Page 36 of The Christmas Mittens
“As much as I would like to indulge, I have to hurry to the Meyers to pick up Marsha’s nut rolls. She’s not feeling well, so I said I would drop by to pray with her as well as grab the rolls for the baked goods table.”
“Probably her sugar acting up again. She doesn’t eat well for a diabetic.” I sighed as I thought of the sweet old woman who made such delicious nut rolls every year. We’d all known her from her forty-plus years as a cafeteria worker at the high school.
“That’s true. Perhaps I should ask the Lord to bless her with better eating habits,” Pete replied, looking over at Gilda and giggling over Della’s attempts to finagle another broken cookie. “I keep thinking that I’ve seen Anders’ last name somewherebefore, his face too possibly, but for the life of me I keep coming up blank.”
“It’s not an uncommon name.” I sprinkled a little more pepper into the chili. We liked it with some kick.
“No, it’s not. Becken seems a rather common name, yet there’s something familiar about him. Oh well, it will come to me or not.” He smiled sweetly just as Anders arrived with empty boxes from the shop. We packaged up all the cookies as well as a thermos of chili for the good pastor and sent him on his way to Marsha’s while we sat down amid cooling racks, dirty bowls, and spatulas to enjoy our zippy meal. It was lovely, really. Eating around the table together felt as if we were a family. That was a dangerous thought. Anders was a nomad from another land. He would move on eventually, and it would be just Gilda and me here. I had to hang on to reality despite how dearly my heart wanted to live in a romantic fantasy.
***
We arrived late at the bazaar but at least our hair was free of flour so that was a win. The basement of the church was packed with locals—and quite a few out-of-towners—buying last-minute gifts for their loved ones. Gilda disappeared the moment we entered, dashing to the hot chocolate table to help Kimmie and her other drama club friends raise funds.
“Oh my,” Anders said softly as Veronica Long played her violin in the corner, filling the room with Victorian-themed holiday tunes. She was quite the local talent and enjoyed dressing the part of a dignified Victorian lady every year for the bazaar. “I’d not expected this many people.”
He seemed almost shy. Something that was appealing but unusual. Perhaps it was just the number of curious eyes now locked onto him as we stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s a big draw. We can leave if you want. Maybe go get some coffee at the diner or—”
“No, no, this is perfectly fine. I should mingle with the locals more.”
I was about to tease him about being allowed to rub shoulders with the common folk when Alfred and Arne arrived, pulling curious stares from Anders to them. Neither seemed concerned about the scrutiny. They stepped to either side of us, as silent as cats, and stood there.
“Okay then, let’s go support Grouse Falls,” I stated as I bravely extended my hand to the man at my side. The man with dark curls that I fancied, not the man who looked like a jacked-up version of Agent Smith fromThe Matrixsans the dark shades. Those were tucked into the pocket of a suit with a neatly folded white pocket square. Hopefully no one made a sudden move at Anders or we’d be seeing some slow-motion martial arts ass-kickery up close and personal.
“Thank you,” Anders whispered, sliding his hand into mine. I clutched his tightly, my own nerves over this public display making my palms a bit damp. Which was fine as his was as well. After our fingers meshed, he seemed to relax. That charming sophistication he exuded reappeared, and we spent the next two hours chatting, shopping, and sipping cocoa all while my daughter and her friends cheered us on silently with fist pumps.
I’d come to this event every year since I was in middle school like Gilda. This year was the first in many, many moons that I was enjoying it wholly. Nothing made a heart feel fuller than holding the hand of someone you were crazy about. So much for not allowing myself to slip into a Hallmark holiday romance frame of mind…
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday, December 22
“Adeste fideles, Laeti triumphantes, Venite, venite in Bethlehem. Natum videte. Regem angelorum.”
I glanced from my songbook resting in my hands to Gilda in front of me and then to my left at Anders. Both were singing their hearts out as we stood on the front stoop of Ivy and George Yankowski’s house. The elderly couple smiled widely at our small group of carolers. Six in total, including Pastor Pete and Nigel. Nigel had a fabulous voice, so he got all the solo work for a man, while Gilda and Kimmie got all the feminine solos. Pete, Anders, and I were just there for the choruses for the most part. Pastor Pete could not carry a tune, but he sure did love to sing. Anders had a nice voice. I mostly sang in the shower but liked to think I did fair to middling when it came to belting out a tune. Tiny flakes fell from the inky sky, which added to the whole holiday vibes thing our stroll along the side streets of Grouse Falls was hopefully spreading. Many old folks were homebound, like Ivy and George, and seemed to greatly enjoy our stopping by to sing them a song or two. Any tips or tiny gifts were donatedto the church, even if the pastor’s crooning was not quite choir worthy.
There were two caroling groups, one working each end of Main Street and the avenues that ran off the through street. Signups had been lean since many people were too busy after a long day at work or had already started their holiday trips to see family. My daughter, the kind soul that she was, had signed us up last night at the bazaar. Kimmie, the lone friend left in town until after the big day, was here because the family flight to Florida to see her grandmother was postponed due to her younger brother getting sick. Seemed kids had a knack for illness when a trip was planned.
We would meet in the middle of Main Street at nine, ride out to the diner on Ox Back Road, have coffee and a cupcake, and get warm. Chloe would be working there tonight since she was part-time help and had promised to save us some of today’s fresh-baked cranberry muffins. How Chloe juggled all her various jobs, I had no clue. She waited tables at the Ox Back Diner, helped out at the fire hall, and assisted with taxes at Wanda Hess’s tax service in the spring. She just liked to keep busy, she had said numerous times. Her boyfriend Bert was the same. Never still for a minute. He worked all day for the gas company, hunted religiously, and was a volunteer fireman.
Ivy clapped loudly as the song ended. George, who was not doing well at all and was confined to a wheelchair with oxygen, smiled around his cannula and dropped a dollar into the mason jar Gilda was holding. The same jar from my shop. Inside it was a neat roll of bills that Anders had slipped in, thinking no one had noticed, but I had as had Pastor Pete.
Leaving that home, we turned, saw our two shadows standing under a leafless oak, and gave Arne and Alfred a wave of mittened hands. They nodded back. We’d come up with a story about the two men to alleviate some of the fears and storiesflying around. Anders had told Pete and Nigel they were his bodyguards, which was true, but not that he was insanely rich. He seemed reluctant to say much about his life in Östermon, so we said they were Anders’ assistants. We’d not gone into great detail as to what they assisted Anders with, which probably left just as many questions about the behemoths as we’d answered. Nigel and Pete had exchanged skeptical looks but had gone along with our limp lies. I felt bad lying to a clergyman, so I dropped a twenty into the jar in the hopes that God would be okay with my deceit to a man of the cloth as long as I gave the church money. It felt icky as heck, to be frank.
Another hour passed, and when our noses and toes were frozen nearly solid, we heard the church bell ring nine times and sighed in relief. With a wave, we all hustled to our cars, cranked them over, and began to slowly thaw. By the time we arrived at the Ox Back Diner, my toes were starting to warm up. Just. Once inside, we pulled a couple of tables together. Chloe was on her phone, looking rather upset when I spied her. She gave me a grimace before turning her back to us to finish her call. No one took offense. We were still chattering merrily about the night out and what songs we had enjoyed the most. The second group of carolers rolled in, several Woolverines aside from Franny, who didn’t tolerate it well.
Not the cold, but the fact that she would have to sing to the Festerman sisters over on Dewey Lane. Someone had stolen someone else’s boyfriend back in the late-’50s at a swim party at the old Grouse Falls Community Pool so the story goes. Franny and the twin sisters had gotten into a fight, food and fists had been thrown, and in the end, Franny told the guy who had been necking—that’s the term she used—with Agnes Festerman to go fuck himself. Ever since then, Franny had no time for those Festerman trollops. Her names for the old gals, not mine.
“Pull up a chair,” Pete called to the new arrivals. Alfred and Arne sat at a small table by the window. The lights strung around the window tossed multi-colored tones on their formidable faces. Everyone gave them a wary look but sat down to chat. “I hope we all had fun?”
Everyone started talking at once. I nodded along but caught Chloe waving at me from behind the register by the pie cooler. The diner was quiet this late at night. They closed at ten, so we were only here for a short while.
“Excuse me,” I said, rose, and made my way to Chloe.
“If you’re out of cranberry muffins, that’s fine. We can have a slice of pie instead,” I said with a smile that did nothing to ease the look of agony on her face. “What’s wrong? It’s not Bert, is it?”
She ran her hands nervously over her yellow apron. “No, Bert’s fine. They’re tidying up the fire hall after the bazaar.” She began to fidget with the cell phone in her hand. “I messed up.”
