Page 14 of Unexpected Gifts

She bowed her head and prayed, asking God for the wisdom and strength she needed.

Then she drew in a deep breath and went upstairs to get Jack in the bath. One minute at a time. That’s the best she could do.

After she had Jack bathed and dressed, Abby asked him to play quietly in his room so that she could get ready. She left him sitting on his floor, playing with Legos.

Abby had put her suitcases in Ramona’s bedroom but had left them unpacked. But now that she’d spoken with Sophie, she felt the urgency to get settled. She’d assumed Ramona’s things would be in the drawers and closet, but once again, it appeared that Grace Hayes had taken care of yet another hard task. Drawers were empty and lined with fresh paper. The closet held only empty hangers.

She hung up a few dresses and slacks and unpacked one of the suitcases while taking in the bedroom that would now be hers. She’d only been in it a few times when she’d visited as a kid. She did, however, remember the braided rug that covered the wood floor. Originally, it had likely been a rich blend of reds, blues, and greens, but time had softened them to dusky pinks, pale blues, and washed-out olive. The threads, once tightly woven, had grown loose in places, and the edges frayed into delicate wisps. The braids themselves were uneven in spots, their texture threadbare and almost smooth in places where thefabric had thinned to reveal the pattern beneath, now mottled and dulled.

Proof that time continued on, even when those we loved passed.

Abby sat on the side of the bed, running her fingers over the patchwork quilt her grandmother had sewn from a medley of old dresses, curtains, and worn-out shirts, all stitched together in a seemingly random pattern. Some patches were made from floral prints in soft pinks and yellows; others were plaids or stripes, now muted to pale hues by years of use and washing. The edges of the quilt were frayed, with delicate hand-stitched seams holding the patchwork together, though a few stitches had come loose, giving the fabric a slight puffiness in places.

Abby’s aunt had told her the story behind the quilt. Her grandmother had sewn it when she was first married to stave off the chill of Vermont winters. Back then, Abby had had no interest in the past. Now, however, she ran a finger along the stitching, marveling at the craftsmanship. She wouldn’t be able to sew a button on a shirt, let alone a quilt.

Had the lack of pattern been intentional? Where had the fabric come from? Had her grandmother collected it for years? Did each piece hold a story from the past, long forgotten now? No one was left to tell the stories of those who had worn them.

Abby’s grandmother was no longer available to ask any questions about a quilt or otherwise. She alone would have any memories whatsoever of her grandmother. Or her aunt or mother.

How long had the walls been painted a pale yellow? She liked the color. There was a friendliness about it. The shabby armchair next to a small table piled with library books next to it made her smile, thinking of Ramona’s love of reading. They’d shared that interest as girls.

How was she going to support the children and keep up with the house, which clearly needed repairs? God only knew what awaited in the barn. Back in the day, long before Abby or Ramona had been born, this had been a small farm that supported a family. Her grandfather had worked as a mechanic to pay the bills while her grandmother had raised chickens and planted a vegetable garden from which they harvested tomatoes, squash, and peppers. But Ramona had not kept animals as her parents and grandparents had. Nor had she planted a garden. Ramona had said to Abby that she simply didn’t have the time or energy, what with the kids and her job, to plant anything or care for any living creature other than Sophie and Jack. She’d vowed to keep things simple rather than drown under the weight of the responsibilities of a small farm.

Abby breathed deeply, taking in the faint scent of lavender. Ramona had always loved lavender. She’d had on her bucket list to take a trip out to the Pacific Northwest to visit the lavender farms. As far as Abby knew, she’d never made it.

She crossed the room to the vanity and picked up a family photo of Ramona and the kids. Peering at it closely, she could see that it had been taken in a pumpkin patch. Jack must have been about two in the photo. The year after his father was killed in Afghanistan.

A stack of cards caught her eye. She could scarcely breathe through the pain when she saw what they were—this year’s Christmas card. Ramona was always organized. She would have gotten them made weeks before she was to send them. Abby picked one up to examine it more closely. The photo had been taken of the three of them in the bed of a vintage red truck.

Happy holidays from our family to yours. Love, Ramona, Sophie, and Jack.

Abby turned the card over and found a few paragraphs that summed up the Ellisons’ year.

Jack, 6, is in first grade this year and loves it. Although his teacher says he’s a wriggler and lives to make his classmates laugh, he’s doing well. He’s already reading chapter books! He loves football, trucks, fishing, and torturing his sister. For Christmas, he’s asked for a dog. Santa’s still contemplating that wish!

Sophie, 9, is in fourth grade. She loves ballet, reading, and school. Her teacher says she’s the star of the class, even though she’s quiet and reserved. She takes after her father in that way. Still waters run deep.

Ramona (never mind her age) has managed to make ends meet and keep her old farmhouse from falling down for yet another year. She’s working at the local country store for an old friend kind enough to give her a job. Despite things being tight, she’s grateful for the simple pleasures of small-town life, good friends, and raising her kids.

Merry Christmas to all. If you’re ever in Sugarville Grove, don’t hesitate to come by. The teakettle is always on, and the cookie jar is full.

Part of the stack had been addressed already, including one to Abby. With trembling hands, she opened the envelope and pulled out the card.

In Ramona’s neat handwriting, a short note had been written at the bottom of the card.

Dearest Abby, I’m so proud of you! Congratulations on finishing your residency. The job in Emerson Pass with your friend Breck sounds absolutely perfect. Will I have to call you Dr. Parker now? Seriously, though, I always knew you’d do something tremendous with your life. Now that you’re done with school and your residency, maybe you could come see us this spring? I’d love to catch up and hear all about your exciting adventures. I have such fond memories of our times together. I love you! Ramona

Abby set it aside, unable to see anything for the tears that flooded her vision. She stumbled over to the bed. For the first time since she’d gotten the awful news, the enormity of the loss hit her. Ramona was gone. The children and their welfare had been her primary focus, giving her no chance to grieve. The idea that she would never have the chance to catch up with the woman who had once been her dearest friend was a dark canvas of regret and grief. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the sobs from rising from the depths of her belly. She pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from making noise. The last thing the children needed was to see her falling apart.

“Oh, Ramona, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I should have done better.”

Time had gotten away from her. Now, she’d never have the chance to become truly close again. She’d wanted to. In fact, she’d thought of Ramona and the children daily. But her studies had taken so much time and energy that there wasn’t much left for anything else.

Breck and her friend Arabella, who was now back in Montana opening her own practice, had been much smarter than Abby. Things had come easily for them, whereas Abby had to study twice as hard as anyone else, which had left no space for anything personal. While others seemed to be able to date and have friendships, Abby spent most of her time in the library. There were many times she wondered if she’d make it through.

She had. Only to find out that she might never use all of the education she was in so much debt for.

What were the odds that a small town like this one needed another vet? They already had one, and she felt certain no one would want to give their business to a newbie in town. She hadn’t been here in a long time, but she doubted the suspicion of strangers had changed much.

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