Christmas House

Christmas House

by R. J. Minnick

Sometimes it’s not about falling in love.

Sometimes it’s about making love work.

copyright 2019 R.J. Minnick

Cover and author’s photo:

copyright 2018 Dave Minnick

Wingspan Dreamweaver Books

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

about this book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

other books by RJ Minnick

about the author

about this book

Christmas House is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or incidents, other than historical, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Shiny packed snow crunched and squeaked beneath the boots of Bret and Molly Small. Fresh flakes fell silently around them as they walked home midnight Christmas Eve. Lustrous moonlight highlighted the two figures of similar height: him, a tad stocky; her, long and slender with soft dark carrot-colored hair that kept escaping its crocheted winter hat.

As they walked, they pointed out decorations to each other, sharing friendly critiques of the homeowners’ tastes. Molly giggled as Bret held up his cell to focus on the house eight doors down from theirs. The yard was filled with a Santa vacation theme. Pink flamingos. Lime green palm trees. And reindeer sporting sunglasses frolicking against a turquoise blue backdrop. Purple balloons floated in the cold air, tied to bricks so they wouldn’t fly off. The colors were mildly Seussical, and Molly knew that, but the preponderance of lime green and absence of red put her off.

You know I love Mrs. Pointer, I really do, but I don’t see how she can put those colors together and call it Christmas! Molly declared.

Well, she married Mr. Pointer, didn’t she? asked Bret.

That’s a terrible thing to say, she said, pushing at his shoulder, dislodging a clump of stubborn snow. Even if it’s true. But at least she means well. Better to decorate with a full heart and empty palette than the other way ‘round. She did a little pirouette and coughed.

Easy there, sunshine. Bret waited for her to stop then gathered her in close to keep her warm. I knew you should have worn that scarf I gave you. I guess I’ll have to keep you warm ‘til we get home.

I’m fine, Molly insisted. It’s just me being hoarse from the singing. She pulled gently away and started walking again, holding onto his hand. Thanks for backing us up tonight. I know you were nervous using a borrowed guitar.

Well, I hope it sounded all right. I’m still a little rusty. You, however, you sounded like an angel.

"O Holy Night does that, Molly agreed, oblivious to the beauty of her own voice. Oh, look, the Merriweather’s Rudolph has gone out. Wait, wait a minute, I think I have a spare-Yeah, here it is. Come on, this’ll just take a sec."

Before Bret could respond, she dove off the road and across the ditch to another neighbor’s yard where a lone Santa held out a carrot to a figure that was clearly Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, except tonight his nose wasn’t glowing a lick.

Molly, wait. You can’t go around messing with people’s lawn decorations! Come on!

Bret, everyone knows I carry spare bulbs for emergencies. And a Rudolph without a red nose is clearly an emergency, she said with a completely straight face. "The Merriweathers especially will understand. How many times did I fix Santa last year? They’ll appreciate this." Molly gripped the offending olfactory appendage and gave a sharp twist. The translucent plastic globe came off in her hand, and she passed it to Bret.

Ouch, he sympathized. Molly, you’re not the Holiday Police. Come on, we need to get inside. I don’t know if Merriweather is going to be all that pleased to see you, no matter what you - he broke off. Ouch! he exclaimed again as the bulb Molly inserted made its connection and a bright red glow lit up the vicinity. Molly took the nose back from Bret and fit it over the red Christmas bulb, diffusing the glow all over the lawn.

There you go, Santa! Your number one reindeer is good as new!

Bret almost thought he could see Santa smile broader. He shook his head at his Molly and took her arm, not quite dragging her out of the yard.

No, wait, take my picture with Santa! She draped herself dramatically over St. Nick. No doubt she’d Facebook the shot on the Christmas in Chrystal Lakes page she’d put up.

Now take one over here, she cried, running along to the next house where an eight-foot snowman bulging with compressed air loomed overhead in his vest and top hat. She reached up to take hold of his giant mitten.

That’s when the dogs started barking.

Uh-oh! Come on! Bret waved her ahead of him and raced her to their own yard. They tumbled into a low snow bank and started giggling.

Even her giggling carried a note of Christmas.

Like peppermint. Peppermint always makes me think of Christmas at Grandma’s and all the candy canes she’d hang on the tree. Molly’s first kiss tasted of peppermint, too, and we laughed because we tried for a second kiss, but pieces of candy cane stuck to our lips.

So now Molly’s giggling made him think of the Christmas they met. Though they’d only been married five years, to him it seemed as if she’d always been in his life.

He stood and stamped his feet and pulled her up into his arms. For a moment they rubbed noses, breath steaming upwards fighting chills from whoever’s nose was colder. He had plans for when they got home. Childless now, they wanted to change that, and what better time to start?

Molly’s hazel-green eyes sparkled. Well, at this time of year they usually did, but tonight they seemed somehow softer, deeper. He held up his phone one more time and took the shot that would become his cell’s wallpaper. Then he held out his hand to escort her to the house’s entrance.

Wait, let’s go up the walkway. She pulled him now, and they paused about ten feet before the steps to their front porch.

The house was a small Cape Cod saltbox-only two bedrooms and a converted attic, a kitchen adequate for Molly’s consignment bakes, and a living room that almost contained their couch and the Christmas tree Molly had so carefully chosen at Hank’s Tree Farm. There was one bathroom.

Bret was willing to bet that this house-which barely exceeded a thousand square feet (not counting the attic)-sported enough decorations for a house three times its size; every available space inside and out was covered with Christmas. There were garlands on the railings of the porch fence, a wreath on the door, greens strung out along the walkway with luminarias pacing between. There was a large wood nativity out front, highlighted by three outdoor floodlights, and lights on a twelve-foot evergreen that stood at the front of the yard. Santa’s sleigh sat in perpetual park atop their roof. They purchased it at a yard sale this year. No Santa or reindeer to be seen, but knowing Molly, it was only a matter of time before that changed. Bret thought he’d seen her searching eBay already.

Once they crossed the threshold, they would find the aforementioned tree, covered with an array of green, gold, white, and red ornaments, crystal snowflakes and icicles, and garlands made to look like icicles dripping off a string. Some of the presents beneath the tree had been wrapped for weeks, keeping contents hidden and providing early decoration. A full ceramic nativity graced the bookshelf. The kitchen was done in red and white with plenty of green boughs and candles at the window, and bows dotting every spot imaginable. Down the hall, snowflakes hung from the walls and ceiling, leading to the bath with its own tiny tree and Mrs. Claus towels, and on into their spare room/library which had Christmas cactuses in bloom and giant gauzy bows surrounding angel figurines that danced all about the room in celebration of Baby Jesus’s birth.

Their own room was only slightly more subdued with red candy-striped sheets and a fuzzy cover that gave the impression of being seal or beaver or bear or all three but was in actuality a synthetic fur duvet as warm as down.

Upstairs, the entire space gave the impression of an elven workshop, complete with toys, workbench, and wrapping paper strewn from one end to the other. At one end stood an old sleigh bed that Bret had refinished at Molly’s request and assembled in place upstairs. A beverage station he’d set up had hot chocolate brewing for them. A plate of the cookies Molly’d baked earlier sat nearby, ready to entice them as they came up the stairs.

Molly didn’t do Christmas by halves.

If Bret had loved her any less, he might have called it her Christmas obsession, but her extreme decorating was accompanied by a heart that encompassed all she met. Christmas was her superpower, he decided the first Christmas after they wed. Each year, every year, for the four Christmases after, whenever she baked cookies to sell at the local bakery, she also took boxes of them to the homeless shelter and to the church day care. She dropped off blankets at the shelter, too, and always adopted at least one or two (this year it was three) ‘angels’. The gifts she bought for his family were thoughtfully selected and very much appreciated. If she’d been born a Claus, she wouldn’t have made a better one than she did now. She loved every minute of it. And so did he.

She released his arm and was squeezing her hands tightly together in front of her.

Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it marvelous? Christmas! Her voice dropped into a whisper as she exhaled the magical words. It’s Christmas!

She turned and wrapped her arms around him, burrowing into his shoulder, her special way of telling him he made her feel safe.

As he returned the embrace, he smoothed the coppery curls that slipped out beneath her cap, watching as one bounced back up from her shoulder. You know, he began slowly, next year might look a little different.

Molly drew back and stared at him. What do you mean?

Well, if we’re having a baby next year, you might not be able to do quite so much decorating. You might be too tired, or if the baby is born before Christmas, you might be too busy. Babies take a lot of time, you know.

Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine, she scoffed, but Bret was pretty sure from his three sisters that he was on to something.

Remember how Ellie’s first Christmas with Brandon was? They ordered take-out every day coming up to Christmas, and she still didn’t get the tree to look like she wanted. I know you’re a powerhouse, sunshine, but we have to be practical.

But-we never talked about my having to give up - she swallowed and gestured toward the house. Give up all this. Bret, I can’t. I mean I want children, but I want to do this for them, you know? Think of how they’d love all this. And I want our children to help decorate. I want them to know how special, how wonderful, how important Christmas is. Why, Christmas is-it’s everything. I won’t give it up; I’ll have to manage. I will manage. We’ll manage.

She walked a few paces along the walkway, then paused. She stood stock still for thirty seconds, then rocked back on one heel and turned slowly ‘round, her eyes bright again, and not with tears of frustration.

I know! I’ll start decorating in September! Then she grabbed Bret’s hand and pulled him up the porch steps, shaking his head all the way.

Christmas passed quietly after that.

Molly received a shawl from Bret’s mother, who generously pointed out that it could be used as a baby wrap. Her dad asked Bret if he still had good insurance now that he’d left his teaching job, and suggested he might want to see if the local community college needed someone to teach furniture-making since that was where he was putting all his eggs these days. Both Molly and Bret weathered the inevitable sting of these incidents without comment, even to each other.

Three weeks later they were moving around the small kitchen, packing away the Christmas things-a somber, organized annual occasion in the Small household, usually culminating in Bret collapsing on the couch with an exhausted sigh and Molly meditating on Christmases past over a mug of hot chocolate. It was close quarters, but from the kitchen Molly could see where everything was and move to sort things into the boxes she wanted them to occupy. Now she had an announcement to make.

I’m re-organizing how the decorations are boxed. I’m going to add new packing material to each carton, too. Secure them against any kind of breakage.

Her words caught Bret at a disadvantage, trying to move three bulky boxes past the collection of gauzy fabric and angel figurines from the spare room. He grunted.

Good idea to do that every so often. Did you want to vacuum-seal them, too? He wore an innocent expression, but there was a twinkle in his dark eyes as settled the boxes in a stack.

I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a good-wait a minute. Don’t be silly! But don’t knock my idea. The better we pack it, the less we have to replace.

Hmph. Maybe you should learn how to repair them, then you wouldn’t have to stress so much.

She shrugged. "I’ll have you know I do repair them. Maybe you could learn, too, then you could do some of the ones I can’t." She expected him to protest.

Instead, he scratched his ear and looked at the box she handed him. Might not be a bad idea for me to start keeping an eye on the wooden pieces, maybe oil them each year so they don’t dry out. I could look them over, fill in any chips or cracks. Maybe glue up a break.

Molly paused, her hands draped over the carton she was stuffing with smaller ornament boxes. You’d do that? It would be such a help. You’re so good with wood!

She beamed at him, and he smiled in return. It was reflexive, but only because its roots went so deep.

You know, it wouldn’t be that hard to come up with some designs and execute them in wood. A lot of wooden ornaments are based on simple shapes-like blocks or circles. I’ve got blocks out in the garage that would make fine ornaments. Light ones. Didn’t work to hold up other blocks, but they could hang from a string with the best of them.

You know, that would so work! I know the ones you mean. And, what if-what if I took some and strung them with cranberries-or, I know, coffee beans-and made kitchen garlands! That would look and smell so cool!

Bret watched her face. She was glowing again. Well, glow might not be the exact word. After all, she didn’t look like she had a flashlight lit behind her cheeks or anything. But-it was in the way she became so animated when she was excited. Her eyes would suddenly catch the light, there’d be a greenish spark, and you’d feel like you saw inside them to some secret she shared only with you. Her cheeks flushed. Her head would bob up and down a fraction of an inch, as if it couldn’t contain her emotions.

Smiling and grabbing another box to fill, he added, You might want to double-check your crafting. I never heard of anybody stringing coffee beans. And cranberries’ll dry up on you.

Molly smirked at him. She picked up one of her caroling figurines and began wrapping it, taking care to stuff extra paper around the fragile bend of the singer’s wrist where she held the song book. It just so happens I know a way to treat the cranberries to make them last over the year. You spray them with clear acrylic when you string them, and pack them up later with silica packets. If the acrylic coats right, they should last a few seasons. I might have to experiment with the coffee. I wonder how hard it is to thread a coffee bean, she began musing to herself as she packed.

She got like this whenever something creative entered her mind. Usually it was Christmas-related, but not always. It was a trait they shared. Bret went off into his own reveries often enough when he was designing furniture or some other wood project.

If real coffee beans won’t work, how about some wooden beads shaped like coffee beans? Bret asked. Won’t smell the same, but you’d get the look.

You volunteering to make me some? Molly’s words were garbled. She had a peppermint in her mouth.

Bret laughed. Nope, that’s too small for me. But I bet there’s already some beads out there that would work. And that peppermint gives me an idea. I can make little peppermint shapes that you could paint up and string like beads.

Molly paused, watching Bret with respect. You’d be willing to do that for me? Here, hand me that pile of newspaper and bubble-wrap.

Bret gave the objects a puzzled look as he passed them along. When did we get so much packing material?

I’ve been letting them build up. I thought a time like this might come.

What? Oh, the repacking thing. Good idea.

Would you?

Would I what?

Make me some wooden peppermints, silly. Like you said. She was back to wrapping Christmas figurines again, this time a Mother Goose wearing red and green plaid and sporting holly in her bonnet.

Of course. Let me give it some thought. I could come up with all sorts of ornament ideas for Christmas. Would that make you happy?

He looks at me so sweet, she thought. Lots of things about you make me happy, she replied. Then she tossed another idea into their conversation. I set up my yearlong calendar today. I want to get certified for catering by March. That way I can expand. New customers will have more faith in me if I’m licensed.

Bret nodded along. Sounds good. I need to get my calendar done, too. He glanced at her. Is there room on your calendar for a baby? His brown eyes widened as he raised his eyebrows.

Molly sighed. I figured you’d ask me that. She smiled at him and spoke softly, The answer is yes. I think this is as good a time as any to start trying. But first - she spun around to face him.

First?

First we have to buy a house.

"A house? he exclaimed, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table where they worked. A house?"

Yes. A house. One that’s big enough for a family. I love this little place, but where would we even begin to put a baby? If I can get certified in March, and we get a house in April, I can get it approved as a catering kitchen by June, start working, and we can start trying in July. See? I worked it all out. What do you think?

She pulled out the chair next to him and shoved aside the boxes they’d been working on, some in front of him, some in front of her, like a wall, holding out the future.

Bret didn’t know what to think. She’d been at it again, planning on her own, then springing it on him. Sometimes that was fantastic, but right now he was having difficulty figuring out how it would all work.

Molls, look, he said, his slightly Puckish face drawn tighter with concern. Buying a house right now would be tricky. I mean, taking on a new mortgage when I’ve just stopped teaching? I don’t even know if we can get a loan -

Well, there will be the money from selling this place. I know where to look for bargains, and we have that extra savings account. I know you’ve been ignoring it, but I’ve been putting money in there ever since we got married. Even when I couldn’t find work and decided to try baking. I put a portion aside from my sales every day, even if it only came to a few bucks. And you-you’re a better carpenter than you think. Plus, if we had to, there’s my money from -

Oh no. Great Aunt Agnes’ money is supposed to be for when a baby comes. All the things we’ll need! I don’t want us to have to worry about those, so that is what that money’s for. End of discussion.

Molly pushed herself back and drummed her fingers against the tabletop. Okay. That makes sense. Although some people would say a house was for the baby. She grinned slyly at him, knowing she’d caught him with something he couldn’t deny, even though he didn’t agree. Look, we don’t have to figure this out until we start house-hunting and find something, right?

What about that timetable you were rattling off a few minutes ago? He narrowed his eyes at her, knowing Molly never did anything without thinking it out.

Well, she drawled. "If things fell into place that way, I could start decorating for Christmas at the new house in September. Like we talked about." She bounced up to her feet again and went to the cupboard and started pulling down plates.

You mean like you talk about. Bret grunted as he picked up two of the many boxes they’d stacked on chairs and floor and counter. Good thing we aren’t sending these anyplace. They’d cost a fortune. He turned to carry them upstairs. That close timing-that’s an awful lot of activity, an awful lot of work all at once. You really think we could do it? Assuming the money worked out, of course.

Of course, she said. We move fast when we’re motivated, right? But we have to find the right house first.

Well, naturally, said Bret, taking reassurance from knowing how long it takes to find a house.

Chapter 2

They went out on February 13 to celebrate getting all the Christmas decorations put away. On the way to an early dinner, they drove some of the meandering neighborhood roads, trying to get a handle on what Chrystal Lakes had available in housing. They’d actually thought they’d found a home a couple weeks ago when Molly spotted a farmhouse on the edge of town. It had ten acres with it, including a small stand of Christmas trees immediately to the right of the house. But the asking price had been too high and the sellers weren’t eager enough about selling to bring the price down. Since then Bret and Molly had taken every chance they got to drive around the area looking for a new home.

Bret cruised carefully, wanting to look but not wanting to seem suspicious to anyone watching out a window.

You know, he said, I’ve been thinking. We know we’re going to need more space, but have you thought about how much? Kids need room to explore and play. I’d like a workshop, and a huge kitchen for you where you can bake all those goodies and sell them without worrying about whether or not you’re meeting health regulations. That’s what was so great about the farmhouse. We need to look for another place like that.

Mhmm. Molly smiled as she watched through the car window. Everything Bret said was important, but what she was looking for was a house that would hold up to Christmas. She wanted room for decorations and their storage. A place with nooks and crannies to decorate, and painted in colors that would blend or coordinate with the antique ivory, evergreen, and engine red that she associated with the holiday and used so much in her decorating.

Molly wanted a house with an outbuilding big enough so that she didn’t have to pack everything away each year but could store a