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Authors: Debbie Macomber
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from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Women’s Auxiliary.”
“We’ve brought you folks dinner,” another woman told them.
“Now you’re talking!” Len Dawber shouted.
“Sorry, folks, but a slice of fruitcake and a few pretzels didn’t quite fill me up.”
“Made for a great appetizer, though,” Nick said.
“The food’s out in the car. Would someone help carry it in?” Greta asked. She didn’t have to ask for volunteers a second time. Nick, Matt and Len were up before any of the other men had a chance. A couple of minutes later they were back inside, their arms loaded with boxes.
“It’s not much,” one of the other women said apologetically as she set a huge pot of soup on the counter. “We didn’t get much notice.”
“We’re grateful for whatever you brought us,” Sam assured the women. Louise nodded in agreement.
“Luckily the family had plenty of clam chowder left over,” the older of Greta’s friends said. “The soup’s a Christmas Eve tradition in our house, and I can’t help it, I always cook up more than enough.”
“Eleanor’s soup is the best in the state,” Greta declared.
“There’s sandwiches, too,” the third woman said, unpacking one of the smaller boxes.
“And seeing that no one knows when the repairs on those tracks are going to be finished,” the spry older woman added, “we decided to bring along some blankets and pillows.”
“All the comforts of home,” Matt muttered, but the caustic edge that had laced his comments earlier in the day had vanished.
“I must say you folks are certainly good sports about all this.”
Considering that this change in attitude had only recently come about, none of them leaped to their feet to accept credit.
“Like I said earlier,” Matt told her, speaking for the group, “we’re making the best of it.”
“We’re very grateful for the pillows and blankets,” Cathy put in.
“The food, too,” several others said.
The church choir stayed and helped pass around the sandwiches, which were delicious. Cathy ate half a tuna-salad sandwich, then half a turkey one. She was amazed at how big her appetite was. Food, like almost everything since Ron’s death, had become a necessity and not an enjoyment.
When the teen choir left, it was with a cheery wave and the promise that everyone who’d asked for a picture would be sure to receive one. With a responsible kindhearted man like Dean Owen as their leader, Cathy was confident it would come about.
The soup and sandwiches disappeared quickly. Three other men helped pack up the leftovers and carted the boxes out to the car.
“You sure we can’t get you anything else?” Greta asked before she headed outside.
“You’ve done more than enough.”
“Thank Mr. Kemper for us,” Len said, ready to escort the older women to their vehicle.
With many shouts of “Merry Christmas,” everyone waved the Auxiliary ladies goodbye.
Len returned, leaning against the door when it closed. Cathy watched as he paused and glanced about the room. “You know,” he said, not speaking to anyone in particular, “I almost feel sorry for all those people who decided to stay in hotels. They’ve missed out on the best Christmas Eve I can ever remember.”
Seven
“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”
T he station seemed unnaturally quiet after the choir and the members of the VFW Women’s Auxiliary had left. The lively chatter and shared laughter that had filled the room died down to a low hum.
Matt knew he should phone home, that he’d delayed it as long as he dared. With the time difference between the east and west coasts, it wasn’t quite four in the afternoon in Los Angeles. The dread that settled over him depleted the sense of well-being he’d experienced over the past few hours.
He didn’t look forward to a telephone confrontation with Pam, but as far as he could see there was no avoiding one. He could almost hear her voice, starting low and quickly gaining volume until
“We’ve brought you folks dinner,” another woman told them.
“Now you’re talking!” Len Dawber shouted.
“Sorry, folks, but a slice of fruitcake and a few pretzels didn’t quite fill me up.”
“Made for a great appetizer, though,” Nick said.
“The food’s out in the car. Would someone help carry it in?” Greta asked. She didn’t have to ask for volunteers a second time. Nick, Matt and Len were up before any of the other men had a chance. A couple of minutes later they were back inside, their arms loaded with boxes.
“It’s not much,” one of the other women said apologetically as she set a huge pot of soup on the counter. “We didn’t get much notice.”
“We’re grateful for whatever you brought us,” Sam assured the women. Louise nodded in agreement.
“Luckily the family had plenty of clam chowder left over,” the older of Greta’s friends said. “The soup’s a Christmas Eve tradition in our house, and I can’t help it, I always cook up more than enough.”
“Eleanor’s soup is the best in the state,” Greta declared.
“There’s sandwiches, too,” the third woman said, unpacking one of the smaller boxes.
“And seeing that no one knows when the repairs on those tracks are going to be finished,” the spry older woman added, “we decided to bring along some blankets and pillows.”
“All the comforts of home,” Matt muttered, but the caustic edge that had laced his comments earlier in the day had vanished.
“I must say you folks are certainly good sports about all this.”
Considering that this change in attitude had only recently come about, none of them leaped to their feet to accept credit.
“Like I said earlier,” Matt told her, speaking for the group, “we’re making the best of it.”
“We’re very grateful for the pillows and blankets,” Cathy put in.
“The food, too,” several others said.
The church choir stayed and helped pass around the sandwiches, which were delicious. Cathy ate half a tuna-salad sandwich, then half a turkey one. She was amazed at how big her appetite was. Food, like almost everything since Ron’s death, had become a necessity and not an enjoyment.
When the teen choir left, it was with a cheery wave and the promise that everyone who’d asked for a picture would be sure to receive one. With a responsible kindhearted man like Dean Owen as their leader, Cathy was confident it would come about.
The soup and sandwiches disappeared quickly. Three other men helped pack up the leftovers and carted the boxes out to the car.
“You sure we can’t get you anything else?” Greta asked before she headed outside.
“You’ve done more than enough.”
“Thank Mr. Kemper for us,” Len said, ready to escort the older women to their vehicle.
With many shouts of “Merry Christmas,” everyone waved the Auxiliary ladies goodbye.
Len returned, leaning against the door when it closed. Cathy watched as he paused and glanced about the room. “You know,” he said, not speaking to anyone in particular, “I almost feel sorry for all those people who decided to stay in hotels. They’ve missed out on the best Christmas Eve I can ever remember.”
Seven
“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”
T he station seemed unnaturally quiet after the choir and the members of the VFW Women’s Auxiliary had left. The lively chatter and shared laughter that had filled the room died down to a low hum.
Matt knew he should phone home, that he’d delayed it as long as he dared. With the time difference between the east and west coasts, it wasn’t quite four in the afternoon in Los Angeles. The dread that settled over him depleted the sense of well-being he’d experienced over the past few hours.
He didn’t look forward to a telephone confrontation with Pam, but as far as he could see there was no avoiding one. He could almost hear her voice, starting low and quickly gaining volume until
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