The Christmas Shoppe (8 page)

On Friday afternoon, the Johnson Sign Company showed up at the Barton Building and hung a big sign. In bright green and red and all caps, the words The Christmas Shoppe now hung above the front door. By Saturday midday, the rumor spread like wildfire that Matilda Honeycutt was out of her head—certifiably nuts.

“Nothing but a bunch of worthless old junk in there,” people were telling each other. “And that crazy lady calls it a Christmas store!”

“Something’s got to be done,” George Snider told several of the business owners as they met for coffee on Sunday morning. This impromptu meeting had been initiated by the councilman. “You can’t let one business ruin the downtown atmosphere, and especially right before Christmas.”

“That’s right,” one merchant said. “I peeked inside there yesterday afternoon, and the trash in that shoddy little shop makes Marty’s Secondhand Stuff look like a boutique.”

Everyone laughed.

“It seems irreverent to call that place a Christmas shop,” Lauren from the shoe store said. “I call it a little shop of horrors.”

“It’s bad enough she’s a newcomer, but to do something like this is almost like spitting in our faces,” Ben Marshall declared. “My family’s owned our hardware store for five generations, and I’m not about to take this sitting down.”

“What do we do to get rid of her?” Cindy from the Clothes Horse asked. “I’ll do anything to help.”

“Should we circulate a petition?” someone else asked.

George waited contentedly as the group kicked around a number of ideas. Some good. Some not so good. He wanted to be sure they really got their ire up, and then he made a suggestion. “A petition isn’t a bad idea—or perhaps just a letter signed by all the downtown merchants to show you’re all united in this. Make plenty of copies of the letter, and be sure to come to the city council meeting tomorrow night. Be there early so you can sign up to address the council.” He chuckled. “The more the merrier. I’ll make sure the press is there as well. And make sure you choose a spokesman to present the letter with the signatures.” He nodded to Ben. “You’d be a good candidate for that.”

The others agreed, and Ben seemed glad to help.

“What should the letter say?” Cindy pulled a small notebook and pen out.

“State the facts,” George told her as she made notes. “Say that the local merchants are offended that the city would allow a thrift store in a part of town where it’s clearly in violation of zoning and permit ordinances. Demand that this wrong be righted immediately. Make sure you take one copy of the letter to the city manager’s office, stating that you want to hear a response from her at the meeting as well.”

“Is that enough to get rid of that woman?” Ben asked.

“It should shut her business down,” the councilman told him. “I expect it’ll just be a matter of time before she moves on.”

They talked for a while longer. George felt confident that their effort would do the trick. He predicted that Matilda Honeycutt would be out of business before Thanksgiving. Still, he would pay her a visit on Tuesday afternoon. Playing the caring councilman, he would sympathize with her woes. Perhaps he’d even extend an olive branch and offer to help her find a more suitable location for her secondhand shop—over on First Avenue with the other lackluster shops. After all, he still had a listing in that neighborhood. It wasn’t as large and needed some work, but Ms. Honeycutt might not mind.

After commiserating with her, George would be a gentleman by offering to take the Barton Building off her hands. If he was feeling particularly generous, he might even offer to pay the same price she’d forked over. Although he was tempted to lowball her. But, he reminded himself, the holidays were coming. Plus she’d cleaned the building up a bit, and that was worth a little something. And knowing that he himself had a generous buyer for the building . . . well, he could afford a little generosity too.

As the councilman sat in the coffee shop rubbing his hands together, Rose was puzzling over the lack of business in Matilda’s new shop. She’d stopped by to say hello and browse a bit. She wasn’t sure there was much here to really interest her, but she liked Matilda and she liked a bargain. She also liked the music Matilda had playing in here—very upbeat. Unless Rose was mistaken, it sounded like Mexico’s Pioneer Mariachis. She hadn’t heard that group for ages and wondered if it was possible to buy their CDs somewhere.

“Are you having a good day?” Matilda asked Rose as she came over to join her.

“I guess so. I was just wondering why there are no customers in here, Matilda. There are plenty of shoppers in town today.” Rose picked up a crystal vase, but seeing a chip, she set it back down. “I could hardly find a place to park. I just don’t know why they’re not at least stopping here to check out the new business.”

“They’ll come,” Matilda said.

Rose realized something as she turned a little cow-shaped creamer upside down. There seemed to be no prices listed on anything. “Where are the price tags?” she asked.

“Did you find something to interest you?”

Rose studied the creamer, then set it down. “Not really. I just don’t see any prices.”

Matilda pointed to the wall, at one of the odd sayings Megan had helped her to paint last week.

The sweet value of this treasure is impossible to measure.

“What does that mean?” Rose mentally translated the words into her mother tongue, but that didn’t seem to help much either.

“What do you think it means?”

Value you cannot measure?
It made no sense to Rose. Everything had a price, didn’t it? “Does that mean I’m supposed to make an offer if I find something I want?”

“Something like that. What is it that you
want
, Rose? What is it worth?”

Rose frowned and shook her head. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

“I mean, what do you
really
want?” Matilda peered at her.

Rose wanted to say there was absolutely nothing here that she wanted, but seeing Matilda’s lack of business and knowing that Matilda might very well be her only friend in this snooty little town, she bit her tongue. For Rose, that was not easy.

“Walk with me,” Matilda said. “Perhaps we’ll find something together.”

Rose felt almost as if she were under Matilda’s spell as she followed her through the quiet shop. Then Matilda stopped, and Rose didn’t know what to do. Matilda seemed to be staring at something. Then, almost as if her eyes had just been opened, Rose saw it too. A familiar piece of Mexican pottery—a small, colorful canister just like her abuela had when Rose was a small girl. Except that this canister had a crack in it and was missing its lid. Other than that, it was identical. The same blue and yellow flowers. Rose picked it up, feeling the weight of the piece in her hands. It felt lighter than she remembered . . . but she had been just a little girl then.

“Rose,” Abuela had scolded her.
“Donde está el caramelo?”

Rose had hidden the candy behind her back at first, then realized that Abuela knew exactly what she’d been up to, sneaking candy from the canister while the old woman’s back was turned. Rose held out her hand, revealing her sweet, stolen treasure. Abuela simply shook her head, returned the candy to the jar, and gently lectured Rose on the virtues of patience and why Rose needed to learn to wait. Abuela reminded Rose that she had planned to give her a caramel after Rose finished her chore. Not before. She told Rose that those who were willing to wait usually got the best things in life, but those who refused to wait usually wound up with nothing. Nothing but heartache.
“La paciencia,”
she had said.
“La paz.”

“La paciencia,”
Rose now said aloud.
“La paz.”

“Patience,” Matilda said quietly. “And peace.”

“Yes.” Rose nodded. “That’s right.” Her grandmother had been telling her that patience was like peace.

Matilda pointed up to the words on the wall again.

The sweet value of this treasure is impossible to measure.

“What do you think peace is worth, Rose?” Matilda asked.

Rose stared up at the words. “Impossible to measure?” she murmured.

Matilda patted the cracked canister still in Rose’s hands. “You keep this, Rose. A gift.”

“Gracias.”
Rose nodded with tears in her eyes. Without saying another word, she left, but as she went down the street, she wondered what had just happened. Was it magic? Was it a mind trick? Was Matilda a witch like some townspeople said? It made no sense at all! How had Matilda known about Abuela’s canister? Rose had never mentioned that little tale to her or to anyone. Of course, Rose’s lack of patience was no secret, but how did Matilda know how she felt inside? How did she guess that Rose had no peace in her life?

Rose carefully set the canister on the passenger seat, putting her handbag next to it to protect it from rolling. She even took the time to buckle up her seat belt, something she did only when Megan was along because Megan always nagged her. She took her time to look for her keys, and she didn’t even swear in Spanish when she couldn’t find them at first.

As she started her car, she felt strangely calm. As if there was really no need to hurry, which was so unlike her since she was always in a rush. But she knew that the last thing she needed was another speeding ticket, so for a change she drove slowly through town. When a car sat too long at the traffic light and Rose was about to blast the idiot with her horn, she stopped her hand in midair. Really, what good would that do?

Rose parked her car, then cradling the canister in her arms, she carried it to the tiny house that sat a ways back from the larger house where Susanna and Megan lived. It had once been a carriage house but was now Rose’s little nest. She went inside and set the canister on the mantel above the little brick fireplace. She hadn’t even used the fireplace once—partly because it hadn’t been too cold yet, but also because she knew that to start a fire and keep it going took time and patience, which she never seemed to have enough of. But tonight she would make a small fire, just to see if it worked. Perhaps she’d even make herself some hot chocolate. Something she might do for Megan or Susanna, but never just for herself. She decided she would use a good china cup to drink it from too.

Easing herself down into the comfy floral chair that Susanna had gotten for her a few years ago, Rose put her tired feet on the ottoman and leaned back into the cushions. She would be seventy in December. Seventy years old—that was older than her sweet abuela had been when she passed on! If, at Rose’s age, she couldn’t slow things down some, practice a little patience, experience a bit of peace . . . when in the world could she?

She closed her eyes and thought of dear Abuela again. Rose wasn’t naive. She knew there had been many difficulties in her grandmother’s life. But when times got hard, Abuela never threw a fit—not like Rose usually did. Instead Abuela would get out her rosary, close her eyes, and silently pray. When she finished her prayers, the expression on her brown, wrinkled face would be as peaceful as an old nun’s.

After her nap, Rose planned to search through her still-packed moving crates. She would locate Abuela’s old rosary and give it a try.

Susanna couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about her mother-in-law was different. She was quieter than usual and strangely calm. Susanna was reminded of the feeling in the air shortly before a thunderstorm hit. Knowing Rose, that was probably a possibility.

After Megan left for school on Monday morning, Susanna was tempted to ask Rose about her mood change. Except she knew Rose hated being questioned about anything personal—that alone could set her off. Besides, Susanna reasoned as she refilled her coffee mug, if Rose had something to tell her, she would do it in her own sweet time. In the meantime, Susanna would embrace the “ignorance is bliss” motto and enjoy this small pocket of peace.

As it turned out, her peace was short-lived. She’d barely stepped into her office when Alice tapped on her door with a grim expression. “Ben Marshall has left a couple of phone messages.”

“Ben Marshall?” Susanna tried to remember why that name was familiar.

“He owns the hardware store,” Alice said. “Seems that he and some of the other downtown merchants have organized themselves.”

“Organized themselves?”

“To see that Matilda Honeycutt’s new business is shut down.”

Susanna let out a groan. “That was sure fast.”

Alice nodded. “They have a valid point. Matilda’s not zoned or licensed for a secondhand store. I did what you said on Friday and tried to make the laws clear to her in regard to her permit. I even offered to help her to petition for an exception. But she was, well, sort of vague.”

“She’s actually opened her store up?”

“Haven’t you seen it?” Alice asked.

Susanna shook her head. “I took Megan to the city on Saturday. I’d promised her we’d have a mother-daughter day of shopping and a play.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“It was. Then I spent most of Sunday holed up at home, going over the new budget proposal.”

“Not so lovely.”

“But back to Matilda. She’s opened for business already then?”

“Yes. She even put up a sign. A big one. It’s actually rather nice, and I felt hopeful at first. It’s called the Christmas Shoppe. I thought perhaps . . . well, that it might have Christmassy things, like decorations or gifts or . . . you know?”

“I know,” Susanna admitted. “I was hoping the same thing.”

“I peeked in the window Saturday afternoon, and it’s just all that old junk you saw in the boxes. Only now it’s spread out on the shelves as if it’s real merchandise, like things people would actually want to purchase. Only it’s just these weird and unrelated items.” Alice smiled sadly. “It’s really kind of pathetic.”

“Oh dear.”

“I like Matilda,” Alice continued. “I just don’t get it.”

“Join the club.”

“It’s like she’s setting herself up to fail. Even though she got a good deal on the building, she could’ve found a cheaper property over on First Avenue. She could’ve opened up a legitimate business there.”

“I know.” Susanna shook her head as she flipped through the mail. “I don’t get it either.”

Alice stepped fully into the office now, closing the door as if wanting privacy. “I don’t like to say this, Susanna, but it almost makes me wonder if she’s not trying to sabotage the city.”

“Sabotage the city?” Susanna stood up straight, looking curiously at her assistant.

“I know, it sounds paranoid. But I’ve heard stories of people who come to a city with a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“Like they’ll try to break a relatively small ordinance, like zoning or a business license. Then they’ll turn it around to make it seem like the city is persecuting them. All the while they’ve got some high-powered attorney waiting in the wings. Or worse yet, the ACLU. All they’re trying to do is get a settlement and—”

“Oh, I don’t think Matilda is really like that,” Susanna said quickly. But what she didn’t admit was that she’d had this exact same fear already.

“No, of course not.” Alice still looked uneasy. “Whatever the case, I told Ben Marshall that you could see him at 9:40. That gives you about fifteen minutes before your meeting with the mayor.”

“Thanks.” Susanna looked at her watch. “I think.”

“At least Ben will have to keep it short,” Alice pointed out.

“Right.” Susanna thanked her again, then used the few minutes she had before Ben’s appointment to check her email. To her delight, there was a message from Tommy. It seemed he’d already written his piece on her and had attached it for her approval. She was just finishing up the first-rate article when Alice announced that Ben Marshall was there to see her. As it turned out, Ben had brought friends.

“Come in,” Susanna told the small group with serious faces. She smiled as if this were a social visit. “What can I do for you?”

Ben cleared his throat, then presented her with what appeared to be a letter and a petition. “This is from the downtown merchants,” he began. In a formal tone, he proceeded to inform her of their indignation that the city would allow a secondhand store to open in the middle of town. “To make matters worse, it’s being run by an outsider. Someone who doesn’t understand Parrish Springs or our fine history. I think the city should bear some of the blame. Not only for allowing her to open a business like that, but for selling her such a valued property in the first place.”

Susanna listened, waiting for Ben to finally wrap things up. “I appreciate how you and the local merchants have put this into writing,” she told him. “I will be giving this situation my full attention.” She smiled at all of them, wishing there was an easy way to change the gloomy atmosphere they’d brought into her office. “Just so you know, the city has
not
permitted a secondhand store in the Barton Building. I’m unsure as to whether there’s been confusion on the part of Ms. Honeycutt, but I am sure we’ll resolve this.”

“When?” asked Cindy, the owner of the Clothes Horse.

“As soon as possible.” Susanna gave them her business smile.

“It’s our biggest season of the year,” Cindy continued. “Matilda’s shop is so out of place. It just cheapens the whole downtown area. It’s a disgrace.”

Susanna forced another smile. “But the Clothes Horse is such a lovely shop. I can’t imagine how it could be cheapened by anything.”

“You know what they say,” Cindy countered. “It’s all about location, location, location. If my shop looks like it’s located next to a frowsy thrift shop, then it makes it look like my merchandise is second-rate too.”

“I do understand your concerns,” Susanna assured them. She pointed to the clock on the credenza. “I have an appointment with the mayor at ten. In fact, I might even mention this to him—”

“Don’t worry,” Ben said quickly. “We already hand-delivered a copy of this letter to the mayor, as well as to all the city councillors. We’re on it.”

“And we’ll be at the city council meeting tonight,” another said.

“I see.” Susanna nodded. “It sounds as if you’ve put together quite an attack plan.”

“That’s right,” said an older man she didn’t know. “Councilman Snider has been very helpful. I didn’t even vote for him last term, but maybe I’ll be voting for him next time.” He chuckled.

As Susanna gathered her things, she thanked the group for their time.

“We’ll see you tonight then,” Cindy told her.

“It’s a date,” Susanna said lightly.

But as she walked to the mayor’s office, she felt anything but light. In fact, she was borderline angry. Councilman Snider certainly wasted no time in rallying the local merchants. She could only imagine what kind of backroom meeting he’d thrown together. It didn’t take a mentalist to guess what the old boy was up to. He wanted that building badly, and he would probably go to great lengths to attain it.

As she waited for the mayor’s assistant to finish her phone conversation, she knew better than to mention this particular element of the Honeycutt dilemma to the mayor. Not only was he a member of the Good Ol’ Boys Club, he and Councilman Snider were golf buddies, or as her old boss used to say, “thicker than thieves.”

“Good morning, Susanna,” Mayor Gordon said as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk. “How’s life treating you these days?”

She made the usual friendly small talk, keeping it brief and not overly personal. Spotting a copy of the letter from Ben and his downtown buddies in the center of the mayor’s desk, she decided to jump right in. “I see you got your copy of the letter too,” she began. “Their committee was just in my office.”

Mayor Gordon frowned. “They stopped by here too. Is it true what they’re saying?”

She pressed her lips together. “It’s partly true. And it’s partly a matter of perspective.” She quickly explained what had transpired.

“So you can handle this on your end?” he asked.

“I plan to.” She nodded confidently. “However, you should be warned.”

“Warned?” He frowned.

“Ben and friends will be attending the city council meeting tonight.”

Mayor Gordon groaned. “Just what we need.”

“I know.” She sighed.

“I was hoping to actually wrap some things up tonight.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can today to resolve this. Maybe we can put the whole thing to rest before it gets too out of hand.”

“Hopefully.” He changed the subject to go over their usual weekly agenda, but she could tell he was trying to cut it short. Finally he said, “I’m not going to take too much of your time, Susanna. My hope is that you can put a lid on this thing before it really starts to boil. You know the holidays are upon us. Thanksgiving is just days away. The timing on this ridiculous secondhand store couldn’t be worse.” He shook his head. “What is wrong with that woman anyway?”

Susanna had no answer to that but said, “Perhaps . . . do you think it would help if you paid her a visit?”

“Me?” He looked surprised.

“As a goodwill gesture. Maybe you could reason with her. She might respect that the mayor of our city took the time to befriend her and help her find a solution to this.”

He looked thoughtful, then finally nodded. “You know, Susanna, that is not a bad idea. If it works, it wouldn’t be bad PR for the mayor’s office either.”

“Not at all.”

He nodded. “Okay, then I’ll give it a whirl.”

“Good for you.”

He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I don’t have another appointment until after lunch. So if we’re done here . . .”

“As far as I’m concerned.” She stood.

He chuckled as he saw her out of his office. “I’ve seen that Matilda Honeycutt around town a few times. Strange bird. My wife says she’s just an old hippie. That may be so, but I had some friends like that back in my college days, before I met my wife. It’s not something I usually talk about, but I was a bit of a rebel back then. A nonconformist, if you know what I mean.”

She smiled. “I never would’ve guessed that, sir.”

“Oh yeah. I had some wild ideas back in my day. I have to hand it to her, I mean, that someone my age—anyway, that’s my best guess—would be comfortable enough in her own skin to go around town looking like
that
.” He shook his head with a bewildered expression. “Of course, that was one thing back in the sixties. Can you imagine what folks would say if I went around with long hair and sandals and love beads now? They’d be thinking the mayor had lost his mind.” He laughed.

Susanna laughed too. As she returned to her office, she tried to imagine Mayor Gordon dressed like he’d described, but it was impossible. She’d never once seen the mayor in anything less formal than casual business wear. Still, it would be highly amusing.

“What are you smiling about?” Alice asked as Susanna stopped by her desk.

“Oh, nothing.” Susanna gave Alice a list of tasks to complete before this evening’s council meeting. “Mayor Gordon is going to talk to Ms. Honeycutt now, but I still want to do everything I can—get our ducks in a row—just in case this turns into a battle zone tonight.”

“I’m on it,” Alice promised.

Susanna returned to her office to go over the budget some more. By lunchtime, she was feeling extremely curious as to how the mayor’s visit had gone. Not only that, but she was determined to try once more to talk some sense into Ms. Honeycutt before this got any further out of hand. She hurried over to the Barton Building, arriving just in time to see the mayor emerging.

Susanna blinked, seeing that he had an old catcher’s mitt with him. In fact, he was actually wearing it, along with a very odd expression—sort of a dazed-looking smile.

“Mayor?” she said.

He looked at her as if trying to place her face. “Oh, Susanna,” he finally said. Then he chuckled. “That reminds me of a song.” He broke into singing, “‘Oh, Susanna, don’t you cry for me. ’Cause I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee.’” He laughed as if that were hilarious.

“How did it go?” she asked him, trying not to question his sanity.

“Just great,” he said.

“She’s willing to close the business?”

“Well . . . uh . . . I don’t know.” He looked perplexed. “I’m not really sure.”

“But I thought you—”

“I have to get going,” he said as if he were suddenly uncomfortable about something. “I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” She watched as he hurried away, the catcher’s mitt still on his hand like he was late for a ball game.