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Christmas In Raccoon Creek (Snow Globe Christmas Collection)

By June Foster

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Chapter One


The view from the upstairs balcony on Grandma Eason's old fifties-style home always inspired Emily. Though the oaks and dogwoods were bare, and snow fell softly to the ground, life in the forest beyond was unmistakable: two squirrels chased each other up an elm and a rabbit ventured out of his hole. Since she'd taken up residence here, the song birds delivered a concert each morning, even in the depth of winter. To think, she called the house and property hers now that Grandma's estate had been settled.
But now with a full week off for Christmas from her nursing duties, Emily wasn't sure what would occupy her time since Mom and Dad deserted her and their luxurious Birmingham home for a trip to Europe. No matter. She stepped back from the railing. She'd rather spend time in Raccoon Creek, Alabama, savoring the country air.
The steep hardwood stairs with the dark brown railings led to the first floor. With easy strides, she descended the steps and strolled into the kitchen. White metal cabinets and flowery curtains on the window over the sink punctuated the fifties decor. Nearing the coffee maker, Emily stuck the pod into the brewer, put her cup underneath, and waited for the familiar gurgle. Since she didn't have to make the twenty minute drive to the hospital today, she'd have an extra cup.
Emily took her shiny red mug of hot coffee and sauntered through the dining room toward the comfortable living area with the cozy fireplace. If she didn't know better, she would've thought time had halted in Grandma's day. Through the years, she and Grandpa had kept the house in good repair but made few updates to the interior design, leaving a perfect example of fifties decor.
Meandering to her favorite spot, the window seat in the living room, she propped against the throw pillows with blue and white tassels, drew her feet up, and took a sip of coffee. Outside the flower garden lay bare, but the evergreens beyond exuded Christmas cheer.
Setting her coffee on the seat, she picked up her Bible and opened it to Psalms 102:18. "Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord." She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eye. Was there anything more perfect?
After two more cups of coffee and three chapters in the Psalms, Emily stretched and glanced out the window again. Tiny flakes fell from the sky. Only five more days until Christmas. Would they have a white one this year?
The fresh pine tree stood bare in the corner of the room between the two wide living room windows. If she could hear it talking, it would say, "Dress me, please." In fact, the whole room would shout, "Decorate me."
No way she'd drive into Birmingham when Hardwicke's Drug and Gift Shop carried unique finds including Christmas decorations. She took her cup to the sink and slipped on the blue wool jacket with matching scarf. Instead of a purse, she stuffed her wallet and cell phone into her coat pocket.
Stepping through the door, she drew cool air into her lungs. The country, with the aroma of rich earth, pine trees, and cows, always smelled better than automobile fumes downtown. The few steps off the porch led through the picket fence and to the street. Though her faithful Chevy Cruze sat out in front, she decided to walk the four blocks.
From the other side of the street, a lady she recognized from church waved at her. Another thing she liked about the country. Friendly people with a strong faith in God.
Braham's Feed Store and Daisy's Country Restaurant stood on the right. Another few yards and Emily crossed the two-lane road through town to Hardwicke's. The gray brick store sat on the corner with a side street to the left. Above the door, a sign said Hardwicke's Drugs and Gift Shop. Under that, Prescriptions. On either side of the door, display windows, brightened by a string of twinkling Christmas lights, displayed mugs and refrigerator magnets with Raccoon Creek written on them, a selection of teas and gourmet candy, bug spray, t-shirts, and postcards. But what caught Emily's attention were the unique Christmas decorations, especially the little snow globe. She had to have it.
Though Mr. Hardwicke stood behind the pharmacy counter and dispensed tablets into a brown bottle, he looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Emily. Got a day off?" The wrinkles around his eyes creased into a V on either side. His white hair reminded her of the fluffy snow still falling.
"Good morning to you, too. I'm off all week and figured I better decorate my house before Christmas Day arrives." She laughed.
He twisted the top on the bottle and printed off the label. "Did I ever tell you about the time I courted your grandmother?"
"Once or twice," she grinned.
"I fell in love with her, but your Grandpa Eason stole her from me."
"But you met Mrs. Hardwicke later and fell in love."
"You bet. We had a good life together, but she's gone now, and my son lives out west. I'm not complaining, though, because my grandson is spending the holidays with me." Mr. Hardwicke's face beamed. "He's only got one more year, and he'll finish his pharmaceutical studies. Might even take over my business."
"That would be great. I hope to get to meet him." She reached for the coveted snow globe.
He nodded. "I ordered those years ago. They all sold but one. But it's a special globe." He winked.
Emily rounded up the items she'd need for the house. A holly and evergreen garland, lights for the tree, a tree shirt, and the snow globe. After she paid, Mr. Hardwicke placed the things into a large bag with a handle.
"I hope you have a good Christmas." The pharmacist chuckled. "If I see you in town, I'll be sure to introduce you to my grandson."
"I look forward to it." Emily had known a few of the kids who studied to be pharmacists. Most kept their noses in a book. Mr. Hardwicke's grandson would probably want to work with his grandfather during the entire visit. Emily smiled and walked out the door, the bag on her arm. "Merry Christmas."
Lugging the sack home wasn't a chore. The sooner she got there, the sooner she'd have a beautifully decorated house. Inside, she retrieved her wallet from the pocket and hung her jacket in the closet. Finally after two hours, Emily stood back and admired her work. Lights shone on the tree, and the garland decorated the length of the stairs railing. Time for a break.
The miniature snow globe sat on the end table next to the comfy chair in the living room. Easing down, she picked up the globe, turned it over and upright again. Snowflakes swirled in the circular glass ball. Setting it down on the table, she sat mesmerized by the little village, tiny cedar trees, and a miniature snowman with an orange carrot for a nose and a pipe sticking out his mouth.
She laid her head back against the chair for a moment then abruptly sat up again.
The snowman had winked.
Her overactive imagination was trying to outwit her. Reclining back against the chair's comfortable cushions, she closed her eyes, picturing her tree, shimmering and glittering with its bulbs and tinsel.
The old fashioned ring tone she'd set for her cell phone met her ears, and she sat up. Where was her phone? She retrieved her handbag from the couch and fished through. Not there. Where had she left it?
Following the sound, she looked up at the bookcase in the living room. An ancient black telephone perched on the first shelf made the bell-like noise. What? She didn't have a landline. Running her hand down a strand of hair, she stood and took a wary step toward the phone, lifting the old fashioned receiver off the hook. "H … hello."
"Emily, this is Mrs. Carson, the secretary at church. I'm calling to remind you to bring cookies Thursday night for the Christmas Eve service."
Emily gulped. The secretary at church was Mrs. Tolbert, not Mrs. Carson. But the power of speech had left her. "Uh, uh. Sure."
"See you then." The other woman hung up.
Her throat closed. Where was her cell and from where had this strange phone come? Walking back to the chair, she noticed a newspaper on the couch. She bent over and picked it up. Her mouth fell open. The date was Monday, December 21, 1953.

*****

"Mr. Hardwicke, my poor little Dickey is miserable. He hasn't"—Mrs. Higginbotham cupped her mouth and leaned closer—"you know, taken care of business in a couple of days." She skewed her plump face into a frown. "What should I give him."
"I've got just the thing, ma'am." Lance turned around and surveyed the items on the glass shelf. Antacids, Bufferin and Nebs headache tablets, Dristan decongestant pills, Nujol mineral oil, Phillips Milk of Magnesia. He grasped the last bottle and set it on the counter in front of the worried mother. "Dickey will want to drink the correct dosage right down. It tastes something like candy mints."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Hardwicke. My little boy usually throws a tantrum and cries when I give him medicine."
"Yes, ma'am. That will be fifty cents."
"Fifty cents? Seems like a lot."
"That's the lowest price I can give you. But I promise, your little ankle-biter will be back to normal soon."
Mrs. Higginbotham set two quarters on the counter, picked up the bottle, and smiled. "All right. I hope you have a Merry Christmas."
"Thank you. Same to you and your family." Christmas. In only five days. His holiday would be a lot merrier if he spent it with Emily Eason. He'd never seen a classier chassis on a girl in his life. Most women these days wore the short Italian cut like Elizabeth Taylor, but he liked the attractive ponytail Emily always sported.
Lance glanced across the room to the ice cream counter with the circular red stools. Since the afternoon soda jerk, Billy Tidwell, went up north with his parents for Christmas vacation, Lance would have to tackle that job, too.
Would he have time to ask Emily for a date? Since she worked at the hospital in Birmingham, he hadn't gotten the chance. As if he'd drunk a cherry phosphate, his stomach bounced and fizzed. Thinking about that dolly made him flip. Since the church social was coming up after the Christmas Eve service, maybe he'd get a chance to talk to her then.

*****

Emily thumbed through the newspaper. It must've found its way from the attic where she kept Grandma's old scrapbooks, diaries, and keepsakes. But something was wrong. The paper was smooth and white, not brittle and yellowed like a memento from more than sixty years ago. An ad for an Arvin black and white TV caught her attention. Yep. Definitely a paper from Grandma's day.
Emily paced the living room floor. Where was her cell phone? And the Samsung flat screen TV? Gone and in its place, a free standing Zenith with strange dials. She marched into the kitchen in need of another cup of coffee. Her mouth dropped open again. No Keurig. Only an old fashioned percolator. Most everything else in the kitchen looked the same, except more shiny and new. Had she completely lost her mind?
Okay, enough. She had a brain tumor causing hallucinations. Or she was having a mental breakdown. WebMD would have information.
She gasped.
In the dining room, Grandma's old high-topped mahogany writing desk where Emily kept her computer sat empty. Instead, her lovely jade plant with its round, thick leaves graced the shiny surface. Only thing, the plant must've sprouted a hundred more leaves. It had doubled in size since she watered it earlier this morning. But the laptop was missing. Someone must've sneaked in during the night and stolen it.
Plopping down on the couch, Emily covered her face, trying to keep the tears inside. But no luck. The waterworks ran down her cheeks.
Feeling dizzy, she surveyed the room. The snow globe still sat on the side table. Before she'd drifted off, the snowman had winked at her. Yep. She had a mental disorder. Only one thing to do. Go back to Mr. Hardwicke's drugstore and ask him to recommend an over-the-counter medication.

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