Desperate Measures (34 page)

“God,” she said, “I didn't even buy myself a Christmas tree.” She laughed so hard her eyes watered. Her head started to pound again, but she was home, so it didn't matter. She'd get one of those table trees fully decorated from the florist. She could buy herself a present and stick it under the tree, she decided.

Annie fixed some soup, ate it, showered, and got her clothes ready for the following day before she curled on the sofa with the phone book and telephone in her lap. She called six churches before she found one that said they would be delighted to have her help serve the needy and the poor on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

The decision to open or close Fairy Tales on Christmas Eve, one of the biggest shopping days of the season, was hers to make. She opted to close it. There were more important things in life than making money . . . for one's rival. She immediately had an attack of conscience. This wasn't like her. All her life she'd been an honest, forthright, tell-it-like-it-is person. She'd lived her life under the banner of honesty, and here she was, throwing it all away for a lousy day of sales.

Annie looked at the clock. It wasn't too late to call her two full-time employees. If she agreed to pay them overtime or double time, out of her own pocket, she wouldn't be compromising herself. She punched out numbers, waited for Ada Rollins to pick up the phone. She spoke quickly, ending with, “I need to know, Ada.”

“Double time, close at four-thirty, and I'll do it,” the older woman said. “Don't worry about Caroline. If I agree to work, so will she. What about the day's receipts?”

“Oh, I forgot about that. Tally up and I'll pick up the receipts on my way home. Ada, if business is slow, use your best judgment about closing earlier. I know you and Caroline want to be with your families.”

Annie made a mental note to be extra generous with the women's Christmas bonuses.

Now she could go to sleep.

At the end of the day before Christmas Eve, Annie was reaching for her purse when the phone rang.

“Pete! Where are you?”

“Anaconda, Montana. Lots of snow here. It's as cold as a well digger's ass, I can tell you that. I'm heading out to Butte and should be in Darien late tomorrow evening. Any . . . word?”

“No, Pete, I'm sorry.”

“I thought . . . the holidays and all. It was supposed to be Maddie's and my first Christmas as a married couple.”

“I really am sorry, Pete.”

“I know you are. How's business?”

“I don't think it gets any better than this. I think you'll be pleased. Did I tell you a lady came into the shop after Thanksgiving and wanted to know if she could sell, on consignment, Victorian lace sachet balls made in the shape of Christmas balls? I said okay. I sold eleven hundred! Is that amazing?”

“Yeah, amazing. Maddie would be proud of you. Listen, my driver is here so I gotta mush on out of here. See you, Annie.”

“'Bye, Pete.”

Not Merry Christmas. Not a word about inviting her to Darien. Not a word about stopping by the apartment, not a word about the Darien house.

Annie wiped at her eyes. Getting one's hopes up only allowed for disappointment. “Damn.” She should have known better. What was it the poets said? Hope springs eternal. Yeah, right, for other people, not for the Annie Gabriels of this world.

The following morning Annie arrived at the Good Shepherd's soup kitchen at five
A.M.
She introduced herself, donned a tattered apron, and became one of a dozen volunteers. Breakfast was the first order of the day. Afterward there were dishes to wash and lunch to prepare. Her job was to cut the vegetables and pick through the beans that went into the hearty soup that was served every day.

At ten-thirty, when the minister told her to take a break, she did. “You need more volunteers, Reverend,” she said wearily. “I had no idea you had families. For some reason I thought . . .”

The minister smiled. “It is a shock, isn't it? We take care of roughly twenty-three families, and we have thirty-seven children. It's going to be a very . . . lean Christmas for the children.”

“Don't you get donations? Don't your parishioners give toys and clothing?”

“This is a very poor parish, Miss Gabriel. This month the church barely had enough money to pay the electric bill. If you trust in the Lord, He comes through. He sent you to us, didn't He?”

“Well, yes, He did . . . but—”

“There are no buts, Miss Gabriel. You're here. We need you. It's that simple. Now, if you could just figure out a way to turn meat loaf into turkey, you would have my eternal thanks.”

“Well, Reverend, if you can spare me for a few hours, I just might be able to do that.” Annie had her coat on before the minister could say yes or no. “Do you by any chance have a vehicle I can borrow?”

The minister tossed her a set of keys. “It's the van parked in front. Don't let the exterior fool you, the engine is in perfect condition, one of my flock sees to it. Can you use some help?” he asked. “For whatever you have in mind?”

Annie grinned. “Reverend, an extra pair of hands would be wonderful. Let's go, but first can I make a phone call?”

“Of course.”

Annie sprinted into the makeshift office and dialed Fairy Tales.

“Ada, it's Annie. Listen to me. Close the shop
now
. Say there's a gas leak, say anything you want, but get whatever customers you have in the store out. Hang the sign in the window and close the shutters. Don't open the door for anyone but me. Pack every single thing in the store in boxes.
Everything
. Toys, clothes, baby gear. Everything. Have Caroline call the market and tell them to have a dozen turkeys with all the trimmings ready for me by noon. One o'clock at the latest. I want cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, vegetables, stuffing mix, dinner rolls, and salad greens. Pumpkin pies too. I need enough for . . . seventy people. I have to go now.”

An hour later Reverend Tobias said, “I can't believe this! I do believe it! You see, Miss Gabriel, God sent you to us for a reason.”

“Wait, wait, we forgot the wrapping paper and all the other decorations. Ada, Caroline, help me, please.”

“Miss Gabriel, do you know what you are doing?” Ada asked, her face puckered in worry.

“Of course.”

“The store's empty. There's nothing left but the shelves.”

“I know, isn't it great?”

“Well ...”

“Have a wonderful holiday. Spend your bonuses wisely. I'll see you next week.”

“But . . . how can we work, we have no stock?”

“That's true,” Annie said happily. “We'll think of something. Come in on Monday as usual.”

“Miss Gabriel—”

“Call me Annie, Reverend.”

“If you agree to call me Albert.”

“All right, Albert, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say I don't think there's room in the van for the food.”

“Albert, I learned a long time ago not to sweat the small stuff,” Annie replied.

Annie wrote a check for the food. Later, she thought, she would have an anxiety attack over the amount. Later she would think about what she'd just done to Maddie Stern's shop. Later she would think about the flak she was going to get from Pete. Later she would worry about paying for everything.

“God will truly bless you, Annie,” the reverend said when they were in the van, weaving through traffic.

“Albert, I need a friend. If—”

“Child, I was your friend the moment you called me. I'll always be here for you, and it has nothing to do with what you've just done for my flock. You're happy right now, aren't you?”

“Yes I am. My adrenaline is pumping. Why is that?”

“Because you are doing for others materially as well as physically and mentally. You are giving of yourself.”

“I hear ya, Albert,” Annie said as she careened around a taxi, her foot bearing down on the gas pedal. “If I call you in the middle of the night to bitch and moan, will you talk to me?”

“Absolutely.”

“If I told you I was in love with a great guy who's in love with someone else . . . ah, forget it.”

“We'll talk about it when we aren't so ... wired up. My bishop is not going to believe this. I'm having trouble adjusting.”

“Albert, I didn't see a Christmas tree. Don't you have one?”

“No one donated one. The children were going to make one this afternoon with crepe paper and a broom handle.”

“What?” Annie said, slamming on the brakes. Everything in the back shifted to the front, then shifted backward again when Annie surged forward. “Well, we're going to get one right now,” she said, swerving into an Arco station. “C'mon, Albert, we're getting the biggest and the best tree this gas station has to offer.”

“Annie, there's no room,” Albert fretted.

“Of course there's room. We'll have them tie it to the door handles, and you can hold the top part through the window. Where's your faith, Albert?”

“A mile back up the road. You drive like a demon.”

“That's true,” Annie said agreeably. “Look! They're selling Christmas ornaments. It won't hurt to buy a few boxes. The children can string popcorn and cranberries. They have tinsel too. We are one lucky couple, Albert.” God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so happy.

“I think,” Albert said, “this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

He looks like he's just removed a hundred-pound yoke from his shoulders, Annie thought. She watched him as he walked among the trees, trying to find just the right one. He was so homely he was beautiful. One of God's chosen few. She wondered if anyone ever noticed that his nose was too big and his ears didn't quite seem to fit his head. What they probably saw was his warm, kind eyes, which always seemed to sparkle, and his smile, which stretched from ear to ear. She closed her eyes and all she could see behind the closed lids was Albert's kind face. He was too thin, though. He probably didn't eat enough, or if he did have food, he gave it to others, she thought.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Albert asked.

Annie laughed. “Oh ye of little faith. Of course it's going to work.” Annie paid for the tree, the three boxes of ornaments, and the tinsel with a credit card. She needed to hang on to the cash she had in her purse to put in the collection plate during Christmas services.

“I think we should sing, Albert. Do you know ‘Jingle Bells'?”

“Of course.”

“Then let's hear it, Albert!”

Albert sang at the top of his lungs, Annie joining in. Both of them were so off-key, people turned to look at the loaded-down van, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Later, when all the stock from the store was safely secured in the parish house, the food in the kitchen, Annie accepted a cup of tea from one of the volunteers. In her life she'd never felt so peaceful yet emotionally charged up. She watched as the children played around the tree, their little faces alight with happiness.

“We'll be serving meat loaf for dinner this evening,” the volunteer who handed her the tea said. Annie smiled weakly. She hated meat loaf. She would never, ever, take anything for granted again.

She rinsed and dried her cup. “If you don't need me for the cook detail, I think I'll go over to the parish house and wrap as many presents as I can. Thanks for making me the name and age list.”

“Thank
you.
It took me just a minute to make the list. I know the families so well.”

Her name was Rose and she was in her late sixties. She was the most efficient, in-charge person Annie had ever met. It was impossible not to warm to her smile. Hands on ample hips, she said, “What are you doing here, Miss Gabriel?”

Annie knew instinctively that nothing but the truth would do for this woman. “At first I came for myself. I didn't have anyone to spend the holidays with. I came here with bitterness in my heart and a tremendous amount of jealousy. Like most people, I didn't take the time out of my own busy life to think about those less fortunate than myself. I'm sorry about that.” She told Rose about Fairy Tales, Pete, the house in Darien that she'd decorated, and the special surprise. “Suddenly, none of that is important.”

“Can I call you Annie?”

“If you let me call you Rose.”

“We'll be friends. Now you have two, Albert and me. When you leave, everyone in this place will be your friend. And let me tell you something else, they can all, myself included, spot a phony a mile away. I could use some extra help on weekends if you don't have anything better to do.”

“Sign me up, Rose. I can give you Sundays. I work six days a week.”

“Every other Sunday. No one should work seven days a week.”

“You do,” Annie said.

“That's because this is my family. Get along with you and start to pretty up those presents. Oh, I can just see the tykes' eyes tomorrow when they see all those gifts. God will reward you, Annie.”

“And on that note I'll leave you.”

It was five-forty on Christmas Eve when Annie started to wrap the Christmas presents, with Albert's help. They sang “Jingle Bells” again, off-key, and “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,” making up the words as they went along.

Annie was happy and at peace.