by Viv Royce
“Emma can help us with the decorating,” Grant said.
She scanned for a response from Galloway, suggesting he didn’t agree, but he nodded as if this had been a given from the start.
Casey cheered and took her hand, pulling her into the middle of the area and turning in circles with her, the snow flying up around them. They whirled, faster and faster until they were both dizzy and leaned into each other to stay upright. Casey’s giggles echoed against the trees lining the open space like sentries.
A bell dinged, and Casey pricked up her ears. “That’s dinner. Grandma is making stew. And maybe we’re having chocolate mousse for dessert. Or ice cream. Come on.” She grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her along. She stumbled at first, having to adjust to the sudden speed. They ran around the barn, her feet slipping in the snow every few paces. As a kid she had run like that, believing she could almost fly.
The house had brightly lit windows and a hat of snow hanging down from the roof. The door was open, and an elderly woman stood on the threshold waiting for them. Casey let go of Emma and ran up the porch steps, jumping straight into her grandmother’s arms. The woman lifted her without effort and hugged her tightly. Then she smiled at Emma. “Hello, welcome to our home. I hope you’ve got an appetite.”
“I do.” Emma sniffed the scents coming from the kitchen. Spicy, meaty, invigorating. Her stomach growled. Seems like lunch was ages ago.
Grant appeared behind her. He touched her arm a moment as he brushed past her. “Can I take your coat?”
She shrugged out of it and handed it to him, with her scarf. He tucked the scarf into one of the sleeves and hung the coat on the coat rack which was already top heavy with an assortment of coats and work clothes. Underneath several pairs of boots, both rubber and leather, stood waiting to be used. A wooden horse and cart lay discarded beside a yellow bucket to which the sand from summer play still clung. The fullness, with a hint of chaos, contrasted sharply with arrangements in Emma’s apartment, where everything had a set place. Neat, convenient.
What would it be like to have a kid around and half-completed puzzles on the floor?
Casey had taken off her own coat and handed it up to her father. Then she followed her grandmother who walked down a few wooden steps leading from the entry into the living room area. The railing beside those steps was entwined in greenery decorated with silver bows and small felt robins.
“I made one in school.” Casey pointed at the middle robin. “Gran said we could make more to live here. She also put some on her cards.”
“I like making my own Christmas cards. Casey helped me with all the cutting and gluing.”
“We also got a lot in the mail. I can open them up and see if we have double ones.” Casey gestured up to the long red ribbons threaded from left to right across the room, holding cards with trees, deer, picturesque snowy villages and kids sleighing.
“This is my favorite.” Casey ran to stand underneath an extra-large card of puppies tucked into stockings. “I’m also asking Santa for a puppy.”
“Show Emma into the kitchen.” Grant ruffled his daughter’s hair. She ducked out from under his hand and ran through an archway that gave access to a large kitchen. The long oak table on the far end offered room for at least ten people. The surface was full of little dents and scratches. Had Grant sat there doing homework? Did he ride that rocking horse in the corner, pluck the hairs from its half-gone tail?
Everything in this kitchen seemed to tell a story, was part of a family legacy. Emma had never had something like that. No pieces of furniture passed on from a gran, no photos in an album to which she could add her own. Just her bracelet on her arm, recording her life, without any connection to other people’s lives.
But it is my life, my story to write. Maybe that newspaper photo hadn’t been picture perfect, but it represented her new beginning.
“Come sit with me,” Casey called to her, slipping into the wooden bench built against the wall and patting the pillows with an embroidered snowflake pattern. “These are the winter ones. In spring we have magnolia and in summer poppies. Gran makes them on a machine.”
Mrs. Galloway winked at Emma. “There goes the illusion that it’s all handmade.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She ran a finger across the pattern. “The stitching is so delicate.”
“Let me know if I can make you something. It’s my escape when I can’t face another tree. That, and cooking.” Mrs. Galloway extracted a large orange pan from the oven.
“When I cook for myself, I usually choose something quick and easy. Noodles, a salad. But this smells like the flavors really had time to soak in.”
“You’re welcome to drop by for dinner after a busy day.” Mrs. Galloway gestured around the table. “It’s open house here.”
“Maybe Emma would like to cook together with you sometime.” Grant slid into the space beside her. He leaned over to her and added in a whisper, “Since you loved to do that with your mom. Of course, nothing can replace her, but you might like to give it a go again. If you want to.” He broke off awkwardly and picked up a piece of bread from the breadbasket. His mother shook her head at him, putting the orange pan in place. “Wait until everybody is here and Grandpa has said grace, Grant.”
Emma suppressed a grin when Grant obediently put the bread on his plate. She whispered to him, “Thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
There was a bustle in the living room area, and two more people entered the kitchen, a woman in her thirties with dark hair and brown eyes and a blond man of about the same age, with a quiet smile as he looked around at the people present. “This is our daughter Fay and her husband Bob,” Mr. Galloway said as he dried his hands with a thick red towel. “Fay, Bob, this is Emma from the chocolate shop in town.”
“Oh, I’ve heard so much about the shop,” Fay enthused as she leaned over the table to shake Emma’s hand. “I really have to pop round sometime. But December is crazy busy for us, with the fair coming up and all.”
Bob tried to lift the lid off the pan on the table, but his mother-in-law slapped him on the fingers with the oven glove she had just taken off. “No peeking. Now, everybody, take your places.”
They all sat down, Galloway at the head of the table, his wife on his right hand, Fay and Bob beside her, opposite Casey, Emma and Grant.
“Let’s join hands,” Mr. Galloway said in his deep, warm voice.
Emma’s stomach tightened as Grant opened his hand palm up for her to put her hand into. This is a private family moment.
But when she reluctantly placed her hand in his, his fingers closed around hers with a surprisingly careful touch.
Galloway prayed, “Thank you, Father, for your love shown to us today, giving us the strength to do our work and put food on this table. We thank you for keeping us all together and bringing Emma in our midst. Bless us all by your grace. Amen.”
“Amen,” everybody echoed and then there was a clatter of china as they picked up their plates to hold out for Mrs. Galloway to fill. She lifted the lid off the pan, and the spicy aroma Emma had detected earlier intensified. Inside the pan, generous chunks of meat and vegetables of various colors swam in a thick sauce. Mrs. Galloway gave her two spoonfuls and then mashed potatoes to go with it.
Grant passed her the breadbasket.
They ate in silence, especially the men tucking into the meal with relish, while Casey was the only one who kept chattering, about some craft project she had done at school. The name Miss Evelyn recurred every few sentences and Emma peeked at Grant to see if he showed any interest in the teacher. He seemed to notice her surreptitious glances and winked at her.
Emma quickly lowered her eyes to the stew on her plate. It warmed her inside out, even heating her cheeks.
…
It was rather unreal to see Emma sitting at his family’s kitchen table—and still it was somehow right. They often had guests for dinner and some people simply didn’t seem to fit very well into their rat
her simple rustic lifestyle. Those people felt uncomfortable, talking too loud about their agenda or their holiday plans at some all-inclusive tropical island resort. But Emma sat there as if she had always been there, responding to a remark by Fay with a story about her shop, the deliveries.
Grant chimed in about the snow dogs they had made, and Casey asked if she could see them. Grant said, “Maybe we can make new ones for the fair.”
He glanced at Emma. She gave a quick nod and smile before looking at Bob, who asked a question about how she had ended up on Heart Street. It was convenient that the others asked some of the things Grant also wanted to know and he could just quietly eat and watch her as she told her story, watch the little movements in her face, the way she rested her hands on the table’s edge or gestured with them. “Cleo has some great ideas for Valentine’s Day and maybe my chocolate can also play a part in that. It’ll be February before you know it.”
“Oh, is Mr. Fellows keeping the shop open?” Fay asked. “I heard he’s retiring.”
“I heard that too, but Cleo has so many plans,” Emma said. “There must be some way to keep the shop open.”
“Outside investors?” Grant suggested.
“In Wood Creek?” Bob scoffed.
Grant gave him a “come on” look. No need to make Emma feel like a shop on Heart Street was a dead horse. It was bad enough her next-door neighbor who had helped her settle in would be leaving.
With Cleo gone, who will look after Emma? Ensure she takes breaks and does sign up for that book club she claims to be too busy for?
“Let her eat,” Grant’s father chimed in. “I’m ready for second servings already, and she’s not even halfway through.”
Emma flushed. “I’m not a big eater.”
“That’s fine,” Grant’s mother said. “Eat what you want. Now give me your plate, hungry wolf.” She picked up her husband’s plate to refill it.
Casey laughed. “Are you a wolf, Grandpa? What am I then? A wolf cub?”
“I don’t think so.” Fay shook her head. “I think you would sooner be a little deer, running through the forest.”
“What about you?” Casey asked Emma. “What animal are you?”
Emma considered the question with a deep frown.
“Daddy would be a bird,” Casey said. “He loves to fly and see things from above. He always says they are much prettier when you see them from up high.”
His mother stirred uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure if she suspected he was looking into jobs, making plans to leave again, or if she just didn’t like to be reminded of the risks of his career. She had never been a fan of his flying, thinking he would one day crash. And now that he was a single father…
Is she right? Do I have to change careers, choose something different, safer? A job on the ground? Everything inside of him fought against the idea. I need to fly. My place is up there.
“You’d be an eagle,” Casey said with a satisfied nod. She focused on Emma again. “Do you already know what you’d be? There is no animal that makes chocolates. Is there?”
Bob hid a grin behind his hand. No one here would ever laugh at Casey, making her feel like something she said was silly. They all wanted her to have imagination, to think about the world, to feel her way into it, without being afraid she was considered an oddball.
“I think you’d be a butterfly,” Casey said suddenly. “They do fly but not as high. They stay close to the flowers they sit on. And they are very pretty.”
And very fragile. You don’t touch butterflies, or you damage them.
His stomach tightened, and he got to his feet in a rush and started to gather the empty plates, ignoring his mother’s surprised look. Bob asked Casey if she had a little room left for dessert and Fay got up to fetch something from the pantry. She came back with a big bowl his mother used to make ice cream. Grant leaned over to Fay to see inside. “Oh, banana! Who wants some homemade banana ice cream?”
The “me, me” rang around the table, and his mother brought out the chocolate sprinkles to put on top.
Casey put some on her hand and used them to create a pattern on her ice cream. “Can you see what it is, Daddy?” She held out her bowl to him past Emma.
A heart. He cleared his throat. “Is it a Christmas tree?”
“No! Look better.”
“A dog?”
“No, it doesn’t have legs.”
“A balloon.”
“Noooo.” Casey retracted the bowl and dug her spoon into the ice cream. “It’s all melting.”
Saved by the bell.
Fay started a conversation about the fair and soon they were finalizing some details for the booths, while his mother made after dinner coffee.
With their coffee they all moved to the leather couches in the living room area, grouped around the hearth. His mother lit the candles on the low table, waving off Emma’s offer to help with the dishes. “I have a dishwasher I’ll turn on later.” They sat down together, and Casey decided the game of the night was charades. “We play in teams. We’ll be Team Eagle. Daddy, me and you.”
Fay explained, “One of us acts out the fairytale and the other team members have to guess. If you can’t guess it in time, the other teams get a chance.”
“I’ll keep the score,” Grant’s father said, holding up a notebook and pencil.
Fay set an alarm on her phone. “Two minutes per fairytale. Teams have to split up across the room so they can discuss without the others overhearing.”
Grant waved Emma along to the sofa while Casey took the center of the room to start her enactment. She walked around with a benign smile, waving at people around her. “Princess,” Grant whispered to Emma. His shoulder touched hers a moment. “Or queen.”
“The evil queen?” Emma whispered back. Out loud, she said to Casey, “Is it Snow White?”
Casey shook her head and stopped walking through the room. She looked about her and yawned. Then she lay down on the floor and closed her eyes.
“Sleeping Beauty,” Grant called.
Casey shook her head more emphatically. She turned onto one side, then the other.
“I have no idea.” Grant glanced at Emma. “You?”
“Maybe.” Emma slipped to the edge of the sofa, following Casey’s every movement. The girl sat up again, feeling underneath her with a pained expression.
“The Princess and the Pea,” Emma called.
“Yessss.” Casey jumped to her feet. “You’re so smart. Daddy would never have guessed.”
“Thanks a lot,” Grant muttered. Emma poked him with her elbow. “Time to brush up on your knowledge of Hans Christian Andersen.”
“That guy just wrote too much.”
“Team change.” Casey ran over and leaned against him, while Bob galloped through the room, tossing his head and making neighing noises. He halted and looked up at something.
“Sleeping Beauty,” Fay called. “You’re the prince coming to her castle to kiss her awake.”
“No.” Bob put his head in his neck as if he was looking up at something that reached all the way into the skies.
“You can’t talk,” Casey scolded him. “Just shake your head.” She looked at Emma and whispered, “Do you know what it is?”
“Jack and the Beanstalk?” Fay chewed her lip, watching her husband stare at the ceiling overhead.
Bob shook his head and gestured with his hands as if something was falling over him.
“I know.” Fay sat up. “Uh, the woman who can make it snow. What’s her name?” She pressed a hand against her temple as if to help her remember.
“Time is running out,” Galloway warned.
“Come on.” Bob gestured furiously as if he was pulling something over him and then grabbing at it. He pointed up.
“Does he mean you’re getting closer?” Grant wondered aloud.
“No, I’ve got it.” The excitement in Emma’s voice made him sit up. She pulled Casey to her and whispered something in her ear.
The alarm sou
nded. “Time’s up.” Bob scowled at Fay. “It wasn’t that hard, really. Other takers?”
Casey raised her hand. She waited a moment for full effect before saying with a dramatic gesture, “Rapunzel. She threw her hair off the tower so the prince could climb up.”
Grant pursed his lips to keep his features in check. He didn’t dare look at Emma. If he saw her struggle as well, he’d burst out laughing.
He high-fived Casey. “Team Eagle strikes again.”
“That late?” Bob checked his watch. “I gotta call Ed about the tractor. I don’t think you want to use the workroom tonight?” Without waiting for Grant’s answer, he rushed up the stairs, two steps at a time.
“What about my team?” Fay protested. “Now I’m left all alone.” She looked at Casey. “Are you coming to me?”
Casey shook her head. “We won.” She ran off to the cupboard and fetched three plastic crowns with elastic bands attached. “We have to wear these all night.” She gave Emma one and crawled into Grant’s lap to put the crown on his head personally.
Emma slipped the plastic band under her chin and tilted her head. “How do I look?”
“Hmmm.” Grant surveyed the crooked angle of the dented crown. Her eyes shone at him with a hint of laughter left over Rapunzel. “Just perfect.”
He stretched his legs, hugging his daughter who rested her face in the crook of his neck. Everything about this night is perfect.
Funny how a virtual stranger fit into his family like she had always been there.
Chapter Eight
No marzipan for me tonight. Booths and glitter. I can’t wait.
Emma locked up the shop and walked the few paces to her front door. Stepping into her hallway, she almost slipped on the mail lying on the doormat. She picked up two bills and a green envelope decorated with star stickers. The upper left corner said Sonya Daniels, one of her foster sisters. Haven’t talked to her in ages.
She tore the envelope open with her little finger and pulled out a 3D Christmas card. Inside, neat handwriting said, This is the season of love for us as we went from two to three. A photo pasted underneath showed a beaming Sonya holding a tiny baby and her dark-haired husband Norman locking them both in a solid embrace. The text went on: Born on December 10, David Matthew Daniels. Our Christmas miracle.