A Cozy Mitten Christmas (The Ornamental Match Maker Book 9)

by Christine Sterling

  “A new mother?”

  “Yes, a new one.”

  “But I don’t know if I want a new one.”

  “I don’t want a new one to replace the one we had. Having a new mother doesn’t mean that we forgot our real one.”

  “It doesn’t?” the little girl asked.

  Emma squeezed her cheek. “Of course not! But don’t you want Father to have someone to love? Don’t you think we should have someone to help around the house. For Harry to have a mother to baby him, like mother babied you?”

  Susan thought carefully about this. Then she nodded her head vigorously. “I want that for Harry.”

  “Then, we should write one together,” said Emma, as she motioned for Susan to sit on her lap. Susan squealed and then pounced her, almost knocking her out of her seat. Susan started to make her list out loud for all the things she wanted in a mother.

  “She needs to be pretty and cook good. She needs to read to us at night.” Susan thought harder. “I hope she will give us a puppy.”

  Emma wrote all Susan’s requests on a piece of paper. She would use them to finish up the letter.

  “Be sure to sign it from all of us.”

  “I will,” Emma promised.

  Hearing her sister’s bubbly voice made her hopeful. Father Christmas was going to give them the best present this year.

  Chapter 2

  New York City, Three weeks before Christmas

  Molly Griffith was running late. She spent the previous night into the early morning hours rewriting an article. She had to get the article in today, so it could be printed in the newspaper the following morning. Christmas was only five weeks away and the article was for the announcement of a new toy store opening in the shopping district.

  Her breath caught as she tried to maneuver her way on the busy New York street. Businessmen were gathering around her, trying to get to their own offices, as she hurried towards the Gazette offices.

  She quickly turned at the Montgomery Ward’s department store and picked up her pace. Five more blocks to go.

  It was her dream to be a writer and when she moved to New York two years ago, she had vowed that she would be a journalist. But it was easier said than done. Women were regaled to secretarial jobs. She spent her days taking notes and organizing articles that her male counterparts scribbled onto loose sheets of paper.

  She passed the grocers and was going by the sandwich shop when she quickly turned around. She didn’t eat much the night before and those apples Hershel Weismann just put outside the door tempted her to spare a few minutes. She selected two from the display and entered the store, the sound of the bell announcing her presence.

  A short man with a pointed nose, dark hair and round glasses came out from a room in the back to greet her. Molly thought his age was over 60, but she never had the gumption to ask. Hershel had immigrated to New York from Hungary in the 1870s with his sister. Neither had married and they lived next door to each other above the grocers. Molly had met the pair the first week she moved to New York, when she was shopping, and they instantly decided they needed to step in for the loss of her parents.

  They insisted that she call them by their given names, but she couldn’t do that. So, she called them Mr. Hershel and Miss Mitzie. It at least gave her some sense of decorum. She considered them the grandparents she never knew. She loved spending time with them when she could and hearing their stories from their home far away.

  “Ah, Molly, such a pleasure to see you today. What do you have?”

  “Just two apples today, Mr. Hershel.” Molly dug through her reticule and placed four pennies on the counter.

  “You must try these cookies Mitzie made,” he said in his thick accent. He picked up a plate from behind the counter and held it out to her. Small crescent shaped cookies were stacked on top of each other and dusted with white powdered sugar. It looked like a mountain of snow. “They are called kipferl.”

  Molly took one of the cookies. The smell of butter, sugar and something else invaded her senses. Her mouth watered as she shook off the excess sugar. “It looks delicious. Thank you,” she said before biting into the pastry. The confectioner’s sugar and the taste of walnuts exploded on her tongue. She groaned in delight. “Oh my, those are absolutely delightful.”

  Hershel winked from behind his glasses. “You should try it with a good cup of coffee. Come, come.” He walked back behind the counter and picked up a small box. “I make you a box to take with you.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. I really have to run. I need to get this article to the copy editor and I’m already late.” She didn’t want to reveal to him her lack of coins. She wasn’t getting paid for another week and she needed to count every penny she had. Even the two apples seemed like a splurge. Even though they insisted she didn’t have to pay for her small purchases she made sure to leave the coins on the counter. They could do with them as they wished.

  “Nonsense. You indulge this old man.” He placed a sheet of paper in the bottom of the box and placed a few of the cookies inside. “Article, eh? They finally letting you write?”

  “Oh no. I was just fixing an article that needed to get done today. I do hope I’ll be allowed to soon.”

  Hershel nodded and wrapped a string around the box. “They should let you write. Mitzie loves the stories you tell her.” When he was done tying the string, he pushed the cookies towards Molly.

  Molly looked at Hershel’s wrinkled face and the joy in his smile as he pushed the box towards her. She looked at the box and then back at him, biting her bottom lip. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. They are a gift. We make more for Christmas. You tell your friends, ok?”

  Molly smiled. “Ok. Thank you, Mr. Hershel.” She placed the apples in her bag and the small box of cookies on top. “I’ll see you soon. Say hello to Miss Mitzie for me,” she called as the bell rang on her way out.

  The grocer stood in the doorway watching her walk down the street. “I hope to see your name in the paper tomorrow! And come for tea after you are done for the day,” he called after her.

  Molly waved and continued down the block. She needed to make up that bit of time. She thought about what Hershel had said. She was sure her name would be on a byline soon. But until then, she kept her head down and tried to avoid the temper of Mr. Davies, the Editor-in-Chief.

  Mr. Davies was a short, frumpy man who had a mean temper when he didn’t get what he wanted. She had heard him yelling at plenty of journalists, over missed due dates and terrible stories. She was fortunate that it was rare his temper was directed at her. It might be today however, because she was running late, and he didn’t tolerate tardiness.

  Molly looked both ways before crossing to the next block. Not paying attention, she walked into a puddle and splashed mud on her skirt. Mumbling under her breath, she tried to shake the dirt off. At least her papers were still dry.

  She held the precious papers against her chest as she quickened her pace down the block. After spending hours on the article, completely rewriting it to make it her own, she knew it would still be published under his name. Arthur Burr. This wasn’t the first deadline he had missed, and it certainly wasn’t the first article Molly had rewritten for him.

  Arthur Burr was dashingly handsome and the highest-ranking journalist in the office. Mr. Davies sent him out on all the choice assignments. Arthur never paid attention to Molly, but when she offered to review one of his articles because the regular copy editor wasn’t available, he conceded on a whim.

  She made a few corrections and suggested where he could restructure the story to make it more concise. He was impressed. It was false flattery, she was sure, but at least she was doing something other than taking notes. From that point forward, all of his articles went through Molly before being passed to the copy editor.

  In this case, however, Arthur became ill and couldn’t complete the article. Mr. Davies was fit to be tied. The newspaper was going to miss a promised deadline and Ofner’s
Toys just purchased a large advertising account with the newspaper. He was convinced that he would lose all that revenue if the article didn’t get published.

  Molly volunteered to take all of Arthur’s notes and construct an article in time for printing. Mr. Davis was flabbergasted that Molly volunteered, but because the article was due the next day, he didn’t have much of a choice. Molly was hoping that perhaps after she turned in this article, Mr. Davies would be so captivated by her writing talent that he would immediately give her the title of journalist-in-training.

  Writing was in her blood. Before their deaths, both of her parents were published authors. She was determined to follow in their footsteps. Thinking of her parents always brought a slight pang in her heart; she pushed the feeling away, as she raced down the final few steps to the doors of the newspaper office.

  It was a tall building; taller than any she had ever seen in her home state of Virginia. She pushed through the glass doors into a large lobby. It was also the first building she had ever seen with an elevator. They didn’t have those where she lived. It was mostly farmland and small shops.

  Riding to the fourth floor, she made haste to her office, a glass enclosure she shared with three other women.

  “He’s in rare form today,” Daisy warned, not looking up from her typewriter where she was typing notes from a paper in front of her.

  “Thanks for the warning.” Molly placed her papers on the desk, along with her reticule and bag. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door. Returning to her desk she took the two apples and box of cookies out of her bag and placed them next to her typewriter. She then noticed a small box on the corner of her desk.

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the box. It was covered in brown paper with stars stamped on the paper. A green thread was wrapped around the package and met in a bow on the top.

  “That was here when we came in this morning.”

  Molly flipped open the tag and spoke the words out loud. “To Molly. Happy Christmas.” She looked at the other women in the office. “I wonder who gave this to me.”

  Daisy shrugged and turned back to her typing. “Yours was the only desk with a gift on it this morning. You must have a secret admirer.”

  “That’s nonsense,” she put the box in her bag. She’d open it later tonight when there weren’t other eyes around. She sat down at her desk and opened the envelope containing her article. A voice boomed from down the hall, rattling the glass windows of the office. “I’ll be right back,” she said, turning in her chair. “I need to get these papers to Mr. Davies.”

  “Oh honey,” Bess called after her, “I’d wait until later unless you want to be on the receiving end of his temper this morning. He had poor Katie running out of his office in tears.”

  “Katie?” Katie never cried, Molly thought. “That isn’t good. Where is she now?”

  “I think she went to get a cup of tea downstairs. She’ll be back.” Bess pointed to the empty desk in the corner. “She didn’t take her coat or bag.”

  Molly nodded and took a deep breath. She might as well get it over with. “Did he notice I wasn’t here yet?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, he was too busy yelling at Stuart.”

  Molly picked up the papers and headed down the hall to the corner office. She could hear his words over the sound of the ticker tape machines before she even approached the door.

  “The deadline for this was today; what makes you think that is acceptable to bring me this? This is what you call an article? I wouldn’t even put it on the back page!” he yelled, throwing documents to the floor. One of the men in the office rushed to the floor to pick up the papers while the other gentleman cowered against the wall. “I have papers to sell. Did you know that the circulation for the New York Evening Journal jumped 25 percent? Twenty-five percent! You want to know where those readers came from?” He looked at the man trying to disappear into the wall. “I’ll tell you where they came from. They came from our newspaper because we have journalists that can’t craft a story, much less deliver one on time. Now, get out of my office and finish the article!” he bellowed.

  The two gentlemen scrambled from the room, nearly knocking Molly over as they scurried out. Molly clutched the article close to her chest, as she made her way inside the small office.

  “Miss Griffith, you’re late,” he bellowed at her, without looking up from his desk. He was shuffling through some papers on his desk.

  She had hoped he hadn’t noticed. Grimacing, she put her best foot forward. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry; it’s a mistake I won’t make again,” she said.

  He looked up from his desk, his dark eyes drilling into her. She hopped from one foot to the other trying to escape his gaze. “I’m glad to hear that,” he finally said, looking down at his papers again. “I need you to type these up before my next meeting,” he said as he thrusted a small pile of papers at her.

  Molly looked down at the papers and back up at him. “I was hoping we could go over the article for the grand opening of Ofner’s toy store first.”

  Mr. Davis raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

  Molly went forward and sat in one of the empty chairs before his desk. She tried to ignore the annoyed look in his face. “I finished writing the article that Arthur Burr needed for today,” she said, showing him the papers that were in her hand.

  Eddie looked towards the papers she was waving, with a confused look on his face. It took a few moments before his face snapped with recognition. “Oh, right. The article. You were serious when you said you were going to write it?” he put his head to the side quizzically.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, as she pushed the papers towards him on the desk. “I spent all night writing it.”

  Mr. Davies picked up the paper she had put on the desk and read the first few lines. “I’m surprised. I admit I was very skeptical,” he said. She wanted to ask him if it was because she was a woman, but she bit her tongue as he continued. “I didn’t think you could write this in time, so I had another reporter start on it this morning.” He continued to read, his eyes scanning the cursive on the page. “Miss Griffith, I admire your tenacity, and I have to say this is better than I expected.” He nodded his head in approval and placed the papers back on his desk.

  Molly beamed under the praise, as he gave it out so infrequently. She was happy that he seemed to be impressed with her. It would have crushed her if he had dismissed her on the spot.

  He turned to her, looking at her smiling face, and frowned. “This doesn’t mean that I’m going to hire you as a writer,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. Her face started to fall as he continued. “You stepped up and helped out, but that doesn’t mean anything. I still need you at the desk,” he said, pointing to the other stack of papers on his desk, “typing those notes”.

  “But I thought,” she started to say, before she closed her mouth suddenly. Truth be told, he hadn’t told her anything, hadn’t promised her anything. She had her own wishful thinking; in her mind, she had thought it would be an eye-opening moment, where he would see her talent and recognize that she was meant for more than to be just a secretary.

  But now she was seeing that maybe she had overanalyzed the situation. She had fantasized about a reality that had no chance of happening. Deflated, she sighed. “Yes sir, I’ll get these for you right away,” she said as she picked up the papers and left the office.

  “And close the door, will you?” he called to her, before he went back to his papers.

  Trying to hide her hurt, she closed the door, and returned to her office. Katie had returned and was sitting at her desk, her eyes puffy and her nose red. Molly simply nodded at the girl before sitting down and looking it at papers Mr. Davies had given her.

  She took a deep breath and put a blank sheet of paper in the typewriter. She looked at the paper, willing the words to appear without her having to lift a finger. Was this to be her life? Always at this desk, typing up other people
’s notes and stories while she wasted away thinking about the life she was never going to have? All she wanted to do was cry, but she knew she couldn’t give her boss the satisfaction. So, she put her best face on, wiping a small tear that had escaped her eye, and started to type the scribble in front of her.

  Chapter 3

  “And then he dismissed me,” Molly said, taking a sip from the tea that Mitzie had prepared for her visit.

  “But your article will be in the paper tomorrow, so that is good, isn’t it?” Hershel asked, pouring tea in his own cup.

  He placed one of the walnut butter crescents on his saucer and sat back in his chair.

  “But Hershel,” Mitzie said, “it doesn’t have her name on it.”

  “But we know she wrote it,” he said between bites of cookie.

  “It doesn’t matter. Perhaps one day I’ll find a way to get my name on an article.” She finished her tea and set the cup back down on the table.

  “More?” Mitzie asked, lifting the teapot.

  “No, thank you.” Molly leaned back crossing her arms over her belly. “I just know there is something out there that will let me get my name as the author of the article.”

  “You need to put that energy towards something else,” Hershel said to her.

  “Like what?” Mitzie asked her brother.

  Mr. Weismann thought for a moment. “Do you remember when you wanted a puppy when we were children?” he asked Mitzie.

  “Ja. But Poppa said no.”

  “But you wanted that puppy so badly. You thought about it all the time. You even had names picked out.”

  “What happened?” Molly interrupted.

  “As long as Mitzie was thinking about nothing else but the puppy, the puppy never came. But as soon as she put her attention somewhere else, a puppy found its way to our home. Poppa found it begging scraps in the back alley. It was such a small thing.”