Christmas at the Hummingbird House (20 page)

Paul drew a breath for a reply when his phone rang.  He held up a finger for patience as he took out his phone, but Derrick ignored him.

“Cici, Bridget!” he called excitedly.  “We have a simply marvelous idea!  Where’s Lindsay?”

Paul answered his telephone to Lori’s irate voice.  “Uncle Paul!” she demanded.  “Where is everyone?”

Paul had to plug one ear with his finger to block out the chatter and the laughter, certain he had misheard.  “What?  Lori?”

“We’ve been traveling for
hours
!” she exclaimed.  “And then we get here and the house is all dark, and even Ida Mae’s not here!”

“She’s at church,” Paul replied absently.  Then, more alertly, “What? 
What
did you say?  Where are you?”

“Home!” she replied impatiently.  “And believe me, it wasn’t easy, either.  But after Noah called we felt so bad that everyone was going to be alone on Christmas, and to tell you the truth we were getting a little tired of Cabo—it’s
so
hot!—and it is our first Christmas together as a real family, so I called Dominic, because it’s his first Christmas as a married person too, and it turns out his daughter had been begging him to go home and spend Christmas with Lindsay, and guess what?”  She paused, more for breath than for effect.  “Her company has a corporate jet! And her boss let her use it!  Well, not her exactly, because she does still have a broken leg, but us!  So here we all are, but where are
they
?  And, oh,” she added, again sucking in a breath, “there was a message on the answering machine from Carol in Chicago for Aunt Bridget, saying that the doctor had cleared her little girl to fly so they’ll be coming in the day after tomorrow.  So I really, really hope they all haven’t taken a notion to go on a cruise or something. Because we’ve been traveling for
hours
!”

A slow delighted smile spread over Paul’s face and he murmured, “Well, well.  Sometimes things really do work out for the best.”

“What?”

He said, “Light the fire and plug in the Christmas tree, darling.  Your loved ones will be home momentarily.”

He disconnected and tucked his phone back into his pocket, then raised his hand for attention just as Lindsay came out of the bathroom.  “Oh, ladies!” he called.  “Do I have a Christmas surprise for you!”

~*~

December 25

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

May the joy of the season be in your hearts today and forever.

Your hosts,

Paul and Derrick

6:00–10:00 a.m.
Coffee, stollen, fruit cake and Christmas wreath cinnamon rolls available in the dining room

8:30 a.m
. Christmas breakfast buffet in the dining room

10:00 a.m.
  Join us for eggnog and cookies by the Christmas tree in the parlor

1:00
p.m.
Buffet luncheon in the dining room

3:00 p.m.
Christmas concert by the Killian Hills Boys Choir

5:00 p.m.
Gala Christmas cocktails served in the front parlor

7:00 p.m.
Candlelight Christmas dinner in the dining room

~*~

EIGHTEEN

Angels We Have Heard on High

T
he candles were lit, the fire crackled in the parlor, and miniature white lights twinkled on every Christmas tree.  A large bowl of Paul’s famous eggnog was the centerpiece of the parlor buffet, surrounded by platters of colorfully decorated Christmas cookies and—a last minute addition that had arrived at seven o’clock that morning—one of Ida Mae’s Christmas Angel Cakes.  The old inn was awash in the fragrance of evergreen and cinnamon and the sounds of muted Christmas carols.

The guests had all gathered around the parlor Christmas tree after the breakfast buffet, some still in their slippers, to open the gifts they had brought from home and admire the treasures of others. Pamela Bartlett cried out loud in delight when she opened a surprise gift from Mrs. Hildebrand and found a new iPhone inside.  Then, with her expression sobering, she said, “But if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll trade it in for a cheaper model.”  She glanced at her father who returned an encouraging smile.  “We could kind of use the money.”

“A wise decision, my dear,” agreed Mrs. Hildebrand, looking with approval at the girl’s parents.  “Very wise indeed.”

Geoffery Windsor brought the older woman a cup of eggnog.  “You again,” she said with a downturn of her lips.  But she accepted the cup in good grace.  “I suppose you’re here for an interview.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

She took a sip of the eggnog, held the cup out for an appreciative look, and sipped again.  “What’s this new book of yours about?”

“Everyday heroes,” he replied.

She sniffed. “There are plenty of people you should be interviewing before me, then.  Some of them right here in this room.”

“I agree,” said Geoffery. His glance fell upon Bryce and Angela Phipps whose voices he had heard murmuring behind closed doors far into the night, and moved to Carl Bartlett, who would be called many things—including hero—by many people over the next few months. Even his daughters, who had tried for one brief moment to reach beyond themselves into the lives of others, had a story to tell.  He said, “And I’m going to talk to all of them.  But,” he added, and his eyes twinkled as he glanced down at her, “given your age, I thought it would be smart to start with you.”

She chuckled.  “There may be hope for you yet.”  She sipped her eggnog, watching him shrewdly. “Let me ask you something.  What would you say if I told you there was an angel with us the whole time in that building in Haiti?”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then took a sip from his cup.  “Do you know something?  I just might believe you.”

“Is that right?” Her eyes narrowed a fraction, sizing him up.  “And what would you say if I told you I saw that same angel right here at the Hummingbird House? Talked to him, too, more than once.”

Geoffery nodded slowly and replied, “Then I’d say we just might have something in common.”  

The faint hint of a smile curved one corner of her lips.  “Well then.”  She finished off her eggnog and handed the empty cup to him.  “Bring me another one of these, and we’ll talk.”

Paul pushed aside the silver wrapping paper and undid the flap of the box Derrick had given to him.  A slow and quiet smile spread over his face when he saw the antique wooden train nestled inside.

“I explained to the children that they needed a licensed broker to ensure they received full price for a treasure as valuable as this,” Derrick said.  He frowned a little as he lifted his glass to his lips.  “The little hooligans robbed me blind.”

Paul put the box aside and reached under the Christmas tree for another package.  “I just offered them ten dollars,” he said, and presented it to Derrick.

Derrick unwrapped the package and released a long breath of relief as he pressed the copy of Emily Dickenson’s
Poems
to his breast.  “Thank you, Jesus,” he said.  And then to Paul, quickly, “And you of course, my dear.”  He beamed.  “Thank you!”

Carefully, Derrick put the book aside and added, “Purline said she had a long talk with the children about how important it is to ask permission before helping oneself, even when the Lord is on one’s side.  She wanted to return everything this morning, but I told her we were sincere about our wish to donate.”

Paul looked at him sharply, “Even my crepe pans?”

“Well,” Derrick pointed out blandly, “a gift isn’t really a gift without sacrifice, is it?  And it’s for the children.”

Paul scowled into his drink.  “That village is going to be swarming with goats.”

“It’s like Purline always says,” replied Derrick contentedly, “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

Paul grumbled, “I don’t even know what that means.”

The subject of discussion had been sailing through the house for the past half hour, snapping sheets and fluffing pillows, grinning and humming Christmas carols under her breath and losing absolutely no opportunity to fling her bracelet-adorned arm into the air so that the gemstones caught the light.  Apparently, even Purline was not immune to the old-fashioned pleasures of a jewelry-based Christmas.

Derrick slipped his arm through Paul’s.  “It means,” he said, “that I treasure you.”

Paul slanted him a dry look that, despite his best intentions, turned to tenderness.  “And I, you,” he said.

They raised their glasses in a moment of smiling, mutual toast.  Then Paul’s brows drew together in mild concern. “I’m sorry Mick left last night before we had a chance to give him his gift card.”

“Or his paycheck,” added Derrick, with an even deeper frown.  “Surely he’ll be back for it.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“On the other hand,” mused Derrick, “he was rather a lone ranger type, wasn’t he?  A little odd, altogether. Pleasant, though,” he was quick to add.

“Very pleasant,” agreed Paul. “And a huge help to us.  He should have at least allowed us to write a reference.”

“It would have been glowing.”

“Absolutely vivid,” Paul asserted.

“Pawsladder! Dekarrenson!”

The two men turned to see Park Sung standing at the door, grinning broadly and waving them over with big, sweeping gestures.  Paul and Derrick exchanged a puzzled look, then left their glasses on the mantle and followed as Park Sung, still grinning excitedly, led the way out of the room to the spa.

Earlier that morning Derrick had tried to explain the festively wrapped gift card he had presented to them, receiving only polite but baffled looks until he finally retrieved the gift card, exchanged it for cash, and said simply, “Tip.”  That was apparently a word they understood because both faces cleared as they began to smile and bow their gratitude. Feeling rather festive himself, Derrick had booked a massage for both himself and Paul later that afternoon; he hoped they hadn’t misunderstood the time.

Kim Gi, dressed in her white working kimono and black slacks—feet bare, of course—stood outside the spa door.  Her hands were tucked formally into her kimono sleeves, but she was grinning with as much excitement as was Park Sung, who practically skipped the last few steps. Kim Gi bowed when she saw them, and opened the door to the spa.

“Oh dear,” murmured, Derrick, glancing at his watch, “I’m afraid they did misunderstand the time.  I scheduled for three.”

But before he could even begin to try to explain the error, Park Sung began gesticulating wildly, hopping up and down as he beckoned them inside with sweeping arm gestures.  “Hahmonee!” he declared.  “Hahmonee!”

Paul looked at Derrick and repeated, “Harmony?”

Derrick shrugged, as confused as Paul was. They saw no choice other than to follow Park Sung inside.

He led the way to the massage room and opened it with a flourish.  “Soo. Prize,” he announced. Hesitantly the two men looked around.

The room was a peaceful oasis of variegated shades of green, calm winter light filtering through the transparent window shade. Flickering candles smelled of lemon grass and balsam, and the soothing sounds of a lute played a melody against the background sounds of a waterfall. All was exactly as it had been designed, except when Derrick moved his eyes toward the ceiling.  He clutched Paul’s arm, speechless, and Paul tilted his head to look upwards as well.

The entire ceiling was covered with a mural magnificent enough to rival any fresco in any palazzo in Italy. Cerulean blue skies and gold-tipped clouds provided a heavenly backdrop for the angels, dozen of them.  There were blond angels, brunette angels, male angels, female angels, young angels, old angels.  There was one angel with long blond curls that looked suspiciously like Harmony.  And another …

“Oh, my God,” Derrick whispered.  “It’s you!”

Paul nodded slowly and turned his head meaningfully in another direction.  Derrick followed his gaze.  “And me,” he added.

“It’s actually rather … mesmerizing,” Paul admitted after a moment.

“Like a train wreck in heaven,” agreed Derrick, his head still tilted back.  “You want to look away, but you can’t.”

Park Sung stood close by, his head also tilted to the ceiling, beaming proudly.  “Hahmonee,” he said.

Paul and Derrick tore their eyes away from the ceiling and met each others’ gaze with a smile.  “Surprise,” they said in unison.

Bryce Phipps stood with one hand on the back of his wife’s chair, watching her face as she accepted the blue-foil wrapped box he offered to her. Around them the others laughed and chatted, Christmas carols played, glass hummingbirds caught the lights on the Christmas tree and seemed to flutter their wings in delight.  Their hosts returned to the room with another pitcher of eggnog and an armload of firewood.  Yet the two of them, though in the middle of the gaiety and activity, had surrounded themselves with a gentle veil of privacy through which others could look, but not intrude.

“I know you said no gifts,” Bryce said quietly.  “But I’ve waited for years to give you this. When we came here, I thought it would be my last chance.  Now I just think it’s time.”

She looked at him uncertainly.  “What is it?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted.  “David got it for you that Christmas … the Christmas before he died.  He had the store wrap it for him and he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”  He smiled a little, remembering.  “Although he was dropping so many hints I’m sure he would have blurted it out in another day or two.”

Angela dropped her eyes to the package in her lap, her hand hesitant, making no move to unwrap it. She said softly, “He’ll always be with us, won’t he?”

Her husband slipped his hand beneath her hair, caressing her neck. “I hope so.  And I think it’s up to us to make sure he is.”

Angela slit the tape with her fingernail and folded back the paper.  She opened the box and removed the soft packing material.  For a moment she just stared, in wonder and disbelief, at what was inside.

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered.  “I remember this.”

Slowly, she drew the snow globe out of the box and held it up to the light.  She turned it upside down and then right-side up, watching the snow swirl around the wooden house with the different colored painted doors. She couldn’t help herself.  Holding her breath, she peered more closely, looking into the golden windows.  But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t see inside. And then she realized it didn’t matter. Because she was already here.

She laughed out loud in delight.  “Look!” she exclaimed.  “It’s just like this place!”

Everyone crowded around to see, and even Paul and Derrick were impressed by the resemblance.  “What do you know about that, old man?” Paul declared.  “Our fame is even more widespread than we knew!”

“We must try to find one like it,” agreed Derrick.  “It would look divine on the reception desk.  Do you mind my asking where you got it?”

Angela just shared a smile with her husband and replied, “I’m afraid they don’t make these anymore.”

What had the man in the store said when she’d asked what would happen to the people inside the globe? 
They’ll go on living their lives.
That was it.  She reached up and clasped her husband’s hand, pressing it against her shoulder, smiling.  “Thank you,” she said.

They’ll go on living their lives.

“Hey,” Kelly Bartlett said.  She crawled under the Christmas tree and brought out another package, this one wrapped in silver.  “There’s another present here.”  She looked at the tag.  “It’s for you guys,” she said, handing the package to Derrick.  “Both of you.”

They exchanged one of those delighted Christmas morning who-can-this-be-from looks, and Derrick tore off the wrapping.

“You are such a heathen,” Paul complained affectionately, trying to salvage the wrapping paper Derrick had discarded.  “Reclaim, reuse, recycle.”

“Will you look at this?”  Derrick held up a polished wooden plaque for everyone to admire.  “Isn’t this lovely?”

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” agreed Paul. “What’s engraved on it?”

“It says …” Derrick turned the plaque around and read out loud, “Don’t be afraid to show kindness to strangers, for thereby many have entertained angels unaware.”