The Christmas Boutique

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “My mom probably wouldn’t get the reference.” Sarah gave her head a little shake. “Matt, what are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until late this evening. You said your dad needed you to hang drywall all day.”

  “It sounded like you need me more.”

  “I do,” she said, a catch in her throat. “I really do. Not just today but every day. That’s what I’ve been trying to make you understand.”

  “I do understand.” He drew her close. “Sarah, honey, I’m always going to be here when you need me. Not just today. I promise.”

  She rested her cheek on his chest and closed her eyes, her heart swelling with love and relief. “I believe you.” For the first time since he had announced his decision to spend the winter working for his father, she did believe him.

  He smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. “You looked like you were on a mission when I interrupted. What’s going on? Can I help?”

  With a gasp, she remembered the crowd gathering outside and the parking lot forming in the driveway. “Yes, you can,” she declared, rising up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I hope you’re not too tired of driving, because that’s your first assignment.”

  Mary Beth gazed out the living room window, a cup of coffee cooling in her hands. Roger had departed for State College earlier that morning, and Brent was scheduled to finish his last final exam at one o’clock. Allowing for time for Brent to pack his bags and Roger to load up the car, by now her husband and son must be almost home. Mary Beth had a thousand things to do, but she found herself unable to focus on any task long enough to complete it, not with the clock measuring each passing hour and the sound of cars passing on the street drawing her to the window, one false alarm after another. How could she leave home when her beloved son would soon walk through the door after so many long weeks away?

  That was the excuse she would give Nancy and Melanie if they asked her why she had skipped her shifts at the Christmas Boutique. In the excitement of her son’s homecoming, she had completely forgotten. That was why she had not told them ahead of time; she could not have known that she was going to forget.

  As excuses went, it was pretty pathetic, but Nancy and Melanie would pretend to believe it. Diane, on the other hand . . . Mary Beth sighed, sipped her cold coffee, and winced, and not only because of the unpleasant taste. Diane would see right through her. She would know that Mary Beth had stayed away out of shame and embarrassment, and after her pep talk in the driveway, she would consider Mary Beth a coward. That stung, but better to endure the accusing stares of one disgruntled neighbor than the cold disdain of dozens of church ladies, studiously ignoring her as they sold handicrafts and baked goods together.

  Dispirited, Mary Beth went to the kitchen, poured the cold coffee down the sink, and put her mug in the dishwasher. She hated seeming timid in front of Diane, she hated backing out of her volunteer commitments without a word of explanation, and she hated to miss out on all the fun and, yes, the hard work too, of the Christmas Boutique. She wanted to do her bit, to be a part of a grand, ambitious event that would benefit the community—not only because it was the season of giving, not only to atone for her past mistakes, but because the world was a mess, and no effort to make things better, no matter how small, was ever wasted. Roger and Brent weren’t even home yet. She could have spent all morning and half the afternoon raising essential funds for the county food bank without missing a single minute of her son’s visit.

  Just then, she heard the electric rumble of the garage door opening. Pausing to wipe her fingertips on a dish towel, she hurried to the mudroom to meet them. “Brent,” she cried when the door opened, reaching out to embrace him, but she quickly backed out of the way when he entered with a bang and a thud, hauling an extra-large duffel, an overstuffed laundry bag, and a backpack so full it looked likely to burst its zippers.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said, grinning, letting his burdens fall every which way to the floor. He wrapped her in a bear hug, and for a moment her feet left the floor. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad to be home.”

  “He says he passed all his classes,” Roger declared proudly as he followed his son into the house carrying a suitcase. “Possibly with straight As.”

  “I won’t know for sure until my biology exam is graded,” Brent explained.

  “I’m sure you aced it,” said Mary Beth. “Come into the kitchen. Are you hungry? Dinner won’t be ready for a few hours but I could make you a sandwich.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time. I’ve got to go.” He regarded her quizzically. “Wait. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at Elm Creek Manor? You always work the Christmas Boutique.”

  “I wanted to be here to welcome you home, of course.” She felt her smile trembling. “What do you mean, you’re leaving? You just got here. Where are you going?”

  “To the Christmas Boutique. Michael Sonnenberg texted me this morning. They didn’t count on such a huge turnout, and they’re understaffed. His mom asked him to help out, and he asked me.” His brow furrowed. “I’m sure they could use you too, Mom. You’re great at this stuff.”

  Her heart glowed. “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course.”

  “I second that,” said Roger, smiling at them both.

  “But . . .” Mary Beth looked from her husband to her son, basking in their confidence, and yet uncertain. “It’s your first day home. You just finished your exams. Not even that judge would expect you to do community service today.”

  “Mom.” Brent put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look her in the eye. “I’m not going for the community service hours, although, yeah, I know I still have to do the time. I’m going because they need help, and I’m proud they knew they could ask me.” He glanced over his shoulder at his father. “We should all go help. After spending my whole summer there, I know there’s always work to be done.”

  “But what about dinner? I was going to make a casserole—”

  “Mom. Trust me. They have awesome food there. The casserole can wait. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Well . . .” Her doubts were no match for her son’s eagerness. “Let me freshen up first.”

  Brent grinned and said that he should probably do the same, so they parted with promises to meet back in the mudroom in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, Roger would get Brent’s laundry started.

  As she changed clothes and ran a brush through her hair, Mary Beth felt a curious mixture of dread and hope milling through her. She had no idea how she would be received at Elm Creek Manor, but Brent made her proud. Over the past few months, it seemed that his perspective had altered dramatically. No longer was toiling at Elm Creek Manor a grueling punishment simply to be endured, but a tangible way to make up for the harm he had done. Best of all, he seemed eager to do so.

  Her son had turned his life around, she realized, pressing a hand to her lips as tears of thankfulness gathered in her eyes. If Brent could come so far so swiftly, there was hope for her too.

  What Gwen had referred to as an opening rush only increased throughout the day, peaking in the mid-afternoon and steadily diminishing as visitors left to meet children headed home after school. Many especially clever shoppers purchased supper to take home to their families from Anna’s marvelous buffet, which her kitchen crew had kept well stocked with delicious entrées and tempting desserts throughout that hectic, busy, wonderful day. The cold spread for staff and volunteers was equally delicious, as Gwen could personally affirm, having sampled both.

  After the parking debacle was sorted, the Christmas Boutique had run remarkably smoothly, with only a few spills in the banquet hall, a run on singles and five-dollar bills that had sent Gwen racing to the bank for change, and one superficial injury when a woman carrying an oversize purse took a corner too sharply, knocked a ceramic vase off a market table, and cut herself trying to pick up the broken shards. The wound hadn’t required more than a wash, a dab of ointment, and a bandage, and the mortified shopper
had insisted upon paying for the vase, so even that mishap ended tolerably well.

  From what Gwen could see, sales were brisk and steady, the banquet hall was always at least a quarter full with satisfied diners, and the quilt display attracted many admirers, several of whom remarked that seeing the beautiful quilts truly put them in the holiday spirit. “They should have a quilt show with the Christmas Boutique every year,” Gwen overheard one gray-haired woman tell a companion.

  That was an intriguing thought, which sparked two more in Gwen’s mind: Would the Elm Creek Quilters remain involved with the Christmas Boutique when the calamity that had brought it to the manor was resolved? Should Nancy and her team consider a permanent change of venue to Elm Creek Manor?

  Gwen knew it was too soon to say—they had not even counted the first day’s earnings yet and had not received a single evaluation form—and it was not her decision. Still, it was something to consider, and she wished she could be talking it over with Summer instead of ruminating alone. But Summer was still in transit. She had texted on her way from her apartment to Chicago O’Hare, and again when her flight was boarding and when it landed in State College. Not long ago, she had texted, “In the home stretch! On the bus to the ECV!” Gwen stared at the initials for a moment, smacking herself on the forehead when she figured out “ECV” meant Elm Creek Valley. She had been working too hard. It was time to stop by the kitchen for one of those amazing chocolate cappuccino brownies everyone was talking about, just a small sliver, so she would not spoil her appetite for apple strudel later that evening.

  “Let me know when you arrive at the bus station and I’ll pick you up,” Gwen reminded her daughter via text as she left the ballroom. It was nearly closing time, and most of the volunteers had finished their shifts and had gone home, but a dozen or so shoppers still browsed the market stalls, looking for the perfect gift for loved ones or perhaps for themselves. Crossing the foyer, Gwen stopped short at the sight of Brent Callahan, one of the juvenile offenders who had worked quilt camp the previous summer, as he bounded in the front entrance and handed a set of keys to a woman carrying several large shopping bags. Brent gestured to the bags and spoke, the woman nodded, and the next thing Gwen knew, he was carrying the bags outside to her car while the woman followed along. Surprised, Gwen lingered a moment, watching until the door closed behind them, shutting out the cold. Apparently Brent had been drafted for the valet crew, and he had learned some manners and had developed a stronger work ethic during his first semester of college. Gwen looked forward to telling Bonnie the next time she called from Hawaii. She would be thrilled to hear that her plea for leniency had inspired at least one of the young offenders to make the most of the opportunity to redeem himself.

  Gwen turned the corner into the west wing, smiling to herself, when suddenly the back door opened and into the rear foyer stepped her daughter, radiantly beautiful even in her long winter coat, a knit cap with a pom-pom perched jauntily upon her long auburn hair, which, if Gwen was not mistaken, glistened with melting snow.

  “Mom,” Summer cried out, letting her bags slip to the floor and launching herself down the hallway toward her.

  “Kiddo,” Gwen exclaimed, opening her arms, sighing as if relieved of a heavy burden the moment she embraced her daughter. “How did you get here so fast? I was supposed to pick you up at the bus station.”

  Summer hugged her tightly. “I knew the bus was going to pass the forest road, so I asked the driver ahead of time if he would let me off at the junction. I walked the rest of the way.”

  “At night? In the dark? At this time of year?”

  Summer laughed. “It wasn’t that bad. A car passed every once in a while on its way back from the manor, and the headlights lit up the road.”

  “And any one of those cars could have struck you and knocked you into the creek.” Gwen hugged her again, fiercely. “I need to know you’re looking out for yourself when I’m not there to do it.”

  “I’m careful, Mom. I promise.” Summer patted her on the back and pulled free of her embrace. “At the moment, I’m also ravenous. I smelled something delicious the moment I walked in. Is that supper, and dare I hope there’s enough for one more plate?”

  “The buffet closed down at seven, but I’m sure we can find some leftovers for you in the kitchen.” Gwen linked arms with her and steered her toward the closet so she could put away her coat. “And for dessert, Anna made apple strudel.”

  “From Great-Great-Aunt Gerda’s legendary recipe?”

  “The very same.” Abruptly Gwen halted. “But first, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “The buffet didn’t include a single vegetarian dish for me?”

  “No, actually, there were several, and they were all fantastic.” Gwen inhaled deeply, bracing herself. “I think Jeremy is interested in Anna.”

  Summer’s eyebrows rose. “Really? That was fast. Thanks for the warning.” She continued on down the hallway, unbuttoning her coat.

  “Hold on.” Gwen placed a hand on her shoulder to bring her to a stop. “That’s it? You’re taking this rather well.”

  “How else should I take it?” Summer glanced down the hall in both directions as if concerned that another Elm Creek Quilter, perhaps Anna herself, might come upon them suddenly. “Jeremy and I had been drifting apart for months—you must have noticed—but it took us a while to finally have the conversation that made it official. We’re still friends. If he’s found happiness with someone else, it would be petty and spiteful of me to resent him for it.”

  “But to find someone else so soon?”

  Summer shrugged wryly. “I admit that stings a bit, but I’ll get over it.”

  “Oh, kiddo.” Gwen sighed. “Could I ask you a favor? The next time anything like this happens, tell me right away. Don’t leave me wondering what’s going on in your life, sifting our conversations for clues and struggling to ignore Diane’s rumors.”

  “She’s spreading rumors?”

  “Not many,” Gwen quickly replied. “More like . . . questions. And only to me. As far as I know.”

  “Lovely.” Sighing, Summer tugged off her hat and ran a hand through her long auburn hair. “Promise you won’t take this out on Anna, okay? It’s not her fault. If they are seeing each other, I’m certain it didn’t start until after Jeremy and I broke up.”

  “I would never do such a thing.”

  “Could you make sure no one else does either? I think Diane might be a problem.”

  “She won’t be,” Gwen assured her. “You know Diane. She has a sixth sense for drama. But if you show her you don’t bear Anna any ill will, she won’t either.”

  Summer nodded and agreed. “There’s something else, for future reference,” she added as they continued on to the kitchen. “I want you to know that I couldn’t possibly tell you everything that’s going on in my life, but I can promise to tell you every important thing. Is that good enough?”

  “That’s better than good enough, kiddo,” said Gwen. She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and led her off to the kitchen to find her something good to eat.

  On Saturday morning, Diane and Michael rose early and drove straight to Elm Creek Manor, looking forward to starting the second day of the Christmas Boutique with the delicious breakfast Anna had promised. Tim stayed behind to finish scoring exams and lab reports so he could submit his students’ final grades before the deadline, but he would take an intermission to pick up Todd from the airport. They both promised to stop by the manor on their way home so that Diane would not have to wait until later that night to see her youngest son again.

  Michael had taken charge of the valet parking, so he joined the breakfast debriefing, where he suggested a few improvements to the car-retrieval process that were quickly approved. Then it was time to clear the table, set up the refreshments for the volunteers, and hurry off to their posts. Diane gave Michael a quick kiss on the cheek in parting and reported to the ballroom.

  Soon the volunteers
arrived and took their places at the market booths, and before the doors opened, Diane passed through the aisles making sure they had everything they needed—change, bottles of water, receipt paper, or help rearranging merchandise so that it would better catch a shopper’s eye. Halfway along the center aisle, Diane came upon Mary Beth folding lovely hand-knit sweaters and laying them out neatly upon her table. “Good morning,” Diane greeted her, surprised. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t see you yesterday.”

  “Good morning.” Mary Beth offered a brief flicker of a smile as she picked up another sweater. “Yesterday I didn’t arrive until mid-afternoon, and I worked both of my shifts in the banquet hall.”

  “Then you haven’t seen the quilt show.”

  “Not much of it.” Mary Beth glanced around, but from where they stood, most of the quilts were at least partially obscured. “I’ll see it during my break.”

  Diane checked her watch. “We have a few minutes before the crowds arrive. Can I show you something?”

  Mary Beth hesitated, but she nodded, set down the sweater, and followed Diane down the aisle. Diane’s heart thumped as she led the way to a corner of the room where Christmas in Waterford was displayed on the wall to the left of the doors leading into the banquet hall. Mary Beth halted before the quilt top, recognition slowly dawning on her face. Her gaze went to the placard beside it, and then, sharply, to Diane.

  “When I told you that I admired your prizewinning quilt, I meant it,” said Diane. “I wanted one of my own, but I should have asked permission to copy your design. I hope you don’t mind.”

  When Mary Beth leaned forward to study her handiwork, Diane winced inwardly, certain she would note every flaw. “The Providence block is in the public domain,” Mary Beth said, straightening. “I think you’re well within your legal rights to make your own version, especially since you chose a different color scheme and a slightly different border.”

  “Maybe, but there’s legality, and then there’s simple courtesy. I should have asked, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”