It's a Wonderful Knife

by Christine Wenger

  “What needs to be made, Trixie?” Antoinette Chloe said, returning with a tray. There were three mugs of coffee depicting Pilgrims planting corn in a ditch along with my smiling Pilgrim creamer and sugar bowl.

  Aunt Stella had left me twenty-four place settings of the smiling and working Pilgrims, complete with extra pieces.

  I’d planned on putting it away that night and bringing out my poinsettia-and-holly Christmas set.

  She passed out the mugs and we took turns with the smiling Pilgrims. “I need the potato and mac salads made. I can make the chef salad tomorrow. I can sit down while I do that. And I need everything loaded into my catering van.”

  With some of the profits from the diner and cottages, I’d purchased a catering van with lots of shelves and a refrigerated area on the left side. On the right side was a heated area to keep things warm. It all ran magically with a special kind of fan.

  The advertising on the side was not as flashy as Antoinette Chloe’s dancing salami and whatnot. I just simply had SILVER BULLET DINER CATERING, ROUTE 3, SANDY HARBOR, NEW YORK, with my phone number. And there was a line drawing of my diner.

  Well, the diner would be mine after several more balloon payments to Aunt Stella or my hundredth birthday, whichever came first.

  My mind was wandering. Must be the painkillers from the hospital.

  ACB raised an index finger. “Trixie, I can make the salads. Easy peasy.”

  “And I can load and deliver everything to the church and help set up,” Ty added. “All you or Antoinette Chloe have to do is aim me toward the buffet table and direct me where to place things.”

  “And with a chair, there are things that I can do,” I said, thinking of renting a motorized scooter to help me get around.

  “You need to rest, and you need to keep your feet up. You should make friends with that recliner and watch the snow fall out your windows. Read a book. Make lists. Check them twice.”

  “Find out who’s naughty or nice,” Ty added.

  They both burst into “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” or at least I think it was. I laughed until my broken ribs hurt and I gasped for air. “Stop! You have to stop!”

  Uncle Porky’s grandfather clock chimed. One o’clock in the morning.

  “Let’s call this a day—or a morning,” Ty said, standing. “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

  I couldn’t stand the thought of hoisting myself up a flight of stairs right then. “I’m fine right here for the night. Thanks for everything, Ty.”

  Ty petted Blondie, who was looking up at him adoringly. “See you tomorrow, Trixie. What time shall we reconnoiter?”

  Nothing like cop talk. It was like Dinerese, the special language between my waitresses and the chef on duty. Why say Two eggs over easy on toast with sausage patties when you can say Two dead eyes on a raft with pig?

  “I’d like to be unloading at the kitchen in the community room by three o’clock, and ready with the buffet by five o’clock. Auditions start at four o’clock for the kids, and five o’clock for the adults. Liz Fellows gets wacky when her schedule is disrupted. I’ll keep the buffet up until six.”

  ACB grunted. “But not everyone is out of work by five. And then they have to drive to the Community Church’s Community Center. Liz must know that.”

  I chuckled as I remembered my discussion with Liz. “She said that a lot of people have the day after Thanksgiving off and that anyone who is serious about the pageant should take the day off anyway and practice for the part they are trying out for.”

  Antoinette Chloe rolled her eyes. “At least Margie Grace knew how to be more accommodating to the people. She directed over twelve Christmas pageants until she was unceremoniously dumped. At least Margie was considerate and realistic.”

  Ty raised an eyebrow. “Realistic? At the Miss Salmon Contest last fall, she had fishermen doing something weird with their salmon.”

  ACB shook her head. “The fishermen were catching the salmon as the salmon were spawning.”

  I had to jump into this conversation. “It looked like the fishermen and the salmon were spawning together, Antoinette Chloe. Parents covered their children’s eyes. Many citizens of Sandy Harbor were appalled.”

  “Margie is just . . . artistic. She worked on Broadway, you know.”

  I laughed. “She passed out playbills and seated people at the Uris Theatre back in 1979.”

  “And she even met Angela Lansbury’s understudy during the run of Sweeney Todd,” ACB announced. “And she danced in the chorus of Gams, Guns, and Gangsters. It ran for three days before it closed. Margie’s like Broadway royalty.”

  Broadway royalty?

  I yawned and couldn’t keep my eyes open. “Thanks for everything. Good night.”

  ACB didn’t take the hint, but continued on. “Margie is going around telling everyone that Liz was appointed director just because she is Pastor Fritz’s secretary, and because it’s his church that the pageant’s being held at this year. She’s convinced that Liz can’t run a pageant.” ACB shook her head. “I think that Margie is going to cause trouble.”

  I took a deep breath, wanting to put this conversation to rest so I could sleep. “Margie is just miffed because she was replaced. For years, she’s been the go-to person in Sandy Harbor for all things related to plays, performances, and pageants. It’s time for someone else to give the Christmas pageant a fresh perspective and not have salmon and trout doing the tango with Santa Claus and the shepherds.”

  “Margie just loves her fish.” ACB laughed. “But I see what you mean.”

  God bless Ty, who gently herded ACB to the front door so she could exit. He picked up her plaid cape and tried to figure out how to help her into it, but he eventually gave up and handed it to her.

  “See you tomorrow, Trixie,” Ty said, dodging as ACB twirled the cape over her shoulder like a matador. “Get some sleep.”

  “Good night, both of you,” I repeated. “And thanks for helping me.”

  Antoinette Chloe was just about to touch a toe to the first step when she abruptly turned around.

  “Hold your horses, cowboy. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay with Trixie to help her while she’s recovering. I won’t leave her side.”

  Oh, no! Not again! She’d just stayed with me while I was under Ty’s recent, ridiculous house arrest, where she was appointed my “warden” by him.

  I should have been grateful that Antoinette Chloe wanted to help me out, so I resolved to enjoy her company. After all, ’twas the season to be jolly.

  Once again, Ty was spitting out plaid cloth as ACB removed her cape and tossed it on my flowered sofa.

  “Trixie, how about if I take Blondie home with me?” he asked.

  Blondie was already four paws ahead of him. Apparently she had already planned on moving in with Ty tonight anyway.

  “Sure.” It would save me from trying to get up to let Blondie out to potty.

  Ty got his black cowboy hat, put it on, and gave the top a quick tap. “See you ladies tomorrow. Call me if you need me.”

  “You got it, Deputy Brisco,” ACB said. “But I have everything under control.”

  I yawned. “Thanks again, Ty.”

  He tweaked the brim of his hat. Have I mentioned yet how much I loved it when he did that?

  After Ty left, ACB turned to me. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. Thanks anyway, but I could go for a trip to the bathroom. Would you get my crutches?” They were just a hair out of my reach.

  “Sure.”

  Just as she reached for one to hand it to me, rubber side first, she misjudged the length and sent my twelve-inch, beautifully painted, ceramic turkey flying across the room. It landed, minus its head, at my feet.

  “Shoot! I’m so sorry, Trixie.” ACB looked like she was about to cry. “It was your aunt Stella�
��s, wasn’t it? It had to be over sixty years old.”

  First my special Santa cocoa mug broke, and now my favorite turkey that I remembered as a kid. Aunt Stella would put it out for Thanksgiving, and I named it Thomasina, because I was sure it was a girl.

  Thomasina became mine when I bought the point. Each Thanksgiving when I brought her out, I sat with her on my lap, admiring every brushstroke and lamenting how much I liked to eat turkey—not only on Thanksgiving, but throughout the year, too.

  Sorry, Thomasina.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. The mug and ceramic turkey were only inanimate objects, after all.

  “The turkey can be glued, and it’ll be as good as new,” I said. “Please don’t worry. Just put the pieces in the kitchen, and I’ll find the glue. But first, can you help me get up?”

  She set both parts of Thomasina on the coffee table and supercarefully handed me the other crutch.

  I pulled myself up to my feet—or should I say to my foot—and with Antoinette Chloe’s help, I stood. Then dizziness set in just as my stomach churned.

  Thinking of the less than delightful takeout from the Ride ’Em Cowboy Saloon, I knew I had to hurry out of the room, go through the sitting room, then the kitchen, then the walk-in pantry, then the laundry room. The bathroom was off the laundry room, out of the way of the kitchen.

  I’ll spare you the details, but after my mission was completed, I decided to throw in a load of laundry and fold the clothes that had been in the dryer since that morning.

  Balancing myself and trying not to breathe because my ribs hurt, I unloaded the dryer and put everything in a laundry basket. Oh, I found a nightgown!

  I slipped everything off that I could, stepped out of my cut-up jeans, and let the soft blue flannel of my nightgown warm me.

  When I walked out, Antoinette Chloe was at my oak kitchen table with my notebook and calendar, groaning and moaning.

  Did you write this in Polish?” she asked. “It’s a mess. From what I can tell, you’re missing Chet and Lottie Campbell’s fiftieth wedding anniversary on the second of December on your calendar. You have a menu in your notebook, though. You do have an entry for Louise McDowney’s bridal shower.”

  Two bookings for one day. “Good catch, Antoinette Chloe, but I’ll think about it all tomorrow.”

  My house phone rang, and I jumped. At two in the morning, it couldn’t be good news.

  ACB was already up and answering. “Trixie’s house. Antoinette Chloe speaking. Oh, hi, Linda. Is everything okay?”

  Linda Blessler was subbing for me at the diner on the graveyard shift.

  “Uh-huh. Oh, no! Gee, that’s really too bad! Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

  One more uh-huh from ACB, and I was going to scream!

  “Sorry to hear that, Linda. Sure, Trixie’s right here. I’ll tell her. Oh, you already called Juanita? She has an idea? Great! Maybe Juanita could pull a double or I could work graveyard for Trixie. Or maybe some kind of combination. Okay. Have a safe trip. Bye.”

  “Trip? What happened?”

  “Linda saw the light on in the kitchen here, and she felt like she could call without waking you. She said that Ty told her about your accident and she’s sorry about—”

  “Antoinette Chloe, what trip is Linda taking?”

  “She has to fly down to Florida. Her sister, Lulu, needs her help with babysitting.”

  As I stood there with my ankle throbbing and my ribs aching, my mind was going in a million directions.

  “Um . . . Antoinette Chloe, who is going to cook on the graveyard shift? I heard you volunteer, but I think you are going to be busy enough with my catering. And you have your own business to run, and your own Christmas stuff to do . . . and . . . and . . .”

  I took a couple of deep breaths. Things would be better in the morning.

  ACB stood. “You haven’t heard the best part. Juanita is going to contact Bob and tell him that we need him.”

  “Bob? You mean, the Bob?”

  Bob—whose last name I didn’t know or couldn’t remember—was an old army buddy of Uncle Porky and cooked on the graveyard shift. Bob had been missing in action since Uncle Porky died.

  I’d never met Bob, but he always checked in with Juanita from various casinos around the U.S. and Canada, claiming that he was too ill to come in to work.

  Yeah, right.

  Bob? Ho. Ho. Ho.

  Chapter 3

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, the sun was streaming through my windows. I smelled coffee, and something garlicky cooking—maybe kielbasa or fried bologna.

  The clock in the shape of a ship’s wheel over the TV told me that it was almost ten thirty.

  Ten thirty! Yikes! I had a million things I needed to do.

  I pulled the lever on the side of the recliner, and the footrest dropped way too fast.

  “Yeow!” I gasped as my casted foot hit the hardwood floor. It rattled my teeth.

  “Trixie, are you awake?” ACB yelled from the kitchen.

  “Barely.”

  “Breakfast is ready. Can you make it to the kitchen?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “First I need to make a pit stop and wash my face and comb my hair.”

  I hobbled—or should I say crutched?—to the kitchen and saw the big oak farm table set for about ten. I turned to Antoinette Chloe, busy at the stove, who looked over her shoulder and answered my unasked question.

  “We’re having a ‘help Trixie meeting.’ Ty’s coming over for breakfast. So are Juanita, Ray, Max, and Clyde. Oh, and your waitresses Nancy and Bettylou are coming, too, just as soon as they cash out their customers. Cindy is cooking and wants to help, but we’ll fill her in later. Everyone wants to help you, really. They all do. We’re getting a plan of action together.”

  I smiled, happy to the core. I was surrounded by wonderful friends, and they were coming to breakfast on this pretty day to plan how they could help me.

  Ray is a high school senior who is mostly my computer expert. He also busses tables and loads and unloads the dishwasher.

  Ty talked me into giving Ray a job when he was caught hacking into a computer at the Sandy Harbor High School a couple of years back and changing grades. I had reservations at first, but as it turned out, Ray has been invaluable to me and a great worker.

  I inherited Max and Clyde from Uncle Porky. They’re my handymen and were also army buddies of my uncle. They take care of the grounds; I couldn’t run the point without them. I inherited Juanita Holgado, too, my day cook and assistant. I don’t know what I’d do without Juanita.

  Yikes. If all these people were coming over, I’d better make myself look presentable.

  I searched the laundry basket for some clothes to wear, because I didn’t want to ask Antoinette Chloe to make a clothes run for me upstairs when I could still tap into the basket.

  I found a jean skirt that I could just pull on over my cast and a T-shirt that read SANDY HARBOR: SALMON FISHING CAPITAL OF AMERICA and had a picture of a salmon jumping out of some waves on it. It was a stretch to claim that, but the shirts were the idea of the Sandy Harbor Tourist Bureau, which consisted of Loretta Mitchum and her next-door neighbor Elsie Crom, who ran the tourist bureau out of Elsie’s farm stand on Route 3 two days a week from June until September.

  I continued to get myself together, glad that Uncle Porky had loved porcelain enough so that the Big House was equipped with several bathrooms, showers, and tubs.

  It was way too much house for me, but on several occasions in the past, the rooms were full of guests. I was very glad to welcome them, but was also ecstatic when they left, and Blondie and I had some peace and quiet.

  Speaking of guests, they all arrived for breakfast at once and swarmed around me. Juanita helped me to a chair and propped my foot up on a pillow on another chair. It wasn’t very conducive for eating at the table unl
ess I twisted.

  Eventually I pushed the chair and pillow away and hoisted my cast under the table. I figured that I’d be fine for a while.

  Antoinette Chloe handed me a pain pill from the little envelope I’d received at the emergency room. Since my ribs and ankle were throbbing, I took it and washed it down with some orange juice.

  Juanita unwrapped a quiche that she must have made during her shift at the Silver Bullet. Antoinette Chloe set out kielbasa, scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, and breakfast sausage.

  “Eat!” she ordered. “Before it gets cold!”

  I could remember Uncle Porky always saying that at functions. Then he’d always mutter under his breath that it’s nice to be polite, but everything’s getting cold.

  Everyone got busy passing, reaching, and talking.

  ACB stood on the side of me, loading up my plate as if I couldn’t do it myself. I raised an eyebrow at Ty as she was trying to shake off a chunk of kielbasa from a fork onto my plate. It landed with a splash in Max’s coffee.

  Max didn’t notice. He was busy teasing Ray about Ray’s new girlfriend. ACB fished the kielbasa out with a spoon and plopped it onto my plate as if nothing had happened.

  Clyde noticed and took the opportunity to sop up Max’s saucer with a napkin and fill up Max’s cup.

  Clyde elbowed Ty. Ty chuckled. I bit my bottom lip so I wouldn’t laugh out loud.