The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [80]
Len surveyed the tree, then stepped up and added his white cap, settling it near the top, where it sat jauntily.
The elderly black man moved forward next and added his tie clasp. He clipped it to the branch in an upright position like a clothespin, stepped back and nodded once, apparently pleased with the effect. “Hey, this tree doesn’t look so bad.”
Soon others became creative about decorating the Christmas tree. Cathy cut strips of red yarn and with Kate’s help draped the strands over as many branches as they could reach.
Even the grumpy salesman pitched in. Cathy saw him with the small pair of scissors on his Swiss Army knife, folding and cutting memos into paper snowflakes, then hanging them on the tree with dental floss. Actually they looked quite attractive against the backdrop of red yarn.
It wasn’t long before every branch sprouted some sort of odd decoration. True, it wasn’t a traditional Christmas tree, but it seemed to possess amazing powers. The scowls and complaints of moments earlier were now replaced by smiles and animated chatter.
“I think my daughter’s right,” Elise said, walking over to more closely examine their handiwork. “This is actually a beautiful tree.”
The little boy, around three or four, who’d stayed close by his parents the entire day, clapped in delight.
Cathy noticed several smiles.
“I’m hungry,” Kate whispered to her mother.
Worrying about their situation as she had for most of the day, Cathy hadn’t given any thought to food until the youngster mentioned it. She apparently wasn’t the only one.
“What about dinner?” Cathy asked, glancing about the room. It looked as though they’d been left to fend for themselves. Mr. Kemper had said someone would come by to check on them, but so far no one had.
“Nothing’s going to be open tonight,” Matt McHugh grumbled. “Not on Christmas Eve.”
“Especially not with the storm and all earlier,” Len put in.
Cathy could feel the mood of the room, so recently elevated, plunge. Already those who’d moved closer to the Christmas tree were sliding away to slump on benches by the walls.
“Now, that does bring up an interesting prospect,” Cathy said, speaking to the entire group for the first time. “I’m Cathy Norris, by the way. I’m going to visit my daughter and her family in Boston, and I just happened to bring along four dozen of her favorite shortbread cookies. Somehow, I don’t think she’d mind my sharing them with all of you.”
She brought out the tin and pried open the lid.
“My wife and I have several oranges,” the elderly black man said. “We can share those. Since we’re going to be eating together, it’s only appropriate that we introduce ourselves. My name’s Sam Givens and my wife’s Louise.”
“Thank you, Sam and Louise,” Cathy said. “Anyone else?”
“I’m Matt McHugh. I was given a fruitcake on my last sales call,” Matt surprised her by saying. “I would’ve thrown the damn thing out, but one of my kids likes the stuff. I can cut that up if anyone’s interested.”
“Well, I’m quite fond of fruitcake,” Kelly Berry said.
Although the depot office was locked, the counter was free and Cathy placed the tin of cookies there. Matt took out the fruitcake and sliced it with his Swiss Army knife. Sam Givens brought over the oranges, then peeled and sectioned them.
Elise Jones collected paper towels from the restroom to use as napkins. Soon more and more food appeared. It seemed almost everyone had something to share. A plate of beautifully decorated chocolates. A white cardboard box filled with pink divinity and homemade fudge. Then a tin of peanuts and a bag of pretzels. Len added a package of cinnamon-flavored gum.
A crooked line formed and they all helped themselves, taking bits and pieces of each dish. It wasn’t much, but it helped do more than dull the edge of their hunger. It proved, to Cathy at least, that there was hope for them. That banding together they could get through this and even have a good time.