All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas. Judith Stacy
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festival days, but what about all the other days?”
“We discussed this, too,” Mrs. Tuttle pointed out. “Folks will come to hear the Barrett Family Singers. We’ve secured them for a number of performances.”
“I think we ought to cancel,” Melva shouted. “Now, while we can still return all this Christmas merchandise.”
“What about the restaurants?” someone asked. “They can’t return all the extra food they bought.”
Another round of chatter rose in the room.
Tears flowed down Becky’s cheeks as she leaned across Marlee and grasped Audrey’s hand.
“We have to cancel this festival,” she said. “We have to.”
“Becky, please,” Audrey said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up and nothing has happened yet.”
“But it might,” she insisted. A big sob tore from her throat.
Marlee took Becky’s hand. “Nothing bad is going to happen to your pa,” she said. “The Christmas festival is going to be wonderful. I helped Mrs. Montgomery with a dozen charity events in Philadelphia.”
“You did?” Becky asked, blinking back her tears.
“Yes. Hundreds of people turned out,” Marlee said.
“They did?” Becky asked, sniffing.
“They did?” Audrey echoed.
“Yes, of course,” Marlee said. She patted Becky’s hand. “So don’t worry about your papa. Everything will be fine.”
Becky shot to her feet. “Marlee knows how to fix the festival!”
A stunned silence fell over the room. Every head, every eye turned toward Marlee.
A knot jerked in Marlee’s stomach. Oh, good gracious, she hadn’t meant to butt into the ladies’ festival preparations. She’d only wanted to comfort Becky.
Mrs. Tuttle glared down at her. “Is that so, Miss Carrington?” she asked.
“Marlee works for a rich lady in Philadelphia,” Becky called. “She’s done hundreds of festivals just like this one.”
“No, Becky,” she murmured. “I said I’d done a dozen, not—”
“And thousands of people have come to them,” Becky announced.
“It wasn’t thousands,” Marlee whispered, “it was—”
“You’ve done all that?” Audrey asked. “Really?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Chatter rose from the ladies once more, a cacophony of questions, comments and demands for information.
Mrs. Tuttle raised her hands, quieting the group.
“Please, Miss Carrington, do tell us what you think,” she told her.
“Come on, Marlee,” Becky said, grabbing her hand and yanking her to her feet. “Tell them.”
She’d never been called upon to speak at a meeting before, to offer an opinion or a suggestion. In Mrs. Montgomery’s employ she’d been relegated to keeping notes. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d even spoken aloud. But what could she do?
Marlee faced the group and drew in a calming breath. Dozens of faces stared up at her, waiting for her to speak. Marlee’s heart raced. She hardly felt adequate to speak to the ladies. She’d only been in Harmony a short while, and she could only imagine how much effort the ladies had already put into the Christmas festival. But she had, after all, organized a number of charity events before and she did, in fact, know what to do.
“It seems to me that securing the Barrett Family Singers is your best bet for bringing in a big crowd. I think that’s the key to the success of the festival,” Marlee said. “The only situation to deal with is how to find more visitors and get them to Harmony.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.
“I think we should bring them in by train,” Marlee said. “There are three towns nearby, the farthest less than an hour away. We could get the railroad to put on extra runs during the festival.”
“But how would we get the people to come?” someone called. “We can’t round them up like cattle and herd them onto the passenger cars.”
“We could get the Harmony newspaper to print flyers and posters and have some of your young men distribute them in those towns. We could purchase small advertisements in neighboring towns announcing the festival and the performances by the Barrett Family Singers,” Marlee said.
“Everybody will want to come hear them sing,” a woman in the back of the room called out.
Marlee gestured toward Heddy Conroy, the minister’s wife she’d met earlier. “You could write to the churches in those towns and ask their ministers to announce our festival to the congregations.”
Mrs. Tuttle’s frown eased a little, but she still didn’t say anything.
“Someone from Flora’s Bake Shop or one of the restaurants could ride the trains and sell cookies or candy, or something more substantial to eat during their journey,” Marlee said. “Maybe members of the church choir might be onboard as well, and lead everyone in Christmas songs.”
“That would really put them in the Christmas spirit—before they ever set foot in Harmony,” Harriet Goodwin said. “They’d tell their friends back home.”
“I think the mayor, or you, Mrs. Tuttle, might be on hand at the train station to greet our visitors,” Marlee said. “Perhaps some of the business owners might send a representative to direct them through town. Who knows, some of them could decide they like Harmony enough to move here?”
Mrs. Tuttle drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. She nodded at Marlee before turning to the ladies.
“I think our Christmas festival would benefit greatly from Marlee’s suggestions,” she said. “I say we put them into action at once.”
A round of applause followed Mrs. Tuttle’s words.
“Oh, Marlee, I’m so glad you’re here,” Becky declared.
Marlee glanced around the room at all the smiling, happy faces turned her way.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she said.
Chapter Five
Carson muttered a curse as his elbow slid off the edge of his desk, jarring him back to reality. Annoyed, he pushed himself upright and grabbed a paper from the large pile stacked in front of him.
He’d set up his office this way, with an outer reception area and this inner office where he worked. He’d placed his desk in a certain spot, at an angle that allowed him to look out the window to Main Street for those few moments when he needed a break from his work and a glimpse at another human being.
For the last few days, all he could do was stare out the window.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been so intent on gazing out the window that he wasn’t tending to business. He had a lot of things to take care of, all of them far more important that the goings-on outside on Main Street.
Carson’s gaze swung from the letter in his hands, out the front window again. Work had been underway along Main Street for days now as Christmas decorations were being displayed. Large wooden red-and-white-striped candy canes had been nailed to all the posts along the boardwalk. Men had climbed ladders to string evergreen boughs across Main Street. Merchants were putting wreaths and candles in their windows.
Leaning slightly to his left, Carson caught a glimpse of several young women on the boardwalk across the street carrying market baskets. He followed