Christmas at the Hummingbird House (15 page)

~*~

December 24

Happy Christmas Eve!  We have a gala day of old-fashioned Christmas festivity planned for you, so relax and let us do the work. If you haven’t quite finished your shopping yet, or just want to pick up a little something special for that someone special, the Hummingbird House van will be making an excursion into the charming town of Staunton today, where you’re sure to find a selection of unusual gifts for those on your list.  Just a reminder: we have order forms for Ladybug Farm wine at the front desk.  Leave your order with us and your wine will be delivered to your front door when you return home.  And remember, transportation to and from Christmas Eve religious services at nearby churches, including midnight mass, can be arranged by request.

Your hosts,

Paul and Derrick

6:00–10:00 a.m.
Coffee and pastries available in the dining room

8:30 a.m.
Country breakfast is served in the dining room

10:30 a.m.
Shuttle departs for shopping excursion in Staunton

1:00 p.m.
A light buffet lunch will be available in the dining room for those who remain

3:00 p.m.
Shuttle returns from shopping excursion

4:00 p.m.
A Christmas Eve High Tea is served in the front parlor

6:00–8:00 p.m.
Cocktails available in the garden, including mulled wine and amaretto hot chocolate

8:00 p.m.
Informal fondue supper by the fire in the front parlor, accompanied by the Shenandoah Chamber Group

~*~

FOURTEEN

Christmas Presents

T
he Christmas tree in the Magnolia Suite was decorated with silk magnolia blossoms, white and silver glass spheres, and miniature white lights.  It was arranged before a window with a white satin tree skirt—embellished with felt magnolia blossoms, naturally—but there were no presents under the tree.  If they had been at home their tree would have been piled so high with gifts by now that the packages would have taken up half the room.  One year it had taken most of the day simply to open the gifts.  The closer it got to Christmas, the more pathetic this whole family vacation got.

Pamela poked her head in from the adjoining room to find her dad sorting through the drawers in the nightstand with a distracted frown on his face.  “Hey, Dad,” she said. “Mom said it was okay for me to take that shuttle to town today if it was okay with you.”

“Hmm?”  He glanced at her absently.  “Okay. Sure.”  He went over to a walnut highboy and opened a drawer, searching through it. “Other adults are going too, right?”

“I guess.  She also said I could use your credit card.”

He closed the drawer, still frowning a little, and reached for his wallet on top of the dresser. “Sure,” he said.

“That’s okay.”  She held up the card between her thumb and forefinger.  “I already got it.”

“Okay.  Have a good time.”  He went to the closet and took out his suitcase, searching inside the pockets.

Pamela hesitated.  “Did you lose something, Dad?”

He murmured, “I don’t see how I could have.”

She shrugged.  “Okay, see you later.”

She grabbed her coat from the pile of clothes and other miscellanea on her bed and pulled it on as she went out into the hallway.  Kelly came up behind her. “Where’re you going?”

“Christmas shopping.”

“For a new phone?”

“So what if I am?”

“I’m telling.”

Pamela walked faster.  “I don’t care.”

“Anyway, Mom didn’t say you could go.” Kelly quickened her step to keep up.

“Yes she did.”

“I heard her tell you right before she left with her car keys this morning to stay here and stop pestering.”

Pamela shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets.  “She changed her mind.”

“No, she didn’t.  She got in the car and drove off.”

“Probably to buy me a new phone.”

“I don’t think so.  She looked mad to me.”

Pamela spun around so abruptly that Kelly almost bumped into her. “What do you want?”

“I’m coming too.”

“No you’re not! I’m not having some little kid tagging around with me all day.”

“Then I’m telling.”

Kelly turned around to march back down the hall and Pam called after her, “Go ahead! See if I—”

There was a crash from behind the door of the room opposite them, followed by a string of muffled curses.  The door, which had a wreath on it decorated with green velvet ribbons and emerald Christmas ornaments, was partially open.  From behind it they heard Mrs. Hildebrand call, “Well, don’t just stand there, you worthless girls!  Come in and give me a hand.”

Pamela hesitated, then went to the door, Kelly close behind her.  Pamela gave her sister a disparaging look and pushed the door open wider.  “Hey, are you talking to us?” she said, and then stopped, horrified and staring.  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

Kelly, peering over her shoulder, clapped a hand over her mouth with a muffled squeal of revulsion.  “Oh my God!”

Mathilda Hildebrand eyed them both from the floor, her expression dry and resigned.  She said wearily, “Oh, my God.”

Paul said, “No, it’s true!  Why would we tease you about a thing like this?”

“It was a miracle, really,” Derrick put in.  “And we’re terribly sorry for the short notice, but who would have guessed we could find three tickets on Christmas Eve for flights out of our own local airport?  Of course, there are a few connections …”

“But you are absolutely guaranteed to be in Mexico by midnight, Cici,” Paul said,
“and Lindsay, you’ll be in Sacramento by nine, Bridget in Chicago before the little ones climb into their jammies tonight.” They were on speakerphone, and the squeals and chatter of the three women on the other end almost drowned out the two men’s voices.  Paul tried to make his tone sound serious as he added, “But only if you want to, of course.  We understand it’s all very last minute.”

“Of
course
we want to!” Cici’s screech of delight made Paul wince through his smile and cover one ear—only one, because he wanted to hear what the others were saying.

“Are you kidding?” cried Bridget.  “Are you seriously kidding me?”

And Lindsay exclaimed, “I’m calling Dominic right now!  No—I’m not going to call him at all, I’m going to surprise him!  I can’t wait to see the look on his face!  No, I’d better call, otherwise how will he know to pick me up at the airport? Oh, I could just kiss you both!  How can we ever repay you?”

Paul was grinning so broadly his face hurt, and the look on Derrick’s face reflected his own.  There had never been a better Christmas gift, for either of them, than hearing the excitement in their friends’ voices.

Derrick leaned toward the speaker. “No time for kisses, darlings, or phone calls either.  Our man Mick will be by for you in an hour.  He’ll have your boarding passes all printed out and ready to go. So just fling a few things in a bag and don’t forget your toothbrushes. ”

“And don’t worry about Ida Mae,” Paul added.  “We’ll make sure she gets to church in the morning and then we’ll bring her back over here for Christmas.”

“And,” added Derrick, “we’ll have our man take care of feeding the animals and whatnot while you’re away.  So just enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh my.”  Bridget’s voice sounded teary.  “You’ve thought of everything!  I just don’t know what to say.”

“Merry Christmas, my dears!” Paul sang out.

And Derrick added, “Bon Voyage!”

When the flurry of laughter and thank-yous and kissy sounds was over and the speakerphone was quiet, Paul and Derrick sank back again into their individual chairs on either side of the big desk and beamed at each other.  “Do you know,” observed Derrick contentedly, “Purline was right.  It’s far more blessed to give than to receive.”

Paul lifted an eyebrow.  “Did Purline say that?”

“I’m fairly certain.”

“Well,” allowed Paul, “whoever said it had a point.  I can’t remember a more delightful Christmas, can you?”

“The best gift I ever got was the one I gave away,” observed Derrick in happy agreement.

“Did Purline say that too?”

Derrick just smiled.  “No, I did.”

“Well in that case,” replied Paul, “Amen.”

Pamela said, staring at the abomination on the floor beside Mrs. Hildebrand’s bed, “You have an artificial leg.”

The older woman replied sharply, “In fact, I have several, not that any of them are doing me any good at the moment.”

Kelly said, big-eyed, “Ew, gross.”

Mrs. Hildebrand extended a demanding hand to them from her position on the floor.  “Are you going to help me up, or are you just going to stand there?”

It was at that moment that a man’s voice said behind them, “Mrs. Hildebrand, are you all right?”

“Clearly I am not!” she retorted, and Mick moved past the girls and into the room.

The teenagers stared at his attire, but said nothing as he helped the older woman to the reading chair beside the fireplace. The older woman also looked him over from head to toe, and demanded as she settled into the chair, “What are you supposed to be?”

He smiled.  “The same thing I’ve always been. Are you hurt? Can I get you anything?”

“You may not,” she informed him imperiously.  “You …” She pointed to Kelly. “May bring me my walking stick.  And you …” She turned her pointing finger on Pamela.  “Bring me my prosthesis.”

Pamela walked hesitantly over to the bed and, with a look on her face that was somewhere between fascination and disgust, she gingerly picked up the artificial limb and took it to its owner. Kelly crept over to Mrs. Hildebrand’s chair with the bejeweled walking stick and just stood there, looking as though she expected the woman to grow a pair of black, leathery wings and fly away.

Pamela said timidly, “How, um … what happened?  To your leg, I mean?”

“None of your damn business.”  She glared at Mick.  “Well, you don’t expect me to hike up my skirt with you standing there, do you?  Go on about your business.”

He gave her a small bow.  “Mrs. Hildebrand, it’s always a pleasure.”

He turned to go, but she stopped him with a sharp, “Wait.”  When he turned back to her she regarded him with narrowed eyes, but when she spoke there was, for the first time, the faintest trace of raw emotion in her voice, perhaps even a hint of vulnerability.  “Tell me the truth.  Why are you here?  Is it for me?”

He assured her gently, “No.  Not this time.” And then he winked.  “Actually, it might surprise you to know that you’re here for me.”

She scowled to cover her relief.  “Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” she returned gruffly.  “I always pay my debts.”

Kelly looked from one to the other of them with interest.  “Do you guys know each other?”

Mrs. Hildebrand told her shortly, “Mind your own business.”

Mick’s eyes twinkled as he said, “See you later, Mrs. Hildebrand.”

“A good deal later, I hope,” she retorted.

He chuckled and turned for the door, then glanced back at Pamela.  “Ask her about the Haiti earthquake,” he suggested. “You’ll be the first to ever get the full story out of her.”  He gave Mrs. Hildebrand another small bow and added, “Again, it’s been a pleasure.  If I don’t see you before then, Merry Christmas.”

Both girls looked as though they wanted to follow him out the door, but then Pamela hesitated, looking back at Mrs. Hildebrand.  “You were in an earthquake?” she said.

FIFTEEN

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

T
he Hummingbird House van was rollicking with the excited chatter and laughter of the three women in the middle seat.  “I forgot sunscreen,” said Cici.  “Do you think they’ll have sunscreen at the hotel?”

“In Mexico? Probably. As long as you didn’t forget your passport.”

“Wait!  Wait—oh, never mind, it’s okay, there it is.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” declared Bridget.  She was practically bouncing with excitement.  “Running away from home on Christmas Eve!  Who
does
that?”

“People who are a lot younger than us, I’ll tell you that.  I don’t think I packed any underwear.”

“Did you reach your daughter in Chicago?” Lindsay asked Bridget.  “I can’t get a signal on my phone.”

“I had to leave a message.  They’re probably out doing some last-minute shopping. Oh my goodness, I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Then, “Oh, no.  I forgot gloves.  It’s ten degrees in Chicago!”

“Maybe someone will give you some for Christmas,” said Cici.

Lindsay dug into her coat pocket.  “Here, take mine. I’m going to California!  But it certainly would be nice if my husband was waiting for me at the airport.  Cici, let me see your phone.”

“Nothing,” said Cici, but passed the phone to her anyway.  “I’ll wait ’til I get to the airport to call Lori.  The one thing I don’t want to do is walk in on their honeymoon, even if it
is
Christmas!”

“They’re going to be thrilled to see you,” Bridget assured her.

“Who cares if they are or not?” replied Cici happily.  “I’m going to Cabo!”

Lindsay returned the phone to Cici and turned to look at the couple in the backseat.  “Excuse me.  Can either of you get a signal?”

Geoffery Windsor took out his phone and glanced at it.  “I’m afraid not.”

Angela Phipps, sitting next to him, slipped her phone out of the oversized bag on the seat next to her, looked at it and shook her head.  “We must be in one of those dead zones.”

Lindsay sighed.  “This whole valley is a dead zone.  The Hummingbird House is the only place for miles that even
has
cell service, and I’ve never understood how that happened.”  She leaned forward and tapped one of the teenagers on the shoulder. “Excuse me, hi.  I don’t suppose either of you have a working phone, do you?”

Geoffery smiled politely, if distantly, at Angela as she returned her phone to her bag. She had joined the excursion at the last minute, which had surprised Geoffery because neither she nor her husband had done more than go through the motions of being social since they arrived.  “Your husband is not much of a shopper, huh?”

“What?”  She looked blank for a moment, then recovered herself with a vague smile.  “Oh, no, he much prefers a fireplace and a good book.”

“I’m surprised no more people took advantage of the chance to go to town this afternoon,” he added in a moment, just to have something to say.

“I believe two of the couples went to tour the caverns.  The Mathesons and the Canons.”

He nodded and smiled, and turned his gaze out the window so that she wouldn’t feel compelled to continue a conversation in which she clearly wasn’t interested. The ladies in the seat in front of them continue to chatter away excitedly while bare branches and brown frozen fields sailed by alongside the lonely country road on which they traveled.

In a moment Angela Phipps surprised him by saying, “You’re leaving us then, Mr. Windsor?”

He glanced at her, and she indicated the leather overnight bag at his feet.  He said, trying to make it all sound easy and predetermined, “It was generous of our hosts to ask me to stay the whole weekend, but I really just came to do the reading.  I’d like to be home for Christmas.”  Home had not existed since Liz died, and the one-bedroom apartment where he now lived held so little appeal that he often found he couldn’t remember what it looked like after he’d been away for a few days.

She turned and looked out the window herself for a time.  Then she said, “My father used to love shopping on Christmas Eve.  All the crowds and the lights and the madness. It was kind of a tradition with him.”

Geoffery pretended a polite interest.  “So you’re keeping up the tradition?”

“No,” she replied flatly.  She did not even look away from the window.  “I don’t do that anymore.”

There really wasn’t a reply to that.  Still, Geoffery might have said something to break the awkwardness that followed.  But just then there was a grinding sound from the engine, a soft
bang
, and, with cries of alarm from many of its passengers, the van lurched and clattered to a stop.

“Did you hear Mr. Windsor decided to leave after all?” Derrick said, coming into the parlor where Paul was setting up for tea.  He had a basket filled with white Irish linen tablecloths and napkins that were embroidered with tiny roses along the hemline—very Christmassy—as well as fresh candles to replace the ones they had burned yesterday.  Paul had already freshened the flowers, laid the fire, and brought the three-tiered pastry servers out of the pantry. The Christmas Eve tea would not be served for another five hours, but the key to effortless hosting was advance preparation.

“I did,” Paul said.  He rolled a tea cart into position, its wheels clattering on the wood floors.

“A pity.”  Derrick snapped open a table cloth and draped it over one of the round occasional tables that were drawn up near the fireplace.  “I think he would have enjoyed the concert tomorrow, and of course that completely throws off our seating arrangement for Christmas dinner.” He placed one of the serving tiers in the middle of the table, flanked by two sprigs of holly arranged just so.

“Ah well, Christmas is for family, I suppose.” Paul gave the tier a half-turn, observed it critically, and adjusted one of the holly sprigs.

Derrick thrust a handful of napkins at him. “Well, if you ask me …”

“Did you all see this?”  Purline came into the parlor, rustling a newspaper purposefully.  “Take a look at it.  Just look!”

She thrust the newspaper at Paul and thumped one of the articles with a thumb and forefinger.  “It’s all right there in black and white.  Just read it for yourself!”  She took a step back and waited with hands on jeaned hips, her expression a mixture of eager anticipation and grim satisfaction.  “And don’t be saying I didn’t tell you so, either!”

Derrick came to read over Paul’s shoulder, and Paul glanced uncertainly at Purline before he read, “Police Seek Man in String of Robberies.”  He glanced again at Purline and went on, “‘Evanson police are looking for a man in connection with several burglaries that have occurred there in the past two weeks.’” He stopped and looked at Purline.  “Purline, this is in the next county.  What …”

“Go on,” she insisted, nodding her head vigorously.

With a resigned breath, he turned back to the article.  “The suspect is described as six feet three inches tall, two hundred forty pounds, with dark hair and beard.  He was last seen wearing a black leather jacket and leather motorcycle boots.  The suspect is said to have …”  Again he stopped, but did not look up.  “To have a Hell’s Angel insignia tattooed on his arm.”

Derrick snatched the paper from him to read it for himself.  “Oh good heavens.”

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Paul said impatiently.  “Our Mick doesn’t even have a beard.”

Derrick cheered.  “That’s right, he doesn’t!”

“Are you telling me them whiskers he wears down to his neck don’t look like a beard to you?” Purline challenged.  “It’s him, I’m telling you.”  She thumped the paper again.  “You go on and read about it—he stole a computer from one lady’s house while she was sleeping in the room next door!  Wiped out another family’s whole Christmas, got everything under the tree!  Then went back for the TV set!  And you said yourself, a lot of stuff has gone missing around here since he showed up.”

Paul frowned.  “Like my crepe pans.”

“Oh, will you get over your blessed crepe pans?  I told you, you packed them in some Christmas box somewhere.  I’m talking about valuable stuff!”

“Like my letter opener,” Derrick said uneasily.

“And that silver flower vase you said was in the pantry that nobody ever found, not to mention your fancy candlesticks.”

“We have a lot of candlesticks, Purline,” Paul said, but even he was sounding less than confident now.  “It’s entirely possible they were misplaced.”

“Besides,” Derrick insisted, trying to summon conviction, “it doesn’t even make sense. We have art on the walls worth thousands, valuable antiques and electronics in every room.  What kind of thief takes a candlestick and leaves an iPad?”

“A smart one,” returned Purline.  “You can pawn silver anywhere, and it’s a lot easier to sneak out of the house than a computer.  You do what you want to, but if it was me, I’d be on the phone to the sheriff’s office right now.”

Paul looked at Derrick uncomfortably.  “It might not be such a terrible idea to ask them to run a background check.”

“On Christmas Eve?” Derrick objected.  “After all Mick’s done for us?  I’d be mortified.”

Purline rolled her eyes.  “Well, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.  I’ll be setting out lunch in twenty minutes, then I’ve got to scoot and pick up the kids so’s my husband Bill can get over to the church to help set up the nativity scene for the singing tonight.  They’re having a real donkey and everything.  Y’all ought to come by if you get a chance.  Don’t worry, though, I’ll be back before the hour’s up to clear the tables and get your fondue pots mixed up.”

Paul murmured absently, “Thank you, Purline.”

“You’re a treasure,” added Derrick, still looking at the paper.

She gave them both a meaningful nod.  “Sheriff’s telephone number is 911.”