Christmas at Harrington's

by Melody Carlson

  Wide awake now, Lena stared out the window. With the interior of the bus darkened, she could see an occasional set of headlights or taillights moving north or south down the interstate. She wondered why anyone would want to be out on a night like this. She surely wouldn’t . . . if she’d had a choice. But like every other part of her life for the past eight years – maybe even before – it seemed that all rights to choose had been stripped from her.

  She knew she was partially to blame for this loss of privilege. When one willingly surrenders her rights, she should expect to have things taken from her. Like the time she brought home a stray kitten knowing full well that her father had no tolerance for house pets. What had she expected would happen? When he angrily put the sweet calico into a shoe box, tying a string around the lid to hold it shut, then shoved it into the trunk of his car to transport to the pound, why should she have been surprised? Why should she have bothered to protest? What difference would it have made? And so she hadn’t said anything.

  “Thank you for being a big girl,” her mother had said as she hurried to get dinner started. It seemed clear Mother wanted everything just right before Lena’s father returned. “You did the right thing not to be upset over that silly cat, Lena. It will make it easier for everyone.”

  Lena had nodded and then gone off to her room to cry in private. Later, despite her mother’s attempt to smooth things over with meatloaf and baked potatoes, Lena’s father had reprimanded her for bringing home a pet without asking first.

  “But if I asked first, you would’ve said no,” she explained with seven-year-old logic.

  Naturally, that was not what he’d wanted to hear. He took her to her room, where he quoted the Bible to her again – another Old Testament verse about fools and punishment and how they belonged together – then paddled her bottom with the big wooden spoon. Perhaps he was predicting the pattern of her life – the rod for the backs of fools. And perhaps she should’ve listened better, learned her lessons, and made wiser choices. Or, she wondered . . . perhaps she had listened too well.

  Lena closed her eyes as the bus made another scheduled stop. This was her way of appearing to be sleeping just in case Moira woke up and wanted to chat. Lena liked Moira but found it exhausting to make small talk. And she did not want to think either. Or to remember. She wished she were more of a planner – the sort of person who could size up a situation and take control and be rewarded with a good outcome.

  But, as Lena had been told more times than she cared to recall, she was more of a reactor. She’d learned early on that it was more prudent to sit back and wait for someone else to jump in and call the shots, and then she could simply follow along a few steps behind. She had always felt that was the safest route. If she didn’t make a decision, she wouldn’t make a mistake. That way no one, including her father, could blame her.

  But even that philosophy had let her down eventually.

  “Next stop, New Haven,” the bus driver called as he closed the door after the passengers exited.

  Moira woke with a start, grabbing Lena’s arm with wide eyes. “What-what – did I miss my stop?”

  “It’s okay,” Lena assured her. “He just said that New Haven was the next stop.”

  Moira sighed. “Oh, what a relief.”

  “And don’t worry,” Lena told her. “I’ll wake you if you’re – ”

  “Oh, I’m wide awake now,” Moira told her as she sat up straighter. “And if that was Wellington, New Haven is less than an hour away.” She brightened. “And my son will be there to pick me up. It’ll be good to get home.” She looked at Lena with concern. “Where will you be staying?”

  Lena fumbled to open her purse and retrieve the papers. She turned on the reading light and peered at the writing. “It says Miller House at 318 Alder Street. And there’s a phone number too.”

  Moira nodded in a sober sort of way. “Yes, that’s a boardinghouse right downtown. Not the nicest part of town, mind you. You make sure you lock your door, dear.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  “And will you look for work somewhere?”

  “I’m supposed to report to Harrington’s Department Store on Main Street.”

  “That’s wonderful. Camilla Harrington is a good friend of mine. Her family has owned that store for generations, close to a hundred years, I’ll bet.” Moira’s brow creased. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t look as if the store will be around for the next hundred years. According to Camilla, they’ll be lucky to make it to the end of this year. And that’s only if Christmas shoppers loosen their belts.”

  “Oh?”

  “Camilla says the economically hard times have lured even her most faithful customers off to those big discount stores. Consequently, Harrington’s is suffering.”

  “That’s too bad.” Lena shook her head. And not just too bad for the department store either, she thought. Hopefully she’d still have a job by Monday. Mrs. Stanfield had promised Lena that she’d have work there even if it was only through the holidays. After that, Lena would be on her own.

  “What sort of work will you be doing at Harrington’s?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Well, what sort of work did you do . . . before your incarceration?”

  Lena thought about this. Should she answer honestly or make something up? She knew from experience in prison that once she started a lie, it was hard to maintain it. Really, in the long run, truth was easier. “Mostly I was a housewife,” she said. “And I did some bookkeeping for the church part-time.”

  Moira’s eyebrows arched slightly. “You’re married?”

  “Not anymore.” Lena took in a quick breath.

  “But you say you went to church?”

  “My husband was a minister.” The admission felt like acid on her tongue.

  Moira’s eyebrows lifted even higher. “A minister?”

  Lena nodded then looked down at her hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling. It was her normal reaction whenever she thought about Daniel. She could tell Moira the whole story about how her husband was a crooked minister, but that might take more time than they had left in this trip. Besides, Lena wasn’t sure she wanted that much of her past to follow her to New Haven. After all, this town was supposed to be her fresh start.

  “Perhaps Camilla will put you in the bookkeeping department,” Moira mused.

  Lena considered telling Moira that seemed unlikely considering her conviction, but decided that for her own self-preservation, she should draw the line on giving out too much information. Although Moira seemed like a kind and generous person, Lena had no way of knowing if this woman might be given to gossip. And Lena knew from experience that some of the seemingly nicest people could have the loosest of tongues. Plus Moira had already admitted to being good friends with the woman who would likely be Lena’s new boss. That is, if the store was still in business by the time she got there . . . No, Lena decided, sometimes it was better to keep your cards close to your chest.

  “Or maybe you’ll work in sales . . . ?”

  Lena heard the question in Moira’s voice and knew she was fishing for more information. “Oh, I don’t think sales,” Lena said. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Well, I’m sure you and Camilla will figure it all out.” Moira patted her hand. “But you mentioned church and I’d like to be the first one to invite you to my church.”

  “Thank you.” Lena forced a smile.

  Moira dug in her handbag, finally pulling out a pen and a little notebook. She adjusted her glasses then carefully began to write. “Sunday services are at 10:30.” She looked up. “Why, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  Lena nodded.

  “Well, I hope you’ll join us.” Moira tore off a slip of paper and tucked it into Lena’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Lena said again.

  Moira seemed to study her. “And you say your husband is a minister?”

  “Was a minister,” Lena corrected.<
br />
  “He’s no longer in the ministry?”

  Lena scowled. Why had she told Moira that?

  “I’m sorry, dear.” Moira patted her hand again. “I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s just that I can tell you’ve been through a lot. I only wanted to be friendly.”

  “That’s okay,” Lena said quietly. “My husband was in the ministry, but he wasn’t exactly an ordained minister. Of course, I didn’t know that when I married him. It came out later.” Too much later, she almost added.

  “Was he a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

  Lena couldn’t help but smile at this. “Yes, that’s a fairly accurate description of the man.”

  Moira tsk-tsked. “I’m so sorry for your sake, Lena. I can tell that you’re a lovely person and it must’ve been quite an ordeal that you’ve been through.”

  “Really?” Lena asked. “You can tell that just by looking at me?”

  Moira nodded. “Oh, yes, it’s in your eyes, dear. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were a woman who’d been hurt deeply.”

  Lena sucked in her breath and looked away.

  “And I’m usually right about these things,” Moira continued. “I don’t mean to brag, but it’s kind of like a gift. I have this way of knowing people. Some call it discernment. My son says I’d be useful in selecting jurors.” She laughed. “Not that I’ve ever been involved in that. But there have been times when Sam hinted at it.”

  “Sam?”

  “Oh, my son. He’s an attorney.”

  Lena bristled. Just the word attorney made her uneasy. Lena’s experiences with attorneys (aka lawyers), DAs, judges, the prosecution, the defense, and the rest of the legal world in general had left her completely distrustful of the entire judicial system. And it was hard to believe that someone as sweet as Moira could have mothered a sleazy lawyer. Still, it seemed unfair to hold it against her.

  “Sam has his own firm,” Moira said with obvious pride. “And his dream is for his daughter Beth to follow in his footsteps.”

  “How does his daughter feel about that?” Lena was familiar with pushy fathers. A few daughters, like Lena, caved. But most others, Lena suspected, pushed back.

  “Oh, Beth humors him, but I doubt she’ll go to law school. She’s not like that at all. She’s more artistic and creative . . . like her mother.”

  “How old is Beth?” Lena asked this simply to keep the conversation moving toward less dangerous territory. If she could get Moira going on about her family, they might make it all the way to New Haven without focusing on Lena again.

  “Beth turned fourteen in October. Sam, bless his heart, acts as if it’s all over now. As if he’s losing his little girl. But Beth is a good girl and quite sensible too. I don’t think he’s got anything to worry about.”

  Moira continued to sing her granddaughter’s praises. “I’d nearly given up on ever having grandchildren,” she finally admitted. “We’d had Sam late in life, but I hadn’t expected him to follow our lead. But then – surprise – Beth came along and she’s been the apple of my eye ever since.” Moira paused to take a breath. “But I’ve been going on and on about me. How about you, dear, do you have any children?”

  Lena shook her head.

  Moira patted her hand again. “Not yet anyway.”

  Lena shrugged. What was the point of telling this woman that she would never have children? That she’d already spent too much money on infertility treatments? Or that that part of her had died when she was locked up eight years ago?

  “Oh, look,” Moira said, “we’re coming into town.”

  Lena turned to look out the window. In the dawn’s gray light, she could see what looked like an old-fashioned downtown area with brick buildings and iron lampposts that were already decorated with Christmas wreaths and shiny red bows. It really seemed a charming town – like a backdrop in a Norman Rockwell painting. And nothing whatsoever like Lena’s hometown of Willow Creek.

  “There’s Harrington’s.” Moira pointed to a large brick building with lots of plate-glass windows, all trimmed beautifully for Christmas.

  “Very nice,” Lena murmured.

  “Like any town, New Haven has its problems, but for the most part it’s filled with decent, hardworking people.”

  Lena pressed her lips together. Decent, hardworking . . . not exactly how someone would describe an ex-con. Certainly not how anyone back in Willow Creek would describe Lena now.

  “New Haven,” the driver called as he pulled to a stop. “All out for New Haven.”

  “The Miller House is only a few blocks away,” Moira said as Lena helped carry her tapestry bag down the aisle. “But I’m sure my son would be happy to give you a lift.”

  “Thank you,” Lena told Moira, “but I’d prefer to walk – stretch my legs a bit and maybe stop for some breakfast.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Lena took Moira’s arm, helping her down the bus steps. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Thank you!” Moira beamed at Lena. “You made my trip home most pleasant.”

  Suddenly Lena was curious why someone like Moira – so well-dressed, well-spoken, mother of an attorney – would choose the bus for transportation. But perhaps Moira, like Lena, had her secrets too.

  “Mom!” a middle-aged man called from across the street. He waved to Moira as he jogged over, first hugging her then taking the tapestry carry-on bag from Lena while Moira did a quick introduction.

  “Lena kept me company all night,” Moira told Sam. “She’s moving to town.”

  He gave Lena what seemed a slightly suspicious look then smiled. “Pleased to meet you and welcome to New Haven.” He turned to gather up Moira’s other suitcase from where the driver had set it on the sidewalk.

  “You’re sure you don’t want a ride?” Moira asked. “It’s awfully cold out.”

  “No, the fresh air feels good,” Lena said. “Thanks anyway . . . for everything.”

  “Remember about church tomorrow,” Moira called out as Sam, loaded down with her bags, linked arms with her to cross the street.

  “Yes,” Lena called back, “I’ll remember.” She watched as the two slowly made their way across the quiet street to where a silver BMW sedan was parked. Sam helped his mother into the car then put her bags in the trunk, closing it with a solid thunk. Then, as if he knew he was being watched, he turned and stared curiously at Lena.

  Embarrassed to be seen spying, she ducked her head against the wind and hurried down the sidewalk. Where she was going, she had no idea. Just away from sweet Moira and her lawyer son. Lena had little tolerance for normal people doing normal things anymore. People who belonged in a world that Lena could barely recall, a world where someone like her would never be welcome.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Hearing the jingle of a bell, Lena noticed a young couple emerging from what appeared to be a small restaurant across the street. The sign said Red Hen Café, and with lights on inside, it appeared to be open. The thought of walking into a restaurant, ordering a cup of coffee with real cream, and just sitting there was suddenly irresistible and almost dreamlike. How long had it been?

  As she crossed the street, she felt slightly giddy with anticipation. Perhaps she could order a small breakfast too. Not anything too expensive because she knew she was pinching pennies. But maybe a side order of bacon and an egg.

  The bell on the door jingled again as she went in. Met with the sound of Christmas music, warmth, and the smell of good cooking, Lena experienced a strange surge of hope. She was really on the outside – she was free!

  “Take whichever table you like,” called a woman about Lena’s age. “Coffee?”

  “Yes,” Lena said. “And cream too, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Lena walked slowly through the restaurant, where most of the tables were vacant, looking carefully before she chose a booth by the window. She set down her purse and removed the awful purple parka, folding it as small as she could before setting it on the ot
her side of the booth, then slid in to sit down.

  “Here you go,” the woman said as she placed a mug of coffee and a jug of cream on the table. She pulled a menu out from under her elbow.

  “Thank you,” Lena murmured as she opened the plastic-covered menu. She looked for the breakfast section as the waitress told her this morning’s breakfast special of biscuits and gravy before she hurried back to the kitchen to pick up an order. Several minutes passed as Lena pretended to be reading the menu.

  “Sorry that took so long,” the waitress said as she returned. “We’re a little shorthanded. Just lost a waitress yesterday.” She jerked her thumb toward the “Help Wanted” sign by the cash register. “Hoping we’ll get someone soon. Now, what can I get for you?”

  Lena ordered the Little Red Hen, which had two eggs, two strips of bacon, hash browns, and toast – only $3.99, about the same price as two side orders.

  “So did I see you getting off the bus this morning?” the waitress asked as she tucked the pencil back behind her ear.

  “Uh, yes.” Lena studied the woman, wondering why she should care who got on or off the bus.

  “I’m not really a busybody,” she said quickly.

  “That’s what you say,” called a male voice from back in the kitchen.

  “Oh, be quiet, Jimmy.” She smiled at Lena. “I just like to pay attention, you know. No harm in that, right?”

  “No. It’s good to pay attention.”

  “So are you visiting?”

  “Actually I’m moving here.”

  The woman brightened. “Well, welcome then.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Bonnie Wyler and this is my restaurant.”

  “I’m Lena Markham.” She shook her hand.

  “Hey, you’re not looking for work, are you?”

  “I, uh, I kind of have a job lined up . . . at least I think I do.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t work out and this sign is still up, I’m happy to talk.”