Debbie continued in the same vein of thought a short time later as she sorted clothes into machines at the Laundromat. She remembered reading a story once about an old woman in some war-torn country in the Orient. The fields and offices and all the places of men’s employment had been destroyed. All the men who were not soldiers were left in idle despair. But the grandmother who must busy herself to scrape together a few bits of food for the hungry children in her care was the lucky one. She still had purpose in her life. Right then, Debbie had realized that the fact that a woman’s work was never done could be her salvation rather than a curse.
And so it had been for her these past six years. Salvation and refuge. Now she had to find another sanctuary. And at least for the moment, her simple tasks provided that for her today. When she returned to the cottage, her arms filled with piles of satisfyingly clean clothes and linens, she was feeling much better. The only problem was that the stacks were so high that she couldn’t see the back steps as she started up. She had no more than told herself to be careful than she almost fell headlong over an object on the top step.
When the object began to cry, she dumped her carefully folded laundry in a heap and gathered the child into her arms. “Melissa, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Did I step on you? Are you hurt?”
Melissa was more frightened than hurt. And disappointed that her attempt to surprise Debbie had gone so awry. “Well, I am surprised. But you should have cried out sooner.” Debbie began restacking the scattered laundry. “Where have you been? I haven’t see you for days.”
Melissa shrugged. “Home. Daddy said we shouldn’t bother you.”
“He’s right. You shouldn’t. But the thing is, you aren’t a bother. Want to make some more cookies or something?”
Melissa shook her head, dug in the pocket of her little blue skirt, and held out a handful of shiny copper pennies mixed with a few nickels and dimes. “Take me shopping.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being overheard. “Daddy’s birthday is next week. I want to ’sprise him.”
“I’d love to go shopping.” Debbie held the door open with her foot, her arms once again full of refolded laundry. “But what did you tell your father about being gone?”
“Um … well … I told him you’d invited me.” Melissa stared hard at the kitchen floor. “But if you do invite me, then it won’t be a lie—just foreknowledge.”
Debbie laughed. “Your father is going to regret teaching you theology.” She shook her head. “Well, for the sake of your spiritual condition, I guess I’d better issue a formal invitation. Just a minute, I’ll get my purse.”
This was the perfect solution to her dilemma. She could help Melissa but avoid Greg. Help the child while avoiding the discomfort of being close to the father. If this outing worked, perhaps it could set a pattern for the remaining weeks here.
In a few minutes they were headed down the boardwalk, Debbie practically jogging to keep up with the skipping Melissa. “Any idea what your daddy would like?”
“Yes. We saw it last week. He said it made him think of that verse about beagles—he likes it a lot.”
Debbie scanned her repertoire of Bible verses. She’d gone to Sunday School all her life, but she was certain she’d never heard a verse about beagles. Jezebel being thrown to the dogs, maybe? Hardly hopeful as a favorite verse.
Melissa came to a stop before the window of a little gift shop near the top of Broadway. “See, there it is.”
“Oh,” Debbie broke into a smile of recognition. “They shall mount up with wings as eagles.”
“Yep. That’s what I said.”
The shopkeeper took the small porcelain eagle from the window so they could admire the fine craftsmanship of its delicately painted feathers and piercing eyes. Debbie especially liked the way the artist depicted the strength of the great bird even while working on such a small scale. Melissa dug in her pocket and produced the handful of coins. “Do I have enough?”
Debbie, standing behind her, held up her own billfold and nodded to the clerk. He grinned and solemnly counted Melissa’s pennies. “I think that will just about do it.” Then while Melissa examined the display of clown figurines along the far wall, Debbie handed him the remainder. She was surprised at the amount of change she received. The shopkeeper saw her confusion. “No sales tax in Oregon.”
“Oh, of course. It’s such a surprise to have things really cost what they’re marked.”
The shoppers went next to the little stores in Sand Dollar Square. At the Magic Flute toy shop it was hard to say which of them was the more delighted by the Kate Greenaway paper dolls, The Secret Garden book illustrated by Tasha Tudor and the tiny paper cottages that folded out to become stage sets for The Three Little Pigs, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and Little Red Riding Hood. Debbie wished she could buy them all for Melissa. These were exactly the things she would hope to surround her own child with.
The unbidden thought was followed by a chill. She turned abruptly. “Come on, Melissa. Let’s go to the kite shop.”
Melissa clapped her hands. “Oh, goody. That’s where Daddy and me got our kites.”
But today the thing that took Melissa’s eye was the bright silver puff balloons floating near the ceiling. “Which one do you like best?”
Melissa considered the dancing display of flowers, animals, and toys. First she pointed to a star, then a flower, then shook her head. “No, the Little Mermaid.”
“Oh, that’s a good choice.” Debbie handed the clerk some money. “Here, let me tie it on your wrist.” Before leaving the square they stopped at the Honey Bear Ice Cream Shop for strawberry ice-cream cones, then continued on downtown happily licking their cones as the sun glistened on the silver Ariel above Melissa’s head. The street was alive with tourists enjoying the unlimited browsing opportunities of saltwater taffy shops, arcades, beachwear shops, antiques shops …
In the display of a lavender-painted store with antique lace curtains at the window Debbie spotted something she always watched for when she had an opportunity to poke around in specialty shops: a strawberry-patterned mug. This one was purple with a comic snail, wearing a strawberry for a hat. “See,” she pointed it out to Melissa. “I collect mugs like that. I’m going to buy it. Then whenever I look at it I’ll think of you and our shopping trip today.”
“Would you let me buy it for you so you’d think of me too?” Debbie swung around in surprise at the masculine voice.
The combination of not realizing Greg was so close and not thinking about the ice-cream cone in her hand resulted in disaster to the front of his shirt. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Then her contrition turned to giggles. It was several moments before she could control herself. “Let that teach you a lesson about sneaking up on people.”
Greg watched ruefully as the sweet, pink mass slid down the front of his shirt and plopped to the sidewalk at his feet. As he pulled his handkerchief out to wipe up his shirt, a passing dog devoured the ice cream. Then Melissa bent to feed him the remainder of hers.
“I really am terribly sorry,” Debbie tried again, but the effect of her apology was spoiled by the fact that she was still shaking with the effort of stifling her giggles.
“I can tell. You’re heartbroken.” Greg grinned. “No problem. I’m wash and wear.”
“How did you find us? I didn’t think you’d leave your computer for hours yet.”
“I finished a chapter. I always allow myself a minicelebration when I do that. And since the metropolis is all of one street, I figured my chances of finding you were pretty good.” He led the way into the shop. “And now that you’ve made the day truly memorable you’ll have to let me buy you that mug. Let’s see … a snail wearing a strawberry in memory of when Greg wore a strawberry ice-cream cone—it sort of works.”
But this wasn’t the idea at all. She had come out with Melissa to avoid Greg. Now all her disordered emotions erupted again. She’d been in a slightly hysterical state all day. The urge to gigg
le almost overwhelmed her. She didn’t dare argue with him over the purchase. The most dismaying fact of all was the realization of how delighted she was with his company. After that night at the whirlpool she had determined to insulate herself from him. But the fact that he could so easily breach her hastily erected barriers showed how flimsy they were. There was nothing to do but make the best of it now, but she knew she would pay the price of painful regret later.
“Where were you going next?” Greg asked.
“The Christmas store!” Melissa jumped and clapped her hands. So they went down a small side street to a big old house converted into a year-round wonderland.
They were met at the door by the blond proprietress. “Take her around back.” She looked at Melissa and pointed to the walk around the side of the building.
There they discovered a series of child-high windows. Debbie bent to Melissa’s height to gaze at a perfect Santa’s workshop. Half-finished toys covered the bench, teddy bears rode a teeter-totter, and a long, long list flowed onto the floor from Santa’s desk. Under the decorated tree a toy train ran around a snow-blanketed village while tiny skaters glided on a mirror pond. All three pressed their noses to the windows, enthralled by the enchanted miniature world.
When they tore themselves away and went inside the shop, they found each room decorated in a different theme: a Victorian room, a circus room, a sugarplum room—complete with a tiny pink fairy dancing to her Nutcracker music. But Melissa’s immediate favorite was the teddy bear room. There were bears at school—one reading a Paddington Bear book—a William Shakesbear, tiny bears, big bears, bears with curly hair, bears with straight hair, soft bears, prickly bears … “A prickly teddy bear?” Debbie frowned in disbelief.
Greg shrugged. “Bears are like people. They have their bad days too.”
On the ceiling a circus of trapeze artist bears performed on the high wire. In front of the fireplace Douglas Bearbanks lounged beside a tea table with diminutive china in a teddy bear pattern. But of them all, Melissa loved the teddy bear wearing red flannel pajamas the most.
While her companions bent over The Teddy Bear Catalog, Debbie pulled out her compact and lipstick to make some minor repairs after eating her ice-cream cone—part of her ice-cream cone, at least. Melissa looked up. “Oh, you even have strawberries on that.”
“Oh, my compact? Yes. This is really special.” She bent down to show Melissa in detail. “This is silver, and see how the strawberries were molded in the metal before they were painted.”
Melissa ran her finger over the shiny case. “Where did you get it?”
“I bought it in an antique shop. But not for myself. I gave it to my mother for Christmas one year.”
“And now she’s given it back to you.”
“Well, I guess you could say that.” Debbie dropped it back in her purse. “Anyway, it’s the most special thing in my strawberry collection.”
“I want to collect something too.”
“That’s a good idea. What would you like?”
“Teddy bears.” Melissa gazed around the room, her eyes shining. “I already have two, so that’s sort of a collection, isn’t it?”
“It’s a good start. And you have your teddy bear apron.”
“Yes, I do!” The thought seemed to make her very happy. Debbie suggested that she choose something now for the official opening of her collection.
Since the pajama-clad bear was too expensive, Melissa chose a soft little three-inch brown bear that she could hold tightly in her hand.
They all three emerged onto the street with their eyes shining from having briefly experienced childhood. “You know,” Debbie said, “the Cheshire Cat told Alice that once a child leaves Wonderland she can never go back. But it’s not true.”
Greg didn’t reply. He just gave her a long, inscrutable look. When Debbie was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the silence he said, “Since I, er, interrupted your icecream cone, how about some tea?”
She nodded. Tea sounded good, but she really wanted to grab Melissa and disappear back into the teddy bear wonderland. Why did they have to return to the outside world at all?
They walked down the sidewalk between boxes of blue and yellow potted flowers on one side and storefronts trimmed with hanging baskets of deep red and purple fuchsia on the other. After crossing the bridge over the river they turned in under the striped canopy of a small shop and sat at a table spread with a brown and white gingham cloth, a vase of black-eyed Susans brightening the center.
Greg brought them steaming pots of Earl Grey tea—with lots of milk in Melissa’s—and plates of crisp, rich shortbread and warm bran muffins with butter and marmalade. “Paddington Bear loves marmalade, but Winnie-the-Pooh eats honey when he gets a rumbly in his tumbly,” Melissa informed them as she spread marmalade on her muffin.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re collecting bears. Every time I see one I promise to think of you.” But instead of the smile Debbie expected her words to produce, Melissa looked as though she could burst into tears. “And I’ll send you one too.” That was all she could promise.
As they sipped their tea, Debbie looked across the room where shelves of gourmet food items and imported cookware lined the shelves. “I wonder if they have such a thing as a cozy for a single cup of tea? It seems like every time I pour a cup I get interrupted, and it’s cold when I get back. If I just had a cozy to pop over it—”
“Couldn’t you make one?”
She blinked. Such an obvious solution. Why hadn’t she done that long ago? “Of course I could!” She dug in her purse for pencil and paper and began making a quick sketch. “There.” She held it out a minute later. “I could do a whole set—a giant strawberry cozy to cover the pot, smaller ones for individual cups, and a hot pad for serving.”
“That’s brilliant. You could do a strawberry-patterned tea towel too.”
“And an apron,” Melissa added.
Debbie sketched more ideas to match their suggestions. “Wow, I could have a whole line.” She added a ladybug climbing up the side of one berry and a tiny mouse tucked under the leaf of another. “I think I’ll call it Melissa’s Strawberry Patch.”
“Then put a teddy bear in it.”
Debbie reached for her cup as the ideas continued to flow. She took a sip, then set it down quickly. “Oh, see! It’s stone cold. That happens every time.”
They were all laughing when Greg offered his hand to help her slide across the bench she was sitting on. Debbie came up in one smooth motion, forgetting about the open purse beside her. It fell with a crash, the contents spreading under bench, table, and chairs. All three of them dropped to their hands and knees, scrambling to retrieve the scattered items. In a moment everything was back together and they were on their way.
“Any more shopping to do?” Greg asked.
“Not really. But let’s just take a minute to go in that shop across the street.”
“Something special there?”
“Very. Ever see any Cybis porcelain?” Greg looked blank. “Well, you’re going to. Come on.”
Debbie led them slowly by the windows displaying exquisitely crafted porcelain figurines, then stepped through the doorway and stood quietly inside the store that more closely resembled an art gallery.
“May I help you?” the proprietor asked from the back.
“No thank you.” Melissa smiled. “We’ve just come to worship.” They laughed at her obvious overstatement. And yet, nothing but such words as reverence, adoration, and awe could describe the feelings such matchless beauty stirred in her. Not worship of the objects themselves, but of the Creator who inspired the holiness of beauty.
“Cybis is America’s oldest porcelain art studio,” she told Greg in a voice just above a whisper. “Someday I’m going to own one. But I’m not sure I could ever decide which one.”
They stood for some time gazing at the pieces from the English royalty series—Richard the Lionheart; his wife, Berengaria; his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine�
��admiring the artistry of their ornate robes, the strength and beauty of their features.
“Here’s Cinderella!” Melissa stuck her nose against the glass covering a low case.
“Yes, and look—that’s Sleeping Beauty, and there’s Rapunzel, and Alice in Wonderland.” Debbie knelt beside her to point them out.
When she stood again Greg was looking intently at a grouping labeled Adoration. “They came to worship too.” Radiant angels knelt before the newborn Christ child. “They really are special. The flowing draperies remind me of Botticelli.”
Debbie’s thrill at his astuteness produced a tightening in her throat and a burning at the back of her eyes. At that moment she regretted the barriers between them more sharply than ever before. She managed a trembly smile. “You’re amazing. Cybis has been compared to Botticelli—especially his Birth of Venus.” She pointed to a figurine reminiscent of the painting. A delicate figure poised on a shell with a gentle breeze blowing through her long golden hair and softly flowing draperies.
The shop owner approached. “The Cybis factory was begun in 1940. Boleslaw Cybis and his wife came to America from Poland to paint a ceiling for the New York Exhibition. When the war started they couldn’t get home, so they opened a studio here.”
He picked up a figure and ran his finger over it lovingly. “The satiny texture is achieved by grinding the clay so fine. They use a combination of American clays. No ash as there would be in bone china.”
Debbie sensed that this connoisseur could go on for quite a while. And Melissa was showing definite tendencies toward restlessness. “Thank you so much.” She moved toward the door. And again she vowed, “Someday.”
A quiet moment over a cup of tea, the wonders of Christmas, the beauties of Cybis … As they walked home in the fresh evening salt air Debbie felt as light as the silver balloon floating gently above Melissa’s head, reflecting the soft colors of the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. They walked so slowly that at times they hardly appeared to be moving. Even Melissa seemed hushed by the gentleness of the beauty around them. Debbie had begun the outing with ideas of avoiding further entanglement with Greg. She had failed miserably to reach that goal. And yet she felt as if she had won.
All Things New (Virtuous Heart) Page 9