A Merry Little Christmas (20 page)

“They have one.”

Tomorrow will not come soon enough.

The stillness above them remained steady, so he asked, “Now what do you think? Ready for me to go up and have a quick look?”

Franny nodded.

Charlie headed up the stairs. He couldn’t figure out why the storm and rain had passed so quickly. Could they be in the eye of a tornado? Seemed unlikely, but he took his time going up the stairs. Once he made it to the top, he lifted the cellar door. The pulley system gave the door some extra oomph, which made it rise faster than he’d intended.

“Charlie?” Franny ran up the stairs just behind him.

He looked through the porch windows and saw something he’d never expected to see—snow. “It’s all right, Franny. Everything has gone as white as heaven.”

“Do you mean the ground is covered with hail?”

“No. It’s what William Strode called the ‘feather’d rain.’ We’ve had our first snowstorm of the season.” He smiled down at her. “Come on up.”

The look of worry on Franny’s face turned into delight as she joined him on the porch. She placed her palms on the window. “Glorious snow. It’s Christmas already. I don’t ever remember seeing snow after a thunderstorm. Will Rogers said, ‘If you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, wait a minute; it will change.’ It’s so true.”

The reflective glow from the snow mixed with Franny’s awe and lit her face. He never wanted to take her smiles, her passion, or her wonder for granted. He wanted to cherish them always. In fact,
cherish
was the perfect word to describe the way he felt about Franny. That concept would make such a great song. He needed to write that down.

Charlie followed her gaze to the other side of the porch. Looked like the storm had left its calling card in the form of a few broken windows. “We do have some damage.”

They walked over to the other end of the porch and assessed the pile of wood and glass. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Franny said.

Together they swept up the mess and nailed boards over the two openings.

When they were finished, Franny dusted off her hands. “That should take care of it, for now, anyway.”

Charlie’s attention drifted back outside. “You know, I’m kind of like a kid when it comes to the white stuff. I never get tired of seeing it.”

“There’s a farm tradition around here when it comes to the first snow. We always watch it from the ridge.” Franny took her coat off the nail hook and slipped it on. “Besides, we need to check the farm for damage.”

“Good idea.” Charlie grabbed his coat. “So where’s the ridge?”

“It’s on the north side of the creek. You haven’t seen it yet. But we’ll follow the path past the mulberry tree, beyond the meadow, and then there it is…at the top of the hill.” Franny touched his shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry I never showed it to you. I was so busy getting you acquainted with the farm that I didn’t spend enough time encouraging you to fall in love with the land.
Your
land.”

Oh, I was busy falling in love, all right, just not with the land.
He grinned to himself. “We can’t break tradition, now, can we?” He couldn’t think of anything finer than taking a walk with Franny in the middle of a snowfall. They got Henry settled into his usual cozy spot near the kitchen furnace, and then they bundled up with all things warm and headed outside into the pristine wonder of the early evening.

They checked on the animals and went over the farm buildings, looking for damage. When none could be found, they followed the path toward the ridge. Apparently, the footpath was really a trail the cows had made on their journeys back and forth from the feedlot to the pasture.

“The cows are pretty smart.
They
know when to come home,” Franny said, but it seemed as if she were talking more to herself than to him.

The snow came down more heavily now, in eddies of white, and started to collect in patches here and there in the winter wheat and in the crevices of the trees. “So, tell me more about this ridge.”

“It’s pretty up there, and kind of special. Every time something momentous was about to happen on the farm, something sort of historic in our family, we always took it to the ridge. When Momma found out she was pregnant with me, she told Daddy up on the ridge. When my father made the last payment on the farm, they celebrated up there, toasting with sarsaparillas.”

Charlie enjoyed hearing Franny talk about the farm and her family. There was such a history here, a string of stories chronicling people’s lives, and so far beyond what anyone could imagine just by looking at the property. It was still very much Franny’s home.

After a brisk walk, enough to warm them up, they came across the lone mulberry tree Franny had mentioned. “So, did your father plant this?”

“We never knew how it came to be here. But I do know it gives the sweetest mulberries. Mom used to call them purple candy.” Franny reached out and fingered a dormant branch. “I hope this tree is loaded in the springtime. You shouldn’t miss a chance to have mulberry pie.”

“What do mulberries taste like?”

“Like what blackberries dream of being.”

“Oh.” Charlie smiled. “Too bad spring is so far away, then.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Franny’s face. Did she think they wouldn’t be together by springtime? He wanted to talk to her about it, but the wind picked up enough that talking became more difficult. “Would you like to go back? The temperatures seem to be dropping pretty fast.”

“We should be fine.” Franny shrugged and pointed eastward. “It’s not too far now.”

Charlie hoped the snow wouldn’t get so heavy that they wouldn’t be able to see their way back home, but he let go of his fears and continued following Franny down the path and then through a wide pasture. Even though it was still autumn, the approaching twilight season made its presence known by draping the fields and pasture and trees in the most elegant ermine coat. Hmm. Franny would be stunning in an ermine coat. Maybe he could buy her one as a gift. He would love to dress her in furs and jewels—the very best. But he could almost hear her saying, “I’m as simple as Jane Eyre, so I have no use for all that regalia. I’m just Franny.” Charlie chuckled at the thought.

Franny didn’t hear his laughter though, since she’d broken into a run across the pasture. “There it is, up there…the ridge. You’ll love it,” she hollered back at him.

Charlie ran to catch up with her. When they’d gotten to the highest point, they stopped just a few feet from the edge of a cliff.

“You’re right. This is beautiful, especially in the evening light.” Charlie sat down on a boulder and gazed out across the landscape, taking in the scene—the red-rock canyon, the cedars and willows, and the winding creek below. The wind calmed and a quiet settled over their world. It was a profound stillness that could only come from being covered by a snowfall in the countryside.

If all the important events happened on the ridge, then someday he would find the perfect time to bring Franny up here with the sole purpose of asking her to marry him. Charlie took the cold air into his lungs, but he felt far from cold.

Franny sat down next to him on the boulder. “I wasn’t kidding about the land. It gets under your fingernails, but it gets into your heart too.”

“This land…it’s still in your heart. I can tell.”

“I guess it’s all right to love this farm and love music too. God made our hearts big enough to love all sorts of things. In fact…” Franny pointed to the other side of the canyon. “If you’ll look over there by that cluster of sumac, you’ll see the perfect Christmas tree. I spotted it some years ago, and now it’s ready to cut.”

“We should get it sometime soon.” Charlie leaned toward her and pointed in the same direction. “Look. Coming out from behind that tree. Deer. Two of them.”

“A mother and its fawn. You know, it’s really hard not to love this place.”

“So, there are no regrets about coming home?”

Franny turned to face him. “I like visiting the city, but to live there, well, maybe it’s too bustling after all. Too much exhaust. Too many ashtrays. Too much noise.”

“I’m glad you came home. You belong here.” Charlie reached up and caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand. “Your face is glowing pink. Are you too cold?”

“No, not now.”

He wanted to kiss her, but he also hoped Franny had forgotten about the bet he’d made with his brother.
Please let her forget my foolishness
. The snow continued to fall, but now it came down with less ferocity and swirled in fanciful circles around them, wrapping them in a cocoon of white confection. The snow almost whispered to them, urging them closer. He took off his gloves, wanting to feel her skin next to his. “Franny girl?”

“Yes, Charlie boy?”

“If I’m not mistaken, right above us in that big tree is some mistletoe. Hey, that’s got to be some kind of sign.”

“Maybe, except that we have mistletoe growing all over the farm.”

“Even better.” Charlie leaned down to kiss her, and the moment sealed them off from the rest of the world. It became just the two of them and the whirling magic. Had it been the same for Adam when he kissed Eve? Was there ever snow just to romance them? He couldn’t be sure about earth’s first kisses, but he knew their own moment felt blessed. God created. God inspired. And God sanctioned. And it was going to take every ounce of his willpower not to propose to her right now. But he would wait and plan and make it a day so beguiling that the only word she could think to utter was
yes
.

When their kiss came to a close, Franny said, “It’s hard not to wonder how my kisses compare to all those other women—”

“Oh, Franny. How I wish I’d never told you my stupid story. Why did I tell you?”

“Because you were trying to make me feel better.”

“I don’t think I did.” He took hold of her hands. “But always remember that the finest kiss, the most passionate kiss, the most memorable kiss comes from here.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart.

When Franny opened her mouth to speak again, he kissed her. Then he eased back and whispered, “Your kisses are real to me. All the others were years ago and are barely even remembered. They were as genuine as a plastic ring out of a Cracker Jack box.”

“I always loved those rings. Always thought they were real.” Franny grinned. “I was wrong to bring up the bet.” She touched his cheek. “I won’t mention it again. I promise.”

“That’s a relief.”

“But I also want you to feel that you can always be honest with me…about everything. All right?”

“It’s the best way to build a relationship.” Charlie raised his chin. “But you know, now that we’re on the subject, what about all those farm boys around here? I’m sure they were very interested in you. Still are, I’ll bet. And I wonder how many kisses they’ve enjoyed on these fine lips.”

“I’ve had a few, but they were all like smooching hog lips.”

“And just how many hog lips have you kissed? Wait a minute, hogs don’t have lips.”

Franny took his hand in hers and kissed his palm. “Seriously, I have kissed very few men, and not one was good enough for a second helping.”

“All right. I guess we can put it to rest, then.”

Franny stood up, raised her hands toward the sky, and did a dancing twirl. “It’s like we’re inside a snow globe and someone has given us a shake.”

Charlie laughed.

“And it will be so pretty tonight when the moon comes out. The snow will look as if it’s been sprinkled with blue glitter.” She patted her hands together. “I know what we should do. When we get home, I’m going to make you some vanilla ice cream out of snow. Did you ever do that, growing up?”

“No, but I’d like to try it.”
When we get home.
He found himself loving those four words.

Franny looked out over the ridge and gave one big sigh, and together they headed back toward the house just before nightfall. The moment was close to perfect, but instead of rejoicing in his spirit, the moment gave Charlie pause. Throughout his life, his very sunniest hours were usually followed by something somber. And it usually included his father. All at once he felt deeply troubled that his father, once he discovered Charlie’s intentions to marry Franny, would find a way to poison his dreams. His father had done it over and over through the years, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Lord, please don’t let my father come between Franny and me. You’ve placed us together. Please don’t let my father tear us apart.

On Saturday, Charlie kept his promise by driving Franny into Lancaster for a treat at the Doo-Wop Malt Shop. When he parked in front of the shop in his Rolls-Royce and then helped her out of his car, there were more gawks from the customers than there were tunes inside the jukebox.
I must be dreaming.
Franny tried not to swoon too much over the attention, and for the most part, she thought she kept her grins to a minimum.

Charlie had become less guarded about his family’s name, and so it wouldn’t be long before people were chin-wagging about “that Landau boy” trying to be a farmer. Oh well. There was no putting the brakes on the gossip once the locomotive had gotten revved up.