The Treasure of Christmas (2 page)

“Christmas Valley to become the Christmas capital of the Pacific Northwest,” the headlines in their little weekly paper had read back in 1980, and that’s when the CVA (Christmas Valley Association) had been established. It started out simply enough, things like raising funds to purchase Christmas lights and basic decorations as well as scheduling some civic activities during the month of December, but over the years it had evolved into something of a Christmastime three-ring circus, which now launched itself shortly after Halloween.

“Gotta make the most of the season,” Mayor Drummel (aka Santa Claus) would tell the CVA at their annual planning session in late March. And make the most of it they did. But by early December, some of the townsfolk, weary of this never-ending holiday, could be overheard murmuring things like, “I’m sick of Christmas,” or “One more chorus of Jingle Bells and I’ll . . .” And some less festive folks had adopted the snowbird way of life, flocking down to Phoenix or Palm Springs at the first sight of a candy cane.

But that was never the case with Edith Ryan, the optimistic owner and operator of the Shepherd’s Inn. Edith always looked forward to this time of year with unbridled enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t mind if Christmas lasted forever,” she’d been known to tell friends and neighbors as she happily prepared for the holiday, cooking and decorating for her family (which now consisted of four grown children and their various spouses plus five grandchildren between the ages of one and nine). She always looked forward to these gatherings in their spacious and gracious family home – the same home that also doubled as the town’s only bed and breakfast for the remainder of the year.

Edith’s husband, Charles Ryan, was the pastor of the only remaining church in town, and some people figured that Edith had no choice but to maintain her positive outlook on life for his sake. And considering that church membership was down more than usual, even for this time of year, it probably made sense that Edith would look for the brighter side, if only to bolster her husband’s spirits. This was fortunate, since some members of his congregation seemed determined to do just the opposite.

“Have you noticed that Pastor Charlie seems to be slowing down?” Olive Peters said, totally out of the blue, during quilting circle that week. Of course, the only reason she dared to make this comment was because the pastor’s good wife had been unable to attend that day. “It just occurred to me that he’s getting up there in years.”

“Goodness knows, he’s been here forever,” said her best friend, retired army nurse Helen Johnson. Accustomed to these two rather dominating women, the other quilters simply sewed and listened without commenting.

“I think we should encourage the poor old guy to retire,” added Olive, who was pushing sixty herself.

“For his own sake, of course,” Helen said.

“And then maybe we could hire someone
more hip
,” said Olive as she tried to see well enough to thread her needle. Not that either of these women were very hip, although Helen had recently had a hip replacement. “A younger man might breathe some new life into the pulpit.” She squinted her eyes and attempted, for the third time, to thread the pesky needle. “Help the church to grow.”

“Yes,” agreed Helen. “We need someone who could get the young people more involved.”

“And the community too,” added Olive. “There are plenty of folks who don’t go to church around here. We should be getting them to come to our church. Membership is way down this year.”

“Maybe if we found someone with a more contemporary world-view,” inserted Helen. “We all know that Pastor Charlie is a good man, but he can be a bit old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

Naturally, Edith’s good friend Polly Emery, also present at the quilting circle, kept her thoughts to herself, since she knew that speaking out would only have resulted in an argument. Then the quilt would never get finished in time for Christmas, and it was meant to be a gift for a needy family in town. But she did inform Edith about the dissenters when the two of them met at the North Pole for coffee the following day.

“I really do hate repeating things like this,” she said apologetically after spilling her proverbial beans. “But I just thought you should be aware of the talk, Edith. For Charles’s sake, you know, so you two can watch your backsides, if you know what I mean.”

Edith considered Polly’s words as strains of “Silver Bells” played over the tinny sound system in the small café. “Well, Charles does turn sixty-five this year,” she admitted with a bit of amazement. Sometimes Edith forgot that her husband was nearly ten years her senior. “But I don’t see that as so terribly old, not really. And he does seem to get along with the young people . . . don’t you think?”

“Of course he does, Edith. And you’re right, Charles seems much younger than his age. Besides, it’s not his fault that the young people can’t stick around to go to church here. Everyone knows that most of them are forced to leave town to find
real
work. It’s not as if we have great career opportunities here in Christmas Valley.”

Edith sighed. “Speaking of young people . . . I just found out that not a single one of our kids will be coming home for Christmas this year.”

Polly looked shocked. “Really? How can that be? I mean, I realize that Tommy and Alicia and their kids wouldn’t be able to make it since they just got stationed in Germany. And you did mention that Katie and her family might not be able to make the trip from Florida this year. But what about Jack and his new wife – what’s her name?”

“Constance.”

“Right. What about them? I thought they were coming.”

“Constance just decided that they should spend Christmas with her parents this year. And, really, that seems only fair. After all, Jack brought her here last Christmas when they got engaged. Remember?”

“What about Krista then? I happen to know that teachers get nearly two weeks off this year, and she only lives in Seattle – she could easily drive here in just a few hours. What’s her excuse?”

“Well, that’s the thing. She just called this morning, and it seems that she and some teacher friends got the chance to share a condo in Hawaii during the holidays – an opportunity of a lifetime for her. . . . Of course, she had to go.”

“Oh . . .” Polly appeared stumped now.

“So it’s just Charles and me this year.”

“I’d invite you to join us, but we promised Candy and Bill that we’d come to their house this year. We plan to be gone for a whole week.”

Edith reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “Don’t you worry about us, Polly. We’ll be just fine.”

But as Edith walked home, she wasn’t so sure. How could it possibly be Christmas with no kids, no grandkids, no happy voices, no pitter-patter of feet going up and down the stairs, no sticky fingerprints to wipe from the big bay window, no wide-eyed expectations as the little ones tried to guess what Santa might be bringing them this year? How could it be Christmas with nothing but quiet emptiness filling up their big old Victorian house? Why, it just didn’t seem possible. It just wasn’t right!

So, despite the tall, fully decorated tree in the center of town and the big red-and-white candy cane decorations on every street lamp . . . despite the life-size Santa’s-sleigh-and-reindeer stage in the parking lot next to the Oh, Christmas Tree gift shop and despite all the evergreen wreaths and garlands and strings of little white lights around every shop window and roofline . . . well, it just didn’t feel one bit like Christmas knowing that her family wouldn’t be coming home this year.

Edith glanced up at the cloudless blue sky overhead and realized that the temperature must be approaching the sixties today, and the weather didn’t feel one bit like Christmas either. And with Christmas less than two weeks away . . . Edith sighed. It was just all wrong.

2

Tonight was midweek service, and as usual, Edith prepared a light meal for Charles and herself. But as they sat at the large dining room table, just the two of them at opposite ends, she decided she could not, or rather she
should
not, inform him that not even one of their children would be coming for Christmas this year. She would have to save that unfortunate news for later. Nor would she tell him, not now and not ever, about what Polly had mentioned earlier today. No, there was just no sense in repeating something like that. Instead she made pleasant small talk about a radio program that she’d listened to this afternoon while baking six loaves of cranberry nut bread – one, still warm, that they were enjoying along with their dinner, the rest to go into the freezer for later use or to give away to those who expected company for the holidays.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s December already,” Charles said as he wiped his mouth with a green-and-red-checked napkin. “I think each year passes more quickly than the last.”

“It probably comes with age,” she said as she began clearing the table. “They say the older you get the faster the days go.”

“Need any help?” he offered, just like usual.

And, just like usual – for a Wednesday, that is – she said, “Not tonight, dear. You just go to your study and relax a bit . . . get yourself into the right state of mind for your sermon tonight.”

He pecked her on the cheek and thanked her for dinner, then went off on his way while she rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. With its red gingham wallpaper and golden wood floors topped with colorful braided rugs, her kitchen was quite a cheerful place – her own private retreat – and she never minded spending time there. Whether it was baking or cleaning or sitting at her little maple desk in the corner, this was her territory, and everyone knew it. She even had a sign posted over the door, politely warning guests that this area was “off-limits.”

Not that it would be much of a problem during the next two weeks, for as usual, Edith had been careful not to book guests during the weeks before and following Christmas – those were always reserved for family members. And also as usual, the first two weeks of December had been fairly quiet as well. Other than the nice elderly couple who’d just left yesterday, she had no bookings lined up. She figured this was because people were too absorbed with their own holiday preparations to plan an overnight getaway during this busy time.

In the past, she’d always welcomed this quiet lull, kind of like a little reprieve before things got too frantic and chaotic with all the family members arriving, combined with the comings and goings of Christmas in town and at church. But not this year. This year there would be nothing but quiet, quiet, quiet, at least around this house. And as Edith dried her hands on a hand towel embroidered with bright sprigs of holly and berries, she just wasn’t sure that she could handle that much quiet.

She heard the front door open and close, the sign that Charles was heading over to the church now, just across the street from their house. He always went over early to turn on the lights and adjust the fussy furnace and, of course, to pray for the service as well as his congregation. Charles had always been a firm believer in prayer. As was Edith, and despite her heavy heart, she took a few minutes to sit down at her desk and bow her head and earnestly pray, first of all for Charles’s sermon – that God would bless his words as well as the listeners who heard them – and second that God would remind people like Olive and Helen to watch their words a bit more closely.

Certainly, she wanted to say more about that, but she knew it was up to God to decide whether or not to dish out any vengeance for their careless tongues. Then she pulled on her favorite wool sweater – no need for a coat on this unseasonably warm evening – and headed over to the church herself. Now this was the truth: although she was completely devoted to Charles and never missed a service without an extremely good excuse, there were times, like tonight, when she might’ve opted to stay home – if that were an option. Which it was not. And perhaps that was a good thing too. Perhaps an encouraging pre-Christmas sermon was just what she needed tonight. Something to help her get back into the
real
spirit of Christmas.

She paused on the sidewalk in front of their house, smiling with satisfaction as she looked across the street and admired the church’s colorful stained glass windows glowing so warmly, so invitingly in the velvety night. She remembered the time when the windows were so badly deteriorated that the board had voted to have them completely removed and replaced with pastel-colored bubble glass, the same kind that was used in shower doors! Well, Edith couldn’t bear to see that happen, and so she had rallied some women into a fund-raising frenzy, with bake sales and silent auctions until finally, contributing the difference secretly from her own personal savings, enough funds were collected to preserve those dear old windows.
Such a pretty little
church
, she thought as she crossed the street.
Such a nice addition
to their town.

She thought back to when she and Charles had arrived at Christmas Valley, back in the sixties. It had been his first assignment after becoming ordained. They were so young and full of hope. Of course, things didn’t always go smoothly, and living in a small town could certainly be a challenge. They quickly discovered how a church could easily be split open by things like gossip or jealousy or greed. They had gone through their own congregational trials and had also sadly witnessed other churches that floundered and eventually failed. But there was little to be done about it. As a result, they had wholeheartedly invested themselves in their church, as well as their family and their community – and all things considered, it had paid off well, since there was no place on earth where either of them would rather live out the rest of their days than right here.

Still, it got her goat when people like Helen and Olive went around saying that Charles was “getting too old.”
Lord knows those women
aren’t exactly spring chickens themselves
, she thought as she walked up the stone stairs and reached for the bronze handle on the big wooden door.

“Hello, Edith,” trilled a familiar voice from behind her. Edith turned in time to see her old friend Mrs. Fish standing at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Fish had taught fifth grade to both Tommy and Jack before retiring years ago, and now Edith estimated she must be in her nineties, although she kept her exact age secret.