Santa Clawed

only seen her in jeans. I like to see women…you know.” His hands made a curving motion.
    “I expect she’ll wear a dress to the St. Luke’s Christmas party.” Brother Morris smiled. “And you know, Alicia Palmer and BoomBoom Craycroft will be there, too. They’re more your type, I think, Brother George.”
    Brother George laughed at himself. “Oh, those days are long gone, but I can dream. A man’s still a man.”
    The two left Brother Sheldon, who now received Brother Ed and Brother Speed. The waterworks turned on again.
    As the head of the order and his second in command walked toward the door, Brother George whispered in a low voice, “I really am going to miss Brother Christopher.”
    “Yes, I am, too. He had good ideas.”
    “I’m willing to bet this is all about financial ruin and revenge.” Brother George folded his hands behind his back.
    “I don’t know. He was always hatching plans for our financial advancement. Far-fetched as some of them were, I’ll miss his bright mind and spirit.”
    Brother George lowered his head and nodded. “I hope we don’t lose support because of—”
    “I’m sure the people who have been so generous to us in the past will continue.”
    Brother George smiled slightly. “You’re right. I need to push my fears back.”
    “Trust in the Lord.” Brother Morris smiled broadly.

S hining baby blue because of the snow, the Blue Ridge Mountains cast a benevolent presence over the rolling foothills of central Virginia. At this point the clear sky heightened the beauty of the scene. Occasional small squalls popped up, and the weatherman predicted a major storm within the week. One of the joys—or not, depending on one’s temperament—of living in this blessed part of the world was the variability of the weather.
    Harry thought about that as she headed east from Crozet, arriving at Jean Keelo’s house in the attractive and expensive subdivision next to the Boar’s Head Inn. Originally, Harry, Susan, Racquel, and Jean had planned to gather at the South River Grill, off Route 340 in Waynesboro. They could have lunch without seeing too many people they knew and therefore could stick to business. However, going over Afton Mountain, even when the roads were passable, seemed imprudent. No matter how hard crews worked, the roads iced over, given the elevation. Invariably some fool would fly by at seventy miles an hour, lose control, and spin around—if they were lucky. If not, they crashed into other cars or sailed over the guardrail to the depths below.
    Harry and Susan served on the vestry board of St. Luke’s. Racquel Deeds headed the refreshments committee, and Jean Keelo acted as her second banana. It had been that way since they met at Miami University. When Racquel became president of the sorority in her senior year, Jean, naturally, served as vice president.
    Harry parked her truck behind Susan’s Audi station wagon and Racquel’s sparkling new Range Rover. She hastened to the front door, picked up the pineapple brass door knocker, and gave two sharp raps.
    Jean opened the door. “Harry, come on in. Cold, isn’t it?”
    “Does bring a tingle to the toes,” Harry agreed as she shed her coat, which Racquel hung in the small cloakroom.
    Harry then handed her hostess a small, nicely wrapped Christmas present.
    “Harry, you shouldn’t have.”
    “It’s a small thing, but you’ll use it.” Harry had found some Crane paper with a gold pineapple on it.
    Jean loved pineapples as the symbol of hospitality, plus she liked eating them.
    Harry had also found some special stationery for Racquel, from the firm Dempsey & Carroll. Whereas Jean’s paper was cream, Racquel’s was stark white with a green grasshopper at the top. Racquel liked drinking grasshoppers. Of late, Racquel liked drinking.
    Harry would give Susan her gift on Christmas Eve.
    Ushered into the dining room, which was Williamsburg in inspiration, Harry hugged and kissed everyone. Women have to make a fuss or everyone assumes something is wrong. She handed Racquel her gift as she sat down. Her place was marked by a card executed with perfect penmanship and held up by a tiny brass pineapple.
    “Jean, thanks for doing this, and at Christmas no less. Your tree is gorgeous.”
    Harry noticed that Jean had put her own card next to Harry’s. As they were four and on good terms, no need for Jean to head the table. She was quite sensitive and proper about these things.
    “I’ll admit this to you.