Small Change

by Sheila Roberts

  “Okay, you two,” said Jess. “This song's for you, so you'd better get out on the dance floor while there's still room.”

  The band played Metallica's “Nothing Else Matters” and Chad pulled Rachel to him. She was hardly aware of other couples drifting onto the dance floor to join them. “I didn't hear from you. I thought …”

  “I was gone. I went to see my family and get my head screwed on straight. They can hardly wait to meet you, by the way.”

  So they were on again, just like that. “Chad, are you sure?”

  “I should be asking you that,” he said. “I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm a fool. If I can't trust you then there's no one in this whole world I can trust. I love you.” And to prove it, he kissed her.

  She kissed him back and gave the gremlin the boot. For good. God bless those romance writers.

  The song ended and the band went on break.

  Tiffany was practically gloating when Rachel and Chad returned to the table. “So, I guess you're staying after all?” she teased.

  Chad squeezed Rachel's hand and she smiled at him. “Yes, I guess I am. And I suppose you were in on this,” she said to Tiff.

  “I recruited their help,” Chad admitted.

  Tiff beamed. “I'm good.”

  Now Jess had joined them. “It looks like we need to make a toast.” “Did you order the champagne?” she asked Michael.

  Right on cue their cocktail waitress arrived with the glasses. After everyone had taken one, Michael raised his and said, “To love.”

  “And to second chances,” added Tiffany. “Everybody needs at least one.”

  “And to the third time,” said Chad. “It really is the charm.”

  Small Change, Big Difference

  It had been nearly a year since Tiffany, Rachel, and Jess altered their financial lifestyles. To celebrate, Jess had baked a cake. “From scratch, no less,” she'd bragged. It was a little on the dry side, but Rachel and Tiffany had praised her for her efforts.

  Now they sat at Rachel's kitchen table among bits of ribbon, stamping supplies, and card stock, addressing the last of the home-made wedding invitations. This year a wedding, next year they'd be making invitations to celebrate a graduation. Jess was back in school finishing up her music degree.

  Baby Grace sat on a blanket in the family room, laughing as Claire and her friend Bethany entertained her with the new toys Tiffany had snagged at a garage sale. Yells and hoots drifted in through the open kitchen window from outside, where Chad was playing half-court basketball with David and the neighbor boys.

  “That's the last one,” said Jess, slipping an invitation into the envelope.

  “It's funny, isn't it? Here you are marrying a millionaire and we're sending out homemade invites,” Tiffany observed.

  “That's how people with money keep their money,” said Jess. “They're careful with it. And let me tell you, we've learned our lesson. The savings account is growing. Slowly,” she added, “but slow is better than not at all. And if Michael's executive temp job turns into something full time we'll really be able to grow our rainy-day fund.”

  “And maybe move back?” Tiff asked hopefully.

  “I think I'm stuck in Seattle for a while,” said Jess with a resigned shrug. “But at least I'm not stuck in a Pepto-Bismol bathroom. And I'm not worried about how we're going to make the mortgage payment.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “I can't believe how different my life is now from last year.”

  “I need to do an anniversary blog post,” Rachel decided.

  “And put it at the end of your book,” Jess advised.

  Rachel grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from her kitchen junk drawer. “So, what do we want to say?”

  “Happy anniversary to us,” declared Tiffany.

  Rachel smiled. “That's great, but I'd like to add a little more content. Have you two got any great advice for my readers?”

  “Just because you buy something on sale it doesn't mean you're saving money,” said Tiffany with a decisive nod. “Oh, and things won't make you happy.”

  Rachel smiled. “I love that.” She looked expectantly at Jess. “Got anything to add?”

  “Budgets are our friends. And save is not a four-letter word.”

  “And how about you?” asked Tiff. “What are you going to say?”

  “You know, I'm going to have to think about that.”

  Much later, after her friends had gone home and Chad and the kids were busy making his mother's recipe for enchiladas, Rachel sat at her computer, reading what she'd just written for her blog.

  I have come to realize three important facts of life this last year.

  Cinderella can keep Prince Charming. A good man's love is all any woman needs to make her feel like a princess.

  The only person who can fix your life is you.

  Small changes can make a big difference.

  And that about summed it up.

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  THE SNOW GLOBE

  Coming October 2010

  St. Martin's Press

  Copyright © 2010 by Sheila Rabe. All rights reserved.

  Fawn Island, Pacific Northwest

  Something drew Kiley Gray to the antique shop. It could have been the carousel horse in the window or the sight of tables and shelves beyond, crammed with cast-off treasures. Whatever was in there calling to her, she knew she had to go in. She was a big believer in that sort of thing.

  Actually, Kiley was a big believer. Period. She'd been sure Santa was real until she was ten and even after waking up on Christmas Eve to discover her father hanging her filled stocking on the mantel, she kept pretending for another two years. She'd believed in Prince Charming and Mr. Right clear through college. She'd even believed in happy endings until just this October when her boy-friend, Jeremy Horne, dumped her at her own Halloween party (how was that for tacky?), announcing that he couldn't fight his attraction for her sister any longer.

  It had been a very scary Halloween.

  A bell chimed over the door as Kiley entered the shop, and her nose twitched as she caught a whiff of dust.

  Another shopper, a portly older woman in a stylish wool coat, stood at the counter, raving over the pink Depression Glass pitcher she'd found. “And just in the nick of time,” she added. “I'm going to have to dash to make that ferry.” With hurried thanks, she took the piece the shop owner had carefully wrapped and hurried to the door, stuffing bills in her wallet as she went.

  One fluttered to the floor and Kiley scooped it up. It was a fifty, maybe not a lot for this woman, who was well dressed and obviously had money to burn, but to Kiley it was a fortune. “Wait. You dropped this.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” said the woman, barely looking at it. She stuffed it in her purse and hurried out the door.

  The shopkeeper smiled at Kiley. “People get in too big of a hurry.”

  “I can't afford to be in that big of a hurry,” she said. She probably couldn't afford to be in here at all. But browsing didn't cost anything, she told herself as she drifted to where the carousel horse stood frozen in mid-prance. Who had owned this and how did it end up languishing here? Kiley gave it a comforting pat, then wandered away to the far side of the shop.

  That was when she saw the snow globe. Tucked behind a clock with a brass horse and a chipped crystal vase, she might never have noticed it except for a stray sunbeam that managed to slip past the gray clouds outside and in through the window.

  She picked up the snow globe and shook it, creating a blizzard in a scene of a toyshop in the center of an Alpine village. The storm swirled around the little angel standing guard in front of the shop. It was simply too charming not to buy. Anyway, purchasing treasures was an integral part of any girls’ getaway weekend so, in a way, she was almost obligated.

  She took it up to where the shop owner, now reading a book, sat behind his cash register “I didn't see a price tag on this. I'm just wondering what you want for it.”

  She gulped w
hen he told her. Not exactly the kind of inexpensive purchase for a girl who was now unemployed. Maybe purchasing treasure wasn't such an integral part of a girls’ getaway weekend. At least not this treasure, not this weekend.

  The man was somewhere in his fifties, with gray hair and the beginnings of a paunch. He looked over his reading glasses at her and smiled. “But, I think, for the right buyer, I could come down in price a little.”

  “Oh? What does the right buyer look like?” Hopefully, a skinny woman about to turn thirty, with long, brown hair, hazel-colored eyes, a fashionably full mouth, and a nose she hated.

  “It's not exactly about looks,” the shop owner said. “It's more about where you are in life. You see, this little snow globe has quite a story to tell.”

  “I like stories,” said Kiley, leaning her elbows on the counter.

  “This one starts back when snow globes were first being made. Nobody knows the exact date, but the first one appeared at the Paris Exposition in 1878, and by 1879 at least five companies were producing snow globes and selling them throughout Europe. This was one of them, so you can see it's very valuable. But its age isn't the real reason why.” He removed his glasses and set aside his book. “Would you like to hear more?”

  “I'm not in a hurry,” said Kiley. “But I hope this story has a happy ending. I'm kind of in need of happy endings these days.”

  “Are you? Well, you be the judge.”

  Chicago, December 1880

  It had been one year since Otto Schwartz had lost his whole world. And he was still alive, if one could call moving through each day like a ghost living. This particular day he stood at his toyshop window, watching the snow carpet the street. Delivery wagons passed, and people walked by with paper-wrapped parcels, happily shopping for Christmas.

  Two children, a boy and a girl bundled in heavy coats, hats, and mittens, ran ahead of their mother, stopping in front of the shop window to peer at Otto's display of porcelain dolls, tin toys, and stuffed animals. They pressed their faces to the glass and pointed excitedly. One even smiled at Otto. He tried to smile back. A ghost of a smile.

  The woman caught up with them, keeping her face averted. Taking the children by the hand, she led them off down the street. He could hardly blame her for not wanting to look at him. His toys called to one and all to step inside and find fun and laughter. But once inside they found Otto and hurriedly left, recalling more pressing errands.

  He watched them walk away and sighed. Children and toys were meant to go together. Men who owned toyshops should have children. And wives.

  The sigh became a sob. He turned his back on the snowy Chicago street scene, then dug a handkerchief out of the pocket of his black suit and blew his nose. At least he'd tried to smile.

  But the effort was coming late. People expected a man to mourn when he lost his wife and baby—a full year in black, no social engagements (as if he had wanted any), but they also expected a man to continue to run his business, to set aside his sorrow and take care of his customers. Otto couldn't even care for his own bleeding heart. How could he be expected to care if little Johann would like a wooden marionette or to take an interest in which porcelain doll little Ingrid would most want? At first he had been bereft. He had closed up the shop and shut himself inside his darkened house. Everyone in the city's German community had understood. But finally his sister had shoved Brötchen, sliced ham, and an egg under his nose and commanded that he eat. And that he then go and open his shop.

  “You are not the first man to lose a wife in childbirth. You will not be the last,” she'd said sternly. “Liesel and Gottlieb are in heaven.”

  “And I am in hell,” he had growled, causing his sister to gasp.

  She had recovered quickly, shaking a finger at him and retorting, “Then I suggest you crawl out. It is time. You have a business to run.”

  And so he had gone from bereft to morose, and his friends and neighbors tried to be patient. But when he went from morose to ill tempered people failed to understand and he lost many a customer. Now Christmas was right around the corner and Otto was trying to remember how to smile. Except that was almost impossible with the snow coming down outside, reminding him of happier times in the village in southern Germany where he had grown up, with people strolling by outside on their way to warm, happy homes.

  Robert the mail carrier entered the shop, bringing with him the scent of snow. From somewhere outside the sound of a child's laugh slipped in also, grabbing at Otto's heart.

  “Otto, look what I have. Something from your sister,” Robert called cheerfully, his grin making his moustache dance. If Robert weren't so content with delivering mail he would have made a great diplomat. He was always happy. Even on Otto's grumpiest days Robert entered the shop smiling and left the same way. “Open it and let's see what it is,” he suggested. A package from France was worth a five-minute delay in his deliveries.

  Otto took the package, carefully unwrapping it and prying open the wooden box. Nested inside the excelsior he found something more amazing than all the toys in his shop put together.

  “What is it?” asked Robert, his voice filled with awe.

  “I don't know,” said Otto. He picked up the delicate item. It easily fit in the palm of his large hand. A glass globe sat on a metal base. Inside it was a nostalgic scene of a toyshop that looked like his father's toyshop on a street in what could have been his village in Germany. Amazing! How had the maker managed that small wonder? The mountains, the snow-capped trees—oh yes, it could have been his village! In front of the toyshop stood a beautiful angel in a white gown with golden hair and blue eyes. She looked just like Liesel. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Otto set the work of art on his counter.

  “Those Frenchmen,” said Robert, shaking his head in amazement. “What will they think of next?” He motioned to the notepaper still lying in the excelsior. “Read the note and see what it's called.

  ” Robert picked up the paper with trembling fingers and read.

  Dear brother,

  I know it has been a year and you still grieve deeply. Henri commissioned this water globe to be made especially for you in the hope that it would bring you comfort.

  “A water globe? Is there water in there?” Robert picked up the globe to examine it.

  Otto frowned at him, took the globe from his hand and set it back on the counter, then returned to the letter.

  Henri has a friend who makes these in his factory. They are becoming quite popular. They are sometimes called snow globes, a term I much prefer. If you shake it you will see why. Perhaps one day you would like to sell snow globes in your shop. But for now, we want you to have this special one to keep in memory of your dear Liesel and the baby. Of course, this cannot bring them back, but perhaps it can bring you hope. I have prayed that it will.

  Your loving sister Berthe

  “Shake it,” urged Robert.

  Otto picked up the snow globe and gave it a tentative jiggle.

  “Will you look at that!” exclaimed Robert. “I've never seen such a thing in all my life.”

  Neither had Otto. He stared in amazement as a tiny snow-storm swirled around the angel. The snow settled and he shook the globe again, starting a fresh flurry. He wanted to cry. Or laugh. Instead, he smiled.

  Robert spread the news of Otto's unusual present throughout the community and soon people were venturing into the store to see the amazing snow globe and “ooh” and “ah” over the little scene inside.

  “It's lovely,” said Mrs. Schmidt. “And the angel looks so like your wife.”

  Otto sighed. “Yes, she does.” And later that day, after the customers had all left, he couldn't resist holding the thing and gazing inside at the little angel, wishing she could speak to him.

  But what was this? The angel's hair, somehow, appeared darker. Was he imagining it? He shook the globe and started the tiny flakes spinning. Once more they settled at the angel's feet. Her hair was still darker. Perhaps it had always been this dark. Perhaps i
t had only seemed lighter because of wishful thinking on his part.

  Disappointed, he set the snow globe down, wishing it would show him what he wanted to see.

  Christmas was two weeks away when a man and woman entered the store. Strangers. Except the woman wasn't a stranger. Otto realized he had seen her before, inside the snow globe. He tried not to stare, but it was almost impossible.

  The man spoke. “My sister and I are looking for a present for our little sister. We thought, perhaps, you could help us.”

  “Of course,” said Otto, straightening his coat. “I will be happy to. Are you visiting?”

  “No,” said the woman. “Our family has moved here recently. From Garmisch-Partenkirchen.”

  She had the softest voice, like an angel, thought Otto, and smiled.

  Fawn Island, Pacific Northwest

  Kiley smiled at the shop owner after he'd finished his story. “I take it she was the angel Otto saw in the snow globe.”

  He grinned. “So the story goes. Two Christmases later Otto had both a new wife and a new baby.” He motioned to the lovely antique sitting on the counter. “That was passed down through Otto's family from generation to generation, always bringing hope when someone most needed it. At least that's what Mrs. Ackerman says.”

  “The woman you bought it from,” guessed Kiley and he nodded. “But why would she let it go?” asked Kiley.

  “She's Otto's last descendant, and she has no children. She felt it was time for it to pass on to fresh hands.” He gave a little shrug. “So she sent it off with a hope and a prayer that the snow globe will work a holiday miracle for someone new.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Would you say you qualify?”

  No boyfriend, no job? “I'd say I'm overqualified.” Kiley looked at the little globe sitting on its ornate metal base. It was a pricey impulse purchase. But it symbolized hope, and how did you put a price tag on hope? She chewed her lip, trying to decide.