Christmas at the Hummingbird House Read online

  Paul turned off the engine and looked uncomfortably at Derrick. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I feel a bit like a beggar at the feast.”

  “And we haven’t even gone inside,” agreed Derrick glumly.

  The moment they started to open their doors a black and white terror in the form of a border collie charged around the corner of the house, teeth bared, voice raging, and flung himself at their front right tire. They closed the doors and waited, as anyone who had ever visited Ladybug Farm was trained to do, for someone to come along to control the beast. That someone was Lori, who came from the back in jeans, scuffed green rain boots, and a quilted red vest over a flannel shirt. Her copper curls escaped a knit cap with yellow yarn braids, and she wore matching yellow knit gloves. Seeing her, Paul could not prevent a great sigh.

  “Once she was a fashion diva,” he said.

  “At least the gloves match the hat,” Derrick offered, although he, too, looked pained.

  Lori, struggling with the contents of a gallon bucket, planted it by the corner of the porch and rushed forward, shouting, “Rebel, no!”

  She grabbed the dog by the collar and dragged him away from the car, calling happily, “Hi, Uncle Derrick! Uncle Paul! What’d you bring me?”

  They held up the poinsettias hopefully. “Flowers?” Paul called back through his barely opened window.

  She wrinkled her nose. “A Victoria’s Secret gift card would be better.”

  Paul said, “Love you, precious!”

  She grinned. “Love you back!” She hauled the dog away from the car and added, “Everybody’s in the kitchen. Except Dominic, who’s in the winery, and Kev, who’s at school.” Her husband, Kevin, taught business at the community college while working on his PhD from UVA. In his spare time, he also helped run the winery. She gave the dog a swat on the bottom that sent him racing off toward the meadows and said, “Got to feed the chickens. Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you, sweetie!” They both called back, but waited until she was gone and the dog was well out of sight before they got out of the car.

  They walked around the wide porch to the kitchen door. It was wrapped like a present in red and green calico and tied with an enormous red velvet bow—Lori’s idea, no doubt, who could always be counted on for a whimsical touch. A garland of cedar boughs outlined the door frame, decorated with tiny silver bows and sparkling red, lime green and silver Christmas balls. Rustic milk cans filled with bright red berries and greenery decorated with more of the red, silver and lime green ornaments flanked the door, and beside the steps there was a stack of boxes wrapped in more colorful calico and tied with bright floppy bows, as though Santa had just dropped them off. Lori, again. The white wicker table where, during the warmer months, the ladies often had breakfast, was now decorated with a red and green plaid tablecloth lightly shot through with silver, and bright red cushions adorned the chairs. There were playful felt Santa placemats and a runner of cedar boughs studded with more red, green and silver balls. Two white pillar candles stood on that bed of greenery, flanking a centerpiece of—what else?—red poinsettias.

  “A bit over the top, don’t you think?” Derrick murmured, and Paul shifted his gaze upward in silent agreement.

  “It’s not as though they have every room booked with paying guests who are coming from all over the country expecting the quintessential holiday experience,” he said. “Although,” he admitted reluctantly as he gave the table decor a closer look, “that really is quite charming in its own Ladybug Farm way.”

  Clutching their poinsettias before them like badges of honor, they approached the door where, from the kitchen beyond, they could hear the voices of women raised in a discussion which, while it might not be described as heated, was certainly not conversational. Paul glanced at Derrick. Derrick gave an uncertain shrug. Paul knocked on the door and then pushed it open.

  The big country kitchen was in a state of mild chaos, and not necessarily the cheerful, busy kind that is welcome during the holidays. Cookbooks, recipe cards and manila folders filled with stained and dog-eared magazine clippings were scattered across the soapstone island that dominated the room. Cici, a tall, athletic-looking woman with deeply freckled skin and spikes of honey-blonde hair spilling from a messy topknot, was on a ladder pulling things out of the top cabinets. Bridget, as neat as a pin in her platinum bob, gray slouch boots and a bright Christmas apron over her crisp white shirt and black jeans, looked very close to exasperation as she thumbed through the contents of the manila folders on the counter. Ida Mae, their aged and intractable housekeeper, looked like a ferocious elf in clunky work boots, green-and-white knee socks, and a long red cardigan over a gray wool dress. Her mouth was set grimly as she pulled open drawers, scrambled though them, and slammed them shut again.

  Bridget exclaimed impatiently, “Honestly, Ida Mae, if I had seen it, don’t you think I’d tell you? I really don’t know what you expect me to do!”

  And Cici added, “What makes you think it would still be here after forty years, anyway? Somebody probably threw it away when they cleaned out the house to put it up for sale.”

  “I’m the one that cleaned out the house,” Ida Mae replied testily, her iron gray curls bobbing with repressed frustration as she slammed shut another door. “And I ain’t about to throw away something that valuable. Do I look like a fool to you?”

  Paul and Derrick exchanged another uncertain look, but it was too late to back out now. “Yoo-hoo!” Paul sang out. “Company!”

  Cici looked down from the ladder, her expression delighted and surprised. “Boys! I didn’t know you were coming over!”

  Bridget’s expression was intensely relieved as she opened her arms to embrace them. “How wonderful to see you!”

  Ida Mae just scowled at them. But from her, it was a warm welcome.

  There were quick hugs between Cici and Bridget and the two men, while Ida Mae demanded, “You all staying to eat?”

  “No, ma’am,” Derrick assured her quickly, and thrust his ivory-colored poinsettia at her with a smile. “We just stopped by to bring you this and wish you happy holidays.”

  “A whole shipment of them arrived this morning,” Paul added, presenting his pale pink-colored plant to Bridget. “Naturally we thought of you.”

  “How sweet!” Bridget exclaimed. “And what lovely colors!”

  “Ivory and blush,” Derrick said. “Our theme for the entrance and dining room.”

  “Right pretty,” admitted Ida Mae gruffly, holding the plant out to examine it. “Of course, I’m partial to red myself.”

  She shuffled off to place the plant in the big bay window on the other side of the room, her steel-toed boots clacking on the brick floor. Bridget placed her plant in the center of the hickory table that sat beside the raised fireplace. A fire crackled merrily in the grate beneath a colorful mantel display featuring a wooden sleigh carrying loads of Christmas presents and a string of painted alphabet blocks spelling out “Merry Christmas.” The table was set, naturally, with red and green Fiesta ware and casual red plaid napkins.

  “Do stay for lunch,” Bridget urged. “I think we have some Brunswick stew in the freezer.” She knew it was Paul’s favorite.

  “Then you have to stay,” Cici said. “Otherwise, all we’re having is crackers and tomato soup. From a can.” She made a face as she gestured around the kitchen. “We’ve been a little distracted.”

  Lindsay pushed through the swinging door then, the sleeves of her sweatshirt pushed up, smudges of dust on the knees of her jeans and across her forehead. There were a few stray cobwebs clinging to her auburn ponytail, which she plucked away in annoyance. “I give up,” she declared. “I’ve opened every box in that attic and …” She broke off with a smile as she noticed Paul and Derrick. “Hi, guys! What brings you over?”

  “They’re staying for lunch,” Cici said.

  Derrick protested, “No, really, we can’t.”

  And Paul said, “What on earth are yo
u looking for?”

  “Ida Mae lost a recipe,” Bridget replied.

  “She’s been driving us crazy about it for the last week,” added Cici.

  Derrick looked surprised as he turned to Ida Mae. “Ida Mae, I’ve never known you to even use a recipe.”

  “Precisely,” declared Lindsay.

  Ida Mae gave Lindsay a dark look. “Shows what you know, Missy. Everything starts with a recipe.”

  “But I’d think you’d have them all memorized by now,” Paul said.

  “She hasn’t made it in forty years,” confided Cici.

  “That ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Ida Mae said harshly. She took a stew pot out of the cabinet and clattered it down on the stove. “Some recipes you can mess with, some you can’t. This here’s the Christmas Angel Cake. It’s only got seven ingredients, and if you don’t get ’em just right, the angel won’t come. And I promised to take it to the church supper Christmas Eve, so all I can say is y’all better keep on huntin’.”

  Bridget gave a small shrug of her shoulders and a roll of her eyes.

  “Did you try an Internet search?” Paul suggested helpfully.

  “First thing,” Lindsay assured him.

  “Dozens of hits,” Cici said. “None of them was the right one.”

  “I keep tryin’ to tell you,” Ida Mae said from across the room, “there wasn’t no dad-blamed Internet when this here recipe was invented.”

  Again Bridget rolled her eyes, and started gathering up the cookbooks and papers strewn across the island.

  Ida Mae said, “I’m starting my cornbread. If y’all ain’t stayin’, speak up before I crack the eggs.”

  Paul demurred, “Well, if you insist …”

  But Derrick interrupted firmly, albeit with genuine regret, “As much as we’d love to, we really must fly. ’Tis the season, and all that. We really just wanted to drop off the poinsettias, and to, um …” He cast an urgent look at Paul for help.

  Paul, still struggling with his disappointment over missing lunch, supplied, “And to tell you the good news. We got our insurance check. And we’re all booked up for Christmas weekend!”

  “That’s fabulous, guys!”

  “Congratulations!”

  Bridget clapped her hands together happily. “That means my cooking class will be full! What fun!”

  “We thought we’d celebrate with an impromptu tree-trimming party tomorrow afternoon,” added Derrick on an inspiration. “We want you all to come. Dominic and the kids, too.”

  “Especially Dominic,” said Paul. “He has such a way with lights and ladders and such.”

  “Nothing fancy,” Derrick hurried on, “just eggnog and cookies, maybe a few light hors d’ouevres …”

  But already the women were shaking their heads. “Sounds wonderful,” Lindsay said, “and you know we love your parties, but we have a full house for Christmas too! Dominic’s children are coming …”

  “And Katie and her husband are bringing the twins,” added Bridget happily. “It’s the first time the whole family will be together for Christmas in four years!”

  “Noah can’t get leave for the whole weekend,” Lindsay said, “but he’s driving down Christmas afternoon. The whole great big crazy blended family is going to be all together under one roof. Makes this house seem a little small, if you can believe it.”

  “It’s going to be great,” said Cici, eyes shining. “I love a full table for Christmas dinner. But we still have a lot of work to do before they get here.”

  “There is no way I can get away tomorrow, or any time before Christmas,” Bridget assured him. “Ida Mae and I haven’t even started cooking yet. We’ve got at least six dozen cookies to make, four or five casseroles, and I don’t know how many pies and cakes …”

  “You can forget about me baking any cakes until I find my recipe,” Ida Mae warned dourly, “and that’s just a plain fact. I ain’t in a baking mood.”

  “And I’ve got to start rearranging the guest rooms,” Cici said, “and cleaning the carpets and the drapes.”

  “Lori and Kevin promised to help me paint the downstairs sewing room and carry some of the furniture down from the attic so we can use it as an extra bedroom,” Lindsay went on. “And Dominic is driving down to Richmond tomorrow to look for a new bottler, so he can’t help. Gosh, it’s an awful lot of fun to have company, but a lot of trouble too. I don’t know how you boys do it every day of the year!”

  Then Cici looked at them suspiciously. “Wait. Do you mean to tell me you haven’t even decorated your tree yet?”

  Paul gave a light dismissing laugh. “Trees, darling, trees! We have dozens of them. But of course we wanted to save a little of the fun to share with you.”

  Cici looked relieved, though not entirely convinced. “I’ve got all the fun I can handle, thanks. But I will miss your eggnog.”

  “Drop by anytime,” Derrick replied easily. “We’ll always have a cup for you.”

  The moment threatened to become awkward as they all just stood there smiling at each other, the ladies clearly anxious to get back to work while Paul and Derrick lingered, trying to find a way to bring up their desperate need for several pairs of helping hands without sounding pathetic, or even worse, duplicitous.

  Ida Mae rattled pots and pans meaningfully at the stove, prompting Derrick into action. “Well, my lovelies, off we go!” he declared heartily, blowing a collective kiss to them while Paul just stared at him with an accusing look. He grabbed Paul’s arm and turned to the door. Then, on an inspiration, glanced back. “By the way,” he said, “meant to mention that we’re looking for someone to help out with chores for the next few weeks. Filling wood boxes, keeping the walk swept, that sort of thing. So if you know anyone in need of a little holiday cash, send him our way. Maybe your man Farley?”

  Farley was the local handyman, and practically a fixture around Ladybug Farm. Paul shot an admiring and grateful look at Derrick, which faded quickly as Bridget said, “Oh, I don’t think Farley would be much help. He’s been laid up with a slipped disc all month. That reminds me, Ida Mae, we need to fix up a basket for him. He loves my chess pie. Do we have enough eggs?”

  She opened the refrigerator door to check while Ida Mae groused about not having all day to make a chess pie. Cici said with a shrug, “Everybody’s pretty busy this time of year, but I’ll let you know if I hear about anyone.”

  “If you hear about anyone,” Lindsay told her, “send him to me to paint the sewing room.” Then she grinned at the two men. “You know something, guys? I’m so proud of the way you’ve settled in and taken over running the B and B. When you first started you were over here every minute with some crisis or another, and now look at you. Completely in your element, everything under control.”

  “I always knew you could do it,” Cici agreed with an approving nod. “It’s just a matter of making up your mind to get things done.”

  Paul and Derrick glanced at each other, and then smiled. “So it is,” Paul agreed.

  Bridget closed the refrigerator door, a bowlful of fresh eggs in her hands. “We’re going to have you boys over for dinner before Christmas,” she said, “so save an evening for us.”

  “And of course you’ll all be our guests for Sunday brunch,” Derrick returned generously. “Bring the family.”

  There were more hugs and good-byes, and when the men reached their car they sat there for a moment, shoulders slumped, thinking.

  “The tree trimming party idea was brilliant,” Paul offered in a moment. “So was Farley.”

  “Too bad neither of them worked.”

  Paul sighed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. I was just so embarrassed to be asking for help again. Particularly after we’d been doing so well on our own the last few months.”

  “And they are so beastly efficient,” agreed Derrick.

  “Which is precisely why they could have whipped everything into shape at the Hummingbird House in an afternoon.”

  “And it’s not
as though we wouldn’t have done the same for them.”

  “Except they never would have asked us to.”

  “Right.” It was Derrick’s turn to sigh. “Well, we certainly can’t ask them now. We’re on our own. On the other hand,” he added, with an obvious effort to look on the bright side, “we did at least have the foresight not to take any reservations between now and Christmas. Our schedule is clear.”

  Paul did not look cheered. “I suppose we could put an ad in the paper,” he said in a moment.

  “Too late for that. It wouldn’t even come out until next week.”

  Paul looked at Derrick solemnly. “We should have spent less time in the planning stage.”

  Derrick nodded agreement and they sat there for a time, considering. Then, with a silent nod of resignation, Paul started the engine. “Well,” he said, “let’s go talk to Purline about cutting down some trees.”

  FIVE

  The Plum Room

  Angela Phipps walked into her husband’s study just in time to see him slip what was clearly a small wrapped present into his desk drawer and turn the key in the lock. It was probably some overdone piece of jewelry or another, which he knew perfectly well would go straight from its box to the safe at the bank without her ever even trying it on. His gifts were really little more than investments these days, and hadn’t been for years. Which was why she was so puzzled—and frankly, annoyed— by the Christmas card he had left on her dressing table, with the brochure and reservation confirmation inside.