A Merry Little Christmas (23 page)

“Son?” He tapped his finger on the steering wheel and then got out of the vehicle.

“To what may we attribute your visit, sir?” What was his father doing here? Couldn’t he trust his grown son to run a business even for a few weeks before the inquisition?

“I’ve come to visit my farm.” His father picked up a leather folder off the seat and then smoothed his camel-hair coat. “I wanted to see what you were really up to out here.”

Franny, her usual gracious self, made the introductions with Noma, and to his father’s credit, he didn’t create any embarrassing moments when Franny introduced Noma as a friend and not as a cook.

“Did you want us to give you a tour?” Charlie finally said to him, although there was little need to ask since his father already scrutinized the terrain with a skeptical eye.

“Yes, and I have a few questions about the operation.” His father tapped his finger on the folder. “I have some ideas for improvements and expansion. It’ll be a lot more work for you, of course, but you’re up for it. Aren’t you, son?”

Sooner or later his father would have to be told about their plans to buy the music shop. Maybe now was as good a time as any. “Well, it’s good that you brought it up, since—”

“I would love to help show you the farm,” Franny said to Mr. Landau, “but I’m sure Charlie would like to spend some time alone with you. I need to get Noma settled in the house. Please excuse us.”

Charlie knew what Franny was up to. He’d have to thank her later. It might, indeed, be better to break the news about the music shop to his father in a more intimate way. The news would still work like gunpowder when he blew, but at least the firework exhibition would be in private.

Mr. Landau nodded to her. “Thank you, Francine.”

Once they were alone, his father didn’t say anything more. He merely marched toward the barn. At least what remained of the barn after the inferno—
inferno
being his father’s word. Why did he always have to go for the jugular vein? “Wouldn’t you like to change into something a little more appropriate? It’s kind of dusty out here, and you never know when you’re going to step into something…foul. I warn you, it’s a mess that’s hard to clean up.”

He shot Charlie a frown. “I’m fine.” He gave the bottom of his suit vest a jerk to straighten it. Something he did every hour on the hour. Charlie could set his watch by it.

“Are you angry about something?” Charlie asked.

“No.” His father kept walking toward the blackened mess like a pointer to its covey.

The birthmark on his father’s cheek appeared fiery, which was always a barometer of his mood, but Charlie had learned from childhood not to mention the birthmark. Ever.

They both stopped in front of the molten disaster.

His father stood there, stroking his beard. “Have you called the insurance agent?”

“Yes. It’s all been taken care of, Father. It was an old barn, and we’ll get a new one. No one is upset. Franny thinks it’s a blessing.”

“She no longer owns the farm, so I don’t see how her opinion is necessary.” His father seemed to study him. “How necessary has her opinion become to you?”

“Quite.” He wanted to tell his father about his plans to marry her, but he hated to light too much dynamite all at once. They’d be blown to kingdom come.

“Oh? I see. Well, she’s a woman with grit. I’ll give her that.”

Generous of you, Father.

“She is like a rag doll, though…too rough around the edges for decent society, especially in those dime-store dresses of hers, but maybe that can be fixed with some serious—”

“Fixed?” Charlie kicked at a rock he saw stuck in the ground. Instead of loosening it, he stubbed his toe. “There isn’t a thing in the world I would change about Franny.”

“That infatuated, are you? Hmm. I’m glad she doesn’t mind hard work. She’ll be a good helper in this expansion. I’ve been thinking about the fields in particular. Some of the ones that aren’t suited for growing wheat could be used for a large hog farm. A piggery with hundreds of animals.” He opened the leather folder. “Then when the operation is in full swing and making money, we can sell the farm and you can finally come to work for me. I’ve been putting this off for too long, so with these new plans we can speed things up a bit and move forward with our ultimate goal.”

Charlie placed his fingers on his closed eyelids. He felt a headache coming on. A big one. He’d need some aspirin this time. “I have to tell you something. It’s—”

“As far as Franny is concerned, when the time comes for you to sell, maybe she’ll be tired of the farm…and, well, of you too. Then she won’t be a problem. You’ll both be able to make a fresh start all around.” He snapped his folder shut as if that were the end of the discussion.

Charlie tried to remain calm, but it was getting harder by the second. Instead of inflaming the situation with wrath-filled words, his fingernails ground into his palms. He didn’t know where to start with his father. There was too much wrong with everything that came out of his mouth.
God give me patience. I want to honor him, but I can no longer let him rule me.

“Well,
say
something.”

Charlie stuffed his fists into the pockets of his overalls. “I’m staying in the apartment over the toolshed…but not for long.” He wasn’t quite sure why he’d said the words, but it felt right to do so.

“I know you mentioned that when you were at home. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.
You
should be in the main house and the hired help should be in the apartment. But what does this have to do with anything I’ve just told you?”

Charlie looked at his father, eye to eye. “My life out here started with a certain plan in mind.”
Your plan
. “But Franny has changed everything. She’s—”

“Upp.” He raised his index finger. “I realize she’s another one of your girlfriends, but—”

“No, I wouldn’t put it that way.” He straightened his shoulders, knowing he was about to put gasoline on the fire. “Someday I will be moving into the house, but it’s not for the reason you mentioned. If she’ll have me…Franny will be my wife.”

His father’s birthmark brightened. “You’ve come out here and you’ve been mesmerized by this woman. I can see it.”

“I thought you
liked
Franny.”

“She’s an interesting woman. But we all know interesting women, and we like spending time with them. And eating dinner with them. But it doesn’t mean we have to marry them.”

“I’ve never met anyone like her. Sometimes she’s just Franny, guileless and simple with a heart as big as the moon, and then sometimes she has these spirited moments when she seems almost bigger than life—as if she were, I don’t know, an American icon.”

His father slapped his hand on the folder. “That is the most irrational gibberish I’ve ever heard. She really has you spellbound, doesn’t she?”

“You’re listening, but you never hear me, Father.” Charlie picked up a rock and threw it at a window on the barn. It was the sole remaining windowpane on the last standing wall. The sharp sound of it crashing through the glass felt unexpectedly painful, as if the stone had hit him instead of the barn.

“Perhaps I should remind you that you two are from very different upbringings, different educations, different families, and—”

“Is that why you invited Sylvie to dinner? To distract me from what is different?”

His father made no reply, so that left him with only one correct answer.

“And now that I’m thinking about it, you were probably the one who planted that clock in Franny’s closet the night we all had dinner. You know, the clock that was ready to break when she touched it. You wanted to set her up. Make her look bad. I hope you hadn’t planned on bringing it up while you’re here, because—”

“Look, no matter what you think you see, Francine Martin is just a—”

“She’s just what…a farmer? I was hoping you weren’t going to say that. Farming is hard work and a very honorable profession. She’s smarter than most men I know, and yes, we have different families, but after hearing about Franny’s father and mother I feel a great loss in my life that I didn’t get a chance to meet them. To know them. I’m sure my life would have been richer for knowing them, and I mean richer in the
nonmonetary
sense.”

“I know what you meant. You don’t have to belabor it.”

Charlie glanced over the debris and noticed an old dartboard; it was charred almost beyond recognition. He could just imagine Franny playing the game with her father. They’d been so close. She’d been so fortunate.

“I’d like to see the rest of the farm now.”

“All right.” He knew his father well enough to know the real reason he’d changed the subject: he’d already dismissed the idea of Charlie marrying Franny. Charlie sighed, feeling old for the first time in his life. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Maybe she could win him over. If anyone could, it would be Franny.

“All right. I will.”

“Good.” Charlie nodded.

His father walked off in the direction of the farrowing house. “Then I can tell you
both
about my expansion plans for the farm.”

Charlie thought he’d wait for dinner to tell his father about the music store. Of course, it meant the meal would be like an undigested bomb in his stomach. He would take no joy in Franny’s cooking tonight.

“By the way, you’ll need to get the barn up soon,” his father said. “I’ll crack the whip with the insurance company—”

“No need for any whips. It’ll be fine.” Charlie would need to change the subject yet again. “Let me give you the rest of the tour.”

They walked around the farm, father and son, side by side, talking about farming issues…and from a distance they might have even looked like a good family team. But in spirit, the chasm between them was big enough to consume the entire farm. Charlie dug his fingernails into his palms.
God, I no longer know how to fix this great crack in our relationship.

“I see you’ve hired yourself a cook.”

Charlie kept up with his father’s fast-paced stride. “What?”

“That colored woman.”

“That woman you’re referring to is Miss Noma Jefferson, and she’s a friend of Franny’s and soon to be a friend of mine. She was going to be our guest for a while, but she insisted on helping out. And she needed a job.”

“Hmph. Well, I suppose you’ll want to keep her in the main house along with Francine. Perhaps she’ll want to stay in the master bedroom and she’ll need her own personal maid too.” He shook his head. “You young people have such outrageous notions. You’re like the king who lets his peasants tell him how to sit and what to eat and where to sleep.”

Give me strength, Lord…even if it’s just for dinner. And then, hopefully, he won’t want to spend the night.

After an abbreviated version of the farm tour, Charlie steered his father toward the house. He was surprised that he didn’t put up an argument, but then perhaps the enticement of dinner sounded good, even if it wasn’t five courses.

The minute they stepped into the enclosed porch, the aroma of home cooking greeted them.

“Something smells good,” his father said, sounding a little less gruff.

“Franny is a wonderful cook.”
Good start.
He’d find a special way to thank her later for all the peace offerings.

The second they were in the kitchen, Franny met Charlie’s gaze and smiled. It was her attempt to encourage him, and it succeeded…at least a little. She and Noma were both working, running back and forth from the kitchen counters to the table with heaping plates of food—steak, mashed potatoes, and peas. “I’m glad you’ve come in. Supper’s ready.”

“Smells wonderful, Franny.” Her face had a smudge of flour on it, and he wanted to brush it off with a kiss, but he also knew it wouldn’t be the best timing for a display of affection. So, he just helped her by toting the basket of biscuits and the bowl of homemade butter to the table.

“This farmhouse never did have a dining room. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” Franny said to Mr. Landau.

“This is fine.”

“Please, go ahead and sit down, all of you,” Franny said, taking off her apron. “I think it’s all on the table now.”

Mr. Landau pulled out the chair at the head of the table—the only chair that had arms—and sat down with enough regal pomp to impress royalty. “You don’t dress for dinner?”

“No.” Charlie sat next to his father. “It’s easier to keep my overalls on, since I’ll have to go back out later and do a few more chores.”

“Oh,” was all his father replied.

Franny pulled out the chair at the opposite end from Mr. Landau and stood behind it. “Noma, you are also a guest this evening, so this is your spot.”

Noma glanced around the room and then backed away. “I don’t think—”

The scowl his father wore appeared to be keeping Noma from sitting down, so Charlie shot him a supplicatory expression. His father smiled, but something ran under the surface of his expression that told Charlie his tolerance for being maneuvered was close to the edge.

Mr. Landau looked over his glasses at Noma. “Miss Jefferson, the sooner you sit down, the sooner we can taste this fine cooking.”