Christmas Madness Anthology Page 3

  “That should do it! Grab me a kitchen towel, will you?” she asked Edwina, wide-eyed, as she stood back and watched the flickering flames slowly die down and sputter into sooty smoke.

  Edwina walked up next to her and handed her a thick towel, both of their eyes on the oversized skillet.

  “Can I ask what that was?” Edwina said, trying to sound calm, but she could see her heavy-set cook was trembling.

  “It’s not my fault!” Mrs. O’Doul said defensively.

  Edwina ignored her words and walked over the tall, mullioned windows near the kitchen door and started opening them, one by one. The smoke lazily drifted away as wintry, fresh air spilled into the huge kitchen of the Winterwood mansion. In all the time she’d lived there, Edwina could never remember a fire in the kitchen.

  Perhaps that was because most of the family didn’t spend much time in the kitchen, but she’d grown to like it there. When the Winterwoods weren’t in the room, who knows what sort of accidents could have happened? A cook who set fire to things was usually a cook who got handed her hat and an envelope containing her last bit of pay, before being shown directly to the door.

  “Fried potatoes.”

  “What?” Edwina asked. She looked over at the cook, who was about one second away from bursting into tears.

  “Fried potatoes, for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Mrs. O’Doul said again, her voice heavy with regret. “I guess I had the oil too hot.” Her wide eyes turned to Edwina, and her mouth opened and closed once, then she said, “It wasn’t my fault!”

  Edwina glanced around. It was late in the evening, and the dinner leftovers and cleaned dishes had been put away. While getting ready for bed, Edwina had suddenly remembered Mrs. O’Doul had been experimenting with a new recipe of pecan pie. The remnants of her efforts were almost certainly in the cooler downstairs, and she couldn’t resist sneaking down to the kitchen for a taste.

  Daniel, the cook’s errand boy, had left long ago, and it was just Edwina and Mrs. O’Doul in the kitchen.

  “If I wasn’t under so much stress,” Mrs. O’Doul continued, “I wouldn’t have turned the burner up so high. This big party your mother has planned for Christmas is putting me in such a dither. You wouldn't believe the hoops she's making me jump through to get this thing done!” She gave a huff of exasperation. “Besides all the food, I need to worry about coordinating with the decorators and about a million other details. Do you know she wants to have a treasure hunt and bring in a full-sized sleigh made out of carved ice? Rumor has it she’s been scouting all through Chicago to see if she can rent a reindeer.” She looked at Edwina in dismay. “Can you believe it? Rent a reindeer!”

  Edwina tried to look sympathetic, but in reality, she just wanted to chuckle a bit. The Christmas charity party was one of her mother’s favorite things to do every year, and every year it seemed to get bigger and bigger. It benefited the St. Joseph's Orphanage on the other side of Chicago, and Amelia Eaton Winterwood was justifiably proud of the money raised and how it helped so many children. Unfortunately, it always seemed to put the household in an uproar during the holidays, with strangers coming and going to set up her elaborate productions and decorations.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Doul,” Edwina said, her sympathy genuine. “I saw the director of the children's home was talking to Mother in the main parlor today. From what I overheard, my mother has every intention of making this year’s Christmas charity party the biggest and best it’s ever been.” She laid a hand on Mrs. O’Doul’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t be of any help tomorrow, but I’ve promised to give Mr. Edmondson a hand in the garage.”

  Mrs. O’Doul didn’t even turn her head around as Edwina walked out. “Fine,” the cook said, staring glumly at the smoldering ruin of tomorrow’s breakfast potatoes. “And I just want to know one thing; what exactly do reindeer eat, anyway?”

  Chapter 2

  “Is that mistletoe for me?”

  The voice behind Edwina was masculine, familiar, and definitely teasing.

  “Not a chance in Hades, Preston, but nice try,” she answered with a grin, looking down at him from top rungs of the wooden ladder. She looped the last bit of red velvet ribbon around the stems of the big ball of mistletoe and tied it tightly. “You’d have as much luck kissing me as you would Mr. Hopkins.”

  Apparently, the thought of kissing the Winterwood’s dour butler didn’t appeal to Edwina’s good friend, Preston Anderson. She finished hanging the ball of mistletoe and turned around on the ladder just in time to see Preston screw up his face and stick out his tongue in mock protest.

  “No, thanks. He’s not my type.”

  Edwin had a pretty good idea who Preston actually wanted to kiss, and it wasn't her. Her dear friend Agnes Scapelli had been in Preston sights for several months, and no matter how much he mooned over the blonde beauty, she didn't seem to see him as anything other than a good, platonic friend. If Edwina knew Preston, she knew he'd be doing his best to try to catch Agnes under the mistletoe sometime during the Christmas season.

  "I thought you were going to be in the garage this morning, helping Mr. Edmonson. What happened to that?" Preston asked, and Edwina hopped off the bottom rung of the ladder and brushed her hands together.

  "Oh, he's waiting on some parts. George is supposed to bring them by later today, and I couldn't work on the Duesenberg until the parts got over here. Everybody so busy getting ready for the big charity party, so I thought I'd help out a bit and do some of the decorating." She put her hands on her hips and looked around with a satisfied smile. "What do you think?"

  Preston surveyed the ballroom of the Winterwood’s historic mansion and nodded in approval. "It's beautiful. Reminds me of the time back when I was about twelve and came over here for my very first dance. I was a terrible dancer," he admitted with a laugh, and Edwina had to chuckle in agreement. Preston had stepped on her toes more than once that night. He’d grown up in the same plush circumstances she had, and was used to a world of butlers, ballrooms, and beautiful parties.

  "Well, mercifully, you've gotten much better,” Edwina said, leaning over to pick up the wicker basket of decorations she’d brought with her from the front parlor. It was true. Preston was an exceptionally smooth dancer, even if his own awkwardness didn’t make him as smooth when he was trying to find a girlfriend.

  "Hey, I meant to ask you," Preston said, "what's with the scraggly looking kids upstairs in the main hall?"

  "What kids?" Edwina asked as she straightened up, then grabbed Preston's arm. "Oh! Those must be the orphans coming over from the children's home. Who was with them?"

  "Some old lady who looked like she ate too many pickles, and Mr. Hopkins." Preston shuddered. “To tell the truth, she reminded me of my old French teacher. Used to rap my knuckles with a ruler when I couldn’t conjugate irregular verbs.”

  "Uh oh, I better get upstairs,” Edwina said, putting a mouth up to her mouth in concern. “I’m the only family member at home right now. I think Mother was out trying to find a good source for cedar garland, because her usual florist was completely out."

  As soon as Edwina hurried upstairs and across the marble-tiled front hall, she could tell something was wrong. A frowning woman in a wide-brimmed blue hat was gripping the arm of a wriggling boy. He was probably about ten or so, with bright red hair and a spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Hopkins was standing back several feet, like a good butler should, but Edwina could see from the concerned expression on his face that he was prepared to intervene if things escalated.

  "I told you not to touch anything!" the woman hissed, giving his arm a jerk for good measure. "Now you just mind your manners. This is a respectable place and I don't want you to get in any trouble." As soon as she spotted Edwina making a beeline for her, she straightened up and gave Edwina her very best smile.

  "May I help you?" Edwina asked, and before the woman could open her mouth to reply she continued, "It looks like you've got your hands full."

  Edwina turned and smiled at the other two children, clustered together about six feet away from what presumably was their guardian. They were young girls; one approximately six and the other maybe eight or nine years of age. They resembled each other so closely it was immediately apparent that the girls were sisters, both dressed in bedraggled hand-me-down plaid dresses, with worn leather shoes and large ribbon bows holding back their hair. Their pale hair seemed to match their pale beige coats and their pale blue eyes, all staring at Edwina with suspicion and perhaps a touch of fear.

  "I'm sorry for the disruption, miss," the older woman said. "This boy here doesn't know his manners and I'm just setting him straight. My name is Mrs. Jenkins, and I'm here to bring some of the children to help, just like Mrs. Winterwood told me to."

  Edwina looked at the young lad, who was glaring at Mrs. Jenkins with complete contempt in his eyes. "Don't you think you should let go of him?" she said. "It seems like everything’s settled down now."

  Mrs. Jenkins released the boy, and then dusted her hands together as if somehow the touch of him was something that needed to be dusted off, like old dirt.

  Edwina smiled at the other two children. "I’m Edwina, and I live here. Can you tell me your names, please?" she asked.

  The two girls blinked solemnly at her, and finally the taller one said, "My name is Gertrude, and this is my sister Eliza. Mrs. Jenkins said we were coming over here to help, and maybe there would be cookies. Do you have any cookies?" she asked, her voice low and polite.

  Just as Edwina was about to answer Gertrude's question, the main front door opened and Edwina's mother, Amelia Winterwood, walked in, her burgundy wool coat dusted with snowflakes. She was all smiles, and as soon as Edwina looked at her she could understand exactly why her mother was so happy. Tagging
along behind her were two young men, both carrying huge loops of fresh cedar garland, nearly staggering under their weight.

  What Amelia Winterwood wanted, she always seemed to get.

  "I told you there was garland available for sale somewhere," Mrs. Winterwood said with a triumphant smile. "The first two shops said they didn’t have any more, and I had to pay extra for the third florist shop to cancel somebody else's order, but it was worth every penny."

  "Mother, we have guests," Edwina said, gesturing to the group of children and Mrs. Jenkins. "They say they are here to do some sort of help, but I'm not sure what it was you had in mind."

  "Oh, yes," Mrs. Winterwood said, stripping off her fur-trimmed leather gloves and pointing to a spot on the stone floor, where the deliverymen could put down their awkward bundles. "We've decided that since the money from the party will be going to the children's home, maybe it would be a good idea to have the children participate a bit." She walked over to Mrs. Jenkins with a winning smile and put out her hand. "I'm very pleased to see you again, Mrs. Jenkins. Did you want to stay, or are you comfortable leaving the children with us for a couple of hours?”

  "If you want to watch him, then help yourself," Mrs. Jenkins said, dropping her hand off the young boy’s arm and taking a step toward the door. "Dinner at the orphanage is at 6 o'clock sharp, so if you can have one of your men deliver them back by that time, they'll be able to eat and then help clean up the dishes afterward."

  Whatever Mrs. Winterwood was thinking, she didn't let it change the calm, placid expression on her face. "We will make sure the children are back to their home before 6 o'clock. Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins,” she said, and walked over to the door. With her hand on the ornate handle, her wishes were readily apparent, and Mrs. Jenkins took the hint. Without a backward glance, she walked by Mrs. Winterwood, bobbed her head to her once, and walked out into the light snow as the door shut behind her.

  "Well, children, is anyone hungry?” Mrs. Winterwood asked, clapping her hands together as if excited. “I smell something delicious baking in the kitchen, and I'm sure Mrs. O'Doul could find something we could have as a snack before we get started working on getting ready for the party. Let’s go to the dining room, shall we?"

  Both girls broke into surprised smiles, but the young man crossed his arms and stared at the wall, his feet splayed apart and his jaw clenched, as if he hadn't heard a word Mrs. Winterwood had said.

  Edwina looked at him and try not to grin. Maybe it was the fact that she'd always been the rebellious one and a little bit of a troublemaker in her family, but she recognized strength of will and defiance right away. This young man was just boiling over with it.

  She walked over to him and stuck out her hand. “I’m Edwina. What’s your name? You want some chocolate cake?” she asked, and as her hand hung in the air, he finally sighed and grabbed it, shaking it once before letting go.

  “Charlie.”

  “Cake?” she repeated, smiling a bit as she waited.

  “Sure,” he said, and trudged after her toward the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  “Aunt Zinnia!”

  “That darn dog of yours barks at me when I stop by, and I think he needs to learn some manners.” Edwina’s aunt shook the snow off her coat as she walked in and glared at Ozzie, the family’s big Airedale Terrier. He was keeping a close eye on her, even as he strained against Mr. Hopkin’s hold on his leather collar.

  Edwina rushed over to give her eccentric aunt a kiss on the cheek. “He’s just not used to you yet. Maybe he does need some manners, but it doesn’t mean you get to bark back at him like that.”

  Aunt Zinnia seemed unrepentant, her mood still foul. “Well, he started it.”

  “Well, if you’d come by more often then he’d know you and wouldn’t bark at you.”

  Aunt Zinnia pulled off her multi-colored knit hat, revealing a head of long, dark bouncy curls. The threads of silver through them was one of the few indicators of her age, and her outfit certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of what a well-bred sister of Amelia Eaton should be wearing. If someone had walked by her and not known Zinnia, they might have mistaken her for a gypsy; with her long, full skirts and patchwork of bright shawls and exotic jewelry. Today’s fashion statement included a heavy carpet back that made clinking sounds when she set it on the floor, and a silver medallion set with white and blue glass, with a yellow spot near the middle. Edwina had seen that before, and knew that her Aunt Zinnia had picked it up on a long-ago adventure to Constantinople. When Zinnia had bought it, the Turkoman woman who sold it to her had sworn it would protect her from ‘the evil eye.’ Whether it did or not was up to debate, but Aunt Zinnia liked it, and so her family had gotten used to a stylized eyeball staring back at them from halfway down Zinnia’s chest.

  “I’m sorry about Ozzie barking at you, Aunt Zinnia. He’s still getting used to being here, since we’ve only had him for a month. He’s a good watchdog, but he barks at anyone he doesn’t know.”

  “Well, next time I’ll put some frankfurters in my pockets,” Zinnia replied, stripping off her coat and handing it to Edwina. “Then maybe we’ll become friends.”

  “I’ll put him in his kennel, Miss Edwina,” Hopkins said, hauling away Ozzie toward the kitchen.

  Edwina pointed to the bag. “So, I didn’t know you were coming by today. What did you bring with you?”

  As soon as she said it, Aunt Zinnia’s eyes started to sparkle with suppressed excitement. "Oh, you're going to love this,” she said. She heaved the bag up and started walking to the parlor, and with every step she took the bag made sounds, as if it were full of pieces of metal or something rubbing together.

  Zinnia walked over to the nearby marble table and carefully set the bag on it. She tipped it sideways and pulled out a long strip of thick, old leather, with eight silver bells sewn attached onto the band. They were arranged from smallest to largest, and had been polished to brilliant perfection. They were exquisite; a little work of art that had been carved or cast with a different picture, each telling another part of the story of the nativity. Edwina leaned over, her eyes mere inches away from the set of belts, and could even see expressions on the faces of the tiny figures engraved into the heavy silver.

  “Aunt Zinnia! What in the world did you bring?”

  Zinnia smiled like a cat who had just gotten the cream. “Oh, your mother never told you about these sleigh bells, has she? I would've thought she'd given you an earful about how our mother had given them to me, instead of her. These bells have been in your family for over a hundred years, and since I don't have any children and I'm certainly not going to have any at my age, I think they should go with your family. That way, the next generation gets to enjoy them.” She ran a reverent hand down the strip of bells as she straightened them out into a line. “It’s time I let them go. They should belong to you or Graham. They're not doing any good just sitting in a box in my attic.”

  “Oh, Aunt Zinnia! They’re stunning.” She kissed her aunt on the cheek, pointedly ignoring the bright appearance of tears in the old lady’s eyes. “Thank you so much. We’ll be sure to take very good care of them. They belong to the entire family, and that means you, too.”

  “Ahem. Miss?” came a voice behind her, and Edwina turned to see Fiona, the new housemaid, standing respectfully in the doorway, the three children from the orphanage clustered behind her. The maid self-consciously smoothed the white apron on her uniform.

  “Yes, Fiona?” Edwina asked.

  “The children are through with their work with Mrs. O’Doul, and I thought I’d show them around a bit, if it’s all right with you, miss.” Fiona’s voice was barely above a whisper. In the week since she’d been employed at the Winterwood’s home, she’d been asked to speak up, but she still seemed terribly shy and worried about bothering people. Her dishwater blonde hair was bundled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, her plain face devoid of any makeup or enhancement.

  Charlie walked around Fiona, completely ignoring her. He wiped his runny nose on the back of his tweed coat sleeve, then stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around the room.

  “Did Mrs. O’Doul get you something to eat?” Edwina asked, and Gertrude nodded.