Santa Clawed

truck.
    “These old Fords go and go. When did you get it?” He walked around it, noticing the good condition of the F-series truck.
    “When I graduated from Smith, in 1990.”
    His gaze ran over the ’78 Ford again. “I miss my Porsche.” He shrugged. “Funny how you can love an inanimate object.”
    “Makes sense to me.” She opened the truck door.
    The cats hopped in, but she had to pick up Tucker.
    “Good to see you, Harry. I’ll be here until ten. If you and Fair run late, call.” He waved as she drove off.
    Heading toward the farm, she thought that the leopard could change his spots if he truly was motivated.
    At least that’s what she figured.
    “Where are we going?”
Pewter wanted a nap.
    “We’re here,”
Mrs. Murphy said as Harry drove down the alleyway behind the old post office, where she used to work.
    Once parked in Miranda Hogendobber’s driveway off the alleyway, she paused to notice that even in the snow, Miranda’s gardens, symmetrically laid out, still pleased the eye.
    “Knock knock.” She opened the back door.
    “Come on in. I’m in the living room,” Miranda, Harry’s surrogate mother and former workmate at the post office, called out.
    The animals dashed in to be rapturously greeted, followed by Harry, who received a big hug and kiss.
    “Wow.” Harry admired Miranda’s tree.
    “Thought I’d do something different this year.”
    “It’s gorgeous.”
    A Douglas fir, reaching the ceiling, bore evidence of Miranda’s highly developed aesthetic sensibility. Plaid bows, shot through with some gold thread, were tied in place of balls. A lush gold garland wrapped around the tree. On the top, a single thin gold star finished the picture.
    “You really like it? I haven’t been too severe?”
    “I love it.”
    “Sit down. Tea?”
    “I’m on the run. Just wanted to stop by. We made the wreaths today. Are you nervous?”
    “A little.” She chuckled. “A lot.”
    “You’ll be fab.”
    Miranda, a stalwart at the Church of the Holy Light, had agreed to sing at St. Luke’s Christmas party on the winter solstice. Her partner would be none other than Brother Morris, formerly a major tenor in the opera world.
    “We’ve practiced. Brother Morris puts me at ease, but, Harry, that voice.” She threw her hands heavenward. “A gift from God.”
    “So is yours.”
    “Now, now. Flatterer.”
    “Miranda, people wouldn’t have asked you to sing with Brother Morris if you didn’t have the stuff.”
    “Oh, Herbie asked me.”
    “He’s a good judge.”
    She changed the subject. “Visited Phillipa Henry. Sinking fast.”
    Racquel’s aunt had moved to the area when Racquel and Bryson did. Childless, the woman doted on her niece and Racquel’s two sons.
    “Racquel said as much.”
    “You know, I’ve never been to the Brothers of Love Hospice before. They do God’s work.”
    “I believe they do.”
    Harry told her about seeing Christopher Hewitt. They caught up on odds and ends, the glue of life in the country and small towns.
    “Another thing.” Miranda returned to Aunt Phillipa. “Bryson was there. He stops by and visits Phillipa. Brother Luther was there, too, and says that Bryson makes a point of visiting each of the people in their care. I was impressed with how tender he was. I mean, since he’s…uh”—even though she was with Harry, she still paused, since a Southern lady is not to speak ill of anyone—“full of himself.”
    “He is that.” Harry laughed. “But I guess to be really successful at anything, you need a big ego.”
    “I conclude he’s very successful.” They both laughed, then Miranda added, “He seemed distant and tense. Not with the patients but in general.”
    “Racquel’s suspicious.”
    “I hope that’s unfounded.” Miranda shook her head.
    “Truly.”
    “Me, too. How do people find the time for affairs? One man is all I can do.”
    “Me, too.”
    “Tell me what you think. We got into a discussion at St. Luke’s. Started about the Brothers of Love, how each man is trying to change, to make up for past sins. Do you think the leopard can change his spots?”
    “Of course. One asks for Christ’s help, but, of course, Jesus represents change. Rebirth.”
    “Never thought of it that way.”
    “Honey, you’re a good woman, but you don’t have a religious turn of mind.”
    “I don’t need it. You do it for me.”
    They laughed again, then Harry kissed her on the cheek and went on her way.

T he air was cold. The sun