by Meg Muldoon
Warren beamed.
“I saw Leroy at the general store yesterday,” he said. “He seems like he’s doing okay.”
With the right man arrested, Leroy had been released. Clyde Driggs had offered Leroy his old job back and given him a raise as an apology for firing him in the first place.
Mae nodded.
“My brother’s doing just fine now,” she said. “Thanks to you.”
“Aw, I didn’t do much,” he mumbled bashfully.
“You helped us. Which is more than anybody else did, Warren.”
Warren’s cheeks grew hot when she said his name like that. He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something to say. But words eluded him.
“You know, your mother stopped by our house last week,” Mae said. “Right before they found out that Pete was the one who shot Mr. Driggs.”
Warren raised his eyebrows.
“My mother? What… I mean, why would she…”
“I don’t know,” Mae said. “But she spoke to my father for a long time in private. I don’t know what it was about.”
Mae smiled slightly.
“Your mom sure seems nice. She brought over the most delicious bread I’ve ever tasted.”
Just then, Mr. Stanley cleared his throat, getting the students’ attention before launching into another boring lecture.
Mae leaned a little closer to Warren, lowering her voice. Her beautiful brown eyes fixed on him.
“I hope we find the right time to talk one of these days, Warren. Because I wanted to tell you... I think you’re really nice. Maybe nicer than anybody I’ve ever met before.”
Warren felt so lightheaded and happy, he thought he might just up and float away.
Chapter 19
It was Mother’s Day, and it was shaping up to be the best one that Warren could remember.
He’d awoken early that morning and had gone fishing, returning home with three fat trout and a bundle of fresh wildflowers from a nearby meadow. Then he’d spent the afternoon in the kitchen, puttering around with pots and pans and ingredients he wasn’t familiar with. He’d made a real mess of things, and how dinner was going to turn out, he really couldn’t say. But his mother had seemed downright pleased by her son’s efforts, and didn’t seem to be at all concerned about the final product.
His father, too, had seemed pleased. Martin Peters’ mood had taken a lighter turn in recent days. Warren didn’t know for sure, but he had a feeling it might have been on account of the exam he’d brought home from his English class earlier that week. Warren had gotten an A, thanks to the study sessions with Mae. And when he presented his father with the test, the old man actually smiled and rubbed Warren’s head in the proud kind of way that he hadn’t done in a long, long time.
Warren still wasn’t ever going to be a lawyer or politician. But it seemed that his father had let up on all of that lately – ever since that day at the lake when Pete pointed that rifle at him. His father no longer hassled him about academics and his future, and seemed to be content just to spend quality time with his son.
The cheese braid bread was in the oven, and the trout were browning in a frying pan of butter when Warren tried to finally explain to his mother about the lie he’d told the Sheriff when he’d come to question him about Clyde’s shooting. But when he brought it up, she just shook her head.
“You don’t have to say anything about it, Wren. I always trust you to do the right thing. I know you’ll do right because it’s the way your father and I raised you.”
She squeezed his shoulder then and smiled.
Later, when the cheese braid was nearly done and the trout were a golden brown, Warren started looking for the silver platter – the one his mother used to serve the Sunday meal. But when he asked her where it was, she rifled around in the cupboard for a while, finding an old chipped porcelain platter instead.
“Here, Wren. Use this one.”
Warren looked at her, confused.
“But it’s Mother’s Day,” he said. “Don’t you think that the silver one would be better?”
His mother smiled.
“This one will do just fine for me, Wren. Just fine”
It took him a long while to realize what had become of the silver platter.
But when he figured it out, he stared at her in disbelief.
“You didn’t have to do that, Ma,” he said. “I know how much that platter meant to you. It was worth a lot. You didn’t have to give it to the Reed family.”
“You’re right, Wren – that platter was a nice thing,” she said. “But things are just things. People – our neighbors, friends, and family – that’s what really matters in life. Everything else is just window dressing. And if you’re in a position to help others, then you ought to. That’s what I believe, anyway.”
The oven timer dinged just then. Etta went over and looked inside.
The bread wasn’t quite as billowy as when his mom made it, and instead of a nice tight braid, it came out as more of a blob.
Still, it was golden brown and looked decent enough.
“I’d say the bread’s about done, Wren. Couldn’t have made it better myself.”
“Oh, pish-posh, ma,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Pish-posh.”
Warren’s mother didn’t stop laughing until long after the sun had gone down.
Chapter 20
Present Day
Warren stood at the edge of Sparks Lake, watching the sun dance on the ripples of the water. A gentle breeze blew into his old, wrinkled face. He felt the beautiful spring sun beating down on his back, warming his old muscles.
He knelt down, placing the two bouquets of wildflowers into the water lapping against the sandy shore. He pushed them out, watching for a long time as the flowers came loose of their bouquets, the individual blossoms spreading out across the lake.
Warren thought about his mother now. The lessons she’d taught him all those years ago. Lessons that he still lived by to this day. The kindness she’d showed him. The goodness she showed to everyone.
He thought of Mae, too, then. About the way those deep beautiful brown eyes looked that day at the lake. The way they sparkled the day of their wedding a few years later. About how lucky he’d been for the time they’d had together – even if it wasn’t as long as he’d hoped for.
When Warren closed his eyes, he could still see them both here at the lake. His daughter, too, now.
Warren had seen his fair share of tragedy in his long life.
Still, when he came to Sparks Lake every Mother’s Day, he didn’t feel so much sorrow anymore as he did gladness. In his old age, he could now see the truth of that old adage.
It was better to have loved than to have never loved at all.
Damn straight, he thought. Damn straight.
Warren heard the sound of car tires at the trailhead parking lot a little ways back. A few moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps.
“Sorry I’m late, old man. You should have seen the line at the pie shop this morning. We ran out of cherry pie by 10 a.m. and I swear – I thought the customers were going to eat me alive.”
Warren felt his heart swell at the sound of the familiar voice.
He turned around to see his granddaughter standing there, carrying two fishing poles and a tackle box.
“No matter, Cinny Bee,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Warren put an arm around his granddaughter, hugging her.
“Did you bring the nightcrawlers like I asked?” he said.
“Sure did. I got a whole bag of ‘em.”
“What about extra line? You bring some of that?”
His granddaughter nodded.
“And what about a pie? Did you bring a pie?”
Cinnamon rolled her beautiful brown eyes at him.
“Pish-posh, old man. Of course I did. You’re acting like I’ve never been fishing with you before.”
Warren couldn’t help but smile to himself.
; The End
Continue on for a delicious recipe for Etta Peters’ Tillamook Cheese Braid!
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Etta Peters’ Tillamook Cheese Braid
From Warren: My mother always said that the trick to making this cheese braid is having enough time, patience, and love. Growing up, this cheese braid bread would be on our table every Sunday. She always made it with Tillamook Cheese – Oregon’s famous high-quality dairy. My mother continued making this well into old age, and the aroma of this bread baking will always remind me of her kindness, compassion, and warmth.
Makes 1 loaf that serves 5-8 people
Tip: This bread requires time for rising, so start making this in the early afternoon if you plan to serve it with dinner.
Ingredients:
1 package of yeast
¾ cup warm water
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
3 eggs
½ cup butter, softened
3 ½ cups flour
8 oz. Tillamook White Cheddar (or if you can’t find this, any high-quality white cheddar will do)
Vegetable oil
1 egg yolk
2 tablespoons of water
1. Add warm water to large bowl and dissolve yeast in it (make sure the water is warm – between 105 to 115 degrees – and not hot.) Stir in sugar, salt, eggs, softened butter, and 2 cups of flour. Combine until the dough starts coming together, then add the additional 1 ½ cups of flour until the dough becomes easy to handle.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for about five minutes. Place in bowl greased with butter, cover, and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size – about 1 ½ to 2 hours. (On warm summer days, Etta would put the covered dough outside in a safe place to rise. You can also turn the oven on to 200 degrees and put the covered dough on top of the oven.)
2. Chop white cheddar into small cubes. Punch dough down, then knead in cheese cubes until well-distributed. Divide dough into three equal pieces. Roll each piece on a lightly-floured surface into 14-inch long ropes. Place ropes in a row on baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Braid the ropes together gently. Pinch the ends together to fasten securely. Brush the cheese braid lightly with vegetable oil and let rise until double – about half an hour or so.
3. Heat oven to 375 degrees. Beat egg yolk and 2 tablespoons of water together, and brush over the braid. Bake braid until golden brown and the house smells like heaven, about 25 to 30 minutes.
Continue reading for a bonus short story!
The Haunted Nutcracker
A Christmas River Cozy Mystery Short
by
Meg Muldoon
Published by Vacant Lot Publishing
Copyright 2018© by Meg Muldoon
Chapter 1
Kara Billings didn’t remember much about her grandfather except that the old man was ornery and hardly said much except to complain about his sore hip.
But there was one thing Kara’s grandfather said that stuck with her years after he passed away.
“In life, there are some doors you have to kick your way through, girly,” he’d said to her once. “And then there are others that are closed for a reason. Leave those be.”
At the time, Kara didn’t understand what her grandpa meant.
But now as she stood in the corner of her ornament store on a dark and dreary night in November, taking in fearful breaths and trying not to scream, Kara began to understand.
Some doors were indeed better left closed.
Chapter 2
It had all started a week earlier at the estate sale.
Old Hattie Blaylock, Christmas River’s resident witch, had died of natural causes at her home just after Halloween. The old woman was a recluse and though nobody knew for sure whether she really was a witch, some locals in the quaint mountain town breathed easier when they heard that she had passed on.
One morning shortly after Hattie’s death, Kara was driving to work and saw a cardboard sign:
“HUGE ESTATE SALE! GREAT DEALS!”
Kara, the owner of Christmas River’s most popular ornament store, was never one to pass up a sale. She hooked a fast left, following the cardboard signs all the way to Hattie’s old house, where she found a surprisingly vast array of antique furniture scattered across the dead lawn.
***
Kara had been studying the 3-foot-tall nutcracker standing on a sideboard when she heard a voice.
“Oh, I see you found him.”
Kara looked back to see a stylish woman standing there with a clipboard.
“Beautiful, isn’t he? A classic example of German craftsmanship. It’s an original Gaunerei doll, you know.”
“Oh, really?” Kara said, not knowing what that was, but pretending like she did.
“Yes, absolutely. Hattie’s older brother brought it back from Germany after World War II. It’s a true antique.”
With each passing moment, Kara felt herself more and more transfixed by the wooden sculpture.
The nutcracker was dressed as a soldier and was elaborately painted in rich shades of maroon and gold. Though the passing years had left a layer of dirt on him, his teeth were still white and prominent, and his eyes were—
Kara knew it sounded silly. But she could have sworn that she saw sadness in the nutcracker’s big eyes.
“How much for him?”
The woman consulted her clipboard.
“$345.”
Kara felt her eyes bulge.
“Normally, that is,” the woman said with a slick smile. “But since you’re the first one at the sale today, I can give you a deal. How about $100?”
The next thing Kara knew, she was writing a check and gently placing the nutcracker in the trunk of her car.
Chapter 3
“Don’t you just love him?”
Kara had positioned the nutcracker to stand at the entrance of her ornament shop and greet the customers. Already, people had started commenting about how great he looked.
“I wish I had one just like him for my pie shop,” Cinnamon said, gazing at the doll. “He could sure help with all those hazelnuts I have to crack for my pies.”
“The sales lady let me have him for a steal,” Kara said, taking a sip of her Pumpkin Maple Latte. “I think it must have been on account of all that witchy business. But personally, I don’t really believe that Hattie was a witch. I mean, not really.”
“Me neither,” Cinnamon said. “Hattie was just an elderly woman who kept to herself. I don’t believe the stories that people told about her.”
Cinnamon glanced at the time.
She wished she could have stayed longer, but she needed to get back to her pie shop. Locals and tourists alike would be wanting pumpkin pecan, cranberry cinnamon, and chocolate hazelnut pies for their November tables.
“I better get going,” Cinnamon said. “See you later, Kara?”
Cinnamon noticed that her best friend was staring at the nutcracker with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Kara?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Yeah, see ya, Cin.”
Kara suddenly felt a little strange.
***
That night, Kara was carving a wooden dove ornament in the back room of her store when she thought she heard a strange noise coming from the front door.
At first, she thought it was just the wind. It had been awfully windy in Christmas River this November.
But then, she heard the strange noise again.
It sounded like a young boy crying.
Kara got up and walked into the display room. The lights from the many Ch
ristmas trees flickered, casting shadows on the walls.
She flipped on the light switch and scanned the room, looking for what could have made that strange sound.
Her eyes eventually fell on the nutcracker.
That was odd, she thought.
She could have sworn that she’d set the doll on the right side of the entryway. Not the left side. But there he was, standing where she hadn’t left him.
Kara shook her head.
She hadn’t had dinner yet and hunger was starting to make her see things.
She went over, moved the nutcracker to the right side of the door where he belonged, and then headed into the back room.
She reckoned it was time to go home and get some food and—
Kara stopped dead in her tracks as a loud wail echoed through the store.
Her blood turned to ice.
Chapter 4
The same thing happened several nights in a row. And each time that Kara tried to find the source of the crying, the sound all but vanished. It left her feeling frightened and desperate.
She thought about getting rid of the nutcracker, but then remembered the money she’d forked over for it.
She couldn’t just throw an original Gaunerei nutcracker away like that.
By the third night, she’d had enough. She placed a few phone calls and the next day, a woman named Evelda Madison arrived at the ornament shop. Evelda was dressed in a long black lace gown and looked exactly how Kara imagined a real psychic would look.
When Evelda was done investigating the shop, the psychic told Kara of her findings.
“You are right about the nutcracker, Kara. It really is haunted.”
