Chapter 6 Clara #2
All eyes were still on me, and I realized that I’d just stopped talking.
So I offered them a wide smile and refocused.
“It’s the color of grass,” I said, wincing at the reason.
I loved green so much because everything Christmas started around the Christmas tree.
The ornaments, the lights, the camaraderie that took place between the people decorating.
If you didn’t have a Christmas tree, was it Christmas?
That was why I loved the color. I hated the mayor for forbidding me from speaking those words.
Grinchland and Mayor St. Kill-joy could just jump in a frozen, winter lake.
Listening to the little kids stand up and say their name and then their favorite color helped alleviate my frustration. Some voices were small and shy while others were large and boisterous. The mixture of personalities was the same in every class, and Grinchland was no exception.
When it got to the little girl with braids, she twirled her hair around her finger as she stood.
“Isabelle St. Nick, and my favorite color is pink.” She paused and I could tell that she was thinking hard.
“Because I like bubble gum,” she said with a wide smile that emphasized her missing front tooth.
St. Nick? Was that the little girl I saw in the window last night? I glanced back at Maria. “The mayor’s daughter?” I mouthed.
She nodded. I stepped closer to her because I had questions. Isaac Parkes went on to introduce himself, but I was only half listening.
“That’s the mayor’s daughter?” I asked in a hushed voice while keeping my attention forward as Isaac sat down and the little girl with a dark bob cut stood.
“Yes,” Maria whispered as she nodded at Melanie, who finished explaining in detail why aquamarine was her favorite color.
“Her mom is fine with not celebrating Christmas?” There was a reason Scrooge was a man, not a woman. They were the sex most willing to cancel the holiday. Silas was proof of that theory.
Maria paused, and I looked over at her to see if I’d missed her explanation. She met my gaze before turning it back to the kids.
“Her mom passed away three years ago when Isabelle was two.” She nodded. “Thank you, Trudy. Orange is such a pretty color.”
My stomach dropped as my gaze snapped over to Isabelle, who was doodling in a notebook while swinging her feet. While I didn’t know that particular kind of loss, my heart ached for that little girl.
And maybe my heart ached a bit for Silas. Just a little bit. Or at least I was beginning to understand why he was the way he was. I understood anger. I understood grief. I understood wanting to lock the door and push the entire world away.
But canceling Christmas? Refusing to participate in the holliest, jolliest time of the year? That I didn’t understand.
Christmastime was the perfect antidote to sadness. How could anyone feel bad when looking at twinkling Christmas lights or basking in the excitement of prepping for Santa? Maybe that was what Silas needed. A reminder of what made this time of year the best.
I’d decided to forgive Silas while I walked out to my car after school.
Maybe we had just got off on the wrong foot.
There were things about him that I didn't know, and vice versa.
Gran had always taught me that there were always two sides to every story.
And while I'd like to believe that Silas was the Grinch of Grinchland, life wasn't always so cut and dry.
I was going to go home, carefully wrap up the cookies that I decorated yesterday, and walk over to start fresh with the mayor. It was time to put the past behind us and move forward.
I saw a flash of gold run across my driveway, causing me to slam on my brakes. It shimmied through the iron bars of Silas’s fence.
“Dog,” I muttered under my breath. I’d seen him come over a few times. I always waited to see if he was going to do something to my decorations, but he just trotted around and then eventually left. He was someone from that house that I actually looked forward to seeing.
I lingered in my driveway, just in case he decided to come back.
I didn't want to accidentally hit him. But when it became clear that he was gone for good, I pulled forward and parked in front of the garage before turning off the engine.
I grabbed my purse and teacher bag and pulled open the driver's door.
The cold winter air hit me and the snow beneath my shoes crunched as I climbed out of my car. I slammed my door shut then gripped the top of my zipper tighter to my chest as I hurried to my front door. I slipped the key into the lock, and just as my fingers grabbed the handle, I froze.
Right in front of my face was a white piece of paper taped to my door. Big bold letters at the top said, “CITATION: City of Grinchland.” I scrolled to the neatly written reason above the word offense.
Public nuisance: Excessive storage of materials visible from the public right-of-way
I blinked. Excessive storage of materials? I glanced behind me. Was he talking about my Christmas decorations that I’d just started putting up this morning? And then I read a bit further down.
Total fee if paid within 21 days: $120.00
Heat pricked at my neck. One hundred and twenty dollars? Was he nuts? I sputtered. Why did it cost so much? All I wanted to do was share a little holiday spirit with the town. I pinched my lips together and narrowed my eyes.
This man…this man…
I wanted to think some thoughts that would definitely stick me at number one on the naughty list, but I had a better idea. He could write me citations all he wanted, but that was the coward’s way of doing things. I would take the high road.
Ten minutes later, I pulled my front door shut behind me. Balanced on my right hand was a plate of perfectly decorated Christmas cookies. I’d wrapped them in cellophane and even used my good Christmas ribbon to tie it shut.
With the citation tucked into my jacket pocket, I rounded the fence, walked across his lawn, and up to the front door.
A large, lion’s head knocker sat in the middle of the ornate, wood door.
I lifted it and let it fall a few times.
Then I slipped my right hand under the plate of cookies to join my left and waited.
A few seconds later, the door opened and Isabelle’s wide eyes stared up at me. “Ms. Snow?”
I smiled and leaned in. “Is your daddy home?”