A Small Town Christmas Read online

  Kerrie smiled down at Nesta, who was pretending not to listen to the grown-ups by offering intermittent whimpers. She ran a hand over her daughter’s dark curls. “Then Nesta can have a best friend in the student council when she’s in high school. Good idea.” She smiled at Emma and heaved a rueful shrug. “I wish I knew someone I could gift wrap for you. It seems like most of the single guys have left town.”

  It seemed so to Emma, too. She’d done her share of checking out guys in Safeway’s produce department. They all had gold rings on their left hand. “Oh, well,” she said with a shrug. “I’m waiting for Jimmy Stewart’s great-great-great-grandson to come to town anyway.”

  “Does he have one?” asked Kerrie, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t know. He should.”

  Kerrie shook her head at Emma. “You and your movies. You are such a hopeless romantic.”

  “No, hopeful,” Emma corrected her.

  “Whatever,” said Kerrie. “Listen, I had another reason for coming in. I was just wondering . . .”

  Emma knew by the sudden awkwardness, the hesitation, exactly what her old friend was going to ask. It happened a lot, and she didn’t mind, really. “Yes.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say,” Kerrie protested.

  “Yes I do. I’ll make a quilt for you. What’s the cause?”

  “The wildlife shelter’s annual New Year’s auction. I don’t need it till after Christmas.”

  It wasn’t much time, but she could do it. She sure had enough inventory on hand. Sadly. “No problem.”

  “Thanks. You rock.”

  Either she rocked or she was the world’s biggest soft touch.

  It was an hour before another customer came in. Actually, two women entered the shop within a few minutes of each other, but Emma knew right off only one would be a paying customer. Ruth Weisman, who not only quilted but also sewed clothes for her granddaughters, was always good for a few yards of fabric. Shirley Schultz, however, was another story. She was somewhere in her seventies and she loved to quilt. She always had a project going, which should have been a good thing for the shop. Except Shirley didn’t believe in credit cards and she had a habit of forgetting her checkbook. Of course, she never had any cash with her, either. Emma now kept a running tab for Shirley. And it was definitely running—away from Emma.

  She knew she should be firm with Shirley and insist she bring in her trusty checkbook and catch up on what she owed, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to do it. Shirley was old enough to be her grandma. How could a girl be mean to her grandma? On top of that, Shirley was a widow, and judging from the frayed condition of her black wool coat and the shabby tennis shoes she always wore, she was probably squeaking by on Social Security.

  “This flannel will be perfect for matching pajamas,” said Ruth, fingering the bolt of soft pink fabric with its pattern of stars and rainbows that Emma had suggested. “It will look adorable on the girls.”

  “It’s a great idea to be thinking ahead,” said Emma. “Christmas will be here before we know it.”

  “I just give the children a check,” said Shirley, who was moving toward the bookshelf. “It’s too hard to shop anymore. They never like what I give them anyway.”

  Emma had a sudden image of the old lady in the National Lampoon Christmas movie who wrapped up her cat and gave it away as a Christmas present. She could just see Shirley showing up for Christmas dinner with a jumping, yowling, beribboned box. Probably Shirley’s pittance five- or ten-dollar check would be a welcome relief from whatever she chose to give.

  Ruth raised an eyebrow and turned in Shirley’s direction. “You can always give gift cards.” With her freshly dyed and styled hair, her acrylic nails, and her Lands’ End clothing, Ruth obviously didn’t have to worry about making do on a fixed income.

  Shirley frowned. “Someone could steal a gift card. I read somewhere that thieves take the numbers right off them in the store and then cash in.” She shook her head. “People have no scruples. Oh, you have a book of Christmas crafts. How lovely!”

  Ruth’s eyes lit up at that. “Really.” She moved to where Shirley stood.

  Shirley clutched the book to her scrawny chest. “It’s the last one.”

  Ruth looked down her nose at Shirley. “What do you want it for? You just said all you give is checks.”

  “I might do something different this year,” Shirley argued.

  Maybe she’d do something different right now, and actually pay for the book. “Not to worry,” Emma said to Ruth. “I’ve ordered more and they’ll be in next week. I’ll put one aside for you.”

  Ruth shot Shirley a look of disgust, but said, “That will be fine,” and Shirley moved to the counter with her treasure.

  “So, the book will do it for you today?” Emma asked pleasantly, all the while willing Shirley to pull a checkbook out of her purse.

  Shirley nodded and patted her wiry, gray hair while Emma rang up her purchase.

  “That will be sixteen forty-nine,” Emma said brightly. “A bargain at any price.” So please pay me.

  Shirley smiled and opened her capacious, old handbag. And then it began. First she scrabbled around in its depths. “Hmm. That’s odd.” Next she began to remove the contents. Out came her hankie, a bottle of antacid, breath mints, a coin purse, three pens, a comb, various slips of paper with shopping lists, a folded envelope. “Oh, dear. I seem to have forgotten my checkbook.”

  You have to stop this. Be strong. “I can hold the book for you and you can get it the next time you come in,” Emma offered.

  “Or I’ll take it,” said Ruth sweetly.

  Shirley ignored her, concentrating all her energy on looking pitifully at Emma. Her lips (bright red—Shirley liked to make a statement) dipped down at the corners. “Oh.” And, just in case Emma had missed the pathos in her voice, she said it again. “Oh.” And added, “I was so hoping to start some of those crafts this week.”

  It would probably be her only pleasure. Emma suddenly felt like mean old Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, about to foreclose on some poor old lady. All her resolve crumbled. “Okay. Tell you what. Let’s put it on your tab.”

  Shirley beamed at Emma like she’d just offered her a lifetime supply of free Metamucil. “That’s a great idea.” She reached out and patted Emma’s arm. “You’re an angel.”

  A stupid angel.

  “You’ll make some man a wonderful wife someday.”

  I hope I make a better wife than a businesswoman, Emma thought.

  “Are you dating someone?” asked Shirley.

  “As if that’s any of our business,” said Ruth.

  “I’m way too busy with the shop,” lied Emma.

  Shirley shook a cautionary finger at her. “Just remember, a loaf of bread sits on the shelf too long and it goes stale.”

  “I’ll remember,” Emma promised. How could she forget an image like that? She pictured a loaf of bread on the top shelf at the Safeway with her head sticking out one end of it and every man in Heart Lake walking right by. Most of them were wearing wedding rings. She sighed and watched out the window as Shirley sailed out the door with her treasure.

  “You’re too soft,” scolded Ruth.

  “It’s what George Bailey would have done,” said Emma.

  Ruth shook her head and frowned. “This isn’t Bedford Falls.”

  “No, but it’s as close as a place can get,” Emma countered.

  “Not for long, probably,” said Ruth, pulling out her charge card.

  That was a sad thought. Emma remembered Sarah’s suggestion that they try to do one good deed a day. Shirley had just been hers. What if everyone did that? she mused as Ruth left the shop.

  A town was like a quilt—one work made of many small pieces. When you fit all the pieces together just right you got a thing of beauty. Why couldn’t they try and fit the pieces together just right? If each person did his or her part . . .

  The sky turned late-afternoon dark and the rain began to she
et. Emma decided to close early. What was the point of staying open? All her clientele were tucked in their houses now, happily quilting or taking an afternoon nap.

  She went home and took a long, hot shower. Then she heated up some of the soup she’d made the night before and took it into her office to eat while she walked Tess through a land auction on a prime corner lot where Tess planned to build a spa. It was exhausting and stressful, so afterward Tess went to her favorite dance club and dazzled everyone with her beauty and grace. After Emma finally got Tess tucked in for the night, she settled in front of the TV to do some hand stitching on a wall hanging for the church nursery and watch Jerry Maguire. She knew most of the lines by heart, and beat him to the punch when it came time for him to deliver the most romantic words of all time: “You complete me.”

  People needed each other. A person alone was like a scrap of fabric looking for a square. She sighed. She’d find her square someday. On that encouraging note, she turned off the lights, brushed her teeth, and ambled off to bed.

  And had the most amazing dream. Jerry Maguire didn’t show up (darn!), but a lot of familiar faces from town did. There was Kizzy from the kitchen shop and Dan the checkout guy from Safeway, Hope Wells, who owned Changing Seasons Floral, and Sarah and Jamie, and some of Emma’s customers, and they were all giant squares of fabric, floating around downtown Lake Way, right in the middle of the street. More and more fabric-square people joined them, coming out of various shops, and they all started folding into one another and forming the most beautiful quilt Emma had ever seen.

  Her eyes popped open. “Wow,” she breathed. She checked the clock. Five A.M. Sarah would already be at work. Emma scrambled out of bed, ran to the phone, and called Sarah’s private kitchen line at the bakery. She barely gave Sarah a chance to answer. “I know it’s not our usual day, but can you meet at Jamie’s after work? It’s important.”

  “Well, sure. What’s up?”

  “You were right and I’ve got an idea.”

  FIVE

  So, what’s the big news?” asked Jamie once all three women were settled at one of her bistro tables with their various chocolate fixes.

  “I had the most amazing dream last night,” said Emma. Just remembering it made her want to jump up and do the Snoopy dance. She could barely stay still in her seat.

  “Did one of us inherit a million bucks?” Jamie teased.

  “Even better,” Emma said, and then proceeded to tell them what she’d seen in her dream.

  Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “So you dreamed we were all giant pieces of fabric.”

  “It was symbolic, like . . . a vision.”

  “Oh.” Jamie nodded as if Emma had gone around the bend.

  “Think of what was at the center of the quilt,” Emma urged.

  “A heart. It probably meant you had heartburn,” said Jamie, determined to be dense.

  Emma heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you see? It proves Sarah was right.”

  “About what?” asked Sarah.

  How could she have forgotten? “About the ‘random acts of kindness’ thing. Guys, we could start a movement and save Heart Lake.”

  “I hate to say it, Em, but it wouldn’t last,” Jamie predicted.

  “Yeah? Good thing nobody told that to the twelve disciples or the abolitionists,” Emma countered.

  Jamie’s eyebrow went up again. “And which of them are you comparing us to?”

  “You know what I mean,” said Emma, but suddenly she didn’t feel as confident. Maybe it was only a silly dream. She could feel her enthusiasm draining away like a slow leak.

  “I know what you mean, and I’m all for exploring this more,” Sarah said firmly.

  Emma shot her a grateful look.

  “Did you have something specific in mind?” asked Sarah.

  “Actually, yes.”

  Jamie waved a hand in surrender. “So, let’s hear it.”

  “Well,” Emma began, warming to her subject, “the ‘acts of kindness’ thing is great, but we need a plan to make it all come together, just like if you’re making a quilt. You have to have a pattern, some way to make the pieces fit.”

  “And so?” prompted Jamie.

  “I’m getting to that.” Sheesh. “First we need a name. That will be our pattern. We could call it the ‘Have a Heart’ campaign, and our slogan could be ‘Keep the Heart in Heart Lake.’ ”

  Jamie nodded, looking reluctantly impressed. “Not bad. But how do you make it all happen?”

  “Call a community meeting,” said Emma. “Maybe we could get the Grange Hall for a night, put an ad in the paper.”

  Now Sarah was nodding and smiling. “Great idea.”

  “Okay, so now we’ve got a bunch of people at the Grange,” said Jamie. “Then what?”

  “Then we get everyone to pledge to do one good deed a day,” said Emma.

  “Maybe we could even make up T-shirts that say HAVE A HEART,” Sarah suggested. “That way we have something tangible. On the back we could print KEEP THE HEART IN HEART LAKE. We could sell them and give the proceeds to Helpline.”

  “Money for the food bank—I love that,” said Jamie, pointing at Sarah as if she were brilliant.

  Emma wouldn’t have minded getting a little credit, but oh, well. At least Jamie was on board. “And if we invite a reporter from the Heart Lake Herald, we could get an article out of the deal. Free publicity.”

  “I’ll call the Park and Rec office tomorrow and see if they’ll let us use the hall,” Sarah said. “We could shoot for the first week in November. The timing is perfect, just as we’re coming into giving season, when people feel most generous.”

  Emma frowned. “We don’t want to limit this to a season, do we? I mean giving season should last all year.”

  “There’s another great slogan,” Sarah said, saluting Emma with her mug. “And I agree. I’m just saying this is a great time to kick off a campaign to do good deeds. People are already predisposed to accept it.” She turned to Jamie. “What do you think?”

  Jamie nodded. “I don’t know if it will work, but I’m in.”

  “Let’s all start this week so we have some testimonials for the meeting,” said Emma, excited.

  “Sure. Why not?” Sarah agreed. She hoisted her mug. “Here’s to giving season. May it last all year long.”

  Emma had tears in her eyes now. This was such a beautiful idea. “This is a true movie moment.”

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go into insulin shock here.” But then she grinned and raised her mug, too. “To giving season.”

  “This is going to be awesome,” Emma predicted.

  Jamie wasn’t so sure about that, but she decided to try to keep an open mind. No opportunity to do a good deed presented itself between the Chocolate Bar and home. In fact, nothing at all happened between the Chocolate Bar and home. Everyone was behaving at the four-way stop, probably because she’d missed rush hour. No person in need crossed her path. No cop, either, thank God. Naturally, she didn’t run into the big, bad cop because she now had her taillight fixed. If she hadn’t, of course he’d have been right behind her like a hound on the scent of a terrified fox.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to do something nice, she decided. Tomorrow she would send her mom some chocolates, just because. Mom was as bad a chocoholic as Sarah. She’d love it.

  Jamie was in her shop kitchen by five the next day, making ganache. Before opening at ten she had chocolates to dip and decorate and fruit to enrobe, and she had to fill the espresso machine with beans and make her dark and white truffle shots and hot chocolate. By the time Clarice, her counter help, showed up, she was ready for a break, so she decided to go put her mom’s surprise in the mail. Just before she left for the post office, it occurred to her that simply sending chocolates to her mom didn’t really qualify as a good deed, so she filled a little plate for Carolyn the postmaster and her assistant Walter. If any pair deserved a good deed it was those two. They knew every one of their post office pa
trons by name as well as their dogs, and Carolyn always kept treats on hand to give to her four-legged visitors.

  Carolyn saw the plate of truffles and her eyes lit up behind her glasses. “What have we got here?”

  “A little something to thank you guys for working so hard,” said Jamie.

  “All right,” said Walter, leaning over from where he was sorting letters into mailboxes and grabbing one.

  Noting the bit of belly beginning to sneak over Walter’s belt, Jamie couldn’t help but wonder if this really qualified as a good deed. Walter’s wife, who tried to watch his weight, would probably come into the shop and club her with a scale.

  “That was really sweet of you,” said Carolyn as she weighed Jamie’s goody package for Mom.

  Jamie shrugged. “Just trying to keep that small-town feeling alive. In fact, Emma Swanson, Sarah Goodwin, and I are starting a movement.”

  “A movement?” Carolyn looked at her like Jamie was about to try to lure her into some strange cult.

  “Yeah. We’re going to try and encourage everyone to do one nice thing for somebody every day.”

  “Kind of like paying it forward?” asked Walter, reaching for another chocolate. Carolyn moved it out of range and he pouted.

  “Something like that,” said Jamie. “You know, help keep the heart in Heart Lake.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Carolyn as Jamie handed over her money.

  “So, what do we have to do?” asked Walter.

  “Anything,” Jamie told him. “Let somebody go ahead of you in the checkout line, change a flat tire for someone—whatever comes to mind.”

  “That could be kind of fun,” he said. “How long are we doing this?”

  “We’re not exactly thinking of putting an expiration date on it.”

  Walter shook his head. “People will never keep it up.”

  Jamie conveniently forgot that she had thought the exact same thing. “You never know. Maybe it will become a habit.”

  “It sounds like a good habit to me,” said Carolyn. And as Jamie left the post office, she heard Carolyn say to the next person in line, “Let’s start right now. Would you like one of my truffles, Mrs. Gormsley?”