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“We’ll have a prayer vigil at the church tonight,” Heddy said.
“As soon as the family returns, we’ll take food over,” Melva said.
Several of the women chimed in with food items they would take to the Barrett home. Marlee wished she could cook well enough to volunteer to take something. With their plans made, the women left the store.
“I’ll go to the train station and check on Audrey,” Marlee said. “She must be so worried about Chord’s papa, plus upset that he’s leaving.”
“We’re all worried,” Aunt Viola agreed.
Something in her aunt’s voice caused Marlee to stop and turn back.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Of course, Malcolm’s health is our first concern,” Aunt Viola said. “But with him injured so severely, and with no way of knowing when—or if—he’ll recover, I don’t see how the Barrett family will return to Harmony anytime soon. And without the Barrett Family Singers, our Christmas festival will be a disaster.”
Chapter Seven
“Ladies?” Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands together. “Your attention?”
The women gathered in the parlor of the mayor’s wife quieted. Marlee, squeezed between her cousins on the settee, felt the tension in the room.
“Is there anything new to report on his condition?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.
Audrey shook her head. “Still the same.”
Several days had passed since the entire Barrett family boarded a train for Colorado. Chord had sent telegrams but they all gave the same report. Malcolm was alive but clinging to life.
“As you all know, canceling the Barretts’ performances at our festival will have a devastating effect on its success,” Mrs. Tuttle said.
A grumble went through the room. Marlee had heard many of the same comments at the store between Aunt Viola and Uncle Willard. Everyone in Harmony was worried about their financial investment in the festival.
“This is awful,” Becky murmured. “Just awful.”
“Don’t get upset,” Marlee whispered. “Not yet anyway.”
“What if Mama and Papa lose their store?” Becky said. “What if—”
“Calm down,” Marlee told her quietly.
“I have good news,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “I’ve located another musical group. The Laughlin Singers are very well thought of, have toured extensively, and come highly recommended. And they are willing to come to Harmony on this short notice and perform in place of the Barrett family.”
A round of applause went through the room. Excited chatter broke out.
“However,” Mrs. Tuttle said, “unlike the Barretts the Laughlins will not perform free of charge. They expect to be paid—and paid well.”
A groan swept through the crowd.
Becky covered her face with her palms and shook her head. “We’re going to lose everything. Papa might be so upset he’ll—die!”
“Oh, Becky,” Audrey snapped. “Would you just hush up?”
Becky turned tear-filled eyes to her sister and gulped hard.
Marlee gave her an encouraging smile. “Something can be done.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
“Something can always be done,” Marlee assured her.
“How much money does this Laughlin bunch want?” Harriet demanded.
“Do we have any money to pay them?” Melva called.
“I don’t need to remind you that the town council wasn’t in favor of this festival to begin with. So no money will be coming from them,” Mrs. Tuttle said.
Becky groaned and shook her head fitfully. “Oh, I just know something terrible is going to happen to Papa. I just know it.”
“We’ll have to ask for donations,” Mrs. Tuttle said.
“From who?” someone called. “Every merchant and businessman in town has already stretched themselves thin getting ready for the festival.”
“Not every businessman,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “Not Carson Tate.”
Marlee gasped. Carson was reportedly the richest man in Harmony, and he hadn’t donated to the Christmas festival?
“Marlee can do it!” Becky sprang from her seat. “Marlee can get him to donate lots of money! She did charity work back in Philadelphia, remember?”
Marlee felt every gaze in the room bore into her.
Mrs. Tuttle said to Marlee, “The town, the merchants, the families who are coming here expecting a joyous Christmas celebration—a great deal is at stake.”
Warmth grew inside Marlee. How good it felt to be wanted, needed, especially for something so important. No one—certainly not Mrs. Montgomery—had ever thought so highly as to assign her such an important task or have faith that she could accomplish it.
She knew she could get Carson to donate the money. She’d seen Mrs. Montgomery wheedle funds from the most reluctant benefactors. Not that she’d need any such tactics on Carson. Surely he simply hadn’t known about the festival during its planning stage.
“I should warn you that Mr. Tate might not be anxious to make a donation,” Mrs. Tuttle said.
Marlee doubted that were true. Everyone said he was terribly busy, always rushing about, so he probably hadn’t had the opportunity to make a donation. The festival was a very worthy cause, so all she had to do was ask and he would give generously.
“I feel confident I can handle it,” Marlee said.
Mrs. Tuttle didn’t seem convinced. “You’re quite certain?”
Marlee rose and faced the women. “Absolutely,” she declared.
“Very well, then,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “The Christmas festival will proceed.”
Applause broke out. Women swarmed around Marlee, thanking her, offering words of encouragement and praise.
Contentment and joy settled around Marlee’s heart. What a marvelous feeling. How wonderful to be a part of something, to feel wanted and needed.
Maybe she’d stay.
The idea flew into Marlee’s head as she basked in the glow of the gratitude that filled the room. Maybe she’d stay in Harmony—permanently. She could make it her home, never again to return to the tiny, impersonal room she lived in under Mrs. Montgomery’s roof. She could stay here among family and friends—people who wanted her around, who made her feel as if she belonged.
Perhaps she could even convince her mother to come live in Harmony.
Love and longing filled Marlee anew. What a lovely—perfect—life she would have. All she had to do was convince Carson Tate to donate money for the Christmas festival.
How difficult could that be?
Mrs. Montgomery used to say that sweetening the pot was a good way to snare reluctant donors, Marlee recalled as she left the Harmony General Store with her aunt’s market basket looped over her arm. The afternoon was cold, the sky overhead gray, but Marlee felt warm inside and anxious to complete this most important of tasks.
The bell over the door of Flora’s Bake Shop jingled as she went inside and bought a half dozen sugar cookies from Lucy.
“Still warm,” Lucy said, wrapping them in the red checkered cloth Marlee had given her. “Fresh out of the oven.”
Outside again, she gazed across the street at the office of Tate Enterprises. Movement in the window caught her eye, then disappeared.
Was that Carson? Had he been standing there, gazing outside?
Everyone said he was extremely busy. But if he had time to waste staring out the window, perhaps this was, indeed, a good time to pay him a visit.
She smiled to herself. She’d carefully planned out exactly how she’d handle this meeting with Carson. It seemed she was off to a good start.
Marlee hurried across the dusty street and walked inside. Drew Giles sat behind a desk in the reception area. She’d met him a few days ago when he’d come into the Harmony General Store.
“Afternoon, Miss Carrington,” he said, rising from his chair.
Marlee smiled. “I wonder if I might speak with Mr. Tate?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Drew said. “He’s mighty busy.”
Marlee held out her basket and pulled back the cloth. “Would you like a cookie, Drew? Fresh from the oven at Flora’s.”
“Miss Lucy makes the best I ever tasted,” Drew said. He took a cookie, bit into it and sighed. “Well, I guess Mr. Tate can spare a few minutes.”
Drew rapped on the adjoining door, then pushed it over. “Miss Carrington here to see you, boss,” he said around a mouth full of cookie.
Marlee mentally reviewed the plan she’d made to get Carson to donate the money for the festival’s musical group. She also recalled her vow to stick to business and not lose herself in thoughts of the kisses he’d given her.
Her resolve crumbled when she walked into his office and found him standing behind his desk. Such a handsome man. What would it be like to lean against that wide chest of his? To lay her head against those shoulders?
Marlee started, realizing where her thoughts were going. She had to stick to business—no matter how fast her heart raced in Carson’s presence.
“Good afternoon,” she said, and felt her cheeks color a bit at hearing how her words had come out in a breathy little sigh.
Carson didn’t seem to notice. He just stood there staring at her. Then he hustled around the desk and pulled out a chair for her. Marlee lowered herself onto it, grateful to take a seat since her knees had started to tremble.
Carson threw a harsh look at the doorway. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Drew’s grin widened. “Sure do, boss,” he called, as he backed away.
Carson sat down in the chair behind his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Carrington?” he asked.
“I thought you might enjoy some cookies.” She placed the basket on his desk and pulled back the cloth. The delicious scent of the cookies wafted out.
He glanced at the cookies, then at her.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Was there another reason for your visit?”
Marlee was slightly miffed he hadn’t taken one of the cookies, then reminded herself that Carson was known to be a man in a hurry. She decided it was best to get right to the point.
“I’m sure you know about Mr. Barrett’s accident, and how the family has rushed to his bedside,” Marlee said. “And I’m sure you also know that the family had agreed to perform at the Christmas festival, but now can’t possibly do so.”
Carson just nodded.
“It’s become necessary to hire another musical group to perform,” Marlee said. “The good news is that Mrs. Tuttle has found a wonderful replacement who has graciously agreed to come to Harmony on very short notice.”
Carson stared at her. She’d hoped he’d ask some questions, or at least express some pleasure that the Christmas festival would go forward. Surely he knew what it meant to the town of Harmony.
“However, this new musical group is charging for their appearances,” Marlee said, “which makes it necessary to ask for a donation—”
“No.”
“—from—”
“No.”
Marlee huffed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
Carson looked properly contrite, and gestured for her to continue.
“What were you going to ask?” he said.
“I was going to ask if you could find it in your heart to donate the money—”
“No.”
Anger spiked in Marlee. “You haven’t heard the amount.”
“Fine, then,” Carson said. “How much?”
“Only one hundred dollars—”
“A hundred dollars? For people to come here and sing?”
“They’ll perform a number of concerts,” Marlee pointed out.
