She hadn’t gone a mile when she noticed a car pulled off to the side of the road. She slowed down and was surprised to see Mary Sutton in the driver’s seat. Mary was on her cell phone; she looked out the passenger window as Sarah slowed down. Mary’s eyes met hers, and then she waved her on, declining help before Sarah could even offer it.
A NOTE FROM NOELLE McDOWELL
Christmas Eve
Dear Carley Sue,
Good morning. I’ll be gone by the time you read this. I’m meeting Thom in the park and we’re driving to an antique store outside Portland to check out a tea service. Kristen knows I’m with Thom, but not why.
I’m asking you to keep my whereabouts a secret for now. No, wait—you can mention it to Dad if you want. Mom’s the only one who really can’t know. I don’t think she’ll ask, because she’s got a lot to do this morning delivering the Christmas baskets.
This whole mix-up with those baskets has really got her in a tizzy. I find it all rather humorous and I suspect Dad does, too.
I’m trusting you with this information, little sister. I figured you (and your romantic heart) would want to know.
Love,
Noelle
Chapter Eight
The car had made a grinding noise as soon as Mary started it—the same sound as the day before. Greg had said he’d look into it after the holidays, but she’d assumed it was safe to drive. Apparently not.
The car had slowed to a crawl, sputtered and then died. That was just great. The Salvation Army was waiting for these Christmas baskets which, according to Melody, were already late. If Mary didn’t hurry up and deliver them to the organization’s office before closing time, six needy families would miss out on Christmas. She couldn’t let that happen.
Reaching for her cell phone, she punched in her home number and hoped Greg was home. She needed rescuing, and soon. Greg would know what to do. The phone had just begun to ring when Sarah McDowell drove past.
Mary bit her lip hard. Pride demanded that she wave her on. She didn’t need that woman’s help. Still, she felt Sarah should’ve stopped; it was no less than any decent human being would do.
Well, she should know better than to expect compassion or concern from Sarah McDowell. Good Christian that she professed to be, Sarah had shown not the slightest interest in Mary’s safety.
Mary clenched her teeth in fury. So, fine, Sarah didn’t care whether she froze the death, but what about the Christmas baskets? What about the families, the children, whose Christmas depended on them? The truth was, Sarah simply didn’t care what happened to Mary or the Christmas baskets.
The phone was still ringing—where on earth was Greg? Suddenly an operator’s tinny voice came on with a recorded message. “I’m sorry, but we are unable to connect your call at this time.”
“You’re sorry?” Mary cried. She punched in Thom’s number and then Suzanne’s and got the same response. She tossed the phone back in her purse and waited. The Women’s Century Club was on the outskirts of Rose. On Christmas Eve, with an ice storm bearing down, the prospect of a good Samaritan was highly unlikely.
“Great,” she muttered. She might be stuck here for God knows how long. Surely someone would realize she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Still, it might take hours before anyone came looking for her. And even more hours before she was found.
With the engine off, the heater wasn’t working, and Mary was astonished by how quickly the cold seeped into the car’s interior. She tried her cell phone again and got the same message. There was obviously trouble with the transmitters; maybe it would clear up soon. She struggled to remain optimistic, but another depressing thought overshadowed the first. How long could she last in this cold? She could imagine herself still sitting in the car days from now, frozen stiff, abandoned and forgotten on Christmas Eve.
Trying to ward off panic, she decided to stand on the side of the road to see if that would help her cell phone reception. That way, she’d also be ready to wave for assistance if someone drove by.
She retrieved her phone, climbed out of the car and immediately became aware of how much colder it was outside. Hands shaking, she tried the phone. Same recorded response. She tucked her hands inside her pockets and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then she tried her cell phone again.
Nothing. Just that damned recording.
Resigned to waiting for a passerby, she huddled in her coat.
Five minutes passed. The icy wind made it feel more like five hours. The air was so frigid that after a few moments it hurt to breathe. Her teeth began to chatter, and her feet lost feeling, but that was what she got for wearing slip-on loafers instead of winter boots.
A car appeared in the distance and Mary was so happy she wanted to cry. Greg was definitely going to hear about this! Once she got safely home, of course.
Stepping into the middle of the road, she raised her hand and then groaned aloud. It wasn’t some stranger coming to her rescue, but Sarah McDowell. Desperate though she was, Mary would rather have seen just about anyone else.
Sarah pulled up alongside her and rolled down the window. “What’s wrong?”
“Wh-what does it l-look like? M-my car broke down.” She wished she could control the chattering of her teeth.
“Is someone coming for you?”
“N-not yet…I c-can’t get through on my cell phone.”
“I’m here now. Would you like me to deliver the Christmas baskets?”
Mary hesitated. If the gifts were to get to the families in time, she didn’t really have much choice. “M-maybe you should.”
Sarah edged her vehicle closer to Mary’s and with some difficulty they transferred the six heavy baskets and the boxes of groceries from one car to the next.
“Thanks,” Mary said grudgingly.
Sarah nodded curtly. “Go ahead and call Greg again,” she suggested.
“Okay.” Mary punched out the number and waited, hoping against hope that the call would connect. Once again, she got the “I’m sorry” recording.
“Won’t go through.”
“Would you like to use my phone?” Sarah asked.
“I doubt your phone will work if mine doesn’t.” It was so irritating—Sarah always seemed to believe that whatever she had was better.
“It won’t hurt to try.”
“True,” Mary admitted. She accepted Sarah’s phone and tried again. It gave her no satisfaction to be right.
“Go ahead and deliver the baskets,” Mary said, putting on a brave front.
“I’m not going to leave you here.”
Mary hardened her resolve. “Someone will come by soon enough.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sarah practically shouted.
“Oh, all right, you can drive me back to the Club. And then deliver the baskets.”
Sarah glared at her. “Aren’t you being a little stubborn? I could just as easily drive you home.”
Mary didn’t answer. She intended to make it clear that she preferred to wait for Greg to rescue her rather than ride to town with Sarah.
“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Sarah said coldly.
“I’m grateful you came back,” Mary told her—and she was. “I don’t know how long I could’ve stood out here.”
This time Sarah didn’t respond.
“What’s most important is getting these baskets to the families.”
“At least we can agree on that,” Sarah told her.
Mary climbed into the passenger side of Sarah’s SUV and nearly sighed aloud when Sarah started the engine. A blast of hot air hit her feet and she moaned in pleasure.
Sarah was right, she decided. She was being unnecessarily stubborn. “If you don’t mind,” she said tentatively. “I would appreciate a ride home.”
Sarah glanced at her as she started down the winding country road. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“What?” she asked, pretending not to understand.
Just then, Sarah hit a patch of ice a
nd the vehicle slid scarily into the other lane. With almost no traction, Sarah did what she could to keep the car on the road. “Hold on!” she cried. She struggled to maintain control but the tires refused to grip the asphalt.
“Oh, no,” Mary breathed. “We’re going into the ditch!” At that instant the car slid sideways, then swerved and went front-first into the irrigation ditch.
Mary fell forward, bracing her hands against the console. The car sat there, nose down. A frozen turkey rolled out of its box and lodged in the space between the two bucket seats, tail pointed at the ceiling. Sarah’s eyes were wide as she held the steering wheel in a death grip.
Neither spoke for several moments. Then in a slightly breathless voice, Sarah asked, “Are you hurt?”
“No, are you?”
“I’m okay, but I think I broke three nails clutching the steering wheel.”
Mary couldn’t keep from smiling. Sarah had always been vain about her fingernails.
“Do you think we should try to climb out of the car?” Sarah murmured.
“I don’t know.”
“One of us should.”
“I will,” Mary offered. After all, Sarah would’ve been home by now if she hadn’t come back to help.
“No, I think I should,” Sarah said. “You must be freezing.”
“I’ve warmed up—some. Listen, I’ll go get Melody.”
“It’s at least a mile to the club.”
“I know how far it is,” Mary snapped. Sarah argued about everything.
“Why can’t you just accept my help?”
“I’m in your car, aren’t I?” She resisted the urge to remind Sarah that she hadn’t actually been much help. Now they were both stuck, a hundred feet from where she’d been stranded. The charity baskets were no closer to their destination, either.
“Maybe another car will come by.”
“Don’t count on it,” Mary told her.
“Why not?”
“Think about it. We’re in the middle of an ice storm. It’s Christmas Eve. Anyone with half a brain is home in front of a warm fireplace.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“I’ll walk to the club.”
“No,” Sarah insisted.
“Why not?”
Sarah didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t want to stay here alone,” she finally admitted.
Mary pondered that confession and realized she wouldn’t want to wait in the car by herself, either. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll both go.”
“Tell me what you found out about the tea service,” Thom said as they headed toward the freeway on-ramp.
“The Internet was great. Your secretary’s list was a big help, too. I scanned in the photograph you gave me and got an immediate hit with the man we’re going to see this morning.”
“Hey, you did well.”
“I have a good feeling about this.” Noelle’s voice rose with excitement.
Thom didn’t entirely share her enthusiasm. “I don’t think we should put too much stock in this,” he said cautiously.
“Why not?”
“Don’t forget, my mom and dad searched for years. It’s unrealistic to think we can locate a replacement after just one day.”
“But your parents didn’t have the Internet.”
She was right, but not all antique stores were on-line. Under the circumstances, it would be far too easy to build up their expectations only to face disappointment. “You said yourself this could be a wild-goose chase.”
“I know.” Noelle sounded discouraged now.
Thom reached out and gently clasped her fingers. “Don’t worry—we’re going to keep trying for as long as it takes.” The road was icy, so he returned his hand to the steering wheel. “Looks like we’re in for a spell of bad weather.”
“I heard there’s an ice storm on the way.”
Thom nodded. The roads were growing treacherous, and he wondered if they should have risked the drive. However, they were on their way and at this point, he wanted to see it through as much as Noelle did.
What was normally a two-and-a-half-hour trip into Portland took almost four. Fortunately, the roads seemed to improve as they neared the city.
“I’m beginning to wonder if we should’ve come,” Noelle said, echoing his thoughts as they passed an abandoned car angled off to the side of the road.
“We’ll be fine.” They were in Lake Oswego on the outskirts of Portland already—almost there.
“It’s just that this is so important.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should discuss what we’re going to do if we don’t find the tea service,” Noelle said as they sought out the Lake Oswego business address.
“We’ll deal with that when we have to, all right?”
She nodded.
The antique store was situated in a strip mall between a Thai restaurant and a beauty parlor. Thom parked the car. “You ready?” he asked, turning to her.
Noelle smiled encouragingly.
They held hands as they walked to the store. A bell above the door chimed merrily when they entered, and they found themselves in a long, narrow room crammed with glassware, china and polished wood furniture. Every conceivable space and surface had been put to use. A slightly moldy odor filled the air, competing with the piney scent of a small Christmas tree. Thom had to turn sideways to get past a quantity of comic books stacked on a chest of drawers next to the entrance. He led Noelle around the obstacles to the counter, where the cash register sat.
“Hello,” Noelle called out. “Anyone here?”
“Be with you in a minute,” a voice called back from a hidden location deep inside the store.
While Noelle examined the brooches, pins and old jewelry beneath the glass counter, Thom glanced around. A collection of women’s hats filled a shelf to the right. He couldn’t imagine his mother wearing anything with feathers, but if she’d lived in a different era…
He studied a pile of old games next, but they all seemed to be missing pieces. This looked less and less promising.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A thin older man with a full crop of white hair ambled into the room. He was slightly stooped and brushed dust from his hands as he walked.
“Hello, my name is Noelle McDowell,” she said. “We spoke yesterday.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Thom Sutton.” Thom stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Peter Bright.” His handshake was firm, belying his rather frail appearance. “I didn’t know if you’d make it or not, with the storm and all.”
“We’re grateful you’re open this close to Christmas,” Noelle told him.
“I don’t plan on staying open for long. But I wanted to escape the house for a few hours before Estelle found an excuse to put me to work in the kitchen.” He chuckled. “Would you like to take a look at the tea service?”
“Please.”
“I have it back here.” He started slowly toward the rear of the store; Thom and Noelle followed him.
Noelle reached for Thom’s hand again. Although he’d warned her against building up their expectations, he couldn’t help feeling a wave of anticipation.
“Now, let me see…” Peter mumbled as he began shifting boxes around. “You know, a lot of people tell me they’re coming in and then never show up.” He smiled. “Like I said, I didn’t really expect you to drive all the way from Rose in the middle of an ice storm.” He removed an ancient Remington typewriter and set it aside, then lifted the lid of an army-green metal chest.
“I’ve had this tea service for maybe twenty years,” Peter explained as he extracted a Navy sea bag.
“Do you remember how you came to get it?”
“Oh, sure. An English lady sold it to me. I displayed it for a while. People looked but no one bought.”
“Why keep it in the chest now?” Noelle asked.
“I didn’t like having to polish it,” Peter said. “Folks have trouble seeing past the tarnish.” He straightened
and met Thom’s gaze. “Same with people. Ever notice that?”
“I have,” Thom said. Even on short acquaintance, he liked Peter Bright.
Nodding vigorously, Peter extracted a purple pouch from the duffel bag and peeled back the cloth to display a creamer. He set it on the green chest for their examination.
Noelle pulled the photograph from her purse and handed it to Thom, who studied the style. The picture wasn’t particularly clear, so he found it impossible to tell if this was the same creamer, but there was definitely a similarity.
The sugar bowl was next. Peter set it out, waiting for Thom and Noelle’s reaction. The photograph showed a slightly better view of that.
“This isn’t the one,” Noelle said. “But it’s close, I think.”
“Since you drove all this way, it won’t hurt to look at all the pieces.”
Thom agreed, but he already knew it had been a futile trip. He tried to hide his disappointment. Against all the odds, he’d held high hopes for this. Like Noelle, he’d been waiting for a Christmas miracle but apparently it wasn’t going to happen.
Bending low, Peter thrust his arm inside the canvas bag and extracted two more objects. He carefully unwrapped the silver teapot and then the coffeepot and offered them a moment to scrutinize his wares.
The elaborate tray was last. Carefully arranging each piece on top of it, Peter stepped back to give them a full view of the service. “It’s a magnificent find, don’t you think?”
“It’s lovely,” Noelle said.
“But it’s not the one we’re looking for.”
He accepted their news with good grace. “That’s a shame.”
“You see, this service—” she held out the picture “—was stolen years ago, and Thom and I are hoping to replace it with one that’s exactly the same. Or as much like it as possible.”
Peter reached for the photograph and studied it a moment. “I guess I should’ve looked closer and saved you folks the drive.”
“No problem,” Thom said. “Thanks for getting back to us.”
On a Snowy Night: The Christmas BasketThe Snow Bride Page 13
