Page 2 of It's a Wonderful Knife

“Is that right?” I smiled politely.

“Yep. Mona is just the best person ever. Such a sweetheart. Ezra is nice too.”

Something in her tone made me think she didn’t care for Ezra. “Do you not like her husband?”

She widened her eyes. “Oh, of course I do. He’s… fine.” She grimaced. “He’s just not as warm as Mona.” She laughed uneasily. “They have a son named Dakota. He smiles easily just like his mom, only he’s a tad shyer. But that’s probably just because he’s young. You know how kids have trouble talking to adults sometimes?”

I nodded. “It’s nice that the whole family works the farm.” I was just making conversation. I had no idea if it was nice or not. I’d have been in pure hell if I’d been forced to work for my family when I was younger. But all families were different. Perhaps the Montgomery family was thrilled to work and live together. Some families actually liked each other.

“Yep,” she murmured. “I’d be way too scared to make the drive alone. I’m so thankful for the bus.”

“That’s understandable. It’s a long drive.” I didn’t really share her warm opinion of this rumbling monstrosity. I couldn’t wait to get off the bus, and if I never rode another one, it would be way too soon.

She glanced around at the other passengers. “It’s a smaller group than usual this year. I wonder why more people didn’t come?”

Girdy must have been listening to our conversation because she turned around and peered at us between the seats. “A lot of people got that flu bug that’s going around. They had to cancel.”

I nodded. “True. I did treat a lot of people with the flu before we left.”

“Oh, no.” Hermina gasped.

“They’ll be fine, but they didn’t want to spread it around to the rest of us right before the holidays,” Girdy said.

“Well, that’s awful considerate of them.” Hermina gave another glance at the others. “I hope it will still be fun with such a small group.”

“It’ll be fine.” Girdy smiled. “After all, there are other guests at the farm too.”

“True,” Hermina said softly. “But only nine of us are Rainy Dale people.”

Personally, I thought finding anyone willing to make this trip was amazing. I couldn’t fathom what was so wonderful about chopping down your own tree. Royce had said it wasn’t the tree chopping so much as the time spent with friends and loved ones. That had made even less sense to me.

Girdy swiveled her spying eye to me. “How are you holding up, Max?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but apparently that offended Mary Puppins because she started barking again. Girdy smiled weakly and I shrugged. She looked surprised at my tolerant reaction, which told me I was on the right track.

Todd had been sleeping, and he suddenly jerked awake. “Huh? What’s wrong?” he asked groggily.

Girdy smiled at him affectionately. “Nothing is wrong. I was just talking to Max.”

“Oh, I see.” He turned to peer at me through the vinyl seats too. “How are you holding up, Max?”

I was a bit irritated that they kept asking me that, like I was a patient in a mental ward. They obviously had little faith in my ability to suffer fools. I guess I had no one to blame for that but myself. I didn’t have a lot of tolerance for some people. Most people. However, I was turning over a new leaf, so I gave a thumbs-up sign.

Todd laughed and faced forward again. “See, Girdy, I told you he’d be fine.”

I frowned. “Of course I’ll be fine.”

Girdy laughed and also faced the front of the bus. “There’s normal fine, and then there’s Maxwell Thornton fine.”

Todd chuckled. “That’s true enough.”

Hermina giggled. “They sure do have your number, Doc.”

“My number?” I scowled and then flinched when a string of golden tinsel fell from the ceiling of the bus onto my hair. Most of the string was still attached to the roof of the vehicle, but the loose end rested on my head, dangling in front of my face. There were a few sniggers from the passengers around me, but I lifted my chin and ignored them.

With amazing restraint, I moved the offending tinsel from my hair so that it was on my shoulder instead. I clasped my hands in my lap and said brightly, “Do you suppose the driver has another Christmas CD he could play?”

Hermina glanced at me. “You don’t like Dean Martin?”