The Treasure of Christmas (14 page)

“Would you like to sit down?” offered Edith.

“Thank you.” He seemed relieved to have someone else in the room.

“Where are Leslie and Megan?” Edith asked Myrtle, hoping she might distract her from this relentless attack on Mr. Benson.

“They decided to go see the play.”

“Good for them.” Edith cut herself a thin slice of pumpkin pie and topped it with a dollop of whipped cream. She wasn’t all that fond of pumpkin pie, but after Myrtle’s comments about cholesterol, she wanted to do this as an alliance with Mr. Benson. Then she poured a cup of tea and went over to sit across from him, keeping an eye on Myrtle as she did.

“Aren’t you having anything, Myrtle?” she asked.

“I can’t decide.”

Edith made light conversation with Mr. Benson as she watched Myrtle standing by the dessert table. She spoke of the weather, town happenings, and the Christmas pageant that would take place the next night, and after a bit she sensed the old man was beginning to relax.

“I haven’t seen a Christmas pageant in years,” he said wistfully. “I remember when I was a boy and I got to play the shepherd once.”

“Myrtle is helping with the pageant,” Edith told him, feeling a bit guilty, not to mention inhospitable, for not including her in the conversation as well.

“That’s right,” said Myrtle as she finally poured herself a cup of herbal tea and placed two small pieces of divinity on a plate. Edith had to smile to herself at this healthy choice, since she already knew that Myrtle ate things loaded with fats and sugar.

Myrtle sat down at the end of the table. “And tomorrow will be a very busy day. I wish I could talk someone into driving me to town. There are a few props that I still need to pick up at the hardware store.”

“I’m pretty busy with the baby shower,” Edith said.

Now Myrtle looked hopefully at Mr. Benson. “I don’t suppose you’d want to help out . . . especially after I gave you such a bad time about taking care of yourself.” She looked down at her plate now. “I’m sorry.”

Edith blinked in surprise. This was the first apology she’d heard from Myrtle.

Mr. Benson cleared his throat. “I guess I shouldn’t be so touchy.”

“And I shouldn’t be so bossy. People tell me that all the time. But it’s just my nature.”

“The truth is, you’re right about the cholesterol and the high blood pressure.”

Myrtle gave a little victory nod that made her double chins wobble.

“My wife always tried to get me to watch what I ate. And I did just fine while she was around. But after she died last year . . . well, it’s just not easy.”

“And how do you think your wife would feel to know that you’ve thrown your diet to the wind?”

He sighed.

“So how about giving me a ride to town tomorrow?” she said. “It can be your contribution to the Christmas pageant.”

And to Edith’s flabbergasted surprise, Mr. Benson actually agreed. Whether this was a calculated and well-executed plan in Myrtle’s strange mind or just a crazy fluke, Edith wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t help but think that Myrtle was a bit of a manipulator.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go put some things in the dryer,” Edith said, standing. She figured her job as referee was over. Surely these two wouldn’t kill each other now.

“That’s some good pie,” said Mr. Benson as he set his fork on his now-empty plate. “But if you’ll excuse me,” he nodded to both of them, “I’d like to say good night.”

“Thank you and good night.” Edith was gathering a few empty dishes from the table to take with her to the kitchen.

But Mr. Benson was barely out of sight before Myrtle got up and helped herself to a generous piece of pumpkin pie and whipped cream. When she saw Edith watching, she just smiled sheepishly. “Just trying to set a good example for the old guy,” she said as she sat down and began to eat.

Edith chuckled as she went into the kitchen and set the small stack of dessert plates in the sink. Of course, she had to wonder about Myrtle’s cholesterol levels and blood pressure. Not that she would dare mention it!

By the time Edith finished with the laundry, the house was quiet. She put the perishable foods into the refrigerator but left a nice selection of cookies and treats on the table, in case any guests were in need of a midnight snack. Then she unplugged the Christmas tree lights and blew out the candles that she had lit earlier in the evening. But as she bent over to blow out the large white pillar candle in the foyer, something gave her pause. Something wasn’t right.

She studied the shiny holly with its red berries that gracefully wreathed around the candle, reflected in the glossy finish of the smooth mahogany tabletop, and finally she knew what was wrong – her porcelain angel was gone. She searched around the foyer, by the registration area, then in the living room, and finally she stopped at Charles’s study. The light was showing beneath the door, so she suspected he was in there.

“Hello?” she said quietly as she opened the door.

He looked up and sort of blinked, almost as if he’d been asleep, but she suspected he’d simply been immersed in his book. Charles loved reading old-fashioned western novels. Of course, he’d read every one he could get his hands on over the years, but claiming his memory was fading with age, he had started reading them all over again. If he ever got Alzheimer’s, God forbid, he would probably be happy just reading the same one over and over again.

“Sorry to bother you.”

He smiled and closed the paperback. “You know that’s never the case.”

“Have you seen my angel?”

He looked puzzled.

She smiled. “The porcelain angel that I keep in the foyer. It seems to be missing.”

He scratched his head. “I do remember that angel. Very pretty. But I have no idea where she may have flown off to.”

Edith frowned. “Do you think someone might’ve accidentally bumped into it and broken it?” She remembered how taken Megan had been with the pretty sculpture, how she had almost touched it until her mother stopped her.

“Without mentioning it?”

“That does seem unlikely.” She thought about it for a moment. “You don’t think anyone took it, do you?”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Well, it actually is a fairly valuable piece.”

“Really?”

She kind of shrugged now, sorry that she’d even said that. “Not that anyone would be aware of its value . . . besides me.”

He leaned forward with interest now. “I suppose I’ve never asked you – it just seems it’s always been around – but where did the angel come from, Edith?”

She sat down in a chair across from him. “My grandmother.”

“Oh . . .”

Now, Charles knew as well as anyone that Edith still had some regrets about her grandparents. But he never pried. “She gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday,” Edith told him. “Of course, she also informed me that it was an expensive piece that would get more valuable with time. And she told me not to break it.” Edith made a meek smile. “I was rather clumsy as a kid.”

“Because you were tall for your age.”

“Yes.”

“So where do you think your angel is, Edith?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. This has been such a busy day with people coming and going. But I think if someone had accidentally broken it, I would’ve heard something, don’t you think?”

He nodded.

“Do you think someone has taken it?” She hoped this was not the case.

“I sure wouldn’t like to think that.”

“No, no . . .” she said quickly. “Neither would I.”

“Maybe it will turn up.”

“Yes. I’m sure it will.”

Just the same, Edith felt a gnawing concern growing inside of her. Could it be that someone had actually stolen her angel? And, if so, who? A lot of people had been in and out of the inn today. Of course, she knew that most people would point their fingers at someone like Collin or Amy – they were virtual strangers and obviously in financial need. But Edith couldn’t believe that they would do that, not after all the kindness Edith and Charles had shown them. She refused to believe it.

13

Edith rose early on Friday morning. There was so much to be done that she needed a head start. She’d already started composing a detailed list in her head, and hopefully, she could get it all down onto paper before she forgot anything. But as she walked through the foyer, she paused by the mahogany table. Last night, while in bed, she had wondered if perhaps she had imagined the whole thing, if she would get up in the morning and the angel would be in its proper place. But it was not there. She even took a moment to look closely at the wooden floor, actually running her fingers over the surface just in case there was a fragment of broken porcelain. But other than a day’s worth of dust, the floor was clean.

She tried not to let it get to her as she went into the kitchen, sat down at her desk, and made out her list of tasks. And she tried not to think about it while she sat and read her daily devotional. But as she went around doing her regular morning chores, she thought not only about the missing angel, but also about her grandmother. She wasn’t having the usual memories about her grandmother, the negative ones. Instead she was remembering some of the good things. It was her grandmother who had first taught her to rise early. And to make lists. And even as Edith measured the ingredients for Belgian waffles, she remembered that it was her grandmother who had taught her to cook and sew and keep house. Although her grandparents had been wealthy enough to pay someone else to do those things, her grandmother had always been very thrifty and frugal and insisted on doing them for herself. “It’s from my childhood,” she had told Edith once. “My mother was from the old country, and she taught us to make do.”

And as Edith went about her daily tasks, she realized more and more how much her grandmother had influenced her – and she realized how much of it was good.

For the first time that she could remember, Edith realized that she really did love and appreciate her grandmother. And her soft-spoken grandfather too. And she truly was thankful that they had taken her in after her parents were killed in a car wreck when Edith was just a toddler. Certainly they were old-fashioned and a bit set in their ways, but then they were old, probably too old to have been raising a child. But, she now knew, they had always had her best interests at heart. Why hadn’t she seen that sooner?

Goodness, she hoped no tears had fallen into the batter while she stirred. She set the big bowl aside and went to wipe her wet face on a dish towel. Even as she did this, she knew that these were not bitter tears. They were simply tears of release. Letting go. Accepting things for what they were and finding something to be thankful for in the process.

By the time she had breakfast ready to serve, she felt as if the tears had cleansed something in her. And even if she never saw that porcelain angel again, she knew that it had done its work.

“Need any help?” asked Charles as he came in from his walk and hung up his coat and scarf.

She was already pouring him a cup of coffee. “No, I think it’s all under control.” She wanted to tell him about her little epiphany in regard to her grandmother but figured that could come later. When life wasn’t so busy. For now she just needed to stay on track, get breakfast served and cleaned up, and then help Helen set up things for the shower.

Edith had suspected that Mr. Benson would have second thoughts about playing chauffeur to Myrtle today. After all, she’d sort of bullied him into it last night. Edith wasn’t surprised to hear them talking about it as she set a platter of fruit on the table.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he was telling Myrtle.

“You’re not backing out on me, are you?” Her bulldog face was set.

“I just think – ”

“I would’ve taken you as a man of your word,” she said.

“Oh, well, fine,” he huffed. “I’ll drive you, then.”

Edith tried not to laugh as she went back to the kitchen for more waffles. Poor Mr. Benson. He didn’t have a chance against the likes of Myrtle Pinkerton.

Edith tried not to act as if she was hurrying her guests, but to her great relief the last of them departed the dining room before nine o’clock, giving her just enough time to whisk the breakfast things off into the kitchen. She’d already sent Helen to the living room, where they would have the shower, to decorate or rearrange chairs or whatever it was she felt needed to be done.

The inn’s male guests, probably sensing that they were not particularly welcome at a baby shower, made themselves scarce. And the female guests actually offered to help. Little Megan was literally dancing with joy as she watched streamers of blue and pink crepe paper being hung in the doorway.

By ten o’clock the shower guests began to arrive. Mostly ladies from church, but also a few from Helen’s bridge group, and even the mayor’s wife made a showing. Along with the guests from the inn (excluding Myrtle, who was noticeably absent – at least to Edith, who had simply breathed a sigh of relief), there was a grand total of twenty-three women present! Not bad, thought Edith as she placed another gift on the impressive pile, especially considering how Amy was a complete stranger to most of them and it was only two days until Christmas. Of course, Edith suspected that some of these women had come out of plain old curiosity. They’d probably heard talk in town and wanted to see what kind of people inhabit a wild-looking bus like the one parked in front of the inn. And others, possibly pressured by Helen, one of the town’s leading socialites, had probably been afraid to say no.

Helen, limping around with her cane in hand, played the gracious hostess by greeting everyone, introducing them to Amy, and finally coaching the women through some familiar shower games, complete with prizes. The napkins and plates and things, older than Amy, were old-fashioned but sweet. And everyone thought the cake decorating was outstanding – a frilly pink and blue bassinet that looked nothing like a Volkswagen. Edith told them it was Leslie’s doing.

“You should stick around,” said Betty Gordon, owner of the Candy Cane Shoppe. “I could use someone like you in my business.” Leslie laughed and said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere as charming as Christmas Valley. Of course, this pleased the ladies, especially the mayor’s wife, who took any compliment to their town as personal praise.