Divine's Emporium

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "It's better than a dream," Holly said, when the four finished giggling together. She sighed and raised her glass of iced tea in a toast. "To having all your dreams come true, and snagging the cutest guy in town, on top of it."

  "I hope you're talking about me," Diane said. She fluttered her hand, showing off the tasteful diamond and emerald engagement ring Troy had given her the week before.

  "She's talking to both of you." Angela tipped her head to one side and met Maurice's gaze for a moment before nodding to Holly. "And she's talking about all of us."

  A merry chuckle burst from her when all three women gave her astonished looks. "Why so shocked? I'm just as liable to find true love as you, and I know Holly has a real, live, enchanted prince waiting to sweep her off her feet."

  "Only in books," Holly sighed. Her smile was genuine. Maurice looked deep into her eyes and didn't see the pain he dreaded seeing.

  "Can she wait that long?" He fluttered to a landing on Angela's shoulder. "Can I wait that long?"

  Patience, Angela said, her mental touch soothing. If I can wait for centuries for my true love to return to me, you can wait two years.

  "Your true love?" He tried to laugh. "I knew it. You're an enchanted princess under a curse."

  Who knows? All I can be sure of is that magic is constantly moving, and I can feel someone longing for me, seeking for me, through time and distance. What else could keep him looking and working so long, except true love?

  Divine Surprise

  Jon-Tom saw the cradle by accident, when he dropped off an order of wooden toys at Divine's Emporium. That old pain shot through him, just as sharp as it had been two years ago when Caryn broke off their engagement, and had tried to clear out his bank account by misrepresenting herself as his wife, not his fiancé.

  He knew better, but he still crossed the back room where Angela kept the furniture for sale, and knelt to examine the cradle. To his surprise, instead of angry words, he remembered all the dreams he had enjoyed while he made that cradle for Caryn's wedding present. Carved faeries danced along the golden oak sideboards and flowers twined down the spindles and across the rockers. He had dreamed of their children sleeping in that cradle, and all the stories he would tell them as they grew up.

  Caryn had loved the cradle when he gave it to her a week before their wedding. Jon-Tom's joy and pride had crashed and shattered when she exclaimed over the money he could get for it. Could he make more just like it? She had laughed when he stammered that the cradle was for their children, not for sale.

  During the next two hours, while her laughter turned to scorn and harsh words, he'd realized everything he thought he knew about her, everything she'd told him during their whirlwind romance, had been lies. She didn't want children. She didn't even like children. She didn't want to live in Neighborlee. She wanted him to expand his woodworking business, make connections with high-priced interior designers and art galleries and rake in the money.

  Jon-Tom ran one stained fingertip over the faerie who perched giggling on a mushroom. He marveled for the first time that Caryn hadn't shattered the cradle to matchsticks when he refused to let her sell it.

  He hadn't wanted the cradle either at the family farm or in his little cottage in town. He had brought it to Divine's because he trusted the magic of the shop to match the cradle with someone who would love it and use it for many years. And because he knew Caryn would never walk into Divine's in a million years, and she would never know he was selling it. She had never understood the magic of Divine's Emporium, and never understood the difference between the treasures of the heart and soul, and material wealth.

  "That cradle's just waiting for the right person," Angela called from the vintage clothing room behind him, where she was conducting inventory. "Don't you worry, Jon-Tom. It'll sell when the time is right."

  "I'm not worried." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his overalls and strode up to the counter. Angela had left the check for this newest order lying there. I'm not worried. I don't need to sell that cradle any more than I need another lying, spoiled rich brat in my life.

  He heard Caryn's scornful laughter in his memory when he checked the dollar amount written on the check. The money wasn't for him, but for the fulfillment of his dream. That enormous, childhood-dream-come-true playground he was building on the edge of town would take more years and more money before it was ready to be used. When it was done, his world would be filled with children. What did it matter if he was surrounded by other people's children? He didn't have to be related by blood to love children and want to make them happy.

  The Wishing Ball sat on the counter, right under his nose. It had held down the check so it didn't fly away in the gentle June breeze from the open windows, augmented by the ceiling fans so the wind chimes all over the shop shimmered.

  He remembered coming to Divine's Emporium with the half-dozen foster brothers and foster sisters his parents had taken in. They bought penny candy and explored the treasures hidden in the shadows of the house-turned-store. There was always something new, every time they came.

  He remembered Angela telling him about the Wishing Ball and how it was strongest when it was used to help others, rather than the person making the wish. He had been upset over the bully who had just moved into their home. Jon-Tom hadn't really believed in the power of the Wishing Ball, but he had been desperate and made his wish. Not too much later, the bully had become his friend. He had made other wishes through the years, until he got too busy in high school and had spent his summers apprenticing with a master craftsman in Wisconsin.

  How could he have forgotten about the Wishing Ball? Where had it been all these years since he came back to Neighborlee?

  Grinning at his own foolishness, Jon-Tom pressed his hand over the top of the ball. A chill flittered up his arm and cooled his whole body. He smiled, liking that tiny illusion on a humid June day.

  "I wish," he whispered. And stopped. Wishes didn't come true. He certainly didn't believe in wishes at the ripe old age of thirty-one.

  And yet, magic did seem to happen at Divine's Emporium. Even if they had all been coincidences, his wishes had come true. What would it hurt, to make one more wish?

  "I wish I could find the perfect woman. One who doesn't care about money. Who loves kids. Who doesn't care about fancy clothes and going to New York every week and..." He sighed. Making a list of Caryn's flaws wasn't going to help him. "I want a real girl, who cares about the important things. I want a girl who will love me for me, and not the guy she thinks she can make me into."

  Just like the first time he'd wished, lights seemed to swirl around the Wishing Ball, inside the dark rainbow swirls, and the bronze dragon that formed the base winked one ruby eye at him.

  Jon-Tom laughed softly at his over-active imagination and looked around. Sure enough, the lights had flickered because the front door had opened, letting in the blinding afternoon sunlight.

  "Got it, Angela," he called, and stuffed the check into his overalls pocket. "See you next week."

  "I'll be here," Angela called from the back room, and a whisper of musical laughter filtered out to him.

  He remembered when he'd first heard that laughter. He'd thought fairies were hiding in the shadows of the shop, eager to come out and play. If only...

  * * * *

  "That guy's got a world of hurt resting on him." Maurice spun down the stairwell with his wings stiffened for gliding. "What are we gonna do about him?"

  "Maurice, I'm proud of you." Angela emerged from the clothing room and crossed her arms, a pleased smile lighting her face.

  "What? What'd I do?"

  "Sympathy, for one thing. Wanting to help without being directed. And thinking of it as teamwork from the start, instead of seeing yourself as a lone vigilante." Her smile faded a little. "Short of giving his ex-fiancé a heart transplant... I've felt some things shifting throughout Neighborlee, though. New people moving in. Let's see what the winds of change bring us, shall we? Jon-Tom made a wi
sh. He's not quite strong enough to believe, but he wants what he wished for so badly, that made up for the lack of belief."

  "So, tell me about this wicked witch he almost married. Any chance of her coming back to town and ruining his day, like that twit Brittney tried to ruin things for Ken and Jo?" He followed her back into the clothing room.

  "Caryn hated Neighborlee. You could feel the strain of the town trying to push her out, from the moment she followed him from Wisconsin and started setting up housekeeping in that lovely old farmhouse on the edge of town that Jon-Tom's parents left him. She thought she could change him. But he was just as stubborn as she was. And since Jon-Tom was stubborn about the things that mattered, they had a knock-down drag-out fight just before the wedding, and she left. Fortunately. Well, now Jon-Tom can see it was a good thing." She sighed.

  "It's okay, Angie-baby," Maurice soothed. "I'm on the case now. I'll find Jon-Tom the perfect girl. You'll see."

  * * * *

  The dew was still sparkling on the grass when Jeri tripped over a basket on her porch and nearly nose-dived into the new mulch she'd spread last night before it got too dark to see. She slammed hands and knees into the sidewalk, inches from disaster. A harsh cry split the air when she stood up and looked at her cement-burned palms.

  She held her breath, but the cry continued, so it hadn't come from her. Closing her eyes, she turned, and counted to three.

  When she opened her eyes, the basket was just where she had glimpsed it before she did a full-gainer down the three steps. Jeri wiped her blood-spotted hands on the thighs of her pajamas and forgot entirely about retrieving the morning paper. She stared at the basket while the wail increased in volume. She couldn't be so lucky to have something disposable in there, like a puppy or a bunch of kittens she could take to the shelter, could she?

  Absently, she noted the torn knees in her pajamas and the blood seeping across one skinned knee. She kicked some disturbed mulch back into the flowerbed and took two steps to the porch. Holding her breath again, she looked down.

  Red face, curly black hair, a pale blue baby blanket pushed to one side, and a chubby, healthy little body dressed in nothing but a diaper. The baby kicked and writhed and wailed loud enough for an entire frat house during Rush Week.

  For some reason, the opening sequence of a spoof Western, Evil Roy Slade, popped into her mind. Roy had been abandoned as a baby, but he'd made so much noise the coyotes wouldn't touch him. Jeri understood their feelings. How could something so tiny be that loud?

  "Hey, I'm the one who should be screaming here," she said. "You're not bleeding."

  The kid jerked and went silent. He opened enormous gray-blue eyes and stared up at Jeri.

  Judging from the blue blanket and those long, killer eyelashes, she guessed the baby was a boy. Girls never got lashes like that without a lot of cosmetic help.

  "How'd you get here?"

  The last thing she wanted to do was touch the baby. Suppose he was kidnapped and the police dusted him for fingerprints and found only hers on him? How could she explain that she had no desire for a baby and no idea how he'd landed on her porch? She was a newcomer in the sleepy little college town of Neighborlee. Nobody for hundreds of miles could vouch for her.

  Police investigations and accusations of kidnapping invariably led to newspaper stories and getting her picture posted on the Internet. She certainly didn't want the people she left behind to know where she was, thanks very much. She refused to contact those soulless blood-suckers, even to get a lawyer to keep her out of jail. Her former friends and unwanted relatives made vampires look downright cuddly.

  The corner of a sheet of paper showed from under the blanket. With thumb and forefinger, she gingerly grasped the corner and yanked it free. The boy just lay there, blinking sleepily now, and watched her.

  "'Jerry Hollis, you jerk-face low-life,'" she read aloud. She glanced over at the baby. "Well, they got the name right even if it's spelled wrong, but I take exception to the rest of it."

  The baby grinned at her. Did he find her aggravated tone amusing? Well, that figured. Nobody else in her past life took her seriously, either.

  "'Here's your son,'" she continued. "'It took me long enough to track you down, but you're not skipping out on me again. You said you wanted a kid. You have enough money for a whole houseful of kids, so pay up. Maggie.'"

  Jeri glanced at her cottage, not one of the more upscale houses on the winding, tree-lined street. She had money, true. It had helped her escape her old life and set up here without worrying about little details like a job. But enough for a whole houseful of kids? Hardly.

  "I hate to tell you, Junior, but you aren't mine. I mean, if I had a kid, I think I'd know it, and I certainly wouldn't have a kid with someone named Maggie." Jeri squatted, ignoring her aching knees. "So, what're we going to do, huh?"

  In the movies and in books, the hapless fool stuck with a surprise baby tried to take it to the orphanage or some authority. She supposed that was the next step.

  Just as soon as she had some breakfast, washed up and put Bactine on her hands and knees.

  She supposed the baby would be happier with some food in his stomach. What did babies eat, anyway? She couldn't give him her breakfast of peanut-butter-and-honey on a bagel and iced coffee. Plain milk probably wasn't good for babies, either. Unless they were baby cows. Maybe juice? She remembered her nanny giving her apple juice mixed with water when she was little. She remembered that little detail mostly because once she had watched Nanny Whatever-her-name-was spill the entire bottle on the nursery floor.

  "Juice it is, Junior. You don't happen to be packing a bottle in there, do you?"

  The baby grinned at her, and something went all twisty and warm inside her in response.

  Her hand shook a little as she grabbed the handle to take the basket inside. After all, she couldn't spend the day kneeling on her porch in her pajamas. Her neighbors hardly knew her after only a week of residence in Neighborlee, and Jeri wanted them to have a nicer image of her.

  "There's probably some legal obligation that landed on me the minute I picked you up," she told her guest as she climbed the steps and crossed the porch. "But I bet there are worse legal implications if I leave you outside all day." She sighed, reflecting that even here in quiet, harmless little Neighborlee, she couldn't get away from social obligations and worrying about what people would demand of her.

  Inside, with the door safely closed, she investigated the basket. Whoever the angry mommy was, she had left ten diapers, a plastic box of damp wipes, three filled bottles--one of which went immediately into Junior's mouth--a rattle, a pacifier, and one change of clothes. Memories intruded, of entire closets filled with just frilly dresses, not to mention drawers full of lacy socks, bonnets that dripped with ribbons and other baby paraphernalia. Even if other babies weren't forced to be fashion plates as she had been, Jeri felt sure Junior had been short-changed. Maybe that was why his mother dumped him at her house. Mommy expected the no-good jerk Jerry to take care of his son because she didn't have the resources.

  "Okay, how hard can it be to find a guy named Jerry Hollis in a town this size?" she muttered, thinking aloud as she unscrewed the top of the empty bottle. Junior just gurgled contentedly and drained his second bottle with lightning speed. "Hey, you want to slow it down? If you keep that up, you're going to be a chugging champ before you get into high school."

  Her words earned another happy giggle from the baby, and that melted feeling inside dropped hard to the region of her toes, making her feel hollow. It figured. All the books she had ever read had described that feeling as love.

  No guy had ever made her feel hollow and dizzy unless he had spiked her drink at a party and she got high and barfed all over him. For about two weeks she'd fooled herself into believing that Foster made her feel that way, but she had awakened from that fool's dream before disaster struck. So that meant she hadn't really felt love before in her entire life. Why did the feeling have to come from a bab
y she knew she couldn't keep?

  "Oh, no," she whispered. "Get hold of yourself, girl. You are not equipped, mentally, emotionally or otherwise, to handle a baby. You can't keep him. He's not a puppy. You killed your goldfish. What makes you think you can take care of a baby?"

  Still, childhood memories of playing quietly in her suite made Jeri smile. She had loved dressing up her two dozen baby dolls, feeding them, rocking them, singing to them. They didn't cry and wriggle and smell like baby powder and grin at her, though. There was a big difference between dolls and babies.

  She knew better than to take the time to find out just how big that difference was. This kid needed to be dropped on the authorities, pronto. Before she starved him or dropped him or broke something and he ended up as emotionally starved and damaged as she had been.

  With one thing and another going wrong, she didn't get the baby his refills on juice or get herself dressed until after ten. Jeri chalked another one up to sleeping late, after staying up until one to finish reading the last book in the stack she had taken from the library. The title of which, she couldn't remember now. Why had she gotten out of bed, anyway?

  Oh, yeah. To get the paper.

  With a sense of dread, she stepped outside with her purse over her shoulder and both arms looped through the handle of the baby basket. Just as she feared, her newspaper had blown into three other yards. With a groan, she put the basket down on the porch and went to chase down the scattered pages before they traveled any farther.