A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,124

if Brenda hadn’t yet gotten over the loss of her father, then it was Brenda’s business and no one else’s. Not even Momma’s.

“Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about this, honey. But I think it would be much healthier if you did,” Momma said.

“I got a postcard from Ella,” Brenda blurted. “She’s not coming home for the holidays.”

“Oh.”

Silence drifted between them like wind-driven snow.

“Honey, you know how people feel about the clinic,” Momma finally said, ignoring Brenda’s attempt to change the subject.

Brenda opened a box of merino and silk sock yarns and started counting.

“People care about the clinic,” Momma continued. “And the Christmas Chorale performance gets people to the fund-raiser. It’s become an important part of our town’s holiday celebration.”

Brenda made scratch marks on her legal pad as she counted skeins and colorways but made no argument.

Momma went on in her quiet way. “The word on the street is that you’re just being mean.”

“I’m not mean.”

“I know that. You know that. But the rest of the town is calling you Ebenezer behind your back.”

“Paulette Coleman practically called me Scrooge to my face,” Brenda said. “I wonder how that happened? I mean, Doc Killough said you were the one who recommended me to stand in as the chorale’s director.”

“I didn’t exactly recommend you. It’s common knowledge that Reverend St. Pierre has been trying to get you to organize a choir at Heavenly Rest. I’m sure Doc Killough heard about that.”

“Okay. And who’s been nagging me about organizing a choir at the church?”

Another long silence welled up between mother and daughter before Momma said, “Okay. Maybe you don’t care about what people say about you. But for once in your life, could you think about me? My phone has been ringing off the hook all morning. And Christmas isn’t always easy for me either.”

“Oh. So this is about you then?”

“No. It’s about the sick people, especially the kids, who depend on the clinic.”

Momma certainly knew how to play her trump cards.

“You know, Momma,” Brenda said, “Doc Killough isn’t playing fair. He could have called me on the phone. But no, he comes waltzing in here with his happy twinkly eyes and launches a sneak attack right in front of Paulette Coleman, one of Magnolia Harbor’s biggest gossips.”

“You have to hand it to the man for being in tune with the way things work around here. The truth is, you’ve become a scrooge, and everyone in town has known it for quite some time. This is merely confirming their beliefs about you. And I never noticed that Doc Killough has twinkly eyes. I’ll need to check that out the next time I see him.”

“Momma. He’s manipulating me.”

“Yes, he is. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you should let some of that twinkle into your life. It might be good for what ails you.”

“I’ve got to go. Louella has me doing inventory again.”

“Well, that’s a sign,” Momma said in her gentlest of voices, and then disconnected the line.

Chapter Three

Brenda decided that recounting the stock was a royal waste of time. The rest of the afternoon would be better spent marching down to Doc Killough’s office and explaining to him, in excruciating detail, all the reasons she hated this darkest time of the year. It would be like bearing the black secrets of her soul, but she had to believe that once he understood her grief, he’d back off.

So she left the back room and told Louella that she had a headache and needed to go home.

“That’s not surprising,” Louella said as Brenda gathered up her parka and headed for the door. “I’d have a headache, too, if I were you.”

It was truly astonishing how cruel people could be in the name of charity. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the skies had opened up in a depressing drizzle. Brenda had left her umbrella at home today so she pulled up her hood and headed off down Harbor Drive toward the medical building on Palmetto Street, which housed the Jonquil Island Free Clinic as well as Doc Killough’s family practice on the second floor.

By the time she arrived, her parka was nearly soaked through. She found herself standing in an expanding puddle of water as she faced down the doctor’s receptionist, Lessie Blackburn, one of A Stitch in Time’s regular customers. Lessie didn’t look particularly happy to see her.

“Is Doc Killough in?” Brenda asked.

“Which one?”

Brenda blinked. “There’s more than one? Heaven help us.”

“Doctor Jim’s son joined the practice two months ago,”