The Christmas Sisters (14 page)

“Aw, no,
Theda's
not feeling poorly. She's just not young anymore. Once you reach a certain age, can't hardly go to a doctor but he writes up a sack full of pills for you to take.” She bore down hard on the thin paper with the blunt pencil then glanced up, her tongue poked out between her oddly perfect false teeth. “So you're taking
a ten
footer
and
a live tree?
Whooeee
, where in the house are we going to put them
both
?”

“The big one is for the church,” Nic volunteered the information before Sam could think up a way to throw Bert off the question entirely.

“The church?”
She sounded as surprised as if he'd announced he bought a beer keg for the fellowship hall.

“I...” He scratched the back of his neck and kicked at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “It's probably a crazy idea, but I thought it might help if we could gather people together to decorate it.”

“Pardon my saying so, Reverend, but a congregation our size could gather together around a twig.”

“I know.” That old Saturday dread jabbed at him low in his gut again. “But I thought we might draw in more people if we had something that they could enjoy as a community. I plan to ask everyone at the service tomorrow to invite their friends and neighbors to a town wide tree decorating party. What do you think?”

Bert nodded, the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Used to be just about everyone turned out for the children's Christmas pageant.”

“We don't even have enough children in our Sunday school for a...well, for a Sunday school, much less a pageant.
And no time to organize one if we did.”

“That's true. Well, then a tree it is.”

“You think it will work?”

“We'll make it work.”

“I like your attitude.”

“It's called faith, Reverend.” Bert slapped him on the back.

He laughed, though somewhere deep inside he did not find the humor.
“Faith.
That
I have in abundance but when it concerns the people of Persuasion?”

“Can't separate the two.
It's a package deal. You trust in the Lord and let him work on the folks around here.”

“It's a deal.” He spoke with a confidence that was, indeed, more faith than certainty. “Now let's see how we can get these trees over to the church and the house.”

“If your sisters had come with you this morning, it would have been light work for Sam to tie the cut tree to one of their cars and carry the balled tree over to the house in his truck.”

They both waved as Sam and Willa drove off the lot to deliver the tree for the church. Nic had wanted to go with them, but the tree was so big they'd had to open the back window in the truck and poke the trunk into the cab, only leaving room for two to travel safely. Willa had
wanted to go with Sam, and he had insisted she would be such a big help. What else could Nic do?

She had no doubt that Willa would fill her in—in minute detail—what went on when Sam returned to retrieve Nic and the
live
tree to take them all home again. “I know it would have been easier if
Petie
and Collier had come along, but when they found out I agreed to let Sam come with us and pick out a tree, they suddenly claimed a million things to do around the place.”

Bert's old eyes twinkled. “Pretty flimsy job of playing at matchmakers I'd say.”

“What?” Nic wadded her collar closed in one fist.
“Me and Sam?
That's...that's...”

“That's only natural, given the situation.” Bert began to stroll along the rows of trees, making a show of checking them over.

Nic followed, stomping along behind a bit too enthusiastically. “There is no situation!”

Bert could have called her on that. Could have dragged out who knew how many stories about how Nic had mooned over Sam Moss as a teenager.
And, of course, the tale about the party and its repercussions.
The old gal settled for giving her a stern look.

“They are not matchmaking.” Nic folded her coat tightly around her middle and gazed off in the direction of the church where Sam and Willa would be arriving any minute now. “They know better than that. It's just that, well, if you must know the truth, we are not getting along at all these days.”

“Y'all aren't getting along, or they aren't
going along
?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Like fire you don't, girl.” Bert clucked her tongue then turned to run her hand down one branch of a short needle pine. “Think I don't know how things go between sisters?”

“It's different with us. We're not twins, and we did not grow up then live our lives all within a three-mile radius of one another.”

“You're blood. You're
Dorseys
. You love one another with a bond no other humans could possibly share.” She looked into her palm for a moment then slapped her hands together to brush away the few needles that had come off the branch. “That's all that matters.”

Nic planted her feet to literally and figuratively stand her ground. “Aunt Bert, you don't under—”

“You are sisters.” She moved on, rounding the end of the row to the next line of trees without so much as a backward glance at Nic. “And you cannot run roughshod over them to get your way.”

“Running roughshod?” If Nic knew her aunt expected her to follow along. She took one step to do so,
then
chose to cut through between two blue spruce instead. She stepped into the next aisle right in front of Aunt Bert. “That's a bit harsh, isn't it?”

Aunt Bert didn’t seem one bit surprised to see her there. “Is it?”

Nic tightened her jaw.

“Oh, don't feel ashamed that you're the stronger personality, Nicolette. It might surprise you to know that I can sometimes be the tiniest shade more assertive than my sisters, myself.”

Laughter burst from Nic's lips at the understatement of the century. A cold glare from Aunt Bert shut her up quickly, though Nic almost strangled trying to accomplish it.

“My point is, girl, that they are your sisters.” The older woman wound her arm through Nic’s and propelled them forward through the Christmas tree lined lane. “They will be there for you today and ten years from now and ten years after that. As long as one of you draws a breath they will be a part of you every day of your life in some way.”

“What are you trying to do, scare me?” Nic teased.

“I'm trying to wake you up to the blessings you have in your hands right now.” She stopped and whirled Nic around to facer her. “Girl, I
see
you. I know who you are. From the very first day you learned to stamp your foot and holler and set your sisters running, you have wielded that power like a benevolent despot.”

Nic blinked. She wasn't sure which surprised her more: the accuracy of Bert’s earnest evaluation or the fact that her simple old aunt knew a term like
benevolent despot
.

“Exactly what are you driving at, Aunt Bert?” She folded her arms and stood toe-to-toe with the much older,
more stout
version of herself.
“This isn't about
Petie
and Collier not tagging along to get the Christmas tree.”

“No, this is about what
Petie
and Collier
are
tagging along for, and against their wishes I suspect.” She folded her own arms, her nose inches from Nic's. “Selling that house we all love so much.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
Nic's pulse ticked hard along the side of her neck. “That's one year's tuition at the school where I need to send Willa. And that's not counting books and fees.”

“Lands!
I had no idea.”

“So you see, Aunt Bert, even selling the house is only a temporary solution. Even if we get top dollar, it will only help for a couple years. But maybe that will buy me the time to find something better. And it will get Willa off to a better start. She's floundering in that great big system now.” Nic started to storm away, even though she really had nowhere to go.

“We have pretty fine schools here,” Bert called after her.

Nic froze in her tracks and sighed. “Not for a child with as many needs as Willa.”

“I thought the law provides for children with special needs.” Aunt Bert lumbered up beside her.

“The Bode County school system is just too small to—”

Then her aunt moved past her, grumbling as she did. “This one's too small, that one's too big. The one you want is too
fool
expensive.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Nic muttered, not actually expecting a response.

“All right.”
Leave it to Aunt Bert to do the unexpected. She faced Nic and cocked her head, sliding the stubby pencil behind her ear. “Sometimes it don't take a fancy degree to know what's best for children, to do what's right for them, and to teach them how to make good lives for themselves.”

“What are you saying?” The chilled winter wind whipped her hair across her face, but Nic didn’t bother to fight it back into place.

“I'm saying, well, just look at Willa and Sam.”

“Don't go there.” Nic held up her hand to cut that nonsense right off. Did her whole family have that flimsy matchmaking gene or what? Or worse, did they all just naturally assume that Sam was Willa's father and that Nic should be doing something to reunite their bedraggled family unit? Either way, Nic had no intention of encouraging their conduct. “I do not want to hear another word about Sam Moss, most especially in regard to my daughter.”

“Fine, then let's look at the way Willa is with the family. That child just blossoms when she spends time in the company of people who love her and show her discipline, patience, and understanding.”

“People who spoil her.”
Nic covered her mouth almost as quickly as she had blurted out the groundless and defensive remark about her family. Guilt drove her to say it. Love, understanding, and discipline—Nic had those in abundance for her child but not patience. In that way she knew she failed her little girl. She did not have the aptitude to work with her in the same
way that
Petie
, Collier, and now even Sam had shown. Guilt knotted in her stomach and burned high in her throat. “I'm sorry, Aunt Bert. I spoke without thinking. I know the family wants what's best for Willa. And I agree that she does respond best to people who have the right touch in dealing with her.”

“People who love her but don't bear the world's heavy weight of preparing her for the future, of setting her on the right path to make a meaningful life for herself despite her difficulties.” Bert slipped her ample arm around Nic's waist.
“In other words, someone who is not her mama.”

“That's why I want to enroll her in this special school. Why I must hand over her care to professionals.”

“And pay dearly for it.”

Nic’s heart sank. “It costs a lot to provide that level of care.”

“I wasn't referring to the monetary costs you'd pay, honey. But if it gets down to that, no amount of money in the world can buy the level of care she gets from her family.”

Nic's lower lip trembled. “She's eight years old, and she cannot read her own name. I'm so afraid—”

Aunt Bert drew her close and
a warmth
from more than a physical nearness enveloped Nic as the older woman said softly, “Don't make decisions out of a position of fear, honey.
Especially something as important as this.”

“What other position can I make them from regarding a helpless child like Willa in a scary world like ours?” Nic shook her head.

“Maybe it's something you should have a talk with Sam about.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam!” Nic pushed away from her aunt’s embrace and her interference. She strode up the aisle of trees until she came to the end of the lot, out in the open. When she spoke her frustrations it was to the sky, not to anyone in particular. “Why does this family insist on pushing me toward Sam Moss every chance and for every cooked-up excuse they can find?”

“Because he's a minister, honey.”
Aunt Bert murmured. She bumped Nic lightly as she passed by, heading toward a collapsible lawn chair and big plastic cooler. “And a right fine one, by my account.”

“Oh. Yes. That's right.” She put her hand to her temple. “It's still hard for me to remember that.”

“So, talk to him.”

“He doesn't have children, so how could he know?”

“You don't have to have a child by blood to love a child.” Bert stood back, not having to remind Nic aloud that Bert's own two children came to her through adoption. “You obviously already trust him with the world, with your Willa. Why not trust him with your troubles, too?”

“It's not that simple.” She raised her gaze to the steeple a few streets over. “I came here with a plan—a well-thought-out plan. I can't just up and—”

“Nothing is set in stone yet, honey. I'm just suggesting you talk it over with someone a little more objective, someone who has some perspective and the compassion of an old family friend.”