Bluegrass Christmas

“And you’re the new possibility?” She hoped her skepticism for his speech didn’t show.

“Sounds corny, doesn’t it? But, well, yeah. I prayed about it for weeks when I first got the idea. Even I don’t tilt the world sideways without thinking it through. But the honest truth is that I believe this is what God wants me to do. Run, at least. I’ll leave the part about whether or not I win up to Him.”

She’d seen him at church, heard him lead prayers during services, but it was different to hear him talking about how God affected his everyday life. She was just getting used to this praying-over-decisions thing. Part of it was wonderful; she could bring the Lord of the universe in on even her smallest decisions. Another part of it was frightening, because she’d given up having the final say. God hadn’t said no to anything she’d asked Him yet, and she wasn’t sure how she’d handle it when He did.

She looked at Mac again. Most of the people she knew in Chicago had so many layers, so many overlapping hidden agendas that a simple conversation gave her a headache. Mac was just the opposite—living, walking “what you see is what you get.” It was as unsettling as it was refreshing.

Chapter Five

“I memorized a line today,” Gil bragged to Mac as they brought more wood in from the pile in Mac’s backyard. He puffed up and bellowed, “Spare not one!” into the night air. Mac had to agree with the casting; Herod was a very good use of Gil’s commanding baritone.

“I’m shaking in my boots, your majesty. And you have all of what, six lines?”

“Seven.”

“Ain’t that useful. I, on the other hand, have no less than forty-two lines to occupy my whopping load of free time.”

“Star.” It wasn’t a compliment.

“I got ’em typed out onto index cards and stacked up on my dashboard. I go over them at stop lights and while I’m waiting at the train crossing. Because that’s how much free time I have.”

Gil dumped his armload of wood into the wrought iron holder beside the enormous stone fireplace that was the centerpiece of Mac’s living room. “Rots to be you, don’t it?”

Mac dropped his own wood, then bent down to arrange a fire. “Pastor Dave was dead-on casting you as the villain. You’re just plain mean. You’ll probably scare the little kids or something.”

“Emily’s delighted,” Gil said as he settled into one of the large leather chairs that stood in front of the fireplace. Emily had wound up being Mary, and was over-the-top happy about her starring role, not to mention Gil’s. “For all I know, she put Dave up to it.”

Mac struck a match to a pile of kindling. “Who knew you had an artistic side? It’s almost unnatural.” He cast a sideways look back at Gil as he opened the pizza box that sat on the coffee table between them. “I can’t quite see you in a crown and flowing robes. This ought to be fun.”

“Speaking of unnatural, I heard you got to play hero to Mary Thorpe earlier this week. Peter Epson was telling Emily about it—said he wanted to do an article, but he was afraid his dad would throw a fit.” Peter Epson was Howard’s son and a reporter for the local paper.

“You see,” Mac elaborated as he pointed the tip of his pizza slice at Gil, “that’s exactly why I’m running. People do things—or don’t do things—way too much based on what Howard will think. Okay, Peter may be a bit of an exception, but you know what I mean. The guy’s got too much influence. And I don’t even think he goes after half of it. You might be surprised to hear I don’t actually hate Howard. Not at all.”

Gil raised an eyebrow as he bit into his own slice. “Could have fooled me.”

“Granted, he’s overblown, self-centered, backward-looking, but this ‘mayor for life’ thing has gotten so out of proportion that Howard doesn’t have to look at something before people decide how he feels about it. Okay, maybe he’s grabbed at power with both hands, but we’ve been handing him more and more over the years without even thinking about it.”

“And you’re just the guy to turn us around,” Gil guessed with his mouthful.

“I’m just the guy God asked to do the job,” Mac clarified, meaning it. It bugged him that people thought he had it out for Howard personally, when he just wanted to change people’s mind about the inescapability of Howard being mayor.

“Howard might say the same thing.”

“Enter the blessings of democracy.”

“Man, you really are starting to sound like a politician.” Gil took a swig of his soda. “But a snake charmer? Did you and Curly really pull a milk snake out of that lady’s sink?”

“The press should have been there. I was heroic. An epic battle. The thing was six feet long.”

Gil shot Mac a dark look. “Janet Bishop said it was a foot and a half at most and it took you four minutes.”

“Four very dramatic minutes. You should have heard Mary Thorpe shriek.”

“She’s from Chicago,” Gil said as if it explained everything.

“Cut the woman a little slack.”

Gil grinned. “Sounds like you already did. Dinah told me you bought her a nice soothing beverage afterward in the bakery. Charmer, like I said.”

“She was afraid to go back into her kitchen just yet. What was I supposed to do? Just leave her standing in the hallway? After all, Curly likes her.”

“Just Curly?”

“We’re not in the same place, Gil. She’s just barely getting her feet underneath her where her faith is concerned. I admit, she shows some spine, and…maybe under different circumstances…but not now.” She wasn’t Mac’s type, even with those eyes.

“Circumstances change all the time. Maybe she’s just what you need.” Gil raised an eyebrow.

“What I need,” Mac declared narrowing his eyes, “is for people to stop planning my life for me, thinking I need what everyone else thinks I need. God and I can tackle my own path just fine, so leave it, okay?”

“Yeah,” uttered Gil, drawing out the word with a sarcastic flourish, “we’ll just leave it. For the moment.”

“We’ll just leave it, period.”

Stop it, Mary scolded herself as she felt her pace slowing. There was no reason to be afraid of opening her apartment door. Nice people were behind it. Nice people who’d asked her to a local party, to be friendly. “Why is it, Mary asked herself as she caught her scowling reflection in the hallway mirror, that “nice” is so hard for you to get used to? Very pleasant people live in Chicago. You just never seemed to meet any of them. Pausing for a second to apply a friendly smile to her face, Mary put her hand on the door handle. She was about to check through the peephole when she heard Emily’s voice call out “Mary, it’s us!”

As if Emily suspected she had checked the peephole. Suddenly, instead of feeling like a smart, keep-yourself-safe city girl, Mary felt like a suspicious, overly cautious wimpy girl. It played in her head like an advertising slogan or a 1950s B-movie trailer: “She Came from Planet Mean.”

These people have been nothing but wonderful to you. You should be thanking God every second for bringing you here. She squared her shoulders and tugged the heavy wooden door open.

And saw a wall of pine needles.

Two seconds later, that wall of needles tilted off to one side to reveal Emily Sorrent, dressed fit for a Christmas card in a fuzzy white beret, scarf and mittens. Beaming. “Surprise! I told you we’d get a tree in here! Up the stairs and everything.”

The tree tilted farther to reveal a sadly resigned Gil and Mac, looking like they’d put up every inch of resistance they had to this little holiday stunt. Emily evidently was as stubborn as Dinah said. Mary didn’t think too many people in Middleburg got away with bossing Gil Sorrent and Mac MacCarthy around. Especially when it meant hauling a cumbersome Christmas tree up a narrow stairway.

Mac blew a lock of hair out of his face and craned his neck around a branch. “Can we get this thing settled before the sap starts to run?”

Gil angled the trunk he was holding in through the door while Mac wrestled the top through the arched doorway. “A five-foot tree would have done, Emily,” he noted, working to coax the tip under the lintel as pine needles showered everywhere.

“This apartment has lovely high ceilings,” Emily defended, tugging off her mittens. “A shorter tree would have looked silly.”

Gil set the trunk down onto the floor and straightened up with a groan. “A shorter tree would have weighed less, not that it mattered or anything.” His voice said it mattered a great deal, but there was still a hint of humor in his eyes as he looked at his wife.

Mary was still standing there, holding the door open, probably holding her mouth open, as well. When Emily said she would fix her up with a tree, Mary didn’t think she really meant it. It was just a nice thought, a pleasant thing to say. They weren’t friends or anything; they’d barely met, and already Emily had given her the beautiful blue glass ornament. “I can’t remember the last time I had a tree,” Mary reminisced, wishing there wasn’t quite so much astonishment in her voice. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a tree of my own.”

Emily looked genuinely shocked, which made sense. The woman probably started planning her Christmas decorations in July if the store’s holiday abundance was any indication.

“That’s horrible. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you don’t have a stocking to hang over that lovely fireplace.”