Free A Merry Little Christmas by Catherine Palmer

shaking. Why had he come? And those two people arranging the food must be his parents! Oh, this was not supposed to happen. And look how cute his mother was! And his dad…
    Biting her lower lip, Lara focused on organizing the line that was beginning to form once again. The atmosphere at Reynolds created a sort of harmony that allowed students from hostile countries to gather in peace. But Lara was not naive. Trouble always simmered somewhere beneath the surface. She had to be careful who roomed together. She had to keep close tabs on every student—especially those from nations the United States did not consider allies. Even in the merging of a line at a buffet table, she knew tensions could mount.
    As she helped the students gather in an orderly fashion, it occurred to Lara that if she could defuse potential conflict between nationalities, surely she could manage to get through this meal with Jeremiah Maddox in a civil manner. She would be polite, distant, kind but unemotional.
    She filled her plate and took a chair near the student from Ivory Coast whose family was still missing. The young woman’s eyes brimmed with misery. Friends gathered around her, and everyone began to eat. Lara noted that Jeremiah had joined his sons and the Murayas at a distant table, and she relaxed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to summon any emotion toward Jeremiah. Clearly he had come to be with Peter’s family, and that was exactly as it should be.
    She had just taken a bite of Ethiopian injera, a spongy, sour flatbread used as a kind of edible tablecloth to soak stew juices and scoop up meat, when she saw Jeremiah’s mother settle into a chair across the table. The woman’s bright blue eyes matched her son’s, but her face held none of his reserve as she pulled her napkin into her lap and looked around the table.
    “I’m June Maddox,” she said. “From Bolivar. That’s about thirty minutes north of Springfield. My son is Jeremiah, over there with his Kenyan family. Are you young ladies from Kenya, too?”
    “We are from Ivory Coast, Ghana and Cameroon,” one of them responded in a low voice. “Our countries are in West Africa. Very far away from Kenya.”
    “My grandsons told me I’d learn a lot if I came to dinner here. To tell you the truth, I resisted the idea at first. We’ve always had Thanksgiving at home with Jeremiah and the boys. We have a daughter, too, but Jenny lives in California, and we don’t see her very often. Oh, I’m telling you, we miss that girl! But she’s like her big brother—busy, busy, busy. If Daniel hadn’t met Peter and invited him to live in the guest cottage, I don’t suppose Jeremiah would have ever slowed down. But he’s a different boy since his African friends moved in. We haven’t been introduced, but I believe you’re Dr. Crane, aren’t you?”
    Lara swallowed a too-large mouthful of hot curry. “Uh, yes.” She coughed and took a swig of water. “Your son has been very kind, Mrs. Maddox. Your grandsons…great kids.”
    “They all think so much of you. Especially Jeremiah. I don’t believe he stopped talking about you during the whole drive down here from Bolivar. He says you run quite a program for these students. And you volunteer to refurbish old houses on the weekends.”
    “I enjoy my work.”
    “I can see why! This is just a delightful gathering. Wonderful.” White hair freshly set and glowing with hair spray, she took a bite of turkey and chewed for a moment before speaking again. “I thought I’d start with a plate of my traditional cooking, you know. Then I believe I’ll give some of the other dishes a try.”
    “I hope you will, Mrs. Maddox. The students have prepared the best their homelands have to offer.”
    “Jeremiah tells me his friends roasted a goat in his backyard. Actually, I’m not even sure that’s legal.”
    “It’s delicious, though,” Lara said. Hoping to turn the conversation away from Jeremiah, she spoke to Dahlia, the young woman who had