do you repay someone for all of that? Honestly, he has been better to me than my own papa ever was.”
“That’s just it, Bernadette. Sometimes a person is filled up by things no one else sees. People are always emptying out, filling up. Right now you are giving him something he needs.”
“I sure don’t know what it is. ‘Pride in my star pupil’ is what he says, but I’m not really sure. Sometimes he seems so sad when he looks at me.”
Payne nodded and turned back to the kitchen. It wasn’t her business to share another’s history without their permission. He would tell it in his own good time. Right now, she, Wanda Payne, was happy to be a part of his present. She didn’t have any desire to peek into the future…his, hers, theirs.
As Payne reached the kitchen door, she heard Bernadette give out a loud moan. Turning quickly, she saw the young woman doubled over.
“Are you okay? What is it?”
Bernadette drew herself up slowly, pain pinching her face. “That was a hard one. The baby wanted to get my attention and it sure did. But now I have an idea for putting my own kick into Christmas.”
Chapter 36
Making a Scene
The sidewalk was jammed with folks gawking at the whimsical portrayal, each offering an opinion for its existence. Horse-drawn carriages allowed tourists a leisurely up-close view. Their ongoing commentary was punctuated with laughter and the snapping of many photographs from varying angles. The general agreement among residents and travelers alike regarding the object of interest was upbeat and positive.
Depicted on the large window of the little café were the likenesses of all those who worked inside. A cluster of five formed a semicircle around a slender red-suited Santa, their ten adoring eyes riveted on the spot where his face should be. Anchoring one end of the group of ladies was the café’s owner wrapped in a purple fringed shawl; her arms extended, she offered a plate piled high with pie. At the other end of the half-circle stood a young pregnant woman clutching a halo in one hand and a small brush in the other. Three everyday angels filled the in-between, their mouths opened in an unheard, ongoing dialogue. A spindly tree poked up from behind Santa, dressed in a hodgepodge of ornaments, its baby shoe “star” precariously perched on its topmost branch. The glass palette offered up a bounty of brilliant hues and dusty shades congenially converged: a peek into a pocket of ordinariness filled with inexpressible joy.
Bernadette, steadily working after lunch crowds thinned out, completed the work in a few afternoons, leaving her both excited and exhausted. Discussions among the café’s patrons revolved around who would be Santa, a few trying to bribe their image onto the window with extra tips. One regular, known for his second and third helpings and good sense of humor, swore it was a caricature of him “before and after” his many meals at Wanda’s. The speculation had even given rise to a spontaneous betting pool. High spirits filled the little café to bursting at a time of year already packed with anticipation.
The morning of Christmas Eve, cutouts covering St. Nick’s neck and face had mysteriously appeared during the night. As he was one of the only “regulars” who hadn’t tried some type of bribery, Josh was chosen to lead folks outside for the grand unveiling. He was draped with a dishtowel, crowned with a large gumbo pot, handed a wooden spoon scepter and pushed reluctantly to the front of the parade. Gladys, Bertie and Deah did their best to add to the pageantry with an off-key version of “Come All Ye Faithful” while banging on skillets, setting something of a cadence for the march outside. The eatery emptied, everyone falling into step. Once out on the sidewalk facing the diner, a halt was called. A drum-roll rising from the back of a cookie sheet followed the silence,
“That’s just it, Bernadette. Sometimes a person is filled up by things no one else sees. People are always emptying out, filling up. Right now you are giving him something he needs.”
“I sure don’t know what it is. ‘Pride in my star pupil’ is what he says, but I’m not really sure. Sometimes he seems so sad when he looks at me.”
Payne nodded and turned back to the kitchen. It wasn’t her business to share another’s history without their permission. He would tell it in his own good time. Right now, she, Wanda Payne, was happy to be a part of his present. She didn’t have any desire to peek into the future…his, hers, theirs.
As Payne reached the kitchen door, she heard Bernadette give out a loud moan. Turning quickly, she saw the young woman doubled over.
“Are you okay? What is it?”
Bernadette drew herself up slowly, pain pinching her face. “That was a hard one. The baby wanted to get my attention and it sure did. But now I have an idea for putting my own kick into Christmas.”
Chapter 36
Making a Scene
The sidewalk was jammed with folks gawking at the whimsical portrayal, each offering an opinion for its existence. Horse-drawn carriages allowed tourists a leisurely up-close view. Their ongoing commentary was punctuated with laughter and the snapping of many photographs from varying angles. The general agreement among residents and travelers alike regarding the object of interest was upbeat and positive.
Depicted on the large window of the little café were the likenesses of all those who worked inside. A cluster of five formed a semicircle around a slender red-suited Santa, their ten adoring eyes riveted on the spot where his face should be. Anchoring one end of the group of ladies was the café’s owner wrapped in a purple fringed shawl; her arms extended, she offered a plate piled high with pie. At the other end of the half-circle stood a young pregnant woman clutching a halo in one hand and a small brush in the other. Three everyday angels filled the in-between, their mouths opened in an unheard, ongoing dialogue. A spindly tree poked up from behind Santa, dressed in a hodgepodge of ornaments, its baby shoe “star” precariously perched on its topmost branch. The glass palette offered up a bounty of brilliant hues and dusty shades congenially converged: a peek into a pocket of ordinariness filled with inexpressible joy.
Bernadette, steadily working after lunch crowds thinned out, completed the work in a few afternoons, leaving her both excited and exhausted. Discussions among the café’s patrons revolved around who would be Santa, a few trying to bribe their image onto the window with extra tips. One regular, known for his second and third helpings and good sense of humor, swore it was a caricature of him “before and after” his many meals at Wanda’s. The speculation had even given rise to a spontaneous betting pool. High spirits filled the little café to bursting at a time of year already packed with anticipation.
The morning of Christmas Eve, cutouts covering St. Nick’s neck and face had mysteriously appeared during the night. As he was one of the only “regulars” who hadn’t tried some type of bribery, Josh was chosen to lead folks outside for the grand unveiling. He was draped with a dishtowel, crowned with a large gumbo pot, handed a wooden spoon scepter and pushed reluctantly to the front of the parade. Gladys, Bertie and Deah did their best to add to the pageantry with an off-key version of “Come All Ye Faithful” while banging on skillets, setting something of a cadence for the march outside. The eatery emptied, everyone falling into step. Once out on the sidewalk facing the diner, a halt was called. A drum-roll rising from the back of a cookie sheet followed the silence,
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