My Kind of Christmas

She’d have to get the mile
count from Noah once they arrived. If the odometer actually worked in this old
heap of tin.
    They turned off 36 and drove down a road, through a gate that
stood open and down a tree-lined lane. Nora became distracted by the sheer
beauty. There was something so pure and homespun about row after row of
perfectly spaced apple trees, the fruit in various stages of ripening hanging
from the boughs, some still small-apple-green while others wore a slight blush
of red. And at the end of what seemed a long driveway through the orchard stood
a big house—a white fairy-tale house with red shutters and a red front door and
a wonderful wraparound porch with chairs separated by small tables. She couldn’t
even imagine the luxury of relaxing on such a porch at the end of a long day. At
wide spaces in the road there were large bins, probably for collecting apples.
They passed by a forklift tucked into a row of trees and a bit farther down the
road, a tractor.
    As the house grew closer Nora noticed that there were two
large buildings behind it—either barns or very large storage sheds or… Ah, the
housing for machinery and farm equipment, she realized, looking into some large
open doors. One of the buildings bore the sign Cavanaugh Apples.
    For a girl who grew up in a small house on a busy street in
Berkeley, she looked at this house, land and operation in both fascination and
envy. A person would be very lucky to grow up in such a place.
    There was a collection of pickup trucks and four men standing
outside a door at the end of one of the buildings.
    “Nora?”
    She turned toward Reverend Kincaid’s voice.
    “You probably should get going. While you go talk to Tom
Cavanaugh, I’m going to pay a visit to Maxie, the lady of the house. She’s
almost always in the kitchen or on the porch.”
    “Where should I go?” she asked, suddenly far less sure of
herself.
    He pointed toward the short line of men. “Looks like that’s
the place.”
    “Right,” she said. She got out of the truck, jumped down, but
before she closed the door she peered back inside. “Reverend Kincaid, if I need
a recommendation, will you give me one?”
    She saw him frown again; she knew he was worried about how in
the world she’d manage a job like this. Then his frown melted into a smile and
he said, “Of course, Nora.”
    Noah pulled away from her to park on the drive near the house
and she went to stand with the men. “Are you applying for the picking job?” she
asked.
    All four turned toward her. Only one nodded. Feeling a sense
of competition, she assessed them. One was an old guy, and old was relative—he
was balding, what was left of his hair was wispy and thin, but he stood straight
and tall and appeared to have wide, strong shoulders. One was a teenager, around
sixteen years old, good-looking and buff. One was a short Mexican man in his
twenties, healthy and hearty, and the fourth looked as if he could be his
father. “Am I in the right place to apply?”
    The older man frowned, the teenager grinned, the older Mexican
man looked her up and down and gave her the impression he was merely judging her
ability by her size, which was small. And the man who could be his son said,
“This is the place. You ever pick before?”
    She shook her head.
    “Want some advice? Maybe you should tell him you have.”
    “Why? Is it hard to learn?”
    The men chuckled together. “Hard to do, ” the teenager said. “I’ll show you the ropes if you get hired.”
Then he looked her over from her head to her feet, but his appraisal was a
little more personal. “You sure you’re up to it?”
    She sucked in a breath. She’d do anything to take care of her
girls. Mel Sheridan and Reverend Kincaid had helped her get some county
assistance—food stamps and Medicaid—but that wasn’t enough to live on. She’d
been getting by on that plus part-time jobs at the clinic and the new school’s
summer program, but it was very part-time, given her small children.
    She wanted to earn her own money. There just hadn’t been much
opportunity.
    “I’m stronger than I look,” she informed him. “I am. I can’t
lie about my experience, though. I have this…” This deal I
made with God, she thought dismally. Nora was trying so hard to
rectify past mistakes, she wasn’t about to make more along the way. “When I make
a commitment, I’m good for it. I’ll take any advice I can get, though. Did you
guys see the notice in the