“Perhaps we can make another batch of chocolate chip cookies tomorrow for dessert,” Pauline said. “But no Christmas cake.”
The girls — and Dan — smiled at the prospect of the cookies.
But Molly wasn’t done with questions. “What about the bread made from soda?”
“Not soda like you drink, but baking soda, like in the cookies,” Bexley explained.
“That’s right. Irish soda bread, now that’s something I’ve eaten in Ireland and in Gloucester. It’s traveled the world with me, you could say.”
“Did our grandma eat that kind of bread?” Molly asked Gramps.
“Her? I don’t know. Probably not unless she could get somebody else to pay for it.”
Bexley jumped in. “Are you asking about your great-great-grandmother who came from Ireland?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Gramps said, “Oh. Suppose so, if that’s what they eat there.”
Keeping the topic going, Bexley asked, “Did you eat special things for Christmas, Eric?”
“My family would always go to Andersonville in Chicago and bring home enough goodies to last through the winter.”
“Andersonville? That’s the Swedish neighborhood, right? The bakeries. Oh, the bakeries,” Bexley said.
“You’ve obviously been,” Pauline said dryly.
Eric grinned. “Mom’s side of the family’s Swedish. It was a required trip.”
“What’s your Christmas Eve tradition, Pauline?” Bexley asked.
“We opened presents. Then we all went to church at midnight.”
Kiernan chuckled. “We went to church at midnight, too, then came home and kept wrapping, because we’d not one of us finished ahead of time. Nearly caught by Santa a time or two.”
The girls’ eyes widened.
“Santa,” Bobby repeated wisely.
“And you, Bexley?”
“We’d clean up from dinner, then take a platter of all the kinds of Christmas cookies and sit around the tree, with a fire in the fireplace. At some point, Mom would go to the piano and we’d all sing Christmas carols.” She swallowed, missing her family, missing that time. “And, of course, we hung our stockings and went to bed early so we didn’t risk getting caught by Santa, which is what you all should be doing.”
“I’m not tired.” Molly yawned on the last word, without showing any sign of thinking that weakened her position.
Lizzie had a different objection. “But there isn’t a fireplace here. And if we hang anything on the stove, it’ll melt.”
Everyone looked at Bexley.
She smiled at the girl. “No fireplace, but we have the absolutely perfect tree for hanging Christmas stockings.”
And so, the four Quick children hung their makeshift Christmas stockings by hooking them on hubcaps.
The girls went first. Dan lifted Bobby to place his stocking at the same height, then put his own up — with minimal complaint or eye-rolling.
These four kids, standing hopefully in front of a triangle of hubcaps, for heaven’s sake. Without their mother ever again, without their father for now — Bexley sent up another good thought for that worried and wearied man — with stockings stapled together, and presents improvised at best.
Yet their eyes sparkled — even Dan’s a little — their mouths smiled. And they stood together. Close.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“They’re tucked in,” Pauline reported as she returned to the bar room from settling the girls and Bobby, “but as for asleep… I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they come popping out at any moment. I’m going to wait to get back to those octopi. And this.”
She placed a necklace of colored beads in front of Bexley on the table.
They all, Kiernan thought, looked to Bexley for direction.
“In the meantime, we can decide what we’re going to do for Christmas dinner,” she said.
“Feed them heartily at breakfast and maybe they won’t notice,” Pauline suggested. “We have plenty of eggs for a couple more breakfasts, even going extra tomorrow morning.”
Gramps groaned. “Eggs’re what folks come in here for first. That and milk and you’re clearing me out.”
“Nonsense. We’re using things up before their expiration dates. By the time everyone digs out and gets moving again, you couldn’t have sold these anyway.”
“You’d be surprised,” he mumbled, leaving it unclear whether she’d be surprised by how quickly after a blizzard Wyomingites were out buying eggs and milk or by their willingness to buy items past their expiration dates.
Bexley returned to the main issue. “Eggs are good, but we should do something special for Christmas breakfast — especially considering Christmas dinner won’t include turkey and all the trimmings or—” She tipped her head toward Kiernan. “—goose or ham or— That’s it!”
“There’s no baked ham,” Kiernan said. “I checked.”
“No, but Gramps said there are ham sandwiches. The bread’s surely stale by now, but we can raid them for the ham and cook it up with the eggs. Separately or scrambled or omelets.”
“Good idea.”
Pauline’s approval came as Kiernan pushed back his chair, with Eric doing the same, their intentions clear.
“Hey. I can sell those sandwiches. They’re still good. Leave those sandwiches alone.”
At that objection from Gramps, Dan got up and joined the cooler-raiding party.
When they returned with two shopping bags full, Gramps groaned.
“This bread’s probably stale, too, but can you do anything with roast beef sandwiches?” Eric asked. “They hit their expiration date today, so did the ham. Tacos tomorrow. Dan spotted that.”
Obeying Bexley’s “Let’s see what we’ve got before we start tearing them apart,” they emptied the contents of the bags on the table.
Eric reached for one of the plastic-covered sandwiches to open the package.
“Wait,” Kiernan said. “Bexley’s got an idea.”
He could practically see her mentally disassembling the sandwiches into their component parts, then reassembling them into something else.
Without taking her eyes from the table, she asked, “What are the tacos made with?”
“Ground beef,” Dan said.
She smiled. Slow and wide.
“Got it. Dan, can you go back and gather up as many packets of catsup as you can find? And don’t worry, Gramps, none of this will go to waste. But it will take some work.”
*
Ham went in one dish, roast beef in another, ground beef in a third. The pieces of bread with mustard on them went in one pile, those without in another, the best slices of the “withouts” had their own pile. Cheese, lettuce, and tomato slices from the sandwiches had smaller plates. The shredded lettuce and cheese, along with beans from the tacos were lumped together.
“Are you going to tell us what this is all going to make?” Eric asked.
Kiernan found he didn’t care what it would make. He enjoyed watching Bexley create.
“Christmas breakfast, Christmas dinner, and the day-after-Christmas breakfast.”
“From this?” Eric smiled, but he doubted.
Kiernan didn’t. She’d make magic of these deconstructed sandwiches and tacos.
“Along with a few other ingredients, led by eggs.” She twirled one hand over the pile of the best slices of bread like a magician with a wand. “French toast for tomorrow morning.” Next, she indicated the with-ketchup pile of bread and the ground beef. “The start of our Christmas dinner main course of meatloaf, with a seasonal red glaze starting from catsup.” Another wave caught the lettuce and tomato. “Along with a salad.” One more magic-wand hand wave encompassed the roast beef, the short middle stack of bread, and the taco fixings. “And a Tex-Mex stir-up for a hearty breakfast the day after Christmas.”
Amid words of praise, Pauline beamed. Eric whistled. Even Gramps looked impressed. As for Dan … he looked hungry, but that was how he always looked.
“We need more for dinner, though,” she said. “Sides for the meatloaf.”
“I saw spinach in the freezer,” he said. Better than praise, he’d contributed something of use.
“Wonderful. Spinach will add more green to the table, along with the red catsup glaze. And if we put enough butter on those dried potatoes in the boxes—”
“Will you and the other kids eat spinach?” Eric asked Dan.
“No way.”
Bexley deflated.
Kiernan wanted to have a few words with the kid.
Before that could happen, though, Pauline spoke. “My mother used to mix chopped spinach into any number of dishes when we were children. I never knew that until I was an adult and complained that the recipes she’d shared with me did not taste the same as my childhood memories.”
Bexley’s smile re-ignited. Kiernan would vote for chopped spinach in every dish imaginable if it always produced that smile.
“The kids might eat it that way,” Dan allowed, hinting that he — knowing what was in the meatloaf — might not. Kiernan bet the boy’s teenage appetite would overcome an aversion to spinach once it was hidden in ground beef.
“Great. My mother also puts bacon in meatloaf, so we can use that package that was too small for everybody to have some at breakfast. Okay, let’s get busy with this. Who’ll chop spinach?”
“I will,” Kiernan said quickly, before anyone else jumped on that opportunity to help her.
She accepted with a smile. “Eric and Dan, will you tear up this stack of bread with the mustard on it for the meatloaf? Small pieces. And Pauline, if you’ll wrap the makings for the two breakfasts?” Clearly, that was the most technical job. “We’ll have to be very quiet going through the bedroom to the kitchen so we don’t wake the kids.”
The good news from Kiernan’s point of view was his task put him in the kitchen with Bexley, beginning the meatloaf, after she stopped in the store for the bacon and a few other ingredients.
Even though she and Pauline spent most of the time discussing meatloaf.
To the ground beef she’d put in the pot standing in for a mixing bowl, Bexley added French onion dip.
“Always used instant soup myself,” Pauline said. “But this should work, especially if you use less milk.”
Bexley nodded, opening and adding other packets. “No Worcestershire sauce, but the soy sauce should give it some zing. Now for the catsup.”
“How’d you learn to cook?” Kiernan asked Bexley.
He caught Pauline looking between them.
“From my Mom. Dad, too. Once we reached high school, we each shared in the cooking. Practical people, my parents. We also had lessons in laundry, bed-making, cleaning, car maintenance, and finances.”
“That’s why you do videos on those topics.”
Bexley cut him a look without letting their gazes meet. “Yes, the ones I’m doing now.”
The ones she knew he must have watched since the summer because she hadn’t started them until after… After.
“You did a different kind of video before?” Pauline didn’t look up from her ministrations with plastic wrap and aluminum foil.
This time, Bexley’s and Kiernan’s gazes met. Hers bounced away.
He’d introduced the topic of her videos, but left plenty of buffer space for her to avoid mentioning her previous work.
“Yes. Lifestyle videos — a different kind of lifestyle, when I was living a different life. Since— the past several months, I switched to practical ones. It’s amazing how many people don’t know the things our parents taught us. Are you finished with the spinach?” she asked him while focusing on adding salt and pepper to the mix in the big pot.
“I’m not at all surprised,” Pauline said. “Although you’ve gone beyond the practical here—”
“Creative.” Kiernan stepped in close to her — there was no choice in this tiny kitchen. “All done chopping.”
“Precisely. Creative. Is—?”
Bexley interrupted Pauline. “Ah, Eric,” she greeted him with pleasure. A bit of relief, too?
She also tried to move away from Kiernan, but Eric’s arrival cut off her retreat.
“Breadcrumbs,” Eric announced.
“Perfect timing. Put them right in here.”
“Chopped spinach in there, too?”
“Yes, thank you.” She backed up and sidestepped to the sink, avoiding contact with Kiernan. “Will one of you do the bacon? Gramps’ lack of kitchen utensils means I’ll mix this with my hands. Hated that as a kid — eww, gross — though I’ve come to appreciate it. It’s the best way to ensure you don’t overmix it, which can make your meatloaf tough.”
She hadn’t been nervous until he’d moved in close. Yet she seemed fine being around Eric.
Kiernan, maintaining possession of the knife when Eric would have volunteered, had the bacon diced in record time. After he added that to the pot, he leaned back against the counter and watched from half-lowered eyelids.
“Isn’t meatloaf supposed to be a loaf?” Eric looked down into the pot.
Bexley chuckled. “It is, but no loaf pan, no baking dish and no way our improvised cookie sheets couldn’t hold this. At least the frying pans can go in the oven. Even this bigger one’s not big enough to form a loaf from one side to the other, so I’m going to make it round.”
“Sort of a theme with the hubcap Christmas tree.”
She chuckled a lot longer than Eric’s mild comment warranted.
With the meatloaf carefully molded into a ring in the frying pan, Pauline even more carefully wrapped it with plastic, then aluminum foil.
“Okay, that’s done,” Bexley said with satisfaction, closing the refrigerator once it was stored.
“Now we have to finish the octopi, divide the necklace, and stuff the stockings,” Pauline said.
It was going to be a late night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Gramps disappeared, but they were all so busy, his absence was barely noticed.
Kiernan and Eric volunteered to scour the store for stocking stuffers.
Pauline divided the necklace with Dan as an assistant, adding thread from her sewing kit to make sure the new necklaces would fit over the girls’ heads.
Bexley commandeered three white socks from Kiernan — when he joked about what use the fourth sock might be, she took that, too.
She cut off the toes, tied off the opening with Pauline’s thread, poured rice from the store into it, tied off the top to hold it in, then cinched the middle to form a two-ball snowman. Turning back the edge of the toe, she formed a hat for each. Then Pauline sewed on buttons — saved from Gramps’ sacrificed shirts — for eyes and a mouth.
Bexley found more ribbons from a beer display old enough to have faded in places. By careful placement, she hid the faded spots as she tied a jaunty scarf on each sock snowman.
She placed each in a red plastic bag, tying Gramps’ twine into a bow to close it, and fluffing out the tops.
“That’s fantastic, Bexley,” Pauline said. “Afraid the octopi won’t fit in those bags, though. Any ideas what to do with them?”
“I thought we’d use the six-pack bottle holders. We’ll need to cut out the interior dividers, then cover them with the old Christmas cards.”
“You are amazing.” The older woman’s admiration quickly turned to brisk orders. “Eric, Kiernan, get those holders and start taking out the interiors.”
Stuffing the stockings was a delicate matter, with one person holding and another carefully placing in the items.
Pens and pencils, erasers in the shape of animal faces, toothpaste, toothbrushes, lip protector for the cold, combs, a pack of playing cards for each. They even wrapped the card packs inside the Christmas cards’ decorated envelopes from the attic boxes.
A refrigerator magnet for each, with a note attached that it wa
s to hang an important item on their fridge at home.
Pauline and Bexley raided their toiletries kits for travel-sized body lotion and moisturizer for the girls.
In the back-to-school pack Dan spotted, they found washable markers for Bobby, colored pens divided between the girls and held together with stretchy glittery bands meant for other merchandise, notebooks for each, a calculator for Dan that he acknowledged with wry recognition of where it came from as he watched it go in.
A small bag of candy each.
They pooled their change to drop some in each stocking, then added a few dollar bills to each.
Bexley was sure she’d seen Kiernan add a five to Dan’s stocking when no one else was looking.
The boy missed it because he’d stretched out on his bed on the floor and promptly fell asleep.
“Now to finish the octopi.” Pauline spread a blanket over Dan on her way back to the table where those fabric creations awaited.
She padded the balls they were using for heads with the pieces of discarded fabric from Gramps’ shirts. They draped the fabric strips over the balls, tying off the short ends for a “hair” tuft, then under the ball, leaving lengths of fabric streaming down.
Then she and Bexley braided — and braided and braided — to create eight fabric legs for each octopus, while Kiernan and Eric applied Christmas cards to the modified six-pack carriers, with frequent consultations with the two women.
Gramps reappeared with three simple wood dinosaurs, now sanded smooth. He put one in each of his younger grandchildren’s stockings, then grumbled about it being past midnight and lowered himself into his own bedroll by the stove.
One octopus leg short of being done, they ran out of thread or ribbon to tie it off.
Eric went to search the store once more for something appropriate. Impatient he hadn’t returned yet, Pauline followed.
“Meant to tell you, I checked the cord on the little ceramic tree. It’s fine to plug in,” Kiernan said.
Bexley meant to thank him, but yawned so widely she lost control of the braid-in-progress in her hand.
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