Annie glanced around. The kitchen help wore large white aprons, latex gloves, and hairnets. One fellow chopped an entire bunch of celery into perfect bite-size pieces in about ten seconds with a few deft motions of his knife. A woman peeled a pile of potatoes, and it seemed her hands almost moved quicker than the eye could detect. Annie knew most restaurants used boxed food, dried potato flakes, prepackaged salads, and canned vegetables, but The Cup & Saucer cooks made their meals as fresh as the seasons could provide. That’s why it was one of the most popular places to eat in town.
Standing at the bank of stainless steel industrial-size sinks, Sara scoured a large, deep pot, her face, flushed pink with the effort of cleaning, was a study in concentration. Annie approached her, but the noise of the dishwashers and running water muffled the sound of her steps.
“Hello, Sara,” she said.
Sara looked up, startled, and dropped the pot. It crashed to the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the kitchen. Sara’s hazel eyes bulged for a moment, and then she looked around as if seeking a place to run.
“It’s OK,” Annie said, as she reached down and picked up the pot. “I’m sorry I startled you!”
Sara wordlessly took the pot from Annie and gulped.
“I … you …” She put the fingers of one hand to her mouth. “Employees only back here, Annie. I’m sorry.”
Annie grabbed the pot before it slipped from the woman’s grip again.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Jeff said I could find you in here, so I’m not trespassing into this space without permission.” She smiled and glanced around. “So do you like working here?”
“Kitchen work is about all I know how to do,” she replied, somewhat defensively. “Good jobs for someone my age are hard to find. Nobody wants to train an older woman.”
“You’re not that old, Sara!” Annie said with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “And besides that, I have good news for you.”
“You do?”
Annie nodded. “If you take back this pot and promise not to drop it again,” she said, pausing to laugh as she handed it over, “I’ll give you something I think you’ll appreciate.”
Wordlessly, and looking completely mystified, Sara set the pot aside. Annie pulled the list of orders from her purse. She glanced at it, smiling.
“The other day I took those bookmarks you made to The Gift Gallery and to Books Galore in Portland. They loved them! These are orders for more, and both owners want the bookmarks as soon as you can possibly make them.”
Sara blinked as if she did not understand.
“I watched you crochet three bookmarks the other day as you sat in the meeting. You’re incredibly fast, Sara.” When the woman still said nothing, Annie added, “I hope I didn’t step over the line by doing this. But since it’s nearing Christmas, and everyone can use a little extra cash, I just thought ….”
Sara seemed to come to herself then, wiping her damp hands on her apron and finally taking the paper from Annie.
“Oh, my,” she said softly, laying the fingers of one hand against her lips as she read the orders.
“I realize it’s a big order.”
Sara nodded. “And it’s so close to Christmas. I mean, will people buy them at this late date?”
Annie laughed softly.
“I think you underestimate the needs of last-minute shoppers. They often forget this person or that, or they need an inexpensive but special gift for someone at the office. Your handmade bookmarks will be a perfect item to sell, especially in bookstores and gift shops.”
“Oh, my!” she said again, her eyes swimming. “When you came in, I thought … well, never mind that.” She waved her hand dismissively and blinked back tears. “Thank you, Annie. I’ll get started on these tonight.” She frowned. “Oh!” This was said with all the buoyancy of air leaving a balloon.
“What is it, Sara?”
“Well, I can make them quickly, and I can make them very pretty. But I don’t have a car. How am I going to get to Portland?”
Annie smiled.
“Why, I’ll take you, of course.”
The woman’s eyes, soft and bright, shone in the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen.
“You’ve been nicer to me than anyone in my whole life. Well, except for Peggy, of course. I never thought I’d ever have such good friends again, but you’ve changed my mind.” She looked down and frowned a little. “Not many people have been kind to me unless they want something.” She flung back her head and met Annie’s eyes, as though questioning what payment Annie might expect from her.
“I don’t want anything from you, Sara, except your friendship.”
The other workers were watching them, and Annie didn’t want Sara to be bothered on her account. She glanced at her watch.
“Alice’s furnace went on the blink, and she’s staying with me for a few days, so I better get home before she starts worrying that I slid off the road. I don’t think she trusts my driving on these wintry Maine roads yet, even though the streets and highways are clear as if it were the Fourth of July.”
Something washed over Sara’s face—something like happiness.
“Alice is staying at your house? Oh, that’s nice!”
“Yes, it is. You know, when you’re alone, it’s fun to have a friend stay a few days with you.”
Sara smiled, her face softening so that Annie saw what a lovely girl she must have been before the cares of life had bored into her.
“Why don’t you come up to Grey Gables for dinner tonight?” Annie asked. “It would be such fun for the three of us to get to know each other. Bring your crocheting along, and we’ll—”
“Oh, no! I can’t do that!” Sara said with such alarm that Annie took a step back. “I have to work until closing. If I were to leave early, I’d lose this job, and I just can’t lose this job.”
Annie understood the woman’s concern. She gently laid one hand on Sara’s forearm and said, “Then we’ll just get together when you aren’t working. When’s your next day off?”
“He hasn’t posted our schedules yet,” Sara said, scouring the pot she had dropped when Annie spoke to her, as if to prove to anyone watching that she was a good worker. Annie did not want to cause her more worry.
“All right then. If you’ll call me, we’ll set up a dinner or luncheon, or even breakfast if you prefer. You can let me know at the next Hook and Needle Club meeting.”
Sara gave her an odd look and then nodded. Annie hurried back into the dining room so the others would quit looking at them, and Sara could relax. One thing that the nervous, frail-looking woman did not need was more worry on her plate.
Annie returned to Grey Gables and told Alice everything she’d purchased and how she’d asked Aaron Webster to see to it that Sara got her gifts while keeping the givers’ identities a secret.
“That poor woman is scared to death she’s going to lose her job,” Annie said, “though I don’t think she has a thing to worry about. She’s a hard worker and is good at what she does.”
“Good!” Alice said. “You know, Annie, it seems we’ve taken Sara under our wings.”
“I think she needs some people to care about her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Alice admitted. “I think she’s had some hard knocks.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“You know,” Alice continued, “sometimes people bring hard knocks to their doors—poor choices and all that.”
“And sometimes, no matter how hard a person tries, hard knocks follow them,” Annie said. “In Sara’s case, maybe it’s a combination of the two, but I believe she’s trying hard to improve her life.”
“I hope you’re right and that your faith in her isn’t misplaced. In any case, I think she’s going to love having some new clothes.”
“I hope so,” Annie said. For Sara Downs, Stony Point’s Santa was Alice MacFarlane and Annie Dawson.
16
The next morning, Alice rang up the furnace repair peo
ple. After she hung up the phone, she sat down at the kitchen table and said, “It’s going to be a while before my furnace is fixed. The thing is so ancient, they’re having trouble finding replacement parts.”
“That’s too bad,” Annie said as she made fresh hot cocoa for the three of them. Noelle sat in her booster seat and enthusiastically colored in an old coloring book Annie had found in a box of toys in the attic. “But I hope you realize I’m more than happy to have you stay right here at Grey Gables as long as you need to. Winters can get so cold and gray and long, even if you have a good friend next door.”
Alice nodded, half-listening. “You know,” she mused aloud, “if I owned the carriage house, I’d replace that furnace. Then I think I might do some other fixing up too.” She sighed, shaking off her thoughts of renovations. “Maybe someday I’ll see about buying the place.”
“I think that’s a fine idea.” Annie said, glancing out the window. “The weather forecast says we have a nor’easter blowing in tonight and plenty of snow is expected—again.”
Annie cooled Noelle’s hot chocolate by adding a bit more milk. She poured it in a bright red sippy cup and gave it to the little girl. “It’s very warm—drink it slowly,” she cautioned.
Noelle took a drink, smacked her lips, and smiled.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a child get more delight out of simple things than Noelle does,” Annie said. “John and Joanna have a lot of fun, but sometimes they’re picky about what they eat or wear or play with. Last night, Noelle played with that cardboard box and my old stuffed elephant for an hour or more.”
They watched the girl finish her cocoa and then return with renewed zest to the coloring book.
“You’re going to miss her when she’s gone,” Alice said.
Annie nodded and made no response. For the moment, she chose to not even think about the day when Noelle would leave her.
While Alice cleaned up the kitchen, Annie gave Noelle a bath and dressed her in one of the new outfits—tiny maroon corduroy pants that still had to have the hems rolled a couple of turns and the waistband pinned more tightly. A fluffy, sunny yellow sweater with embroidered kittens frolicking on the front was a smidgen too large, but it fit well enough. Thick white socks and sneakers completed Noelle’s new ensemble. Annie brushed her fine, blond hair and clipped both sides with yellow barrettes. When Annie was finished with her, Noelle stared at herself in the mirror for a long sober moment, and then she turned and hid her face against Annie’s legs.
“Honey, what’s wrong? See how pretty you are?”
Noelle buried her face more firmly into Annie’s slacks and gripped with tiny fingers. Annie picked her up and was surprised to see how pink the girl’s face was. Noelle stole another look at herself and her blush deepened. She looked away.
Did her own reflection embarrass the girl? Perhaps she failed to recognize herself and thought she faced a stranger. Annie had never seen this kind of reaction from a child before. She picked up Noelle and approached the mirror more closely.
“Sweetheart, look in the mirror. That’s you. See how pretty you are?”
Keeping her head down, Noelle slid a sideways glance at her reflection. Annie waved at her. Noelle’s eyes went from her reflection to Annie’s and back to her own. She lifted her head a bit and then raised one hand, sliding her thumb into her mouth as she watched the girl in the mirror doing the same thing. She straightened even more, looking at herself more closely. Annie waved once more. This time, she wriggled her fingers in a tentative wave.
Annie held her closer to the mirror, and then tapped her fingernails on it. She waved again.
“Hi, Noelle!” she said brightly at the reflection. “Look how nice you look with your pretty yellow sweater and new pants.” She plucked at the items while she spoke. Noelle looked down at her clothes and then looked in the mirror at them. Her gaze went to her hair, and she touched the barrettes.
“You’re very pretty,” Annie told her.
“Pretty!” she said around the thumb.
“Yes. Even with that thumb in your mouth. I know what we should do! Let’s take your picture! OK?”
Noelle grinned.
Annie carried her downstairs and fetched her camera from the small desk drawer in the living room.
“Let’s put you right here in front of the fireplace,” Annie said, “and you may hold your bear.”
She settled the child near the hearth with the cheery fire throwing its warm glow across Noelle’s fine features and hair. She took several shots and even a few in which she was able to persuade the girl to take her thumb from her mouth. Annie knew one day these pictures would be bittersweet, but for that moment they were very sweet indeed. Noelle went looking for the bear’s companion, the elephant Binky-Boo.
A few minutes later, Alice came out of the kitchen and into the living room. Noelle ran to her from the library where she’d been playing. She had Binky-Boo in one hand and her new, nameless bear in the other.
“Hi!” she said, twirling with both arms straight out. “I pretty!”
Alice dramatically lifted both hands, opened her eyes wide, and gasped aloud, “My goodness, Madame Noelle! Look at you. You’re gorgeous!”
Noelle twirled some more until she staggered and fell to the floor, laughing. A moment later, she got to her feet a bit unsteadily, but hollered, “Look! Look!” and went running back to the library. When she returned a few seconds later, she had neither elephant nor bear, but clutched a large plush, snow white teddy bear.
“That’s nearly half your size!” Alice said, laughing. She looked at Annie. “That was in the gifts from Stony Point’s Santa, wasn’t it?”
“It was. That and a couple of other toys which I decided to save for Christmas.” She glanced out the window. “I’ve been listening to the radio, and that storm’s coming fast. I’m going to go check on the old man before it gets here. I’ve packed him some food, just in case he needs or wants it.” She glanced at Alice. “You don’t mind watching Noelle, do you?”
“Of course not. But if you’re going to check on him, please hurry and get back. We don’t want you to get caught on the beach in a nor’easter.”
“I don’t want that, either. I’ll make it quick.”
She layered on her heavy winter outerwear and then picked up the basket of food.
“I’ll have a good hot lunch ready for you when you return,” Alice said.
Annie gave her a big smile. “Thank you, dear friend. I’m sure that will be most welcomed!”
True to her promise, Annie walked as swiftly as possible, blinking against the wind and cold, a very real feeling of déjà vu tagging her heels like a familiar old dog. She was carrying more food even though she was now pretty sure the old man could afford whatever he needed. Something was driving her back to the old shack—a deep-rooted feeling that he needed her, even if he didn’t need the food.
As she approached the shack, it gave the appearance of complete desertion. She paused and stared hard. Had he finally come to his senses and left this desolate place? Or was the aura of abandonment simply a product of her hopeful imagination? She hurried along, the basket on her arm growing heavier with each step.
She knocked on the weathered and damp-swollen door, waiting only a few moments before she knocked again.
There was a noise inside, a voice, perhaps, or a cough and then the sound of something moving.
“Hello!” she called. “It’s Annie Dawson from Grey Gables.”
She heard a fumbling at the door, possibly the scrape of a key turning a lock. The door opened, but she saw no one.
“Come in, come in,” said an irritable, weak voice. “Shut the door and be quick about it.”
Hurriedly, she stepped inside and closed the door. Inside, the shack was surprisingly warm, but she suspected it felt that way because the last several minutes she’d been in bitter cold. The fragrance of smoke, bacon, and coffee predominated the scent of old wood and the sea. She blinked to adjust her eyes
to light that seeped through foggy, dirt-encrusted windows.
The old man sat across the small room from her, his ancient chair near the old wood-burning stove. A dappled blue enamel pot of coffee simmered. Annie ignored everything around her as she focused on his drawn face.
“You don’t look so good,” she said.
“Thank you.” He scowled and refused to meet her eyes.
“In fact, I think you look quite ill.” When he said nothing, she approached and placed her hand on his forehead. “I believe you may be running a tiny bit of a temperature.”
He shrugged. “Highly unlikely. I’m just sitting too close to this stove.” Finally, he lifted his eyes and met her gaze.
“So … you want to look at my tongue or in my ears? That’s what doctors do, isn’t it, even if you have a stubbed toe or a sore thumb. Here, look at my eyes and tell me if I’m going to live.”
He sat forward, pulled down his lower lids for a moment, then dropped his hands to his lap and sat back.
“Is your throat sore?” she asked. “Do you have a headache?”
He glared at her, and then said, “No. It’s my arthritis.”
“Arthritis. And you’ve been outside, dealing with this weather, living in this place that has cracks in the wall big enough to throw a cat through it.” She pointed to a rather large crack just opposite her. A draft strong enough to stir a paper on top of the table whistled through it. “Have you at least been eating?”
“Lady, I have eaten quite well since you took me into your tribe.” He frowned. “I wish you’d sit down. You make me twitchy, standing there that way.”
She glanced around. The only place to sit was on the edge of his very narrow bed. She settled there.
“Do you take medication for your arthritis?”
He now leaned back in his chair again, eyes closed and face registering pain.
“I do.”
“Have you taken any today?”
He did not reply, and she repeated the question. He opened one eye, stared at her for a time, and then heaved a deep sigh.
A Stony Point Christmas Page 13