The Perfect Gift

Chapter 22

The whole family was gathered around the table. It was time they knew the truth.

"I haven't been honest with all of you. He was right," Mary's father started.

"The mercantile? We're going to lose it?" John asked, looking over at his father, understanding that 'he' meant the mayor.

Mary turned to look at him too. She knew what the answer was.

"Yes, John," he said. "We're losing money. Fast. I've tried to stop it, by asking the bank for loans, but I'm tired of taking no as an answer."

Everyone was quiet.

"So, what does this mean for us?" Mary asked.

"Well, for starters, we may have to move out of this mercantile."

"We can't do that, Pa! There are too many memories! This is our home!" Mary exclaimed.

Mary thought about her room, and how her mother would sit on the rocking chair and read to her. She thought about how her mother was always patient with John and Mary when they didn't understand how to read a confusing word. Mary thought about her mother's studio and all the beautiful paintings that became something as soon as she touched her brush on the paper. She thought of the photo she had snuck without John knowing.

"I'm not saying we're moving just yet, but whether we do, or we don't, know that memories aren't always hidden in the rooms and places you've been in with the people you love, but most of the time, they're in your heart, and wherever you end up in life, you'll remember those memories."

"That is one of the wisest things you've said, Richard," Mary's grandmother added.

He looked at Annabelle and smiled, but shook his head.

"It wasn't me who first said that...it was her."

They all cried.

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That night, after Mary's grandmother was in bed, Mary, John, and their father talked about making a cane. Mary's father was in better spirits and Rex had been brought back to the bakery.

"What do you think, Pa?" John asked, enthusiastically.

"It's a marvelous idea, and I would love to get back to woodworking again!"

"You mean to say, you've worked with wood before?" Mary asked, excited that this project could really happen.

"All the time! It was the one thing me and my Pa had in common. We had so much fun!"

"Well, if we can find some scrap wood, you could have some fun again!" John said.

"I sure could!"

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After digging around the studio for a half an hour, they managed to find enough wood to make a usable cane.

"How are we going to cut and shape the wood?" John questioned.

"With a knife. It's part of the challenge," he informed John. "But first, as my Pa told me, I must give you the lowdown. One, don't hurt yourself, and two, have fun!"

"That's it?" Mary asked. John looked surprised too.

They didn't think their grandfather would be so loose like that. They never pictured him that way. Sometimes, to keep busy, the two children would talk about what their grandfather would be like; what would be some of his repetitive phrases, and what he liked to do, before they knew he liked woodworking.

"No, I just cut out a few rules..." He laughed.

"Well, if that's all, let's do this!" John exclaimed.

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After a few hours of bonding time, they finished working. It was close to perfect. The cane was smooth and turned out nicely. They were all happy, especially Mary's father. The children were happy that their father was happy. They admired the cane for a moment and then started talking at the same time.

"Well-" John started.

"Great-" Mary's father said.

"I can't-" Mary began.

They laughed. Mary's father spoke up.

"This was a great idea. I am so proud of you two."

He smiled, and pulled them into a side hug, one child on each side.

"Thanks, Pa," John said, appreciating the compliment.

"When should we give it to her?" Mary wondered out loud.

"Soon," John replied.

John gave Mary a look and she knew she had to keep the memorial a surprise.

"Well, off to bed. I'll clean up the scraps," Mary's father carried on.

"Goodnight, Pa," Mary said.

"Goodnight."
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Mary felt something touching her. She awoke slowly, having trouble opening her eyes all the way. It was still dark. Why would someone wake me if it's not the morning? she thought. She rubbed her eyes and made out a figure. Pa!

"You still awake, honey?"

"I guess," she replied, her words coming out grumbly.

"Oh, sorry, sweetie. I just wanted to say goodnight again."

"Really? Thanks, Pa. Anything else?"

"I was going to ask you the same question. How are you feeling about the mercantile?"

Mary didn't answer. She was fast asleep.

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Mary woke again, startled again as someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and saw it was barely morning. She looked beside her and saw John hovering over her.

"Rise and shine," he said, grinning.

"Why did you wake me so early?" Mary asked him, annoyed.

"Today's the day."

"For what?"

"Come on, Mary! Snap out of it! Let's have the memorial today! We need to get set up before the rest of the family wakes up!"

John practically tugged and dragged Mary out of her bed.

"You get the photos, I'll get the flowers. Meet you at the church yard soon."

"Okay," Mary agreed, half reluctantly.

They dispersed and set out to their tasks, without realizing it was the day their mother had died only one year ago, four days before Christmas.