Duck the Halls(24)
Just as the soloist was beginning the third verse, my cell phone rang. It wasn’t loud, and I had the ring tone set to a single chime, which was not as intrusive as the loud and intricate tunes so many people seemed to favor, but Lightfoot turned and glared at me as if about to shout “Off with her head.”
I pressed the answer button before the phone rang a second time and ran out into the vestibule to take the call. In fact, for good measure, I ran all the way outside the church.
“Meg, dear?” Mother. “Is this a bad time?”
Chapter 11
I was tempted to lie and say I was busy, before she had a chance to ask whatever she was calling me to ask. But I felt a little superstitious about uttering falsehoods on the steps of a church.
“Not a bad time for me,” I said. “Mr. Lightfoot may yet kill me for interrupting his choir practice.”
“Mr. Lightfoot should be very grateful to you that he has a place to practice,” Mother said. “Speaking of finding places…”
I winced. I could already see my latest carefully arranged schedule collapsing like a house of cards. I leaned against one of the bright red double front doors, brushed a aside a stray frond of spruce from the wreath that was trying to tickle me, closed my eyes, and braced myself.
“We need a place to hold a sewing bee,” she said. “The cleaning company says there’s nothing they can do about the seat cushions that were sprayed by the skunks. So we’re going to make all new ones.”
“Do we have to do it now?” I asked. “And who’s ‘we’?” I hoped she hadn’t forgotten how meager my sewing skills were.
“The New Life Ladies’ Auxiliary and St. Clotilda’s Guild,” Mother said. “And yes, we need to do it now because there’s a chance we can get the church back in operation for Christmas Day services. If the cleaning service manages to get the smell out of the heating system and Randall’s crew can finish replacing the wood that soaked up the scent and we can handle the cushions, the church will be as good as new!”
I was working on a tactful way of suggesting that once the cleaning service got the ducts clean, the Baptists could have their services back with folding chairs instead of new pews and upholstery, and maybe the sewing bee could wait until after Christmas. Suddenly the church’s outdoor decoratives came on, outlining every tree, bush, lamppost, and fence post with fairy lights. No similarly sudden illumination flooded my brain—only a mild curiosity about whether someone had just turned them on or whether they were on a timer. Then Mother spoke again.
“We were thinking of using your library, dear. If that’s okay with you. It’s big enough, and we wouldn’t really be in your way.”
It sounded like such an easy solution. True, I’d resisted offering the library when I was compiling my schedule, in no small part because Michael and I were still very much enjoying having it to ourselves. We’d lent the space, along with our barn, to the county for several years during the financial crisis, when Caerphilly had lost possession of its library building and needed someplace to house the books. But now that we had it back, I wasn’t keen on making it a public space again.
“And of course we’d be happy to watch the boys if you and Michael need to do a little last-minute Christmas shopping.”
Mothers of twins can be induced to do many things with an offer of free babysitting.
“Fine,” I said. “But just the library—not Michael’s office, which is where we’ve hidden all the Christmas presents. Except for yours, which are somewhere else entirely and already wrapped,” I added.
“Of course, dear.” Mother was almost purring. “I wouldn’t think of peeking. I’ll be over in half an hour or so to make sure everything’s ready.”
“Surely you weren’t planning to start tonight?” I asked. “Won’t a lot of people want to be at the concert?”
“We’re starting bright and early at eight tomorrow,” Mother said. “For those who aren’t attending early services, of course; they can come later.”
“Why don’t I just make sure all our stuff is out of the library when I get home?” I asked. “I’ll be there soon.”
“That would be perfect, dear,” Mother said. “And I’ll see to the decorations,” she added.
“‘Decorations’? Mother, you already decorated our house weeks ago—remember?”
“Yes, dear,” she said. “But that was weeks ago. Things might need a little sprucing up. And back then I was just decorating for you—not for the Ladies’ Auxiliary and St. Clotilda’s. See you soon.”