Oh, Christmas Night

by Jane Porter

  The database didn’t take into account the love behind the gift of a book. The database didn’t care.

  Somehow she did, though, and the emotions baffled her.

  She didn’t focus on emotion, and she certainly didn’t want to care for these books. There were so many, and they were just sitting here, collecting dust. No one wanted them anymore. No one seemed to need them.

  Determined to be ruthless, she grabbed a pale green book from the bottom of the box. Altemus’ Young People’s History of the United States, and flipped open the cover.

  To Geo A Potter

  September 08, 1905

  From Pop

  Happy Birthday

  No.

  No.

  She wasn’t going to do this anymore. She wasn’t going to care. The books could go. The books could all go. She was too sensible to become caught up in this impossible task. There was no reason to fall apart over a collection of old books.

  The books only mattered if someone was willing to pay for them. They would only be saved if they had measurable financial value. That was it. There was no room for sentimental decisions. No room for wistful feelings. The past was the past, and the only way to survive was to be realistic about the future.

  The bell on the front door tinkled as the door swung open. Zane walked in carrying a large cardboard box. He placed the books on the counter where Rachel had been working. She lifted an eyebrow. “More books?”

  “Lesley’s personal Christmas collection. They’re from her house. I used to bring them over for her every year to display, and figured you might want to use them in your windows, too.”

  He didn’t like her windows, either. “I’m not done with my windows,” she said. “I have a plan.”

  “Well, maybe these will help. They’re mostly children’s books. Classics as well as contemporaries. She’d display in the windows, and read from them during story hour.”

  Rachel’s spirits sank. She couldn’t even imagine reading out loud to a bunch of restless children. “Let’s see this collection,” she said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.

  He opened the box and lifted out stacks of books, and yes, they were nearly all children’s books, mostly picture books along with some illustrated classics, ranging from ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, to books from her childhood like A Charlie Brown Christmas, Santa Mouse, and Frosty the Snowman, and then there were newer books she’d never heard of, including A Christmas Card for Mr. McFizz and Mouse’s Christmas Gift that had her leafing through the pages right away.

  “These will be really fun to display,” Rachel said.

  “Lesley has more at her house for other holidays. I should ask her if she wants to hang on to them,” Zane said, lifting a picture book called Mortimer’s Christmas Manager and opening the cover. “My kids love this one. I should get them a copy.”

  “Why do they like it?” she asked, curious.

  “They love the stories with mice and animals,” he said, flipping through the pages quickly, “and this one has exceptional illustrations. See?” He turned the book around for her to see. “The illustrations are big and bright, which appeals to children, plus it has a Christmas message. My wife’s a speech therapist and she likes to find things for the kids that are entertaining, but also educational.”

  “Thus, the popularity of children’s books,” Rachel said.

  “Parents will spend money on their kids that they won’t spend on themselves.”

  “I should be carrying a lot more children’s books,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “Lesley used to have a huge children’s business, but over time she stopped ordering in as much stock, which is a shame because at one point she was going to move the children’s section from upstairs where it’s tucked behind the adult fiction into a dedicated children’s room down here in that big back room.”

  “That would actually be a good place for it. There’s a lot of space.”

  “And it’s close to the only bathroom.”

  Rachel reached for Mouse’s Christmas Gift and studied the cover which featured a mouse dressed in a green vest lighting a candle in a frost-covered window. “Why didn’t she?”

  “That’s a good question.” Zane restacked all the picture books except for the one in front of her. “But if this was my store, I’d create that dedicated children’s room and fill it with children’s books, have regular story time, and let everyone know.” He tipped the brim of his cowboy hat. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been a big help.” And he had, she thought, as the door closed behind him because Mouse’s Christmas Gift had just given her an idea.

  What if she frosted part of her windows? Why not hire someone to come and paint sparkly snowflakes on the corners of her two big windows, filling some of the vast space, creating a scene in the middle? She could then use that middle space to highlight Lesley’s children’s books. She needed a tower, or some big boxes, something to give height, but it was certainly doable.

  She paged through Mouse’s Christmas Gift, reading the short, simple story and found herself blinking back tears as she reached the end. It was not a complicated story but it was beautiful, and moving. Maybe she could display the book next to a Nativity set as the Nativity figured prominently in the story.

  Where could she find an inexpensive one? Would that store on Main Street specializing in shabby chic items carry something like that? She’d have to find out first chance she got.

  Chapter Six

  The door chimed again and Rachel glanced up from her computer hoping to greet her very first customer. It was Atticus. He’d returned.

  Like yesterday, he entered the store with his briefcase and cup of coffee. He walked to the chair that he had claimed as his own the day before and removed his coat. Just like yesterday, he pulled the side table close and set up his laptop next to his coffee and pulled out fat folders from the briefcase, the folders filled with paper. He got out a pen, and his phone, and settled down to work.

  Yesterday she’d been exasperated.

  Today she was amused.

  She didn’t know why he kept showing up and yet she was secretly glad, grateful for the company. He was surprisingly good company.

  She reached for yet another book from the box, this one a thick book with a crumbling red leather binding. Greek Mythology, the title read. As she opened the book the front cover fell away from the spine, and loose pages fell out. Not good. She probably needed to dispose of this one, too, and it didn’t make her feel terribly bad because there was no one’s name inside.

  “You know what you need?” Atticus asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

  “Besides good Wi-Fi?” she said, looking over at him.

  He slid on his dark-framed glasses. “An espresso machine.”

  “Oh, Atticus, no.”

  “If you had the ability to make espressos, business would skyrocket. I guarantee.”

  “I have no desire to be a barista. Besides, I don’t think Java Café would appreciate the competition.”

  “They can handle it. They’re busy, too busy, and too noisy to be able to focus. This is much better here.”

  She fought a laugh. She couldn’t reward him. It would be so wrong because it would just encourage him and he was already a whole lot of lot. “You mean, because no one is here?”

  “It is very peaceful,” he agreed.

  “I do get customers.”

  “Really?”

  “Zane had just dropped by. And you’re here again today.”

  “Did Zane buy anything?”

  “You haven’t yet.”

  “Well, you know what I want to buy.”

  “Do you torture everyone?”

  “Lately, it’s just been you.”

  “Lucky me,” she said, but she was smiling.

  “If you don’t want to have to sell to me, I recommend expanding your offerings. You’d get far more foot traffic with an espresso machine.”

 
“So far, no one has asked for a mocha.”

  “Because you don’t sell them,” he said patiently. “But if you did, you’d have a steady stream of traffic all day long. The young moms and retirees in the morning, the business crowd at lunch, and students in the afternoon.”

  “You’re describing a coffeehouse, not a bookstore.”

  “They are thriving businesses, Rachel.”

  “This will be a thriving business one day, too.”

  “You have two floors of glorious books, and nothing anyone actually wants to buy.” He gestured to the stack of Christmas books still on the counter. “The books people might want to buy are for display purposes only. You can’t approach this bookselling thing for the traditional approach. You have to think out of the box.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Good, because you won’t like Paradise Books sapping you dry.”

  “Just last night you were telling me to be positive.”

  “Yes, be positive, but also realistic. I don’t want to see you take a significant loss on this place. I don’t think you do, either.”

  “Every time I think I just might like you, you say or do something to spoil my good will.”

  Atticus gave her another of his lethal smiles. “I do love your candor.”

  “And I would love your help. How long do you intend to be here today?” she asked.

  “An hour or two. Why?”

  “I have an errand I need to run. Do you mind watching the store for me?”

  “You trust me that much?”

  He was gorgeous and insufferable, and surprisingly addictive. “Yes.” She reached for her purse. “I’ll just be down the street so if you need me, call or text.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  She scribbled it down on the notepad on the counter. “It’s here,” she said. “In case of an emergency.” And then she grabbed her coat and was off.

  Rachel snuggled into her coat as she briskly walked north on Main Street, heading for Sadie’s Montana Rose store. If Sadie specialized in vintage Christmas items, surely she’d have a Nativity set.

  Sadie wasn’t working though, and the shop’s sales assistant suggested that Rachel try Brandel’s Baubles, Treasures and Fine Art, a newer Marietta business that had been opened last April on the southwest corner of Fourth and Main. The owner, Dinah Brandel, was from New Orleans and had some really interesting things. Apparently, Sadie Douglas was a fan of the store and liked to shop there herself.

  Rachel thanked the sales assistant and continued down Main. Brandel’s Baubles was on the first floor of a two-story building, with a large display front window. Pushing open the heavy glass door, she peeked in. Glass display cabinets glittered with jewelry, art, and delicate porcelain figurines.

  A woman called out a warm greeting, and from her rich, Southern accent, Rachel suspected this was Dinah Brandel herself. Rachel explained what she was looking for and Dinah shook her head. “I had one, and it sold just this weekend. I can try to find you one. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

  “No. I was just thinking I’d do a display with it. I have the bookstore two blocks down on the corner. Paradise Books.”

  “It’s been closed since I moved here.”

  “Well, it’s open now. If anyone is looking for a hard to find book, send them my way as it seems to be all we carry.” Rachel smiled wryly, trying not to feel frustrated.

  She would never get people into the store with used books. She needed new ones, like Lesley’s pretty children’s picture books, that she could actually sell.

  “Anything else I can do to help your display?” Dinah asked.

  “I don’t know. I have all these cute Christmas books featuring mice, and I was trying to think of something fun to do with them.”

  Dinah’s expression brightened. “How about displaying them with mice?”

  Rachel immediately thought of the scrabbling sound she’d heard on the second floor of the bookstore. “In the window?”

  “I have a whole set of adorable mice. They’re woolen collectibles, hand-stitched by an artist in Louisiana. They’re cute as a button. Let me show you.”

  Dinah led her around the corner to another illuminated class cabinet, and on the middle shelf was a little world of mice—a young mouse in pajamas, a mother mouse in a red wool coat pushing a tiny stroller with a baby mouse in a onesie. There was a mailman mouse, and a backpacking mouse, and a darling girl mouse in a pink coat and scarf carrying home a miniature Christmas tree.

  “They’re adorable,” Rachel said, immediately thinking that these mice could be a fantastic display. “How much are they?”

  “They’re not inexpensive.”

  Rachel looked at the four-inch mice with their sweet expressions and dark bead eyes. “How much is the little boy mouse in pajamas?”

  “Fifty dollars.”

  Rachel’s heart fell. “And the girl mouse, with the Christmas tree?”

  “I think she’s seventy.”

  “So much,” Rachel said regretfully.

  “They’re completely hand-stitched, by a well-known artist.”

  “I would buy them if I could,” she answered, unable to justify spending even fifty on the little mouse boy in pajamas. “If I’m going to spend that much money, I should be buying books I could sell.”

  Dinah thought for a moment. “Have you tried the toy store? The one across from the diner? I think they sell Maileg toys.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the name.”

  “It’s a Danish toy company. While my mice here are collectibles for adults, Maileg makes miniature stuffed animals for children. One of their top sellers is their stuffed mouse doll that comes in its own matchbox bed. They’re very charming and usually priced between twenty-five and thirty dollars, although with retail markup, it’s hard to know how the toy store will price them.”

  Rachel thanked her and walked back to the bookstore. She wanted a toy mouse, she did, but if she was going to be spending money, maybe she should be spending it on children’s books.

  Arriving back at the bookstore, she found it just as she’d left it. Atticus was working diligently at his small table, her stack of books were just as she’d left them. The only thing missing on the counter was her phone number. She arched a brow but said nothing, and just as she pulled her laptop toward her, her phone pinged with an incoming text.

  She fished her phone out of her coat pocket and read the text. “Now you have my number. And you can use it even if it’s not an emergency. Atticus.”

  She looked over at him, and he kept working away as if he hadn’t just texted her. She stared at him for long minutes until he finally lifted his head. “Did you want something?” he asked.

  His expression was so businesslike, so serious, and such a contradiction to his text that she slowly smiled.

  Atticus was fun.

  Rather irresistible, actually.

  “No,” she answered. “I’m good.”

  *

  An hour later, Atticus left and, once he was gone, she felt the bookstore was so quiet. True it was a Thursday, just before the Marietta Stroll, but other stores on Main Street had traffic. Maybe not heavy traffic, but the street was lined with cars, and people were walking around, only no one out shopping was entering the bookstore. Perhaps people didn’t realize the store was actually open. Perhaps Paradise Books had been closed so long that everyone figured it wasn’t going to reopen.

  She stepped out onto the street and shivered at the icy blast of wind before stepping out into the street to look at the store, trying to see it the ways others saw it.

  Tall brick building on the corner with big windows. Window display still in need of inspiration. From outside, the interior of the store appeared fairly dark. The store needed new lighting, maybe some track lighting or warm spotlights to highlight the rich walnut bookshelves and handsome staircase.

  If she kept the store, she’d need to invest in it.

/>   New lighting, a new wireless router, update the children’s reading room, update the downstairs bathroom, possibly recover some of the armchairs.

  It would take some money but not a fortune, and businesses required upkeep. It was just a cost of doing business. She knew all the line items and deductions already. She knew what she could, and couldn’t, write off.

  But she couldn’t write anything off, if there wasn’t income. She needed to get people into the store. But first, she needed to make them notice the store. She’d start with a better window display.

  Rachel went to the back room and poked around, looking for anything that she could use for displaying the Christmas books. She needed height. She needed something visually interesting. She wanted to stagger the books, so yes, a ladder would work, but so would a trunk, or boxes. Or… the wooden crates tucked behind cleaning supplies.

  Rachel pulled three out. They were dusty and aged, but you could still make out some of the writing on the sides. COPPER MOUNTAIN BOTTLING WORKS on one, and MARIETTA MERCANTILE, MONTANA. Using her furniture polish, she wiped the crates down, removing a layer of grime and uncovered the faint words, DOUGLAS RANCH, PARADISE VALLEY, MT on the third. She wondered if the Douglas Ranch was connected to Sadie Douglas. If so, Sadie might be interested in this crate.

  Rachel carried the crates to the window facing Main, and stacked them at angles so that she had more corners for displaying books. She set the brightest Christmas books upright on the crates, colorful covers facing out, and then shifted the poinsettias, putting them on either side of the crates. Standing outside she studied her new display. It still wasn’t fabulous, in fact, it looked a little chaotic, but it was better than her first attempt. At least now you could see the books. That had to count for something.

  Back in the store, she opened her laptop and researched window displays and read up on their importance and how it was the shop window that drives foot traffic.

  A window display was supposed to highlight her brand’s personality.

  A proper window display was supposed to engage shoppers, and cause them to pause, look, and then enter the store where the sales personnel then closes the deal.