“We had to start our own corporation, we're so far away-from the others. Lots of paperwork. Had to elect a president, too. That's-the rules.”
“Certainly sounds permanent,” said the colonel. “And if I know Mason...”
“I wouldn't feel right kicking anybody off land they grew up on.” The carpenter rubbed another thoughtful hand over his whiskers. “Maybe we can make some kind of deal.”
“I already did,” said Gerald. “Didn't think you'd mind, old man, considering we'll all be in-laws, once Sarie and I get married. We want to live here at The Last Resort, anyway. Right?”
“What kind of deal?”
Gerald laughed (which made Sarie laugh), “That's the beauty of it!” He shook his head, and smacked the table, again. “They keep on living the way they like, on their side, and we keep living the way we like, over here on ours! If we do that—and this was the president's offer, after talking it over with the elders—they'll keep us in supply of all the fish, crab, and meat we'll ever need. What I brought over today, is enough to last all winter.”
“Sounds fair enough. Even seems a little heavy on our end, considering the condition of the land. Maybe he just meant for a couple years, then we'd call it even. What with the price of meat these days.”
“For as long as they're there, and we're here. Talked it over, myself. Right Sarie?”
She smiled and nodded her head.
“I'd feel better if we could meet and shake hands on it.” Mason rubbed at his whiskers, again.
At which point, Gerald's new fiancee stood up, leaned over the table, and held out her hand to him.
“Sarie's the president, Mase!” He smacked the table, again. “Nobody else wanted the job.”
“Too much paperwork,” said Sarie. “We like to share-meat, anyway. Specially, with in-laws.”
“Oh, it all seems too good to be true!” Stella set the steaming kettle on a decorative ceramic tile in the center of the table, in case anyone wanted hot cider, or tea. “Except for you not getting the restaurant you wanted to start there, Millie.”
“I've got enough of a restaurant, right here,” she declared. “Look how many customers we've had, already, and the hunting season's still not over, yet. Besides, with Sammy and Mary making my Huckleberry Betty famous, that's all the advertising I need. Almost like having a franchise going in the next town, if you ask me. But how did Lou get anybody to believe her?”
“She looked up the property records over in Ketchikan, to find out the exact location, then brought along a copy of the deed. Which, of course, has Mason's name on it. Then when she recognized your Huckleberry Betty recipe at the restaurant, Mil... that's when Sammy Robert told them they found all of us out here. She even left a letter for you, before she left, so you wouldn't worry.”
“Lou wrote me a letter? Before Mase?”
“Yes, there's something in it she wanted you to be the first to know.” Gerald reached into his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper that was simply folded over. “Of course, it's been read by the whole village, already. Without an envelope and all.”
“I read-it twice,” Sarie admitted, and giggled, again.
Millie sat down on the end of the bench and started to read, then burst into tears, and handed it off to Mason, to read out loud.
Dear Millie,
It's going to be a girl! I wanted to name her Princess Grace, for an extra advantage in life, but Cole said she had to have an ordinary name, too. So, we're going to call her Princess Grace Mildred DeForio, after the only mother I've ever known. Royal people have longer names, anyway.
Cap has a couple more weeks of therapy, then we'll all be home for Christmas. Can you believe we've actually been on our own place all this time? How crazy is that? I really think it's a God thing!
Love,
Lou
PS: Don't worry, I've taken care of everybody's business and we still have money left over for Christmas presents. The colonel's going to get a big one!
Those few lines—as comforting as they were—didn't go a long way toward making any of them feel better about their finances. Typical of Lou Edna, it pleased and horrified at the same time. Especially the colonel, who—rather than anticipating the largest Christmas present, was worried the girl was going to spend all the money he had saved back so he and Stella could make a trip south in the spring, to try and salvage what was left of his writing career.
A thought so troublesome the two decided to stoke up the fire in their own quarters, even though it was late after the long, exciting visit (that included settling Sari into one of the guest rooms), and talk over their options.
“I've come up with a Plan B,” he informed her after she had changed into her pajamas and white terry robe with the Chinese collar (she loved getting comfortable before a cozy fire). He smacked his hands together and continued to pace in front of his desk. “Rather than airline tickets and hotels, we can pick up a second-hand RV, and drive down. Even if we're at zero, we will have accrued enough by then to afford something. What do you think?”
“I think it's a wonderful idea, dear.” She snuggled into her favorite spot on the couch, beneath the rose-colored afghan. “That would save us quite a bit on the accommodations for that conference you wanted to attend, too. The one you've been going to every year.”
“That's right, I forgot about that. It would, indeed.”
“And I should have a bit more saved up by then, too, don't forget. I'm actually glad I decided not to combine all my accounts before we left, till we changed states, instead. I only gave her one of my debit cards. Thank heavens!”
“Providential. I can see it, now.”
“And she really does have a changed heart. Don't you think? So, maybe she'll feel a tap of conscience if she starts to get too extravagant. It is difficult to resist that Christmas shopping frenzy, though.”
“God, help us!” It was an exasperated plea. “What on earth could she imagine I would need—at my age—that's big?”
“Maybe it was just a figure of speech,” Stella offered. “Like if she buys us all bathrobes, yours would be biggest. Did she get you anything last year?”
“A bottle of Jim Beam I'm fairly certain she stole from some office party.”
“Oh, but that was before she changed, so we can't count that.”
“Still, the girl has no concept of money. That's something which takes time and experience. The right kind of experience, I mean. She's smart as a whip with numbers, and the inner workings of the banking industry. I can tell you that.”
“At her age? Goodness, she's hardly twenty-four.”
“She started young.”
“Then I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.”
9
Christmas at The Last Resort was a grand affair. At first, it didn't seem as if the DeForio family would make it, considering it began to snow heavily, again, on the day of Christmas Eve. However at the sound of an engine (this time, there was no mistaking the familiar thump of their diesel) early Christmas morning, as the Mah-Bo II chugged into the inlet, it was a pajama-and-jacket-clad group that formed the welcoming committee on the bridge. Stella got a lump in her throat at the squeal of delight from the Senator, as he came riding up the path on Cole's shoulders, and suddenly recognized where he was.
He reached out to Millie, first, then burst into tears right along with her when she hugged him close (such a sensitive boy!). Then he had to hop from person-to-person, and Stella got another lump in her throat just to feel those little arms around her neck, and that silky soft hair against her cheek, when her turn came. His tiny black watch-cap (the same as his Uncle Gerald's), fell off in the tumult, and the rest of him was like hugging a pillow, since he was dressed in a blue snowsuit. Lou Edna brought up the rear, hanging onto the Captain, who insisted on walking himself (still aided by that familiar walking stick), rather than being hauled around like so much baggage over the shoulders of his First Mate.
It was a wonderful reunion.
No one went back to bed, even though it was barely seven in the morning. Instead, they all retreated to the glass-enclosed stern deck (made from the extra panes scaled down from Gerald's greenhouse that had been moved ashore), decorated with twinkly lights and a tree, and plenty of comfortable deck chairs for relaxing in. There was even a small wood stove—removed from the Chief Engineer's cabin—to keep the area warm, and still be able to enjoy the winter views on three sides. There was a veritable mountain of presents under the tree, too.
The men had brought them in from the Mah-Bo II, while the women put on coffee and carried in all the specialties of the holiday breakfast they had prepared beforehand, and only needed a quick warm-up. By the time everyone was settled, and the Senator (in a new red bunny-suit, without holes in the knees) had happily claimed the unwrapped wooden train set under the tree... the time of reckoning had arrived.
“OK.” Lou Edna started. “I know it's traditional for Pop to be Santa, and hand out all the presents. But there's a lot of explaining that has to go with these, so I thought I better do the honors, this year.”
There was a heavy silence as everyone tried to imagine what their own money had bought themselves. Except for Sarie, who couldn't help giggling with pleasure, which transferred over to Gerald, too. Mostly out of nervousness. He never had much money, but had confided earlier to Stella that he only hoped there would at least be enough left to buy Sarie a ring. The two of them were sitting together in a porch swing on the starboard end, that had been hung with chains from the ceiling, and had now become the most enjoyable spot out there.
“Mah-Bo,” said Stuart (in a tone that clearly meant, get on with it) before taking a bite of biscuit that had smoked sausage and cheese baked into it.
“All right, I am,” Lou Edna replied. “Cap wants me to do his first, because it's the most important. Which, I'm sure you'll all agree. Let's see...” She turned to the tree. “I gotta find it, first.”
At which point the Senator noticed the biscuit and sausage, and—almost without thinking—let go of the end of Mason's deck chair he had been holding onto with one hand, while playing with the train engine in the other, and began to totter across the short space to Stuart. They were his first steps. The women gasped and held their breath, and the two men sat forward, ready to catch, should he fall during the journey. There were no slip-ups. Other than than flinging himself with total confidence onto the single arm held out to him, that Stuart caught him up with to bring him safely onto his lap.
“Mah-Bo!” He laughed, and gave over the rest of his biscuit to the little hands. Then ruffled the child's dark curls and whispered, “Mah-Bo.”
“Hey...” Cole got to his feet. “Hey, Cap...”
“His first steps!” Millie cried.
“What?” Lou Edna came out from behind the tree with a box in her hand. “I turn my back for two seconds, and I missed it? Do it, again, for Mama, baby—I want to see this!”
But the moment had passed, as he was now more interested in the biscuit. However, the Captain and his First Mate had locked eyes over the top of the boy's head.
“I know what it means,” the younger man told him. “I get it.”
The Captain smiled a satisfied smile and leaned back in his chair as if greatly relieved. Lou Edna cleared her throat, and for moment, Stella thought the girl was going to get emotional too. But she tucked a few loose strands of blonde hair behind one ear, took a deep breath, and recovered herself.
“I guess that's about as perfect an introduction as there is. Hmm.” She cleared her throat, again. “Anyway. This...” She handed the square box to her husband. “Is from Cap to Cole. And I want you all to know that it took me almost an hour, last night, for him to explain it to me. I mean, for me to understand what he was trying to explain. Open it up, Cole!”
“For me, huh...” Her husband winked at her from across the room. “I haven't had a Christmas present since I was a kid. Thanks, Cap. I hope it's not a—” He took the lid off the box and saw the Captain's old battered hat lying inside.
“It's a promotion!” Lou Edna exclaimed to his sudden silence. “You're the captain of the My Boy II! That's what it means, Cole. Mah-Bo means my boy!”
He didn't take it out of the box right away. Instead, he reached out slowly to shake hands with the old man, then bent down to give him a hug, instead. “I knew what it meant when I saw you pick up the boy, just now. I'll never let you down, sir. I swear.”
“You're smarter than me,” Lou Edna declared. “He had to spell it out with the alphabet blocks I was wrapping up for Buddy last night, before I got it right.”
The boy flashed a glance back at his mother when she spoke the name he was finally beginning to recognize as his own.
“Ooops!” She covered her mouth for a moment, and then wagged a finger at the child. “But you don't know what those are, yet, do you. Have to wait and see.”
So, the pile of unusual gifts began to diminish. Each one, well chosen, turned out to be some thoughtful—not too expensive—token of Lou Edna's special appreciation for each family member. There was a new clip for Millie's lovely auburn hair, along with a home permanent kit the girl promised to take the hours to apply for her. For Mason, a set of lined work overalls (for the really cold days), and for Gerald, a packet of heirloom seeds that came from an apple tree next to George and Martha Washington's estate, ordered specially from a seed catalog. For Stella, there was a first edition autobiography of Mary Roberts Rinehart, that much-loved American version of Agatha Christie.
The larger boxes turned out to belong mostly to the Senator (aka Buddy). Big bouncy balls, a riding scoot-along toy that looked like a tugboat, and various other things that would keep him entertained throughout the winter. With each reduction, they all breathed much easier, since no matter what she had bought for the colonel—barring a villa in the south of France—it couldn't possibly bankrupt everybody. Still, Stella could sense that her husband was practically beside himself, worrying over it. Especially since the small box remaining could not possibly hold a bathrobe. There was nothing big about it, at all.
“And now for our wonderful Mr. Colonel!” Lou Edna's eyes were especially bright and mischievous as she picked up the package. “First of all, I have to say how many times you made me nervous when I was sure you knew I was...” She thought for a moment. “Taking advantage of everybody. You won't believe how many times I was worried you were going to tell.”
“Well, I thought about it,” he admitted, “but there was always something that constrained me.”
“I really didn't like you, back then.”
“I understand completely.”
“But—man—you were the most patient guy in the world. I tried so hard to irritate you, but you never fell for it.”
“Oh, you irritated me many times, Lou.” He admitted that, too.
Please, Lord, Stella prayed silently, let it be something inexpensive, like a wallet. Or, an item she stole from him, and is trying to give back, maybe? The thought of anyone hurting her wonderful husband, in any way, was almost unbearable (he was such a good man!).
“But you forgave me for all that. I mean really forgave me.” She thumped the slender box against her palm as she thought about it for a moment. “And then you trusted me. I don't know why. Pop and Millie—they love me. I don't know why, either, they just do. But you're the first person, in my whole life, who ever trusted me. So. I was trying to think of something special for you. Except you seem to have everything, already, and don't really need anything. Then I got this amazing idea. I actually think it was a God thing. Anyway...” She handed him the box. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he replied. “I'll treasure those words.” He began to take off the wrapping. “And whatever this is, I'm sure it will be the perfect expression of who you are, in every way.”
She smiled the sweetest smile of satisfaction (that girl really did have a good heart!) and finally went to sit down next to her little family, while the colonel
opened the box and looked inside. It was several folded sheets of paper. Stella leaned over his shoulder to see and, as he unfolded them, a check fluttered onto his lap.
“What? What's this...” He grabbed Stella's hand and leapt to his feet, pulling her up with him. “It's—good heavens, girl—it's for twenty-five thousand dollars! Where did—”
“Read the papers!” Lou laughed out loud.
Soon everyone had up, too, and crowded around him.
“Dear Colonel Henry, Thank you for your decision to become one of our authors of fine literature for boys... But I only sent them a query, halfway through Canada.”
“Keep reading.” prompted Lou.
“It is a privilege to have someone of your distinction to work with, who is willing to take on this special calling, to help raise the standards of today's young people. I don't recall any such—”
“Go on, go on,” Now it was Gerald who interrupted. “I say, the suspense is excruciating. A bona fide advance—it's simply splendid!”
“Enclosed, you will find the advance against royalties we agreed upon... But I never did!”
“I'll explain later,” the girl insisted.
“...with the final installment to be paid on submission of the completed first manuscript, First manuscript? ...previously discussed, Now, I know I never discussed anything... and spelled out in your copy of the contract.” He flipped to the next page (it was certainly a contract), then back, again, to hurry through the final words. “Welcome to you and these wonderful characters you have created. We will look forward to many years of adventures, together. Many years—good Lord—did you hear that, Stella?”
“I certainly did—many years!”
“Sincerely, E.F. Coffman, Editor in Chief...” He turned to the last page and looked at the signature that he definitely recognized as his own. “I'm thunderstruck! In a wonderful sort of way, but this is entirely impossible. I never in my life signed such a thing!”
Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers Page 16
