Special Delivery (8 page)

Flora grabbed the bag from Ruby. “
I
know what it is,” she exclaimed, pawing through the contents. “This is stuff for baby-proofing the house. You fasten these locks to cabinet doors so the baby can't get into cleaning supplies and medicine. And you put these covers over electrical outlets so the baby can't stick his fingers —”

“
His!
You said
his
!” crowed Ruby. “You secretly think the baby is going to be a boy. You just won't admit it.”

“For the love of Mike.” Min took the bag from Flora and set it by the front door. “I don't know what's gotten into you two, but if you don't calm down and start talking to each other like sisters instead of like cavemen” (Ruby resisted pointing out that she didn't think cavemen had had much of a language system, and in any case she would be a cave
woman
) “then you may not come with me to Allie's. Now, the two of you had a lovely idea” (here Flora resisted pointing out that it was her idea alone) “and we could have a lot of fun carrying it out. But not unless you can be pleasant. So. I am about to get in the car. You are welcome to join me. Are you going to come along and be the agreeable girls I ate breakfast with this morning? Or shall I drop you off at Mr. Pennington's on my way to Allie's?”

“Sorry, Min,” said Flora. “I want to go with you.”

“Sorry, Min,” echoed Ruby. “I want to go, too.”

“All right.”

Twenty minutes later, Min, Flora, and Ruby were standing in the guest room on the second floor of Aunt Allie's house.

“I
guess
this is going to be the baby's room,” said Flora.

“Unless she turns
our
room into the nursery,” said Ruby in a small voice.

“No,” said Min firmly. “I know that the room she fixed up for you is not to be changed. But after the baby arrives, it might be used as the guest room from time to time.” Min clapped her hands together. “Well, the first thing we should do is try to move the furniture out of here. We can put it in the attic.”

“But what about furniture for the baby?” asked Ruby. “We were talking about that before you came home. Does Aunt Allie have a crib or anything?”

“I don't think so,” replied Min. “But I'll bet we can borrow the essentials until Allie buys things of her own. I'll start making some phone calls. You never know what people may have saved. I think I'll start with the Morrises. They probably have some furniture stowed in their attic.”

“Or their basement,” said Ruby knowledgeably, thinking of the Malones' basement.

Flora and Ruby set to work in the guest room.

“We can take the bed apart. I think I know how to do that,” said Flora. “The headboard should come off. All we need is a screw driver. It isn't going to be easy to carry the mattress and the box spring down the hall to the attic, though.”

“But I bet we can do it,” said Ruby. “We can carry the dresser, too. It isn't that big.”

Flora and Ruby had managed to disassemble the bed and carry most of it into the attic by the time Min came hurrying up the stairs. “This is wonderful,” she said. “The Morrises still have their crib and a changing table, the Fongs have a Diaper Genie that they aren't using for some reason, and if you can believe it, Mrs. Edwards says she has Robby's dresser from when he was a baby.”

“I can believe it,” said Ruby.

“Everyone is going to bring the things over now.” Min paused. “I wish we had time to buy some clothes for the baby. Maybe I should phone Mrs. Fong back. Maybe she could lend us some of Grace's things.”

Flora and Ruby exchanged a glance, and Flora said, “I don't really think you need to do that.”

Min frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, we didn't tell you this,” said Ruby, “but a couple of months ago, we found something.” She took Min's hand and tugged her down the hallway to the closet. “I wasn't snooping when I opened this door. Honest!” (Ruby neglected to mention the sleuthing she'd done later.) “We felt like this was a secret of Aunt Allie's, so we didn't tell you …” Her voice trailed off.

Min put her arm around Ruby. “You did the right thing,” was all she said. And then, “Goodness me! There's practically an entire department store in here! I think it's high time this closet was emptied out.”

Flora felt her spirits lift. She and Ruby and Min carried armloads of baby clothes and supplies into the nursery. The doorbell rang as their neighbors began to arrive with the furniture — and with other things they had found. The Fongs brought a framed picture of a kitten as well as the Diaper Genie. Mrs. Edwards brought along a few of Robby's old picture books. And Mr. Morris arrived with a rocking chair in addition to the other furniture.

Min bustled around, arranging and rearranging the furniture with the help of Mr. Morris. Flora and Ruby tucked tiny shirts and blankets and socks and bibs into the drawers of the dresser.

“I think,” said Ruby, standing back at last to admire their efforts, “that this is going to be the perfect room for Maxwell.”

“Maxwell? What happened to Douglas?”

“Nothing. I'm just considering my options.”

“Well,
I
think it's the perfect room for Honoria.”

“Scott.”

“Calpurnia.”

“James.”

“Kate.”

“David.”

“Emma.”

“Girls,” said Min. She eyed them sternly and whispered, “Cavemen.”

Ruby turned to Flora and whispered, “Cave
women
,” and Flora began to giggle helplessly.

Mary Woolsey buttoned her bathrobe as she padded into her kitchen. She could hear Daphne and Delilah padding along behind her, and she turned to them and smiled. “Funny old girls,” she said. “Actually, if we're going to be honest, you two are decrepit old girls. In cat years, you're at least a hundred and five.”

Daphne opened her mouth and yawned, as if this bit of information bored her tremendously.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” added Mary. “Look what a beautiful day it is.” She peered out the window and into her backyard. Frost glittered on the stone wall, on the stubbly remains of her gardens, on every blade of grass, even on the woodpile. “A perfect sunrise,” said Mary, looking to the sky. The clouds that skittered along behind the trees had turned a bright pink, the color of the hyacinths that, years ago, Mary had planted by her front door.

“Come look, girls.” Mary held first Daphne, then Delilah, up to the window. Daphne squirmed from her grasp, but Delilah appeared to scan the yard and sky appreciatively.

Mary started the coffeemaker and then turned her attention to the cats' breakfast. She spooned wet food into identical pink dishes, the bottoms of which were adorned with the letter D. The dishes were a tiny extravagance Mary had allowed herself one day. Money was scarce, but Mary had never had to borrow a penny, not once in all the years of her long life. Her mother had taught her to budget and to live within her means, and Mary had learned the lessons well.

She was about to fix her own breakfast when her eyes fell on the basket in the center of her dining table. A smile crossed her face as she remembered the previous afternoon.

“Mary?” Min Read had called from the checkout counter at Needle and Thread. “Gigi and I are going to close up early for the holiday. Why don't you go home? You can have a nice long evening if you leave now.”

“Thank you,” replied Mary, and she had begun to tidy up her worktable.

“You're sure you won't join us at Three Oaks tomorrow?” asked Min. “There's room for one more at the Willets' table.”

“Thank you,” said Mary again. “But I think I'll stay at home.” The idea of eating in a dining room the size of the one at Three Oaks had made her breath catch in her throat.

“You're welcome to join
us
,” added Gigi. “It's our big family celebration. We're a little on the noisy side, but …”

Mary smiled and shook her head. “I appreciate the offers. I really do.”

Gigi had looked expectantly at her old friend, but Mary said nothing further. She pulled on her coat.

“Happy Thanksgiving, then,” said Gigi.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you. Bye, Min,” added Mary as the telephone began to ring.

Min, still at the checkout counter, smiled and waved and reached for the phone. As Mary slipped out the door, she heard Min say, “Allie? Is that you? What was that?” And then, “My stars and garters. I'll spread the word.”

Mary made her way through the darkening streets of Camden Falls. She had always liked the day before a holiday, the hours when the town was still expectant and excitement buzzed in the air. As she'd passed houses, lights flicked on, shades were pulled down, children sprinted onto porches and burst through doorways. She'd watched a UPS driver hop out of his van and hurry along the path to a small house where the door was flung open and a man exclaimed, “Oh, wonderful! I've been waiting for this!”

Mary paused, smiling. How thrilling it would be to answer her bell one day and find the UPS driver waiting there with a box for her — a surprise birthday package, maybe.

Mary turned the corner to her street, admiring the wreath of chrysanthemums that hung on the Lewises' lamppost and the pumpkins that still marched up the steps to the Golds' house. She walked through the gardens, now brittle and brown, to her cottage, grateful for the streetlights that lit her way, and had unlocked her door and swung it open before she noticed the basket at her feet.

“What's this?” she said aloud, and stooped to pick it up. A card was attached to the handle of the basket, but she couldn't make out the writing in the dim light, so she carried the basket inside, feeling every bit as lucky as the man who had received his UPS package.

Mary turned on a light and set her pocketbook on the floor. She sat in an armchair and admired the basket. It was made of wicker and lined with a soft dishcloth. She reached for the card again. It read,
Happy Thanksgiving, Mary!

Mary turned the card over. That was it. Nothing on the back.

“Well, it
is
a happy Thanksgiving,” said Mary.

She turned her attention to the contents of the basket. A bouquet of delicate dried flowers had been arranged on one side. Nestled among brightly colored maple leaves were a small cardboard box, a cellophane bag containing cookies, and a pair of candles shaped like a Pilgrim girl and a Pilgrim boy.

Mary reached for the box and withdrew it from the leaves. She sniffed. “Chocolate,” she said with plea sure, and opened the lid. Sure enough, six chocolate candies were inside. Mary replaced the box and opened the bag. “Gingersnaps. How lovely. Look, girls,” she'd added as Delilah and Daphne jumped onto the arm of the chair. “A Thanksgiving surprise. But who is it from?”

Now in the pale light of Thanksgiving morning, Mary looked fondly at the basket again. She had several thoughts about who might have sent it, but she was enjoying the mystery and didn't really want to solve it.

The morning unfolded in the slow, delicious way of holidays. Mary began to prepare her solitary Thanksgiving dinner. She lit a fire in the fireplace. She put a small turkey in the oven, promising Delilah and Daphne that they would get samples with their suppers that evening. She had just fixed a pot of tea when her doorbell rang.

“Now, who could that be?” Mary asked Daphne, who was sitting on the kitchen counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way to the front door. “Flora!” she exclaimed.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” cried Flora.

“What a surprise! Come in. I just made tea. Can you stay?”

“Long enough for tea,” replied Flora. “I have to meet Min and Mr. Pennington at the community center soon. But guess what. The baby is on the way! Aunt Allie's baby.”

Mary clasped her hands together.

“It will probably be born today,” Flora went on. “And Ruby and I will have a new cousin, and Min will be a grandmother again, and Aunt Allie will be a mom. And we can stop calling the baby ‘it.'”

Mary laughed. “What a wonderful way to celebrate Thanksgiving.”

Flora left half an hour later, and Mary decided to read before the fire for a while. Early in the afternoon, she sat down to her turkey dinner, which she ate with two cats staring intently at her. “I told you I was going to give you turkey tonight,” Mary reminded them, and then fed them bites of turkey anyway.

She was clearing her dishes when the telephone rang. “Min,” said Mary to herself. It could only be Min. She picked up the phone. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line before an unfamiliar voice said, “Well, happy Thanksgiving. Is this … is this Mary Woolsey?”

“Yes,” said Mary. “Who's this?”

“Well, you don't know me. I mean, you sent me a letter….” The voice trailed off. “My name is Catherine? Catherine Landry?”