Page 45 of The Clause in Christmas
Luke ran his hand over the smooth manzanita, admiring the streaks of bronze, copper, and gold in the wood grain.
“You’re every bit as good as he was, you know.” Dolores blew on the piping-hot liquid, the steam fogging up her glasses.
Luke’s throat tightened, and he reached for the tea again, taking a comforting sip. “Did Arthur ever tell you about the first time he taught me to whittle?”
Dolores shook her head, her silver curls bouncing with the motion. “If he did, my unreliable brain has since forgotten.”
“You may not believe this, but I got called into his office my first day of high school,” Luke admitted with a wry smile. “I didn’t know what to expect, but I’d heard rumors about crazy old Principal Whittaker.”
Laugh lines crinkled Dolores’s features. “Hedidhave some unconventional methods.”
“You could say that.” Luke chuckled. “I’d gotten into a fight with another freshman eager to establish himself as the school bully. But Arthur didn’t even ask me about it.”
“I suspect he already knew who the real troublemaker was.” She winked over the gold-etched rim of her teacup. “Did he give you a good scolding, anyway?”
“I thought he was going to, but…” Luke shook his head, still baffled by the memory. “Arthur kicked his dusty boots on top of his desk and leaned back with a hunk of manzanita in one hand and a carving knife in the other. I tell ya, my eyes bugged out of my head when I saw the glint of that knife.”
Dolores giggled. “Sounds like my Arthur, all right. What did he say?”
“He said, ‘You know what’s great about working with wood? You can make it anything you want it to be, but it’s still a chunk of wood.’”
Pausing mid-sip, Dolores cocked her head, a puzzled expression on her round face. “What was that old fool rambling on about?”
“I think he was trying to say you can’t change your circumstances, but youareresponsible for what you make of them.”
Tears sprung to Dolores’s eyes, and she stared intently at the elegant rosebud pattern on her teacup, blinking them away.
“Of course, I didn’t realize that until later,” Luke said softly, tracing the carving with his calloused fingertip. “But he’d planted the seed.”
Dolores smiled through her tears, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her afghan. “He was a pretty smart old fool, wasn’t he?” Dabbing her eyes, she added, “Wait. Didn’t you say hetaughtyou how to whittle?”
Luke leaned the walking stick against the edge of the table and reached into his back pocket. He withdrew a small Swiss Army knife and handed it to Dolores.
She turned it over in her palm, her lips parted in surprise. “Arthur’s pocket knife? He told me he lost this on a fishing trip.”
Grinning, Luke squeezed her other hand. “I’m sure it was the only fib he ever told you, DeeDee. He probably would have gotten in a lot of trouble for giving one of his students a knife on school property.”
“He gave it to you that day?” This information seemed to soften her.
“Right after school. He handed me the pocket knife and my own branch of manzanita, quickly showing me the basics.”
“Did he give you any guidance on what to make?”
“Nope. He said what I made of it was entirely up to me.”
Eyes brimming with fresh tears, Dolores held out the pocket knife, waiting for Luke to stretch out his hand. She placed it in his palm, gently curling his fingers around it before cupping his hand with her own. “He’d be really proud of you, you know.”
Luke nodded, unable to speak past his emotions.
“Have you made anything recently?” she asked, returning to her tea.
“Actually, I have been working on something.” Luke’s thoughts drifted to the surprise he planned for Cassie, reminding himself why he was there in the first place. “DeeDee, how long did Arthur wait before he said he loved you?”
Dolores laughed. “Wait?Arthur never waited for anything.”
“What do you mean?”
Dolores set her teacup back on its coordinating saucer, the china clinking delicately as she gathered her thoughts. “The first time I met Arthur, I was on a date with another man.”
