Chapter 12
Twelve
THE TREE LIGHTING
The courtyard of the post office was the centerpiece of the downtown activity.
It featured the decorated but still unlit Christmas tree.
There were choir rafters not far from the tree that held an eight-member choral group, singing “Carol of the Bells.” Josie was one of the singers, wearing a lovely red-and-white ankle-length Victorian hoop dress, complete with a bonnet.
Her boyfriend, Dexter, was smiling proudly from the crowd, wearing his varsity jacket.
On the other side of the courtyard was a podium and microphone where the mayor would say a few words.
Next to the podium was an overly large prop light switch.
It didn’t connect to anything, but once thrown, a nearby city engineer would turn on the real power.
Weaving her way through the crowd and cracking her gum as she did, Goldie spotted Paul and Saul McCaw near the courtyard of the post office.
They were wearing the same clothes she’d seen them in when they took her into the mountains.
They stood there like totem poles, staring unemotionally at the tree and apparently unaffected by the people and holiday spirit in the air.
Standing with them were five younger children, ages six to thirteen.
Like the brothers, they were dressed in somewhat ragged clothing and looked like they’d all been cast in a production of Oliver.
They likewise stood looking at the tree, stone-faced, waiting for something to happen.
“Ay, Paul, Saul,” she greeted. “How ya doin’?”
“Hey, Goldie,” Paul acknowledged.
“Hey,” Saul said, straight-faced.
“Come to see your tree all decked out?”
“Yeah,” Saul replied. “And to get the kids some jerky from Miller’s.”
“They got good jerky,” Paul noted.
“Yeah, I remember,” she said, smiling and looking at the kids. “And who do we have here?”
“Nieces and nephews,” Paul said.
“They called us and wanted to see the tree all lit,” Saul explained.
“Not to mention hang out with us,” Paul added. “We’re the fun uncles,” he said blankly.
“They ‘called’ you? You have phone service in the mountains?”
“Maybe,” Saul replied. “Depends on the day and whether or not the line is up.”
“We’re in the phone book,” Paul announced, as if it were an accomplishment.
Goldie looked at the deadpan faces of the entire family and took a deep breath. “Alrighty then. You crazy kids try to keep it to a low rumble tonight. Merry Christmas.”
“Yup,” Saul said.
“Adios,” Paul nodded.
She continued moving through the crowd toward the podium and got about ten feet in front of it when Mayor Banyan stepped up to the microphone.
“Could I have everyone’s attention, please?” he asked.
The choral group stopped singing, and everyone quieted down. Peter came up next to her with two paper cups of hot chocolate and a strap slung over his shoulder for his camera bag. He and Goldie didn’t have a prearranged date, but she was secretly hoping she’d run into him.
“Hi,” he greeted. “Thought you might need this.”
He handed her a cup, and she smiled, delighted.
“Ay! Thanks!”
“I always want a drink when my father makes a speech,” he joked. “But I admit, it’s usually something stronger.”
She laughed, then dipped a hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a tissue to dispose of her gum.
“I want to thank everyone for coming out,” the mayor began, “as we celebrate the beginning of the Sparkledove Christmas season with the annual lighting of the community tree.” He spotted and gestured to Goldie.
“Being covered this year, I might add, by Karen ‘Goldie’ Maraschino, a famous journalist from Adventure Escape Magazine.”
The crowd applauded as Goldie’s face turned red.
“Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. “Hundreds of people just saw me spit my gum into a Kleenex.”
“Congratulations,” Peter said quietly. “You’ve just become a PR tool.”
“As we’ve done in years past,” Banyan continued.
“We’ve got music, food, plenty of holiday cheer, and all the stores are staying open until 10:00 p.m. for your shopping convenience.
And be sure to get a Calendar of Events flier being handed out by our volunteers listing the dates and times of all the other activities coming up in town over the next few weeks. ”
Goldie glanced around and saw a few people starting to pass fliers out amongst the crowd. Peter’s mom, Stephie, was among them.
“As everyone knows, this is a very unusual Christmas with so many of our boys serving far from home. So, to honor them, and in accordance with President Roosevelt’s recommendation, we’ll be turning off the tree at 10:00, then imposing blackout conditions.
But, until then, please enjoy yourselves and the wonderful hospitality of Sparkledove. ”
The crowd applauded again. As they did, Peter leaned into Goldie.
“Notice how he totally ignored the president’s recommendation yet made it sound like he didn’t?”
“He’s a smoothie,” she admitted.
“That comment, incidentally, was off the record,” he reminded.
“Of course,” she agreed.
“And now,” Banyan smiled. “I’d like to invite six-year-old Patty Bellows and her folks up to the stage. Patty asked me months ago if she could throw the big light switch this year, and I said yes. So, I want her to grow up knowing there’s at least one politician who keeps his promises.”
The crowd laughed and applauded as a curly-haired girl who looked a little like a young Shirley Temple was carried up to the stage in the arms of her father, with her mom following close behind.
“Hold this, will you?” Peter said, handing Goldie his cup. As she took it, he slid the camera bag off his shoulder, opened it up, and took out his camera. He also took out a flash attachment and connected it to the camera.
“Time to go to work,” he smiled. Then he moved away from her, heading closer to the stage.
Goldie sipped her hot chocolate as the mayor continued his show.
“Dad—make sure Patty’s hand is on the big switch. Now, let’s all count it down together, shall we? Here we go. Three! Two! One!”
The little girl threw the switch, which meant the city engineer watching her threw the real switch.
In an instant, the twenty-foot-tall dark shadow of the tree came to life with hundreds of large-bulb multicolored lights.
The crowd made a collective “Ooooo,” several flashbulbs popped, and a popular version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” started to play over the PA system.
Goldie chuckled, sipped her hot chocolate, and drank everything in like a kid just discovering the North Pole.
She let the Christmas bug nip at her toes just like the other tourists.
After about a minute, she saw the sheriff moving through the crowd, followed by the two tough-looking men who helped him with the barricade.
About ten seconds after this, Peter returned to her and retrieved his hot chocolate.
“I’m sure I could arrange a couple of minutes with our young Switcher of the Tree if you like,” he offered.
“In a minute,” she answered. “Who are those two guys over there with the sheriff?”
He looked in the direction she was pointing, then shrugged. “Tully and Crosby. Tully’s the one with the black hair, Crosby’s got the red hair and mustache. Tully worked in town for a while at a breakfast place, but I don’t think either one lives in town now. They do stuff for my dad.”
“Yeah? What kind of stuff?”
“I’m not sure. But between him being the mayor, president of the historical society, and owning a realty company, he’s got a lot of things going on.”
“I bet,” she agreed, slightly suspicious.
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to Patty.”
Goldie and Peter weaved through the crowd. Peter made the introductions, then Goldie spent a couple of minutes talking to Patty and her father. When she was finished, Charles Banyan came over to her. In the interim, Peter paused to take a photo of the happy faces in the crowd.
“So, Goldie. What do you think?” he asked.
“I gotta admit, Mayor, you throw a heck of a party.”
“And this is just the beginning. You go on and have fun now, and if there’s anything you need, just ask.”
As Banyan stepped away, she was sorely tempted to inquire about the two men Peter identified as Tully and Crosby, but her instincts told her not to. In any event, she noticed that the sheriff was now chatting with visitors some distance away, and the other two were nowhere to be seen.
Before Peter rejoined Goldie, his father caught his eye and subtly gestured to have a private word with him.
“Nice job with the speech,” the younger man began.
“I don’t think what you’re doing with Goldie is a good idea,” his father said flatly.
“What’s that?” Peter asked innocently.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Coming on to her, walking her home after Thanksgiving dinner, going with her into the mountains to get the tree, taking her out to lunch.”
“How do you know we had lunch?”
“It’s my town, Peter. I know everything. Now you’re sipping hot chocolate with her.”
“Don’t worry. We’re practicing safe sipping,” the younger one joked.
“I mean it,” Charles said seriously. “She could conclude you’re being attentive just because you’re my son and I want a good article out of her.”
“Oh, and she wouldn’t conclude that from the plane tickets, free hotel, meals, and clothing you’re providing?”
“That’s different, and you know it. That’s a business arrangement for the good of the community. A publication like hers expects a certain amount of preferential treatment. What you’re doing is personal.”
“Not as personal as I’d like it to be,” Peter smiled.
“I’m telling you, leave her alone!”
Peter turned and went back to Goldie. As he did, he noticed she’d observed some of the conversation with his father and, even though she was out of earshot, he could tell she knew it was a tense exchange.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just the usual guff from my ol’ man,” he downplayed. “I swear, I could win a Pulitzer Prize for literature, and he’d say: ‘What? You don’t keep it dusted?’”
She smiled, then they turned and started to meander toward the lit tree.
“Speaking of Pulitzer, that was quite a nice obituary you wrote for Bucky Eggleston.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah. His wife showed it to me. You have a terrific sense of prose.”
“Well, thanks. I’ve read some of your articles, and you’re not too bad yourself. Although who you are in person and who you are on paper seem to be two different personalities.”
“Huh. Interesting,” she replied, a little coquettish.
As they came closer to the tree, Peter pointed out some of the historical ornaments on it and their significance to the community. They talked, smiled, and sipped their hot chocolate like two people clearly attracted to one another.
Observing them from a distance was Eli Johnson.
He and Goldie hadn’t spoken since she left him in a huff at the Pine River Inn, and the regret of the episode was clear on his face.
He slowly leaned forward and rubbed a gloved hand up and down his bad leg that sometimes got irritated by the cold weather until he heard a voice behind him.
“Someone steal your girl?”
He turned to see white-haired Stu Frey standing there and smiling.
“Oh… hi, Stu. Uh, she’s not my girl. She’s just a lady here to do a job.”
“Looks like Peter has other intentions,” Stu observed.
Eli glanced at Goldie and Peter again. “Yeah—well—they’re both adults. I gotta go make my rounds. I’ll see ya.”
Later that evening, at about 10:40, the streets of Sparkledove were mostly clear.
The Christmas tree was off, the barricades used to close off River Street had been moved, and the vendors who had brought in their trailers were buttoning up their rigs for the drive home.
At the back of the corn dog trailer, Charles Banyan, Tully, and Crosby came up to the trailer’s owner.
“Good night tonight, Lou?” Banyan asked.
“Not bad, not bad,” Lou answered. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then dipped into the pocket of his winter coat and handed Banyan a white letter-sized envelope.
“There ya are, Mr. Mayor,” Lou said. “My vendor fee for settin’ up on River Street.”
Banyan opened the envelope, ran his thumb over a stack of bills, then closed it.
“I’m afraid you’re a little light, Lou. I’m going to need another fifty.”
“Fifty dollars more?” Lou blurted, astonished. “For what?”
“Proximity to the post office, hook-up to power, and we had a larger crowd than last year.”
“Yeah, but that don’t mean people bought more corn dogs. With the war, I had to pay extra for all my food staples. If you charge me an extra fifty, it will have cost me money to come here.”
“Fortunes of war,” Banyan replied. “You want to come back for other festivities, don’t you? We’ll have a new crowd of tourists for the Tour of Homes, and you can make it up then.”
“Until you charge me even more the next time.”
“Let’s see what the next time brings,” the mayor smiled. “But, for now, I’m going to need that fifty. All the other vendors kicked in extra; you should too.”
Lou looked at Banyan’s menacing associates, then shook his head, took off a glove, and dug a hand into his trouser pockets.
“This ain’t right,” he complained. “This ain’t fair at all!”
Lou produced a wad of bills, peeled most of them off, then handed them over to the dapperly dressed mayor. As this was happening, all of the men were unaware that Goldie was watching from a darkened doorway.
I knew ‘dem boys were muscle, she thought to herself. I knew it!