On a Snowy Night: The Christmas Basket\The Snow Bride (16 page)

He studied a pile of old games next, but they all seemed to be missing pieces. This looked less and less promising.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A thin older man with a full
crop of white hair ambled into the room. He was slightly stooped and brushed dust from his hands as he walked.

“Hello, my name is Noelle McDowell,” she said. “We spoke yesterday.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Thom Sutton.” Thom stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Peter Bright.” His handshake was firm, belying his rather frail appearance. “I didn't know if you'd make it or not, with the storm and all.”

“We're grateful you're open this close to Christmas,” Noelle told him.

“I don't plan on staying open for long. But I wanted to escape the house for a few hours before Estelle found an excuse to put me to work in the kitchen.” He chuckled. “Would you like to take a look at the tea service?”

“Please.”

“I have it back here.” He started slowly toward the rear of the store; Thom and Noelle followed him.

Noelle reached for Thom's hand again. Although he'd warned her against building up their expectations, he couldn't help feeling a wave of anticipation.

“Now, let me see…” Peter mumbled as he began shifting boxes around. “You know, a lot of people tell me they're coming in and then never show up.” He smiled. “Like I said, I didn't really expect you to drive all the way from Rose in the middle of an ice storm.” He removed an ancient Remington typewriter and set it aside, then lifted the lid of an army-green metal chest.

“I've had this tea service for maybe twenty years,” Peter explained as he extracted a Navy sea bag.

“Do you remember how you came to get it?”

“Oh, sure. An English lady sold it to me. I displayed it for a while. People looked but no one bought.”

“Why keep it in the chest now?” Noelle asked.

“I didn't like having to polish it,” Peter said. “Folks have trouble seeing past the tarnish.” He straightened and met Thom's gaze. “Same with people. Ever notice that?”

“I have,” Thom said. Even on short acquaintance, he liked Peter Bright.

Nodding vigorously, Peter extracted a purple pouch from the duffel bag and peeled back the cloth to display a creamer. He set it on the green chest for their examination.

Noelle pulled the photograph from her purse and handed it to Thom, who studied the style. The picture wasn't particularly clear, so he found it impossible to tell if this was the same creamer, but there was definitely a similarity.

The sugar bowl was next. Peter set it out, waiting for Thom and Noelle's reaction. The photograph showed a slightly better view of that.

“This isn't the one,” Noelle said. “But it's close, I think.”

“Since you drove all this way, it won't hurt to look at all the pieces.”

Thom agreed, but he already knew it had been a futile trip. He tried to hide his disappointment. Against all the odds, he'd held high hopes for this. Like Noelle, he'd been waiting for a Christmas miracle but apparently it wasn't going to happen.

Bending low, Peter thrust his arm inside the canvas bag and extracted two more objects. He carefully unwrapped the silver teapot and then the coffeepot and offered them a moment to scrutinize his wares.

The elaborate tray was last. Carefully arranging each piece on top of it, Peter stepped back to give them a full view of the service. “It's a magnificent find, don't you think?”

“It's lovely,” Noelle said.

“But it's not the one we're looking for.”

He accepted their news with good grace. “That's a shame.”

“You see, this service—” she held out the picture “—was
stolen years ago, and Thom and I are hoping to replace it with one that's exactly the same. Or as much like it as possible.”

Peter reached for the photograph and studied it a moment. “I guess I should've looked closer and saved you folks the drive.”

“No problem,” Thom said. “Thanks for getting back to us.”

“Yes, thank you for your trouble,” Noelle said as they left the store. “It's a beautiful service.”

“I'll give you a good price on it if you change your mind,” the old man said, following them to the front door. “I'll be here another hour or so if you want to come back.”

“Thank you,” Thom said, but he didn't think there was much chance they'd be back. It wasn't the tea service they needed.

“How about lunch before we head home,” he suggested. The Thai restaurant appeared to be open.

“Sure,” Noelle agreed.

Thom shared her discouragement, but he was determined to maintain her optimism—and his own. “Hey, we've only started to look. It's too early to give up.”

“I know. You're right, it was foolish of me to think we'd find it so quickly. It's just that…oh, I don't know, I guess I thought it
would
be easy because everything else fell into place for us.”

They were the only customers in the restaurant. A charming waitress greeted them and escorted them to a table near the window.

Thom waited until they were seated before he spoke. “I guess this means we go to Plan B.”

“What about Pad Thai and—” Noelle glanced up at him over the menu. “What exactly is Plan B?”

Thom reached inside his coat pocket and set the jeweler's box in the middle of the table.

“Thom?” Noelle put her menu down.

This wasn't the way he'd intended to propose, but—as the cliché had it—there was no time like the present. “I love you, Noelle, and I'm not going to let this feud stand between us. Our parents will have to understand that we're entitled to our own happiness.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “Oh, Thom.”

“I'm asking you to be my wife.”

She stretched her arm across the table and they joined hands. “And I'm telling you it would be the greatest honor of my life to accept. I have a request, though.”

“Anything.”

“I want to buy that tea service. Not you. Me.”

Thom frowned. “Why?”

“I want to give it to your mother. From me to her. I can't replace the original, but maybe I can build a bridge between our families with this one.”

Thom's fingers tightened around hers. “It's worth a try.”

“I think so, too,” she whispered.

 

“I'm going to try my phone again,” Sarah said. Technology had betrayed them, but surely it would come to their rescue. Eventually. Walking a mile in the bitter cold was something she'd rather avoid.

“Go ahead,” Mary urged. She didn't seem any more eager than Sarah to make the long trek.

Sarah got her phone and speed dialed her home number. Hope sprang up when the call instantly connected, but was dashed just as quickly when she heard the recording once again.

“Any luck?” Mary asked, her eyes bright and teary in the cold.

She shook her head.

“Damn,” Mary muttered. “I guess that means there's no option but to hoof it.”

“Appears that way.”

“I think we should have a little fortification first, though,” Sarah said. Her husband's golf bags were in the back seat, and she knew he often carried a flask.

“Fortification?”

“A little Scotch might save our lives.”

Mary's look was skeptical. “I'm all for Scotch, but where are we going to find any out here?”

“Jake.” She opened the back door and grabbed the golf bag. Sure enough, there was a flask.

“I don't remember you liking Scotch,” Mary said.

“I don't, but at this point I can't be choosy.”

“Right.”

Sarah removed the top and tipped the flask, taking a sizable gulp. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she swallowed, then shook her head briskly. “Oh my, that's strong.” The liquor burned all the way down to her stomach, but as soon as it hit bottom, a welcoming warmth spread through her limbs.

“My turn,” Mary said.

Sarah handed her the flask and watched as Mary rubbed the top, then tilted it back and took a deep swallow. She, too, closed her eyes and shook her head. Soon, however, she was smiling. “That wasn't so bad.”

“It might ward off hypothermia.”

“You're right. You'd better have another.”

“You think?”

Mary nodded and after a moment, Sarah agreed. Luckily Jake had refilled the flask. The second swallow didn't taste nearly as nasty as the first. It didn't burn this time, either. Instead it enhanced the warm glow spreading through her system.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” Sarah said, giving Mary the flask.

Mary didn't need encouragement. She took her turn with the flask, then growled like a grizzly bear.

Sarah didn't know why she found that so amusing, but she did. She laughed uproariously. In fact, she laughed until she started to cough.

“What?” Mary asked, grinning broadly.

“Oh, dear.” She coughed again. “I didn't know you did animal impressions.”

“I do when I drink Scotch.”

Then, as if they'd both become aware that they were having an actual conversation, they pulled back into themselves. Sarah noticed that Mary's expression suddenly grew dignified, as though she'd realized she was laughing and joking with her enemy.

“We should get moving, don't you think?” Mary said in a dispassionate voice.

“You're right.” Sarah put the flask back in the golf bag and wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and face. Fortified in all respects, she was ready to face the storm. “It's a good thing we're walking together. Anything could happen on a day like this.”

They'd gone about the length of a football field when Mary said, “I'm cold again.”

“I am, too.”

“You should've brought along the Scotch.”

“We'll have to go back for it.”

“I think we should,” Mary agreed solemnly. “We could freeze to death before we reach the club.”

“Yes. The Scotch might make the difference between survival and death.”

Back at the car, they climbed in and shared the flask again. Soon, for no apparent reason, they were giggling.

“I think we're drunk,” Mary said.

“Oh, hardly. I can hold my liquor better than this.”

Mary burst into peals of laughter. “No, you can't. Don't you remember the night of our Halloween party?”

“That was—what?—twenty-two years ago!”

“I know, but I haven't forgotten how silly those margaritas made you.”

“You were the one who kept filling my glass.”

“You were the one who kept telling me how good they were.”

Sarah nearly doubled over with hysterics. “Next thing I knew, I was standing on the coffee table singing ‘Guantanamera' at the top of my lungs.”

“You sounded fabulous, too. And then when you started to dance—”

“I
what?
” All Sarah recalled was the blinding headache she'd suffered the next morning. When she woke and could barely lift her head from the pillow without stabbing pain, she'd phoned her dearest, best friend in the world. Mary had dropped everything and rushed over. She'd mixed Sarah a tomato-juice concoction that had saved her life, or so she'd felt at the time.

Both women were silent. “I miss those days,” Sarah whispered.

“I do, too,” Mary said.

Sarah sniffled. It was the cold that made her eyes water. Digging through her purse, she couldn't find a single tissue. Mary gave her one.

“I've missed you,” Sarah said and loudly blew her nose.

“I've missed you, too.”

The cold must have intensified, because her eyes began to water even more. Using her coat sleeve, she wiped her nose.

“Here,” she said to Mary, handing her the flask. “I want you to have this. Take the rest.”

“The Scotch?”

Sarah nodded. “If we're not found until it's too late—I
want you to have the liquor. It might keep you alive long enough for the rescue people to revive you.”

Mary looked as though she was close to bursting into tears. “You'd die for—me?” She hiccuped on the last word.

Sarah nodded again.

“That's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“But before I die, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Mary told her. “Anything at all.”

Sarah sniffled and swallowed a sob. Leaning her forehead against the steering wheel, she whispered, “Forgive me.”