A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five)

by Moody, Diane

  He leaned in, motioning me closer. “Yes, but that was then and this is now,” he whispered.

  I smiled at his silliness, wishing I could freeze the moment and savor it forever. I fought the nagging ticking of the clock in my head, already wondering how I’d handle saying goodbye when the time came.

  He seemed to pause, his face suddenly growing serious. He leaned toward me again and placed his hand on my forearm. “Tell me something. Is there someone special in your life, Lucille? It only now occurred to me that you might be seeing someone.”

  I couldn’t help but enjoy the concern in his eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid there is.”

  He straightened and started to say something until I placed my hand firmly over his, entwining our fingers. I gazed down at our joined hands. “If you must know, he’s the most handsome guy I’ve ever known. But the thing that melted me from the very beginning was . . . well, it’s kind of corny. Maybe I shouldn’t say.”

  “Please. Tell me.”

  His sad puppy dog eyes nearly cracked me up. I pressed my lips together, willing away the giggles bubbling around inside me. I reached for my teacup with my other hand. “I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but it was‌—‌well, I might as well just say it. The guy loves to wash dishes. And apparently I’m a real sucker for guys in aprons.”

  Gary’s face flushed with relief as he pulled my hand to his lips and kissed the top of it. “Oh Lucille, don’t do that. You scared the socks off me!”

  I laughed so hard I spilled some of my tea, wobbling the cup back to its saucer. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist‍—‍”

  “No! Don’t apologize. I may be a tad slow, but I think you just made me the happiest man on earth. Unless you’ve had lots of guys wear aprons in your kitchen and wash your dishes.”

  “Only you, Lieutenant.”

  The rest of the day is still a blur to me. We spent another hour or two at Marshall Field’s so Gary could buy Christmas presents for his family. I enjoyed learning more about his parents and brother as we shopped. At my suggestion, he bought a china teacup and saucer‌—‌the same holiday pattern as the ones we’d been served in the Walnut Room.

  “There’s a wonderful story behind this pattern. Back in 1938, the American agent for Spode asked one of their artists back in England to design a new Christmas pattern. The artist‌—‌I think his name was Holdway‌—‌did so and sent a sample to the American. The plate featured a Christmas tree with presents hanging from its branches.”

  “That’s strange, don’t you think?”

  “Well, yes. And the American told Mr. Holdway he liked the pattern, but could he put the presents on the floor beneath the tree and decorate the tree with ornaments. Turns out, Mr. Holdway had ad-libbed the entire concept because he’d never seen a Christmas tree!”

  “Hadn’t seen a Christmas tree?” Gary laughed. “How is that possible?”

  “I have no idea. What’s even funnier, he had no clue what went on the top of a Christmas tree, so he painted a Kris Kringle. See it up there?”

  “Will you look at that,” Gary said, twisting the cup around. “Don’t most trees have angels on top?”

  “Well, of course they do. Even so, it’s become quite famous. They have whole sets of this pattern now, serving pieces and all. I think they’re beautiful. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, and it’s perfect,” he said, as we waited for it to be gift wrapped. “Mom will love it.”

  Of course, I had no way of knowing Gary had no intention of giving that cup and saucer set to his mother. Later that evening back at my house, before we said goodnight, Gary suddenly snapped his fingers.

  “I almost forgot! I got you something.” He rustled through the large shopping bag and came up with a small box‌—‌identical to the one we’d had wrapped at Marshall Field’s.

  “But isn’t this‍—‍”

  “No questions. Just open it.”

  I couldn’t figure out what he was up to, but just as I suspected, inside the box I found the Christmas teacup and saucer wrapped in white tissue paper.

  “Gary, I don’t understand.”

  “You see, my mother has more teacups than she knows what to do with. She collects them. When I’m on leave over in England, I always try to find one to send her. Which is why she has little need for another one.”

  He took the box from my hand, then carefully set the cup and saucer alongside it on the side table. “You, on the other hand, seemed quite fascinated by this pattern and its peculiar history. Which is why I thought it might be fun to give you a souvenir of our day together.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m embarrassed to say the thought never crossed my mind to buy you something today.”

  “Oh, but you gave me the best possible gift.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A day I’ll never forget.”

  I placed my palm against his cheek. “I’ll never forget it either, Gary.”

  This time, the clock I heard ticking was the grandfather clock in our entry hall. I chose to ignore it when Gary wrapped me in his arms.

  “Lucille, if I could, I’d go AWOL just so I could stay here with you. I’d never go back, never leave you.”

  “Now, Lieutenant. I could never live with myself if I caused you to be dishonorably discharged.”

  He smiled, pushing a curl from my face. Then without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses of my lips. As I closed my eyes, I melted into his embrace, and wished, for the second time that day, that time would stand still.

  Chapter 7

  I closed Aunt Lucille’s diary, using the satin ribbon to mark my place. I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to absorb it all. It felt a little strange, reading her intimate thoughts, as though I was actually there, invading their most private moments. Still, I was hanging on every word, anxious to find out what might happen next.

  But my eyes were burning and fatigue washed over me again like an ocean wave. I needed to sleep, even though I kept picturing Gary surprising Lucille with the special Christmas cup and saucer. I smiled at the thought of that same teacup and saucer on the shelf above my office desk. I tried to imagine the joy Lucille must have felt when he gave it to her. Such a thoughtful thing to do, and yet she still barely knew him. I too felt the apprehension she mentioned so many times‌—‌wasn’t it all too much, too soon?

  Something else struck me about the part when they had lunch at the Walnut Room. How Gary twisted her opal ring as they talked. I smiled, knowing just how sweet a gesture that was because my Mark so often did the same thing. I glanced over at Mark and wondered when he would toy with it again. What if he forgot? What if he forgot all those little things that told me he cared for me? Like the way he always insists I have the last bite of popcorn or ice cream we share. Or the way he draws figure eights with his finger when he rests his hand on my knee. Or the way he slings my dishtowel over his shoulder when he helps in the kitchen.

  Helps in the kitchen. Just like Uncle Gary used to do.

  If I thought about the similarities long enough, it might creep me out. No, not really. Nothing creepy in a few coincidences. If anything, these things endeared me to my aunt and uncle even more. As I let myself drift off to sleep, I imagined Uncle Gary and Mark meeting for the first time. As they shook hands, would each notice the other’s dishpan hands?

  At seven the next morning, Gordo woke me up, arriving right on time with his Krispy Kremes.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.” He gave me a bear hug as I stood up. “How are you this morning?”

  I stretched, knowing I must look like something the cat dragged in. “I’m good. I guess. I must have really slept hard. Never even heard the staff come and go like they usually do, banging around and talking too loud.”

  Gordo made his way to the other side of Mark’s bed. “You ought to go home and get some real rest, Lucy.”

  “I know.” I scratched my head and yawned again. “There will be time for that later.”

&n
bsp; “How’s our boy doing this morning? Any changes?”

  I stared at Mark, suddenly realizing how impatient I was to put this all behind us. “No changes.”

  “I see somebody gave him another shave. You do that?”

  I snorted. “Not hardly. That takes a far steadier hand than mine.”

  Gordo smiled. “Did you know he keeps an electric razor in the glove compartment of his car so he can shave on his way home every day?”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Says it saves him time, so all he has to do when he gets home is take a quick shower, dress, and head over to your place. He always says the favorite part of his whole day is seeing you.”

  I smiled, remembering the big goofy smile he always gave when I opened my door for him. “My favorite part too.” I swallowed hard to tamp down the lump in my throat.

  “Come here,” Gordo said, motioning me toward him.

  I dashed a tear from my cheek and slowly made my way over to him. He pulled me close to his side, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Lucy, he’s gonna make it. You’ll see. He’ll be up and bossing us all around in no time.”

  A half-hiccup, half-sob slipped out and with it, a lot more tears. Gordo pulled me closer. “We’re all here for you, Lucy. Me and the guys, we’ve all got your back. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Mark’s our brother, y’know? Maybe not kin, but just as close. And when this all blows over, first thing he’ll want to know is if we took good care of you.”

  “I know.” I wiped my cheek against my sweater sleeve. “He’d be really proud. And grateful, Gordo.”

  His kissed the top of my head, a lot like my brother does, then released me. He leaned over Mark’s bed and patted his hand. “You take care, buddy. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  After he left, I went to the bathroom and tried to freshen up. I had just come out when Shelly arrived. I offered her one of Gordo’s donuts, but as usual she took a pass. She’s much too health-conscious to give in to the sinful pastries. Me? I inhaled mine as we chatted over the Starbucks she’d brought.

  A little while later she left, promising to return this afternoon when she picked up her parents at the airport. Apparently the cruise line had moved heaven and earth to help the Christophers get home, but it had taken several days. I was sure Mark’s mom was worried sick by now.

  And so it continued. One day pretty much morphing into the next, and the next after that.

  I was finding it harder and harder to keep my game face on. Oh, the tears came and went. No surprise there. But a foreboding sense of gloom was wending its way through my spirit. Maybe it was just the initial shock wearing off. Or maybe it was the monotony. Either way, I despised it and tried to fight it off however I could. My first line of defense was scripture. I camped out in the Psalms, clinging to them like a life raft in a dark and threatening sea. I reached for my Bible and opened it to Psalm 55.

  Give ear to my prayer, O God; and do not hide Yourself from my supplication. Give heed to me, and answer me; I am restless in my complaint, and am surely distracted.

  I’m always amazed how God speaks to me through His word. Sometimes it seems like David was reading my mind when he penned those words a few thousand years ago. I am restless in my prayers, crying out to God on Mark’s behalf. And I’m definitely distracted by the ever-present fear. I try so hard to shake it but I can’t. It feels like an elephant has made its home on my chest. Sometimes I can hardly breathe.

  I know I’m helpless. Apart from my pitiful prayers, I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Mark around. Most of the time I read the Psalms out loud to him. Other times I have to force my focus on each and every word, willing myself to stake my trust in God even when it feels like the fear will swallow me whole.

  I blew out a long sigh and set my Bible aside, then reached for the diary. Scripture soothes my soul‌—‌most of the time‌—‌but my aunt’s journal occupies my mind, keeping me distracted. And this morning, I feel an urgent need for all the distraction I can get.

  “Okay, Mark, last we read, Uncle Gary kissed Aunt Lucille for the first time. And I’m fairly sure I saw you blush when I was reading that part, but let’s see what happens next.”

  Dear Diary,

  Obviously, I fell asleep before finishing last time. I finally realized I’ll never get it all in print at the rate I’m going. Still, I can’t bear the thought of missing a single detail, because I still feel like it’s all just a wonderful dream. Like I could wake up any moment and be back on that El, picking my textbook off the floor without the help of a handsome lieutenant.

  That next day, Gary went to church with us. I had to fight a touch of pride as I walked into the church I grew up in with this handsome man in uniform at my side. Then, as we sang the first hymn, the beauty of Gary’s rich tenor voice floated around us like the softest velvet. When I looked up at him, he paused, asking what was wrong. I love that he had no idea why others were looking our way.

  Once we took our seats again, he tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and placed his hand over mine‌—‌a gesture I’d come to enjoy immensely. I felt protected. Cherished, somehow. For the rest of the service, he never let go. I didn’t hear much of Reverend Thornton’s sermon, my heart and my thoughts wrapped as one in constant prayer for this human gift sitting beside me. For his safety once he returned to the war. For the precious moments we had left together.

  After church we said goodbye to Mother, Father, and little Jack. Gary’s parents had invited me for Sunday dinner, and I was anxious to meet them. I found them to be utterly delightful, though much more reserved than their son. Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds made me feel so welcome. To be honest, I was relieved. I still wondered if Gary was a bit of a ladies’ man. Had he brought other girls home to meet his parents? Lots of other girls? But those fears evaporated as the Reynolds seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, asking about my family, discussing mutual friends, and so on.

  I asked them about Gerald, Gary’s older brother who had recently deployed to England with the 8th Air Force.

  “Gerald was anxious to get over there and help with the war effort,” Mrs. Reynolds began. “But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done‌—‌saying goodbye to him. Craig practically had to pry me out of his embrace.” She looked across the table at Gary, her eyes glistening. “And I admit, I’m not sure I’ll do any better on Wednesday when you leave, son.”

  Gary stood, rounding the table to give her a hug. “Ah, sure you will, Mom. You and Dad will finally have some peace around here.”

  “That’s for sure,” Mr. Reynolds teased.

  “Who knows, maybe you’ll both take up some new hobbies. Like ice hockey. Or maybe javelin throwing. Hot air ballooning?”

  “Very funny,” Mr. Reynolds said dryly, laughing with us.

  The easy conversation continued for the rest of the meal, then Gary and I did the dishes. (Of course!) Later, Mrs. Reynolds played the piano as the four of us sang Christmas songs. After a few of the more festive tunes, she played the introduction to “O Holy Night”‌—‌my favorite carol. Halfway through the first verse, Gary’s father took a seat in his easy chair, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his eyes and nose and glanced up at me with a trembling smile. Finding it impossible to sing, I slowly made my way to the sofa next to his chair. I clasped my hand over his and tried to smile.

  As Gary’s voice swelled with the reverent, beautiful lyrics and melody, I swallowed hard. I’d never heard anything so beautiful in my life. Just then, I noticed a tear streaking down his mother’s face as she continued to play. Gary never stopped singing, but moved to stand behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

  I knew his parents’ tears had little to do with that unforgettable melody or their son’s incredibly talented voice, and everything to do with him heading back to war. An odd feeling descended over me, as though I were imposing on an intimate family moment. I looked away, focusing on the gaily decorated tree in the corner of the room and the Zeni
th console radio on the far wall. I imagined the Reynolds listening to evening broadcasts filled with news of the war, and wondering if their sons were safe. And I tried to imagine what it was like to have not one, but two sons so far away in harm’s way.

  “Fall on your knees!

  O hear the angel voices!

  O night divine,

  O night when Christ was born;

  O night divine, O night, O night Divine.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to banish my worrisome thoughts and simply live in the moment.

  Later, as we said our goodbyes, I knew something inside me had changed. Maybe it was being in Gary’s home or being a part of the impromptu singing around the piano. But considering I’d only known the Reynolds for a couple of hours, I felt strangely at home in their presence. The thought gave me pleasure.

  Over these last couple of days, Gary’s approaching departure has consumed me. On Monday, he accompanied me on my commute to Northwestern where he strolled the campus while I attended classes. That evening we had dinner at the Continental Room at Stephens Hotel. Afterward we went dancing, and I prayed the night would never end. Oh my, can my lieutenant dance!

  This morning (Tuesday), I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in class, and for the first time in my life, I skipped classes so I could be with him.

  He tried valiantly to distract me, filling our time with visits to the Field Museum of Natural History and the Adler Planetarium. But even fossil relics and celestial stargazing could not still the dread and angst I felt deep inside with each passing moment.

  We spent the rest of the evening here at home where Mother and Father graciously gave us time alone in the parlor. I could never adequately put on paper all the things we talked about‌—‌or the many kisses we shared in those final hours together. As my tears began to fall, he busily wiped them away, cradling my face in his hands.

  And what he said next quite literally took my breath away‍—

  “Marry me, Lucille,” he whispered. “Promise you’ll wait for me and meet me at the altar as soon as I come back.”