Muriel was never in a hurry. She always had time to visit, was always open to listening to a person’s problems and offering a word of encouragement. Pat took the books from the shelf behind her and handed them over. Muriel silently checked the slip of paper in the first one and began inscribing the book to the requested name. Okay. So much for pearls of wisdom from the Muriel Sterling treasure chest.
A new customer came in, looking for an illustrated copy of A Christmas Carol, and Sienna got busy helping her. By the time she was done, Muriel, the town’s wisewoman, had left.
“I was kind of hoping she’d have some advice for me,” Sienna confessed.
Pat shook her head. “She’s in a mood. Oh, well. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Oh, I can think of lots of somethings, but none of them are very nice. Boy, I’d love to leave something icky on his porch like he did on mine. Except my mother taught me better.”
“Now, there’s an idea,” Pat said. “Why don’t you take something over to him? Something sweet—like cookies. He’s all alone. I bet he’d like some home-baked treats. It might be a nice peace offering.”
“He should be bringing a peace offering to me.”
“Yes, he should, but you know he won’t. Anyway, my mother always said that a gift from the kitchen makes for good neighbors.”
“Your mother never met Mr. Cratchett.”
“True,” Pat said with a chuckle. “Still, it can’t hurt to try.”
“I guess not,” Sienna said.
So that afternoon, after she got home from work, she and Leo got busy making cookies. Snowball cookies—lovely little baked balls bulging with chopped walnuts and white chocolate chips, and rolled in powdered sugar.
Leo was happy to help with rolling the cookies into balls and setting them out on the cookie sheet...anything to put off his schoolwork. He was more open to digging out his math assignment when Sienna promised to save some cookies for him to devour while she went next door to make her delivery.
She set the cookies inside a festive holiday container that she’d bought at the grocery store on her way to pick up Leo, then donned coat and boots and went next door to Cratchett’s house. It was now late afternoon and darkness had swallowed the sun, but she had enough light coming from the Christmas lights on her house and the streetlamps to see her way.
Of course, there was no holiday glow coming from Cratchett’s place. His was the only house that remained untrimmed for the holidays and his porch light was off. That was hardly surprising, considering the fact that he probably never had company. She knocked on the door and waited there in the dark, the whole unwelcome vibe making her uncomfortable. There was no guarantee this encounter would be any more pleasant than their last one.
No one came to the door. She could hear the TV blaring from inside. Maybe he hadn’t heard her knocking. She rang the doorbell.
It was cold out here on the porch. She pulled her coat collar closer and stamped her feet to keep the blood circulating. Still no sign of Cratchett. “I know you’re in there,” she muttered and rang the doorbell again.
Still the door remained shut. What was with this man?
She was about to ring the doorbell a third time when the door jerked open and Cratchett appeared in the doorway, wearing pajama bottoms, a faded black sweatshirt and an unwelcoming look on his face. “What?”
“I’m sorry about our misunderstanding earlier. I brought you some cookies,” she said and held out the offering.
At first he almost looked pleased. At least, she thought he did, but she had such a fleeting glimpse of that near smile she couldn’t be sure.
She could be sure of the suspicious expression he was wearing now. “What kind of cookies?”
Did it matter? They were free. She found herself frowning in true Bob Cratchett form. “They’re snowball cookies.”
“What’s in ’em?”
“Flour, sugar, butter, chopped walnuts...”
“I’m allergic to nuts. Give ’em to someone else. Good night.”
And with that the door shut. No “Thanks, anyway” or “Kind of you to think of me.”
“Nice of me to go to all that trouble,” she said to the closed door. “By the way, I really don’t like you.”
She turned and stomped down his front porch steps. What a waste of time it had been to be neighborly to him.
It seemed a shame to have gone to all that trouble for nothing. Surely someone in the neighborhood would like to have her cookies, not to mention a cute cookie container.
She knew exactly who. She hurried over to Mrs. Zuckerman’s house. Mrs. Zuckerman always kept her front porch light on. And she answered the door only a moment after Sienna knocked.
“Sienna, come on in.” She had a firm hold on her new dog’s collar and Bandit was barking eagerly and wagging his tail.
Leo was probably distracted from his homework already. She needed to get back home and help him. Still, she couldn’t resist Mrs. Zuckerman’s warm welcome. “Just for a minute. I don’t like to leave Leo unsupervised for long,” she said, stepping inside. Bandit was thrilled to have company, still barking and jumping up and pawing at Sienna in the hopes of getting petted.
“Look at this little guy. He’s so cute,” she said, trying to get the dog to hold still long enough for her to give him what he wanted. “If you need someone to come over and play with him, I know Leo will be happy to volunteer.” Leo had been lobbying for a dog lately. So far Sienna had resisted, feeling it would be better to wait for a while before giving her son that responsibility.
“He’s welcome to take Bandit out in the backyard to play anytime,” said Mrs. Zuckerman. “Once Bandit learns some manners. Now, down, Bandit.”
Bandit barked again and pawed at Sienna’s coat.
“When it comes to manners, I’m afraid he has a ways to go. I’m taking him to obedience school in the New Year.” Mrs. Zuckerman gave the dog’s collar a tug. “He’ll settle down in a minute.”
After a good deal of petting, followed by the distraction of a chew toy, the dog did happily settle down, lying on Sienna’s foot as she sat on Mrs. Zuckerman’s couch, drinking tea.
“These cookies look lovely. What a nice thought,” Mrs. Zuckerman said, helping herself to one. “They’re delicious. You’re quite the baker.”
“Not really,” Sienna said.
“It’s nice to see a young woman who likes to bake. So many women these days don’t bother.” Mrs. Zuckerman gave Sienna a sly look. “I’m sure there’s some handsome man in your life who’s looking forward to getting some of these.”
“There is. I left some with Leo.”
“Such a sweet boy. But you haven’t met anyone here in Icicle Falls? You’re such a pretty thing with those big brown eyes and that thick black hair. I’m sure you must have caught someone’s eye.”
A vision of Tim Richmond came ho-ho-ho-ing into Sienna’s mind. She told him to go ho-ho-ho somewhere else. “I’ve met lots of nice people. Including you.”
“Oh, brother,” Mrs. Zuckerman said, waving off the compliment. She took another cookie. “You know, I’ve made this cookie for years, but yours are a little different. I’d love the recipe.”
“Of course.” At least someone appreciated her cookies. Not only was Cratchett rude, he was an ingrate. Sienna suspected that if the gods came down from Olympus and offered him ambrosia, he’d shut the door in their faces, too. She set aside her tea and stood. “I’d better get back home. Thanks for the tea.”
“Thanks for the cookies. I’ll enjoy them,” Mrs. Zuckerman said as she and Bandit walked Sienna back to the door.
At least Mrs. Zuckerman appreciated a kind gesture, and Sienna left her house in a much better mood than she’d been in when she’d first arrived. Her good deed hadn’t been a waste of time after all.
/> And speaking of good deeds, she wasn’t going to waste any more on Cratchett. For all she cared, he could die of Christmas-cookie cravings.
* * *
It was nine in the evening and Muriel was curled up on her couch with a book and a cup of cocoa when her phone pinged with a message. Arnie had sent a selfie of Dot and himself at the airport. They were both holding up one of Muriel’s cookies and smiling. Waiting to board, he’d texted.
Waiting to have their big adventure. While Muriel was simply sitting around...waiting. It seemed like she’d put much of her life on hold since Waldo died, being content to merely write about living and go through her days as a spectator in her daughters’ lives rather than strike out to make new memories of her own.
But, when it came right down to it, Muriel wasn’t an adventurous woman. Her biggest adventure had been choosing her first husband, Stephen, when her parents hadn’t approved of him.
Looking back, she could hardly blame them. He’d had long hair and had ridden into town on a motorcycle. Neither the long hair nor the motorcycle had been considered cool by the older generation back then, but she hadn’t cared. He’d also been handsome and rugged and sexy—a man of the world and the most exotic thing she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d fallen hard.
Of course, he’d proved himself to be capable and responsible, eventually heading up the family chocolate company and making a success of it.
Waldo, on the other hand, had almost ruined the company, leaving it to Samantha to save. And during all this, Muriel had been stationed on the sidelines, coping with being widowed yet a second time. Now here she was, on the sidelines again while her friends flew off to Germany.
She studied the picture. Arnie looked so happy. Well, good. She was happy for him. Have a safe flight, she texted back. And let me know when you get there.
The next morning, thanks to the time difference, she awoke to find she had a new text from him, this time from Germany. We’re here. Along with it came a picture of their cruise ship.
Soon there were more pictures, this time from Dot.
Check out the stateroom!
In addition to the large bed and requisite nightstands, the picture showed a room boasting a huge full-length French balcony that would frame shifting views of German towns and suburbs as the longboat made its leisurely way down the various rivers. Dot didn’t stop there. She included shots of the view out the window, the TV, the bathroom. That was small, with a shower, toilet and very little counter space. Muriel consoled herself with the thought that it would have been difficult for two women to share.
Dot didn’t stop with pictures of the room and the view it offered. More followed—one of the lounge area, all decorated for the holidays, and one of their lunch spread, a gourmand’s delight.
Tomorrow we go to Nuremberg to our first Christmas market. Meanwhile, the food is great and Arnie and I are having a blast. Now don’t you wish you’d come? Dot taunted.
Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.
Later came the text from Arnie.
Had my first taste of glühwein. You’d love it. Tomorrow we’re off to Nuremberg. Meanwhile, tonight the boat is all lit up and on shore there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground and the rooftops. Looks like a painting come to life.
What a charming description. Who knew Arnie was such a romantic? After all these years she should have known. After all these years she should have seen.
Muriel’s ugly tree seemed to be mocking her. She picked up her laptop and moved from the couch, where she’d been trying once more to think of a new book idea, to the kitchen. The kitchen didn’t hold any inspiration, either, but at least she didn’t have to look at her tree.
Another couple of hours and she’d had enough of sitting around trying to come up with something positive and inspiring. She wasn’t feeling either positive or inspired. She’d definitely had enough of seeing Arnie’s and Dot’s texts. She needed to get out...and leave her phone behind.
She rounded up Pat and Olivia and met them at her daughter Bailey’s tearoom for lunch. The tearoom was looking festive with a flocked tree—decorated with pink bows, balls and tiny teacup and teapot ornaments—standing in one corner. Green linen napkins lay over lacy white tablecloths, and small arrangements of greens graced the center of each table.
Several other Icicle Falls residents were there, enjoying sandwiches or ordering Bailey’s chocolate high tea, and Muriel waved hello to Janice Lind, who was seated with a friend at a window table.
“I love coming here,” Olivia said after they’d been seated. “It’s so pretty and girlie.”
“I’m glad you supported her in opening the place,” Muriel said. “It’s been a perfect fit for her.”
“So has he,” Pat said as Bailey’s husband, Todd, came into the tearoom carrying their baby. They were both bundled up against the cold winter air, Todd in jeans, boots and a parka, and little Anna Louise all dolled up in a pink snowsuit complete with white faux-fur trim. At the sight of Muriel and her friends, he came over to the table, the baby enjoying the ride in her daddy’s arms and looking eagerly around her.
Anna Louise was six months old now, taking in the sights and sounds of her first Icicle Falls Christmas with wide-eyed wonder. She gurgled happily at the sight of her grandma and bounced up and down in her daddy’s arms.
“Kiss Grammy,” he said, lowering her to Muriel. “Then it’s time for your lunch and a nap.”
The baby touched a slobbery mouth to Muriel’s cheek, making all those happy grandma endorphins ooze every which way and wiping out all thoughts of the two adventurers abroad.
“And where were my darling and her wonderful daddy this morning?” Muriel asked.
“Out Christmas shopping for Mommy. Can I hide the present at your place? Bailey snoops.”
“Of course,” said Muriel.
Stephen had been a snooper, too, and she’d had a terrible time hiding presents from him. The memory made her wistful. She missed being married, missed the companionship, that feeling that she was important to someone. Of course, she was important to her children, but it wasn’t the same thing. It wasn’t the same as having that one special person in your life making the passage through time by your side, who made you feel like it mattered that you were alive.
Arnie had filled some of that gap, even though they’d been only friends. Was that all about to change now that Dot had stepped into the picture?
Bailey’s server greeted them and handed out menus, and they placed orders for salads, which came with Bailey’s popular herbed scones.
Bailey herself stepped out of the kitchen to say hello to her mother and the women who had been her adopted aunties for her entire life. “The place looks so pretty,” Olivia told her.
“I’m pleased with how all my decorations turned out. By the way, guess what we just started serving for the holiday season. That bread pudding you gave me the recipe for. It’s been a big hit already.”
“I’m glad.” Olivia beamed with pleasure, and Muriel, too, smiled. She was so proud of her girls and their accomplishments.
“Your daughter has got flair,” Pat said to Muriel as Bailey slipped back into the kitchen.
“She does have beautiful taste,” Olivia agreed. “If only my son had had the good taste to pursue her.”
“He’s happy with who he chose,” Pat reminded her, and Olivia sighed and nodded.
“How are things going with your new daughter-in-law?” Muriel asked. Having a daughter-in-law you weren’t happy with, now that was something to be depressed about. Muriel reminded herself she needed to count her blessings.
“A little better,” Olivia said. “She still isn’t much help at breakfast. She’s either claiming she doesn’t feel well or she’s oversleeping, but she does usually get downstairs in time to help with cleanup. And she enjoys checking in
our guests. Of course, getting her trained to do that was an interesting experience.” Olivia went on to recount the challenges of training the newest member of her family in social graces.
“Manners can be learned,” Pat said. “And it sounds like she wants to.”
“It looks that way. I think she’s got it down now. In fact, she and Brooke are managing things at the lodge for me so I can get away.”
“Speaking of getting away, have you girls heard from Dot?” Pat asked. “I have. She sent me a picture of their boat this morning.”
“She told me they’re already having fun,” put in Olivia.
“I heard from her, too,” Muriel said and left it at that. “Oh, look, here comes our lunch. I’m crazy about those herbed scones.”
Her attempt to sidetrack the conversation failed. The minute their lunch was served, Olivia put them right back on the track. “Dot’s been raving about what a sweet man Arnie is. Do you think she’s interested in him?”
“No,” Muriel said. “Of course not.”
“I don’t know,” Olivia said. She took a bite of her scone. “Oh, these are heaven.”
“Bailey created that recipe herself,” Muriel bragged, happy to talk about something else besides Dot and Arnie. Anything else.
“You know,” Olivia said slowly, “certain things are starting to make sense now.”
“Like what?” Pat prompted.
“Like Dot always joining us whenever we’re in Pancake Haus with Muriel and Arnie.”
“That doesn’t mean she has any interest in Arnie,” Muriel said. “She’s friends with all of us—why wouldn’t she come over to join us? And besides, he’s five years younger than her.”
“At this point in life, who cares? And isn’t that about the age difference they say you should have with your man if you’re both going to grow old together?” Pat argued.
“No, that’s seven,” Olivia said.
“Well, it’s still an age difference,” Muriel said stubbornly and stabbed a chunk of her chicken salad with her fork. She was suddenly aware of both of her friends studying her. “What?”
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