A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,120
health issues. But then again, Donna was the oil that made the gossip machine work in this town, and she had given him less than a ten percent chance of convincing the town Grinch to lend a hand. So he shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone would know his plan by now, even though he hadn’t yet put it into action. He wouldn’t even be surprised if the guys down at the firehouse had started a pool on whether he’d succeed or not.
He took a sip of his coffee and chose his words carefully. “Brenda McMillan isn’t as scroogey as people say. She’s lonely is all. And right now she’s the one person in town with the skills necessary to get the Christmas Chorale in shape.”
“She’ll never do it.” Brooklyn crossed her arms over her chest.
“We don’t know that until we ask.”
“And you, dear man, are a dewy-eyed optimist. That’s what Julie loved most about you.”
He shook his head but didn’t argue the point. In truth, Julianne had been the optimist. And for twenty-one years, he’d been keeping her alive by remembering the way she used to say, “Things will work out. You wait and see. I have faith.”
There was only one time she hadn’t used that saying—when she’d been diagnosed with glioblastoma, a deadly form of brain cancer. That time she’d known better than to make a promise she couldn’t keep.
“Well, you can’t fail if you don’t try,” he said.
Brooklyn shook her head. “I’m not sure I even understand that. But good luck. I don’t know what the clinic will do if we have to cancel the Christmas Gala.”
“We’ll do without, I guess. And things will work out. I’m sure. I have faith.”
Brooklyn gave him that sad, happy look. She clearly remembered too.
“Have a wonderful day,” Jim said and turned away, pushing through the coffee shop door out onto the sidewalk, where the work crew had started to hang red bows on the streetlamps.
He continued down Harbor Drive, in the opposite direction of his medical office, under Rudolph’s watchful eye. He reached A Stitch in Time, the local yarn and fabric store, and paused a moment on the sidewalk. It was a bit manipulative to corner Brenda at work. But it was probably the only chance he had of shaming her into helping out.
If he had merely driven out to her house and asked for help, she might have given him a swift kick in the butt and told him never to darken her door again.
This sneak attack might not be very nice, but sometimes the ends justified the means. And the benefit gala, featuring the town chorale’s performance of Christmas music, along with a silent auction and a visit from Santa, was the main fund-raising event for the Jonquil Island Free Clinic, which provided medical care for indigent people and those without insurance.
A lot of kids depended on that clinic. And the clinic depended on its Christmas concert. And the Magnolia Harbor Choral Society depended on its musical director, who was currently in the hospital and unlikely to recover in the next few weeks.
So Jim drew in a big breath, squared his shoulders, winged a little prayer to the man upstairs, and headed inside.
A couple of gray-haired ladies occupied the comfy chairs in the shop’s front sitting area, their needles clicking away. Joyce Kalnin and Paulette Coleman had their heads together and their mouths running a mile a minute, but they both stopped talking, seemingly in midsentence, as he walked across the floor to the checkout counter.
“What on earth are you doing here, Doc?” Paulette asked to his back.
He turned. “Would it surprise you if I said I was taking up knitting?”
“Yes, it would.” She frowned. “Oh my goodness, you’re here to talk Brenda into standing in for Simon.”
“What?” Joyce asked in an astonished voice. “What’s wrong with Simon?”
God bless, there was hope. Some people didn’t actually listen to Donna Cuthbert and the town gossips.
“Oh my word, you didn’t hear?” Paulette said in a breathless voice. “Well, I guess not, since you’re a member of Heavenly Rest Church. But it’s all over Grace Methodist. I’m afraid our choir director had a stroke day before yesterday. He’s in the hospital on the mainland. Sally said it was mild, and he’ll recover with a lot of therapy and whatnot. But he’s in no shape to direct the Christmas Chorale this year.”
“Oh, the poor dear. Does Sally need anything?”
“The altar guild has it covered, honey.” Paulette turned back toward Jim. “Good luck trying