Wreath

by Judy Christie

  “I trust you with my career,” Clarice said. “When you’re ready, I pray you’ll trust me with your life.”

  Chapter 23

  Faye struck a match and approached the large candle in the midst of a harvest arrangement on a dining table and smiled in the morning quietness of the store.

  “With fall here, it’ll set a nice tone,” Wreath had said when she asked permission to buy it at the Dollar Barn. The girl must have reminded her half a dozen times before leaving last night to light it.

  Even if it didn’t add to the warmth of the old store, Faye would have done it to keep from disappointing her young helper. The girl was turning into quite a retailer.

  The trickle of daily customers was an improvement over the rare buyer of a few months ago, and Faye almost anticipated coming to work. Her spurt of energy when she opened the door in the mornings still caught her off guard, and she’d even come in on a Monday or two to plan for the upcoming holiday season.

  Wreath had printed an article from a retail website about the importance of strong sales during the last two months of the year, and with November fast approaching, Faye knew it was right.

  Her helper’s youthful optimism and her own small spark of accomplishment wouldn’t pay the end-of-year property taxes or buy additional merchandise. With dwindling inventory and scant profits, Faye looked back over the outdated ledger, then added the figures again with the hopes she had made a mistake.

  She was rereading the how-to-sell story when the front bell jangled, and J. D. walked in, a small white sack in his hand.

  “May I interest you in a doughnut?” he asked, looking cheerful and vibrant in his work shirt and blue jeans, a canvas jacket rounding out the style.

  “I had toast for breakfast.” Faye deliberately didn’t reel in the haughty tone from her voice.

  In addition to enjoying the furniture business more these past few months, she had also begun to look forward to her small encounters with the hardware store owner. That worried her.

  “Think of this as a midmorning snack,” he said, opening the sack and peering in. “Strawberry-filled or glazed?”

  Faye looked back at the ledger and opened her mouth to send him on his way. The flicker of the candle in the middle of the lovely arrangement caught her eye, and she caught a whiff of the pastry.

  “Strawberry, I suppose. Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee?”

  Another of Wreath’s suggestions had been that they keep fresh coffee in the workroom and offer it to customers, “at least on Saturdays,” and Faye had gotten in the habit of brewing a pot each morning, although some days it hardly got tasted.

  J. D. shook his head. “Don’t give away my secret,” he said, “but I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Really?” Faye thought her voice sounded like Wreath when a surprise occurred.

  “I don’t tell this to most people, but I’m an Earl Grey man.” He winked, and Faye felt herself smile. “I realize hot tea doesn’t fit the hardware store image, so I try not to mention it.”

  Faye giggled. She honest-to-goodness giggled, and she didn’t even care. “I’ve got the kettle ready to go. Have a seat.”

  By the time Wreath got to work, Faye had a list of questions for the girl, most about trends and how they might best use items left in the storage closet.

  “It’s now or never,” the store owner said, skipping her regular greetings. Wreath looked alarmed.

  “Grab your snack and roll up your sleeves,” Faye said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to be ready for the shopping season.”

  A grin creased Wreath’s lovely face.

  “I’ve got a few more suggestions,” she said.

  “I’m sure you do.” Faye’s tone was dry, and she felt like grinning back.

  For the next two weeks, they dug through the storeroom and ventured into the attic on a Saturday in early November.

  A bare bulb with a string on its switch threw off little light, and they had to stoop to get to a spot where they could stand up without bumping their heads. The flooring ran almost the width of the entire store, and nearly every inch was full of boxes and furniture.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this was here?” Wreath looked astonished.

  “I haven’t been up here since Billy first took over the store, and, frankly, I never planned to come up here again.” Faye was recovering from climbing the rickety pull-down stairs and didn’t see much cause for enthusiasm. “When my mother died, we stored a lot of stuff up here. I probably should have gotten ridden of it at the time.”

  “Your mama died?” the girl asked.

  “Years ago,” Faye said, “nearly twenty years now.”

  “Do you still miss her?”

  The woman nodded, walking over to touch an old brass floor lamp. “You never quite get over the death of your mother. It’s a different kind of pain from any other.”

  She shuddered when a mouse skittered around a collection of boxes, but was glad for the interruption. “There’s nothing but junk up here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Wreath walked right over to where the varmint had disappeared and got down on her hands and knees. “We probably need to get rat traps for up here,” she said over her shoulder. “That little fellow probably hasn’t been living up here by himself.”

  “Get up from there before you get bitten,” Faye said, discouraged by the dust and clutter. “Rodents weren’t exactly what I hoped we’d find. I’m going back downstairs.”

  “Your eyes must not have adjusted to the dark yet,” Wreath said, inspecting an array of furniture stacked precariously on top of a table. “There’s a ton of great stuff up here.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Here.” Her employee, designer, and handyman pulled out a ladder-back chair with a cowhide seat. “Have a seat, and I’ll show you what I find. You can tell me whether it goes downstairs or gets tossed.”

  Faye sighed and sat. “Scoot that box over here, and I’ll see what’s in it while you go through that pile of furniture.”

  “How about starting with this one?” Wreath asked.

  Faye’s hands trembled as she looked at Billy’s familiar writing on the side of the box, longing churning inside her. Why did you leave me with this mess?

  “Do you want any of this for your house?” the girl asked, holding up a crystal vase.

  Faye shook her head. “I kept the pieces with sentimental value. I’m not even sure why I put all this up here in the first place.”

  “Some things are just hard to part with,” Wreath said.

  “By now everything from my mother’s house is jumbled up with Billy’s leftovers, fixtures and that sort of thing. I’ll give you half the money we make on any of this junk, and I wouldn’t count on getting rich if I were you.”

  Wreath’s delight and certainty of the worth of the attic’s contents gradually drove away Faye’s blues. The girl pulled out one piece after another, from collectible pottery to pristine linens in a trunk.

  Faye tackled one of the biggest boxes. “My goodness,” she said, recognizing the old silver Christmas tree that had come out for years before being relegated to the attic.

  “Here’s a huge box of ornaments and other decorations, too,” Wreath said, her voice more animated than usual. “Perfect timing. I can clean all this up and put it out next week.”

  “Not before Thanksgiving,” Faye said. “I never put up Christmas decorations that early.”

  “But this is a store. People expect that, and we need to increase our sales.”

  “You’re a persuasive child, but I’m not going to be swayed on this.”

  She could tell Wreath recognized defeat on this issue. “Okay,” the girl said, “but will you at least let me put them out for Thanksgiving weekend?”

  “Certainly. You can start the day after Turkey Day.”

  “How about letting me work on Thanksgiving?” Wreath asked. “That way we’ll be ready to go the next day.”

  �
��Absolutely not,” Faye said. “I will not take you away from your family on the holiday.”

  Wreath’s face crumpled, and the woman could almost see the wheels turning. “We eat our Thanksgiving dinner in the evening,” the girl said after a moment. “I can come in and decorate and still be home in time for the turkey.”

  Seeing her earnest face, Faye gave in. “How in the world are we going to get all of this stuff down those steps?” She realized she had spoken her thoughts when the girl responded.

  “Would you mind asking J. D. to help Saturday?”

  “He stays pretty busy on Saturdays,” Faye said, “and I don’t want to ask him to help with every little thing.”

  Wreath scooted a table a few feet, then put her hand on her hip.

  “You look like you’re planning to invade a small country,” Faye said.

  Wreath nodded. “It’ll take awhile, but I can get most of it down.”

  “I suppose I could ask my nephew Mitch to bring a friend and help one afternoon. Maybe that Law fellow you’re friends with.”

  “We don’t need their help.”

  For a split second, Faye heard uncertainty underneath the defiance in Wreath’s voice. “You don’t spend much time with Mitch and the other kids from school, do you?” she asked.

  “I don’t have time,” Wreath said, closing up a box and moving it to the side. “Besides, most of them have been friends for a long time. I can get this stuff down alone. That’s what you pay me for.”

  Looking into another box of fragile ornaments wrapped in yellowed newspaper, Faye pulled out an old-fashioned glass wreath, its painted green holly leaves and red berries still intact.

  “Why don’t you take this?” She extended her arm.

  Tears came to the girl’s eyes, but Faye pretended not to see. “I’ve had enough grime for one day,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 24

  Wreath let herself in the store with the key Mrs. Durham had loaned her and looked over at the dining table, a sprinkling of dust apparent in the early morning light.

  “Grrrr,” she said out loud. No matter how often she dusted, the furniture needed it again.

  Come to think of it, everything in her life was like that. Do it once, and then do it again and again.

  Not one car had passed her as she pedaled into downtown, the stores locked up for the holiday. Downtown Landry was one lonely spot today.

  Putting her pack in the workroom, she pulled out a can of chopped turkey and two smashed slices of bread and laid them on the cabinet. After she got everything out of the attic, she’d have her own Thanksgiving dinner.

  Figuring it was worth her batteries, Wreath took her flashlight with her as she climbed up into the attic, the overhead light dim and spooky. Alone at work on Thanksgiving Day was one thing. Alone in the gloom was too awful to imagine.

  Slowly choosing what she would carry first, she recalled last Thanksgiving, when the nice next-door neighbor had brought them lunch. Frankie had been too sick to keep anything down, and Big Fun had drunk too much and left the house. Her mama had insisted Wreath eat both slices of pumpkin pie, and they had watched an old movie on television.

  All in all, it was quite a good day, and Wreath wished she could go back to it, to Frankie and the pie and that life in general.

  But if she could go back, what would happen to Mrs. Durham?

  The morning had passed and she was headfirst in a box of antique glassware when she heard the bell on the front door, barely audible. Her mind leapt to the direst circumstance—someone, maybe even Big Fun, sneaking in.

  Chiding herself for not locking the door behind her, she lay down on her stomach and looked out the hole where the stairs went.

  All she could see was a pair of men’s boots.

  She leaned out farther, feeling like a frightened acrobat in a circus, and the boots moved toward her.

  “Wreath?” a voice called.

  Extended too far, she flailed, grabbed for the attic floor, then for the ladder. It reminded her of the time she fell off the high diving board in the public swimming pool in Lucky, having gone too far to pull back.

  And then Wreath tumbled right on top of Law.

  The boy looked up just as she fell, not giving him time to brace himself. Wreath, thrashing around to catch herself, elbowed him in the eye, and both of them fell to the floor.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Law said.

  The girl groaned.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “That was the sound of complete humiliation, not pain,” Wreath said, although she was shaken. She wasn’t quite sure if it was from the fall or from seeing Law. “What are you doing here, and why are you wearing those boots?”

  “Mrs. Durham asked Mitch and me to come over and help get something out of the attic.” He looked at his feet. “What’s wrong with my boots?”

  “Nothing. They just scared me for a minute.” She tried to stand up but nearly lost her balance.

  Law took her arm to steady her, and when she turned, she gasped.

  “Is this worse than the boots?” he asked.

  She groaned, her head still spinning. “I gave you a doozy of a black eye.”

  He touched his face, wincing.

  “We’d better get ice.” Without thinking about it, Wreath took his hand and pulled him to the kitchen. His palm felt warm and solid next to hers.

  “Do you tackle everyone who tries to help you?” he asked as she took ice out of the freezer and wrapped it in a nearby rag. “Only the ones who sneak up on me.”

  “I called out when I came in. Don’t leave that door unlocked when you’re here by yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a salute. “Quit lecturing me, and put this on your eye.”

  Mitch arrived ten minutes later, holding a plate of food and breaking the spell Law had woven on her as he sprawled in one of the recliners while she sat at Faye’s desk. Mitch held out a large platter, covered in foil. “We ate early, and Aunt Faye sent this to you. She said it would tide you over until you get home for your family dinner.”

  Wreath’s stomach growled automatically as Mitch lifted the cover and pointed out each item on the plate as though he had cooked it himself. “Turkey, cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, rolls, candied sweet potatoes, and … honestly can’t say what that green stuff is.”

  “This looks great. I’ll put it in the kitchen, and we can get to work.” Her stomach made another noise that sounded like a lion in a cage.

  Mitch grinned. “You sure you don’t want to eat now?”

  “Oh, no,” Wreath said over her shoulder. “I like to work first, eat later.”

  “Whoa, man, who gave you that shiner?” Mitch said to Law as she walked away.

  “Wreath,” Law muttered.

  “You got a black eye from a girl?” The other boy hooted.

  “ ‘Fraid so,” Law said. “Don’t ever surprise her.”

  Wreath set the platter on the countertop and hurried back into the showroom. “I know you have better things to do today, so we can try to make this quick.”

  “We’re getting paid by the hour,” Mitch said. “No hurry.”

  One of the first things Law brought down from the attic was an old eight-track tape player, complete with a stack of tapes. “Would you look at this?” he said. “I wonder if it still works.”

  “Knowing my Aunt Faye and Uncle Billy, it’s probably in good shape,” Mitch said. “Billy was good with electronics and machines. Let’s give it a try.”

  “Are you sure?” Wreath asked. “We’re supposed to be working.”

  “It’ll give us music to work by,” Mitch said.

  “The store’s not open today, so what could it matter?” Law said.

  Wreath fidgeted from foot to foot. “Nothing, I guess, but it doesn’t seem to go with the, you know, tone of the place.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re trying to change?” Law asked. “Mitch and I will put you i
n charge of choosing the music.”

  From a stack of tapes by people she’d never heard of, like Jim Croce, the Guess Who, and Iron Butterfly, she chose a Christmas collection by Andy Williams. “I think my grandmother had this on a cassette tape,” she said.

  “Andy Williams?” Mitch groaned. “I’m working on Thanksgiving Day, and you’re making me listen to an old guy sing Christmas songs?”

  “My grandparents love that guy,” Law said, “but I’ll try not to hold that against you, Wreath.”

  Between clowning around and throwing things back and forth to make Wreath screech, the guys worked out a relay system. They lowered boxes out of the attic, and Wreath unpacked glassware, a stack of leather-bound books, and a collection of salt and pepper shakers in shapes from palm trees to the Empire State Building.

  With a quick look she could decide where they would go, pointing here, shaking her head when an item was placed wrong, and smiling big when an arrangement came together.

  “How do you do that?” Law asked.

  “Do what?” Wreath was peering into a box of weathered gardening tools, seeing them in a garden display, with old clay pots she had discovered in the closet off the workroom.

  “Figure out where this stuff goes. You make it look easy.”

  She pulled out a weathered pair of pruning shears and looked at Law, his words soaking in. “It’s easy.”

  He shook his head, his dark hair falling down onto his face, drawing attention to his black eye. “You figure out where it goes before I’ve even figured out what I’m looking at. When you talk about all this junk, it’s interesting.”

  Mitch sauntered up in the middle of the conversation and nodded in agreement with Law. “Aunt Faye has been telling my parents that you’re a talented designer. This store looks better than it has in years.”

  “You guys are standing around flattering me to get out of work,” Wreath said with mock indignation. “Drape those Christmas lights inside the display window, and we’ll be finished for the day.”

  Mitch picked up the bulging box of old-fashioned bulbs in deep green, red, orange, and blue and started to the window, but Law paused and moved toward Wreath. “You are amazing,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.