A Stony Point Christmas

by K. D. McCrite

  She looked at him, his milky eyes and stark-white forehead alarmed her. Without letting go, she led him to the chair closest to the warm stove and settled him there. She yanked off her gloves and pitched them on the table and then pulled the muffler free of his mouth and nose, and unbuttoned the top button of his mackinaw.

  “Alice,” she called, trying not to let panic strain through her voice. “Here, Mr. Cartwright, let me take off this cap and muffler.” She looked toward the kitchen door. “Alice!”

  A moment later she heard footsteps running down the staircase. Annie was unwinding the muffler when Alice practically skidded into the kitchen.

  “Annie, for goodness’ sake!” she cried. “I was worried sick! I just put Noelle down for her nap, and you—” She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening as she saw Annie’s companion.

  “Would you please fix some hot tea?” When Alice seemed glued to the spot, Annie said, rather sharply, “Alice!”

  Alice blinked and looked at her.

  “Yes. Hot tea. Yes, of course. The water in the kettle is probably still warm, I’ll just bring it to a boil.”

  She met Annie’s eyes and signaled a thousand questions in her gaze, but Annie turned back to the man.

  “Do you want to leave your coat on?”

  He nodded.

  Annie knelt by his chair and removed the glove from his right hand. His fingers were icy. She chaffed them gently until she felt them loosen, and then she did the same with his left hand.

  Alice poured scalding water over a tea bag in a large white mug.

  “Sugar?” Alice asked.

  The old man nodded.

  “Cream?”

  His brows dipped, and he shook his head slightly.

  Alice added a spoonful of sugar in the tea, paused, and then added a little more. “I think you could use a bit more,” she said. “Here you go.”

  Annie reached for it, but he growled at her and allowed Alice to settle the warm mug in his hands.

  “Don’t burn yourself,” Alice cautioned.

  “I’m not a child,” he croaked, lifting the mug to his lips.

  Both women watched as he drank the entire cup of tea without lowering it, sipping carefully at first and finally draining it. He met Annie’s gaze over the mug’s rim before setting it on the table. His eyes had lost that alarming opaque cast.

  “You look better,” she said.

  “Harrumph!” he snorted. “Dragging me miles through a blizzard and along a frozen beach, bullying me to keep going when I wanted to stop and rest. I’m eighty-five years old. I have a right to look bad!”

  Annie saw through the bluster immediately.

  “And if I had not ‘bullied’ you, we’d still be out there in the cold wind and snow. And we did not come miles.”

  “It felt like miles, even leagues. I may never be able to move again.”

  Alice poured him another cup of tea and put the sugar bowl near his hand. He sweetened it, drank it, and she filled the cup a third time. By the time he had finished the third cup, color had returned to his face. He breathed normally and no longer looked stunned with cold. He turned his gaze to Alice, surveying her quite leisurely.

  “And who are you, Server of Tea?” he said at last. To Annie, he sounded remarkably stronger than he had at any point that day. Could it be that what she feared would debilitate him had not been the trauma she’d thought it could be? Perhaps the old man, used to hardship and frugal living, had more strength than she realized.

  “Alice MacFarlane,” she said. “I’m Annie’s next-door neighbor.” She put out her left hand. “And your name is …?”

  “My hands hurt far too much right now to do the ‘Hail fellow, well met!’ business. My name is Graham Cartwright.” Alice’s jaw dropped. He smiled slightly. “Ha! I see by that shocked look on your face that my name is familiar to you. Not so with your altruistic friend here.” He shifted his gray eyes to Annie. “She hasn’t the slightest clue who I am.”

  “I said your name was familiar to me, but right now, it doesn’t matter who you are. I’m concerned about your health,” she said. “You seem to have recovered your sharp tongue quite adequately. Let’s see if you can move other parts of your body. How about if we take off your wraps?”

  He looked her up and down.

  “If we are going to take off wraps, you go first,” he said.

  She quickly removed her hat and scarf. She retrieved Graham’s medicine from her coat pocket and placed it on the table before taking off her coat. She then handed it to Alice who hung it on a rack near the back door. Alice stood silently as she watched the unfolding scene.

  “Now you,” Annie told him.

  He held her gaze for a long moment before reaching up and fumbling with the ties of his cap. His jaw clenched with the effort, and pain flared in his eyes. Annie ached to help him, but she knew he needed to prove to her and—more importantly—to himself that he was still strong and capable of taking care of his own needs.

  At last the stiff fingers worked the ties loose, and he yanked off the cap. It took a while, but eventually he unfastened all the coat buttons. He stood, slowly and painfully, and tugged his arms free of the coat. Alice took it from him. He glowered at Annie as he unwound the muffler as if its very length was a plot against him.

  “Did it!” he chortled weakly, fixing a steely gaze on Annie. “Happy?”

  “Immensely!” She grinned impishly at him as Alice hung up his winter wear. She turned to Alice. “That food smells fabulous. Is it nearly ready?”

  As if on cue, the timer on Gram’s beloved old range pinged.

  “Yes,” Alice said, smiling. “Mr. Cartwright, the powder room is just down the hall on the left if you’d like to freshen up. When you’re ready, I’ll have you a nice bowl of clam chowder and some freshly baked bread ready.”

  To Annie’s utter shock, the old man’s eyes twinkled at her friend.

  “I look forward to that with much anticipation, my dear.”

  The two women watched him make a slow and careful exit from the kitchen. As soon as the bathroom door closed, Alice turned to her, eyes wide and whisper-squealed.

  “Annie! Did he mean that? Do you really not know who he is?”

  Annie spread her hands in a helpless gesture. From the bathroom came the sound of water rushing from the faucet.

  “His name seems familiar, but I’m not making the connection at all.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Alice said, rolling her eyes. “Excuse me a moment.”

  She hurried out of the kitchen and a few moments later returned with several books from the library. The sound of running water in the bathroom continued. Annie figured Mr. Cartwright was comforting his aching hands in the water’s flow.

  “Graham Cartwright,” Alice said, plunking down the stack on the table and laying her hand on the top one, “and these are just three from your grandfather’s collection in the library.”

  Annie eyed the books in surprise as Alice handed her one. Tracks of the Spy, a thick volume with the Soviet Union’s hammer and sickle menacingly displayed on its red-and-black cover.

  “I remember who he is now!” Annie said, in awe of the books before her, each one with Graham Cartwright’s name on its spine. “I remember seeing Grandpa in his leather chair, smoking his pipe, totally lost in Mr. Cartwright’s spy novels.”

  “I think Charlie had every one that had been published up to the time of his death. Your grandpa was never one to do anything halfway.” The two gawped at the books; then Alice added, “Just think, Annie. Wouldn’t your grandfather be thrilled to know his favorite author was in his house right now?”

  The water in the bathroom finally shut off, and the door opened. Slow steps approached the kitchen, and Graham Cartwright stepped inside, watching his fingers flex and relax.

  “That warm water eased my—” He broke off as he looked up and saw the books.

  “What’s this?” he murmured and approached the table. He took a book from the st
ack. “Hmm. The Spy at Dawn. I wrote much of this one while recovering from surgery. A lot of pain involved in that book.” He gave a dry chuckle, and then shot a look at Alice. “I take it you are alleviating your friend’s ignorance of her refugee’s identity?”

  “Mr. Cartwright, my focus was not on who you were or what you’ve done, but on getting you to a safe place where you would be comfortable, warm, and well-fed.” She paused to let this sink in. When he said nothing, she continued, “I hope you’re starting to feel better, and I apologize for putting you through the ordeal of walking in such fierce weather. But you’re here now, and if you’ll sit, we’ll give you a good, hot meal.”

  “Ever the clucking mother hen, aren’t you?” he said grudgingly, but settled himself at the table with his books nearby.

  While Alice cut thick slices of her hot, homemade bread, Annie dished up a generous bowlful of chowder for him. She poured a tall glass of milk for him, and then she put more water in the teakettle and put it on the stove to heat.

  “There you go, Mr. Cartwright,” Alice said as she placed the bread before him on the table. She patted his shoulder. “Eat up. There’s plenty more.”

  He smiled at her in a way that Annie thought curious, as if he had an instant, fatherly affection for her friend.

  “Thank you, my dear. I hope you’ll join me.” He shifted a bit on his chair and pinned a gaze on Annie as he shook out a napkin and laid it in his lap. “You and my rescuer, of course.”

  “Now you be nice to Annie,” Alice said, smiling, almost flirting, as she sat down. “She’s a dear. I think you needed to be rescued, all alone in some old shack. Look how thin you are!”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, picking up his spoon. He glanced at Annie. “I suppose I do owe you my gratitude, madam. I surely might have perished without your intervention.”

  Annie smiled, realizing this was as close to an apology for his rudeness as she was apt to receive. “I think that is highly likely,” she said.

  Alice watched him spoon in the chowder and bite into the soft, buttery slice of warm bread.

  “Ah, manna from heaven,” he said, nodding.

  “Eat all you want,” Alice said eagerly. “You must keep up your strength so you can write more wonderful books! Annie’s grandfather, Charles Holden, had an entire collection of your books up until his death. I used to borrow—”

  “I no longer write,” he said brusquely, a dark frown on his thin face. “In fact, I will never pick up the pen again!”

  19

  “What?” Alice squawked. “You don’t write anything at all? I know it’s been a while since I saw a new title from you, but I was hoping maybe that’s why you came to Stony Point … to hole up and write a new novel.”

  Before the man had a chance to respond, tiny steps came running along the hallway, and Noelle charged into the kitchen with her old teddy bear in one arm and her thumb in her mouth.

  “Hungry!” she said around the thumb. She ran toward Annie, halting as she caught sight of a stranger in their midst. Annie saw fear leap into the child’s eyes and went quickly to pick her up.

  “I’m thinking you had a rather short nap,” she said to Noelle.

  “That she did,” Alice said. “But when Noelle smells food, she comes running, even from a deep sleep!”

  Graham studied the girl as he chewed; then he pointed with his spoon and said, “I assume that is what someone left here for you to care for?”

  Annie did not like the way he spoke as if Noelle were a potted plant someone had asked her to water.

  “This is Noelle,” she said. “She’s very sweet, but very shy.”

  “And completely without known relatives?”

  “At this point, yes.”

  He stared at Noelle a moment longer before turning back to his chowder.

  “I perceive you plan to keep the child.”

  “Not forever,” Annie replied, somewhat hesitantly. “But obviously she needs looking after and to be cared for. When the time comes, well, I’ll deal with whatever I have to deal with.”

  Graham turned to Alice and dipped his head toward Annie. “Mother hen to the world.”

  Rather than taking the term as an insult, Annie chose to look at it as a compliment.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I believe that’s part of why I’m here, to help others.”

  “Let’s feed this little one,” Alice said. Annie kissed Noelle’s cheek and settled her into the booster seat. Alice dipped out a small serving of chowder and buttered a half slice of bread.

  “You must believe that about yourself as well, don’t you, Mr. Cartwright?” Annie said as she placed the food before Noelle.

  He looked up.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you are here to help others. I mean, look at all the wonderful things you’ve done for this town—”

  He turned fierce anger on Annie.

  “I knew it!” he nearly shouted. “I knew you were the kind of woman who went around sharing every tidbit of knowledge you can possibly dredge up for the rest of the world to devour.”

  “Nanny!” Noelle cried, and Annie gathered her up protectively.

  “Mr. Cartwright, I will not be shouted at in my own home, and you will refrain from outbursts in front of this sensitive little girl. Firstly, as I told you earlier, I am not the kind of woman who goes around gossiping, and secondly, I did not broadcast your identity to the world. Alice lives next door. She’s my best friend, and she visits me often.”

  “Is that so?” he asked Alice.

  “Of course.” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “Annie told me about meeting you on the beach, and she has been so worried about your well-being and confused why you’ve been so rude to her. So when she thought she saw you after you left Noelle’s gifts on the porch, I refused to believe her. And you can rest assured she has not mentioned your presence to anyone else.” She paused. “But now that you’re here, and I know who you are and know that you are a gentleman of quality—well, forgive me for asking—are you Stony Point’s Santa?”

  His eyebrows plunged downward in the most frightening scowl Annie had ever seen, and he shoved his chair back from the table with remarkable strength.

  “Busybodies and do-gooders!” Graham shouted. “Saving the world while displaying all your good deeds so the entire world can lay accolades at your feet!”

  Annie grabbed Noelle, and she whisked the child out of the room.

  “Mr. Cartwright!” Alice exclaimed as Annie went down the hall. “What in the world is wrong with you? Annie and I understand your need for anonymity, and we’ll keep your secret. I don’t understand why you are so surly to someone who has been nothing but kind to you. She does not deserve your contempt. And if you’re Stony Point’s Santa, doesn’t that automatically make you a ‘do-gooder’?” She paused briefly. “Frankly, after this little display, I’m not sure I’d buy your next book, even if it was a Pulitzer Prize winner!”

  Annie was snuggling Noelle in the living room, but Alice’s voice had carried well, as it usually did when she was angry. She stomped into the living room and plopped down on the sofa next to Annie.

  “Whatever is the matter with that man?” she said, gesturing in the general direction of the kitchen. “I haven’t seen anyone so rude since the last time I visited New York City and tried to get a cab.”

  “I don’t know what his problem is,” Annie said, “but I won’t have Noelle exposed to angry shouting. She’s been through enough in her short life, and Nanny’s house should be a safe haven for her.”

  “I agree,” Graham Cartwright said from the doorway of the living room, surprising both women. Noelle snuggled closer in Annie’s arms. “I harbor no special affection for children, but I wish them no harm. I certainly would never want to frighten a little girl who has had a hard life. I apologize to you, Mrs. Dawson, for being an old crank. I have lived alone too long. Truly I’m trying to mend my selfish ways.” He offered all three of them
a smile. “I hope you will accept my apology.”

  Annie and Alice exchanged looks, and then they turned their eyes to him. Annie had never been one to turn away an apology or bear any grudges.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I accept your apology. But I must ask that you respect us enough never to shout in my home again, unless it’s to shout with joy.”

  He inclined his head once.

  Alice took in a deep breath and blew it out. “I have never liked for anyone to disrespect my friends,” she said and paused as her words sunk in, “but I understand you’re in pain, and you had a long, treacherous hike to this house. I, too, accept your apology.”

  He bowed graciously.

  “May I humbly request all three of you rejoin me for lunch?”

  “Yes. I think that’s a good idea,” Annie said.

  ****

  The meal resumed, and the brief silence was broken by the sounds of spoons dipping into bowls and Annie murmuring reassurances to Noelle.

  “This is probably the finest clam chowder I’ve ever eaten,” Graham said. “Creamy, hearty—absolutely perfect. And the bread is …” He bunched his fingertips and kissed them. “Delicioso!”

  “Thank you,” Alice said, smiling.

  “Alice is the best cook in Stony Point,” Annie said. “Noelle, sweetheart, don’t use your fingers to eat chowder.” She placed the spoon back in the girl’s tiny fist.

  Noelle kept eating, but shot suspicious glances at Graham throughout the meal.

  “I have brownies,” Alice said when they were finished. “My own special recipe, with chocolate chunks and cashews.”

  “My goodness,” Graham said, his gray eyes alight, “I should have knocked on your door and asked for room and board before this, Mrs. Dawson.”

  “Please call me Annie. As I said, Alice is the best cook, but she lives next door. If you’d knocked on my door, you’d have had to have put up with some of my cooking. And you will, because I hope you realize you are not going back to that awful little shack.”

  “I realize you think I should not.”

  “We won’t let you,” Alice said.

  “No, we won’t,” Annie agreed. “Finding you on short rations, little wood to burn, in pain from arthritis, unable to open your medicine …. No, you certainly will not be going back there.”