The Treasure of Christmas (21 page)

Mrs. Daniels groaned. “Maybe I should’ve skipped the shower after all.”

Christine got a smaller towel, and without asking she began to blot the dripping silver hair. Fortunately, Mrs. Daniels didn’t protest.

“Let’s get you dried and bandaged up again,” Christine said with a bit more authority. She wrapped another towel around Mrs. Daniels’s shoulders before she stooped down to help dry her legs and feet. Then, kneeling on the hard marble floor, she carefully rewrapped the ankle as closely as she could to the way it had been before she’d unwound it.

“Have you done this before?”

She shook her head. “No, but I had considered going to nursing school for a while.”

“Whatever for?”

“To become a nurse.” Christine stood.

“Well, of course. But why on earth would anyone want to become a nurse, of all things? Changing bedpans and caring for sick people. Good grief.”

“As it turned out, I wasn’t really suited for it.” Christine handed her a white terry bathrobe that was hanging on a hook by the shower.

“You could’ve fooled me.” Mrs. Daniels pushed the bathrobe back at her. “No, just go and get me my clothes. I believe I’ll just get dressed in here. You’ll find my underthings in one of the top drawers in the closet. And while you’re at it, bring me a sturdy tennis shoe for my good foot.”

After about twenty minutes and a bit of cursing on Mrs. Daniels’s part, they managed to get her adequately dressed and seated on the pale yellow leather couch in the living room.

“I think you should put your foot up,” Christine advised.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

“And I think you should have some breakfast.” Christine adjusted the tapestry pillow beneath the injured foot. “What do you usually have?”

“I’ll start with some orange juice.” Mrs. Daniels leaned back and closed her eyes and sighed. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

“Yes. How do you like it?”

“Strong and with cream.”

“What else would you like?”

“I would like a poached egg and a piece of lightly buttered toast.” Mrs. Daniels opened her eyes. “Do you know how to do that?”

Christine nodded. “My dad likes poached eggs too.”

Mrs. Daniels closed her eyes again. “Good.”

Christine wandered through a spacious dining room with a long, dark table large enough to seat at least twelve. Along one wall of this room was a bank of French doors that looked out onto a perfectly landscaped backyard and what appeared to be an inground pool. Christine wondered if Mrs. Daniels actually used the pool, or was it just for looks? Then she went through a set of double swinging doors and found what she’d hoped for – a kitchen. And to Christine’s surprise, it was a sunny-looking kitchen with walls the color of butter and light wood cabinets with glass doors. She ran her hand across the sleek granite countertops. A bit cool perhaps, but at least they were a pleasant color, a nice sandy tone that resembled the beach on a summer’s day. She decided that so far this was her favorite room in the house.

She quickly located a juice glass, filled it, and took it to Mrs. Daniels. “Here,” she said, worried that the old woman had fallen asleep. “You should probably drink this now. It’s good for your blood sugar level.”

Mrs. Daniels frowned. “What do you know about blood sugar levels?”

“My mother was a diabetic.”

“Was? Oh yes, I do seem to remember that you mentioned she had passed on. When was that?”

“A few years ago.” Christine looked away. This wasn’t a subject she particularly cared to discuss with this woman.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I’ll get back to your breakfast now.”

Christine was relieved to be back in the kitchen. Before long she had a poached egg, a slice of wheat toast, lightly buttered, and a hot cup of strong coffee, with cream. She placed these on a tray with silverware and a napkin, then took them to the living room.

“Did you want to eat in here?” she asked.

Mrs. Daniels shrugged. “I might as well. Although, normally, I frown upon such practices.” She pointed to the glass-topped coffee table. “Put it there.”

Christine returned to the kitchen to begin cleaning up. As she finished washing out the saucepan, she paused to look out the window over the sink and found herself staring at the large oak tree on the left side of the backyard. Something about its bare branches silhouetted against the pale gray sky held her attention in an almost haunting way. Then suddenly she realized that this house might have once been her biological mother’s home. She wasn’t sure how long Mrs. Daniels had lived here, but it seemed entirely possible that Lenore might have once stood right here at this very window, perhaps as a teen, and actually stared out at this very same tree.

She went back into the living room to see that Mrs. Daniels was finished. “More coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, please. And for future reference, you don’t have to make it
that
strong.”

“Sorry.”

“Usually people make it too weak, so I always say strong. That was, however, too strong.”

“Right.” Christine picked up the tray and wondered if she would ever do anything to this woman’s satisfaction.

“Everything else was all right.”

“Thank you.” Christine paused for a moment. “This is a lovely home, Mrs. Daniels. How long have you lived here?”

Mrs. Daniels frowned. “Oh, I’m not really sure. Let’s see, James and I got married in 1980, and we moved in here shortly after that. You do the math.”

Christine nodded and smiled. “A long time ago, anyway.”

But as she walked back to the kitchen, it hit her full force that her mother had indeed lived here, walked upon these very floors, looked out of these actual windows. She wondered which room might have been Lenore’s bedroom and if she might get to see it at some point. Also, she wondered about photos. So far she’d seen nothing. But why not? Oh, the questions that tumbled through her head as she refilled Mrs. Daniels’s coffee cup. If only there was a way to get this cantankerous old woman to talk without revealing her true identity. Because, like it or not, the more Christine played this game and the deeper she got into it, the more she realized it would be difficult to step out of. Perhaps she would never be able to divulge the truth to her grandmother.

By noon Christine had done two loads of laundry and cleaned the downstairs bathrooms, Mrs. Daniels’s bedroom, and the kitchen. She’d vacuumed and dusted the den and emptied all the trash receptacles. She continued to search for photos and clues while she worked, but so far she’d found nothing that seemed relevant to Lenore. Christine’s chores were regularly interrupted by Mrs. Daniels, who was always asking for things like books, the newspaper, reading glasses, another cup of coffee, whatever seemed to strike her fancy at the moment. Plus, Christine was responsible for answering the phone and the door. And, for an older woman who lived alone, Mrs. Daniels seemed to have a lot of callers. Some of the phone calls were invitations to various luncheons and Christmas gatherings, all of which were declined, and the callers at the door were usually seeking donations or selling Christmas wreaths or delivering packages.

“This just came,” Christine said as she handed Mrs. Daniels a box that was marked “Perishable.”

“You can open any packages that come,” Mrs. Daniels instructed. “Make sure you give me the card, then make a note of what’s inside.” She shook her head. “Christmas gifts can be such a bother.”

Christine decided not to respond to that.

“Do you drive?” Mrs. Daniels asked suddenly.

“Drive?” Christine removed a fruit basket from the box. “A car, you mean?”

“Well, I wasn’t referring to a golf cart.”

Christine nodded. “Yes. My dad taught me to drive, but I don’t have a car, if that’s what you mean?”

“But you do have a driver’s license?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. I want you to take me somewhere.”

“Do you want me to fix you some lunch first?”

“No, don’t bother. We’ll get something along the way.”

Christine wondered what this woman was planning as she helped Mrs. Daniels get her coat and purse. But she knew better than to ask. Mrs. Daniels did not like to be questioned. Particularly by the hired help. Christine followed her out to the large three-car garage and helped her down the step, preparing herself to catch her if she started to fall.

“Wow,” Christine said as she spotted the single car in the large garage. “You have a Jaguar.”

Mrs. Daniels made a “humph” sound. “Not a very sensible choice either. I regret that I didn’t keep the Mercedes instead. This car has been nothing but trouble.”

“Trouble?” Christine ran her hand over its sleek silver surface.

“Mechanically speaking.” Mrs. Daniels handed her the keys. “Of course, my mechanic loves me. Why, he even sends me a Christmas card each year. But then he could afford to send me fine jewelry for what he charges to fix this thing.”

Christine opened the door for Mrs. Daniels and waited for the old woman to slowly arrange herself in the passenger seat before she closed the door. As Christine slid into the driver’s seat, she noticed the faint smell of stale cigarette smoke. “Do you smoke?” she asked as she slid the key into the ignition. She instantly regretted her question and prepared herself to be chided again. To her surprise, Mrs. Daniels simply answered.

“Once in a while, but only when I’m feeling particularly stressed.” She fumbled to fasten her seat belt. “But I’ve never smoked in the house. Can’t abide the smell of smoke in a house, and it ruins the furniture and carpets. Unfortunately, I used to smoke in the car. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. I can’t seem to get rid of the smell.” She took a deep breath. “But I actually rather like it.”

Christine thought that was a bit strange, but then a lot about this woman seemed strange. “Where are we going?”

“To the La-Z-Boy store. I want a comfortable chair.”

Christine smiled to herself as she waited for the garage door to go up. It was interesting to imagine how a bulky recliner would fit into Mrs. Daniels’s perfectly attired home with its fine Oriental carpets, valuable antiques, and original artwork. But it was plain to see this old woman was craving a little comfort in her old age. So despite what appeared to be Mrs. Daniels’s style-dictated ways, Christine wondered if it might actually be possible to teach an old dog new tricks. And, if so, maybe the day would come when Christine could divulge her true identity.

5

“Where would you stop for a quick bite of lunch?” Mrs. Daniels asked as she peered out at the traffic zipping around town.

“Me?” Christine felt surprised. “Well, that would depend.”

“On what?”

“A lot of things. Like whether I was alone or with a friend, or whether I was feeling flush or almost broke, or what I felt like eating. Remember, I’m a college student. I’m not above getting a buck burger when I’m starving and low on cash.”

“What’s a buck burger?”

“You know,” Christine waited for the light to turn, “Whoppers for ninety-nine cents at Burger King. They’re not bad, really.”

“I thought you had worked for McDonald’s. I’d think you’d be loyal to that establishment.”

“Just because you work someplace doesn’t mean you like it.” Christine hadn’t meant it to sound like that. She glanced uneasily at Mrs. Daniels, worried that she’d make the connection, but it seemed to have floated right past her.

“Does this Burger King place have one of those windows where you can place an order without getting out?”

“Sure.”

“Well, let’s go there, then. I don’t want to get out of the car.” She slumped down into the seat.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I just don’t want anyone I know to recognize me.”

Christine laughed as she turned down the street toward Burger King. It took Mrs. Daniels a while to read the menu and decide on what she wanted, but finally they placed their order.

“That’ll be seven forty-eight,” said a grumpy voice through the intercom.

“Seven dollars and forty-eight cents?” Mrs. Daniels peered at Christine. “Can that possibly be right?”

“It sounds about right to me.” Christine pulled the sleek car forward, careful to avoid the sign that seemed to stick right out into their lane. “Is it too much?”

Mrs. Daniels laughed. Only this time it didn’t sound quite as cynical as it had yesterday. “Goodness, think of all the money I could’ve saved over the years if I’d eaten here. Of course, their food probably tastes like cardboard and glue.”

To Christine’s relief, Mrs. Daniels seemed to like her lunch. Although, when they were finished, she complained at the amount of cholesterol she’d just consumed.

“Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t worry. I’m not long for this world anyway.”

Christine glanced uneasily at the old woman. “Are you having health problems? Besides your ankle, I mean?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just that everything starts to go once you begin getting old. Don’t know why people have to grow old, anyway. My two husbands certainly didn’t bother with it.”

At the La-Z-Boy store they were greeted with Christmas music, and a young blond woman dressed like an elf offered them store-bought cookies.

“Merry Christmas, it’s our Holiday Blowout week,” she told them in a chirpy voice. “Everything in the store is marked down, some up to 50 percent off, and ready to be delivered by Christmas.”

“By Christmas?” Mrs. Daniels harped. “I need a chair and I need it now. Can’t I have one delivered today?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said. “I – uh – ”

“Hello, there,” said a man in a khaki suit. “I’m Leon Myers. Now, what can I do for you today, ma’am?”

“I want a recliner chair,” Mrs. Daniels said. “But I want it delivered before Christmas. I’d like it delivered today, if possible, or tomorrow at the latest.”

He smiled. “No problem. If we have it in stock, we can deliver it by tomorrow.”

“Fine, if that’s the best you can do.” She adjusted her crutches and moved forward. “Show me what you have.”

“Looks like you’ve hurt your foot,” the man said.

“Obviously,” she snapped. “Why else would I want a recliner?”