Page 7 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“Come on in.” Abner held the door for them. “If you need warming up, I can make you some hot chocolate.”

“Never mind, Abner. We’re fine.” Ruth caught her breath in the entry as the door closed behind them. “I just picked up my children at the Chapmans’, and the girls wanted to share their cookies with you.” She glanced down at the cane. “How’s the knee? Are you favoring it more today?”

“It’s paining me some, but it’s just the weather. Might be a storm blowing in. Come on into the parlor. I’ve got a fire going. That’ll warm you up.” He ushered Ruth and Skip into the next room. Being in Abner’s house was like taking a step back into the 1950s—the furnishings and décor were long outdated but cozy. Family photos of Abner’s late wife and their children, all married and gone, decorated the walls. Ivory lace curtains hung at the windows. A hand-crocheted afghan lay over the back of the faded sofa. A corner shelf held old children’s books, photo albums, old school yearbooks, and other mementos.

An iron stove insert had been added to the redbrick fireplace, which made for more efficient heating. The room was warm and cheerful.

Ruth and Skip sat on the sofa, with Abner facing them in his worn La-Z-Boy recliner. The girls settled by the bookshelf, where they could choose their favorite picture books.

“How are you doing, Abner?” Ruth asked. “I’ve meant to come by sooner.”

“Now, Ruth, you know I’m always glad to see you and your youngsters,” Abner said. “But there’s no need for you to check on me. I’m doing just fine. You’re not even my first visitor of the day. Alice Wilkins came by to see me this morning.”

“Alice? The mayor’s wife—I mean ex-mayor’s wife?” Ruth pictured the officious woman with her mink coat and Cadillac—which she’d hung on to even after her husband confessed to personal use of public funds and was removed from office.

“One and the same. She’s the chairman of the new Branding Iron Events Committee. She stopped by to make certain I’d be available to play Santa for the parade and the ball.”

“I hope you said yes.”

“I did—although she was so pushy about it that I was tempted to put her off.”

“Alice Wilkins.” Ruth shook her head. “When I used to clean houses for a living, she was one of my clients—and not my favorite. I know exactly what she’s like. And now I know why Maggie isn’t on the committee. Alice has never forgiven Sam Delaney for replacing her husband as mayor, or Maggie for being his daughter.”

“It’s the committee’s loss,” Skip said. “Maggie’s had some great ideas. Without her, we might not even be having a parade. And the Cowboy Christmas Ball would still be just a boring dinner.”

“Will you be okay to play Santa?” Ruth asked. “I noticed the way you were leaning on that cane. You’re hurting, Abner.”

“I’ll be fine—though I might need help getting in and out of the sleigh, just like last year. I just hope Judd Rankin will be handling the horses again. He did a fine job of controlling the team in that crowd last year. His skill kept everybody safe, including me. But he might not want to do it again. Judd’s a very private person—although I can’t blame him for being the way he is. Spending five years in prison will do that to a man.”

Ruth stole a glance at her son. Skip’s expression had frozen on his face, but he said nothing.

She stood, forcing herself to smile. “I’ve taken enough of your time today, Abner. I’ve got things to do, and we don’t want to wear out our welcome. I’ll come by again in the next few days. Let me know if I can bring you anything. Come on, girls. We need to get going.”

“Hold your horses.” Abner put up a hand. “If you can stay another couple of minutes, I’ve got something to ask you. I keep remembering our big Christmas dinner last year and thinking how much I miss having friends around my table. If you don’t have other plans for Thanksgiving, how about coming here for dinner? I’d buy the turkey and most of the trimmings if you’d help me cook.”

“Oh, say yes, Mommy, please!” Janeen was on her feet, with Tammy clapping her hands. “That would be so much fun!”

“So how about it?” Abner asked. “We could invite some neighbors like last year and have a grand old time.”

“We’d love to come.” Ruth’s answer was easy. “But I can’t speak for the other folks. Trevor’s and Maggie’s families might have plans of their own.”

“Well, if they do, we could celebrate by ourselves. Or I could invite an old friend or two. Hank Miller at the hardware store is alone.”

“Then by all means, invite him. The guest list is up to you, Abner. But let’s count on it and start making plans. My goodness, Thanksgiving is just a week away. Where does the time go?”

Skip had fallen still after the remark about Judd. After taking leave of Abner, he followed Ruth and the girls out to the car and climbed into the passenger side. Ruth started the engine and headed back down the lane to the main road. As she drove, her son’s silence was like a burning fuse. In the back seat, the girls were playing with an old portable radio, changing stations, looking for music they liked. The sound would keep them from overhearing any conversation up front, but for now there was nothing to hear.

At last, Skip cleared his throat and spoke. “Did you know that Judd had been in prison?”

“It’s no secret. Most people around here do know—at least, the ones who’ve been around long enough to remember. If I didn’t tell you, it was because I didn’t think it was any of my business—or yours.”

“What did he do?”

Ruth sighed, the memory like a knife in her flesh. “According to the story, he was out one night with some biker friends. There was a fight with a rival gang. A man he hit fell and struck his head against a curb.”

“The man died?”

“Yes. Judd served time for manslaughter.” Ruth struggled to block the memory—gripping his leather jacket, begging him not to go out with his wild friends that night. Judd had laughed, climbed onto his motorcycle, and roared off down the street.

---