Wreath

by Judy Christie

Once more, Faye had the idea that she was not only talking about the store but something altogether different. “You’re not getting pessimistic on me, are you?” Faye asked, smiling and moving over to the big desk where she now felt as at home as she did at her sewing machine.

  “I was naive. I thought all of that business would continue, even though my research said otherwise.”

  “Billy always expected January to be slow,” Faye said. “We’ll just have to put our heads together and figure out a new approach for the entire year, or at least until graduation.”

  Wreath looked downright glum. “It’s so bare in here without the Christmas merchandise, and I wanted to leave everything in good shape when I finished school. Now look at it….”

  Following Wreath’s eyes, Faye smiled, despite herself. “You think it looks like it did when you first started work here, don’t you?”

  “Sort of, I guess.”

  “It wasn’t that great, was it?”

  “No, ma’am.” Wreath was perking up. She stood up straighter, squinted her eyes, and appraised the room.

  “You’ll just have to come up with a plan,” Faye said. “Why don’t you take stock of what’s left upstairs? I’ll work on the numbers.”

  “There’s not nearly as much in the attic,” Wreath said, “but we have some stuff left.” She sighed and headed toward the back, pulling the folding stairs down and nimbly climbing up them.

  Faye punched numbers into the ancient adding machine, its motor whirring each time she pulled the handle to compute profits. Using a ruler and a pencil, she drew a graph of the store’s business, watching Wreath haul a half-dozen boxes down the attic stairs.

  “Well, I’ll be!” Faye said.

  “What?” Wreath looked around in alarm, sliding a box down the last few rungs of the ladder. “We almost made it.”

  “So we’re in the hole?” Wreath’s mouth drooped.

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. But we’re a lot less in the hole than we were a few months ago. Look at this.” She pointed to her chart. “We’ve made more money every month after you arrived. I may not be an economist, but even I can tell we’re headed in the right direction.”

  “You think so?” Wreath asked.

  “I know so.” Faye felt upbeat, despite the lack of a profit. “We’ve got to come up with new ideas,” the teenager said, swatting her forehead. “I should have been planning for the slump.”

  “That’s what we’re doing now,” Faye said. She glanced at the clock. “I’ll share my tuna with you, and we’ll do some of that brainstorming you’re so fond of.”

  Wreath pulled out her beloved journal as Faye fixed lunch, but the pen remained still, her thoughts adrift about telling Law about Frankie. With life in Landry beginning to be enjoyable and the end of high school almost in sight, she feared everything was going to unravel now that she had confessed that key detail.

  Law had been so sweet, though, and reassuring. His soft words and deep voice had eased the burden Wreath had carried for months. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, and she believed him. She had even wound up going to his grandparents’ house for Christmas supper and had felt like part of the family, adding her own amen when they bowed their heads, held hands, and said the blessing.

  “My mom was on her best behavior because you were there,” he’d told her as she got on her bike at Law’s house.

  “I had a great time,” she had said and was happy when he gave her a gentle kiss before she left. She steered her bike with one hand and touched her fingers to her lips with the other. Big Fun’s touch had been rough and mean. Law’s was tender. Her first real kiss.

  But, her morning voice told her the next day, becoming attached to others had a downside. The more she let people help her, the more she needed them. She felt disloyal to Frankie, like she was using others as a substitute. She left for work undecided about her life.

  With the hustle and bustle of the busiest retail season over and the nights so cold in the Tiger Van, she experienced a letdown. School would start back in a couple of days, and Wreath wasn’t looking forward to the hassle of getting there each day and then making it to work. She liked the routine of the store, with no homework in the evenings and a later start to each day.

  “Well, that’s a first,” her boss said, placing a plate with a sandwich, chips and a pickle in front of her. “You pulled out that notebook of yours and didn’t write a word. Are you feeling ill?”

  Wreath gave a slight shake of her head, both a no and a signal she was clearing her thoughts. She took a bite of sandwich, appreciated the taste on her tongue, and started writing.

  SEASONS:

  1. Winter, bare

  2. Valentine’s

  3. Easter

  4. Spring

  5. Summer

  6. Fourth of July, patriotic

  7. Back-to-school

  8. Football

  9. Autumn/Harvest

  10. Christmas

  “I’ve got it!” she said, putting the sandwich down with reluctance. “We take these basic themes and decorate the store around them.” She read each to Mrs. Durham, elaborating as she went along. “We take what worked with the holiday rooms and expand on that.”

  “So we use more vignettes?” Faye, too, had put down her sandwich and looked at the list of seasons. “We can add seasonal books, flowers, and other foliage, different styles of furniture.”

  “Exactly,” Wreath said, pushing her chair back with a burst of energy. “We can do a garden theme for spring, a little study or home office for back-to-school. There are lots of possibilities.”

  “As much as I hate to say it …” Faye took a bite of tuna, chewed, and swallowed. “We’re going to have to go back up into the attic.”

  Wreath laughed for the first time in several days, and then she closed her eyes for a couple of moments. “Before we do that, I need to tell you something.”

  She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Wreath,” Faye said carefully, “are you in some sort of trouble? Are you sick? Do I need to call a doctor?”

  Shaking her head, Wreath looked at the table.

  “Do you want me to call Clarice or her father? Do you need a lawyer? What can I do to help?”

  Touched by Faye’s insistence, she gulped a drink of water and met her friend’s eyes. “I hope you won’t fire me, but I can’t lie to you anymore. My mother is dead, and I don’t want anyone else to know.”

  Chapter 30

  The awkwardness that Wreath had expected did not materialize. Faye scolded her “for bearing such a burden alone” and asked questions about Frankie’s death. Her voice was gentle and kind, and Wreath could see affection in her eyes. With Wreath evading inquiries as much as possible, Faye consoled her, still believing she lived with relatives who weren’t all that happy to have her.

  “Why don’t you come live with me till you go to college?” Faye asked. “I’m in that big house with more than enough room for both of us.”

  Enticing as it sounded and as touched as she was, Wreath tried to rebuild the shell she had kept around her heart. “I’ve got a comfortable place to live,” she said. The Rusted Estates had become her domain, and she cherished her independence. The promise of warmer weather ahead, Wreath intended to prove to herself that she could make it on her own. While she hadn’t heard a word from Big Fun or any officials, she felt more secure in the secluded junkyard, as though moving to town would make her vulnerable.

  “Well, if you ever want to spend the night, you’re more than welcome,” Mrs. Durham said. “We need to go through all that junk in my attic at home anyway, so I could even put you to work.”

  By the middle of January, Wreath had made a list of inventory from the closet in the workroom and store’s attic, and sketched potential rooms to draw people in. “I’ll put the window display together tomorrow,” she said.

  Law sat by her in the cafeteria most days now, and Mitch and Destiny treated her like part
of their old group of friends. A time or two Mitch even flirted with her, but usually backed off when Law scowled. Since the night they had gone out for burgers after the Christmas party, they had invited her to a myriad of activities, many involving their youth group at church. Wreath continued to resist.

  Some of the other students, especially the other cheerleaders, acted like snobs and made fun of her when she pulled up to school on her bike. She thought it best if she had as little to do with her classmates as possible and stuck to her routine of school, work, library, and home.

  “If you change your mind,” Destiny always said, “let me know, and we’ll pick you up.”

  The new semester started enthusiastically for Julia, who was relieved that her longing to be the art teacher wasn’t quite so keen. She had several paintings under way at home, was working a couple of afternoons a week with Wreath on sketches for the store, and had committed to train for a half-marathon with Shane.

  Scanning her computer at work, she noted that Wreath Williams was making excellent grades in all of her courses and still in the running to be one of Landry High’s top three grads.

  “How are your college plans coming?” Julia asked the girl one day after class.

  Wreath squirmed. “I’m behind on the application process, but I’ve heard from a few places.”

  “You haven’t committed to a school yet?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You need to tie up the loose ends immediately,” Julia said. “Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t taken care of that. It’s much too late.”

  Her words came out harsher than she intended, and Wreath bolted when the bell rang for the next class.

  “I’ve got to hurry. I’m late for art class,” Wreath said when she reached the door.

  Wreath huddled in the Tiger Van that night, her old blanket pulled around her shoulders, unable to get warm.

  Miss Watson had speared her in the heart with her questions about college. She had gotten letters of interest and packets from a host of great universities, mailed to the furniture store. She had explained the mail to Mrs. Durham offhandedly, saying her cousins were messy and might lose something important. The storeowner seemed happy to have Wreath use the address and had tried again to get her to move into her house.

  With her flashlight, Wreath sorted through the stack of envelopes, the appealing logos of grand universities making her dream of possibilities, the letters from area junior colleges dousing her with reality. She had alphabetized the list of interested and interesting schools in her diary. Passing up the early-admission dates had been a stupid mistake. Trying to console herself, she argued that at the time it had seemed unavoidable. She was doing her best. That was all Frankie could expect. Right?

  She picked up her journal and started a new section in her notebook on

  COLLEGE QUESTIONS.

  1. What will happen if the college finds out I enrolled with a fake last name?

  2. How do I best qualify for scholarships and grants?

  3. Can I file paperwork to be an adult upon graduation from high school?

  4. Research universities with best academic reputations. She updated her running list called POSSIBLE CAREERS and was enthused and confused by its complexity.

  Dear Brownie, Some days I want to be a lawyer, like Clarice, and help kids like me. Other days I plan to own a chain of stores and be a trendsetter across the country. Or I could be a fashion designer or an artist, like Miss Watson.

  Between school and work and trying to survive, she’d taken her eyes off her bigger goal. Berating herself, she didn’t know if she could even get into a two-year school.

  The life she wanted would require scholarships and loans. Listening to other seniors and talking to Miss Watson, Wreath had realized that, good grades or not, a top-notch school was no longer an option.

  The kind of college Frankie had insisted she try for was out of reach, and it was her own fault. “I’ll do better, Mama,” she whispered out loud and then threw her stack of mail across the van.

  The next day she asked Mrs. Durham for permission to use the phone, and her boss made a tsking sound. “Of course you can use the phone,” she said. “This store is as much yours as it is mine.”

  Wreath smiled slightly and pulled Clarice’s card out of her backpack. “You go to church, right?” she asked Faye.

  The woman hesitated. “Most of the time, although I used to be more faithful before Billy died.”

  “Do you believe in prayer?” Wreath asked.

  This time Faye didn’t stop to think. “I couldn’t have made it through this past year without it. You are an answered prayer, as a matter of fact.”

  “That’s silly,” Wreath said. “You didn’t even know me. How could you have prayed for me?”

  “God knew you, and God knew I needed someone to help me. You saved this store … and you probably saved me.”

  Wreath seemed to be taking in the words, not quite clear what they meant.

  “Why were you asking about prayer?” Faye asked. “Do you need help with something?”

  “I need you to pray for me. I’ve got an important call to make.”

  A questioning look settled on Faye’s face, but she nodded, laid her hand on Wreath’s shoulder, and bowed her head. She stood there for a moment or two in silence, then nodded again.

  “Place your call,” she said. “I’ll be in the workroom if anyone comes in.”

  Wreath dialed Clarice’s cell phone number and asked the attorney if she had time for a few questions.

  “Absolutely,” Clarice said. “Would you like me to come to Landry to meet with you?”

  Wreath recognized the sound of delight and concern in Clarice’s voice. “Not yet,” Wreath said. “I need to ask you about getting into a college.”

  “Wonderful!” Clarice sounded a bit surprised, although her tone was professional.

  “Will you bill me for this call?” Wreath asked. “You’re a friend, Wreath. There’s no charge for friends.”

  “I read online that I need to pay to gain attorney-client privilege.”

  “There’s some truth to that, although the law is complicated,” Clarice said.

  “I want your assurance that what we say stays between us,” Wreath replied.

  “Unless you’re in danger, I can make that promise. Pay me a dollar, and I’ll send you a bill for the rest when you get out of college.”

  Chapter 31

  Law’s first guitar solo finally got Wreath to church and resulted in Durham’s new fashion line.

  “You have to hear the band,” he insisted, walking her to work after school. “Besides, I’ll feel better if you’re there.”

  “I don’t know,” Wreath said. “I haven’t been to church much, and I might embarrass you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He burst out laughing, as though he thought she was kidding.

  “Seriously, I don’t know much about the Bible or some of those things people do at church, like praying and singing hymns and all that.”

  “So Frankie didn’t like church?”

  “Not much,” Wreath said. “She told me once she was ashamed of choices she had made. After my grandmother died, I only went every now and then.”

  “My mother doesn’t care much for church either, but Grandma and Grandpa keep praying for her,” Law said. “It helps me to go to church, and there are no secret handshakes or anything. You already know a bunch of the kids in the youth group.”

  The next day Mitch and Destiny hounded her until she said yes. Unsure about college after her talk with Clarice, she figured it couldn’t hurt to check out the church and learn more about prayer. It might be the only thing that would save her at this point.

  “I’ll go this once, but I’m not promising to join or anything,” she said. “What should I wear?”

  “Any of those darling outfits you wear to school,” Destiny said, “and I’ll ask my mom to pick you up.”

  “Oh no, that’s not necessary.” Wreat
h panicked. “I’m spending the night with Mrs. Durham.”

  All three of her friends looked amazed. “Really?” Law asked.

  “You’re staying with Aunt Faye?” Mitch said.

  “You’ll sleep over at her place but you’ll never come to my house?” Destiny’s voice had a hint of a whine.

  Deciding she had dug a hole too deep to get out of, Wreath plunged ahead. “She needs me to sort through antiques in her attic, that sort of thing. I can ride with her Sunday morning.”

  “Great!” Law said.

  “Whatever,” Destiny said.

  Faye was clearly as surprised as the students had been when Wreath casually asked if she was still invited to spend the night sometime. “Well, of course. I’d love to have you.”

  “Can we look through the boxes you mentioned? Our merchandise is getting thinner by the day.”

  “Certainly. And I want to show you the pillow designs I’ve come up with for the seasons. I have hearts for Valentine’s Day and flowers for that fresh spring look you keep talking about.”

  Staying in a real house for the first time in nearly eight months was harder than Wreath expected. The bed was soft, the bathroom a luxury, and the refrigerator stocked with snacks that Faye had bought especially for her. But the walls closed in on her, as though she were a wild animal in a cage.

  Faye tried to get her to rest while she cooked supper, but Wreath insisted on helping. “You’ve been working all day,” she told her hostess. “So have you.”

  Wreath shrugged. “I always cooked for Frankie. I won’t eat unless you let me help.”

  When they settled in the den to watch television, Faye handed her the remote control. “Choose what you want to watch.”

  At first, Wreath held the remote as though it were a live snake and then thrust it at the older woman. “I’m not familiar with these channels. You decide.”

  The evening improved, though, when Faye led her into the sewing room, almost a fantasy world to Wreath.

  “Where’d you get all this fabric?” she asked, picking up a shiny piece of satin and rubbing it against her cheek and a swatch of red velveteen that she fingered as though it were precious.