Christmas Pie Page 37

  The idea captured Polly’s fancy. “Can we take your Olds Runabout?”

  He laughed. “I can’t believe you actually want to ride in a horseless carriage, my fair Polly.”

  “It’s a new century, James. I guess I just want to keep up with the times.”

  So, confiding only in Raymond Sing, Polly and James climbed into the Runabout, James cranked it up, and off they sped toward Chinatown.

  “You know,” Polly said when they were halfway there, “that old lady’s never been in the shop when I’ve gone back before.”

  “I bet she’ll be there tonight.”

  “Really?”

  Peering at him through the darkness speckled here and there with the amber glow street lamps, Polly saw him nod. He was grinning.

  “Sure. If it’s a magic coin and you’ve used up your part, I expect she’ll know it, won’t she?”

  Polly cocked her head quizzically. For somebody who used to claim not to believe in magic or the delights of Christmas or love, James certainly knew how to act as though he did.

  “I believe you’re right.”

  He was.

  The street was busy tonight, with people out celebrating the white man’s New Year’s Eve. Musicians played Chinese tunes, masked dancers made their way from doorway to doorway, sprinkling luck on shopkeepers and their merchandise. Incense hung in the air along with smoke from celebratory firecrackers. A string of firecrackers popped nearby, making Polly jump and laugh. James hugged her tight as he opened the door to the small curio shop.

  The bell tinkled, as it always did, and Polly had to blink several times to adjust to the shop’s twilight atmosphere. When she could distinguish things against the darkness, she noticed the beaded curtain, hanging still and silent. Good old curtain. She loved that curtain.

  “Good evening, Lady.”

  Delighted, Polly turned toward the counter. “Oh, James, you were right.”

  There she sat, smiling, bobbing a nod at them both, the little old lady who had given Polly her coin. She held out her hand, palm up, as though she’d been expecting them and knew why they’d come.

  “Here, Polly, let me.”

  James untied the red velvet ribbon and slid the coin from it. He held it in front of his eyes for a minute, staring at the beautiful, lustrous old thing. Then he gave it a quick kiss, fisted his hand around it once as if for luck, and placed it gently into Polly’s open palm.

  Polly felt quite emotional when she wrapped her fingers around the coin and walked to the counter. She held the coin close to her breast for a moment, then quickly handed it to the old lady.

  “Thank you,” she murmured softly, afraid she was going to cry.

  “It work good,” the woman said. “It work real good for you.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes, it worked wonderfully.”

  “It work again.” The little old face’s thousand wrinkles creased into a happy smile. “Somebody else need soon.”

  “Of course.” Then, on an impulse, Polly reached over and kissed the old woman’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said again. “Thank you so much.”

  The old head bobbed again. The tiny woman held the coin up, gripped between her thumb and forefinger. “Magic in you,” she said, nodding at Polly. “Coin unlock.”

  With her hand pressed to her breast in a gesture left over from before, Polly whispered, “Really?”

  “Oh, sure,” the old lady said.

  And with that, she hopped down from her stool and trotted through the beaded curtain. It clicked once or twice and stilled. In only a second or two, it was as if nobody but Polly and James had ever been in the shop that evening. Polly stared at the curtain for quite a few minutes, wishing she could talk to the old lady again.

  Then, with a little laugh, she pressed her bare skin and said, “I guess I have nothing left to wish on.”

  She felt James behind her a second before he slipped his arms around her waist and bent to kiss her on the side of her neck. “You have me, Polly. We have each other.”

  With another laugh, she turned into his embrace. “And we both have Dewey!” she declared, as though it were the final word on everything.

  They were both laughing when they left the shop.

  # # #

  It was as James had predicted. Nobody had even noticed they were gone.

  James sidled up to Raymond. “Any fussing?”

  Raymond laughed. “Not a fuss to be found tonight, James.”

  “Good.”

  His left arm still around Polly’s waist, James snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  “Here, love, let’s share.”

  He tilted the glass to Polly’s lips and watched her take a sip. Very carefully, he placed his lips over the spot where she’d drunk and took a sip of his own. Lord on high, he loved this woman. He signed contentedly as they stood at the head of the five short steps leading down into the ballroom and surveyed the scene. Everybody sure looked happy. Good.

  “Oh, James, look. There’s still magic in the air.”

  “Mmmmm?”

  “My goodness, yes. Why, just look over there. Look at your father and my mother chatting together.”

  James felt his eyes go wide with his astonishment. “My God, I’ve never seen the old man look happy before.”

  “And I haven’t seen my mother actually stand up and walk with a wheelchair nowhere in sight for six years.” She watched them for a moment or two and added, “And I haven’t seen that look on her face since before my father died.”

  James heard Polly sniffle and knew she’d be asking for his handkerchief in an instant. He’d packed a second one just in case.

  “And look over there, James.”

  He followed her finger and saw she was pointing to Raymond Sing, in deep and earnest conversation with a San Francisco businessman. They were obviously talking to each other as fellow businessmen and not as a Chinaman to an American.

  “And, oh, James!” Polly cried.

  James whipped out his spare handkerchief and quickly thrust it into Polly’s extended hand.

  “Thank you,” she sniffed. “But look, James. Over there. Look at Stephen. Isn’t he handsome?”

  “He’s handsome, all right,” James acknowledged with a grin.

  In truth, Stephen was handsome as the very devil. And the unattached ladies in the crowd thought so, too, if the looks on Constance, Rose, and Juliana’s faces were anything by which to judge. If James were a betting man, he’d bet they were dragging the exciting details of Stephen’s ordeal out of him right this minute. James and Stephen had become quite friendly in the week since Christmas Eve, and James was pretty sure Stephen couldn’t wait until he could go back to being a plain sailor again. Stephen MacNamara was not one to glory in the past, his own or anybody else’s.

  “And, James, everything is so beautiful.”

  Then Polly uttered a little shriek, making James jump.

  “Good God, Polly, what’s the matter?” Frantically, he searched the crowd, trying to discover what foul creature had entered and caused his beloved Polly to become distressed. Had Lawrence Bullock broken out of jail and crashed the party? Was the punch bowl on fire? God knew, there was enough brandy in it.

  When he saw what had startled Polly and realized she’d succumbed to gasps of laughter, he exhaled slowly, his panic subsiding.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “You see, James, there still is magic in the air. If Dewey can crash a party and behave himself, you know there’s still magic.”

  James began to laugh, too. “I guess you’re right, love.”

  Dewey sat at J. P. Drayton’s side, looking for all the world like the dignified, well-behaved, rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound he was supposed to be. J. P. glowered around as if daring anybody to object when he slipped the courteous hound another canapé. Lillian MacNamara only laughed at the two of them.

  “How did he get here?”

  “I have no idea. But it seems fitting somehow.”

  J
ames squeezed Polly’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said, “it does.”

  # # #

  Polly and James were proud as punch as they wheeled the baby carriage down the crowded, narrow street toward the tiny curio shop in Chinatown. Throngs bustled around them. Sometimes a smiling pajama-clad man or woman would bob a greeting and exclaim over the contents of the buggy.

  Such exclamations surprised neither parent. Their two-month-old daughter Stephanie was, after all, the most beautiful baby in the world. It wasn’t just parental pride that made them say so, either. It was merely the truth. Anybody could tell.

  Why, even Stephanie’s grandfather doted on the girl. He had, however, objected strenuously when Polly took to calling him Uncle Ebenezer to his face. She compromised by only calling him that behind his back. Her mother didn’t mind much, even though she and J. P. had become quite an item recently. There was even talk of marriage.

  James, Polly, Raymond and Stephen had spent an entire evening laughing uncontrollably at the thought of James’s father and Polly’s mother marrying.

  “But I think it’s wonderful!” Polly’s throat ached from giggling and she had to press her hands to her breast to hold her bubbling laughter down. “Truly, I do!”

  “So do I,” gasped Stephen, wiping his eyes.

  James had to stand up and stamp, he was laughing so hard. “I’ve never seen the old man moon-struck before.”

  Raymond couldn’t say a word. He was laughing too hard.

  “He spoils Stephanie terribly,” Polly had said when the hilarity had calmed down slightly.

  James shook his head. “Well, you know what he is. You’ll never cure him. Claims it’s his grandfatherly right and if anybody objects, they can go straight to hell.”

  The four friends got a good fifteen minutes’ worth of amusement out of J. P.’s reported announcement.

  Now, as they peered through the shop’s window, Polly asked, “Do you think anybody’s there, James?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said, and boldly pushed the door open.

  The bell tinkled right on cue. Polly loved this shop. The familiar scent of sandalwood caressed her nostrils and she smiled. It was just as she remembered. Same old beaded curtain. She fingered the beautifully embroidered cloth draped over the teakwood stand and sighed.

  Yet there were differences, too. Of course, the ivory combs now adorned her mother’s lovely hair. Even J. P. said they looked good in Lillian’s hair.

  And the old woman was nowhere in sight. Instead, to Polly’s surprise, the beautiful young woman stood, still as a statue, before the counter.

  “Good morning,” she said with her Mona-Lisa smile.

  “Good morning.” Polly remembered the last time she’d seen the woman and realized she felt not a lick of jealousy today. Her husband loved her; of that she had not a doubt in the world.

  The woman seemed to float over the floor when she approached them. She peered into the carriage and her expression was as soft as eiderdown.

  “Your baby is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  James preened a little. Polly’s insides lit up like fireworks. “I guess there’s no need to ask if the old lady is here today,” she said with a smile.

  The woman shook her head. “But there’s something for you here.” From her sleeve she drew out a long flat box fashioned of cinnabar and inlaid with carved ivory.

  “Oh,” Polly whispered, awed by the beauty of the box, “how lovely.”

  The woman inclined her head. “Please to open it. It contain gift for your beautiful children.”

  “Our children?” James looked puzzled and peered first at the woman and then at Stephanie, who took that opportunity to yawn.

  But Polly knew what the woman meant. She looked at the woman for a moment, excitement dancing in her heart. “Really?”

  The woman inclined her head once more.

  “Oh, how wonderful!”

  Quickly, Polly opened the box. Four silver spoons lay on a bed of black velvet. Each spoon had a handle engraved with Chinese patterns. Without understanding how, Polly knew which was Stephanie’s. She picked it up and looked inquiringly at the woman, whose graceful nod confirmed Polly’s choice.

  “The other three are for boys,” Polly murmured, sure once more without knowing how.

  Again, the woman nodded.

  “Thank you so much!”

  This time the other woman initiated the hug.

  Polly and James pushed their baby home through the crisp sunlight of a perfect December day, heading back to their home on Russian Hill. If today was like most days, they would find J. P. there, prowling the grounds with Dewey at his heels, grumbling about the nerve of some people, to think they could take his granddaughter out of the house without consulting him first. Undoubtedly Lillian would be sitting on the stone bench, peacefully embroidering a new smock for Stephanie and telling J. P. that James and Polly would be home in a minute, and not to fuss.

  With luck, Stephen would pop by in the afternoon and he, James and Polly would stroll out to the Japanese garden. James and Stephen would argue about baseball while Polly walked to the middle of the red lacquered bridge to throw bread crumbs to the carp. Dewey, of course, would lope around chasing birds and squirrels. If their luck held, the clumsy hound wouldn’t fall in the pond this time.

  Raymond and his new lady friend were joining them for dinner. Polly hoped Stephen would dine with them, too. J. P. was actively recruiting Stephen to join his shipping concern. Stephen had also been keeping company with Constance Pry, a girl whom Polly had begun to consider both charming and a true friend. She hoped Constance and Stephen would marry soon. Polly had always wanted a sister.

  Of course, J. P. and Lillian would be at the supper table. Neither grandparent could bear to be away from Stephanie for too long at any given time.

  Polly remembered a line from an old, old Christmas song, one she’d discovered in a book of venerable Yuletide verses in the library. She never did find the music, but she loved the ancient words. She recited them to herself now, and smiled, thinking they fit her circumstances to the proverbial T.

  Without the door let sorrow lie,

  And if for cold it hap to die,

  We’ll bury it in a Christmas pie,

  And ever more be merry.

  She whispered, “Amen,” and smiled when her husband looked at her quizzically.