A humble log cabin sits alone in its midst. Inside, Mrs. Willette, an elderly woodswoman, stokes a fire and stirs a pot of gruel on the wood stove, expecting her grandson to wrap up his Christmas tree sales for the day and come inside at last. Poor lad be frozen stiff by now, she thinks. He has not eaten all day, and she is too weary from cutting firewood to trudge out to him and haul him back to the cabin for supper. He just never do quit. What a good boy.
Just outside the cabin, a doe steps timidly, knowing that often there is food put out: hickory nuts and turnips, just days ago. But this evening there is nothing. Not far from her, a mother with her late-born twin fawns is wondering the same thing. Is there food? The rest of the herd, also almost tame by now, bides their time. They're aware that there is no food put out. Yet. There will be.
Mrs. Willette loves the deer; they are her friends, as are the birds and foxes, the raccoons and rabbits. The woods are home to them all. She peeks through the window and sees that the deer have gathered for their evening meal. Hickory nuts. That's what they want. This year was a mast year; a bumper crop of the nuts in early fall has made it possible for Mrs. Willette to bring out yet another large bucket's worth. For her friends the cardinals, the chickadees, the titmice and sparrows, the old woman has put out cracked corn and sunflower seed. It may not last through the winter, but for now there is plenty.
In this magical world, lit by a brilliant silver moon, all is calm. All is bright.
Someone has told Miss Martha that the freshest Christmas trees are to be found at the edge of town, where old Mrs. Willette has set up a stand that her grandson tends. Somehow, though, Miss Martha took a wrong turn, and now she finds herself facing a little girl and her barking dog. "Don't mind the dog," the little girl tells her. "She don't mean no harm. She just barks."
"Oh, I see. What's her name?" Miss Martha asks kindly. "Bessie," the girl answers. "And what's your name?" Miss Martha adds. The girl shrugs shyly. "Hazel."
"Well, Hazel, I seem to have got myself lost. I was looking for the Christmas tree stand."
The girl nods knowingly. "That always happens. You can't hardly see it from the road." She points behind Miss Martha. "That's because they use the fence to hold up the Christmas trees. And that's where the fence is."
Turning, Miss Martha squinted and said, "Ah. I see it now. Maybe I'll tell the people selling the trees that they should move them to a better spot."
"Alvin won't do that, I don't think. Alvin never listens to anyone. He has his own ways."
The girl sounded so sure. Miss Martha, a businesswoman to her very core, was convinced otherwise. She fingered one of the lollipops in her pocket. ( She always carried lollipops, because you never knew.) Handing one to Hazel, she said, "Well, we'll see. Thank you very much for the information, young lady."
The girl's eyes lit up. "For me?"
Christmas. Lollipop. Little girl. What other possible explanation could there be?
The Children's Fair Committee had carefully planned which spots did what. The grammar school seemed like the perfect site for the children to be transported by horse-drawn sleigh to the various events at the Fair. Because who doesn't like a sleigh ride? Will and Harmony are the grown-ups assigned to manage the sometimes boisterous kids, which is a good choice. Everyone listened to Will because Will knew just about everyone. And everyone listened to Harmony because Harmony was just so nice. (The children always liked when Harmony filled in for a teacher because she made jokes and once let Edgar save the gum he was caught chewing for after school.)
Will and Harmony aren't the only adults at the site, though. Johnny Hooks is there, specifically to meet with them. He's brought his wife Sonya along with him because the idea he is about to propose has as much to do with her as with himself; she will bring emotion to his plea.
Johnny clears his throat and confronts Will. "I wanted specifically to see you without others around because, well ...." Immediately his carefully rehearsed speech turns woolly. "Because, I'm .. this is so important to me and to Sonya and she ... where is she?"
Sonya hasn't heard a woolly word of his because she's just seen that a window in the newly renovated schoolhouse (thanks to Will) has been smashed. Shocked, she draws nearer for a closer look. Could it have been vandalism? What a disheartening thought.
Johnny plows on. "You know -- everybody knows -- how I almost drowned at sea but got pulled out by another fisherman and saved. If it wasn't for that man, I wouldna be standing in front of you." (Fortunately, the amnesia Johnny suffered after his rescue soon passed, or he still would not have been standing in front of Will.)
"I remember it well," Will agrees. "We all do. It was a blessed day when you came back to us."
Johnny sighs. "Well here's sad news. I never knew the fisherman's name until days ago when some crew members off his boat sought me out. It turns out, that fisherman -- Jacob Jones, they said his name was -- has been lost at sea hisself."
Harmony's sympathy is immediate. "Oh, no. Oh, that is so sad."
"It is, m'am." Johnny appreciated her sympathy. Turning back to Will, he says, "Which is why I come to you, sir. I would like to remember Jacob Jones, but I do not have the means. Farmers are not known for their means. But there is wealth in this town, sure enough, and you ... well, you know these people. You get them to do things. Look at the schoolhouse! Who made it better -- bigger, drier, warmer -- if not you? And who found the means to make it happen? You. That, sir, is why I come to you. You make things happen."
Will looks a bit puzzled. "And ...?"
"I want a memorial!" Johnny blurts out. "A statue! Dedicated to Jacob Jones and all the men lost at sea. 'Tis only right. Town has a working harbor now, and who knows who might not be lost in future? So, a statue. 'Tis only right."
It was the best argument poor Johnny could manage. He had rehearsed such a moving speech. But somehow his emotions ran too deep to deliver it. "It would mean a lot," he murmurs.
Will and Harmony exchange a look. "I will see what I can do, then," Will says, shaking Johnny's hand on it. "And meanwhile, I see your father has returned again this year to haul a bunch of screaming children around town," he adds with a wink.
"For sure. Dad don't like to admit it, but it's growed on him. It be kind of a tradition, by now. Plus he's harder of hearing," Johnny adds with a grin. "That helps."
Meanwhile, Sonya soon solves the mystery of the broken window. She sees several children banded together and looking her way uneasily. A girl is holding a cricket ball up to a boy who seems to be trying hard not to see it. On the boy's other side, a younger boy is holding up two cricket bats, looking like a lawyer in court presenting evidence. Again, the older boy pretends he's somewhere else.
There's the culprit, Sonya realizes. She will give him a few minutes to confess. At least he didn't look like a vandal.
After a delayed honeymoon spent touring Europe in the Contessa, her husband's yacht, Dorothea is more than happy to be back in the village among people she has gotten to know well. (She was tired of idle chat, tired of the endless name-dropping -- she didn't know anyone in Europe anyway --and tired of trying to seem interested in one's forebears and futurebears. At present the Captain was back in Europe aboard his beloved Contessa, which suited both Dorothea and him. They loved one another well enough, but both needed space. It's who they were.)
In any case, Dorothea's interest is piqued by the scene before her. Is it possible that Clyde is that unhappy with the property tax bill he's just received? After all, he and Margaret own a cluster of houses in the village, some of them quite valuable. Dorothea was friends with the tax collector's wife, so she well knew that Clyde was planning to appeal his bill, but she did not think it would come to this: with Clyde banging on the door and demanding to be let inside. Which was an exaggeration, but still.
She calls out a friendly greeting to the couple. They give her the barest nod in response. I'm right, then, Dorothea decides. She turns to her driver and cautions him to be wary of Farmer Hooks, who is hauling a load of children to the Fair's events. "His mare needs experience. Don't challenge her."
Farmer Hooks seems to be managing well enough; he is expert, as so many villagers were, at handling horses. Behind him, a ragtag group of boys are running and calling to him. "Mr. Hooks, Mr. Hooks, stop!" they keep yelling. "Someone has dropped the basketball!" The basketball was a new and very desirable addition to the physical education curriculum. Other schools have had to make do with soccer balls for the new sport. Percy, the last, youngest, and slowest boy, is about to scoop it up for the return. "I have it, I have it!" he cries. "Almost!"
Fully booked, booked, booked, that's what the hotel is. So successful is The Grand that the need to expand is obvious to everyone, especially, of course, to Mayor Albert Pittman. Back when the Building Committee decided to convert the old granary into a small hotel, it seemed like a good idea. But as appealing as The Grand's rooms are, with views overlooking lovely grounds in back, it turns out that the building is just too small. There always seems to be a crowd gathering in front, waiting to sign in at reception. They don't have enough clerks. They don't have enough counters. They don't have enough bell boys. Even towels!
You could see in their faces that people were wondering why the delay. A mother is reassuring her flame-haired daughter Imogene that, yes, indeed, just as soon as they register and settle in (and hopefully grab a spot of tea), they will take in the whole Fair. Imogene, as usual, has plans of her own. They do not involve tea.
Also waiting to check in is Aaron Dreyer of Pennsylvania, an Amish merchant who had come the previous year to explore business opportunities for his line of finely crafted furniture. He isn't sure that the prospects are any better; he just likes the town. The year before, he'd met a man in the village who turned out to be a fourth cousin once removed. Small world! The cousin, a sociable type of fellow, is right there to greet him, waving his hat in a jovial hello.
Who knows? Maybe this time around, Aaron will permit himself something a little stronger than cider when the two go on to the pub. It happens.
Unfortunately, little flame-haired Imogene arrived too soon to see the balloon lady with her colorful balloons, floating high above her head. The vendor has planted herself in front of The Grand (she knows where the customers are), and already she is surrounded. A mother has brought her son, who claims first dibs on the red balloon, and her daughter, who can't decide. Also passing by -- reluctantly -- is a girl whose mother seems determined to get her moving on. "You said you wanted to see the Punch and Judy show first," the woman reminds her daughter.
"Well, I've changed my mind. Why can't I get a balloon now, mommy? All the good ones will be gone. I'll be stuck with the orange one. Who likes orange, anyway. I want the red one.
Her mother allows herself a little sigh of exasperation. "All right. If you really, really want to turn around ...."
And Lavinia Pittman, if nothing else, is all about finance. "Yes. Do it," she says simply, and returns to her carriage. Her part is done.
So another grand/Grand adventure begins. Rooms will have to be upgraded to hotel quality in the current hospital, that is certain. On the other hand, future patients will have the truly lovely rooms of the current Grand Hotel in which to recover. There are so many business opportunities here; the mayor's head is spinning. Re-purposing buildings! Who does that? (The mayor is a hundred years ahead of his time.) Still, "It's early days," he notes. "For now the project must be kept hush-hush," he cautions his colleagues.
Nope. The men have not noticed that behind them, Sam Rickens is sweeping. Sam has very good hearing, and he has heard it all. Well, now, isn't this interesting, Sam thinks. Small villages have various means of sharing information. Sam is one of them.
Meanwhile, the Fair goes on. As with The Grand Hotel, all seats for the Punch and Judy show are fully booked; standing room only. The children squeal with delight as Punch ... well, punches. Judy is hiding somewhere, and Punch, not the brightest bulb on stage, can't figure out where. The accordion music becomes more dramatic. Judy is about to come out of nowhere and punch Punch back. The children, especially the girls in the audience, scream with delight when that happens. Turnabout is fair play in this version.
Also meanwhile, those rascals Jeffrey and Jimmy are up to no good again. Well, maybe some good. Their intentions are sweet, though their scruples are not: they plan to steal the red flowers out of the flower box to give to their mother.
Jimmy, holding up his brother, is nervous. "Hurry up, would you?" he says in a hiss. "Someone's going to see us."
"What're you talking about? Everyone can see us!" Jeffrey says, struggling to keep his feet in place.
"I mean grown-ups, you dope. Stop wiggling!"
There is one boy who stands apart from the crowd. Yes, he likes the puppets. But he likes the red balloon more. He wishes he could have it. But he has no money, and his mama is off looking at ribbons. What to do? Pass over the puppets, or pass over the balloons? (If he keeps on fretting, he won't enjoy either!)
Nearby, a vendor has positioned himself to take advantage of the popularity of the show. "Git yer very own Punch puppet," he calls out. "Put on yer very own show! Judy puppet also available!" The salesman has at least one interested customer, a boy who has only one question: "How much?"
The children marvel at so many sounds coming out of one place -- bangs and taps and pings and crashes, all mixed in with enchanting flutey sounds. The adults marvel at the wonderful coordination of it. Mrs. Pettifore, who is partial to almost any kind of music, has brought Eloise (who also is having thoughts about that red balloon). "I do not know how he can manage it without melting away in confusion," she says to her daughter.
"Well, look at the fellow," the man ahead of her murmurs over his shoulder. "Old and grey. He's been around long enough to be able to perform in his sleep." (One could detect a bit of performer's envy there.)
"Oh? And which instruments do you yourself play, sir? You do sound skilled," Mrs. Pettifore remarks, not altogether kindly.
"That is irrelevant," he says dismissively. A pause. "The ukulele."
"Oh. A ukulele."
Enough said.
The master of ceremonies, so to speak, asks the audience to give the bandmaster a nice round of applause. "How about an encore?" he suggests. The bandmaster -- who, it's true, would like to take a break -- obliges with a lively number.
Lively enough to drown out the hiss of the cat and low growl of the dog who have just run into one another behind the audience. Uh-oh. This was not going to end well. So, Mickey to the rescue! He packs an extra-large snowball and rears back to throw. One well-placed hit, and Bob's your Uncle.
Annie and Abbie, rushing past, don't care about cats or dogs. "Almost there," Annie says breathlessly. "This is so exciting! I wonder what she'll tell me?"
Abbie is less enthusiastic. "What do you expect a fortune teller to tell you? It's whatever you want to hear."
"If she names names," -- Annie has never got over Russel -- "I will know she's for real. Come on."
Meanwhile, Punch puppets aren't the only thing for sale. A young boy has brought along his beloved teddy bear, hoping to find him a companion for when the boy himself is in school. He may just be lucky, because a vendor with a keen eye has taken notice of him. "Well, you must love your teddy very much," she says, regarding the well-worn toy. "Do he have a name?"
"Teddy," the boy answers.
"That's a very good name. I have someone here who would love to play with Teddy," the vendor says, showing the boy the stuffed animal. "His name is Pony. Do yer mum be here?"
"Oh, yes," the boy answers, less shy now. "Mama is by the man playing music."
"Ah. But hear that? He be done playing. So maybe you want to show mama our little Pony, do you think?"
"Oh yes, a good idea!"
An easy sale, guaranteed.
"If it ain't a lamp goin' out, then it's a lamp needs paintin'. Always something," the lamplighter mutters to himself.
He might be feeling too old to be spending entire days on ladder rungs. (He's certainly too old to savor the wonder of a Children's Fair.) How long has he been tending to the various gas fixtures in the village? Thirty years? No, forty. He was fifteen when he lit his first lamp under the stern supervision of his father, who had himself been doing the job for thirty or forty years. His father had been the first lamplighter in the village, and Herman might well be the last: electric lamps were everywhere now.
Miss Bates (married still, but still Miss Bates) was passing by and of course knew Herman, as did every one of the older generation of villagers. "I don't know how ye do it," she remarks. "Climbing them rungs would surely be the death of me."
"Aye. I do think about that nowadays. How's Jack?"
"Oh! Lumbago's worse'n ever. Even the cane don't help."
Herman was lucky that way, despite his moaning and groaning. He proceeds to climb, and Miss Bates proceeds on her way.
Nearby, ribbon sales are brisk. Who doesn't love a colorful ribbon for her hat? At the moment, the ribbon vendor has a choice array, but she expects to be sold out by late afternoon.
Abbie and Annie reach the fortune teller, but they will have to wait for Alice to finish up with her first. Annie tries to creep close enough to overhear, but Abbie respectfully pulls her back. (Abbie is no Sam Rickens.)
As for Alice, she is wondering -- still! After all this time! -- about Steven. Because Steven -- still! After all this time! -- has not made a firm commitment. Alice has become a bit weary of hunting the shy poet down and hinting endlessly, so she has decided to go straight to an official source.
"Will he or won't he?" she asks of the fortune teller.
"Oh, he will. Eventually, miss. It do take time."
The old woman's prediction might just as well have been referring to someone growing out a full beard, but Alice was satisfied. Somewhat. "Well, time is something I do have." She thanks the fortune teller and walks away. "Oh-h, but it is so aggravating," she announces to the world in general.
Big Billy is at the Fair, and like every other child, he's interested in the toys available. But not just any toy. Billy may be the shyest one in the village (except for Steven, of course), but he's also one of the most curious. He's puzzled by the -- toys, would you call them? -- of two vendors. The lady with the basket of fabric -- is the fabric for sale? -- seems to be selling a toy figure of ... what? A giant someone, holding a ladder? What is the ladder for? What kind of toy is that? And the man next to her, what's he doing? The balls he's waving around look like finger puppets, but everyone knows balls can't do much on their own. You have to throw a ball if the ball is to have any use, or else the ball just sits around.
It's all very confusing.
Eddie isn't hungry and he isn't thirsty. He's mad. He's just been told by Josephine -- a classmate known around school as a big tattle-tale -- that a girl he had his eye on was going out with a basketball player. Eddy was still only a soccer player, and a middling one at that. (If you saw him stumbling around the field, you would agree.) Josephine seemed to know about Eddy's secret crush, probably because Eddy's sister Alice told her, and seemed to enjoy bringing Eddie up to speed about the basketball guy.
"Why bother tellin' me all that? I don't care," he says, making a business of tying his shoe. In his head he was shouting to her, I hate you I hate you I hate you. Poor Eddie. He never was very lucky in love.
Nearby at the refreshment stand, Old Man MacGowan is savoring a pipe and a cup of hot tea. Gone are the days when he'd have spiced cider; his stomach had no tolerance. The stand is being manned by the husband of the woman who usually runs it at such events. (She's seated nearby, catching up on gossip with the Woodcuts.)
The husband and Old Man MacGowan go way back. "Do ye miss being lightkeeper?" he asks the old man.
Old Man MacGowan answers in a crackling guffaw. "Miss that damp old prison? Are ye mad, man? It ruined my knees forever. And Pank! How many times was the poor thing stuck on the mainland when the tide rolled in, separating us. No, them days is behind us. Ain't they, old girl?" he asks his very old, very loyal cat. Pank's wide eyes blink. She understands.
As for the Woodcuts, they are as ever. Mrs. Woodcut wasn't really sure she wanted to come out: the Fair was tailored for children, not women in beautiful gowns or bridal wear. "Nothing, really, for me to see," she admits to her friend and neighbor. "We won't be stayin' long."
"Long enough for me to have another cup of yer cider," her husband promises their neighbor. "Ye outdone yerself, missus, and no mistake."
"Why, I thank you, Mr. Woodcut. I do believe it be the cinnamon from Ceylon. Mebbe the allspice. I've writ down a receipt for next time, as it happens."
"Ye hold on to that receipt," Mr. Woodcut says with a wink. There be money in it."
Behind the trio of friends, a young man and a young woman pass one another without any greeting at all. The young man is a new hire on the Hooks farm; Lloyd is his name. Sometimes young men can be cocky. Lloyd is exactly such a young man. He has got it in his head that if he just acts uppity enough, young ladies will take no notice that he's a country boy and will fall at his feet. So he walks with his nose high in the air, convinced that it makes him look like a man of means.
He's not fooling anybody; certainly not The young lady who's having trouble stifling a smile as they walk past one another. She's a country girl, and she knows a country boy when she sees one. This country boy is wearing pants that are too short for him, for one thing. Him, a snob? Her, be interested? Never in a million years!
She should visit the fortune teller. The old woman may be able to tell her something about that.
The chimney sweep has been called to an emergency. For some reason -- probably an animal nest -- one of the two chimneys in the modest house has plugged up, sending billowing smoke back into the house and driving its residents out of it. The owner has managed to stamp out the fire, but the hearth is useless until the blockage is cleared. The sweep knows full well that no one has paid him to scrub the chimney of creosote in years, so a blockage is to be expected as well.
"Sir, consider yerself most fortunate, sir, that you also ain't had a chimney fire. It do happen, as you know most likely."
The owner, obviously embarrassed, says "Just get on with it, will you?" and retreats to his smokey parlor. He is already incensed that there is a hubbub in front of his house (not to mention, the smell of grilled sausages wafting through it). And now this.
The hubbub -- that would be Santa and his audience -- is so far pretty well contained. The Fair has just begun, and while Santa already sees a few children before him, he expects many more. On the other hand, there is competition this year: toy vendors. Santa's bag has the usual things that the village children all know by now. (That's what happens when the mayor's committee buys in volume.) But the vendors! They're presenting the children with all new, never-before-seen wonders. Why, you would have to live in New York to see the same.
Still, Santa expects to have hosted a goodly crowd by the end of the day. His toys are free. Their toys cost.
One girl is especially happy with her free gift from Santa. "I missed out on this last year," she tells her brother. "There was none left by my turn. That's why we had to come here first. Plus I was right, I got the only one!" she says happily. She clings to a small grey elephant, admittedly on the skinny side. Her brother doesn't see the charm of it, but he's happy that she's happy; maybe she'll stop bossing him now. (He himself was very content with the baseball he got from Santa, since his dog chewed up his old one.)
"Git yer sausages here, right here!" The refrain sails over the heads of the children, who at this point aren't yet interested in grilled sausages.
But Mrs. Beaton's beagles certainly are. Their famous sense of smell has had them dragging poor Mrs. Beaton to the meat with the force of a herd of buffalo. "Boys, boys!" she chides. "Be patient! There are plenty of sausages for all."
"And a good day to ye, Mrs. Beaton," the butcher calls out. "Ye'r looking well. And how are the pups today? Ready for a meal?"
Now, it's not exactly normal for a butcher to cater to hounds before people, but Mrs. Beaton's beagles are no ordinary dogs, she maintains. They are exceptionally smart, exceptionally good at what they do (hunt small game), and exceptionally adorable. Mrs. Beaton would do anything for her beagles, and that includes paying cold hard cash for several sausage links. Since she is a valued customer, the butcher is more than happy to oblige. "Rare, or well-done?"
"Give me three of each, I think," Mrs. Beaton says. "We'll let the boys decide."
Brother Joseph really enjoys coming to the village, most of all at Christmastime. He can visit an old friend, the pastor of St. Elmo's church, and then jump over to see Father Andrew, another old friend, and crush him in a game of chess.
Now that the church has been rebuilt after the fire, things are getting back to normal. Joseph notices that a new Christmas manger has replaced the one that was burned in the fire.
A parishioner hails him as he approaches. "Brother Joseph! Good to see you again. So! What d' ye think about the new manger?" he asks. His buttons are practically bursting with pride. "I did fashion it meself."
"And an excellent job of it you made of it," the monk says. "Fine work, lad!"
At the entry to the church, the Boys' Choir is warming up. There has been the usual back and forth over whether it will be appropriate to sing all kinds of carols and not just religious ones. The choirmaster is inclined to include Jingle Bells and Deck the Halls because, after all, Santa has set up shop hard by the church and would probably appreciate it. The choir boys heartily agree.
In front of the church, Grace Greene, who had volunteered to decorate the church with Christmas greens, congratulates her help on a job well done. Her assistant, a demure woman, smiles and says, "Well, your name is Greene -- a suitable name, I think."
Grace is so pleased with the progress the long-time widow has made. Once almost a recluse, Mrs. Reed has been seen about the village more and more, though her Quaker bonnet does limit casual conversation. Grace had to make a serious effort to be seen by and to engage the woman, who is now a good friend. But that was Grace Greene all over: a kind, dedicated, thoughtful, and generous piece of the village puzzle. No wonder Dr. Nicholas Greene was still head over heels for her.
And so another year rolls by. The village continues to grow, its villagers to age. Sometimes there is sadness, but often there is magic, a place where a red balloon can spark infinite hope. It's a place where peace can be found from the depths of its woods to the hushed silence of its church. It's a place where all is calm ... all is bright.
