Make Me Howl (28 page)

“I’ll call her a few days after Christmas, then.” He tried to smile, but didn’t do a very good job of it. “Tell her hello for me?”

“I will.” Noticing the woman he’d come in with watched us from a display of red and green bags, I tipped my head toward her. “I think your friend is waiting.”

“Who, her? She’s not my friend. She’s…a c-cousin,” he stammered.

I didn’t try to hide my snort. “Right. And I’m your uncle.”

I turned my back on Spencer, effectively cutting him off as the saleswoman came back with our gifts. I wasn’t about to listen to his lies when I knew how badly he’d hurt my sister. Or at least I had a pretty good idea.

Signing the sales slip, I put away my card and ID, took the presents and walked toward the door.

Much to my surprise, Spencer was there to hold it for me. “Would you like some help?”

“No. Thank you.” I clenched my teeth to keep from telling him what I thought. What I really wanted to do was snap his head off.

“No. You probably wouldn’t. At least tell her I asked about her. Will you?”

“All right.”
But I’m not going to ruin Christmas.

****

Mom and Dad picked us up Christmas Eve morning in their SUV, so there was plenty of room for gifts. After stopping at the closest Starbucks for Cinnamon Dolce Lattes all around, we drove to the farm. When we got there, the Newkirks were waiting for us. “How do they know when we’ll get here every time?” Mom murmured as Dad pulled in next to the house.

“The same way they know everything else,” Dad answered her. “They just do.”

Mom nodded, then with a shrug, opened her door, got out and hugged Mrs. Newkirk.

As we unloaded our bags and presents, Mrs. Newkirk prepared a pot of coffee in Grandma’s kitchen for us. Mr. Newkirk stopped Dad just as we headed inside with the last of it. “I sharpened the ax for you.”

“The ax?” Apparently, Dad’s mind was on that cup of coffee, not the manual labor he’d be doing in a little while.

“I thought you’d want it sharp so you could make a clean cut on the tree.” Mr. Newkirk clapped him on the shoulder. “Better have your coffee and head for the tree field. We’re going to get some weather this afternoon the forecasters aren’t expecting.”

Dad’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline. “And how do you know that?”

Mr. Newkirk chuckled hoarsely as he rubbed his leathery hands together. “Feel it in my bones, boy. Always have.”

After we finished our coffee, Dad, Bella and I headed for the tree field our grandfather had planted when our mother was small. It wasn’t a commercial tree farm, but when we were in the mood for a fresh cut tree, we always had the freshest.

Mom stayed at the house to “get the ornaments ready,” but we knew it was because she didn’t want the exercise.

As we stepped out the backdoor, Dad zipped his jacket. “It’s getting colder, girls. I wonder if Mr. Newkirk’s bones are accurate.”

“Probably,” Bella murmured, not particularly thrilled to be out in the wind. “I should have stayed at the house and had a nap.”

“You slept all the way here,” I reminded her, then dropped my voice so Dad wouldn’t hear me. “I think you need to see a doctor.”

She tripped over something in the dead grass, and when she’d righted herself, gave me a look that should have set my hair on fire. “I don’t need to see a doctor. I just need to slow down a little. That’s all.”

I held her gaze for a moment, but she wouldn’t relent.

“Come on, girls. You’re lagging behind,” Dad called to us.

I lengthened my step, catching him easily, but it took Bella a little while longer. Or maybe she didn’t want to catch up with us.

We walked past the pond I’d fished in not too many days prior, continuing on until we came to a fence. Following the fence we found the gate, which we left open as we walked to another pasture. Finally we got to the field of pinyon and juniper trees. Mr. Newkirk had taken good care of them. They looked as if they’d been watered regularly and fertilized. We picked out a tree that would fit in the living room, where Mom had announced the tree would stand, and Dad prepared to cut it.

“Either of you girls want to take a swing at it?” he asked.

“No, thanks.”

He chuckled as he pulled leather gloves from his pocket and put them on. “You used to squabble over who was going to get to take the first swing. Remember? For a while we had to have two trees so you could both have a first swing.”

Bella stared at the ground in front of her as if thinking of something else. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. It was.” He made sure we were out of his range then took the first swing. The bite of the ax sang out, bringing back memories of long ago as surely as the pinyon’s fragrance filled the air.

A few blows felled the tree, and after making sure the stump he left was smooth, he handed me the ax, picked up the tree by the trunk and started toward the house. Bella followed along as if lost in a dream.

We walked along single file, no one talking until we went through the gate we’d left open. “Can you close it, Bella?” Dad asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t laugh or play as usual. I was getting really worried now, but Dad didn’t seem to notice, and the last thing I wanted was to worry him. Because if I worried him, he’d tell Mom, and no one would get any peace until she’d found out what was on Bella’s mind.

My cell phone rang, which surprised me, since I hadn’t realized we could get reception there at the farm.

“Hey, Jazzy.” As usual, Doc’s voice made my heart go crazy. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my insides from melting like so much chocolate.

“Hi.” I stopped, hoping not to lose the signal. “Getting ready for a big Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Was that regret I heard in his voice? “House is full of relatives and godparents, so we’re pretty much stuck for the duration. How about you?”

“We’re at my grandparent’s farm for a few days.” I cleared my throat, trying to keep the wistfulness from it. “Guess I won’t be seeing you.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. I just saw on TV a weather front has taken an unexpected turn toward us.”

“We’re going to get a lot of snow, aren’t we?” I asked.

“Did you catch the breaking news?”

“No. Mr. Newkirk, the man who takes care of the farm, told us a couple of hours ago, when we got here.” I glanced over my shoulder to see how far away Bella and Dad were when the first flake twirled past me. “Said he felt it in his bones.”

Doc chuckled. “Well, stay warm. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“All right. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.” The word was barely a whisper, but I could feel the emotion behind it across the distance. He didn’t want to say goodbye. Didn’t want me to be away.

I loved it.

I rushed, catching up with the others as they passed the pond. Bella had stopped to watch the calm water for a few moments. I waited for her, unwilling to leave her alone in her present mood. No matter what, I was determined to find out what was up with her
that night
.

****

Bella tugged the gate into the yard shut just as Jazzy handed Mr. Newkirk the ax. Mr. Newkirk always knew when they’d need him, but the funny thing was, she’d never paid much attention to that before. The Newkirks had always just been there, almost as if they were part of the farm.

With a shiver, Bella stuck her hands deep into her pockets. It was getting colder. Much colder. And snow had started to fall. Maybe Mr. N knew what he was talking about. He usually did.

As she watched the flakes chase one another to the ground, several piled against her boots.

“When did you get the firewood stacked on the porch?” Jazzy asked the old man.

“I kinda figured you folks would be down for Christmas, and remembering how your mama likes a fire, I hired old Art White to deliver it,” Mr. N answered.

Jazzy lifted her eyebrows and smiled softly. “Was that about the time you got that feeling in your bones about this storm?”

“Might be. Just might be. Better get inside before you catch your death.” His focus narrowed to Bella. “You, too, Missy. You certainly don’t want to catch a chill.”

Before she could answer him, he started for the barn. The flakes grew fatter and fell even faster. “Guess we’d better get inside.” Jazzy linked her arm with Bella’s as they ran toward the house.

When they stepped onto the screened in back porch, Jazzy picked up several sticks of firewood. “Might as well take a load now. Otherwise, Mom’ll just send us back.”

Bella picked up a few pieces, stomped off the snow at the kitchen entrance and took the wood to the living room.

While Dad worked at putting the tree in the stand Mom had ready for him, Bella and Jazzy took kindling from the nearby bucket, obviously left by the Newkirks, and built the fire.

When it was burning brightly, Bella settled on the hearth, forcing herself to try and enjoy the holiday. Jazzy, never able to sit still for long, went back for more wood. After a few moments, Bella picked up a dried lavender bundle and tossed it into the flame. The small bunch burned brightly, releasing a dusty sweet fragrance into the room.

Jazzy grinned at her while she stacked the firewood. “I love that aroma, especially mixed with the fresh pinyon. Let’s take some home with us to use there.”

Bella couldn’t help but smile as the memory of their childhood flooded back. When they’d been small, Grandma had grown lavender, mainly as a ready source of food for her honey bees.

Rather than let all the blooms dry up and fall to the ground, Bella had gathered part of them and hung them to dry from the ceiling joists of the back porch.

“Why are you doing that?” Grandma had asked, an odd light in her eyes.

“So this winter when you build a fire, you can throw them in and make your house smell good.”

After that, Grandma and Bella had collected the purple blossoms together and dried them on her back porch. It had been their special project. Must be Mrs. Newkirk who tended the good smelling herb these days, and left them bundled in the basket.

Dad finally had the tree upright in the corner Mom had chosen. “All right, Bella. Get some water for this fella. He’s got to be thirsty.”

Shoving to her feet, Bella went to the kitchen, found the spouted can under the sink, and filled it with tepid water. Taking it back to the living room, she poured it in the reservoir then took the can back, where Mom started the Christmas Eve meal.

Passing the kitchen window, all Bella could see was snow. The world outside was a white blur with nothing distinguishable. The sky was white, the ground, the trees. Everything, even the wind, was the same heavy white.

Thankful she wasn’t out in it, she went back to the front room, which was considerably warmer than the other parts of the house, and helped decorate the tree. When they finally had the garland on and Mom pronounced it “perfect,” they put one of Grandma’s handmade quilts under it, then piled on the presents.

With the room lights off so they could appreciate the old-fashioned ones on the tree, the glow of the firelight drew her attention. “Uh-oh. Looks like we need to bring in more wood.”

Mom rubbed her arms as she moved closer. “I hadn’t realized how cold it was getting.” She went to the door and looked out the front. “It’s really coming down out there.”

Bella went to stand beside her. Even looking across the screened in porch, she could see the whiteout conditions hadn’t changed. They’d been hit by a blizzard, and anyone caught out in it would be in real trouble.

“Well, come on Bella baby, peel potatoes for me.”

Exhaustion making her bones ache, she wished she could whine and say, “Make Jazzy do it.” But knowing what Jazzy’s answer would be, Bella nodded and followed her mother into the kitchen.

When almost all the potatoes were peeled, something banged several times against the backdoor. Bella startled, dropping her potato and the peeler in the sink. Eyes wide, Mom looked at her in surprise then they both rushed out to see what it was.

There, covered with so much snow he was almost indistinguishable from the storm, was Mr. Newkirk. As he shuffled onto the back porch, a snow mound behind him that Bella hadn’t noticed moved.

Mr. N stomped the snow off his feet. “I found this fella coming up your driveway.”

Bella stared for a moment at the man brushing off layers of snow from his arms and legs.

Spencer.

Her heart stopped. Was he there or had she conjured him?

Mind reeling, she turned and shoved her way back into the house. The warmth of the kitchen after the frigid temperature on the porch made her fingers tingle. If hers hurt from that short time on the porch, how must his feel?

Could it really be Spencer? Was this a cosmic coincidence or had he actually followed her all the way there?

Hoping not to look like a spoiled kid who’d run away and hidden, she hurried to the bathroom for a stack of bath towels and rushed back to the porch.

“Oh, good. Here she is now,” Mom said standing well away from him as if she were afraid he might get her wet.

Dropping the stack of towels on a chair just inside the kitchen door, she unfolded one and handed it to him. He held it to his face for a moment, as if to thaw, as well as dry it.

With a glance at Mr. N, she picked up a towel and held it out for him, but he shook his head. “I’d best be heading to the house. The missus will be missing me if I don’t get back. G’night.”