Wreath (31 page)

“This isn’t much,” Clarice said. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

“Feels like a book,” Wreath said, ripping into it like a child and smiling broadly when she saw what it was. “My own copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird,”
she breathed. “Your favorite book.”

Clarice was smiling as she pulled off, promising to be back later for the party, and waving at J. D., in his usual spot on the bench in front of the hardware store.

“Good luck with your shindig today,” J. D. called to Wreath as she practically skipped up the walk.

“You’re coming, aren’t you?” Wreath asked, smiling so big that she felt like she was beaming.

He studied her face for a long moment before answering. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.

Faye looked like one of the stars of a soap opera, wearing a tailored red silk suit and pearls. But instead of looking happy to see Wreath with gift in hand, she was clearly dismayed, giving a quick frown and blowing air out of her nose with a little huff.

“You didn’t tell me you got a new outfit,” Faye said and pulled a wrapped package from underneath her desk. “I made you one.”

It took a couple of seconds for Wreath to comprehend. “You think
this
is a new outfit?”

Faye sighed. “You look darling as usual, but I wanted to surprise you. That felt tree on that sweater is the perfect touch. I should have known you’d come up with something good.”

Wreath, still holding the decoration she’d made, looked down at the old sweater with her hurried design covering a hole and looked back at the present Faye held. “You made me an outfit?”

Faye held out the package, and Wreath started to reach for it as though she’d ever seen one before, brushing the package with the wreath. “Oh! I almost forgot,” Wreath said. She held up the wreath, framing her face. “I made this for you.”

“For me?” Faye asked, laying her package down and taking the wreath as though it were a priceless antique. “This is beautiful.”

“I thought you could hang it at your house, since you didn’t decorate much there.”

Faye cleared her throat and cleared it again, as though something had lodged there. Then she nodded at the package, wrapped in the store’s trademark green paper with a twine bow, Wreath’s idea. “Open yours.”

Wreath tore into the package, shredding the paper, the string flying.

“I copied that old-fashioned style you seem to prefer,” Faye said as Wreath pulled the short skirt, blouse, vest, and a tie out. “Part of the fabric is from old linens, a little is new, and I cut that tie down from one of Billy’s.”

“A Faye Durham original design.” Wreath fingered the silk tie and leapt at Faye, hugging her fiercely. “This is the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten!”

“Today’s your birthday?” The woman looked flustered. “I whipped that outfit up as a thank-you present. You should have let me know it was your birthday.”

Wreath blushed. “That’s even better. No one’s ever given me a thank-you gift before. I’m changing into it right now!”

When she stepped out, she noticed that the tear in her eye was mirrored in that of her boss.

The open house felt like Wreath’s own birthday party and Christmas celebration rolled into one, and she was overwhelmed at the affection she was shown.

For someone who had intended to avoid attention, she received enough notice to warm her heart for weeks. She decided she was glad she had failed at her goal. She could go back underground when school started again. Today, she would soak up the good wishes.

“That is the most precious outfit I’ve ever seen,” Clarice said, reaching up to touch the vest. “Are those vintage linens?”

Wreath grinned. “Faye made it for me.”

Clarice turned away, seeming to wipe her eye, and then rushed to introduce Wreath to her father and husband, who greeted Wreath like a long-lost relative or dear old friend. Each handed her a business card and told her to call them anytime she needed anything, day or night.

In addition, Mr. Estes, Clarice’s dad, slipped her a hundred-dollar bill on his way out.

“I can’t take your father’s money,” she whispered to Clarice, but the lawyer smiled and said, “Help someone else along the way, Wreath.”

J. D., looking downright snazzy in a pair of khakis and a red plaid shirt with a sweater vest, gave her a bird feeder and seed from his store and an envelope with fifty dollars in it. “Thank you for being such a help to Faye,” he said. “God sent you along right when she needed you most.”

The look on his face was so nice that she didn’t even try to turn the gift down, and she was too embarrassed to ask what he meant about God sending her. She was unsure how you knew if God was sending you anyplace.

The party was in full swing when the deputy sheriff stepped through the front door, and Wreath ducked into the workroom, heart thudding. More than six months had passed since she’d run away to Landry, and she still expected to be discovered, dragged back to Lucky, and put into the care of someone she didn’t care for.

“Has anyone seen Wreath?” she heard Miss Watson ask.

Her heart beat harder, and she gauged the distance to the back door, hating to leave but not wanting to spoil Mrs. Durham’s event by being hauled off by the law.

“Wreath?” Faye called. “Are you in the back? Someone’s here to see you.”

Her shoes, bought at the thrift store, felt like they were made of lead as she stepped back into the crowded showroom. For a moment, before anyone saw her, she soaked it in, thinking how different it looked from that first day in June. The smell of fresh pine that she had cut in the junkyard permeated the air, and tall fat green candles lined an old mantel she and Faye had rescued from the trash after work one day.

“That looks like something we can put to good use,” her boss had said, swerving to the side of the road as she drove Wreath home. Since then, the two of them had made it a point to see what people left by the curb on trash day, in addition to their garage sale runs.

A heavy crystal bowl from one of the boxes from the attic was filled with punch made with strawberry sherbet and ginger ale, a recipe Faye said her mother had always made at Christmas. The lights hung by Mitch and Law twinkled, and even though it was only late afternoon, Wreath could see the sun beginning to set through the plate glass windows.

The bells on the door, so often silent when Wreath first came to the store, jangled again, and Law, Mitch, and Destiny walked in, all grinning and scanning the room. Wreath knew they were there to visit her, and she started to wave, then remembered the deputy again.

“Oh, there you are!” A woman’s voice rang out.

Turning her face away from Miss Watson, Wreath intended to run but didn’t. This moment felt so right that she couldn’t walk out.

“Wreath, I want you to meet Shane.” Her teacher’s voice sounded excited, and the teenager turned to see the handsome deputy smiling at her.

“Julia has told me how talented you are,” he said, reaching out his hand to shake hers. “She says you’re responsible for all this.” He gestured at the crowd and the store. “Congratulations.”

“I’m only a helper,” she said, casting her eyes down.

“You’re a catalyst,” Miss Watson said. “Oh! And this is for you.”

The teacher handed her a book about fashion design with a red bow tied around it. “I’m enjoying working with you on your drawings.”

Wreath held the heavy book up to her face and inhaled the smell of new paper. Flipping through the smooth pages, she saw sketches and tips on how to design everything from bedspreads to evening gowns. Not one page had a smudge or a hint of mildew, and the corners of the cover were sharp and straight.

For a moment she was dismayed when she saw that someone had written in the front, but a tear came to her eye as she saw what it said: “To Wreath—Remember you were designed for something special. Best wishes in the years ahead. Julia Watson, Landry High School.”

“It’s the most beautiful book I’ve ever had,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

The deputy gave both Wreath and Julia another big smile, his eyes piercing as they looked at Wreath, and for a split second, the girl’s joy faltered.

“I’m sorry we can’t stay longer,” Shane said. “I’m taking your teacher out for an early Christmas dinner since she’s going to visit her family tomorrow.”

“Enjoy your school break!” Julia called out as they walked off, holding hands. “Your outfit is adorable, by the way.” Wreath exhaled the breath she had been holding.

Faye insisted that Wreath go out to eat with the other kids. “Mitch can drop you off afterward.”

“But we have all this mess to clean up,” Wreath protested, wanting to go out for a change but reluctant to spend money or to ask the boy for a ride.

“J. D. offered to help,” Mrs. Durham said, her voice higher pitched than usual. “And Law’s grandparents want to stay, too.”

“We’ve got lots of catching up to do,” Nadine Nelson said, looping her arm around Faye’s waist. “We can talk while we pick up.”

Faye motioned Wreath over to the big desk, which had been cleared off and polished. Opening a drawer, Faye pulled out an envelope. “This is a small bonus for all the hard work you’ve done this Christmas season. You can put it in your college fund.”

The girl, hands trembling, opened the envelope and saw ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “Are these real?” she asked.

“Just for you,” Faye said.

Wreath jumped a foot off the floor and tackled her with a hug, topping it off with a kiss on the cheek. “You are the best boss ever!” She hesitated and looked Faye straight in the eye. “And this may sound weird, but you’re my best friend, too.”

They hugged again. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said.

“Come on, Wreath,” Destiny called. “Law’s grandfather gave him money to buy our supper! And you’ve got to tell me where you found that new outfit.”

On Christmas morning, Wreath built a small campfire, glad she had gathered sticks the week before, and hung her new birdfeeder within sight of the van. She ate an entire package of doughnuts and an orange for breakfast, the citrus smell and sticky juice reminding her of Christmases past when Frankie put fruit in her stocking.

She read the Christmas story in the old Bible she had found, remembering the passage from the one time a year Frankie took her to church, Christmas Eve. “Fear not,” part of the story said, and she felt protected and loved as the words jumped from the page.

She had wrapped a new sketchbook to give herself for Christmas, and drew in it for a while after reading the art book from Miss Watson. She gave herself permission not to do any chores for the day and to eat as much as she wanted, including most of a small canned ham, packaged rolls, and a large chocolate candy bar.

Finally, she wrote Frankie a letter in her diary, telling her about the past few months.
I miss you, Mama
, she wrote,
but I want you to know I’m doing okay
.

Restless in the middle of the afternoon, she gathered up a small package she had wrapped for Law and pedaled over to the row of mobile homes. They looked even shabbier in the bare winter light.

A pickup was pulled up on the grass, and Wreath had to work up all her nerve to tap on the door. A pretty, somewhat droopy-looking woman opened the door. Before Wreath could open her mouth, the woman yelled, “Law, you’ve got company.”