“And I suppose we should too.” Louise’s voice was subdued.
Ethel spread her hands and shrugged. “I’ll still worry, you know, but I’ll try to trust God for your safety.”
“I will too,” said Louise.
“And I,” Jane chimed in, although Alice knew that Jane was simply trying to help smooth over the awkwardness. Her younger sister had been supportive almost from the start, once she’d gotten past her initial reaction.
“Thank you,” Alice said, looking at each of them. “Making this trip is very important to me.”
The following morning, Alice took the portable telephone from the kitchen and closeted herself in her father’s library.
The room was a special refuge for Alice. Her father had used the room as his study during his lifetime, and it still bore signs of his occupancy in items like his books, the framed family photographs on the wall behind his desk and the mahogany box in which he had stored his pen collection. She felt more of her father’s presence here than in any other room of the inn, and she often retreated to the study when she was feeling overwhelmed or upset. Today she was not upset and she was not particularly overwhelmed. Nevertheless, she was excited and her fingers trembled as she punched in the telephone number she had looked up in her address book.
“Mark Graves,” said a pleasant male voice.
“Hello, Mark. It’s Alice.”
“Alice! Hello! You must be psychic.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve been planning to call you, and here you beat me to it. How are you?” When they were in college, Mark’s lack of faith had been a major obstacle between them, and ultimately their romantic relationship foundered. They remained good friends, although their lives took different directions, and Alice suspected that hearing his voice always would make her heart beat a little faster than usual.
“I’m well,” Alice said. “How have you been feeling?”
“Never better.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” And she was. Mark had suffered a heart attack in recent years, and she worried about how well he was taking care of himself in between their infrequent contacts. “Why were you going to call me?”
“That can wait,” Mark said easily. “Why don’t you tell me why you called today?”
Alice took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about traveling down to Florida to work with an animal-rescue group. I wanted to get your advice and see if you knew of any places where I might be of help.”
There was a momentary silence. Then Mark began to laugh.
“What? What did I say?”
“I should have known.” Mark still was chuckling. “We always have been on the same wavelength. Alice, I’m leaving to go to Florida today. I intended to invite you to come down. I know you love animals, and your nurse’s training would be invaluable.”
“You’re leaving today?”
“Yes. The zoo is sending a mobile vet clinic and a team, and I volunteered to go. Don’t feel obligated. I almost didn’t call because I was afraid to presume on our friendship.”
“In what way?”
“You have a good heart. I was afraid you might feel you needed to help even if you couldn’t take the time away from work or the inn.”
“Time off isn’t a problem, but I couldn’t possibly leave today.” Disappointment shaded her tone.
“I didn’t mean that you needed to leave today,” he said hastily. “I’m going to be down there for several weeks. I thought perhaps you could round up some volunteers and drive down for a shorter period of time.”
“I already have a friend who has agreed to go with me. We were thinking of leaving next Sunday after we have gathered supplies and as many donations as we can carry.”
“Excellent!”
“But how will I know where to find you? I understand that cell phone service is all but impossible and land lines aren’t going to be restored for some time yet.”
“The zoo was contacted by HOUS, the Humane Organization of the United States. Are you familiar with it?”
“Oh yes. I’ve been donating to them for years. It’s a national humane society.”
“They have established a rescue site about fifteen miles from the center of the disaster area. It’s called Camp Compassion, and they are recruiting as many volunteers as they can find.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about Camp Compassion. A lady from Potterston just came back from there, and I’ve spoken to her.”
“Then you probably know more than I do.”
“I doubt that. But I wanted to be well prepared. I’ve never gone into a disaster area before, and the prospect makes me slightly nervous.”
“Tell you what. I’ll e-mail you everything I know before I leave today. Directions, lists of things you’ll need, that kind of thing.”
“That would be wonderful. I got some information from the Internet, too, but one never knows how accurate that is. Could you also send me a list of veterinary and pet supplies that would be useful? My friend June and I are planning to solicit donations this week.”
“I’ll be happy to e-mail you a list. Would you be willing to bring some things down from the zoo if I have them sent to you?”
“Of course.” Then she thought she had better qualify that. “Exactly how much are we talking about here?”
“Could you handle two large boxes?”
“Oh. Of course.” She had feared he meant significantly more than that.
“You’re amazing,” Mark said, and the note in his voice brought warmth to Alice’s cheeks. She was thankful he could not see her.
“All right, then,” she said briskly. “I’ll see you next week. We’re planning to leave right after church on Sunday and drive straight through so we expect to arrive sometime mid to late Monday.”
“Terrific. I’ll see you then. Have a safe trip.”
“You, too, Mark. I’ll be praying for you.”
“And I you. Good-bye, Alice. God bless you.”
As she hung up the telephone, Alice could not help thinking of Mark’s final words. Since his heart attack, Mark’s spirit had been opened. He was striving to learn all he could about walking a Christian path.
“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered.
Tuesday morning, Louise helped Jane and Alice fix breakfast for their four guests. Afterward, she was preparing for the three piano students she would be teaching that afternoon when the telephone rang. Jane just had returned from soliciting items for the upcoming crafts fair, and Alice had run to the store to purchase a few odds and ends they needed, so Louise reached for the telephone on the reception desk.
“Grace Chapel Inn, Louise speaking. May I help you?”
“Louise, this is Kenneth Thompson. Do you have a few moments to brainstorm with me?”
“Of course.”
“Have you met Kettil and Karin Lindars?”
“The new people who just joined the church? They came from Minneapolis, didn’t they?”
“Yes. They have five children, although the two elder daughters are in college now, I believe.” Kenneth cleared his throat. “Karin approached me last week with an idea I thought sounded quite interesting. Have you ever heard of a Santa Lucia festival?”
“Oh yes.” Louise chuckled. “Well, in a very superficial manner. One of my students has a doll that she takes everywhere with her. One of its outfits is a dress’a nightgown, really—for a Santa Lucia festival. It even has a wreath of greens with candles sticking up from it and a tray of some kind of goodies that apparently are part of the celebration.”
“That’s right!” Kenneth sounded as if Louise were a student who’d just won the spelling bee. “It’s a Swedish tradition. Apparently, in the Lindars’ old community in Minnesota, there was a large population of Swedish ancestry, and they held a Santa Lucia festival every year.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Louise as the light dawned. “I’m already helping Aunt Ethel with the crafts fair.”
“No, you’re not, you fibber.”
He laughed. “Jane is. I heard all about how Alice and you wriggled out of it.”
“Well, I am helping on the day of the fair.”
“This is a musical endeavor. You are such a valuable resource that you’re the first person I thought of. Really, Louise, this wouldn’t take much of your time. Please consider it.”
“What, exactly, are you asking me to do?”
“Plan a Santa Lucia celebration with Karin Lindars. Guide her. Lead rehearsals. Her children have done it every year, so she can tell you what should be included. Her two oldest daughters have each represented Lucia, and her youngest daughter has been very upset since they moved that she would not get to play the role. I thought it might help her daughter to feel happier about the move if she had something familiar to bridge the chasm between her life in Minnesota and her life here. If it goes well this year, we might consider making it a Grace Chapel tradition.”
“And when would it be held?”
“It normally occurs on the Sunday closest to December 13, which would be Sunday the fifteenth, but the craft show is Saturday the fourteenth, so I thought we could have it during the Sunday school hour on Sunday the eighth.”
Louise took a moment to process all those “Sundays” in one sentence. “And you’re asking me to plan it?”
“And conduct rehearsals. Karin said she would be happy to help. She has suggestions for music and additional activities, but she’s a quiet person and isn’t comfortable doing this all on her own.”
It sounded interesting. And working with Karin would be a nice opportunity to get to know a new church member. “All right. Do you have the Lindars’ phone number?”
Rev. Thompson gave her the telephone number and they said their farewells. Then Louise walked briskly to the kitchen, where she knew she probably could find Jane. Just as she had thought, Jane sat at the table surrounded by a sea of notes scribbled on all sizes and shapes of paper.
“Jane, what on earth are you doing?”
Jane looked up. “Organizing my notes for the crafts fair.” She grimaced. “Each time I spoke to someone, I scribbled down the information and stuck it in a folder. Now I have to put it all into some kind of order.” She sat up straighter. “You’re a wonderful organizer, Louise. Could you help me?”
“I’d be glad to, in exchange for a favor from you. Could you help me look up something on the computer?”
“Of course. What are you trying to find?” Jane rose from the table and headed for the reception desk in the front hall.
“I need information on the Santa Lucia festival.”
“The what?”
“Santa Lucia festival,” Louise repeated as her sister began to type. “Kenneth has asked me to help put together a little program to honor Santa Lucia, also known as St. Lucy, who was a Christian martyr of the fifth century. A celebration is held in Scandinavian countries every year.”
“I’m going to start charging research fees,” Jane said jokingly. “First Alice and now you. The next thing I know, it’ll be Aunt Ethel in here asking me to look up something for her. There.” She pointed at the screen. “On the left is a list of Web sites that have information about the Santa Lucia thingy. You click on one and the Web site will open in the window on the right. If you see useful information, just click on the little printer up at the top and print out the pages.”
“Sounds simple enough. But don’t go far, just in case.”
Twenty minutes later, Louise had a small stack of paper and more information on St. Lucy and the celebration than she would ever need to know.
“Lucia means ‘light,’” she announced as she entered the kitchen, where Jane had put away her notes and was expertly rolling out piecrusts. Louise’s attention was diverted. “What kind of pie are you making?”
“Cherry. Remember those sour cherries I canned? When I went into the pantry to get some of the tomatoes we put up last summer, I saw them and immediately had a hankering for cherry pie.”
“I adore cherry pie, especially yours. I volunteer to be your taste-tester again.”
Jane chuckled. “And here I thought I’d have to do it myself. How generous of you, Louie! So tell me how you made out on your quest for information.”
“Wonderfully, thanks to you.” Louise waved the sheaf of papers. “Santa Lucia’s Day is celebrated across Scandinavia on December 13, marking the beginning of the holiday season. In one version, Lucia is said to have been a Christian virgin martyred for her beliefs. According to the story, she angered the man to whom she was betrothed when she gave away most of her wealth to the poor. In another, she is said to have carried food to Christians hiding in dark underground catacombs in the days of early Christian persecution in Rome. To light the way as she carried the food, she wore a wreath of candles on her head. Without doing a lot more research, I don’t know exactly what the truth may be, but I do know the Santa Lucia festival is a recent celebration.”
“How recent?”
“Early twentieth century.”
“Wow! Even more recent than Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July.”
“Much more so.” Louise read from one of the papers she held. “There are many legends about her, and in each one Lucia stands as a symbol of light and hope to all humankind. Santa Lucia’s Day begins the feasting, merriment, singing and the spirit of friendliness and goodwill that lasts all through the holidays.’”
“I guess the ‘feasting, merriment and singing’ is where you come in. Did Kenneth give you any specific details?”
“No, but I found a number of things in the research. And don’t forget I’ll have Mrs. Lindars’ suggestions as well.”
Alice came into the kitchen midway through Louise’s explanation and so Louise repeated the request from Rev. Thompson.
“That’s wonderful. I’ll be back in plenty of time. I’d hate to miss our first Santa Lucia celebration.”
Jane’s hands paused for a moment and she looked up. “So you’ve definitely decided to go?”
“Yes. I spoke to Mark Graves, and he’s also going down to Florida. We’ll be there at the same time.” Alice went on, telling her sisters the details of her plans.
“Well, I’m relieved that Mark will be there too,” Louise said. “And Alice, I feel I owe you another apology. I never should have said anything to Aunt Ethel yesterday.”
“Thank you. But it’s all right, Louise. My trip isn’t a secret. Aunt Ethel had to know sometime.”
“So you’re leaving on Sunday and returning the following weekend?”
Alice confirmed her plans with a nod.
“Well, don’t worry about anything here. I’ll help Jane with the inn as much as possible.”
“Fortunately, we aren’t terribly busy,” Jane said. “You will be back for Thanksgiving, Alice, won’t you?”
“Of course. Can you imagine me willingly missing out on your pumpkin pie?”
Jane laughed. “I’ll be sure to make plenty.”
Chapter Five
W ednesday, Alice awoke with butterfly wings beating madly inside her. Time was flying by as she made preparations for her trip to Camp Compassion.
Late Monday afternoon, she had called Carlene Moss, owner of the local newspaper, the Acorn Nutshell, and Carlene interviewed June and Alice at the newspaper office Tuesday. Carlene intended to run an article in the paper, which came out once a week on Wednesday, and Alice hoped it might generate a few donations to add to the small store of items and financing she and June had received so far.
As she was making up the bed in the Sunrise Room for a Michigan couple scheduled to arrive that afternoon, she heard the telephone ring.
“Grace Chapel Inn, Alice speaking. May I help you?” She enjoyed taking telephone calls from people making reservations. She always experienced a sense of anticipation about what the new guests might be like. She enjoyed asking where they had heard about the inn and if there were any special dietary requests or anything else necessary to make their stay comfortable. It felt so…so professional.
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Alice recognized that she had a valuable and satisfying career in nursing. And she once had a valuable and satisfying life with her father, to which her fond memories and the ache that still haunted her heart occasionally could testify. But this was different. She really could not explain it.
“Is this Alice Howard from the newspaper?” The voice was older, female and haughty.
“I’I suppose it is.” She had not seen the weekly paper yet, but she was looking forward to learning what the reporter said about the trip she and June were planning. Apparently, this lady already had read it.
“Miss Howard, my name is Emmaline Daughtry. I would like a little more information about exactly what you intend to do if you travel down to this Camp Compassion place.”
Alice’s eyebrows rose. “Ms. Daughtry’”
“Mrs.” She said it as if she were royalty, and Alice had to smile.
“I beg your pardon. Mrs. Daughtry, my friend June and I have spoken with a woman who recently returned, as well as with a veterinarian who is traveling down to work there now. Both of them assure us that there is ample work to be done. I cannot speak to the exact type of work, although I assume most of it will be unskilled labor. I love animals, but I am not trained to work with them. If you have seen the same things on the news programs that I have, you have seen how desperate the need is. I’ll do whatever they need me to do. Feed, walk, rescue. Whatever they need.”
“I wish to make a donation, Miss Howard. How do you intend to get to this place?”
“We’ll be driving, ma’am.”
“Well then, you’re going to need gas. If you’re prepared to offer your hard work, the least those of us at home can do is help you financially.” Mrs. Daughtry then named a sum that caused Alice’s mouth to open in utter disbelief. “Use what you need for transportation, and if there’s any left over, I would like you to donate it to the camp to use for food and shelter.”
“Mrs. Daughtry, I don’t know what to say. I can assure you there will be plenty left over’”
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