Rick Talbot lowered his newspaper to find the only other inn guest staring at him. His name was Toby and he was eight years old.
“I memorized my part,” Toby said, his young face aglow with pride. “I don’t need to look at the crypt.”
Rick tried to look interested. “That’s good.” The truth was that everyone within earshot probably had Toby’s script for the pageant memorized. The boy had been practicing for the school play nonstop ever since Rick arrived at the inn that afternoon.
“Do you want to hear me say my part?”
The boy’s voice was loud as a rock band. So, no, Rick did not want to hear it again. But Toby looked so earnest, Rick didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Slightly on the pudgy side, the boy had a round face and big blue eyes. Sandy hair fell across his forehead. The kid had been given the part of narrator but with that cherub face he could just as easily have played an angel. Preferably one without a speaking part.
“All right. Just don’t shout.”
“Mrs. Greenwell said I have to eject.”
Since eject was more accurate than the correct word project, Rick let it slide. Each word erupted from the boy’s mouth like a volcano. There was no other way to describe it.
When Rick remained silent, Toby added, “I have to eject so my dad can hear me.”
The words stirred a memory from the past. If you have something important to say, you must speak up, Ricky. Those words had been spoken by Mrs. Greenwell years ago when she was his third-grade teacher. It was good advice, which unfortunately he hadn’t always followed.
Resigning himself to another ear blast, Rick folded his paper. Earlier, Angel told him that Toby’s father had worked for Rick’s family mill until he was laid off in January. Rick had never met the man, but he remembered his father speaking highly of him. Maybe the man was hard of hearing. That would explain Toby’s concern. Unfortunately, hearing loss was an occupational hazard for lumberjacks. If that was indeed the case, the least Rick could do was lend the boy his ear.
“Okay, shoot.”
Positioning himself with an air of importance next to the floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree, Toby lifted his head orator-style. “TODAY IN THE TOWN OF DAVID . . .”
Apparently ejecting wasn’t the only lesson Toby had remembered from practice; he’d also picked up his teacher’s counsel to speak slowly. Painfully slow. His high, thin voice bounced off the papered walls of the Star Inn’s Victorian parlor, startling Dipstick the cat curled in a ball by the fire. The white tom jumped up with a flip of his black-tipped tail and streaked from the room.
Forcing himself to act like an attentive audience, Rick resisted the temptation to cover his ears. With a little luck the road leading out of town would be open by morning and he wouldn’t have to spend another day at the inn surrounded by Christmas decorations and the well wishes of others. Was it too much to ask to be miserable in peace? Had he known the much-needed loan would be turned down at the bank, he wouldn’t have bothered driving into town in the first place.
Having only recently buried his father, Rick had spent the last three months trying to straighten out the financial mess left behind. The lumber mill that had been in the family for generations was now in his hands, and he didn’t have a clue as to how to save it. If only so many families didn’t depend on it for a living. Losing the Talbot Lumber Mill would be yet another blow to a town that had been hit hard in recent years by the recession.
With so much weight on his shoulders, making merry was the last thing on Rick’s mind. So, no, he didn’t want to hear about peace on earth and goodwill to men. Bah, humbug. All he wanted was to go home to his little cabin and forget about Christmas and what looked like a bad year ahead.
He only hoped he could leave before losing his hearing.
The boy stopped reciting to inquire if Rick could hear him.
“You’d have to be deaf . . .” He cleared his voice. “Even the Martians can hear you.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the boy as he started up again. “SUDDENLY A GREAT COMPANY OF THE HEAVENLY HOST . . .”
Rick’s gaze drifted toward the archway where Angel, the inn’s flamboyant housekeeper, stood with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies. Right now he hoped she lived up to her name and saved him from this torture.
She didn’t. Instead she stood transfixed, as if she’d never heard the oft-repeated words before. Pointed strands of blond hair framed her round face like a picket fence. Her long red skirt, shiny green blouse, and candy-cane-striped apron would do Mrs. Claus proud.
“Bravo,” she exclaimed when at last Toby took a bow. Dangling bracelets and earrings jingled with her every move. “I do believe that was your best performance ever.” She set the tray down on a low table in front of the sofa. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Talbot?”
“Absolutely,” Rick said. For the boy’s sake he tried to sound like he meant it.
Toby’s grin practically reached his ears. Had Angel stopped while she was ahead, she would have saved them both trouble—or at least their ears. Instead she carried on like a Hollywood agent trying to feed her client’s ego.
Rick tried to discourage her with a shake of his head, but she blithely continued bestowing praise on the young thespian.
“Do you want to hear me say my part again?” Toby asked.
“I would love to,” Rick said, rising, “but it’s late.”
Angel smoothed her apron. “It’s only a little after seven,” she said with a beseeching look. “And my grandson needs the practice.”
“Toby’s your grandson?” He groaned inwardly. Arguing with a woman was always a bad idea, but taking issue with a grandmother even more so.
“Yes. He’s staying with me this week so his mother doesn’t have to drive him back and forth for rehearsals.” Her gaze sharpened. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you need to hear about the miracle of Christmas.”
Rick grimaced. “I’ve heard it.” More times than he cared to admit, as it turned out.
“Have you now?” she said, doubt written in the lines of her face.
For crying out loud. He’d have to be stone-deaf not to have heard it.
She lifted a cup off the tray. “Why don’t you just sit back and relax, Mr. Talbot, and have some hot chocolate?”
Rick was about to decline when he made the mistake of glancing at Toby. Round puppy-dog eyes met his, and Rick knew he was a goner.
“All right, all right. One more time.” For Pete’s sake, why wasn’t there a law against kids with big blue peepers?
No sooner did he take the offered cup and a star-shaped cookie and sit than Toby opened his mouth and bellowed, “DO NOT BE AFRAID. I BRING YOU GOOD NEWS . . .”