Christmas at Harrington's

by Melody Carlson

  “Yes. And my father’s attempt at matchmaking worked. Daniel proposed. Everyone in the church thought it was wonderful. And I even believed I was in love and that Daniel loved me.” Lena laughed humorlessly. “But then the marriage began and I realized that instead of escaping my father, which had been my goal, I had married someone just like him. Daniel wouldn’t allow me to work outside of the home. I couldn’t do anything without getting his approval first. I volunteered at church and continued doing their quarterly financial reports, but Daniel oversaw them.”

  “Was that how it happened then?” Moira pressed. “The financial reports?”

  Lena nodded. “Our church had a strong commitment to missions, and giving was always generous. We’d done lots of fund-raising, and yet over time there seemed to be less money in the mission fund, as well as other places. But when I mentioned this to Daniel, he brushed it off, saying not to worry and that he’d handle it. Or he’d say it was simply a mistake, although I didn’t see how. Or he’d make some other excuse or explanation or distract me with a church project. I never questioned him personally about the money. He was the head of the church, the head of our home. My place wasn’t to question him. But after a couple of years, the mission board figured out that a very large sum of money was missing.” Lena felt a lump in her throat. She vividly remembered the grim faces of the board members, their hostile accusations, and their certainty that she was guilty.

  “And you were blamed for it,” Moira said softly.

  Lena picked a ball of fuzz from the elbow of her sweater. “I was arrested in my home, handcuffed in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner. Embezzlement charges were pressed. At the time, Daniel acted shocked and outraged. He convinced me that he was going to fight it for me. But two days went by and he refused to pay my bail. He said it would be Christlike for me to suffer and that the church would feel compassion, that they would respect me for not fighting back. So I stayed in jail. But no one, including my parents, would even speak to me.”

  “Oh my.” Moira shook her head. “Not even your mother?”

  “She was under my father’s thumb. I suspect that’s what killed her. They both died while I was in prison. The shame, the grief, the stress . . . I’m sure it got to them.”

  “So they never knew the truth? That you weren’t guilty?”

  “I tried to tell them the truth. But they believed Daniel over me. In my father’s eyes, I’d always been rebellious. I’m sure he thought I was capable of something like that. And Daniel’s story made sense to them – he said I stole the money because I wanted to buy a house. Everyone knew I’d wanted to buy a house. But not like that. I had my own money – an inheritance from my grandmother.”

  “Daniel sounds like an evil man.”

  “Evil, but conniving and believable and charismatic too. The truth is I even believed him at first. He talked me into staying in jail. He kept up the act that the whole thing was a mistake, but he convinced me that God was at work, that there were lessons for all of us to learn. And he assured me that he’d fix everything and that everyone would apologize to me in time. Of course, his story kept changing. I mean the story he told me. He was stringing me along while he won over everyone on the outside, giving them little clues that hinted at my guilt, building his case.”

  “What an awful man!”

  “Finally Daniel told me that he’d figured the whole thing out. That he’d discovered someone on the mission board had stolen the money. And he planned to catch them but needed to set a trap first. So he talked me into signing over my inheritance – he said he’d use it to bait the trap. He even said the police were in on it. He promised me that I’d be released from jail by the end of the week. He also said it would look good to the church that I donated that much money for missions. And I willingly agreed to his scheme.”

  “So he took your money too? As well as the church money?”

  “Yes. I was such a fool. The whole time I was in jail, Daniel had been setting me up to go down. He’d been lying to everyone and then he lied in court. He stood and made this valiant statement about how he’d been trying to protect me and how he’d realized he’d been wrong to do so, and that he could protect me no longer. He said the truth needed to be told that I was the guilty one and he’d been trying to cover for me. And when I was convicted and sentenced, I just gave up. With so much hurt and humiliation, prison actually sounded better than going back home. It felt like an escape. Well, until I got there. But by then I felt dead inside anyway. Nothing mattered.”

  “You poor thing.” Moira put an arm around Lena’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I knew you had a story.”

  “It’s a very ugly story.”

  “But you knew you were innocent. Didn’t you ever consider asking for an appeal or retrial or something?”

  “Like I said, I gave up. I was too broken . . . too hurt. I had no fight in me.” There was more that Lena could tell, more reasons she chose to give up. But she’d said more than enough for now.

  “And that’s why you didn’t want to go home when you got out of prison.”

  Lena nodded. “I don’t really have a home anymore. A fresh start sounded better. But I’m finding it’s harder than I expected.”

  “At least you have friends.” Moira gave her hand a squeeze.

  Lena wished that were true. She hoped she had friends. But after Sam’s little scene, she wasn’t so sure. Although Moira was able to see past her prison record, how would other people feel if they knew she was an ex-con? Maybe there was no such thing as second chances.

  CHAPTER

  8

  After a delicious dinner of roast beef and all the trimmings, Jemima begged to go back down to play Barbies again, and Beth seemed more than willing to join her. “Don’t tell any of my friends,” she said a bit sheepishly, “but it’s kind of fun seeing all the old Barbie outfits and shoes and purses and things. I forgot Barbie had so much cool stuff.”

  “You should see it, Lena,” Jemima said. “She’s even got a house and a car and a boat and everything.”

  Lena laughed as she started to help clear the table. “I think I’m feeling jealous of Barbie.”

  “No, no,” Gretchen told Lena with a severe German accent. “You put dat down. Dis is my job.”

  Moira nodded. “Don’t get in Gretchen’s way or you’ll be sorry, Lena.”

  “Das right.” Gretchen took the plate from Lena. “I may be old, but I do my job without help, danke!”

  Lena smiled at her. “Well, thank you, Gretchen. And thank you for the lovely dinner. It’s the best meal I’ve had in years.”

  Gretchen looked skeptical. “In years?”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Moira said as she took Lena’s arm. “Now come with me, I have an idea.”

  Lena didn’t resist as Moira led her through the house, down a hallway, and finally into a large and luxurious bedroom. “What a beautiful room,” Lena said as she looked around her. Sky-blue-and-white-striped wallpaper, thick white carpeting, dark wood furnishings, even a marble-faced fireplace.

  “Thank you,” Moira said. “This is my room. But the reason I brought you back here was because of Barbie.”

  Lena blinked. “Barbie?”

  Moira smiled and pointed at Lena. “I noticed those are the same clothes that you wore on the bus. And I suspect it’s all you have since you didn’t have any luggage.”

  Lena nodded.

  “Now, I realize I’m an old lady and we’re not exactly the same size, but I thought perhaps I might have something you could use.”

  “Oh, no, Moira,” Lena said. “I couldn’t possibly take –

  ” “No, I want to share some things with you.” Moira opened up a walk-in closet and turned on the light. “What size are your feet? They look about the same as mine.”

  Lena looked down at the worn black pumps. “About an eight.”

  Moira laughed. “I knew it.”

  “Really, Moira, that’s a very kind offer. But I have to say no.
You can’t give me anything. I insist.” Lena felt tears in her eyes. Sometimes it seemed easier to be subjected to cruelty than kindness. It didn’t require so much.

  “Harrington’s isn’t the epitome of fashion,” Moira called from inside the closet, “but I hardly think you can show up to work wearing the same black pants and red sweater every day, dear. Besides, I really need to thin things out in here. I’m a bit of a clotheshorse, and after Howard died, with full use of the closet, I somehow managed to fill it up.”

  When Moira emerged with an armful of garments and wooden hangers clacking together, Lena couldn’t hold back any longer. Tears began to flood down her cheeks and she wanted to escape. “Honestly, I – I can’t take anything from you. Really, I can’t.”

  Moira dropped the clothes onto her bed then came over and wrapped her arms around Lena. “Well, yes you can, dear. I want you to have these things. Don’t you understand? It will make me happy.”

  “But – but . . . your son – he – he won’t like it.”

  Moira held Lena at arm’s length, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. “What did Sam say to you anyway?”

  “Nothing. But I just can’t take – ”

  “Sit down right there.” Moira pointed to a pale blue chair as she picked up a tissue box from her bedside table and held it out to Lena.

  Lena pulled out a couple of tissues then sat down and wiped her wet cheeks and blew her nose. How embarrassing.

  “Now, tell me, Lena. What exactly did my son say to you?”

  “He was only trying to protect you. He didn’t want me to take advantage of you. And I don’t want to take advantage of you either. I really should go.” Lena stood and folded her arms. “You’re kind and generous and I treasure your friendship more than you can know. But I cannot take anything from you.”

  “Well, the fact of the matter is you can’t go home until I take you home.” Moira smiled in a sly sort of way. “And I won’t take you home unless you agree to take some of these old clothes off my hands. Good grief, Sam should be thrilled that I’m getting rid of a few things. He knows what a pack rat I am.”

  “But Moira, I can’t.”

  “Fine, this is what you’ll do then. Go and fetch Gretchen for me. Tell her I need help with something. Then you go check on the girls and the Barbies. And I will handle this myself. If Sam ever finds out, which seems hardly likely, you can honestly say you had nothing to do with it.” Moira shook her head. “Good grief. He’s a good boy, but far too distrustful sometimes. He got that from his father, I’m afraid.”

  “But I – ”

  “No buts.” Moira shook a wrinkly finger at Lena. “Please, now, do as I say.”

  Lena blinked then turned and went in search of Gretchen, who was cleaning up in the kitchen. She relayed Moira’s message and went downstairs to where Beth and Jemima had created Barbie world. With houses, furnishings, a convertible, clothes galore, horses . . . and all sorts of things that Lena probably would’ve loved when she was a girl, except her parents said Barbie was wicked.

  “Wow.” She sat down on the floor next to Jemima and picked up a discarded silver handbag, hanging it on her pinkie finger. “This is really something.”

  “I know.” Jemima beamed at her. “And Beth gave me my very own Barbie and some clothes to take home with me too.”

  Lena was about to object to this generosity, but she worried that she’d not only get lectured from Moira again but probably hurt Beth as well. Not to mention it would break Jemima’s heart. “That’s very sweet of you, Beth. I know Jemima didn’t have a chance to bring many toys with her when they moved here.”

  “She told me about that.” Beth spoke quietly with a curious expression.

  “I didn’t tell her everything,” Jemima said defensively. “And she promised not to tell anyone.”

  “That’s right. You have my word.” Beth held up her hand like a pledge. “And Jemima said her mom got a job and that’s why you’re babysitting her.”

  “Not babysitting,” Jemima corrected.

  “Right.” Beth grinned. “Anyway, Jemima said you were going to work at Harrington’s next week and that she might have to take care of herself.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to take care of yourself,” Lena assured Jemima, although she wondered if that’s what Sally had told her.

  “Anyway, I told her if school was out, I would babysit her. But we still have a couple weeks until Christmas vacation. And then I got this idea.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good idea too,” Jemima piped up.

  “My high school has a daycare center,” Beth told Lena. “I have a child development class where I get to help out in there and it’s really fun. But some of the moms got laid off work recently and there aren’t too many kids there now, and I’ll bet Jemima could stay there when you and her mom have to work.”

  “That would be fantastic, Beth. I’ll be sure to tell Jemima’s mom.”

  “Yeah, she can call New Haven High and ask for Mrs. Price.”

  Lena made a mental note of this. “Speaking of your mom,” she said to Jemima, “she’ll be getting off work in about an hour, and you should probably help put the Barbie things away so we can get home before your mom gets there and wonders what happened to us.”

  Jemima looked disappointed, but she began picking up.

  “Come upstairs when you’re done,” Lena said as she stood. Most of all, she wanted to be out of the house before Sam returned. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of having him witness his mother giving her anything. Not even old clothes. She could just imagine the told-you-so expression in his eyes. As if she really had some deep dark plot to swindle his mother.

  Fortunately, they got loaded in the car and were on their way back to the boardinghouse without seeing him. In the backseat Jemima clutched a Barbie carrying case to her chest. It contained not just one but two Barbies and a bunch of clothes. Judging by her expression, one might think she’d won the lottery.

  “Moira, I don’t even know how to thank you,” Lena said as they got out of the car and Moira opened the trunk to reveal several grocery bags of clothes.

  “I should thank you for helping me clean out my closet.”

  “No, really, your generosity is overwhelming.” Lena’s arms were loaded with bags. “Thank you for taking us to church, for dinner, for listening . . . for everything.”

  “The best thanks you can give me will be to make a success of your fresh start.” Moira waved as she opened her car door. “Good luck at Harrington’s tomorrow. I’ll be sure to come by the store later this week to see how you’re doing.”

  Lena hurried Jemima up the stairs to the boardinghouse. “It’s so cold out,” she said as she unlocked the front door. “I wonder if it might snow.”

  “Snow?” Jemima said as they went inside.

  “Nah,” TJ said as he met them in the doorway with his pack of Camels in hand. “It ain’t gonna snow. But there could be an ice storm.” He looked at Lena. “You been doing some Christmas shopping?”

  “Something like that,” she told him as they headed for the stairs. Lena was nearly out of breath when she dropped the heavy bags in her room, and she was just unlocking the door to room 11 when Sally emerged from the stairs as well. Her feet were dragging, but she looked happy to see her daughter.

  “Mommy, look!” Jemima held up the pink Barbie carry-all case. “My friend Beth gave me this!”

  “Who’s Beth?” Sally asked Lena as she bent down to examine Jemima’s prize.

  Lena quickly explained then told her about the daycare at the high school. “It’s New Haven High,” she said, “and you can ask for Mrs. Price.”

  Sally frowned as she went into her room. “But what if they ask questions? What if they want records from her old school?”

  “I guess you’ll have to figure all that out eventually anyway.” Lena stood by the open door.

  Sally’s brow creased with uncertainty. “I don’t know . . .”

  “When I’m working
, I can’t watch Jemima for you,” Lena added. “One way or another, you’ve got to figure out some other form of childcare. Maybe you should enroll her back into school?”

  Sally sighed. “Maybe you’re right. At least I don’t work tomorrow. Not until six anyway. That’ll give me a chance to check things out.” She dug in her pocket, fishing out several one-dollar bills. “Here. I know it’s not much, but – ”

  “You don’t have to pay – ”

  “What’s this?” Sally pointed to the goldfish bowl on the dresser.

  “That’s Sunshine!” Jemima peered into the bowl. “My very own goldfish.”

  Lena, not eager to hear how Sally liked Jemima’s new pet, stepped into the hallway, wiggled her fingers in a quick goodbye wave, and made a hasty exit.

  Back in her room, she kicked off the worn black pumps, cleared a spot on her bed, which was buried in bags, and sat down. What she really wanted was a nap, but Moira’s words were still ringing in her ears – the best thanks she could give her kind friend was to make a successful fresh start. That would mean getting a job at Harrington’s tomorrow. And to get a job at a nice department store, one needed to look respectable.

  She reached for the bag closest to her, pulling out a small stack of neatly folded tops. The first was a basic white cotton shirt with a button-down collar, then a light blue silky blouse with pearly buttons, a pink blouse with decorative stitching, and finally another white blouse that had ruffles and lace like something Lena’s grandmother might’ve worn.

  Next she pulled out two cardigans, which, upon a closer look, she realized were both cashmere! One charcoal and one navy. Then she found a black woolen skirt, a pair of navy gabardine trousers, and a charcoal tweed skirt. All three of these garments were fully lined and looked warm. Whether or not they would fit remained to be seen, but they were definitely nice.

  Admittedly nothing in this bag screamed high fashion – not that Lena had ever been much into that – but all the garments were in perfect condition and classic in style. And they bore labels with impressive names like Pendleton, Ralph Lauren, and Liz Claiborne, so she knew they hadn’t come cheap.