Christmas Treasure (13 page)

“This is terrible,” said Stevie. “I don’t understand. Everybody’s sorry the toys were stolen, but nobody wants to do anything about it.”

“I think people are just too caught up in their own business.” Carole blew on her hot chocolate. “I mean they’re all buying presents or buying wrapping paper or going to the supermarket to get stuff for Christmas meals. It’s like they want to help, but they just don’t have the time.”

Stevie took a sip of her hot chocolate. “Maybe this afternoon isn’t such a great afternoon. I mean, maybe tomorrow afternoon will be better. And Saturday. Everybody’s in a good mood on Saturdays.”

The girls sat and drank their hot chocolate. Carole thought about how disappointed her father would be when she came home and told him that they’d collected only eleven dollars all day. She knew he would be very proud of them for trying, but she wanted to show him that The Saddle Club could make an important contribution. The sun was sinking low in the sky and a cold wind had started to blow from the west when Stevie tapped her on the shoulder.

“I don’t know about you,” Stevie began, “but I’m freezing.” She peeked inside the box. “We’ve gotten eleven dollars so far. What do you say we call it quits for today and start again tomorrow afternoon? My mom should be here in a few minutes, anyway.”

“Okay,” Carole said resignedly. She looked at Stevie.
Her cheeks were bright pink. “Maybe everybody will be more in the Christmas spirit tomorrow.”

They stood up and began folding their chairs. Suddenly they heard footsteps hurrying along the sidewalk behind them. “Why, what’s this?” a voice asked. “Is somebody giving away kittens?”

They turned around. An elderly woman stood there, peering into the box. She was dressed in baggy, paint-spattered jeans and a rumpled, dirty-looking coat. Battered tennis shoes with unmatched laces were tied on her feet, and she wore a green stocking cap pulled down to her ears. She looked quizzically up at Carole and Stevie through thick glasses. “There aren’t any kittens in here! Just money.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Carole explained quickly. “We’re not giving away kittens. We’re trying to collect money to replace the toys that were stolen from the Marines’ toy drive warehouse.”

“Stolen?” The woman blinked. Her eyes were pale blue. “When?”

“Two nights ago,” said Stevie. “You may have seen my friend Carole here on television. She was in the paper, too.”

“No, I don’t have a television, and I haven’t taken the paper in years.” The woman chirped a little birdlike laugh. “There’s too much bad news to read about these days, anyway. I’ve heard it can raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels!”

Stevie and Carole exchanged a quick glance. This was one of the strangest conversations they’d ever had.

“You say somebody stole all the Marines’ toys?” she asked again. “What are the Marines doing with toys, anyway? They’re grown men!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carole replied. “But every year the Marines collect toys for all the needy children in the area. This year somebody broke into their warehouse and stole all the toys. If we don’t help, none of these children will have anything for Christmas.”

“Oh, how terrible.” The old woman’s blue eyes softened with concern. For a moment she looked as if she might cry. “I can’t think of anything worse than some little child not getting anything for Christmas.” She wasn’t carrying a purse, so she dug down into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a key, a wadded-up tissue, and two dollar bills.

“Here,” she said, dropping one of the bills into Stevie and Carole’s box. “Take this. It’s not much, but it might help some.” She gave an apologetic smile. “Everybody deserves something at Christmas.”

“But—” Stevie began.

“Merry Christmas to you, girls,” the old woman said, hurrying away. “I’ve got to hurry and catch my bus.”

“Thank you!” Stevie and Carole called together. They watched as the woman hurried off, whistling and talking to herself. She walked to the bus stop, said something to the person in the Santa Claus suit ringing the bell, and
sat down on a bench. In a moment the bus pulled up. The doors opened and the woman climbed on. She waved to Stevie and Carole as the bus passed by and pulled into the late-afternoon traffic.

“Gosh,” said Stevie, waving back. “I was going to give her dollar back to her. She’s probably on some senior citizen gift list herself.”

“I know,” Carole agreed. “Do you think she’s homeless? I can’t imagine that anybody who had a real home would be out dressed like that.”

Stevie shook her head. “I don’t know. She sure doesn’t look like she has a lot of money.”

Carole swallowed hard. “I know. And she gave half of what little she had to buy toys for needy children. And that woman who was wearing a fancy fur coat didn’t give us a dime.”

“That’s really something,” said Stevie, shaking her head as the bus carrying the old woman pulled away into the cold afternoon.

“Y
EEEEOOOOOOWWWWWW
!” T
HE SHRIEK
rang through the Atwoods’ house, all the way into the kitchen.

“Good grief!” cried Lisa, her eyes wide. “What was that?”

“One of the twins, I imagine.” Mrs. Atwood shoved the brownish mound of haggis into the oven for its final baking. She turned to Lisa, her face flushed from the heat of the stove. “Why don’t you go see what everybody’s doing and then come back and help me get everything on the table?”

“Okay, Mom.” Lisa hung up the dish towel she was carrying.

“And make sure everybody has everything they need, Lisa. The boys might want something to eat or drink. They’ve all had a terribly long flight.”

“Okay, Mom,” Lisa repeated. She walked out of the kitchen and turned down the hall, immediately bumping into Sarah Ross, her mother’s cousin.

“Pardon me, dear,” Sarah said with a warm smile. “I was just coming to see if I could help your mum in the kitchen.”

“That’s okay,” Lisa said. “I was just coming to see if I could help whoever screamed.”

Sarah laughed. “Oh, that was just Caitlin. Seems that Fiona was quite taken with Caitlin’s new Big Bird toy and wanted it for herself. They had a bit of a row, but James is sorting them out.” Sarah smiled. “Why don’t you go have a chat with Eliot and Dougie, and I’ll help your mum.”

“Thanks,” said Lisa. “I’m sure she’d love it.”

She walked into the den. Eliot and Douglas sat with Lisa’s dad on the sofa, watching a football game that blared from the television. James Ross sat on the floor in front of the crackling fire, holding little Fiona in his lap. Both of the twins were crying, their faces almost as red as their hair. They took one look at Lisa and cried even more loudly.

“Gosh,” Lisa said. “I hope I’m not scaring them.”

“Oh, you’re not,” James assured her. “They’re just out of sorts from the flight, and everything is strange to them.”

“Do you think they might like something to eat?” Lisa raised her voice so that James could hear her above the
din. The twins continued to squawk, and Caitlin’s face was so red she looked as if she might pop.

James smiled up at Lisa. “Well, a biscuit might be nice. It’s been quite a while since they’ve eaten.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think my mom’s baked any biscuits,” Lisa apologized. Inwardly she groaned. Biscuits were the only thing she and her mother hadn’t baked.

James laughed and shook his head. “I think I meant to say a saltine. A flat, crispy square of highly toasted bread. We call them biscuits in Scotland.”

“Oh.” Lisa frowned. “You mean a cracker?”

“I think so.” James nodded.

“Just a minute, then.” She hurried into the kitchen, put several crackers on a plate, and brought them back to the den. “Something like this?” she asked, holding the plate out to James.

“Exactly,” James said delightedly. “Biscuits!”

He gave one cracker to each of the twins. Immediately they stopped crying and began to munch away. “Well.” James smiled up at Lisa again. “Maybe all they were was hungry.”

“I’m sure we’ll eat in just a few minutes,” Lisa assured him. “Mother’s fixed a wonderful haggis.”

Suddenly a roar went up from Eliot and Douglas on the sofa. Whatever team they were watching had just scored a touchdown.

“All right!” Eliot raised his arms triumphantly above his head.

“Smashing run!” Douglas cried.

“They’ve finally got a quarterback who can throw the ball,” said Lisa’s father with a grin. “The Redskins could go all the way to the Super Bowl this year.”

“I’d love to see that,” said Douglas.

“Me too,” Eliot chimed in.

Lisa looked at the two boys sitting on the sofa. Douglas had red hair like the twins, while Eliot’s hair was blond, like his mother’s. Both had rosy cheeks and blue eyes that twinkled when they laughed, and they dressed just like American teenagers—in jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts. Lisa sat down on the arm of the sofa. Since she knew her mother expected her to entertain her cousins, she’d been looking at books on soccer and curling and rugby, sports that were popular in Scotland.

“How are the soccer teams doing in Scotland now?” she asked.

“The what?” Douglas gave her a blank look.

“The soccer teams,” Lisa repeated. “You know, soccer?” She kicked at an imaginary ball with her right foot.

Eliot frowned and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Soccer,” Lisa said more loudly. “You try to make goals with a round ball. You can kick it or bounce it off your head, but you can’t touch it with your hands.”

“Oh!” Douglas cried. “Football!”

“No.” Lisa shook her head and pointed at the TV set.
“Football is what you’re watching on television. Soccer is what you guys are supposed to play in Scotland!”

Suddenly everyone in the room began to laugh. Lisa sat there blinking. Had they all gone crazy? Didn’t anyone in Scotland speak English?

“Oh, Lisa,” James laughed. “Please don’t look so confused! It’s just that in most of the world soccer is known as football. Only you Yanks call it soccer!”

Lisa blinked. “Then what do you call the sport with the oblong ball that those two teams are now playing on the screen?”

“It’s football, too,” James explained. “But it’s called American football. It’s become quite popular in the United Kingdom.”

“It has,” said Douglas. “Everyone’s quite keen on it at home. We went to an exhibition match in Glasgow. The Atlanta Falcons played the …”

“New York Mets,” Eliot finished.

“The New York Jets,” Lisa’s father corrected. “The Mets are one of New York’s baseball teams.”

“Sorry,” said Eliot, his cheeks growing even pinker. “Anyway, it was a lark.”

Suddenly the crowd on television roared. Everyone on the sofa turned their attention back to the game. A player had caught the ball with one hand and was running down the field, shaking off tacklers as he went.

“Go!” shrieked Douglas.

“Play up!” yelled Eliot just as loudly. “Stout lad!”

Lisa got up from the sofa and went back to the kitchen. She shook her head. As much as she liked Eliot and Douglas and wanted to get to know them better, it seemed as if they were speaking a different language. She sighed. Maybe she’d have better luck in the kitchen. Sarah Ross might actually call a pot a pot, and a pan might still be known as a pan.

“Oh, Lisa, I’m glad you’re back.” Mrs. Atwood turned away from the stove and gave Lisa a hurried smile. “If you’ll carry this bowl of turnips to the table and light the candles, then we’ll be ready to eat.”

“These ’nips here?” Sarah Ross asked, holding up a china bowl.

Mrs. Atwood nodded. “I used Grandmother Ross’s recipe.”

“I’ll take them in,” said Sarah. “They smell delicious. I’ve haven’t had ’nips in ages!”

Lisa looked at her mother curiously as Sarah carried the dish into the dining room. “Didn’t you say they ate turnips all the time?” she asked in whisper.

Mrs. Atwood shrugged. “I thought they did.” She took off her apron. “Well, let’s go eat. I know everyone must be starved!”

They ate in the Atwoods’ dining room, and for a little while everything was calm. The television set was turned off, the twins weren’t crying, and everyone sat around the
candlelit table chatting about the Rosses’ plans for their visit in America.

“This is extraordinary haggis, Eleanor.” James Ross cleared his throat as he complimented Mrs. Atwood. “I don’t believe I’ve eaten like this in years.”

Mrs. Atwood gave an uneasy smile. “Really? I thought Scots ate haggis a lot.”

“Oh, no,” said Sarah Ross. “I don’t think any of us have had haggis since Hogmanay 1984.”

“Hogmanay?” Lisa asked as she pretended to swallow a bite of the haggis. She was almost afraid to ask what Hogmanay was. If soccer was football and crackers were biscuits, then Hogmanay must be some sort of ritual that had something to do with pigs!

“Yes. Hogmanay.” Sarah looked at Lisa, then laughed. “New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, I see,” said Lisa, becoming more confused than ever. Her mother shouldn’t have given her books about Scottish sports to read. She should have given her a Scottish dictionary just so she could figure out what the Rosses were talking about!

Just then Caitlin gave a yelp. Everyone turned to the twins. Fiona had taken a fistful of haggis and had smeared it all over Caitlin’s forehead! Fiona was shrieking with glee, while Caitlin was just plain shrieking.