A Van Sweet Holiday

James Jameson Jr stepped out of the bus into the crisp afternoon air. His duffle was served up next to him with a friendly greeting, a much different experience than the rudeness of the big city he had left the day before. A post office stood before him, the police station next to that, with a covered park bench sandwiched between them. James turned around, there were a dozen low buildings along the single street, sporting a variety of colored awnings like a row of frosted cupcakes. At the far end a massive pine tree stood, its branches forming a centerpiece over the banner announcing “Cherryville Winter Festival”. A classic movie scene brought to life. Spoiled only by the folks carrying cell phones and driving SUVs.

An unsubtle throat clearing brought James back to his immediate surroundings, where an impeccably dressed victorian english butler was standing close by.

“Mr Jameson?” the butler asked with a southern accent strong enough to tear down ten generations of stereotypes

“Uh yes that's right” James answered.

“I’m George O. I’m to drive you out to the Van Sweet place.”

James picked up his duffle, while George O motioned towards a green minivan with the word Taxi on the side in yellow spray paint.

After getting in, George O immediately started talking.

“So is you the new nanny?”

“What? How would you know that?”

“Mrs Van Sweet done and fired the last one right in the middle of movie night. Quite a slippy pickle it was. She done knocked over the popcorn mah sheen before mah kids got any. They was sad, but the Mayor, she asked Mr Hoskins to play extra cartoons while she kettled up a new batch oh popcorn. So it was all right in the end. Well not for the Van Sweet kids, they keep having to gets new nannies.”

“What do you mean, George, O?” James had trouble pronouncing the name.

It wasn’t Georgio, and it wasn’t George Oh, and it wasn’t Jorjo, it was some sort of combination that sounded right in the taxi drivers mouth, but sounded wrong when James said it.

“Well, ever since Mr Van Sweet plum disappeared with that first nanny, there been quite a parade oh nannies coming and going. Ain’t none of em lasted longer than ice cream in summer. Gotta be hard on them kids.”

The taxi pulled up in front of a large house with pillars on the porch. An actual manor house. James got out and stared, wondering if he had accidentally been delivered to the set of Gone With the Wind. Had Mint Juleps ever been served out on the porch to old ladies fanning themselves? To the right of the house were cherry trees, hundreds of them in well tended rows extending up and over a gentle hill. To the left was a carriage house. James knew what it was because of the exquisitely painted horse carriage plainly visible through the open doors. No horses were attached, but based on the bales of hay stacked in the building he assumed some were nearby.

George O handed him the duffle.

“Good luck to ya Mr Jameson.“ The taxi driver handed over a business card, “Call me iffin ya need a ride back inta town.”

James looked at the card. It had a picture of the green minivan on it, the words ‘Cherryville Taxi’, and a phone number. No mention of how George O spelled his name.

A gentle noise came from the house. There was now a woman and two children standing on the porch atop the stairs, holding hands as if they were cake toppers. They were dressed in business casual, all with cherries represented on their outfits. The woman had a sparkling lapel pin, the girl a cherry pattern skirt, and the boy had cherries instead of horses on his polo. James focused on the children. They appeared to be 9 and 14 as the job description had said, but he realized he had never seen children dressed in business casual before.

The woman made a small “ahem” and smiled a sour half smile that James immediately recognized. He had seen it on the faces of many business women in the big city. She was already displeased, but pretending not to be. Thus is the essence of diplomacy and negotiation. James hustled towards the porch, switching the duffel to his left hand before starting up the wide stairs. The woman was waiting directly at the edge of the porch, forcing him to stop two stairs short, bringing his eyes directly to the height of her chest. The full button blouse did little to disguise her features. He tried to pull his eyes upwards, but they landed on the cherry pendant. It sparkled in the afternoon sun, scattering the light in a way that cheap jewelry never could. The cherries were made of rubies, the stems a row of tiny emeralds, all inlaid into gold rim. Despite coming out into the country, James realized this one bauble was worth more than his entire life fortune.

“James Jameson Jr” said the woman. A statement, not a question.

“Uh yes, Maam” said James.

“I am Rosalinda Van Sweet.” She stepped back with one foot in a half turn, sweeping her arm gracefully. “And these are my children. Greta Van Sweet”, The younger child made a courtesy, “Hans Van Sweet.” The older boy made a short but polite bow.

“Your interview said you would hit the ground running Mr Jameson. We have a lot of running to do.” From somewhere behind the crisp folds of her skirt she produced a trim leather pocket calendar. Handing it to James she said “ Today's schedule is already set, the children will show you to your room. Then we have a photo shoot in the carriage house in 30 minutes. After that, consult the calendar.” She swirled about and strode into the house, every crease on her skirt staying perfectly aligned, her smart flats still striking the floor like business heels.

James was still standing two steps down from the porch when Greta spoke up.

“Mr Jameson, do you want to see your room?”

“Thank you Greta. Yes I would.” Glancing back and forth between the children he added. “And you can call me James”.

Now that his mother was gone, Hans had his hands in his pockets and a full teenage slouch.

“So, James Jameson Jr. “ The kid had a sly little grin “ Your parents must have really hated you huh?

“That is a rude way to start a conversation. Hansel Van Sweet” replied James, staring straight at the teen. The boys mouth popped open, hanging there waiting while his brain tried to work out what to say next.

James filled in the gap “Lets go to my room, drop my bag. And then I believe you two are due at a photo shoot.” He finished with a flourish of the calendar.

The photo shoot was in the carriage house. Which turned out to not be a carriage house. Hans delighted in explaining everything to James. This was, in fact, a small store and display building. The carriage was a rental, the hay bales had been hauled over from the stable as decoration just for the photo shoot. Hans was just about to launch into the full line of Van Sweet products when the photographer motioned them over. The family posed in front of and on the carriage while holding various Van Sweet Cherry merchandise.

James had seen this job offering right at a critical moment. He was looking for a way out of the city, due to a combination of bad luck at work, and misfortune with relationships. He had no family or friends left for him to turn to, and needed a change. Although he had no formal nanny training, he did have a lot of experience with kids due to his upbringing in the foster care system. He had applied without hope, the job market was already tough enough. It had been a complete surprise when he got a call for the interview, and a great shock to hear he was accepted for the job. Live in nanny for a wealthy family in the country. His previous life choices never led him to believe this would be a dream job, but based on what he was leaving behind, it was perfect.

James had never had a Van Sweet Cherry before accepting the job. He went and splurged on a small box of the delicacies after hearing the news. A variety pack with chocolate covered cherries, candied cherries, and a small glass of jam. It was tasty, no doubt about it, but James wondered how much of the price was marketing the name. Or perhaps James was just not into luxury gifts. Either way, watching the photo shoot in progress, he could clearly envision how the box art on his tiny sampler pack had come to pass.

The photo shoot lasted far longer than James expected. Just when he thought it might be over, the family put on fancy winter jackets, the photographer covered the hay bales with fake snow, and another round of pictures began. When it finally did end the children were showing signs of hunger induced crankiness. Mrs Van Sweet said something to each of them, then whooshed outside into a waiting car and sped off into the evening. James walked over,

“So, you two hungry or what?”

Hans had a phone out, earbuds in, paying no attention.

“Lets go to the kitchen” said Greta, all signs of smiles and curtsy were gone. She started walking. James followed, with Hans slouching along behind.

#

The next morning, James checked the pocket calendar. Cherryville Winter Festival was listed for 4pm. At breakfast, James asked the children about it.

Greta excitedly answered, “There are lights and booths and cakes and stuff. The Cherry Princess crowning of course. And they have cider with whip cream on top, and a giant christmas tree!”

Hans was significantly less excited when he answered “Its not a Christmas Tree Greta, it's a Holiday Tree, remember?”

Greta stuck her tongue out at her brother, then went back to her waffles.

Hans was poking a fork at his plate. He had eaten his waffles, but none of the sausage or bacon. James wondered if Hans was anti-meat, but saw a little nibble had been taken. Teenage boys normally eat everything they come across and still have a snack after, so James made a mental note to keep an eye on things.

While cleaning up after breakfast, James looked at the pictures on the fridge. Some of Greta and Hans, some of them with their mother. Those looked more like stills from a photo shoot, and not candid shots. Significantly there were none with any sort of father figure. But quite a few had the children standing with various women, usually in a festive situation. Greta, bringing the milk over, saw James looking.

“Oh those are some of our other nannies. Some were good, some were not so good. Mother keeps burning them.”

“Burning them!?” James exclaimed.

“She means firing them. Mother keeps firing them.” Hans was glaring at his sister “Right Greta?”

“Oh, um thats what I meant” responded Greta meekly.

James took a step back, the children were looking at the pictures now, seems they hadn’t paid attention to them in a while. The pair were speaking softly to each other, commenting on each picture.

“Hanna”

“She was nice”

“I liked her”

“What about Tori”

“No she was tough”

“Yeah I didn’t like her either”

“Elizabeth? Remember when the gravy spilled?”

“Mother was sooo angry”

“Anita, she was very soft”

“No, that was all fat.”

James was half listening while putting away dishes when he heard that.

“Hans, that is not a nice thing to say about someone.”

“Well, you wouldn’t say that if she came after your birthday cake.” Hans remarked over his shoulder as he slouched his way out of the kitchen.

James looked at the pictures again, the most recent one was of a clearly overweight woman, holding a plate with an enormous slice of cake, while Greta was placing a birthday hat on an unamused looking Hans.

#

George O and his taxi dropped them off on main street in front of the Winter Festival. The entire street was blocked with vendor booths and people. Sparkling holiday lights were strung criss cross over the booths all the way to the tree. A group of carollers was singing from the back of a horse drawn wagon, slowly clopping through the crowd. It seemed that every booth was in some way cherry related, despite this being December. Cherry pie, cherry ornaments, cherry wood carvings, clothing with cherry accents, paintings of cherry orchards. James was starting to feel a bit cherrywhelmed when Greta grabbed his hand,

“Ooh ooh there it is!”

She pulled him to a booth sporting a gigantic wooden barrel with a cow painted on the side.

Five seconds later she had a mug of hot cherry cider with real whip cream on top.

James suddenly realized that Mrs Van Sweet had not discussed finances with him, or given him an allowance for the children. His blank look must had triggered something, because the cider vendor spoke up.

“You must be the new nanny. Don’t worry about it.” she said, holding up her hand. “ Nobody here asks for money from the Van Sweet children. That's not how this town works”. She added, a little darkly.

“Umm, thank you.” stammered James.

Greta grabbed his hand again, and they were off to see the enormous Holiday Tree, decorated with glowing red cherries.

Hans had disappeared, and James couldn’t remember exactly when. He was teenagering along behind them, and then later he wasn’t. James asked Greta, but she just pointed with one cherry juiced stained hand towards a nearby tree that didn’t have any lights on it. Several figures were standing underneath it, silhouettes barely visible. James went over to find a group of loitering teens, all trying to outloiter each other, Hans among them. James had never been very tall, so he just slouched up and stood among them. A vape was being passed around. James took his turn, at least it wasn’t cherry flavored. He passed it directly to Hans, slightly enjoying the terror in the teens face when he realized who gave him the vape.

Hans coughed up his puff before handing it along to the next youth. James gave a quick jerk of his head back in the direction of the festival.

Hans glumly shoved hands back into pockets, and followed James back into the lights.

“You aren’t going to tell my mother are you?” Asked Hans.

“Do you think I should?” James asked back.

“She probably wouldn’t even care” said Hans, finally showing true emotion. ‘I hardly ever see her anyway”.

“Well little man, let's keep this one between us. But just this time, alright?”

Hans brightened up.

The pair reached the bench where Greta was waiting, dark red cherry juice dribbles on her chin and hands looking a little sinister in the evening light. James pulled out some napkins and tried to clean her up. While wiping her face he said

“The calendar says we need to be at the gazebo in a few minutes for the Cherry Princess crowning. Do you two want to go, or..”

“Ohh, we can’t be late!” Greta shot straight up and started walking briskly.

“Ugh, here we go.” said Hans, as he stretched his legs to keep up with his little sister.

James hurried to keep up with Hans “Does she like this part?”

Hans returned to his snarky self “You haven’t got it yet have you?”

He gave James a weird side eye.

“Greta IS the Cherry Princess.” They had reached the gazebo, Greta was already embroiled with a group of ladies in red and green cherry dresses.

“Every winter they crown Greta the Cherry Princes. And every spring at the Blossom Festival they crown me the Cherry King.”

James looked at Hans, trying to imagine him in the gazebo with a crown.

“They used to crown me the Cherry Prince, until my dad. Ya know” his eyes were downcast, some of that teenage swagger lost.

What about your mother?” Asked James. “Is she the Cherry Queen?”

“Ahh no.“ Said Hans “She doesn’t go for that fairy tale stuff. She is … The Boss”

James was freaked out about how Hans could capitalize a word when he said it.

Hans glanced around a bit as if looking for his mother.

“But sometimes, when people think I am not around, I know they call her something else.”

… “The Witch”.

A grand old fashioned band started playing just as Hans finished, James didn’t quite catch what Hans had said, but it didn’t sound like the town was entirely in love with Rosalinda Van Sweet.

The Mayor said some words, the band played, and then The Mayor held up a silver crown tipped with red and green.

“I now pronounce this year's Cherry Princess to be”...

The town waited for the appropriate dramatic pause.

“Greta Van Sweet!“ The audience clapped and cheered as The Mayor placed the crown on Greta’s head. The cherry ladies had cleaned her up, she was no longer stained, and seemed to have some makeup on as well. Surprisingly, at least to James, Rosalinda Van Sweet stepped onto the stage as well, placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, smiling to the crowd. She accepted the microphone from The Mayor, and gave some stereotypical words of holiday comfort and praise to the waiting crowd. James watched the faces of the participants, they seemed like actors in a play, performing their parts as expected. None of them were pleased with Rosalinda’s words, but they still clapped and cheered. Maybe she really did own the town.

James pondered how much had changed since Mr Van Sweet had disappeared. He had read about it online after being offered the job. The husband and the first nanny had vanished at the same time, the police never found them, nor did they ever re-appear elsewhere. Rosalinda Van Sweet had apparently presented evidence that Mr Van Sweet was having an affair with the nanny and was preparing to file for divorce when the disappearance happened. Since then, there had been a string of nannies, none lasting more than a year, as Rosalinda Van Sweet kept firing them. Often in crowded public places and extremely vocal ways.

Rosalinda Van Sweet also turned out to be extremely business savvy, turning her former husband's boring old canned cherry company into a luxury brand of gift cherries, with baskets and delicacies going for hundreds or thousands of dollars. The Van Sweet cherry gifts were highly sought after in the big city as the go-to gift for impressing clients, or demonstrating disposable wealth. Rosalinda Van Sweet was now a high powered business executive, and the town of Cherryville was reaping the success as well.

The ceremony continued, with Princess Greta reading out the names of winners for various trophies, such as best decorated booth, and cutest dressed pet. Hans was fiddling with his phone, while the rest of the crowd paid attention and clapped at the appropriate times. It eventually concluded with another speech from The Mayor, but Rosalinda Van Sweet was nowhere to be seen. The crowd dispersed, so James collected Greta from the stage. She was looking a bit worse for the wear, all that sugar and excitement was wearing off.

“Can we leave now?” asked Hans. The pocket calendar had not listed any more activities after the crowning, so James agreed. They went back to the entrance of the festival. James dug for his phone, but George O and his green minivan were already there waiting.

“Home agin home agin, joggity jog” Sang George O as they climbed into the taxi.

“Soon ya be snawrin, like frogs on a log.”

#

The children were in bed not yet asleep, so unknown if there would be snoring or snawrin. James was in the kitchen, savoring a cup of chamomile before bed when Rosalinda walked in.

”How is it so far?” She asked.

“The children are good, very nice to me. But the town seems a bit strange.”

“Oh? How so?”

“At the festival today, nobody charged us for any of the sweets that Greta wanted.” James replied. “Not that I let her have too many” he added hastily.

Rosalinda’s eyes narrowed a bit, “Nobody in this town would dare charge my children for anything, not after what I have done. This town owes me.” She paused for a moment.

“It was a dump, a bunch of hick farmers and a cannery, and now it's a Destination. Tourists come to see Cherryville, home of the Van Sweet cherries. I saved this town.”

James paused, considering for a moment, but decided to follow up.

“But at what cost? Your children never see you, they hardly know you any more. It's just a parade of nannies, while you are off doing business.”

James voice started to shake, he should not be telling this mother these things, but he continued.

“These children need their mother. Their father already disappeared. Don’t let your business take you away from them.”

Rosalinda threw down the glass she was carrying, shattering it across the floor. “You are just like the others!” she screamed at him. “Trying to tell me how to mother.” She jabbed a well manicured finger at him “You are trying to turn my babies against me, trying to steal them away!”

The Mayor appeared at the kitchen doorway, drawn by the shouting. James hadn’t known she was in the house, he hadn’t even known that Rosalinda was home.

Rosalinda was still shouting.

“Get out. You are fired!” She flung her hand in the direction of the front door. “OUT OUT OUT!” She screamed.

James went to the front door, grabbing his coat from the closet, The Mayor followed him. She opened the door, and gently escorted him outside.

“So sorry it went down like this” She said. “Linda can be a bit, “ she looked back at the house for a moment, “Touchy. When it comes to nannies and her children”.

There was a car in the drive. The Mayor gestured towards it.

“Come on, I’ll drive you downtown. Best that you don’t go back in the house.”

James walked to the car, then turned back for a look at the house. Hans and Greta were looking out an upstairs window. James gave a half wave, then got into The Mayor's car. As he got buckled, The Mayor was wiping her neck, James saw lipstick stains on the napkin and her blouse collar.

“Huh, " thought James, “Rosalinda Van Sweet really does have control over this town, and everyone in it.”

The Mayor dropped him off on main street, at the covered bench where he had first arrived.

“The bus will be by around 8 am, you can get a ticket from the driver for a ride back to the big city, or wherever else you are going” And then she drove away.

So much for country hospitality. He didn’t even have the duffel bag with his clothes. At least he had his phone and jacket.

About two hours later, as he sat shivering on the bench, long past when the street lights turned off, clip clopping echoed down the street. A bobbling light approached, eventually turning into a figure on horseback holding a flashlight.

“Uh, hello” said Hans from the back of the horse.

“Hans?” Up jumped James. “What are you doing here?”

“It's my mother” he answered “She is like, super sad and stuff. I think she regrets firing you. We heard the whole thing, the whole argument you know. “

He paused for a moment.

“Now she is just like, crying and stuff. I don’t think she has any friends. Maybe you could come back and, like, talk to her.”

“What about The Mayor? They seemed pretty close.”

“I know about her and The Mayor, doing”, he looked around embarrassed, “doing adult stuff” he whispered. “The Mayor isn’t the only one who comes for that.” He continued, whispering out the family secrets to this near stranger.

“But they don’t talk, like, really talk. “

The horse stepped about a bit, mimicking the awkward shuffling of a teenage boy.

“Will you come? James?” Asked Hans. “I think she needs you. Needs to apologize maybe, and talk. And I think me and Greta...”

Hans looked down at his hands as he spoke

“Well maybe I think we need you too.”

James had never been on a horse before, growing up in the big city. He held out his hand, Hans gripped it, and pulled, and suddenly James was on the back of a horse. Hans gave a little click and a gentle kick, and the pair rode off into the night, heading for the manor house. Fading echoes of clip clops the only evidence that James had ever been on the bus stop bench.

When they arrived, Hans directed the horse beyond the house to the stables, a place that James had not visited in his short time. After putting the horse away, they started walking, James towards the house, but Hans stopped him.

“Mother is in the bakery,” he said. “She goes there whenever she is sad. It's her happy place or whatever.” Some of his teenage snark had returned now that James was back in the picture.

Hans led him down the gravel path to a brick building with a dozen smokestacks. Flickering fires threw shadows over the countryside as they approached. Even in the darkness, James could tell this was one of the buildings pictured in the advertisements.

“This is not the factory,” Hans explained, “This is her private bakery, and also sometimes we do photo shoots here.”

The pair entered through a modest side door. Inside the bakery, heat slammed into James like an inner city summer day. The building had a large central room with multiple ovens, most with doors open and a fire blazing inside. At the far end was a pair of figures, Rosalinda and Greta, tossing a log into an as yet unlit brick monstrosity, the biggest oven in the room.

The largest oven James had ever seen before could probably hold a turkey, but this thing would easily hold the horse they had ridden here, and possibly the saddle as well. Massive metal doors framed the oven entrance, each the size of a car door. Hans and James reached the oven just as Greta and Rosalinda finished heaving their log onto the growing pile inside.

Rosalinda saw him, looked straight into his eyes.

“Oh James, I am so glad you came back.” She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and waist. James had not realized what a slight woman she was, her presence was so powerful, he had imagined her with stature to match. But being in contact, she felt so small, frail, vulnerable.

“Thank you, thank you” she whispered in his ear. He could feel warm salty tears on the side of his face. Her tears, transferred to him by their closeness.

She pulled back just a little. “Forgive me please?” she said.

“Help me load this last log, and then, maybe, we can talk?” This gentle softness was a complete turnaround from the stern business tycoon James had met previously. His heart melted like butter, as he became eager to help this woman heal.

He saw another log on a wagon near the oven. James pried himself loose from the distraught Rosalinda, and picked up the log. It was large and unwieldy, he turned his back on the family and levered it over the edge and onto the pile. As he released the log, something pressed firmly into his upper back, pushing him off balance. He tumbled forward into the oven, which was much deeper on the inside than he realized. He landed awkwardly on his head and arms, legs uselessly waving above his head. He could just barely see Rosalinda standing at the oven doors holding a pitchfork, looking at him. No longer vulnerable.

James tried to clamber around, to flip over, but Hans reached into the oven slipping a manacle around one of his legs. Spikes inside the manacle dug in as it locked into place.

“What are you doing! Stop” shouted James “Ow, ow, hey stop it!” His screaming went unanswered.

As continued to struggle, a chain attached to the manacle began pulling him towards the back of the massive oven. Rosalinda was smiling at him, a hungry, anticipatory smile. Hans was standing next to her, laughing.

James was pulled off the logs, up onto a metal grill. Finally off the log pile, he desperately reached towards his leg. Blood gushing from the spikes made the manacle too slippery to grasp. He fumbled with it until he heard metallic shrieking behind him. He looked back towards the oven door.

Greta had joined the others, she waved happily. “Goodbye Nanny. You’re fired”.

The massive metal doors closed.

#

Rosalinda VanSweet and her children sat at the dining room table, finishing up their dinner.

“Well children, what did you think of James Jameson Jr?” she asked.

“I thought he was very tender.” Replied Hans.

“Yes, I thought he might be, that is why I hired him.”

“He wasn’t as good as daddy,” said Greta, unhappily.

“I don’t think anyone ever will be.” Replied her mother.