Christmas Coins

by Kristy Tate

  Maybe sacred was too strong a word, but it came to her lips and she went with it.

  “Who will you give the coins to?” a girl asked.

  Zoe opened her mouth, but for a moment, no words came. Finally, “My child, of course.”

  “Does that mean you’ll have to have a boy?” a girl asked.

  “No,” Zoe said. But it did mean she’d have to have a child, and that was looking as unlikely as John himself personally handing her a coin from the grave. “I’m not a boy and the coins came to me.”

  “I bet it does mean you’ll need to have a boyfriend,” another girl quipped.

  “Not necessarily,” Zoe hedged. She started to feel warm.

  “Maybe they’ll be mine someday,” Laurel said.

  “Probably,” Zoe said. “Here, do you want to show the girls the rest of the coins?”

  Laurel skipped to the front to gather the other nine coins.

  Mrs. Lacombe, a retired history professor, bought her clothes from a local consignment shop. Today, she wore a sailor suit—minus the hat—and she strode around the classroom like she had a deck to swab. “Let’s all give Ms. Hart a big Canterbury thank you.” She clapped her hands and all the girls joined in.

  Zoe dipped her head and took her place at the back of the classroom with the other visiting relatives, while Dr. Edwards, an elderly man wearing physicians’ scrubs and carrying a stethoscope, took center stage beside Mrs. Lacombe.

  During Dr. Edwards’ talk on his family’s role in medical research, Zoe collected the coins and placed them back into the box. She carefully placed them on the table with all the other items the students had chosen to display. One girl had brought in a picture of her movie mogul grandfather posing beside his Hollywood Star, another had brought in a World War 2 bomber jacket, and someone had brought a handcrafted cuckoo clock. Her box looked humble and shabby amongst the other collectibles. Someday, they’d need a bigger box. Who would make that decision, and what would the world be like then?

  She only lived a few hundred miles from where John and Emily had settled in Twain all those years ago, but her life was radically different from theirs. She didn’t depend on a garden or livestock for food, nor did she sew her own clothes But the one thing she’d be sure to do, like John and the others, was to purchase a gold coin and add it to this collection.

  It felt wrong to leave the box of coins for display, but she trusted Mrs. Lacombe and knew most of the girls were from extremely wealthy families and wouldn’t be tempted by her collection of gold coins.

  WHEN ETHAN PICKED UP Hannah from Mrs. Hancock’s after school, she glowed with happiness. “Daddy,” she said, rocking onto her toes to hug him. “Today God answered my prayer!”

  “He did?” He gave her a tight squeeze and inhaled her fresh scent of apple essence shampoo.

  “Don’t you want to know what he gave me?” Hannah asked. “Gave us!” she corrected herself. “It’s for both of us!”

  His gaze met Mrs. Hancock’s over the top of Hannah’s head. Mrs. Hancock, a seventy-something little old lady who dressed in purple or pink jogging suits, liked to take strolls around the park and feed the ducks in the lake, in spite of the “no feeding the birds” signs clearly posted along the shore. She answered with a shrug.

  Hannah dug into her backpack and pulled out a handful of coins. “Look!”

  The gold glistened in her small palm. They couldn’t be real, could they? “Hannah, where did you find those?” Ethan asked.

  She cocked her head and folded her fingers around the coins. “I told you. God answered my prayer.”

  Ethan swallowed and held out his hand. “May I please see them?”

  Hannah pursed her lips. “You won’t try and put them in the bank, will you?”

  Hannah had been suspicious of banks ever since the one time his ATM card had failed and their evening plans to go to the movies had been thwarted. He motioned for her to hand him the coins, which she did, although with hesitation.

  He fingered them and read the stamped dates. “They look like they’re real.”

  Mrs. Hancock, a tiny woman with frizzy gray hair, drew closer to get a better look. “Goodness,” she breathed. “I bet they’re worth a pretty penny.”

  “Not pennies, Mrs. Hancock!” Hannah said. “They’re dollars. Made of gold.”

  “Hannah, where did these come from?” Ethan asked again.

  “I told you. God heard my prayer, and He gave them to me so we can buy the gallery.”

  “Sweetie.” Ethan tried to temper his voice and mask his frustration. Squatting to her eye level, he met her gaze. “I told you, as much as I’d like to buy the gallery, it’s not for sale.”

  “You said not yet.”

  “And maybe not ever,” he said gently.

  “Then you should get another one.”

  If only it were that simple. Oak Hollow wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a metropolis, but it was the closest town to Canterbury Academy. Allie had taken a job at the school because she was friends with the owner. Ethan had gone along because he’d fallen in love with the area’s gently rolling foothills.

  “Let’s go and look for one right now!” Hannah suggested.

  Ethan nodded, knowing that a walk down Oak Hollow’s Main Street would take less time than trying to change his daughter’s mind.

  “Did you feel the earthquake today?” Hannah asked later as they strolled down Main Street.

  “I did.” He cast her a glance. “I didn’t see you in the auditorium with the rest of your class.”

  “I didn’t know they had gone there,” she told him. “You know we got there late. The earthquake happened right before I went to class, so when I got to homeroom, everyone had been evacuated. It was so weird to be in there all by myself. But then I saw the coins, and I knew God had put them there for me to find.”

  Ethan didn’t know how to argue with this logic, so he didn’t try.

  ZOE LOOKED UP WHEN Courtney blew into the bakery. Her sister always managed to show up after the mopping but in time to take home the day’s unsold donuts. And, to add insult to injury, the donuts didn’t seem to pad her hips and waist. Courtney remained willow-thin no matter how many donuts she collected. Could it be she wasn’t eating them herself?

  No. Generosity wasn’t in her sister’s vocabulary.

  Recognizing that as an ungenerous thought, Zoe shook herself, and went to put away her mop and grab a box for Courtney’s daily haul.

  “Where’s Laurel?” Zoe asked. As much as she loved her sister, she loved Laurel more and looked forward to her niece’s visits.

  “Jess took her to the Ice Capades.” Courtney helped herself to a cake donut with pink frosting and settled onto a bistro chair. After kicking off her shoes, she propped her feet up on the seat across from her. She bit into her donut and let out a contented sigh. “I’m so glad you opened a bakery. Sometimes I think I should abandon my consignment shop and just come and spend the day with you here.”

  Because Zoe knew this wasn’t a good idea, she cast around for a change of subject. “Jess is in town?”

  “They’re filming just north of here.” Courtney licked her fingers. “He has four tickets to the Rabid Rabbits concert this weekend. Do you want to go?”

  “You know I can’t. I have to be up at four to start the bread.”

  “Get Claire to do that.”

  Zoe answered with an eye-roll.

  “Actually, Zen is pretty cute,” Courtney said.

  “Who’s Zen?”

  “The guy Jesse wants to set you up with.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not dating an actor. Especially one whose name makes him sound boring.”

  “Zen is not boring.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No, but I was talking about the definition of the word, not the actual person. And he’s not an actor, he’s a stuntman.”

  “Even worse.”

  “Ugh. You�
��re so lame. You’re like a thirty-four-year-old senior citizen.”

  And you’re a twenty-six-year-old teenager. But Zoe didn’t say the words. She didn’t want to hurt her sister the way Courtney had hurt her. Besides, Courtney had missed out on a lot of teenage fun because of Laurel. Fifteen-year-old Courtney had planned to put the baby up for adoption, but when Laurel had arrived, no one in their family had wanted to see her go.

  “Oh! There’s your hunky neighbor!” Courtney sat up and waved.

  Zoe finished loading the donuts into the box and looked up to see Ethan and Hannah on the sidewalk. Hannah caught her eye and smiled.

  “Don’t call him that,” Zoe whispered.

  “Why not? It’s the truth. You find him cute, don’t you?”

  Hannah rattled the door.

  Straightening and placing her hands on her hips, Zoe frowned at her neighbors. “I must have locked it already.” She made it sound like an unfixable problem.

  “Pooh! Then I’ll unlock it.” Courtney bounced from her chair.

  Zoe watched her sister cross the room. When they were younger, people had often confused them, even though Courtney was eight years younger. They both had long blond hair and blue eyes and were medium height. But as they’d aged, Zoe had grown curvy while Courtney remained lean. Laurel was a carbon copy of her mother, but instead of being a white-blonde, her hair had a touch of red, making her a strawberry blonde.

  Sometimes people mistook Zoe for Laurel’s mom. When this happened, Zoe didn’t correct them. Sometimes she felt like a mother to both Courtney and Laurel.

  “Hey you, cuties,” Courtney said, pulling open the door and waving Ethan and Hannah inside. “Are you here for the leftover donuts?”

  Hannah, whose face was already beaming, took her smile up a notch. “Leftover donuts? Like free?”

  Ethan put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t be a beggar.”

  “She’s not a beggar,” Courtney said, going to her donut stash. “Really, you’d be doing us a favor. Zoe doesn’t want them—do you, Zo?”

  Ethan shot Zoe a worried glance.

  Zoe’s throat felt tight. “If everyone knew I was giving away donuts at the end of the day, no one would ever buy any.”

  “I don’t believe that for one minute,” Ethan said. “Donuts are impulse purchases. When you need a donut, you have to have a donut. You’re not likely to wait until the end of the day.”

  “Go ahead, take one,” Courtney urged, pushing the box closer to him.

  “They all look so good,” Ethan said. “I can’t decide.”

  “I’ll pick one out for you, Daddy.” Hannah selected a long maple bar, placed it on a napkin, and handed it to him.

  “Thanks, button,” Ethan said.

  “You shouldn’t be thanking me, you should thank Zoe,” Hannah said.

  “Thank you, Zoe,” Ethan said.

  “Hey, I heard about the break-in at the gallery,” Courtney said.

  Ethan’s shoulders sank.

  “Although I can’t imagine anyone trying to haul away one of your paintings,” Courtney said.

  “That’s terrible,” Zoe said. She hadn’t heard about the theft.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll still make the rent this month,” Ethan told her.

  “They stole Tomato Face,” Hannah told them.

  “Tomato Face?” Courtney asked.

  “It’s what Hannah calls a piece a local businessman, Harold Facer, commissioned.”

  “And it looks just like him.”

  “Yeah, it does. But then he didn’t like it because he said it made him look too baby-faced.”

  “Tomato-faced,” Hannah corrected him.

  “Sometimes art can be too honest,” Ethan said. “I’ve since learned it’s better to err on the side of flattery.”

  “You didn’t love this statue?” Zoe leaned against her mop.

  “I did.” Ethan shook himself and laughed. “I can see why Mr. Facer doesn’t love it, but strangely, I’d grown attached to it.” He scratched his head. “It’s a weird thing for a thief to steal.”

  “Was anything else taken?” Courtney asked.

  Ethan blinked. “Quite a bit, actually. All the money in the till, several smaller pieces...”

  “It doesn’t matter because we’re rich now,” Hannah interrupted him.

  Zoe blinked. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Me too,” Ethan said.

  “God answered our prayers and we’re going to buy a gallery,” Hannah said.

  Ethan shook his head. “We can’t buy the gallery if Mr. Desmond isn’t interested in selling it.”

  “That’s right. We’re looking for another one,” Hannah said as if she’d forgotten. “Come on, Daddy, we better get back out there.”

  “You’re searching for another gallery?” Courtney asked.

  Ethan answered with a shrug.

  “Why don’t you hang some of your paintings in here?” Courtney asked.

  “Here?” Zoe and Ethan asked at the same time.

  “Why not?” Courtney waved a cake donut at the blasé room. “All you need is large blank walls, and Zoe has three of them.”

  “I’ve been meaning to paint,” Zoe mumbled. Decorating had been on her to-do list, but she was so busy with the actual baking that somehow, she’d never gotten around to hanging pictures or curtains or...anything. Her customers didn’t seem to mind the bare-bones atmosphere.

  “That would be great,” Ethan said, smiling.

  “Really?” A wave of surprise hit Zoe.

  Ethan seemed pleased. “Sure. I have a bunch in my spare bedroom.”

  You mean, my spare bedroom.

  Ethan couldn’t hear her thoughts, so he continued. “I could put a card with the price and my contact information in the corner of each painting.”

  Zoe bit her lip, considering. She didn’t have a valid reason to say no. Ethan’s paintings were gorgeous—although they didn’t scream Donuts! Eat me!

  “It would be a win-win!” Courtney declared.

  “Would you like to select the ones we hang?” Ethan asked her. “You could come by tonight.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “It’s not a date,” Zoe told Mildred.

  Mildred, nestled in a pile of pillows on Zoe’s bed, rolled onto her back, flicked her whiskers, and pointed her paws at the sky.

  “I know you think it’s a date, so I should give what I wear some thought, but it’s not like that.” Zoe turned her back on Mildred and went to her closet to thumb through the clothes. “It’s more business than anything.” But she had two modes of business clothes—the spiffier ones she wore to the bank when she needed a loan or to meet with catering clients, or the jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers she wore beneath her apron when she worked at the bakery. She didn’t have in-between clothes. She came in two flavors—hardworking baker and business owner. That was it.

  Ethan had already seen her in her flour-dusted jeans and T-shirt. She usually took a quick shower after her day at the bakery and slipped into her pajamas before a quick meal of soup and bread. Tonight, pajamas were not an option. She cast a glance at the novel lying on her nightstand. That was how she typically spent her evenings—lost in the pages of a book.

  Zoe swallowed hard, told herself that she was making too much of this, and stepped out of her clothes and into the shower. The warm water rushed over her and she let it wash away her stress.

  Going to Ethan’s wasn’t a big deal. In fact, she was curious to see what he’d done with her family home. After lathering up and rinsing off, she shut off the water and reached for a towel.

  Zoe rubbed a clear spot on the mirror and considered her reflection. The steamy bathroom had turned her skin pink and her hair curly. She pulled hair into a quick ponytail, put on a touch of lip gloss, and went to find her most comfortable pair of jeans and her favorite sweatshirt. No point in letting Ethan know that she’d fussed over her wardrobe for him.

  Mildred slunk off the bed and came to wrap herself ar
ound Zoe’s ankles.

  “Not now, kitten,” Zoe told her. “I have to go out.”

  When had her last evening out been? And the grocery store didn’t count. And neither did the library. Her thoughts skittered over the past month. There had been a bonfire at the beach Courtney had pulled her to in August—or had that been July?

  She couldn’t blame herself. A social life and a bakery mixed about as well as lemon juice and olive oil. Sure, they tasted all right together, but they kept to themselves.

  And so did she.

  “I’ll just go in, pick out the paintings to hang in the bakery, and come out. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Mildred cocked her head, lifted a paw, and licked it.

  “I can do this.”

  But the enormity of what she was doing stopped her on the stairs, and she bolted back into her attic apartment. The tangy scent of the tomato bisque soup she’d made that morning assaulted her. On an impulse, she grabbed the crockpot and a loaf of rosemary bread off the counter. Now armed, she headed back out the door.

  Ethan’s gaze softened when he saw her. “Hey there,” he said. “What’s this?”

  “Dinner. Have you already eaten?”

  “No. This smells amazing.”

  Her knees weakened. She was a sucker for compliments when it came to her food.

  “Tomato soup?” Ethan guessed. “One of my favorites.” He took the crockpot from her and led her into the kitchen.

  “Me too.”

  “And homemade bread, of course.”

  She nodded as her gaze swept the large, airy room. Except for Hannah’s artwork posted on the refrigerator, it looked almost exactly as it had on the day he’d moved in. If she closed her eyes, she could still see her mom and grandmother bustling between the stove and sink, moving like two pieces in a well-oiled machine. She swallowed hard, fighting a wave of nostalgia.

  Her grandmother hadn’t wanted to move out, but when her knees made climbing the front porch nearly impossible, it was either the condo—that her mom was super excited about—or build a ramp up the front steps for Grandma’s walker. Mom and her condo won. Ironically, it was Grandma who had made a bevy of new friends in the 55 and older community while Mom sneered at all her silver-fox wanna-be neighbors.