A Merry Little Christmas (28 page)

The sheriff took a handkerchief from his pocket and looked at Franny. “Guess you were right all those years ago. No one believed you, including me.” He dabbed at the perspiration on his face.

Franny knew that would be the best apology she’d ever get out of the sheriff, but considering that justice was now served, it would do just fine.

The sheriff helped the ireful Dunlap out of his chair, a man who seemed to be more angles and shadows than human, as if he were a sinister villain from a Flash comic book.

As the two visitors shambled out of the house, Franny said to Dunlap, “I want you to go away with one more thought besides knowing that my prayers are with you for your redemption.”

When Dunlap didn’t answer, the sheriff gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow.

Dunlap gave her a murderous glint. “What is that?” he growled.

“Noma isn’t just a friend,” Franny said. “She’s becoming like a mom to me.”

When the two guests—the two undesirables—were finally out from under their roof, Franny collapsed onto a kitchen chair. The emotional residue from the scene would last a lifetime, and yet Franny also embraced a sense of peace, knowing that justice had been served for her family’s friend. What a blessed Christmas present. And the person who’d helped make all of it possible was her beloved Charlie. He’d been amazing and rather clever in getting Dunlap to dive headlong into an admission of guilt. And Henry, of course, could not be forgotten for his astonishing part in the whole affair.

Willie hopped down from his stool on the sidelines. “Man, oh, man, I’ve never seen anything like that. You guys were quite the team. Are you sure you two weren’t meant to be prosecuting attorneys instead of farmers? You got that odious man to confess to murder!”

Charlie chuckled. “I don’t think I ever want to do that again, let alone for a living. Once is plenty.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and then pressed his fingers on his eyelids.

Franny walked over to Charlie and gave him a hug. “I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life. You’re my champion.”

Charlie kissed her forehead. “You were such a noble force that you were unstoppable.”

Henry looked up at them both and whimpered, looking neglected.

“And you too, boy.” Franny squatted down and gave Henry a good hug.

Charlie scratched him behind the ears. “Not sure if we could have pulled it off without you.”

“I think he deserves something special.” Franny reached on top of the kitchen cabinet for a rawhide treat and held it out to Henry. “You don’t need to work for this one. You deserve it.”

Henry accepted the treat and trotted over to his bed by the furnace, wagging his tail and looking more than content. Perhaps he could sense that something good had just happened to them all. And good it was. She’d waited a long time for justice to be served on Dunlap, and finally that day had arrived.

Charlie tugged on Franny’s sleeve. “I think I need some fresh air. Willie, would you excuse us for a minute?”

“I think I can handle it.” He winked.

Charlie gave her his full attention. “How about a stroll by the hog lot?”

“I would love it.”

Willie stood over one of the pumpkin pies and ogled it.

“I’d love for you to have some of that pie,” Franny said. “There are plates in the cupboard, forks in the drawer, and milk in the fridge.”

“Ahh.” Willie tapped his fingers against his chest. “A woman after my own heart.”

Franny chuckled. “And when I get back, I’ll make sure you both get a real meal. I wish your first visit here hadn’t been so grim, Willie.”

“It was pretty heavy, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” Willie took a plate from the cupboard. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help to either of you.”

“It worked out fine.” Charlie took hold of Franny’s hand. “If we all three had been after Dunlap, it would have changed the dynamics. He might not have caved the way he did.”

“Good. Now I don’t have to feel guilty.” Willie lifted out a large slice of pie onto the plate. “You two go have a smooch while I do some serious work on this pastry.”

Charlie grinned and then led Franny outside. “I was kidding about the hog lot. Maybe the open porch on the south end of the house would be better.”

“It’s a good spot.”
What could be on his mind?
Perhaps it was about his father. They walked around the side of the house and sat down on the two rocking chairs.

Charlie grasped the arms of his chair and looked over at her. “We need to talk.”

Oh no.
A sick feeling seeped through her. “Ever since your father was here, well, I’ve been waiting for you to talk about whatever happened between the two of you. Hoping we could work it out—whatever
it
is.”

“I know I’ve been distant. And I know it hasn’t been fair to you. But I just wasn’t sure how to tell you….”

“Your father doesn’t approve of me, does he? I know I come from a simple country background, and even though I want to please you and your father, he’s correct that I’ll never be a socialite. I don’t think I have it in me. I know I ran off to the city, talking big about living a different kind of life, but that really isn’t me. I’m just Franny.”

“Most likely, my father wanted me to fall in love with someone who’s interested in running a big house and giving dinner parties for his clients. But this isn’t about my father. It’s about me. I dated enough to know exactly what I want. Thank God. It was the only good thing that came from dating those other women.” He looked at her. “You’re the one I want. I fell in love with
you
. You called yourself ‘just Franny,’ but I’ll tell you this, she’s more than enough woman for me.” He grinned. “More than I could have ever dreamed of or hoped for.”

Franny smiled at him, but it was weak. His words were reassuring, and yet she still felt the other shoe hadn’t quite dropped yet. A breeze stirred the glass-bottle wind chime, but the sound of it seemed more mournful than cheerful.

“What I haven’t told you is, when I went outside to say good-bye to my father, he said a few things. A few tragic things that I’ve not recovered from yet.” And then Charlie told Franny his story—all that his father had said to him.

When he finished, Franny just sighed. How heartbreaking, to know that she’d been right about Mr. Landau. His angry scowl from the shadows that night wasn’t imagined. He really had disapproved of their relationship. But this…His threats against Willie were much more disturbing. “I can hardly believe that your father would do such a thing as threaten to put Willie away. It’s horrible. What you’ve told me can’t be legal. Surely not.”

“It shouldn’t be, but my father has the best attorney in the city, and together they’ve pulled off some things over the years that would be impossible for most people.”

“It’s dreadful. It grieves me to know that you and your brother grew up with such cruelty. It breaks my heart.” Franny rocked in the chair, wishing she could rock away some of her frustration.

“It wasn’t always this way. When Mom was alive, we had some joy. My father stayed at work and Mom stayed at home with us, making our lives good. We knew she loved us. It was in everything she did for us. But when she died, my father removed everything from the house that reminded him of her life with us—photos, clothes, even the little treasures she’d collected over the years. Whatever was a comfort to us became a torture to my father.”

Charlie slid his hands back and forth along the wooden arms. “He never treated Mom well through the years. At least, that was my impression as a child. Perhaps this purging of her belongings came out of guilt, I don’t know. Willie and I did everything we could to keep her memory alive, but it was hard at times. I have a few photos of her, but she’s already faded in my mind.”

Franny reached out and touched Charlie’s hand. “I’m so sorry. This is all so terrible. Your family should have been able to mourn together, but you and your brother were denied even that.” She tried to take it all in. “And now this. I want you to know that I will never ask you to do anything that might make your father follow through with his threat. I could never live with myself if something like that happened. How could we have joy when your brother was being tormented?”

“Thank you, Franny, for saying that.”

Another breeze rustled the chime. Franny rocked quietly, thinking, wishing life wasn’t the way it was but instead more like heaven. “I really did enjoy meeting your brother. It startled me at first to see him because he looks so much like you, even more than the photo.”

“Except I’ve always been the handsome one, of course.” Charlie grinned.

“Yes, so true.”

Charlie lost his jesting demeanor as he rocked back and forth in the chair. “When I first saw Willie up on the ridge, I was amazed to see him so well. I couldn’t stand for my father to destroy that, but he’s placed me in an impossible situation.” He looked up into the elms and then back at her. “And yet somehow I believe God will come to our rescue. I’m going to hold on to that hope.”

He tugged on her sleeve. “When you told the sheriff that you were just staying out here long enough to teach me how to farm…I understand why you said it. You’d already sensed that something had changed between us. Something that wasn’t as it should be. But please don’t leave me yet. Will you wait with me a little while longer? At least until Christmas?”

“To live so near you and to never be…”
To never marry the one I love would be unbearable.
Franny wasn’t sure how to answer him, but in the end she nodded. “I do love you, and I will wait. That is, until God tells me it’s time to go.”

Charlie squeezed her hand.

The sound of her words ripped at her spirit until she could no longer look at him.

Later that Sunday afternoon Franny stood alone in front of her momma’s dressing table, staring at a photograph of her parents on their wedding day. They were so blissful-looking, their eyes telling their story of affection and wistful expectations for the future. She didn’t go into her parents’ room very often. Sometimes it felt more painful than soothing to be there, so most of the time she just avoided the room altogether.

But suddenly, in the light of what Charlie had said, she felt thankful to have so many things around her that reminded her of her parents. She was grateful that her grieving hadn’t been given unnatural restraints. It was right and good to acknowledge all the many facets of her loss—the joy, the angst-filled moments, and the many ways her parents loved their way through life.

Franny opened the top drawer of the dressing table and lifted out her momma’s white gloves—the ones she’d always worn to church on Sunday mornings. She brushed the soft fabric against her cheek. The material had gone yellow with age, but the gloves still held the powdery scent that she remembered about her mother. Franny slipped the gloves on and wiggled her fingers. Too big. They always were. She looked at herself in the large, round mirror and touched her reflection. “Momma, how I wish this were your reflection and not mine. I wish I could talk to you about what’s happening to me. I miss all our…” Her voice faded as her spirit swelled with emotion.

She sighed. “Another Christmas without you both.” And Franny missed their many family traditions, especially the caroling. They would bundle up, drive into town, and go from house to house, singing all the most popular carols. People had loved it. Some handed them homemade popcorn balls. Boy, how she’d grown to hate popcorn balls. Franny released a half sob, half laugh. At the time, she’d had no idea how precious those memories would become.
I miss you both so much.

Franny sat down on the velvet stool and, after returning the gloves to the drawer, went through some of the other keepsakes—a compact, a rhinestone barrette, a pair of spectacles, a Bulova watch that still worked, and her momma’s Bible, which was frayed around the edges…probably from looking up verses to deal with a teenager who grew more independent by the day!

She smiled and opened the Bible to Psalms, the book where her mother had tucked away some of the tiny blossoms she’d given her when she was little. The buttercup petals were translucent now, but they were still bright with memory. Franny had loved the way her mother’s face lit up when she picked them in the field and handed them to her. She’d acted as if they were the finest of store-bought flowers.