Santa's Newest Reindeer (4 page)

her unwillingness to admit she was wrong and simply ask for

forgiveness. One time, her mother had questioned whether

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Ellie had watered the plants. Although Ellie had forgotten,

she insisted that she had watered them. One of the plants died,

and her mother had dug up the dried-out roots to show Ellie

that it hadn’t been watered. To this day Ellie would swear that

the plants died mysteriously. On most occasions, Will was the

diplomat who tried to bring peace between the two factions by

encouraging each party to compromise. Sometimes he prevailed,

but more often he didn’t.

“The city fathers are very powerful when it comes to making

and enforcing new rules,” Mom interjected, shaking her head in

doubt. “The newly elected city fathers are really representatives of the people. They campaigned on promises of representing us,

and we are the people they should represent.” They all nodded

in agreement.

“Blame it on the economy and electrical cost! That is baloney,”

asserted Ellie. She put her hands on her hips and struck that

defiant pose they had all seen before. When her face turned

red, her freckles disappeared.

“Uh-oh, what are you thinking?” asked Will in a cautious

tone. When stressed, Will became rather quiet. He chose his

words carefully before he spoke. He’d rather ask more questions

before offering an opinion, hoping they would answer their

own question. Most certainly, Will was overly cautious about

telling anybody what to do.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to the city meeting tomorrow to

change their minds.” Ellie had that combative look. She stood

taller than her true height, and there was fire in her voice. Ellie never backed away from a fight, especially when she thought

she was right. And she was on the right side of this fight! The

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four adults snickered, which provided a timely stress reliever.

“Enough discussion on that for now. It’s time for supper. We

didn’t have time to prepare your favorite meatloaf and potatoes,

so soup will have to do for tonight,” lamented Mom as she and

Grams pointed the way to the dinner table.

“You can call me whatever you want, but don’t call me late

for dinner. Besides, soup is good for the soul,” joked Gramps

as he led the way. Gramps always seemed to know when to

interject some humor into a tense discussion.

“Yup! Soup is good for the soul, and Gramps is good for us

all,” added Dad, joining the march to the dinner table.

“Mom’s soup and Gramps’ wit seem to go well together,

especially right now,” quipped Will.

“Let’s eat. I’m starved,” countered Ellie.

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When the table had been cleared and the leftovers refriger-

ated, it was the Taylor family tradition to play games or cards,

assemble puzzles, and tell or read stories. Mom had learned

it from her parents as a way of instilling family tradition. She

hoped that Ellie and Will would continue the tradition when

they had their own families. Usual y Gramps and Grams retired

to the more comfortable chairs and the others would engage in

some family game. However, tonight was different. The table

supported the elbows of all the house’s inhabitants.

“The last time we had a family meeting, we were trying to

decide where to go for winter vacation last year,” Gramps said,

attempting to break the silence. Grams responded with a gentle

nudge of her foot, which abruptly got his attention.

“What are we going do at tomorrow’s City Hall meeting?”

asked Dad, looking to each member of the family.

“We need to be polite,” offered Grams.

“Do we want one person to speak for all of us, or do each

of you want to speak for yourself?”

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“I want to tell those city fathers what I think. The kids have

a lot to lose by not having Christmas and New Year’s. We need

to be heard just as much as anybody else,” lobbied Ellie.

“Anyone else?” inquired Dad, looking around the table and

seeing no offers.

After considerable discussion, it was decided that Dad

would speak for the family, because he had many years of

experience in leading meetings and public speaking. He was

the marketing executive for a local bank. He was also the fam-

ily spokesperson on practically all other matters. Ellie would

speak for the children of Holly Valley. The family would be

there offering any kind of support. Plus, they figured a large

number of Hol y Val ey adults would want to voice their opin-

ions. Will volunteered to stand next to the two speakers and

point out those in the crowd with raised hands who wanted

to speak.

The evening’s table strategy was interrupted by numerous

telephone calls regarding the proclamation and how Bill might

lead the effort to get the mandate overturned. Based on the

phone conversations, the callers wanted Mr. Taylor to lead the

meeting with the townspeople, and he agreed with five provi-

sions. First, the callers would serve on a committee in helping

him to overturn this act. The consensus was that Bil would

explain what the city fathers had written in their proclama-

tion. Second, he would invite questions and comments from

those who wanted to voice an opinion. Third, Bill would seek

recommendations. Fourth, the committee would need money

to finance their opposition. Fifth, the committee would meet

to determine its next step based on the citizens’ input.

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Will and Ellie texted endlessly with their school friends

to attend the City Hall rally. Meanwhile, Mom was engaged

in Facebook conversations, drumming up support within her

social networks. Gramps and Grams, not to be outdone, would

act as couriers among the gathering, compiling the names of

volunteers and accepting contributions. Mom also agreed to

take notes of the meeting’s discussions. By their gestures (high-

fives and thumbs-ups) it was obvious that they were stoked by

the overwhelming commitments to help.

“I think we can win this fight and show those city fathers

the importance of citizen involvement. That’s what we learned

in civics class,” steamed Ellie, trying to energize the others.

“Does everyone know their assignments?” asked Wil , seek-

ing positive responses from the group.

“We need to get our friends involved in this. We can make

posters and go door to door asking people to help our town’s

cause,” offered Ellie, pleading for a bigger role.

The phone rang again, and Dad answered. “Who is this?”

he demanded, as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “I can’t

hear you. Say it again . . .”

The only response on the other end was a dial tone. Dad

hung up the receiver and looked at everyone. “We just got

threatened.” His voiced squeaked from talking nonstop the past

few hours. “He said there would be trouble if I spoke at City

Hall tomorrow.” He shifted in his chair, rubbed his forehead,

paused, and inhaled deeply. Everyone waited for his response.

“Fear is for cowards. I was raised not to fear but to respect,

and we did not raise the children any differently. I fear no

coward. I welcome the challenge.”

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“Who was it, and what did they say?” demanded Mom in

an angry voice.

“It doesn’t matter. Only cowards speak without identifying

themselves,” argued Gramps.

Dad spoke with conviction that sent shivers down their

spines. He always had a way with words. His friends called

them Billisms. This statement confirmed why so many Holly

Valley residents wanted Bill Taylor to speak for them.

“We are not out of the woods yet,” he cautioned. “We have

prepared for such occasions. Each of you knows what you need

to do to protect each other and yourselves.”

Ellie and Will knew well what their dad meant. He had

prepared them to take care of themselves in an emergency.

He’d showed them survival basics, including hunting, fishing,

and trapping. They were trained in basic first aid and how to

stay warm and dry by building a fire and a lean-to.

“Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll be all right. I know we’ll be cel-

ebrating Christmas and New Year’s this year,” encouraged Ellie.

“And we’ll get those Christmas lights in place before you

know it,” promised Will.

“I know we will. You can bet on that,” replied their dad,

comforted by their words.

Ellie couldn’t be prouder of her father than in this moment,

and nothing else needed to be said. Tomorrow would be very

hectic. They hugged and shared their good-nights.

The room’s stillness was interrupted only by the grandfather

clock’s chime. Bil wrestled with the voices in his head, including his own and those of the people who had called him throughout

the evening. He mentally argued with all of them, trying to see

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all sides of their arguments. His heart told him one thing, but

his mind told him something else. How was he going to find

a balance between all of it? His thoughts turned to Peg, Ellie,

Will, Grandpa Layne, Grandma Tina, and the citizens of Holly

Valley, who would be relying on him to do the right thing. Bill

began scribbling an outline to his speech. The words just didn’t

flow smoothly like they usually did. He rose from the chair and

walked through each darkened room. He rechecked the front

and back doors, ensuring they were securely locked.

“Maybe a good night’s sleep will help,” he resolved, exhal-

ing a deep sigh.

As Bill walked toward the stairs leading to the bedroom, a

sliver of light reflected off a picture frame and drew him toward it. Immediately he recognized the words of Theodore Roosevelt.

It was a gift his father and mother had given him for his high

school graduation.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,

whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives

valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because

there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does

actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms,

the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause . . .

A smile broke across Bill’s face, for the heavy burden had been

lifted from his shoulders. He turned off the lamp and climbed

the stairs. The quote made all the sense in the world. The words

kept repeating in his mind. It was as if Teddy Roosevelt were

talking directly to him. He had his answer.

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The production of breakfast engulfed the kitchen, stimulating

everyone’s senses. Whiffs of crisp bacon competed with freshly

singed Texas toast. Crackling eggs shimmied with excitement

in rich, golden butter, and the glass percolator atop the stove

emitted a deep, soft, rolling thunder culminating in brown

liquid and squirting against the glass, bubble-like dome, only