Norma C Plummer
The B. & B. Christmas
Why would a forty-five-year-old widow be driving alone down a strange
country lane at midnight? Lily wondered that herself. Her friend Sarah,
aware that this would be Lily’s first Christmas alone, had invited her
to Christmas dinner - just the two of them at her apartment. Lily
appreciated being taken in at this awkward season of the year for her.
As well, Sarah had been given two tickets to the winter revival of a
successful Warwick Summer Theatre play to be held on December 23rd. The
two friends planned to stay over at a Bed & Breakfast farmhouse nearby.
So two days before Christmas Lily made the two-hour drive to Warwick,
accompanied by Sarah.
During intermission they became separated. At the last curtain call
Sarah gripped Lily by the arm to explain that she had met her cousins in
the lobby. This lively, middle-aged couple had urged Sarah to join their
family gathering for Christmas, only ten miles from Warwick.
"I don’t suppose you’d really mind if I accepted, would you Lily? You’re
so independent and resourceful," Sarah gushed, her eyes glistening with
excitement.
Lily had somehow risen to the occasion and given her approval in such a
way as to leave Sarah without a trace of guilt. But what plans could she
make for Christmas at this late date, thought Lily? She felt quite
desolate.
Fortunately she found the B. & B. at Harlow’s lane easily, and passed
their ancient pines powdered with snow. In a few minutes Lily was being
ushered into the kitchen of the old stone farmhouse.
"I’m sorry to be so late," apologized Lily, "and I should explain that
my friend Sarah has had a change of plans."
''Oh that's alright,'' replied her hostess. ''Now just call me Mattie,
and my husband here, Len. Our Siamese cats, Bran and Muffin, are shy at
first with strangers.''
Even in her loose robe, Mattie's bulky figure was evident. Her thick
neck, weather-worn face lined with smile creases, and wiry grey hair
suggested strength. Len, in contrast, was of slight build. His face wore
a boyish expression, while his brown hair had refused to turn grey,
cowlick and all. To the Harlows, Lily appeared tall and almost bony.
With her salt-and-pepper hair curled closely to her head, and tailored,
navy suit, she seemed overly neat to them.
Mattie suggested that Lily might be warmer and just as comfortable on
the daybed in the curtained alcove off the kitchen. While Mattie made
preparations, Lily had a chance to glance about the spacious old
kitchen. The few modern appliances had been relegated to a pantry. A
mammoth wooden table, supported by elephant-like legs dominated the
room. Competing for attention were a huge black iron wood stove, and a
pine sideboard. Blue padded rocking chairs and a plate rail of china
added colour.
In the morning Lily awoke to see a shaft of sunlight across her quilt
and over the backs of Bran and Muffin. Her first thought was what would
she do about her own Christmas, but no answer came to mind.
Breakfast was a generous country spread served on Old Blue Willow china.
After their meal, they sat awhile and chatted. The Harlows had been
retired for several years now, renting their acreage to their good
neighbours the Blackwells across the way. Since Mattie and Len no longer
drove, they also depended on the Blackwells to take them into town for
supplies.
Len had been the district's first househusband, long before the term had
come into use. After their marriage Len had found himself unsuited to
the rigours of farming the land Mattie had inherited.
His training had been as a telegrapher for the railroad. But evidently
the pair had worked out their problems, in spite of appearing so
mismatched.
They were interrupted by their ring on the party line. It was Bert
Blackwell saying that his family had suffered colds all week, and he was
sorry they wouldn't be going into town today after all. At this news
Mattie and Len looked so disappointed, that Lily offered to drive them
in.
By the time they returned home, it was mid-afternoon. When Mattie
started to say, "I don't suppose...", Lily jumped in with, "Yes, I would
like to stay over another night, if I may." Then they all settled down
for one of those 'not a creature was stirring' sort of naps. Lily nodded
off in the middle of deciding which friend to call about Christmas Day.
After supper on Christmas Eve, the three of them fell silent. Suddenly
Len slapped the table top with the flat of his hand, declaring that the
least they could do was to put up some decorations, while listening to
carols on the radio (their television had been out of order for months).
With a smile Mattie put on an extra sweater and went upstairs to find
the boxes. They were soon sorting among tree ornaments that would be
considered collectors' items. A small pair of Christmas trees now
sparkled at each end of the big table.
Len brought out popping corn as a reward for their efforts. To complete
the evening Mattie suggested they read aloud Dylan Thomas's "A Child's
Christmas in Wales". Lily listened with pleasure to the poetic prose
read in Len's rich voice. The cats came out from behind the stove, Bran
climbing onto Mattie's lap, and Muffin onto Lily's.
As the narration ended, the popcorn bowl lay almost empty, and the hour
was late. Lily had forgotten to worry about Christmas Day again.
The Day dawned crisp and clear. Bran and Muffin had already jumped down
at the first clatter of the stove lids. Lily joined the Harlows for
another hearty breakfast, now planning to phone ahead to one of her
friends from the nearest town along the route home.
Soon Lily was saying goodbye at the car, when Jamie, the eldest
Blackwell son, joined them. Very shyly he admitted that his mother had
taken to her bed with a heavy cold and exhaustion. The younger children
had been packed off to his married sister's place. Mattie and Len were
obviously concerned. So Lily took a few minutes to drive them over to
the Blackwells.
While Mattie went upstairs to see Emily, Mrs. Blackwell, the men headed
for the barn to help Bert. In a few moments Mattie came downstairs to
say that Emily was going to sleep awhile, said goodbye to Lily once
more, and headed for the barn as well. Lily felt like leaving, but the
mess left from the Blackwell's family celebration on Christmas Eve was
too much for her neat tendencies. At least she would pick up the clutter
of wrappings on their livingroom floor. Angus, their old border collie
trotted along.
Placing a cardboard box at mid-room, on a whim Lily commanded Angus to
gather, whistling softly and sweeping her arms in a circular motion. The
dog's sheep herding instincts were aroused. It circled the room, then
hunching down, began nosing the wrappings toward the centre, while Lily
folded them away into the box. "Good dog, good dog!" repeated Lily.
Then Lily decided to clean up the kitchen as well. An hour later she
tiptoed upstairs to find Emily awake, and asked her how she felt.
"I'm a bit shaky", Emily admitted. Then smiling she said, "So you're
Lily, the B. & B. guest. Was it rather gloomy at the Harlows last
night?"
"Oh, no. We spent a very pleasant evening together." Lily went on to
describe their activities. "Why do you ask?"
"They wouldn't mention it to you of course, but many years ago they lost
a son just about this time of year. Ever since they have celebrated
Christmas, well... with restraint."
Lily sighed at hearing this, paused, and then offered to bring some
lunch for Emily. So it was about one o'clock before Lily started
homeward at last. It was now that Lily realized how unimportant it was
how she spent her Christmas Day. She had already enjoyed her encounter
with these fine, new people in their quiet, rural setting ever so much.
Lily kept in touch with Mattie and Len. In his first letter to her, Len
mentioned that the Blackwells were puzzled when their dog Angus had
taken to gathering all their work boots into the middle of the mud room.
Lily just smiled sheepishly.
By Norma C. Plummer