“I would have missed Esmeralda if you’d left her behind,” Jacob said fondly. “The nativity set wouldn’t be complete without her. See, I told you. You made good choices.”
“Do you remember exactly where in the nativity she goes?”
“With the Wise Men, of course. How could I ever forget? Don’t you remember when my Sunday school teacher asked me where I’d ever gotten the odd notion that one of the Wise Men was named Esmeralda?” Dorothy smiled, nodded her head, kissed Esmeralda’s cheek. Jacob continued, “I can’t believe that after all these years I’m only now thinking to ask how Esmeralda came to be one of the Wise Men . . . Wise Woman. A Wise Person,” he said, chuckling, landing on what he decided must be politically correct—at least for a wooden doll.
“When Granpy—who had already named her Esmeralda, and now I sure wish I’d thought to ask him why—gave her to me, I could not put her down. I was only five, remember. I took her to bed with me, I stood her next to my plate when I ate, I took her to church, I talked to her all the time. In fact, it started to fret my mother a little just how attached I was to her. It was hard to know at the time if I loved her so much because she was cute,” Dorothy held the doll at arm’s length and studied the curlicues Granpy had meticulously carved into the wood for her hair, “or because Granpy had given her to me. He was, and will always remain, one of my favorite people in the world. My dad was just like him . . . so gentle and caring.” She drew the doll to her chest again. “Anyway, since I’d gotten her for my birthday, I’d been carrying her around for a month before Christmas came around. That year Santa brought me Baby Bunting. She came sealed in a box and was certainly a more lifelike doll than Esmeralda—who immediately got set aside.” Dorothy’s tone of voice dropped, as did her spirits as she recalled the details.
“Then one Sunday in late January Granpy came to visit and of course I was dragging Baby Bunting around. Granpy asked me if she and Esmeralda had become friends yet. The question caught me up short because I hadn’t even thought about Esmeralda for weeks. For the life of me, I couldn’t even think where she was. We all looked high and low, but no Esmeralda. I thought I’d sob myself to death, not only for losing her, but from five-year-old guilt. Even though Granpy assured me she’d show up when she was good and ready, his eyes looked so. . . .
“Anyway, the next Christmas when Dad got the nativity set out of the attic, low and behold, Esmeralda, who was the same size as the Wise Men, was in the box with them! I was so happy! My mom cried and said, ‘Oh, we must have accidentally tucked her in with the Christmas decorations when we put them away. Wait until Granpy finds out we found Esmeralda! We’ll have to invite him for dinner and surprise him!’ And so we did. We set her up with the Wise Men, then asked him to come see the nativity set and see if he noticed anything new. Of course, he did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘By golly, that doll must be smarter than all of us put together after hanging around with the Wise Men all year. I bet she’ll miss them after Christmas when they have to go back in the box—although maybe that’s a good safe place for her, you think?’ Oh, how that man knew how to cover a little girl’s carelessness with grace! And that was that. Every year, back in the box with the Wise Men she went. She just keeps getting smarter and smarter, don’t you, Esmeralda?” She gave the little doll a pat on the head. “I don’t know why I fretted I might have lost you in the auction. You’re too smart to let me have done such a dumb thing, aren’t you?”
She gently stood Esmeralda on the dresser in front of the mirror facing toward the center of the room. Dorothy could see in the mirror that a little piece of her heel had chipped off and she rustled through the dish towel looking for it. Nothing. She’d have to look in the bottom of the box after it was emptied. She’d glue it back on if she could find it. Then again, it could have been missing for years and perhaps she just hadn’t noticed.
“How do you like it here?” she asked the doll after folding the dish towel and leaning down to look at her face. “Yes, I know, the whole place is much smaller. But having you here surely does make it seem more like home. Maybe Christmas can come to Vine Street as well as the farm! We’ll get you set up with your buddies after we finish unpacking and figure out where to put you. Promise.”
“What else you got in that box, Mom?” Jacob looked at his wristwatch. “How about we finish scoping things out, then get ourselves over to George’s for a tree?”
“Sounds like a plan. You be good,” she said to Esmeralda. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Wonderful! We’ll have to come over and have a look-see,” Dorothy said to May Belle, who had called to tell her that she and Earl had finally finished decorating their tree and that it was just beautiful.
“George has outdone himself with this year’s selections, Dorothy. This is one of the best trees we’ve ever had! It’s so fragrant that our whole house smelled like Christmas when we woke up this morning, didn’t it, Earl?” Dorothy knew Earl was sitting right there on the couch staring at the tree. He loved the lights so May Belle left them on all day. “George inquired about you. He told me he missed seeing you and The Tank come roaring into the station. I don’t wonder why. I bet you burned more gasoline tearing around than anyone else in town!”
“I wouldn’t argue that point.”
“Anyway, if I were you, I’d get right over there if you want to have a selection. You wouldn’t believe the crowds.”
“We were just saying it was about time to do that. Jacob probably has to leave tomorrow and he wants to get Christmas in order for me before he goes. We’ve spent the last hour or so going through the Christmas decorations—well, at least what we thought were all Christmas decorations. Honest to goodness, everything in those boxes has a story! What a surprise we had when I discovered my sequined Easter eggs—remember when we made those with the kids?—and my St. Patty’s Day figurine, and my stick-um window Valentine hearts, all in the same box! Some packing job. I pulled them out one at a time, holiday after holiday appearing before our very eyes. At one point Jacob said, ‘Well, Merry EVERYTHING, Mom!’ I tell you, we laughed until our sides hurt.
“You know that ancient little two-inch fuzzy yellow chicken I put out every year for Easter, the one with the orange wire legs and the funny little misplaced beak, a silly cockscomb down too low on his forehead and black beady eyes?” May Belle acknowledged that she did. “I’m sure you had one when you were a girl—in fact I think everybody had one back then—but this one looks especially goofy. Well, when I pulled out my little wicker Christmas sleigh, that little Easter chicken was sitting in it as big as you please, looking like he thought he was Santa Claus! Imagine a goofy chicken driving the sleigh! Merry Everything, indeed!”
“What a picture!”
“I’ll tell you, we’ve got stuff strewn and sorted all over the back bedroom. It’s hard to believe it all came out of three boxes. What fun we’ve had. But we better get crackin’ with the tree and get the decorations up tonight or Jacob won’t be able to crawl in bed, it’s so covered with all that Merry Everything!”
“Wait! First you have to tell me. Is Esmeralda even smarter this year?” It was May Belle’s annual question.
“Sure is! Would you believe she was in the first box we opened? I don’t know where I’ve got room to put my nativity set, though. We talked about maybe setting up one of the bunco tables in the corner next to the tree. We decided we should get the tree first though, see how much room I end up with in there. And speaking of getting the tree, I’m going to sign off now. If we get done early enough, we’ll come and see yours. I’d invite you over to help, but I imagine we’d have a hard time dragging Earl away from the lights, especially since you just got the tree up today.”
“You know him well, Dorothy.”
“That I do. Well, good-bye, dearie.”
“Good-bye.”
Before the receiver had barely hit the cradle, Jacob was already reaching for his car keys. “Ready to go, the
n?”
“Hold on a minute. Do you mind if we invite Josh and Katie to go tree hunting with us? When I checked my e-mail earlier, Josh said he’d talked his mom into leaving the fake tree in the box this year. I’m thinking I should personally introduce Katie to George, see what he might be able to do for her—as a favor to me.”
“I guess that would be fine,” he said. “Just have them meet us there in say, twenty minutes? We can grab a quick sandwich before we go. While you were talking to May Belle, I noticed we still had some meat loaf left. You get the bread and I’ll get the mayo.”
“Katie Durbin, meet my good friend George Gustafson. George, this is my good friend Katie, the woman who bought Crooked Creek from me and who is kind enough to host the annual Hookers’ Christmas party out there on the twentieth. I’m sure you heard the announcement at the funeral dinner.”
“If I hadn’t heard the announcement I sure couldn’t have missed your cheer!” George said. Although he’d stood and toasted for Rick, he had only begrudgingly followed along for Katie’s since he wasn’t sure this woman was deserving of a cheer. On many occasions he’d noticed that big gas-guzzling Lexus SUV driving right by his station, never once pulling in for gas. He figured she must travel all the way to Hethrow or maybe Yorkville for gas. She probably had one of those chain station’s credit cards. “That’s how they do, those city people.” When Katie held out her hand, however, George took it and gave it a shake. It wouldn’t have been right not to treat one of Dorothy’s friends with respect.
“And this is her son, Josh.” The two of them shook hands and exchanged a greeting. “And you remember Jacob!” she said, throwing her arm around her son’s waist and beaming.
“Jacob Wetstra!” George said, giving Jacob a hearty whap on the back. “I heard you’ve been helping Sadie and Roscoe out.” This reminded Jacob that in a small town, nothing much happened people didn’t know about. “That’s awfully swell of ya,” George said, meaning it.
“Here for a tree, Dorothy?” George asked. She nodded her head and George went on to tell her about how he’d been out chopping and seen the most beautiful, giant tree and thought of her and then remembered she didn’t live out at the farm any more so he let it be.
“Katie’s here for a tree, too, George,” Jacob said, speaking before Katie had a chance to open her mouth, which ruffled Katie’s feathers just a teensy bit. She’d been finding her own way with the people in town, thank you very much. She didn’t need help from him.
“Yes, George. I’d like to keep as many of the lovely Hookers’ party traditions alive as possible,” she said. George shot her a skeptical look. Such fancy talk.
“In other words, George,” Dorothy said while she touched his arm, “we’d like for Katie to have a wonderful tree for the party, as wonderful as you’ve always selected for me all these years.”
“Like I said, the biggest and best tree I saw is still growing in the forest. If,” and he’d said the word just short of exaggerating it, “Ms. Durbin here is still around and hosting the party again next year, I’ll keep that tree in mind for her.”
When Sam Vitner had stopped by the lot earlier today to buy his tree, he was fired up about Ms. Durbin since the funeral doings and just had to mention it to somebody. He gave George an earful about a potential “snake in the grass,” and by golly, some of it had rung true with George—even though he’d never even officially met the woman. Well, now he had met her, and he realized he might just agree with Sam Vitner’s theory one hundred percent. Why, just like Sam had said, she’d even cozied up to Dorothy’s son to take advantage of Dorothy’s influence! She’d make her money on her mini mall and all the properties he’d heard tell she was buying up, then leave town. Yessiree, Sam was exactly right.
Josh suddenly captured their attention by, tree in hand, trotting up and stomping its trunk on the ground. “What do you think about this one, Dorothy? Mom? Jacob? Does this live up to the party?”
“Not by a long shot,” Dorothy said, “or at least not by a foot.” He jaunted off to return it, the branches pumping up and down with his every step. “Help us out here, George,” Dorothy said. “You know every single tree on this lot. Or have you maybe got any around back you’re saving for something as special as the party?” Dorothy winked at George, trying to lighten him up a little. He didn’t seem quite his usual jovial self today. Must be tired, she thought. Tree work was hard.
“How about this one?” Josh asked from behind a taller and bushier tree than the last, not a speck of him visible.
“Close!” Dorothy said.
“I believe that’s as close as you’ll come this year,” George said. “If I was you, I’d buy it before somebody else does.”
“SOLD!” Jacob said, reaching for his wallet. “Now let’s find one for Mom.”
“Hey!” Katie yelped. She lowered her voice. “As the hostess of this party, and, may I remind you, a certified Happy Hooker, I’m buying this tree for our party. But leave your wallet out. You can buy your mom’s, right, Dorothy?” She shot Dorothy a clever smile.
“Right!” Dorothy said.
George took note of Katie’s ability to boss everyone around. His eyes flipped back and forth between Jacob and Katie. Yup, he thought. I can almost hear the slither. Leave your wallet out, indeed!
17
After such an emotionally charged weekend, the last thing anyone expected over breakfast at Harry’s Grill Monday morning was an angry exchange. Sam almost never came to Harry’s for breakfast since he opened his business early, but this morning he’d stuck a hand-scrawled note in his shop’s door window that said “BACK AT 10” and all but blew into Harry’s with an axe to grind and a mission to accomplish: start a revolt against the mini mall.
Who could have guessed how activated Sam Vitner could become? To the best of anyone’s recollection, Sam was a mild-mannered, if somewhat eccentric, salvage-selling story-teller. But the longer Sam thought about it, the angrier and more threatened he’d become, especially after he vented to George Gustafson yesterday. It had been like uncorking a bottle of shaken champagne. After a sleepless night, he was now prepared to do battle with the mini mall, especially since he’d heard tell at the funeral dinner that an antique store was most assuredly going into the mall. In his mind Katie Durbin was entering into direct competition with him, trying to steal his clientele.
“Why don’tcha jist say customers?” Arthur wanted to know.
“What does that fancy woman—that invader to our town—know about antiques anyway?” he asked Arthur while, with a tad too much frenzy, sawing his sausage into miniscule bits, as though he was trying to make sure it was dead.
“What does that fancy woman know ’bout antiques? Why don’tcha ask her direct, Sammie?”
Sam hated being called Sammie, but he’d long ago learned that expressing that to Arthur only egged him on. Arthur only did it when he was wound up enough to want to get Sam’s goat, and this morning he’d already had three cups of coffee so his buzz was on and the pickings were too easy to pass up. “But if I was ta guess,” he said, staring into his empty coffee cup, “I’d say she knows enough ta know they’re popular, and you must, too, otherwise you wouldn’t still be trying ta sell them to us now, would ya!”
“Here now, Arthur Landers! I do not sell things to people that they don’t want! And as I remember correctly, you’ve been one of my biggest customers over the years.” Arthur gave a single nod, acknowledging the truth of it—although he generally spent his time in the junk piles looking for one specific thing or another to make repairs, not perusing for collectibles. “She’ll probably charge too much for everything. Try to get those big city prices. Folks around here can’t afford such nonsense.”
“Welp, then what’s ta worry ’bout? You’ll sell ’em cheaper and that’ll be that. Everybody wants ta save a little money, especially when they’s buyin’ stuff they don’t rightly need to begin with. Also, Sammie my boy, I don’t expect she’ll be sellin’ old toilets in her fan
cy place. You’ve got the corner on that market!” Arthur laughed, as did Harold. Gladys snickered. Sam did not even crack a grin, even though it was true. Swappin’ Sam’s outdoor lot was sprinkled with toilets—one parked exactly on the corner of the lot—most of them having been in exactly the same spot for years, tall grass and weeds grown up around them.
“Sam Vitner, as Acting Mayor and someone who is one hundred percent behind the mini mall, I’d like to think an antique store will be a good complement to your business,” Gladys said, using her most knowledgeable and mayorly voice. “Everybody knows that a single store might attract some shoppers, but two of the same type of store will definitely draw them.” Sam and Arthur just looked at her, clearly neither of them able to split that odd hair. She picked up her napkin and daintily (for Gladys) dabbed at her mouth. “Gentlemen,” she said knowingly, “business draws business. Why do you think people go to the malls?”
“Cuz they don’t know how ta rightly entertain themselves playing the harmonica,” Arthur said, swiveling to wink at Sam and patting the Hohner he always kept in the front center pocket of his coveralls.
“People go to the mall, Arthur,” Gladys said with a sigh, choosing to ignore his remark since she knew he was trying to antagonize her, too, “because they want several stores to choose from. Say I wanted to buy a pair of shoes to go with a certain outfit that was say a certain shade of . . . yellow,” she said, after looking down at her yellow blouse.
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 15
