She had joked to everyone that morning that she felt like a picture she had seen in a book of elephants in Africa. Dwight had reassured her that she was nothing of the sort—and Hank had added that she didn’t have a long enough trunk on the front of her face. She had playfully smacked him for that.
Bundled up and loaded down with Christmas gifts, Mary allowed Dwight and Hank to escort her out to Doc’s buggy for the ride down to the party. The rest of the family followed in a borrowed carriage, as it was too cold to walk. Although a light snow had begun to fall, Mary was perfectly warm and happy sandwiched between the two large men.
“Hello there! Merrrrrrry Christmas!” a jovial voice called as Dwight picked up the reins, and they looked up to see Sam and Beth Ann Maynard—Finn’s brother and his wife—along with their children, rolling past in their wagon. Christmas bells festooned the wagon, jingling merrily as the family harmonized in a boisterous rendition of Jingle Bells. Mary knew that Sam owned the largest lumber yard and saw mill in town and that Tobias had once worked for him. It had been heavily hinted at that there was a funny story in association with the history of those two. However, when it had come up on several occasions, Tobias had begged it not be told. Each time, Mary could swear the man actually blushed!
“Merry Christmas!” Dwight called back. “It looks like we’ll get that white Christmas after all!”
“Yes, and I’m thrilled!” Beth Ann called, laughing. “What is Christmas without snow?”
“I get to make the first snowman,” one of their children announced, promptly followed by the others chiming in, “No, I do!” “I do!” “No, I’m first!” The adults laughed and shook their heads.
Gazing at Dwight, Mary allowed her eyes to caress his freshly shaven face, his dimples deep as he grinned back at her. “Will you make a snowman for me?” she asked him.
He gave an immediate nod. “You bet. A big one, right out there in the front of the house. Provided we get enough snow, that is,” he added with a glance upward. A snowflake chose that moment to fall just right, landing on the tip of his nose, and he playfully crossed his eyes trying to see it. Mary giggled and reached up to brush it away.
“You could dress up like Santa Claus, Mary, you are kind of shaped for it right now,” her brother teased with a naughty grin and she smacked his arm.
“Henry Robinson! I’ll get you for that remark!” she threatened, trying to hold back her laughter because, after all, he was right. “I don’t have a long white beard.” The men let out barks of laughter.
Grinning at them and perfectly content, Mary settled back against the seat as she allowed her attention to stray to the warm glow of the front windows of the houses they passed. Smoke rose from chimneys as the roofs, front porches, and yards were just beginning to be blanketed in soft white flakes. She loved snow. It made everything look magical, like a different world where everything was pristine and unspoiled.
Alas, the ride was over too quickly, and the men carefully helped Mary to alight from the buggy and bustled her inside, out of the cold, just as other guests arrived.
Reverend McKnight was holding the door open for his wife and greeted them with a cheerful, “Brrrr, Merry Christmas!”
Elderly Zebulon Hinkle—Charise and Beth Ann Maynard’s dear friend and surrogate papa who had moved from Louisville years ago to be with the girls—scurried up at the same time, chuckling, “Ho Ho Hoooold that door!” Mary had heard just the day before, a story about how Beth Ann had foiled the plans of none other than Lloyd Fetterman and had married Sam Maynard by proxy, with Mr. Hinkle as his stand-in. Imagine that! She had yet to find out how Elvira had ended up married to the man. As Olivia would say, Mary had mused, it would make a good plot for a dime novel!
As they came inside and shook the snow off of themselves and one another, they heard laughter from over in the corner and looked that way. Doc, coming in behind Mary, chuckled. “Good old Cliff. Always the life of any party.”
Mary knew he was talking about old-timer Cliff Fulton, the sole remaining original resident of Brownville. In his nineties, he was still as sharp as ever. Most of his teeth were missing, but he still grinned like a Cheshire cat and hee-hawed at jokes. He also flirted harmlessly with anything in a skirt, which Mary had been the recipient of quite a bit before she had gotten large with child.
Dwight helped Mary remove her outer wrap, and then they headed to the long, ornately carved bar, the last holdover from the building’s tavern days, to snag glasses of spiced cider.
The large room boasted a delightfully festive atmosphere as beautiful as the parlor at Doc’s house. The long bar was decorated with garland and twinkling candelabras, and loaded down with bowls of punch, fudge, cookies, and other goodies.
All of Finn’s barbershop paraphernalia had been pushed into the back corner and covered with festive cloths. The party had already gotten underway as the customary band of townsmen—namely, Paul Woods on the banjo, Terry Carroll on the harmonica, Randy Dever on the spoons, Eric Williams on the fiddle, and of course, old Mordecai Ellwood on his singing saw—were playing a nice rendition of We Three Kings.
Hank helped the Christiansen twins
