The Christmas Bus Read online

  Edith reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “Don’t you worry about us, Polly. We’ll be just fine.”

  But as Edith walked home, she wasn’t so sure. How could it possibly be Christmas with no kids, no grandkids, no happy voices, no pitter-patter of feet going up and down the stairs, no sticky fingerprints to wipe from the big bay window, no wide- eyed expectations as the little ones tried to guess what Santa might be bringing them this year? How could it be Christmas with nothing but quiet emptiness filling up their big old Victorian house? Why, it just didn’t seem possible. It just wasn’t right!

  So, despite the tall, fully decorated tree in the center of town and the big red-and-white candy cane decorations on every street lamp . . . despite the life-size Santa’s-sleigh-and-reindeer stage in the parking lot next to the Oh, Christmas Tree gift shop and despite all the evergreen wreaths and garlands and strings of little white lights around every shop window and roofline . . . well, it just didn’t feel one bit like Christmas knowing that her family wouldn’t be coming home this year.

  Edith glanced up at the cloudless blue sky overhead and realized that the temperature must be approaching the sixties today, and the weather didn’t feel one bit like Christmas either. And with Christmas less than two weeks away . . . Edith sighed. It was just all wrong.

  2

  Tonight was midweek service, and as usual, Edith prepared a light meal for Charles and herself. But as they sat at the large dining room table, just the two of them at opposite ends, she decided she could not, or rather she should not, inform him that not even one of their children would be coming for Christmas this year. She would have to save that unfortunate news for later. Nor would she tell him, not now and not ever, about what Polly had mentioned earlier today. No, there was just no sense in repeating something like that. Instead she made pleasant small talk about a radio program that she’d listened to this afternoon while baking six loaves of cranberry nut bread—one, still warm, that they were enjoying along with their dinner, the rest to go into the freezer for later use or to give away to those who expected company for the holidays.

  “It’s hard to believe that it’s December already,” Charles said as he wiped his mouth with a green-and-red-checked napkin. “I think each year passes more quickly than the last.”

  “It probably comes with age,” she said as she began clearing the table. “They say the older you get the faster the days go.”

  “Need any help?” he offered, just like usual.

  And, just like usual—for a Wednesday, that is—she said, “Not tonight, dear. You just go to your study and relax a bit . . . get yourself into the right state of mind for your sermon tonight.”

  He pecked her on the cheek and thanked her for dinner, then went off on his way while she rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. With its red gingham wallpaper and golden wood floors topped with colorful braided rugs, her kitchen was quite a cheerful place—her own private retreat—and she never minded spending time there. Whether it was baking or cleaning or sitting at her little maple desk in the corner, this was her territory, and everyone knew it. She even had a sign posted over the door, politely warning guests that this area was “off-limits.”

  Not that it would be much of a problem during the next two weeks, for as usual, Edith had been careful not to book guests during the weeks before and following Christmas—those were always reserved for family members. And also as usual, the first two weeks of December had been fairly quiet as well. Other than the nice elderly couple who’d just left yesterday, she had no bookings lined up. She figured this was because people were too absorbed with their own holiday preparations to plan an overnight getaway during this busy time.

  In the past, she’d always welcomed this quiet lull, kind of like a little reprieve before things got too frantic and chaotic with all the family members arriving, combined with the comings and goings of Christmas in town and at church. But not this year. This year there would be nothing but quiet, quiet, quiet, at least around this house. And as Edith dried her hands on a hand towel embroidered with bright sprigs of holly and berries, she just wasn’t sure that she could handle that much quiet.

  She heard the front door open and close, the sign that Charles was heading over to the church now, just across the street from their house. He always went over early to turn on the lights and adjust the fussy furnace and, of course, to pray for the service as well as his congregation. Charles had always been a firm believer in prayer. As was Edith, and despite her heavy heart, she took a few minutes to sit down at her desk and bow her head and earnestly pray, first of all for Charles’s sermon—that God would bless his words as well as the listeners who heard them—and second that God would remind people like Olive and Helen to watch their words a bit more closely.

  Certainly, she wanted to say more about that, but she knew it was up to God to decide whether or not to dish out any vengeance for their careless tongues. Then she pulled on her favorite wool sweater—no need for a coat on this unseasonably warm evening—and headed over to the church herself. Now this was the truth: although she was completely devoted to Charles and never missed a service without an extremely good excuse, there were times, like tonight, when she might’ve opted to stay home—if that were an option. Which it was not. And perhaps that was a good thing too. Perhaps an encouraging pre-Christmas sermon was just what she needed tonight. Something to help her get back into the real spirit of Christmas.

  She paused on the sidewalk in front of their house, smiling with satisfaction as she looked across the street and admired the church’s colorful stained glass windows glowing so warmly, so invitingly in the velvety night. She remembered the time when the windows were so badly deteriorated that the board had voted to have them completely removed and replaced with pastel-colored bubble glass, the same kind that was used in shower doors! Well, Edith couldn’t bear to see that happen, and so she had rallied some women into a fund-raising frenzy, with bake sales and silent auctions until finally, contributing the difference secretly from her own personal savings, enough funds were collected to preserve those dear old windows. Such a pretty little church, she thought as she crossed the street. Such a nice addition to their town.

  She thought back to when she and Charles had arrived at Christmas Valley, back in the sixties. It had been his first assignment after becoming ordained. They were so young and full of hope. Of course, things didn’t always go smoothly, and living in a small town could certainly be a challenge. They quickly discovered how a church could easily be split open by things like gossip or jealousy or greed. They had gone through their own congregational trials and had also sadly witnessed other churches that floundered and eventually failed. But there was little to be done about it. As a result, they had wholeheartedly invested themselves in their church, as well as their family and their community—and all things considered, it had paid off well, since there was no place on earth where either of them would rather live out the rest of their days than right here.

  Still, it got her goat when people like Helen and Olive went around saying that Charles was “getting too old.” Lord knows those women aren’t exactly spring chickens themselves, she thought as she walked up the stone stairs and reached for the bronze handle on the big wooden door.

  “Hello, Edith,” trilled a familiar voice from behind her. Edith turned in time to see her old friend Mrs. Fish standing at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Fish had taught fifth grade to both Tommy and Jack before retiring years ago, and now Edith estimated she must be in her nineties, although she kept her exact age secret.

  “Hello,” Edith called back as she retraced her steps down the stairs and, gently placing her hand under the elderly woman’s elbow, helped her to slowly ascend the stairs. “Isn’t it a lovely evening tonight?”

  “Feels like springtime to these old bones.”

  Edith laughed. “Not very Christmas-like though.”

  “Who could know for sure?” said Mrs. Fish when they reached the top
step. “Perhaps the good Lord saw fit to warm up the Holy Lands when his son was born that night.”

  Edith considered this as she held the door open. “You could be right, Mrs. Fish. I guess I never thought of it like that.”

  Mrs. Fish removed her gloves, daintily placed them in her smooth leather purse, and looked back up. “That’s probably because so many people assume that Christmas and snow are one and the same, Edith. But the Bible doesn’t specify what sort of weather they actually had on that night when our Savior was born, now does it?”

  Edith nodded. “Now that I think about it, I’m sure that you must be right, Mrs. Fish.”

  Mrs. Fish smiled back. She was accustomed to being right. “Just the same, I do enjoy a white Christmas,” she said.

  “A white Christmas?” said Helen Johnson, coming from the vestibule on the right. “I hardly think so. The ten-day forecast was for fair skies and sunshine.”

  “Well, you never know,” said Edith, although she wasn’t sure that she much cared one way or another, now that her family wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. Oh, how the children, even the grown ones, loved going to One Tree Hill for sledding! They would bundle up in layers of scarves, mittens, and hats, and she would make several thermoses of hot cocoa along with a large tin of sugar cookies, and Charles would build a big bonfire down at the bottom of the hill to warm up by. It was such fun. Well, perhaps it would be just as well if no snow flew this year.

  Edith found her regular seat, second row on the left, next to the aisle, and sat down, waiting for the service to begin. The midweek service was always rather small, generally not more than twenty people in all—only the most devout or those who wished to appear so. Edith watched as Marie Williams made her way to the organ. Marie had shown up in Christmas Valley nearly twenty years ago, after her husband had suddenly died while they were on the road looking for work. Broke and in need of employment, Marie was hired by Edith to help with housework, but when Edith discovered that Marie played the organ, she enticed Charles to hire her on as the church organist. Of course, they couldn’t afford to pay her much, but Marie said she would’ve gladly played for free. Still a young and attractive woman (she had been in her twenties back then), it wasn’t long before Marie married one of the town’s most eligible bachelors, Arnie Williams. And although she no longer needed the job as church organist, she continued to play for all these years out of pure love and loyalty.

  Edith leaned back into the pew, relaxing as she listened to the soothing sound of Marie’s gifted fingers moving gracefully over the keyboard. Ah, what would they do without her? It wasn’t long before Charles made his way to the front of the church and up to the pulpit. As usual, he greeted everyone, made a comment on the warmer than normal weather, and then repeated a humorous story that he’d read in Reader’s Digest (his favorite source for jokes and anecdotes). The congregation laughed politely, and then he led them in a song and began his sermon. Just like usual.

  But, not a bit like usual, Edith was distracted with her own dismal thoughts about how Christmas would not be the same, and how, without her children, it would be bleak and sad. Consequently, she missed the entire first half of her husband’s sermon—something she hadn’t done since the time when Krista, at the age of six, had pulled out her loose front tooth and bled all over Edith’s best blue suit in the middle of a midweek service.

  However, when Edith realized that she hadn’t been listening to a single word her good husband had been saying, feeling like a child who’d been caught sleeping during mathematics, she sat up straighter and adjusted her gaze directly ahead and even smiled, ever so slightly. Hopefully, Charles hadn’t noticed her little faux pas. He certainly had her undivided attention now!

  “Our Lord reminded his disciples to show hospitality. He said there could be times when they might help or bless a stranger and in reality be blessing him. Be mindful of this as so many of you open your homes to family and loved ones and life becomes somewhat hectic. Perhaps it is in those moments, when all is not going smoothly and well, perhaps that is the very moment when you might discover the Lord is right there in your midst.”

  Edith leaned forward just slightly, a bit dismayed at the irony of her husband speaking of hospitality and opening up one’s home while their own home would be noticeably empty this year. Of course, he wasn’t aware of this yet.

  “But will you be ready?” he said now, looking earnestly over his listeners. “Will your heart be ready to greet our Lord? Let me read a passage from Hebrews 13:1–2,” he continued as he opened his new leather Bible. Charles had recently purchased a somewhat nontraditional Bible version and had even started using it during his sermons. Edith wasn’t sure what church members would think of this modern translation since they were more accustomed to the old-fashioned and traditional Bibles, but so far no one had commented or complained. Perhaps no one had even noticed.

  “‘Stay on good terms with each other,’ ” he read slowly, putting emphasis on each word, “‘held together by love.’ ” He paused, adjusted his bifocals, and smiled at the congregation. “Isn’t that just beautiful? Held together by love.” Then he continued to read. “And then it says, ‘Be ready with a meal or a bed when it’s needed. Why, some have extended hospitality to angels without ever knowing it!’ ”

  Edith listened as he continued to expound on this idea of getting along with each other, encouraging the congregation to outdo each other in the areas of love and hospitality. It really was a perfect pre-Christmas theme, especially in regard to some of the less than loving and slightly divisive comments that Olive and Helen had made earlier this week. Now Edith wondered if Charles hadn’t been aware of this all along. Naturally, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

  But Edith put thoughts of Olive and Helen aside as she listened to his words. And then, just as she normally did, she began to apply those meaningful words to the state of her own heart, and by the time he finished his sermon and Marie was back at the organ, Edith had tears running down both cheeks. So it was that Edith knew exactly what needed to be done!

  3

  After the service ended, Edith made an effort at congeniality with fellow parishioners, but all she could think was that she wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Or as her old grandmother might’ve once said, Edith had a bee in her bonnet.

  “Yes, Olive,” she said with as much patience as she could muster, “the nativity costumes are still up in the attic.” She wanted to add “just like they always have been,” but instead she said, “Come on over and get them anytime you like.” Olive had taken it upon herself to head up the church’s annual nativity play this year. For the past ten years her daughter Judy had managed this challenging task, but Judy and her husband had relocated to Portland last year, and Olive had promised to handle the program for her. Edith just hoped, for the sake of the church, that Olive was up to it.

  “I’ll give you a call this week,” said Olive as she jotted down something in a little black notebook.

  “You’re certainly organized,” observed Edith.

  Olive smiled, perhaps a bit smugly. “Judy explained her whole system to me. It’s really quite brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

  Edith patted Olive on the arm. “I sure do miss Judy. She did such a great job with the children and Sunday school. How does she like Portland?”

  Olive made a face. “Not very much, I’m afraid. She says the traffic is horrible. If it weren’t for Ron’s job, I’m sure they’d be back here in no time. But at least they’ll all be here for Christmas. And I don’t want her to be disappointed in the nativity play. Goodness gracious, but I’ve got a lot to do!”

  Edith considered offering to help, but only for a second or two. She knew that Olive had certain ways of doing things, and in all likelihood Edith would only get in her way. Besides that, Edith was still not completely over Olive’s less than kind comments about Charles’s age. Maybe managing the nativity play on her own would remind her that they were all getting up there in years, and t
hat it didn’t hurt to lean on each other a bit, or to cut each other a bit of grace from time to time—something like tonight’s sermon. Edith simply smiled and said she’d better be getting home now.

  She waved a little good-bye to Charles, who was caught in what looked like an interesting conversation between Mrs. Fish and Peter Simpson. Peter had gone to school with their boys but somehow managed to eke out a living as an artist and part-time handyman here in town. If memory served her right, he’d also been in Mrs. Fish’s class before she retired. Edith was slightly curious as to what the three of them were talking about in such an animated fashion, but she was also eager to get home.

  She hurried across the street and into the house, heading straight for her little desk in the kitchen. Without even taking off her sweater, she turned on her computer and sat down, waiting for the screen to come to life. Funny, how she’d fought against the idea of owning a computer—so technical and impersonal—but eventually her children got to her. “How will we keep in touch?” demanded Katie after having her first baby several years ago. “If you had a computer, we could email each other every day, and I’d even send photos of the baby that you could see immediately.”

  Well, that settled it. And the next time Tommy had a couple of days to spare, he helped his mother to set up a computer and even gave her some beginner lessons—mostly how to turn it off and on and how to play Spider Solitaire, which still probably occupied far too much of her time. But after a while, she had the good sense to get some serious computer tutoring from Jared Renwick, a local teen who was also a computer whiz. She eventually got the hang of it, and now, thanks to Jared, who had recently started his own small computer business, she even had a website for the bed and breakfast that could be accessed by people from all over the world. Amazing, really.