Western Star (9 page)

John stopped the truck.

“Whew,” he said.

They were safe.

“L
ISA
!” C
AROLE AND
Stevie welcomed her into the main lodge with open arms.

“You’re okay!”

“I am. I’m just fine,” Lisa said. “John did a great job. It was an instrument landing.”

John and Frank Devine followed Lisa inside. The three of them brushed snow off their jackets. They’d accumulated a significant dusting of it in the fifteen feet from the truck to the lodge’s front porch.

“What’s an instrument landing?” Stevie asked, looking puzzled.

“That’s what they call it when the pilot can’t see the airport. He or she just does everything by what the instruments say,” Carole explained.

“And the compass was my only instrument,” John explained.

“Wow!” Stevie said, genuinely impressed.

“My mother just said something about hot chocolate,” Kate announced. “Any takers?”

Everybody’s hand went up except John’s.

“I’m going to go check in with my dad and let him know I’m okay. Then I’ll unsaddle Frank’s horse and give him an extra ration of hot mash. He’s earned it.
Then
I’ll have my hot chocolate.”

John nodded to the Devines and their guests. He told Lisa he hoped he’d see her later and gave her a shy smile. She told him she hoped so too and, once again, thanked him for the great job he’d done getting her and Frank back to the Bar None.

Stevie, Carole, and Kate missed none of this. Stevie even thought she could see a glow of pleasure on Lisa’s face. Maybe it was just red cheeks from the cold, though.

Phyllis appeared with a tray of steaming mugs. Ellen Katz was right behind her with a bowl of marshmallows. Each of the girls took two marshmallows and dropped them onto the hot chocolate. Lisa held her mug with both hands, enjoying the warmth radiating from it. It was nice to be safe and warm back at the Bar None. She and John had had a close call out in the snow—closer than she wanted to think about.

While she waited for the cocoa to cool a bit, she
looked out the window. It was a whiteout. She knew there was a tree right outside that window, not four feet away. She couldn’t see it. It was lost in the snow, just as she had been.

“So, tell us what happened,” Stevie urged. When Lisa was done telling the tale, everybody was doubly glad that they’d all gotten back safely.

The living room in the lodge was old with high ceilings. A blazing fire in the fireplace warmed up the huge room and made it cozy. Flames licked at the logs and sparked upward, making everyone forget the miserable weather outside the sturdy walls of the lodge.

The Katzes were playing bridge. The four girls started playing a raucous game of Monopoly. Frank worked on a crossword puzzle, and Phyllis sat at the desk, planning meals and shopping for the next week at the ranch.

Every once in a while Frank would poke at the fire or toss on another log. The room was cheerful, buzzing with the chatter among the players and the snapping and popping of logs in the fire.

“Three spades.”

“You can’t buy Oriental. I already own it, and that’ll be six dollars please.”

“You already own everything.”

“Three no-trump.”

When noon came, Phyllis served up big bowls of
steaming soup and a selection of sandwiches. The girls took their lunches back to the Monopoly board.

By midafternoon Carole had amassed an enviable fortune and was getting richer and richer by the moment because nobody could safely run her gauntlet on the fourth side of the board.

“I give up,” Lisa declared.

“Me too,” said Stevie.

“Then I’m ready to pop some popcorn,” said Carole.

Her friends looked at her. “For the tree,” she explained. One entire corner of the lodge’s main room was taken up by a tall spruce tree that was still bare.

“We always try to make popcorn chains for our trees, too,” said Stevie. “Except my brothers eat the popcorn.”

“Just your brothers?” Kate asked.

“Well, Mom and Dad, too,” Stevie said. “And every once in a while I have some.”

“We make chains out of colored paper,” said Lisa.

“And we make chains out of popcorn and cranberries,” Kate said. “So what are we waiting for?”

The four girls went into the lodge kitchen, already filled with tempting smells from the morning’s baking and the huge vat of stew that would be dinner. Stevie declared herself in charge of popping popcorn. Kate located the bags of cranberries. It didn’t take long before the irresistible scent of fresh popcorn joined the other delicious smells in the kitchen. Phyllis produced needles
and thread, and the four girls sat in a circle on the floor around the bowls, ready to create “the most spectacular decorations ever put on a tree,” as Stevie had pronounced they would be. It seemed like the perfect activity for a wintry afternoon three days before Christmas.

The lodge door opened wide, bringing in a gust of wind and a brushing of snow.

“Hello!” called the three Finnegans.

“You made it okay from your cabin?” Phyllis asked, standing up to greet them.

“The snow seems to be letting up now,” Mrs. Finnegan said. “There’s a lot of it and plenty of it is blowing around, but not so much is falling down.”

“Well, come on in and get warm by the fire,” Phyllis said. “The girls are making chains for the tree—”

“And we need two more for bridge,” said Ellen Katz. “Would you like to play some more?”

“Sure,” said Gary’s parents. They joined the Katzes at the card table.

Frank Devine looked out the window and then opened the door to check on the weather. It was still snowing, but it didn’t seem to be a blizzard anymore, just a gentle snow. Lisa peered through the window. The whole world was fresh, clean, and white. It looked so beautiful and serene, it was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago it had been dangerously fierce.

There was a loud noise then, approaching the lodge.

“It’s the snowplow,” Frank said. “They’ve cleared the main road and our drive is open.”

“That’s always nice,” said Phyllis. “Even when we have no intention of going out, it’s good to know we can.”

“Actually, I do have an intention of going out,” Frank said. “I want to get to town to talk to the sheriff about the breaks in my fence and the missing horses from my herd and Westerly’s. Something’s up and I think the local law needs to know.”

A look of concern crossed Phyllis’s face. “The weather’s so unpredictable. Can’t you do this by phone?” she asked.

“I think it’ll be better in person,” Frank said. “I talked to Westerly earlier. He wants to go with me. I’ll take our truck. I promise I’ll drive carefully.”

“In these conditions, I don’t think you’ve got any choice,” Phyllis said. “We’ll see you later.”

He bundled up, gave Phyllis a kiss, and ducked out the door, pulling his hat down over his ears.

“Let’s see if we can’t finish the tree before he gets back,” Kate said. “That’ll be a nice welcome.”

The Saddle Club agreed.

Carole was making a pattern of two cranberries and three popcorns, then two cranberries and so on. She liked the look of the contrasting colors.

“Nice,” said Gary.

“Thanks,” Carole said without pausing in her work. “Would you like to try?”

“Sure,” he said, sitting down on the floor next to her. She put her own strand down for a minute and found a needle and some thread. She handed them to Gary. He looked mystified.

“Would you like me to thread it for you?” she asked. Gary nodded a little bashfully. Carole pulled a length of thread off the spool.

Stevie made a strangled sound in her throat. Lisa knew exactly what it was. Stevie was thinking what a wimp Gary was! He couldn’t even thread his own needle! And was that really Carole Hanson doing it for him? Lisa glared at Stevie. The Finnegans were in the VIP Suite and they couldn’t be rude to important guests. Stevie saw Lisa’s look and swallowed her snort.

“Here, now you knot it like this and then it’ll hold. Just poke the needle through the berry,” Carole was murmuring to Gary.

She demonstrated her technique, giving Gary an extra warning about being careful not to break the fragile popcorn. Lisa gave Stevie a dirty look, just in case. Stevie bit her lip.

“Ouch!” Gary cried.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you not to hold your finger on the other side of the berry,” Carole said solicitously. “Are you okay?”

“What’s the matter, Gary?” Mrs. Finnegan asked from across the room.

“It’s my finger,” he said. “I pricked it with a needle.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” his mother asked. There was a great deal of concern in her voice, much more concern than any of the girls—even Carole—thought a needle prick warranted.

He examined it. Lisa could see a tiny drop of blood where he’d pierced his skin.

“I think I’m okay,” he said.

“What are you doing with a needle?” Mr. Finnegan asked sharply.

“Making decorations,” Gary said. “Or at least I
was.
”

“You can’t use a needle, Gary,” Mrs. Finnegan said.

“Sure he can,” Carole said. “He was doing a pretty good job of it, too, until he stuck himself.”

“No, I mean you
may
not use a needle,” said Mrs. Finnegan. “It’s too dangerous.”

Dangerous
? What was dangerous about a needle? Lisa wondered. Did Gary have some rare disease or something?

“Your guitar-playing is much too important to risk for the sake of some tree decoration!” Mrs. Finnegan declared.

Lisa could barely believe her ears. And some people thought
her
parents were too protective! She couldn’t wait to hear what Gary was going to say to his mother
about that! His response turned out to be as surprising as his mother’s reaction.

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t thinking, Mom,” he said. And he put down the needle.

What surprised Lisa even more was Carole’s reaction to the whole thing.

“Oh, Gary!” she gushed. “I should have known better. I’m sorry, Mrs. Finnegan. It was my fault. I just forgot to show him how to hold the berry, and then—”

“It’s okay, Carole,” Gary said. “No harm done. My finger will be good as new in no time, and besides, where I hurt it won’t affect my playing anyway.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said.

Carole spoke up again then. “Just to be sure, Gary, would you mind trying out your guitar, like in here? Would you sing for us?”

“What a great idea,” Gary said enthusiastically. “How about a few Christmas carols? Would you like that?”

The look on Carole’s face answered the question. Gary went for his guitar. He returned in a few minutes and sat on a chair near the girls and not far from the bridge players. He began by strumming a few chords, and then he started singing.

His first choice was “O, Holy Night.” It had always been one of Lisa’s favorite Christmas songs. It was both haunting and dramatic. The guitar accompaniment gave
it a new and interesting quality, and she enjoyed listening. But there was something odd about the whole thing. The song seemed too big for the room and Lisa was never for a second unaware of the fact that Gary was performing. The song was a showcase for his voice, and the overall effect was a little embarrassing.

Lisa glanced at Carole. She appeared totally mesmerized. Lisa wondered how Carole could
not
be feeling some of the same discomfort.

Gary was unable to join a group and string cranberries on a thread, but he was totally able to make himself the center of attention. Phyllis Devine had put aside her work to listen. The bridge players put down their cards to listen. Even the popcorn-and-cranberry stringers were compelled to listen. Everything was centered on Gary. What had been a genial, comfortable, warm evening by the fire for everyone became the Gary Finnegan Show.

He finished singing then. There was a moment of silence, and then Carole began applauding vigorously. Everybody else joined her. Gary smiled. Actually, Lisa thought, correcting the observation, Gary
glowed.

When the applause stopped, Gary started singing “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” and invited others to join in on the chorus—as if they couldn’t possibly sing the verses with him. Or, Lisa thought, so that they wouldn’t interfere with his solos on the verses.

Gary’s parents joined him on the second verse, singing
a tight harmony with a country twang. They seemed just as happy as he to be in the limelight. They were all happy. That was when Lisa realized that whatever else might be going on—and she suspected that a great deal was—she and her friends had oddly succeeded in making the Finnegans very happy. They were VIP guests and they should do whatever they wanted.

Carole was so smart! All she’d been doing was saying exactly the right thing to make them feel welcome. Lisa wondered how she’d missed the obvious for so long.