Page 22 of Once Upon a Christmas Carol

It didn’t take as long as Maria had anticipated to have the Grange Hall all set for the evening.

And with softer lamps and electric lanterns glowing, it looked even better in the nighttime than in the day.

But Carol didn’t mind having spare time because it was interesting to help the chattering Grange women fussing about in the kitchen.

At first Carol assumed they were stereotypical “farm wives” who possibly lived in the shadows of their traditional farmer spouses, but after helping the loquacious ladies set up the food and drinks, she was surprised to discover that the woman in charge, Maggie Pierson, was a divorcee who’d inherited a large cattle ranch that she’d been managing on her own for several decades now.

And Lucille Vaughn, a quiet, industrious widow with short gray hair, managed her own two hundred acres with the help of several farmhands.

Realizing that trying to help in the kitchen was wearing Maria out, Carol suggested they go sit down at a table in the main hall. As they exited the kitchen, an older couple was just coming in the main door.

“There’s Antonia and Larry,” Maria told Carol. “Victor’s mama and pop.” She called out to the couple, waiting for their slow approach since Larry was moving awkwardly with the help of a cane. After introductions, Maria led the way to a table along the wall.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Antonia told Carol after they all sat down. She turned to her husband. “This is that gal Victor told us about, Larry.” She said Carol’s name slowly. “Carol.”

His eyes lit up. “ Christmas Carol?”

Carol laughed. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Of course, Maria used this opportunity to explain about Carol’s birthday being on Christmas. After the normal reactions that she usually tried to avoid by keeping her birthdate under wraps, she confessed that she usually wasn’t one to celebrate.

“It’s always been sort of awkward,” she said. “People either feel sorry for you or they act like it’s something special.”

“It is something special.” Antonia patted her hand. “You share your special day with our Lord and Savior. What a privilege for you.”

“I guess so.” Carol didn’t know what to say, suddenly feeling guilty for all the times she’d complained about her birthday.

“Christmas Carol,” Larry said again. “You sing?”

Carol laughed. “Not so well. But I do enjoy it.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Pretty girl. Sing pretty.”

“Not right now, Larry,” Antonia quietly said.

“We’ll all sing carols on Christmas Eve,” Maria assured him. “With all our friends and neighbors. Just like we always do.”

He nodded with a slightly vacant expression.

“And what about Carol’s birthday?” Antonia asked Maria. “I’d like to do something special to celebrate with her on Christmas Day.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Carol said quickly. Besides not wanting any special attention, the idea of Victor’s mother planning something for her felt awkward. “We’ll just have had a busy evening on Christmas Eve. I don’t want you to go to any trouble for—”

“No trouble. In fact, Victor and I will cook something really special for you,” Antonia told Maria.

“You’ll get no complaints from me,” Maria said.

“A party for Carol,” Antonia told Larry.

“Pretty Carol,” he said pleasantly. “Good for her.”

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Antonia said before turning back to Carol. “And I think I recognize your dress. Isn’t it Maria’s?”

Maria confirmed this and the women began making favorable comments on Carol’s appearance, almost as if she weren’t there.

Finally, feeling uncomfortable, she stood.

“I, uh, I’m thirsty. Can I get you folks something to drink?

They have a tasty cranberry punch and some hot tea.

And I’ll bet the coffee is ready to serve by now.

” She took their orders and, eager to escape, excused herself.

She didn’t mind that they approved of her appearance, but she didn’t want to just sit and listen.

And besides that, she needed to figure out a way to put the brakes on their birthday plans for her.

Partly because it was embarrassing, but mostly because the idea of being in Victor’s home just felt plain awkward.

Yet she didn’t want to appear ungrateful or put a damper on their festive evening tonight.

As she walked to the kitchen, she decided to ask Maria to help her sort it all out tomorrow.

When she emerged with a tray of drinks, a three-piece band was just setting up on the little stage.

She paused from navigating the throng of guests streaming in to check them out.

A young woman wearing a flowing floral skirt was tuning a violin while a bearded man plucked a few notes on his guitar and another removed a mandolin from a case.

Several female guests milled about the bandstand, visiting among themselves and pointing about the room. She didn’t like to eavesdrop but couldn’t help herself.

“Doesn’t this look inviting?” a redheaded woman said. “And wasn’t that nice to have a stove to warm up at by the entrance?”

“Maria really outdid herself this year.” A younger woman pointed to a nearby table. “Don’t you love those little lanterns?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how Maria managed all this,” a third woman said. “I heard she was laid up with a broken arm.”

“Yes, but Margie Kincaid told me her niece helped her,” the redhead said.

Just as the band began to play a bluegrass version of “Jingle Bells,” three men joined the women, and all of them chatted away like it was a happy reunion.

Feeling encouraged by the women’s comments, Carol brought her tray back to the table where her older companions were still waiting.

So maybe she’d been worried about nothing.

Victoria’s criticism had probably just been an attempt to put Carol in her place—to remind her she was the outsider.

Carol smiled pleasantly as she served the drinks, then sat down with her own coffee.

But as she observed more couples streaming in, cheerfully greeting each other as they removed winter coats—hugging, patting backs, obviously at home here in the Grange—she began to feel out of place again.

There was no denying she truly was the outsider here.

Not only was she from “another world,” she didn’t even have a date.

Maria and Antonia were chattering about an upcoming quilt show, and Larry was staring blankly at the crowd, possibly feeling as much on the outside as she.

Although Maria had mentioned that Larry had been the Grange president for years before his illness worsened.

Carol felt a nudge at her elbow and turned to see Antonia looking at her.

“Tell me about yourself,” Antonia said. “About all I know is you’re an interior decorator from Seattle.”

Carol considered this. There didn’t seem to be much to say beyond that at the moment, but she decided to try.

Digging deeper, she shared about an interest in gardening.

“Unfortunately, I live in a condo so I have to make do with container gardening on my terrace, but I’ve had good success with tomatoes and cucumbers and herbs and flowers .

.. and it really makes my terrace pretty and green all summer. ”

“Plants must grow well in Seattle’s wet, mild climate.”

“Yes. It makes me wish for a bit more room to grow. Occasionally I play with the idea of finding property with enough land and maybe some greenhouses. And then I’d grow lots of flowers and maybe even start a small floral design business.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

“Yes. But land is pretty spendy in my area.”

“That could be challenging.”

“I guess I need more affordable dreams.” She shrugged, trying to think of any other interests she could tell her about. “I’ve often wished I’d taken more time to learn how to cook.”

Antonia’s brows arched. “You don’t know how to cook?”

Carol shook her head glumly. “Cooking or any kind of homemaking never interested my mother, so I never really learned. Most of the time I’m content with microwave meals, but sometimes I wish I had skills like yours.”

“Don’t we all,” Maria chimed in. “No one cooks like Antonia. Well, except Victor. He’s got the gift too.”

Antonia looked proud. “Victor is far more accomplished than I am.”

“Well, I admire you both,” Carol confessed. “I doubt I could ever learn to cook something like lasagna. Even if I did, I doubt anyone would want to eat it. By the way, your lasagna was amazing.”

Antonia waved a dismissive hand. “Learning to cook is easy. Like rolling off a log.”

“My attempts at fancy cuisine usually tasted like they’d rolled off a log.” Maria laughed. “Lucky for me, Don and I always liked simple food.”

As Antonia and Maria continued to compare cooking fias cos and triumphs, Carol noticed that the room had filled with guests and a few couples were already dancing to the peppy music. Realizing how left out Larry seemed, she turned to him. “Did you used to like to dance?”

His eyes opened wide, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes. I dance.” Using the table to balance himself, he started to push himself up from the chair.

“Oh, Larry.” Antonia rested a hand on his arm. “I don’t think—”

“Yes.” He nodded at Carol. “Dance!”

Carol didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t meant to invite him to dance, but he seemed to think that was her intent. “Is it okay?” she quietly asked Antonia.

She chuckled. “Well, it’s up to you, sweetie. I’m not sure he’ll last out there for more than a few steps, but go ahead and give it a try. He’ll probably wear you out just leaning on your arm.”

Larry was already on his feet and reaching for his cane.

Carol linked her arm under his. “Maybe you should leave your cane behind. You can lean on me while we dance,” she told him, hoping that would work.

Antonia nodded her affirmation as she took her husband’s cane, and Carol slowly, very slowly, led Larry to the dance floor, where, to her relief, he managed to move a bit more gracefully than she expected.

It wasn’t exactly a dance, but it was close, and he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Even though she was grateful for her height and strength, and that she was able to offer him some support and keep him balanced, she was still relieved when the song ended with Larry on his feet.

“That was great,” she told him. “How about we have a rest and try it again later?”

He nodded. “Later. Yes.”

She looped her arm through Larry’s again, and they slowly, very slowly, retreated to rejoin Antonia and Maria.

About halfway there, Carol noticed an attractive blond near the main entrance.

Looking like a celebrity, the woman removed a fur-trimmed white cape to reveal a sparkling, pale-blue gown.

Carol realized it was Victoria ... with Victor.

She looked like the cotillion queen, and at her side, Victor was neatly dressed in black jeans, a white shirt and dark plaid vest, and a black bolo tie.

Country debonair. Victoria linked arms with him as several well-dressed friends boisterously greeted them.

The whole group, compared to her table, seemed full of youth and holiday cheer, obviously ready for a good time.

Carol suddenly realized Larry was weaving ever-so-slightly.

Worried he was tired, she diverted her attention from the striking couple and their noisy friends in order to navigate her slightly impaired and somewhat elderly partner back to the safety of the table, where Antonia and Maria both watched with wide eyes.

“Larry is a fabulous dancer,” she told the women as she and Antonia helped ease him into a chair.

“I had no idea you could still dance.” Antonia kissed her husband’s cheek, then shook her head in disbelief. “That was wonderful,” she whispered to Carol. “Thank you for asking him.”

Carol didn’t want to correct the misconception that she’d asked Larry to dance. After all, it had turned into a happy mistake. “If Larry wants to try it again after a rest, I’d love to be his partner.” She lowered her voice. “Well, unless you want to dance with—”

“No thank you,” Antonia said emphatically. “The last time we attempted to dance turned disastrous.” Her smile turned sad. “So I’ll warn you, dear, do so at your own risk.”

“Right.” Carol nodded, imagining the sweet old guy splayed across the floor with a room of onlookers gawking while she tried to get him to his feet. Maybe one dance was enough.