The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [82]
This was a holy night.
“Silent Night” was followed by “The Little Drummer Boy,” then “Joy to the World,” one carol flowing smoothly into another, ending with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
While Cathy and the others applauded loudly, Kate, in a burst of childish enthusiasm, spontaneously rushed forward and hugged Dean’s knees. “That was so pretty,” she squealed, her delight contagious.
Len jumped to his feet, continuing the applause. Soon the others stood, too, including Cathy.
The small choir seemed overwhelmed by their appreciation.
“This is the first time we ever got a standing ovation,” the girl with the camera said, smiling at her friends. “I didn’t realize we were that good.”
“Sing more,” Kate pleaded. “Do you know ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’?”
“Can you sing it with us?” Dean bent down and asked Kate.
The child nodded enthusiastically, and Dean had her stand in front of the choir. “Sing away.”
“Join in, everyone,” he suggested next, turning to face his small audience.
Cathy and the others didn’t need any encouragement. Their voices blended with those of the choir as if they’d sung together for weeks. “Rudolph” led to other Christmas songs—“Silver Bells,” “Deck the Halls,” and the time passed quickly.
When they finished, the choir members brought out paper cups and thermoses of hot chocolate. No sooner had the hot drink been poured than the station door opened again.
“So Clayton was right.” A petite older woman, with a cap of white hair and eyelids painted the brightest shade of blue Cathy had ever seen, entered the room. Two other women filed in after her.
“I’m Greta Barnes,” the leader said, “and we’re from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Women’s Auxiliary.”
“We’ve brought you folks dinner,” another woman told them.
“Now you’re talking!” Len Dawber shouted. “Sorry, folks, but a slice of fruitcake and a few pretzels didn’t quite fill me up.”
“Made for a great appetizer, though,” Nick said.
“The food’s out in the car. Would someone help carry it in?” Greta asked. She didn’t have to ask for volunteers a second time. Nick, Matt and Len were up before any of the other men had a chance. A couple of minutes later they were back inside, their arms loaded with boxes.
“It’s not much,” one of the other women said apologetically as she set a huge pot of soup on the counter. “We didn’t get much notice.”
“We’re grateful for whatever you brought us,” Sam assured the women. Louise nodded in agreement.
“Luckily the family had plenty of clam chowder left over,” the older of Greta’s friends said. “The soup’s a Christmas Eve tradition in our house, and I can’t help it, I always cook up more than enough.”
“Eleanor’s soup is the best in the state,” Greta declared.
“There’s sandwiches, too,” the third woman said, unpacking one of the smaller boxes.
“And seeing that no one knows when the repairs on those tracks are going to be finished,” the spry older woman added, “we decided to bring along some blankets and pillows.”
“All the comforts of home,” Matt muttered, but the caustic edge that had laced his comments earlier in the day had vanished.
“I must say you folks are certainly good sports about all this.”
Considering that this change in attitude had only recently come about, none of them leaped to their feet to accept credit.
“Like I said earlier,” Matt told her, speaking for the group, “we’re making the best of it.”
“We’re very grateful for the pillows and blankets,” Cathy put in.
“The food, too,” several others said.
The church choir stayed and helped pass around the sandwiches, which were delicious. Cathy ate half a tuna-salad sandwich, then half a turkey one. She was amazed at how big her appetite was. Food, like almost everything since Ron’s death, had become a necessity and not an enjoyment.
When the teen choir left, it was with a cheery wave and the promise that everyone who’d asked for a picture would be sure to receive one. With a responsible kindhearted man like Dean