Home for the Holidays (16 page)

“A
man
selling flowers?” Max’s tone went chilly with disapproval. “I should say so.”

Alice loved going into Wild Things, partly because Craig had the interior so artfully arranged with plants and flowers that it usually was a little like stepping into a rain forest. This time of year it was more like paying a visit to Santa’s greenhouse. The shop glowed with poinsettias, holiday centerpieces, lovely decorated wreaths and tabletop Christmas trees.

She called Craig’s name several times, but there was no answer.

“Craig sets up a small tent behind the shop every year to sell Christmas trees,” Alice told Max. “He might be out there.”

Max grunted. “He should get a bell.”

“Alice!” Craig came from the back of the store to greet them. A slender man with short, light-brown hair that had a stubborn cowlick, he wore a dark green suit with a single red rosebud on his lapel. “I was wondering if you’d stop in today.”

Alice introduced him to Max, who had been sizing up the younger man with a stern gaze.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Craig said, shaking his hand. “One of the women over at the Coffee Shop mentioned the Christmas homes tour. How do you like Acorn Hill?”

“It’s different,” was Max’s terse response as he surveyed the interior of the shop.

“Things are a bit jumbled in here at the moment. I have a lot of orders being picked up,” Craig said. “I also have to cover the Christmas tree lot out back.” He turned to Alice. “You’re here for the flowers for church, aren’t you? I have them right over here.”

Craig went to a temperature-controlled case that was stocked with several, delicate-looking floral arrangements.

“It’s been so cold I’ve been keeping most of the flowers
in here.” Carefully he extracted two large altar arrangements of white carnations, red roses and small pine branches studded with tiny brown cones. Each was simple but so well put together that it appeared perfectly balanced from every angle.

“Your flower arranger does fine work,” Max said in a grudging way.

“I try,” Craig said, and smiled as he covered the arrangements with some protective wrap and placed them in a shallow open box. “I fancy myself an artist. Flowers are my paint, and pots are my canvas. Of course, it would be a little easier if the palette wouldn’t wilt on me.”

Alice noticed Max’s bleak expression deepening and hurried to thank Craig for his beautiful work. She was startled when Max turned down the florist’s offer to bring the arrangements out to Alice’s car and carried the box himself.

Why is he so short and disapproving toward younger men?
She had noticed him treating Allan Hansford with a certain degree of civility, but he had been as terse and unfriendly with Craig as he had been with Ted Venson during the tour of Lloyd’s home.

As she drove to Grace Chapel, Alice became aware that the big businessman had fallen into a brooding silence again and she decided to do something about it. “Do you have any family in the area, Max?”

“No.” When she glanced sideways at him, he added, “I lost my wife ten years ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” She hesitated and then asked, “Did you have any children?”

“One son.” He looked out through the passenger window. “John.”

So Jane was wrong and he did have some family. “Will you be seeing him this Christmas?”

“No.” Max gave her a sharp look. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I’m just curious. I like meeting people and hearing about where they come from and what their families are like.” She made a face. “I apologize if I’m being too nosy.”

Max fell back into silence. Alice was trying to think of another topic of conversation when he suddenly spoke again. “My son and I don’t speak to each other.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Did you have an argument recently?”

“No. He defied me ten years ago and dropped out of business college. Said he wanted to be an
artist
.” Max invested the last word with a great deal of contempt. “He went off to New York City and we haven’t spoken since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And she was.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I have my business interests.” He shifted his weight on the seat. “He’s happy
where he is, doing his pictures. He must make a little money at it. He’s never asked me for any. Though God only knows how a man can make a reliable income with such work.”

Alice felt terrible for pressing him on the subject, but that certainly explained his harsh attitude toward younger men, especially Ted and Craig, who were both very artistic.
They remind him of his son
.

“I’m not a parent, but I can imagine how difficult it has been for you.”

“I don’t know why I let it bother me. I suppose it’s the holidays.” He shook his head. “I can’t even get in a decent week of work, what with the Christmas parties and everyone expecting time off. No use trying to keep the office open by myself.”

“Is that why you took this tour?”

“I thought I’d get away from the city for a few days,” he snapped. “Is that all right with you?”

There is always hope, Max, you just haven’t found yours yet
. She gave him a serene smile. “That’s fine.”

Chapter Eleven

M
ax carried the floral arrangements into Grace Chapel for Alice and placed them on the altar tables.

“Nice little place,” he said, looking around to admire the stained glass windows and simple arrangement of the polished oak pews.

The decorations committee had decided on shades of red, white and gold for the holidays this year, and Alice was proud to see how beautiful the church looked.

Red velvet bows with simple gold crosses against sprays of baby’s breath adorned the window sills and the end of each pew. A Nativity scene with lifelike figures of Mary and Joseph and of the infant Jesus in a manger had been placed in a niche to the right of the altar, and a special spotlight illuminated the crèche.

The altar had not been neglected, either. Red and white poinsettias in brass pots formed a semicircle of bright color around the base of the altar rail. Over the center where the pastor gave his sermons, a large white star hung
as a symbol of the season and a reminder of what first brought men to God’s only Son.

“This place has the same name as your bed and breakfast place, doesn’t it?” Max asked her.

“Yes. Our father was pastor here for over fifty years, so Grace Chapel has always been an important part of our lives. My sisters and I felt it was only natural to name our inn after it.” Alice turned as a tall, dark-haired man emerged from a side door and approached them. “Here’s our head pastor, Rev. Thompson.”

“Good afternoon, Alice. I see you’ve picked up the flowers from Craig’s.” Rev. Thompson turned to Max and held out his hand. “Kenneth Thompson, welcome to Grace Chapel.”

“Max Ziglar, how do you do?”

As the men shook hands, Alice could not help noticing the similarities between them. Both were tall and had something of a commanding presence. While Kenneth did not have as much bulk as the businessman, each had the kind of austere face that could make him seem unapproachable.

“Has Miss Howard brought your group to tour our church?” Kenneth’s quiet smile transformed his features and made the kindness in his eyes much more noticeable.

Now if I could just get Max to do that
, Alice thought. “The tour is wrapped up for the day and the others are shopping
in town,” she told the pastor. “Max was kind enough to help me with the flower arrangements.”

“Miss Howard saved me from being dragged on yet another trek through the local shops,” Max said more bluntly.

The reverend’s eyes grew thoughtful as he studied the other man. “Are you a native of Boston, Max?”

“Born and raised, just outside Cambridge.” He smiled. “You’ve got a good ear for accents. I thought after all these years down here, I’d gotten rid of mine.”

“You have, very nearly. I’m predisposed to pick up a Boston accent,” the pastor said. “My family is from Beacon Hill.”

Alice rarely heard Rev. Thompson mention his childhood home, but Louise had told her that it was one of the most affluent areas in the city.

“Is that right?” Max Ziglar’s attitude shifted and he regarded him with open curiosity now. “How does a rich boy from Beacon Hill end up a pastor in a small town in the middle of nowhere?”

“With the blessings of almighty God,” Rev. Thompson said easily. “I know a number of people from the Cambridge area. Do you still have family there?”

“No. None at all.” Max looked around as if searching for an avenue of escape. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to walk outside and get some air.”

“Of course.” With a heavy heart Alice watched the businessman trudge out of the church. When he had departed, she said, “I’m sorry, Pastor. Max is …” Like Louise, she was not sure what he was. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he did or said something to throw her off. There was one thing she was sure of, however. “Max is not a happy man.”

“Why is he here with you instead of with his group?”

Alice related how Max had been disagreeable until she had coaxed him to come along with her to the church, and what he had told her about his wife and son on the drive over.

“I know he’s only here for one more day,” she told the reverend, “but I’d like to do something to help him feel a little of the Christmas spirit, if I can.”

“Spending the holidays alone after years of sharing them with a wife and family can be painful,” the pastor said gently. “As you know, my wife and I didn’t have children, but after her death I felt her loss most keenly during the holidays. Being around others who still have their families with them is particularly difficult. You can’t help but envy them.”

She had never thought of the problem from that perspective. At the same time, she understood missing a loved one. Christmas was not the same without her father. “How did you deal with it, Pastor?”

“I can never replace Catherine, but after her death my ministry gave my life renewed purpose and direction. In a sense, I allowed my congregations here and in Boston to become my extended family.” His gaze went to the Nativity scene. “It is at Christmas that I always think of the passage from Psalm 138:3 [
KJV
]: ‘In the day when I cried thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul.’”

“I don’t think that I can convince Max Ziglar to take up a life of service in one day.” She made a face. “I can’t even get him to go into shops.”

“He feels like an outsider, Alice. It’s also a matter of what he’s comfortable with. That’s probably why he works so hard to keep people from getting close to him.”

That made sense to her. “I wish I could have brought him to my last ANGELs meeting. The girls are always so cheerful and full of energy, and they wouldn’t remind him of his son.”

Rev. Thompson looked up as the door to the church opened and Max came back inside. “You know, I think I may be able to help.”

After Max had rejoined them, the reverend surprised Alice when he invited the businessman to have dinner with him at the rectory.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to talk about Boston
with anyone in a long time,” he said, when Max began to refuse. “Did you follow the Red Sox this year?”

“I’m a Bostonian, I have no choice,” Max grumbled. “I still cannot believe what happened during the playoffs. Did you catch game three with the Yankees?”

“Unhappily, I did.”

As the men chatted about baseball, Alice felt a little glimmer of hope.
Maybe the pastor is right, maybe this will work
.

Alice related Max Ziglar’s sad story to Louise and Jane later that night at the inn, and immediately her two sisters saw the businessman in a different light.

“I wouldn’t feel very cheerful listening to everyone chatter on about their families while all I had to look forward to was going home to an empty house,” Alice said. She gave her sisters a sorrowful look. “Which is where I would be right now, if you two hadn’t come back home.”

As a widow, Louise understood how difficult it was to maintain a positive outlook after the loss of a spouse, and the thought of being estranged from her daughter Cynthia was abhorrent, so she could sympathize with Max’s bitterness over his son.