Down by the River (17 page)

“Maybe she ought to sell the insurance while I build the furniture, volunteer at the high school in the wood shop and on sports teams, get into the search-and-rescue and volunteer fire department…”

June stood up. “I’m just stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten into this. This is between you and Nancy. I hate it when people get into my business, tell me where to meet men, when to get married….” She rubbed her forehead wearily, then looked at Chris, who still lounged back against the table. “Don’t tell her I brought this up, okay? And talk to her about it. Work it out so you can stay here, raise your boys here. Because I love her like a sister. And I find you…tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” he asked with a sharp laugh.

“Barely.”

“You know, I’ve been wanting to tell you… Now don’t get all offended and huffy. But I wanted to tell you, you’re gorgeous pregnant. Have you noticed how nice and full your face is?”

“Oh, jeez!”

“No, really! You look good…thick like that.”

“I’m going to have to kill you!”

He smiled lazily. “That was a tolerable good compliment, I think.”

She shook her finger at him. “Work this out, Chris. I mean it!”

R
ain turned to snow and back to rain. The long tradition in the valley was to hope for a white Christmas, which they had about once every twenty years. “White Christmas? Oh, I thought you said
wet,
” was the standing joke. Despite everything, lights went up on the clinic, café, police department, church and The Flower Shoppe.

Sam probably should have learned his lesson by now, but he had another idea. He tried to repress it, but it wouldn’t go away. His late wife, Justine, had operated the flower shop and it seemed such a shame to have it sit idle, especially during a holiday season. Justine’s father, Standard, owned the huge flower fields and greenhouses west of town. He shipped to flower shops all over the country. He was the father of five daughters, Justine having been the youngest, and he saw the shop as some kind of security for them. Work and independence, should they be so
inclined. But each of the daughters married and went her own way, leaving only Justine to run the shop.

Sam and Standard shared a few common traits, or perhaps what they shared was the absence of a few traits. They weren’t young, they weren’t all that sentimental and they didn’t have much use for waste.

Sam went out to Standard’s flower fields and found him in one of the greenhouses, up to his elbows in peat moss. He hovered over his special orchids, snipping, clipping and misting. The greenhouse was kept as warm as the tropics and two of his employees, Garcia and Ramirez, had their own chores nearby.

“I put lights up on the shop,” Sam said to Stan.

“Justine woulda liked that,” he replied, without taking his eyes off his work.

“I hate seeing it sit idle.”

“Don’t we all.”

“There’re a couple of women in town. Neither one the artist Justine was, that’s sure. But they’re poor, honest, in need of work, and if I’m not mistaken, sharp enough to learn.”

Standard’s attention was snagged. “Learn
what?
” he asked suspiciously, looking up.

“A little flower arranging, maybe?” Sam suggested.

“You gonna teach ’em?” But he hadn’t even asked who they were. He was more curious of the plan than anything, which made Sam smile.

“I thought maybe your girls could help out. Just enough to get that store open again. And maybe that
would help out all around. There’re people who need arrangements for the holidays. There’s you with that shop sitting empty like that. And then there’re those women in need of work….”

“My girls don’t even live around here,” Standard pointed out.

“I know. But they aren’t that far away, either. Besides which, there’s four of ’em, Standard. Can’t we snag the attention of one or two to pay a visit? Teach ’em a little something about the flowers?”

“You think that’s all it would take? A few days of teaching?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably not. But it wouldn’t take all that long to see if there was any hope it’d kick in. One of the women is Jurea Mull. If you think about it, it’s pretty amazing what she’s been able to do without resources, having been back in the woods all these years. Why, she’s barely learned to operate an oven and she managed a Thanksgiving dinner, turkey and all!”

“Well, I don’t…”

“Señor Roberts?” Ramirez interrupted. “Beg pardon,
señor,
but there are many from these gardens who have skills in the arrangement of the flowers. Señora Ramirez is very good, too, and now the children are grown it is easier for her to take such time. It would be good to sell the flowers in town again, I think.”

Standard looked at Ramirez over his shoulder. He lifted a bushy salt-and-pepper brow and frowned.

“We know Señora Mull from the church,
señor.
She’s the woman with the—” His hand brushed down one side of his face.

“I know who she is!” Standard snapped.

Sam put his hands in his pockets and smiled. Standard had been through a lot, sure, but his disposition had always been that of a grump. Few knew what Sam knew, that deep down was the soft heart of a man who’d lived in a house full of women most of his adult life.

“Seems like there’d be a lot of people around who could show Jurea and Erline what to do with the flowers. Mrs. Ramirez is a good idea. There’s always Sarah Kelleher. Ever thought of her?”

“She’s not a florist! She’s an artist! Statues and the like.”

“Aw, I bet that’s a talent that cross-pollinates,” Sam suggested. “I could go talk to her. See if she shows an interest.”

Standard threw down his clippers and yanked off his gloves. “You know what we ought to have done long ago, Sam? We ought to have gotten you steady work so you could stay out of people’s business.”

But he’d had a passably pleasant look on his face as he said it. And Sam decided to go ahead and turn the heat on in the shop.

Nancy Forrest had just finished getting the boys their lunch and was cleaning up the kitchen when she happened to notice a truck pull up to the garage. A
closer look out the window revealed it to be Sarah Kelleher wearing heavy work gloves and carrying long, covered strips of something into the garage. But Chris wasn’t there; he’d gone to run some errands and hadn’t mentioned that Sarah would be by.

Nancy threw a jacket over her shoulders, pulled her rubber boots over her shoes and dashed out the back door, sloshing carefully across the wet and mucky yard.

“Sarah?” she called as she got closer.

“In here,” the woman called back.

Nancy went into the garage and found the older woman opening up the soft blankets that covered what she’d been hauling to expose the most beautiful leaded-crystal designs she’d ever seen. Nancy’s pace slowed as she approached this art almost reverently. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered. “Sarah, that’s incredible. I didn’t know you were working in glass.”

“I’ve been trying some things out the last couple of years, but nothing really gelled until I saw some of Chris’s work. Did he tell you about our project?”

Nancy frowned. She really didn’t want to hear about it. But out of politeness she asked, “No, what’s that?”

“He’s building a buffet and this glass will serve to edge the top. It’s going to be magnificent.”

Nancy gently touched the intricate glasswork with tender fingers, but inside she was so disap
pointed she could cry. He just kept going further and further with this building nonsense. As if it wasn’t bad enough they were running out of money because he wasn’t going to work, now he was spending more and more on his supplies.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Sarah said. “I made some cookies for the boys.”

“How sweet,” Nancy said. “Come in and have a cup of coffee.”

“Just a very quick one, I have so much to do.” She then looked around the workroom as she peeled back her heavy gloves. “The cradle is finished now?”

“Seems so,” Nancy said.

“And the dining table? Gone?”

“Yes, last week Chris said.”

“The gallery owner who took his chairs is very excited. I realize he’ll take a large percentage in the sale, but it’s still going to impress you. Wait and see,” Sarah said.

Nancy couldn’t keep the disappointed grimace from her features. “Sarah, I don’t mean any disrespect. I understand that you’re a very well-established artist. But Chris isn’t, and we could use a little grocery money from real work instead of all this tinkering.”

Remarkably, Sarah smiled. She was a roundish woman, stunningly beautiful in a way that was both nurturing and sensual. She shook her head at Nancy. “My dear,” she said patiently. “You call this
tinkering?
” She touched the top of the piece that would
become the finished buffet as if giving it her seal of approval. “Let’s have that coffee.”

Sarah wasn’t able to tell Nancy anything she didn’t already know. Yes, Chris seemed to have a talent for woodworking, building, refurbishing and, if you stretched it a bit, artistic design. Yes, it was a business difficult to become known in and even more difficult to make a good living with. Yes, it seemed to make him happy and it seemed to Sarah that he had a better chance at success than many. And sure, a nice 401K or pension was handy, but one of the things Sarah liked best about the culture of Grace Valley was that most people loved their work and planned to do it till they dropped.

“You never hear George talk about how anxious he is to close down the café, or even give it to one of his kids,” Sarah said. “Doc…I mean to say, Elmer Hudson, still sees patients, he just gets a little more fishing in than he used to now that John’s here. Myrna writes, Hal Wassich is up at dawn every day to work his farm, and my Daniel and his sister have no desire to shut down their stable any more than I plan to stop painting and sculpting.”

“I agree that work is a virtue,” Nancy said. And I wish Chris would do some, she kept herself from saying.

“People around here seem to take more stock in making a difference than making a dollar,” Sarah said.

But at the end of the day, Nancy liked things like
a cushy balance in the checkbook, a savings account that reached out at least several months ahead of some unfortunate unemployment, and forget working till you dropped, she liked pensions!

That evening after dinner, when the boys were made comfortable in their beds, traction finally a thing of the past, she put that jacket back on, slipped into the rubber boots once again and took two cups of coffee out to the garage where Chris was back at work. He took a cup, thanked her with a peck on the cheek and went back to the slow rhythmic buffing of hardwood.

Nancy perched on a stool and watched. She’d meant to come out to talk, but instead she held her tongue for once and just thought. Chris had always been a dreamer. It was one of the things she’d loved about him since she was a girl. He was athletic, artistic, easygoing to a fault and frivolous.

As he buffed a beautiful shine into the wood she realized that she hadn’t seen his face as relaxed as it was right now. If he spent evenings looking over work from the insurance office, he often grimaced.

“Johnny Toopeek called today,” Nancy said. “He wanted to know if the twins were well enough for visitors. Kids from school want to come out over Christmas vacation to visit them.”

“Really? That’s great!”

“They seem anxious to get back to school. I think a lot has changed for them because of that accident,” she said.

“I know it has. For me, too.”

“You know, it occurs to me that you came back here for all the wrong reasons, and not all good came of it, but in the end it seems to be the best place for you and the boys. They were up to their necks in trouble in San Diego,” she said.

“They were here, too, for a while. The boys and I have a lot to atone for. But the good news is, there are lots of ways to do it that won’t hurt a bit. Did I tell you that in the spring I’m going to train for the volunteer search-and-rescue team?”

“I think you might have mentioned something about that. And volunteer fire department, too?”

“Only if I can manage both. I don’t want to over-commit. When the boys are fully upright, I’m sure they’ll have school things—”

“Football is out, Chris,” she said with finality. They had suffered multiple fractures and didn’t have a spleen between them.

“Boy, no kidding,” he said with a laugh, surprising her. “Even though it never occurred to me when I was in school, there are things like band and choir, drama, debate and things that don’t require pads and helmets.”

She sipped her coffee quietly for a moment, then said, “Yep. You and the boys seem to have found a good place for yourselves.”

You don’t just turn the heat on in the flower shop and open for business, especially when the two principals operating the business have never so much as
had fresh flowers in their own houses. Fortunately, that wasn’t really the point. Sam’s idea had long-term implications—if it worked. If it didn’t work, well, it never hurt to try.

With a couple of pieces of painted plywood and a carpet remnant, a squared-off play area was fashioned in the workroom of the shop. Sam went to the Goodwill in Westport and loaded up on toys that were clean and repaired. It being Christmastime, they were in short supply. He bought a bunch of picture books and a couple of baby dolls and baby-doll bottles.

Then he went to Jurea and Erline with his proposal. He said the shop had been his wife’s and her father’s, and there was no one to run it. It sure would help everyone out if Erline and Jurea would try to learn to make flower arrangements to sell at the shop. There were a few people, he said, willing to show them how. And he knew they wouldn’t be ready to fashion bouquets for the church or take on wedding contracts anytime soon, but Christmas centerpieces weren’t that hard to make. And the whole town would be grateful if they’d just give it a try.

The women went to the shop together, and when Jurea saw the little play area all set up for the little ones she said, “Mr. Cussler, you don’t fool me one tiny bit.”

Five days later, with the help of Flora Ramirez, two of Standard’s daughters and Sarah Kelleher, the shop opened for business again. Standard had
stocked the place with poinsettia plants and Sam had unpacked ornaments, decorations and knickknacks Justine had put away last season. As word spread, people stopped by and purchased arrangements for their parties and family dinners. The plants were as lush as Standard was famous for, and if the centerpieces weren’t as professionally done as Justine’s might’ve been, they were at least as lovingly prepared. And while people might still have some reservations about Erline, Jurea had become beloved by them all. Jurea, a woman who had so little, seemed to always have so much to give.

June bought a large arrangement made of pine, juniper, red carnations and holly, with two big red candles in the middle, for her office, and planned to go back in the coming days to make purchases for her house and her dad’s house. Just as she was about to go back into the clinic, she saw Sam’s truck slowly pass. In the back was a Christmas tree.

She left the arrangement with Jessie and headed out again, this time in the direction Sam’s truck had gone. It wasn’t far. Sam’s truck was parked in front of Jurea’s house. With her hands in her jacket pockets and the hood up over her head, June appeared to lead with her stomach these days. As she watched Sam drag a bushy tree out of the back of his truck, she was reminded of Santa, if Santa were fit. With that shock of white hair, tanned face and shoulders a forty-year-old man would envy, Sam looked like a Christmas commercial for a fitness center.