Her Montana Christmas. Arlene James
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both of us burning gasoline.”
Sixtyish, single and no-nonsense, Mamie Fidler wore hiking boots, denim skirts and flannel shirts year-round everywhere she went, even to church. She had “decorated” the Fidler Inn with utilitarian hominess, so Robin was somewhat surprised that Ethan had recruited her for the committee. On the other hand, Mamie was handy with all sorts of tools, including fishing poles and skinning knives, and she was brutally efficient.
“I’ll drive,” Robin volunteered.
“I’ll get my gear. You got a slicker?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Too bad,” Mamie opined, shaking her head.
That was how Robin found herself rushing through a light but wet snowfall in twenty-degree weather over a boardwalk dusted with a mixture of rock salt and sand toward a rectangle of light in the darkness. The door in the education wing of the building opened well before they reached it, and Ethan rushed out, armed with an umbrella. Mamie, covered head to ankle in a shapeless water-repellent poncho, plowed ahead, disappearing into the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” Ethan told Robin, shaking off the umbrella before collapsing it and pulling it in behind them so he could close the door. “The skies were gray earlier, but the weather forecast didn’t call for snow.”
“The weather bureau should consult Mamie.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I find it wise to consult Mamie on a lot of things, like where’s the best place to find the greenery we’ll need and how to keep it from drying out too badly before Christmas comes.”
Ah. Now things were making sense. “You’re a wise man.”
He laughed. “Maintain that thought, will you?” Placing his warm hand at the small of her back, he applied light pressure, saying softly, “Come along and meet the others, but be forewarned. Some here are used to taking charge in every situation. In this, however, you are our guide. Understand?”
She nodded absently. Even through the thickness of her coat, his touch unsettled her, so she set about nonchalantly peeling off the outer garment as they walked through the corridor to the meeting room. As soon as they reached their destination, he offered to take her things and stow them on a table with everyone else’s. Familiar faces turned from a second table set with muffins and a Crock-Pot of apple cider.
In addition to Mamie Fidler, Robin recognized Allison Douglas, Rosemary Middleton and her daughter, Marie, Abigail Rose and Nadine Shaw, the mayor’s wife. Everyone greeted Robin and invited her to partake of the muffins, provided by Rosemary, who ran the local grocery along with her husband, and cider, which Allison had brought. Marie Middleton would be of great use, being a florist. Nadine’s inclusion made sense because her eldest daughter, Faith, was marrying Dale Massey on Christmas night, so the decorations would be of special interest to her, but Robin couldn’t help feeling nervous around any of the Shaws, the mayor and his wife in particular.
Robin made a point of sitting at the opposite end of the conference table from Nadine, and unless it was her imagination, Ethan made a point of sitting next to her. Everyone else seemed to think so, too, though Abigail was the only one who gave an overt sign, raising both eyebrows. The others merely traded casual glances, all except Mamie, but Robin knew her landlady well enough by now not to mistake the twinkle in her golden eyes.
Ethan’s attention was explained when he raised his head from the opening prayer and said, “Now, then, ladies, thanks to Robin, you have before you copies of photos of Christmas decorations from one hundred years ago.” He went on to say that she had agreed to act as their historical consultant on this project. That won her smiles from the others, and she relaxed somewhat. “Robin,” he concluded firmly, “will have the final say on all designs.”
Soon they were all deep in conversation about swags, garlands and wreaths, as well as the past tendency to attach meanings to certain types of greenery. Marie started sketching, and Mamie set about estimating the necessary foot length of boughs that would be needed. Before long they had a design and a plan. Nadine divided up the responsibilities, and everyone went along without protest until she came to gathering the greenery itself.
“We’ll take care of that on the Shaw Ranch.”
“Uh, no, we have that covered already,” Ethan said.
“But—”
“The McGuire Ranch has more of what we need,” Mamie stated bluntly.
“You have enough to worry about,” Allison pointed out, “with the wedding and all.”
“Robin and I will take care of the greenery,” Ethan insisted, looping an arm around the back of Robin’s chair.
Just like that, every eye riveted to the pair of them again, and just like that, Robin’s breath caught in her throat.
“We, um, want to leave you and Marie free to concentrate on the wedding,” she offered with a wan smile.
“And I need Robin’s expertise on the specific meanings of the various types of greenery,” Ethan said. The speculation in the eyes around the table did not dim one iota, however.
“Who would really know the difference these days?” Nadine asked.
“I would,” he answered firmly, and that was the end of it.
Robin wondered if Ethan realized that he had just made them the object of conjecture and gossip. Surely he wouldn’t want that, especially if he ever found out why she’d really come to town. A pastor wouldn’t want to be linked to a woman who had come here under false pretenses to meet the family who didn’t even know she existed.
Then again, perhaps she had misjudged him entirely and he would be all too glad for a connection, any connection, no matter how distant, to the first family of Jasper Gulch—that was, if the Shaws didn’t toss her out on her ear the instant they discovered the truth about her great-grandmother Lillian.
Or rather, Lucy.
It occurred to Ethan, belatedly, that the speculation about him and Robin Frazier could serve a purpose. He hadn’t meant to suggest that a romance might be brewing between then, but the presence of a possible love interest could provide him with a shield against unwanted attention. Perhaps, if everyone thought his own interest to be fixed, he could relax, at least for a little while, instead of being on constant alert for lures being cast his way.
The thought buoyed the young pastor so much that within hours the next morning, he had women sewing chrismon symbols out of white fabric and nearly a dozen children lined up for parts in the Christmas pageant to be performed on Christmas Eve. Moreover, he was busy writing a script, dependent largely on scripture, for the reading, which he proposed to do with one man and two women.
He was surprised by how quickly the whole program began to take shape in his mind. He didn’t imagine that Christmas-pageant costuming had actually changed much across the centuries since the time of Christ, but he wanted to copy what had been used in Jasper Gulch one hundred years ago, and he would require Robin’s help to ensure accuracy. Before even that, however, he suddenly found himself in need of some expert advice on historical Hanging of the Green services.
It was an old tradition of mostly European origin, and he’d been through several of them, but he wanted this year’s service to be as authentic as possible as one that might have taken place a hundred years ago in Jasper Gulch. So off to the museum he went on Friday. He stopped off at the diner and picked up a sandwich on the way, arriving close to the lunch hour. Leaving the half-eaten sandwich in the cold car, he went in to find Robin and Olivia sharing brown-bagged meals in the break room.
“Ethan!” Olivia greeted him, smiling broadly over the rim of a steaming cup of soup. Like Robin, she didn’t look much older than a teen, with her petite stature, blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. She’d