Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby
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Lucy had a lump in her throat by the time the elderly woman finished the reading. She saw Joan surreptitiously wipe a tear. Even the children had been spellbound. Bobby Ray cleared his throat, and Pop leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek, which only made the lump in Lucy’s throat grow bigger.
From her sprawled position on the floor, Tricia sighed. “That was pretty, Miss Annie.”
“Thank you, sugar pie.”
“Do you have a book with ‘The Night Before Christmas’ in it? My grandmother promised to read that to me tonight.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that one.”
The little girl looked disappointed. “We always hear it on Christmas Eve.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tyler muttered. “This isn’t like real Christmas Eve, anyway. We won’t even have Santa Claus tonight.”
Banner shifted in his chair, drawing attention his way. “I could say the poem for you, Tricia, if you want me to,” he added in a mumble.
Tricia sat up straighter. “You have the book?”
“Well…no.”
The child looked confused. “But you said you would read it to me.”
“I said I would recite it for you,” he corrected, and Lucy thought he looked as though he regretted that he had ever spoken at all.
“You have the poem memorized, Banner?” Pop asked encouragingly. “Is that what you mean?”
“Um, yeah. I don’t know that I would win any awards for dramatic recitation, but I have a knack for memorization. I learned that poem when I was just a kid, and it has stayed with me ever since.”
Tricia scooted closer to Banner’s chair, her expression eager. “Say it for us,” she urged. “I want to hear about the reindeer.”
He cleared his throat and glanced somewhat sheepishly toward Lucy, who nodded encouragement at him. And then he began, his voice deep and rich as the words rolled fluently from him. The logs in the fireplace crackled in accompaniment, and Lucy didn’t think she had ever heard a more perfect telling of the beloved poem.
A love of literature was one of the criteria for a man to be placed on her prospect list. How frustrating that Banner met so many of her requirements— “jolly” being a notable exception—yet still set off every emotional alarm she possessed.
“‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,”’ he finished, causing Tricia to break into delighted applause.
“Well now, I’ve played guitar, Pop sang for us, Miss Annie read from the Bible and Banner’s quoted poetry,” Bobby Ray said. “Lucy, do you or Joan want to entertain us now?”
Joan blushed. “I’m afraid I don’t have any talents.”
“Sure you do, Mama,” Tyler argued. “You sing all the time at home, and Grandma said you could have been a real music star.”
Joan blushed even more brightly. “My mother tends to exaggerate.”
“Sing for us, Mama,” Tricia urged. “Bobby Ray can play guitar for you, won’t you, Bobby Ray?”
“I would be delighted.” Bobby Ray cocked his head toward Joan. “What do you want to sing?”
She sighed, apparently realizing that her children wouldn’t stop pressing her until she gave in. “How about ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’? Maybe that will be a good omen for the roads tomorrow.”
Bobby Ray strummed the opening chords of the song. Lucy was pleased that Joan really did have a lovely voice. Her slight country drawl made Lucy think of Reba McEntire. Joan’s mother might have been right about Joan having a career in music had she chosen to pursue it. Lucy wondered if that was a dream that had been abandoned for Joan’s unfortunate early marriage.
Everyone applauded when Joan finished singing.
“That was lovely,” Miss Annie enthused.
“Very nice,” Pop seconded. “We should try a duet.”
“I agree with your mother,” Bobby Ray said. “You have a beautiful voice, Joan.”
Joan’s eyes glowed in the firelight, showing her pleasure with the compliments. “Thank you. But that’s enough, please.”
Bobby Ray turned to Lucy with a mischievous grin. “Well, Miss Lucy? What are you going to do for us?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in hearing some advanced math calculations?”
“Not hardly. Why don’t you sing us a song?”
She laughed. “Trust me, you would rather hear Hulk sing than me.”
Tricia scooted closer to Lucy’s chair. “What can you do, Lucy? Besides math, I mean?”
“I play a little piano, but we don’t have one of those available. It isn’t exactly a portable instrument like Bobby Ray’s guitar.”
“What else?” Tricia seemed confident that Lucy had talents she hadn’t yet revealed.
“I can wiggle my ears,” Tyler announced, and proceeded to do so.
Tricia sighed. “We’re talking about Lucy, not you.”
Lucy turned to Banner. “Do you have a deck of cards?”
He stood, reached into a cabinet beneath a built-in bookcase beside the fireplace and produced a card deck that he tossed to her.
“You do card tricks?” Tyler asked, moving closer on his knees, and making Lucy wonder how many pairs of jeans he had worn out that way.
“I read minds,” she corrected him.
The boy snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“I suppose I’ll have to prove it.” She shuffled the cards, then fanned them in front of him. “Pick a card.”
Keeping his eyes suspiciously locked with hers, Tyler slid a card out of the middle of the deck. He looked at it quickly, then held it pressed against his chest. “You didn’t see it, did you?” he asked.
“No. I’ll close my eyes while you place the card back in the deck.” She made a production of squeezing her eyes tightly shut, laughing when Tricia placed a soft little hand over her face, just to make sure there was no cheating.
After Tyler had replaced the card in the deck, Lucy dramatically hummed and swayed, keeping her eyes locked with his while she slowly shuffled the cards in her hands. And then she pretended to psychically receive inspiration.
“Voilà,” she said, sweeping a card in an arc and then turning it toward Tyler. “You drew the three of clubs, didn’t you?”
His eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“She read your mind,” Tricia said in exasperation. “Weren’t you listening, dopey-head?”
Tyler reached out to give his sister a push. “It was a trick, stupid.”
“I’m not stupid! Mama, he pushed me.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too. Everyone saw you.”
“You know, I would have sworn I heard jingle bells outside a minute ago,” Pop murmured to his wife, making sure the children heard him.
Tricia perked up. “You did?” she asked, forgetting the quarrel.
“Could’ve been the wind,” he answered. “But you never know on Christmas Eve.”
Tricia ran to the window to look out into the cold darkness. Tyler sighed gustily. “Santa doesn’t know we’re here, remember?”
Bobby