O Little Town (17 page)

CHAPTER 29

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” blended with a mother’s and a daughter’s cheerfulness that was long overdue in the Franklin household. Paul smiled to himself, wondering if perhaps some of his prayers were being answered. The phone rang and Dove hollered from the kitchen, “Paul, will you get that?” He did and after he hung up, he walked into the kitchen to see what all the merriment was about.

“You girls are sure making a lot of noise in here. Which one of you was singing with Gene Autry?”

“That would have been your daughter. She knows some of the silliest lyrics to ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ you have ever heard. She’ll have to sing them for you sometime. How about you? Are you finished?”

“I think so. I’m not totally satisfied, but then I never am, am I?”

“Daddy, how do you write a sermon? I mean where do you get the ideas? From a book or something?”

“Yes, Millie. It’s called the Bible.”

“No, really, I mean do you buy sermon books or what?”

“Oh, you can. Outlines. That sort of thing. Some people use them more than others.”

“How about you? Do you use them?”

“Very seldom.”

“Then how do you know what to talk about?”

“Well,” Paul looked thoughtful as he bit the head off a Santa Claus cookie, “I usually just talk about whatever is on my mind. Whatever I’m thinking about that week or worried about or suspect most of the congregation members are thinking about. If you just talk from your heart, you usually can’t go wrong.”

“What are you going to talk about tonight?”

“Christmas. What else?”

“Just tell the Christmas story? Wise men and shepherds and all?

It was clear to Paul that Dove was attentive to their conversation. She smiled as she mixed up another batch of dough.

“No. Not necessarily. A little more than that you might say.”

“What’s the title?”

“‘Forgiveness.’”

“Gee, that’s kind of strange for a Christmas Eve sermon. I don’t get it.”

“I think it’s perfect for a Christmas Eve sermon. It’s where the story of ultimate forgiveness starts.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never thought of that. Mom, can I finish mixing those?”

“No, honey, I’m through. It’s ready to be rolled out and then we can cut them.”

Millie’s attention was back on her father. She seemed to forget all about the cookies. Her eyes told him she had something else suddenly on her mind.

“Daddy, Mamma. You know what I’d like to do? You remember how we used to go downtown and eat lunch every Christmas Eve at Beecher’s when I was little? Let’s go today. We could walk down like we used to and eat hot dogs and ice cream sundaes. What do you say? Can we?”

Paul looked at his wife working dough with a rolling pin. He spoke to his daughter while never taking his eyes off his wife.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. You go wash the flour off your face and get your coat, and as soon as your mother, if it’s okay with her, gets those cookies out of the oven, we’ll head down to the big city and have a feast.”

Millie left the room in a near run. Paul picked up the reindeer cookie cutter and began to make imprints in the flattened dough.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Colleen Sandridge.”

Dove looked up in surprise. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. She was just calling to pass along an update. Milton is going to be all right. He’ll miss Christmas this year, but he’ll have a lot more ahead of him and she was thankful for that kind of good news.”

“Paul.” Dove began, then said nothing more until she finished placing the cutouts on the tray and shoving them in the oven. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Paul, you know I went to school with Milton back in Richmond.”

“Yes, I knew that.”

“And not just school. I went to the prom and football games and the Christmas dance and …”

“Yes, I knew that, too.”

“Had I told you that?”

“No. Your mother did about ten years ago. One time when they were visiting, she saw him at church. That’s when she told me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was my mother who told you and not me.”

“So am I.”

Paul went to the sink to wash his hands. Dove took off her apron and put it on the back of a chair. When she turned around, he was looking at her. She felt her face go flush and she dropped her eyes and began cleaning the countertop. When she looked up again, he was still watching, looking not just at her, but into her.

“Paul, from the first day I saw you on the stage at that Youth Council meeting at Radford, I have never been unfaithful to you. There have been moments … moments when I’ve been dishonest. But never unfaithful.”

He had never demanded she tell him about affairs of the heart she had before they met, nor had she ever required the same of him. Her faithfulness as a wife and partner had never been in question. Not until this minute. Maybe the dishonesty she was confessing was of the spirit and not of the body. Did he want her to say it? Did he need to hear this from the woman he loved so dearly; the woman who was the mother of his only child; the woman who had been such an integral part of his life and mission. Her next words brought him back to the kitchen.

“Did you hear me? Dishonest. But never unfaithful.”

“What does that mean, Dove … dishonest?”

“I—”

“No … wait. I don’t want to know. This is all a bit difficult, Dove. I trust you. I believe you when you say you’ve never been unfaithful. But that dishonesty … whatever it means … it’s still a broken trust, right?”

“Yes. And for that I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Paul was silent for a moment, fighting the urge to pepper her with questions.

“Can you forgive me?”

Forgive her for what? Did he have to know the sin and all its detail before offering vindication? And just who would he be judging? Her or himself? She broke the silence again, showing a desperate need for his answer.

“Can you forgive me?”

He reached out and touched her hand and felt the same warmth he had felt the first time he’d held it so many years ago. He looked in her eyes and saw repentance for some unnamed sin. And he saw something else … something that had always been there, but somehow seemed truer in this moment. He saw her love for him.

“How could I not forgive you? That’s what I do.”

Just then Millie bounced into the room. She took her daddy by the arm and led him to the hall tree and held his overcoat while he put his arms in it and then socked an old hat on his head and they both laughed at how silly he looked. She yelled back the hallway.

“Come on, Mamma. Hurry up. We’re ready.”

Dove said from the kitchen, “Okay. I just need a minute.”

CHAPTER 30

There was no knock on the guest room door to warn Walter someone was coming in. Hoyt burst into the room, high on Christmas, and jumped in his grandfather’s lap.

“Well, hello, big boy. I sure have missed you.” Walter hugged him long and hard, getting the same in return. Hoyt’s big brother, Louis Wayne, was not far behind and he bent over the chair and unashamedly gave Walter the same hug. Standing back, in the doorway, was the prettiest and shiest blonde-haired girl Walter had seen since he was her age. The ponytail, the blue eyes, and the perfect smile asked in humble silence if she too should come in. Louis Wayne turned around and motioned to her.

“Granddad, this is Shirley Ann Briggs. You know her from church and you’ve probably seen her at some of my ball games.”

“I certainly do know her and once you’ve seen her at a ball game or a turkey shoot, you’re not apt to forget her. And that, young lady,” he said directly to Shirley Ann, “comes from an old codger who has seen a lot of pretty faces. But yours is one for the books. Come here and give me a hug.”

And from that moment Shirley Ann was a part of the family. Walter had a way of putting his stamp on something and making it right for all who followed. Louis Wayne smiled big and sighed even bigger as Shirley Ann leaned over and pecked his grandfather on the cheek and then hugged him like they were blood kin.

They talked about Christmas and how cold it was. They didn’t talk about Walter’s illness. They talked about school and how much fun the next week of vacation was going to be. They didn’t talk about Shirley Ann’s pregnancy. They talked about gifts, and Walter asked Louis Wayne if he would go over to his house and pick up a few packages and asked Shirley Ann if she would do some last-minute wrapping for him, and she was thrilled that he would entrust her with such a task. Then they all listened to Hoyt tell about the cookies he was leaving for Santa and how last year he had actually heard reindeer hooves on the roof.

“I was going to see Santa this afternoon but now we’re not,” Hoyt said with a sudden sadness.

“Why’s that?” Walter asked, though he already knew the answer.

“He was supposed to be at Uncle Milton’s store, but something happened to his sleigh and he has to get it fixed so it’ll be ready for tonight.”

Walter listened as Louis Wayne and Shirley Ann added to Hoyt’s Santa fantasies and then laughed with them as they related some of their own experiences with St. Nick through the years.

As the laughter died down, Walter spoke. “Shirley Ann, would you be so kind as to go down to Doris’ sewing room, I think that’s where she keeps the wrapping paper and bows, and gather up some ribbon and boxes and paper? Hoyt can show you where it is. Would you do that for me?”

“I’d be glad to, Mr. Selman.”

“And then Hoyt can show you the tree and the train he has in his room. Take your time. I need to talk to Louis Wayne for a little bit.”

The youngest and the newest members of the clan left the room hand-in-hand, full of Christmas secrets and plans, and Louis Wayne sat on the side of the bed and smiled proudly as he watched them go. His little brother and his fiancée were going to be the best of friends.

“Close the door, Louis Wayne, and come over here and sit down.”

This is what Louis Wayne would miss most. His grandfather had never taken him fishing. He had never taken him for walks in the woods and shown him butterflies, and he had never taken him to a ballpark to see Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays. But he
had
spent lots of time with him eating ice cream cones and hamburgers and talking. They would ride around in Walter’s Ford station wagon and talk for hours about things that mattered and things that didn’t. One of his earliest memories was asking his granddad about the moon and why it was there some nights and not others. He asked him if God slept on the clouds and where people went when they died. He had asked him where babies come from and where the rain went. He asked him about girls and why they were different and why they made him feel funny. He was comfortable telling him who he got in a fight with and why, and his Granddad Walter always knew the right things to say to make him feel better. There was nothing taboo for the two of them and there never would be.

“How bad did your mother take the news about you and Shirley Ann?”

“Pretty bad. You told me weeks ago that I needed to tell her and Dad, and I know I shouldn’t have put it off. But I really appreciate you not saying anything. If they had heard it from you it would have been a lot worse. I knew I had to be the one to tell them. I really think it’s going to work out okay.”

“What about her parents? The cop? I’ve always liked him. Did he want to wring your rotten little neck like I should have?”

“He’s been great. I can tell he’s biting his tongue, but so far so good.”

“Well, good luck, boy. I don’t know if I’ve always done the right thing where you’re concerned, but I’ve always tried.”

“Granddad, you’re the best. Always there when I needed you.”

“Little pal, I need you now. I need you in a way I’ve never needed anyone else in my life. There is no one else on this earth that I trust or have the confidence in to understand what I’m about to tell you. But I want you to listen because what I’m going to say means a lot to me. Every word is true and not one word of it is meant for anyone else’s ears but yours. Do you understand me?”

Walter began at the beginning. He began with the winter of 1904 and nine days before Christmas. He told Louis Wayne about the play,
The Nativity,
the Crown Theater, the husband and wife team of Nicholas and Adrienne Knoles. He left out nothing and nobody. He put all of his memories into words and painted as accurate a picture of the past as his sentimentality would allow. When he finished, he felt weaker and somehow transparent; as if he were made of glass, and Louis Wayne could see his bare, naked soul.

“I know where the grave is Granddad. It’s close to where your parents are buried, isn’t it?”

“It’s in the family plot. My dad gave the lot to her because there was no other place to bury her. He put her clear over next to the wall, and, unless you know better, and only you do, you really can’t tell it’s in our plot.”

“Does Mom know about this?”

“Nah. Everybody’s dead that knew about it. Of course, everybody has heard a part of the story. The whole town knows about the mysterious grave in Vestry Hills and the woman with the traveling show who came through town around the turn of the century and got shot. You can look that up in the papers. They just don’t know the story behind it.”

“Why have you kept it such a big secret all these years?”

“Well, at first it was because of the police. They threatened for a long time to keep the case open and I was the only witness. There were even a couple of guys on the force who wanted to try to pin it on me.”

“The murder?”

“Yeah. And then, as luck would have it, ole Bennington got caught up in a scandal and once the heat from all of that died down, the other had cooled off. I didn’t want to perpetuate the legend because it always implicated me and shined suspicion on my family. Can you imagine what it would do to your mother if this whole story had gotten out? She would never show her face at the country club again if someone thought her old daddy had been tangled up with an actress and a murder years ago.”

“I don’t know what to say. Well … I do have a few questions, though. Can I ask?”

“Fire away, little pal.”

“Why
were
there four roses?”

“Cause that’s all the money I had. If I’d had enough, there would have been four dozen. Old man Blanchard never gave a break to anybody. Good old fellow, but tight as a snakebite.”

“Why did you tell me this today?”

“Well, you’ve heard the legend about it and how some mystery person puts flowers on the grave every Christmas but no one ever sees him? I know you’ve heard all those stories.”

“I’ve heard about guys who have hidden behind tombstones on Christmas Eve to try and see who’s leaving the roses. There was a story about it in the newspaper last year I think.”

“There’s a story about it nearly every year. But nobody is smart enough to catch that sly, mysterious, old man. You know why? Common sense. Sure, every year for over fifty years now there have been teenagers and college joes who have staked out the place and tried to see who was leaving the flowers. But you know it’s cold around Christmas, and teenaged boys will sit out there for an hour and then lie and tell their friends they were out there all night, but it just isn’t so. All you got to do is go out there at 3 a.m. on any Christmas morning and, believe me, there ain’t nobody out but Santa.”

Louis Wayne looked at his Granddad Walter’s hairline; the white thick hair that still fell down across his forehead. He looked at his hands and saw an adventure in every wrinkle. He saw the creases above his eyes and the laugh that always seemed to dance around his mouth even when he was serious. He looked at his shoulders; still straight and strong enough to lift Hoyt over his head. But it was the emerald in the eyes that told him these were the same eyes that had seen it all so many, many years ago. The same eyes that had looked on Adrienne Knoles and held her secret and his for decades. Was he really the same age that Christmas as he himself was this very minute? Louis Wayne quickly did the math in his head and suddenly saw young Walter holding Adrienne in his arms in the basement of the old Crown. He saw him by the hobo camp looking for Nicholas. And he saw him sneaking in the back door of the hospital to bring her a final gift of flowers.

“Granddad, where do you find roses in the middle of winter?”

“Wherever you find love. Don’t worry. You’ll find them.”

There was a long comfortable silence in the guest room as grandfather and grandson sat in contemplation of all that had been said. Each had their thoughts and, if truth be known, they were the same thoughts. They were the same blood. They were cut from the same cloth.

“Did you love her, Granddad?”

“Sure I did, little pal. Sure I did. And still do today.”