Chapter 14

14

* * *

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker’s. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

Charlie topped the frothy hot cocoa in the five Christmas mugs lined up on the kitchen counter with miniature marshmallows. As she completed the garnishment, Dusty quietly took each one and placed it on a tray decorated with Frosty the Snowman’s face.

“I’ve heard rumors about this hot cocoa,” he said, reaching for the third cup.

Charlie looked at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Remember Janie Gray?”

“From high school? Of course. She and I were pretty good friends.” Charlie added the final handful of marshmallows. “Wonder whatever happened to her.”

“She moved to Canada to work for some hotshot company. Got married. Has two kids. Boy and girl.”

Charlie shot him a look. “What? You don’t have her exact street address?”

“Facebook,” he answered. “We touch base every so often.”

“Didn’t you date her for a while?” Charlie asked casually as though she didn’t know the answer. She picked up the last mug and handed it to Dusty.

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he added it to the tray. “Don’t give me that. You know good and well . . .”

Charlie grinned. “Okay. Okay. Janie Gray.”

Dusty looped his fingers in the handle of one of the mugs and brought it to his lips. He blew slowly, sending the marshmallows to the other side. “She told me,” he said, then took a sip. Swallowed. “Oh, my gracious goodness.” He blew again. “She was right. This is amazing.”

Charlie picked up the tray. “Old family recipe. I’d give it to you, but then I’d be forced to kill you.”

“Ha ha.”

Charlie carried the tray into the living room where Sis and her father, aided by Jeremy, carefully removed ornaments from a holiday storage bin.

“And this one,” Sis explained to Jeremy as she produced a brass impression of a little drummer boy, “belonged to Mister John when he was a little boy.” She pointed to the base of the ornament. “See his name there?”

“J-O-H-N,” Jeremy said.

Charlie placed the tray of cocoa on the coffee table. Dusty plucked up the one with the least amount of liquid and took it to his son. “Here, buddy. Try this.”

Jeremy wrapped both hands around it and gingerly sipped from the mug. “Mm,” he said, licking his lips.

“Careful now. It’s hot. Blow like Daddy showed you.”

Charlie sat on the sofa and smiled, remembering similar moments with her own father. “Dad?” she said, still uncomfortable with the title. “Want yours now?” She reached for her own and crossed her legs.

John stretched. “Think I will.”

Sis added the ornament to the tree. “I say it’s time for a break anyway.”

Charlie turned from her place on the sofa to look at the tree. “How am I supposed to enjoy the tree when it’s behind me?” she asked.

“The point is,” John began, “for Santa to see the tree’s lights from the neighbor’s roof, not for you to see the tree.” He ruffled Jeremy’s hair. “Right, sport?”

Jeremy tilted his beaming face toward John, a circle of cocoa around his lips. “Right.”

Sis sat in her rocker. “I can see it just fine.”

“Mmm,” Charlie teased. Then looking again at the tree, she added, “I’ve got the cranberries and popcorn for stringing. I just have to pop the corn.” She stood.

“Let me help,” Dusty said as she started out. “I’m a master popcorn popper.”

Charlie stared at him. “It’s microwave.”

He shrugged. “I’m a master microwave popcorn popper.”

“Go on, you two,” Sis said. “We’ve got this in here.”

Charlie pulled a box of popcorn and three bags of cranberries from the pantry, then handed the box to Dusty. “For you, Chef Dustin,” she teased.

He looked at the bags. “I’ve never known anyone to actually string cranberries.”

“It’s a tradition that started when I was a little girl,” she said. Then as she retrieved a large needle and the string, she told him about the monster tree.

Dusty placed the popcorn in the microwave and, after closing it, pressed the setting for Popcorn. He leaned against the counter, crossed his ankles, and crooked his finger.

“What?” Charlie said.

“Come here,” he mouthed.

She came closer, and he wrapped her in his arms before planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “I like knowing these stories about you,” he said.

“What about you? What stories of Christmas do you have? What traditions?”

He stood silently in thought, then said, “We always opened one gift on Christmas Eve.” He chuckled. “When my brothers and I were little, we spent days cross-legged in front of the tree, trying to figure out the best gift to open first.”

“That’s a nice tradition. Is there a reason behind it?”

“Not really, no,” he said over the rhythm of popping corn. “I’m sure my mother would like to say it has something to do with something or another, but the truth is I think she and my dad just liked that gathering together on Christmas Eve. We went to church, of course, for the candlelight service. Then home to dinner and pecan pie, after which my father would read the nativity story to us from the Book of Luke.”

“I think,” Charlie said as the microwave dinged, “that Christmas should be rich in remembrance of the birth of Jesus, blended with some of our traditional and modern traditions.”

Dusty reached for the microwave’s handle. “Traditional and modern, huh? Is this really the girl who rolled her eyes at the thought of A Christmas Carol?”

Charlie threw her hands up dramatically. “I never said I didn’t like traditional. I only said—oh, never mind.” She searched his face. “You’re egging me on, aren’t you?”

Dusty waved the bag of popcorn at her. “How many of these do you think we’re going to need?”

“Let’s start with three bags and see where we land.” She paused, watching him place another bag in the microwave. “Hey,” she added.

He looked at her. Closed the door.

“My father has asked me to go with him on Monday to see what it is he does.”

Dusty pressed the Popcorn setting once again. “Oh?”

“I didn’t say yes or no, but I think I’m going. I’d like to see what he does exactly.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe—I don’t know—maybe I’ll lose this uneasy feeling I haven’t yet quite lost.”

“Wise choice.”

“I don’t know, Dusty. I want to believe he’s changed. I do. It’s just—I learned a long time ago not to trust him. He didn’t go to jail once. He went back—more than once. Don’t you think some time should at least go by before we all relax and call him changed?”

Dusty crossed his arms in thought. “One time, when Jesus was talking to the disciples, he told them he was sending them out ‘like sheep among wolves.’ ”

“ ‘Therefore,’ ” Charlie finished, “ ‘be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.’ ”

“Right. And that means there are wolves. I guess it’s up to us, in our wisdom, to know the wolves from the puppies. And in the process, we’re to remain teachable. Innocent.”

“ ‘If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live—’ ”

Dusty chimed in for the last few words and said them with her: “at peace with everyone.” Dusty added, “Romans 12:18.” Then he said, “All you can do, Charlie, is give the man a chance. Meanwhile, keep your eyes and ears open. Jesus doesn’t expect you to set yourself up for abuse. But, well, I keep thinking about the apostle Paul.”

The microwave announced its completion once again, followed by three random pops from the bag. Dusty replaced the second bag with the third as he said, “You know. When he went from Saul to Paul, the disciples who were in Jerusalem didn’t believe it at first. They thought he was—I don’t know—a spy or something. They worried that the whole thing was a setup.”

“Mm-hmm. I get that.”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you go, Charlie?”

“I’m not sure. I’d have to think about that.” She paused. “I guess I could find out that he’s a liar . . . and Sis would be devastated, Dusty. I couldn’t bear that.”

“But at least you’d know sooner rather than later, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Now,” he said as the last bag of popcorn popped in earnest. “What’s the best thing that could happen?”

Charlie blinked. “The opposite, I suppose. I could find out he’s telling the truth.”

The microwave went into the final seconds of the cycle and dinged. “Either way, there’s only one way to find out.”