enough to cut two trees.”

Even though he’d been looking for an out minutes ago, hearing Natalie say the same thing sharpened already painful memories.

“And miss the fun? No way. Go ahead,” Terry urged. “I’m fine here with my hot chocolate.”

Natalie opened her mouth and closed it.

“The taller trees are in the back,” Natalie’s father, John, said. “That’s where we’re headed.”

Connor fell in step with Natalie’s brother at the opposite side of their little group. “How’s it going, Paul?”

“Not bad.” Paul glanced at his father, who was talking with the girls. “I talked Dad into getting in on the deal supplying milk for the new yogurt plant. Andie’s husband, Rob, is in, too.”

“Great.” Connor knew how much Paul was working on making his partnership with his dad more of a partnership.

“And with Natalie here and Marc and his family coming Christmas Eve, we’ll all be home except Renee.”

Connor caught a note of sadness when Paul said his twin’s name. “Are you going to be able to use Skype to talk with her?”

“Yep, we’re planning to Christmas morning.”

“Here we are. Take your pick,” John said when they’d reached the far end of the farm.

“Natalie, why don’t you help Connor? It’ll give you two time to catch up,” Claire said. “I’ll make sure these two guys don’t go overboard on tall.” She motioned to her dad and brother.

Connor glanced at Natalie. She quickly turned the grimace her sister’s words had caused into a facsimile of a smile. He crushed an ice ball from one of the trees that had fallen in his path. Her stifled displeasure affected him far more than it should. What did he care if she didn’t want to come with him? She had no hold on him. He was over her, had been for years.

* * *

“Sorry about that,” Natalie said as soon as her family was out of hearing range. From his expression, Connor might be even less happy about her family throwing them together than she was apprehensive about it. Not that she blamed him.

“I’m used to it,” he said. “People are always trying to match me up with single women.”

And that’s all she was, one more potential match pushed at him. She shivered despite having bundled up for the weather. Had any of those matches worked? She hadn’t heard he was seeing anyone. Unjustified jealousy shot through her. She shook it off. Any chance she’d had of being anything to Connor, even friends, had died five years ago when she’d chosen her career over his proposal. They’d been so young. She felt decades older and knew now that it hadn’t had to be an either/or.

“What kind of tree are you looking for, long or short needle?” she asked.

“You’re the expert.”

The lopsided grin that had replaced his frown went straight to her heart. How many times had she succumbed to that grin and agreed to watch the movie he wanted to see or eat out at his favorite restaurant or help him clean his apartment?

“Well, the short-needled trees tend to hold their needles longer. But if you like the looks of a longer needle...”

He touched the sleeve of her navy peacoat. “It’s okay. I was teasing. I know you’re as uncomfortable as I am.”

Uncomfortable. He sounded so clinical. And she was being oversensitive. Connor was handing her the olive branch she should be giving him, the branch she didn’t even know how to offer him. Memories flooded her head. Them in the parking lot of the big-box store near her apartment in Syracuse looking at the meager selection of trees left for sale. They’d chosen a long-needled white pine that had started shedding its needles before they’d even set it up. Her making him laugh with stories of tree mishaps she remembered from her childhood as they decorated the tree.

She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she’d give away emotions she didn’t want Connor to see, that he probably wouldn’t want to see.

“Since the tree will have to make it through at least a month, I’d better go with something with short needles,” he said.

“The short-needled balsam firs are to the right.” She pointed in the direction her family had gone, thankful that Connor was back to business. They walked over to the row of trees.

Connor stopped in front of the first one. “This one looks good.” He started to squat to cut it.

“No, wait.” She should let him go ahead and be done with it. But she couldn’t without walking around it to inspect the tree from all angles. Too many tree-cutting trips with her mother stopped her from letting him cut the tree.

“What?” A note of impatience sounded in his voice.

She walked around the tree, telling herself this was the parsonage tree. She was being fussy because it needed to be right for the church, not because she wanted it nice for Connor.

“No good,” she said as she rounded back beside him. “It lists to the side. You’ll have trouble keeping it up, and I noticed some holes in the branches in the back. The trees at the end of the row are probably less picked over.”

He straightened. “Lead on.”

She stepped in front of him and walked slowly down the row, eyeing each tree, the scent of pine bolstering her spirits. Picking out a perfect Christmas tree was something she’d always liked, enjoyed sharing with her mother. Natalie stopped at the far end of the row.

“This one?” Connor asked.

“No.” Her gaze traveled to the next row. “There.” A twinge of excitement bubbled as she pointed. Without thinking, she grabbed his arm to pull him over.

He stilled for a moment, his blue eyes clouding.

She dropped her hand to her side.

“Which one?” he asked with what sounded to her like forced enthusiasm.

“Next row, second one in.” Natalie rushed over and circled the tree. “It’s perfect.”

Connor laughed, sending a ripple of remembrance through her.

“I’ll have to move all of the furniture out of the living room and cut a hole in the ceiling to fit it in,” he teased.

“No, you won’t. All you’ll need to do is trim some of the wide branches on the bottom and take a foot or so off the trunk, like you had to with the tree at my apartment.”

Connor’s stance stiffened. Why did she have to go and say that when they’d finally reached a friendly comfort?

Without a word, Connor attacked the tree trunk with the saw he’d brought. Natalie watched his shoulders work as he pulled back and forth, and she lifted a silent voice rusty with disuse. Dear Jesus, I know I have to talk with Connor, clear the air between us if we’re going to work together on the pageant to glorify Your birth. But I have no idea how to do it.