“But they were dinosaurs for Halloween,” I pointed out. “I don’t think there were a lot of dinosaurs in Bethlehem in biblical times.”
“Picky, picky,” Michael said. “Robyn’s got a more expansive approach to the pageant. Wait till you see it.”
I felt a brief twinge of guilt at weaseling out of the service, but my eyelids were drooping more and more. And if Michael and the boys were attending not only the service but also the rehearsal, I might have time for a proper nap.
With visions of soft pillows and our down comforter dancing through my head, I headed for the exit. Unfortunately I got caught up in the human traffic jam in the vestibule, as several hundred Catholics tried to leave the sanctuary at the same time that a similar number of Episcopalians tried to enter. It wasn’t just the sheer numbers but the fact that everyone wanted to clump in little groups to share news and gossip with friends they didn’t usually get to see on Sunday morning. And by the time I managed to escape to the parking lot, so had a lot of the departing Catholics, while late-arriving Episcopalians were cruising up and down the lanes, looking for vacant spaces that would have been a lot easier to create if the impatient new arrivals would stop blocking in the departing cars.
By the time I was finally out of the parking lot and on my way, I felt distinctly low on Christmas cheer. The words “Bah! Humbug!” kept trying to escape from my lips. Clearly I needed an attitude adjustment, so I turned on the radio and tuned in the Caerphilly College station.
Normally at this time of year KCAE radio was shorthanded because most of the student staff left for the holidays. The few who remained usually filled airtime with long, interrupted sequences of Christmas carols. My spirits rose at the prospect.
Unfortunately today the radio station appeared to have fallen into the hands of a few students who were either more enterprising or perhaps enjoying the opportunity to play around with minimal faculty or editorial supervision. I quickly deduced that they’d been running around interviewing various people in town about the pranks, and then interspersing audio clips from the interviews with clips from the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup. I couldn’t quite decide whether the juxtaposition made the interviewees sound a lot funnier or a lot less intelligent. Or both.
I finally punched the off button and tried to hum for the rest of the way home. And for some reason as soon as I spotted the first few sheep belonging to Seth Early, our neighbor across the road, I cheered up immensely and began singing aloud.
“Shepherds shake off your drowsy sleep, rise and leave your silly sheep.”
Although I hoped Seth wouldn’t hear me referring to his dignified Lincoln sheep as silly. And I had to admit there wasn’t anything silly about them, since he’d resisted Mother’s suggestion that he decorate them all for the holiday with big red bows.
At least twenty additional cars were parked up and down both sides of the road in front of our house. Several women with piecework totes or brown paper grocery bags were trotting down the path that ran along the left side of the house and led to the backyard where the library had its own entrance.
A real hostess would have gone and greeted the ladies, made sure they had enough light, offered them coffee and tea.
Instead, I scurried up the path and let myself into the house, looking over my shoulder, and managed to shut the door just as another car pulled up.
I took a deep breath. And then another. The house wasn’t quiet—soft instrumental carols were playing through the sound system Mother had set up. But it was peaceful. I inhaled the cinnamon, clove, and evergreen smells. I looked around. Mother had upped the ante on the decorations, all right. The foyer didn’t look like our foyer. It looked like a set for a movie. A movie set at Christmas, back in Victorian times. Maybe a new remake of A Christmas Carol. Any second a director would yell action and a flock of actors would walk in, the women in crinolines and the men in frock coats and—
“Meg?”
Rose Noire was standing in the hallway from the kitchen, holding the large coffee urn we used for parties and looking at me with a worried expression.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You were just standing there staring at the chandelier.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Long day already.”
“Yes,” she said. “And you need to be very, very careful over there.”
“Careful?” I said. “I’m only over at Trinity. It’s not exactly hazardous duty.”
“Not physically, no.” She set the urn down on the floor by the stairs, stood up, and clasped her hands dramatically. “But I sense unseen danger there.”