by Ann B. Ross
It was the bicycle that had taken Penelope’s breath away. Mildred sat in one of the wing chairs and watched as the child climbed on and off a dozen times, unable to believe it was hers. Sam, bless his heart, rolled it outside to the sidewalk and kept it upright as she climbed on and dinged the bell to her heart’s content.
Etta Mae, her boyfriend, and Granny Wiggins came together, laughing and expectant of a good time, and I got the inner jolt from the masculinity emanating from Deputy Bobby Lee Moser. Or it might have been a whiff of something by Calvin Klein.
“Etta Mae,” I said, drawing her aside, “it’s a done deal. I’ve seen the Offer to Purchase with Lurline’s signature, written bold and clear on it, and furthermore, a certified check is in Mr. Blair’s escrow account, so we’ll be closing in a few days.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said as tears glinted in her eyes. “I just can’t believe it. Miss Julia . . .”
She bent her head to my shoulder, but I straightened her and said, “No tears, Etta Mae. This is a happy day for both of us.”
She laughed as she mopped her eyes with tissues. “Yes, it is. But who would’ve thought that I’d get to have my own business and maybe Bobby Lee, too?”
“I’m happy to have helped with one,” I said, smiling at her happiness, “but you’re on your own with the other.”
After dinner when those of us who had been up half the night were all but comatose, we opened gifts, laughed a lot, and counted ourselves most fortunate. I sent Lillian and Latisha home soon afterward, leaving Janelle and James to clear the tables, clean the kitchen, and take home extra envelopes.
As coats were retrieved from Lloyd’s bedroom and hugs and good wishes were exchanged at the door, Mildred came up and drew me aside. “Julia,” she said, “I’ve decided to take Penelope with me tomorrow. I can’t bear to leave her, so we’ll be leaving early to take Horace to the retirement center at Southern Pines. I hate to say that it’ll be a relief to have him gone, but it’s the truth. Sooner or later he was going to hurt himself or somebody else, so this is for the best. But when I think of what could’ve happened to Penelope last night, I just get cold chills. I didn’t realize what an addition she is to my life. I’ve been grieving so much over Tony and Tonya and now Horace that I couldn’t see her.”
Even though I am not a hugging sort of person, I gave her a brief hug, then stepped back. “I’m so glad, Mildred. She’s a very special little girl, and you’re both blessed to have each other.”
“Yes, well,” she said, straightening herself, “I’m going to see to it that we continue to have each other. I’m calling my lawyers in Atlanta to start custody proceedings against Tonya. But thank you, Julia, for a lovely Christmas, and,” she ended with an arched eyebrow, “for seeing that Santa stopped for Penelope.”
Stunned by her custody plans against Tonya, I wished her a safe trip on the morrow and left unsaid the colliding thoughts in my head. It was just as well that I did, for I didn’t know which one would’ve come out.
Recalling my determination to allow other people to stand or fall on their own and acknowledging that I’d failed to do so in a few recent instances, I wondered if I should redouble my intent to mind my own business. Still, when people I cared about rushed headlong into dangerous waters, I knew I could not and would not refuse a helping hand. Call it interference, call it meddling, I didn’t care. I would be there for Mildred and for Etta Mae regardless of how many new leaves I turned over.
So tired by this time that all I could think of was crawling into bed, I leaned against Sam as he closed the door behind the last guest. Then, with a sigh, I walked into the living room, switched off the lights on the Christmas tree, and smiled at the memory of Penelope’s face when she saw the bicycle.
“Sam,” I said as he came in behind me, “I am so tired I may never get out of bed again. But what a Christmas it’s been, so Merry Christmas to you if I’ve forgotten to say it before now.”
“And Merry Christmas to you, too,” Sam said, putting an arm around my waist as we turned and surveyed the room where a few ribbons and scraps of wrapping paper were still on the floor. “I’m feeling my night out at Lily Pond Lake, too. This will all be here in the morning, so I say that we ask Janelle and James to lock up when they finish and we go on to bed.”
“Oh, Sam,” I said, immediately sympathetic, “of course you’re tired. You were out in the weather and walking all over the place for half the night. I’ll check on Janelle and James—and by the way, James is thrilled with that electric drill you gave him. I’ll be up in a few minutes, but you go on to sleep. I won’t disturb you.”
“Disturb all you want,” he said, smiling his sweet smile. “I’m not that tired.”
About the Author
Ann B. Ross is the author of twenty-one novels featuring the popular Southern heroine Miss Julia, as well as Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day, a novel about one of Abbotsville's other most outspoken residents: Etta Mae Wiggins. Ross holds a doctorate in English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and has taught literature at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. She lives in Hendersonville, North Carolina.
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