That Christmas Feeling (11 page)

Rob sighed. People were elbowing each other as the ambulance pulled up to the mansion. Another night in Buffalo, Missouri, where minding one’s own business was clearly an alien concept.

“N
ot enough singing, if you want my opinion.” Florence Ross Schmidt allowed her niece to assist her down the church steps following the community Christmas service. Wearing one of Claire’s dresses—Flossie had selected a pink satin print—and high heels only a tad too large, she clutched a black purse between her gloved hands.

“Not enough singing, Aunt Flossie?” Claire asked in wonder. “Only yesterday you were complaining about the carolers who had been to your door.”

“It’s one thing when people come knocking at all hours. And it’s quite another when you get to exercise your own vocal chords.”

“You do have a pretty voice. I can see why you enjoy singing.” Claire scanned the crowd one last time, but Rob was not among the cheery congregation. She hoped he was all right.

Before the service began, the pews had been abuzz with talk of the previous night’s raid. Methamphetamine makers in
our
town, people said, shaking their heads in disbelief. Four men and two women were caught in the attic of Ross Mansion. No, it was six men and one woman, someone clarified. Five men but no women, another explained, and they were in the basement.

The whole town had gone out to watch the excitement, it seemed to Claire. People had been up till all hours, peering over the barricades as the officials conducted their investigation and the hazardous materials crew disassembled the lab. Claire felt thankful it was all over. Now the mansion would be safe, and the odor certainly lessened.

“I always was a good singer,” Flossie told her niece as they headed toward the parking lot. “Why do you think the USO took me without a squawk? I could really belt ’em out in my day. Hans used to beg me to sing for him. I learned a lot of his favorites in German.”

They walked in silence for a moment, Claire reflecting on her great-aunt’s loss and the enormous changes that had been imposed on the elderly woman in the past few weeks. Would Claire have fared as well if her world had been turned upside down?

Flossie had put up a mighty fuss until the moment Rob finally rushed her out of the mansion the night before. After that she had done an about-face. Once inside Claire’s little bungalow, she warmed immediately to the rescued kitten, Opie. Meekly accepting the order to take a bath, she had sat for nearly an hour in a tubful of bub
bles. Then she emerged in her new blue bathrobe and immediately adopted as her own a rocking chair by the fireplace. Together, the two women drank hot chocolate beside the little Christmas tree while Flossie crooned carols.

Claire had expected a monumental storm over the prospect of attending church the following morning, but her aunt actually displayed a certain girlish eagerness as she selected a dress and shoes. She allowed Claire to curl and style her white wisps, and then they ate breakfast like a civilized guest and her hostess.

“Hans could sing, too, and we made a nice duo.” Flossie continued the conversation. Then she shrugged and flipped her hand as if to brush away the past. “But that was all in the old days. What’s gone is gone.”

“It’s okay to keep your memories, Aunt Flossie,” Claire said gently as she reached for the car door handle. “Just don’t try to live in the past.”

“Preaching again.” Flossie settled into the passenger seat. “Preach, preach, preach.”

As much as she enjoyed the changes in her aunt, Claire would be relieved to send the elderly woman back to the mansion in a few days. Maybe Claire was more cut out for the single life than she’d wanted to admit. Rob certainly had made up his mind in that direction. Despite kissing her—nothing more than a teasing impulse, she realized now—he showed no inclination toward forming any sort of relationship with her. Not even a real friendship. He never called, nor did she. They enjoyed talking when their
paths crossed, but she felt certain it would happen rarely now that Flossie was under proper care.

Opening the driver’s door, she climbed in and settled her purse beside her. “The turkey I put in the oven is going to taste good,” she told her aunt. “I’ll mash some potatoes and fix us a salad, too. Will you help me set the table?”

Hands folded, Flossie was staring out the window ahead. “That table you have is nice,” she said. “In fact, I like the little house. Two bedrooms. Just right. I think we oughtta swap.”

Key halfway to the ignition, Claire paused. “Swap?”

“Trade houses, girl, what do you think? You’ve had your eye on my place all along anyhow, and I’ve taken a shine to yours. Why don’t you just take the old heap—and all that junk inside it, too. Junk, junk, junk. I don’t know what half of it is anyhow, and I sure don’t need it.”

“But, Aunt Flossie, the mansion belongs to you.” The thought of surrendering her precious little nest sent a stab of panic into Claire’s heart. “I really do love my home, and you certainly belong in the mansion. I’d be happy to help you fix it up. Some of the furniture is still very nice, and we could make you a little bedroom area, along with a sitting room and a dining table. Besides, you don’t want to live without all the things you said meant so much. The paintings will be back soon, and we’ll bring some nice carpets down from the upstairs rooms, and the apostles’ clock—”

“That old thing doesn’t work worth a hoot. Who wants all those apostles sliding around and bowing every hour,
anyhow? Not me.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Nope, it’s yours. I prefer that nice clock hanging on your wall. Just a dial and a pair of hands. Easy to read, and no Judas popping out every twelve hours to scare the pants off a person.”

Though the idea of preserving the mansion definitely excited Claire, she had no intention of surrendering her home to her great-aunt. If she had to live all alone in that imposing space, she might turn into a cat hoarder herself.

“Uh-oh, here he comes.” Flossie broke in to her niece’s thoughts. “Your boyfriend. Here to grab you and start smooching you again right in front of God and the whole town. Lord have mercy upon us.”

“Aunt Flossie, Rob is not my boyfriend,” Claire hissed as the man strode up to her car. “And if you so much as—”

“Merry Christmas,” the police chief said, peering through the window Claire had just rolled down. “How are my two favorite Rosses this morning?”

“My proper name is Mrs. Schmidt,” Flossie informed him, tilting her nose in the air. “I’d prefer to be addressed as such in the future, Mr. West.”

Rob’s blue eyes turned on Claire, and his brows rose. “Well, it looks like we’re off to a good start.”

“We are, actually,” Claire said. “The church service was lovely—”

“Not enough singing,” Flossie put in.

“And I have a turkey in the oven.”

“I sure hope your bird can wait a few minutes.” Rob
opened her door. “Claire, will you and Mrs. Schmidt please come with me? The three of us need to pay a little visit.”

“A visit?” Claire protested. “But I—”

“Oh, hush your yapping. No one likes being around a griping woman.” Flossie settled Claire’s purse strap over her arm as she stepped back onto the parking lot. “I wish you’d assist me to your car, Chief West. These heels just aren’t made for winter sidewalks.”

Turning a shoe from side to side as if to show off her ankle, Flossie was actually flirting with the police chief, Claire realized. What had come over the woman? Had getting out of the mansion done that much for her? Or had Flossie actually listened to her niece for once and forgiven those who had hurt her in the past?

“We’re swapping houses,” she informed Rob as he escorted her to his car.

Wearing a bulky dark blue sweater and a pair of jeans that fitted him far too well for Claire’s comfort, he arched an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Swapping?”

“I’m moving into her house,” Flossie explained, “and she’ll take the mansion. It’s what she’s always wanted, you know. Had her eye on my stuff all along. But I don’t care! Let her have it. Just a pile of junk anyhow. I’ll take Homer and Virgil and move into the smaller place. Sacrifices, you understand. They’re part of life.”

“Hmm, this is an interesting development,” Rob said, studying Claire’s face across the top of the car as he set
tled her great-aunt into the front seat. “It’ll make the museum plan easier anyhow, I’ll give it that much.”

“What museum plan?” Claire asked as she slid into the back seat. “And by the way, I have
not
agreed to swap houses with you, Aunt Flossie. That’s your idea, and I…What museum plan?”

Rob smiled as he started the car and pulled out into the street. “The Buffalo Historical Museum. Mayor Bloom and I have been discussing it for quite some time. I told him how significant Buffalo was during the Civil War. It was pro-Union, you know, Claire.”

Irked at his teasing, she clenched her fists. “I’m aware of that, Rob. What do you mean about the Buffalo Historical Museum?”

“You see, Mrs. Schmidt, Confederates burned down the courthouse and the old Methodist church,” he went on. “And then there’s all that important history connected to the railroad. A spur was supposed to come into Buffalo, but it was never built. In anticipation of the increased opportunity, though, people moved here and started businesses and built big houses. Which is why Ross Mansion would make a perfect museum.”

“It’s a museum, all right,” Flossie said. “Full of dead dreams, dead hopes, emptiness. You can do whatever you like with it. I don’t ever want to set foot in the place again.”

“You’ll need to go inside at least once more,” Rob said as he pulled to a stop in front of the big old house. “I don’t think you’ll mind this time.”

“But I thought we were going to go calling on someone,” Flossie protested. “I was hoping for a slice of pecan pie. That’s my favorite. I don’t know why nobody asked what I liked before they started bringing me all those fruitcakes.”

As Flossie went off on a tangent, Claire clambered out of the car and made a beeline for Rob. “Do not tease me, Robert West,” she said, catching handfuls of his sweater. “Does the mayor really like the idea of a museum?”

“Sure, and the aldermen, too. Especially if Miss Ross—Mrs. Schmidt—would allow Ross Mansion to house it.”

“Are you serious? How did this happen?” Claire accompanied Rob as he headed for the porch. “This is what I’ve been dreaming about! When I first came back to town, I spoke to the mayor and several of the aldermen, but none of them showed much interest. What did you do, Rob?”

Laughing, he slipped his arm around her as Flossie stepped into the foyer. “I just mentioned it last night while we were all standing around. Mayor Bloom was out in the crowd, of course, along with most of the aldermen. I told them what you’d said about all the valuable pieces inside the house, about the things from Austria, and about how much a museum might mean not only to your family but to the whole town.”

“Oh, Rob…”

“Mercy sakes!” Flossie screeched. “Look at it! Look what they’ve done!”

Claire stepped into the parlor and gasped. A wonder
land of twinkling white lights, chandeliers draped in gold ribbon, swags of pine branches and the fragrance of sweet cinnamon and nutmeg, the room fairly cried out, “Merry Christmas!” A fire crackled on the grate, while Homer and Virgil stretched out before it like a pair of indolent sultans.

“My kitties!” Flossie cried, tottering over to them in Claire’s high heels. “Aw, look at you pretty cats! I bet you feel happy today, don’t you?”

As her aunt knelt to stroke the pets, Claire felt Rob’s arms come around her. Standing behind her, he whispered in her ear, “You missed the best part.” Then he turned her toward the bay window, where a huge tree towered to the ceiling. Covered in colorful ornaments, ribbons and gold garland, it glittered with hundreds of tiny white lights. “Jane Henderson and some of the ladies cooked up this surprise last night. Jane and Mrs. Bloom headed the committee. The investigation was complete, so I gave my permission and helped them bring in the tree. They came over here before church to set everything up.”

“I can’t believe it,” Claire whispered back. “All the work they’d already done on the house…and now this room…and the museum, too. Rob, why?”

“I think you infected the whole town with the Christmas spirit.”

“Me? I was just trying to keep you from throwing Aunt Flossie out.”

“So she wouldn’t have to live with you.”

Reveling in the warmth of his arms around her, Claire leaned her head back against Rob’s chest. Though she knew she shouldn’t enjoy his presence so much, she couldn’t help herself. Maybe this was all she would have of him—a few hugs and the occasional impulsive kiss—but she would drink it in like cold water on a hot day.

“I can’t deny it,” she said. “I had the worst attitude.”

“God can take the worst and turn it into the best. You taught me that a long time ago. And you showed the rest of the town by tackling the whole Flossie Ross problem head-on.”

“Don’t call her that, remember? Flossie Ross—we hate that name.”

He chuckled. “You two are quite a pair. I think she’ll be willing to move back in once we fix a few rooms upstairs just for her. With the museum on the main level, she’ll have plenty of company, and no one will let a cat through the front door.”

Claire closed her eyes, soaking up his presence and thanking God for miracles large and small. “You’ve been wrong about only one thing, Rob,” she murmured. Fighting tears, she forced herself to speak her heart. “You said the tree was the best part. It’s not. This is.”

Silent behind her, he tightened his arms around her waist and rested his cheek against her head. Carrying a cat, Flossie walked across to the table that held the jeweled music box. When she lifted the lid, the notes of the hymn drifted through the room.

“‘Silent night,’” Flossie began to sing. “‘Holy night. All is calm, all is bright…’”

“Claire, you challenged me to be more open with people,” Rob said in a low voice. “To be more open with you. I’ve watched you change as you opened up to your aunt. And even Flossie changed as she finally let you in. The thing about me is just that I—”

“It’s okay, Rob. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I want to talk. But I don’t know if you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”