Page 23 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
With the house busy she could drive to York, pick up some containers for food and then drop into a refuge or homeless centre to see if they needed food or whether there was anywhere else she could deliver meals. A sense of purpose for the morning made her feel excited as she looked inside the fridge. So many ideas and since Marc was a wasteful Grinch she felt no guilt about sharing his abundance with people less fortunate than herself.
She checked the time and mentally worked out how long she could be out and explore York and then come back in time to make lunch. It was doable, provided she was efficient.
Peggy came into the kitchen just as she was writing a list.
‘It’s going to snow,’ she announced to Christa.
She looked up. ‘Today?’
‘Not today but soon,’ she said ominously like a human version of a speaking weather predictor machine.
‘They say that every year and it never does.’ She laughed but Peggy stared her down.
‘I am not they,’ she stated. ‘I am never wrong and I know York. Lived here all my life. If I say it’s going to snow then it will snow.’
Christa realised she had offended the woman and changed the topic from weather to food, which might be more soothing to the housekeeper.
‘I have to head into town and pick up a few things,’ she said. ‘I’m going to freeze some stock and make some soups.’
Peggy lifted her chin, clearly insulted by Christa’s inference that she hadn’t bought the right groceries. Obviously this was a touchy topic just like the weather, she thought.
‘If you give me the list I can arrange the items to be delivered to the house. It’s Saturday so you will have to wait till tomorrow for the delivery.’
Christa smiled. ‘No thank you. I like to shop for things myself sometimes so that I get to see local produce and so on.’
Peggy grimaced. ‘Then you’ll want to head to Shambles Market, over on Parliament Street.’
‘A market? I love a market,’ exclaimed Christa. ‘Should I see if the boys want to come?’
Peggy was taking some tea towels from under the sink.
‘Mr Ferrier did say you weren’t here to childmind, remember?’
She left Christa before she could say anything in reply. She knew she wasn’t here to childmind but everyone loved a market and it might be nice to check if the boys wanted to see some of York, but again she reminded herself, this wasn’t her circus and they weren’t her monkeys.
*
The market was as delightful as she had hoped, set next to a cobblestone street with medieval buildings. Christa felt like she had gone back in time. People milled about – both locals and tourists – and there was a lovely Christmas feel that made up for the lack of it at Pudding Hall.
‘Would you like to try some fudge, miss?’ asked an older man as she passed a stall. ‘It’s tusky triangle. Very good this time of year.’
Christa stopped. She had already tried an orange truffle covered in white chocolate and a thick slice of York Cheddar and had drunk a coffee and eaten a blueberry Danish but she was intrigued by the name.
‘A tusky triangle – what a fun name. What is it?’
The man handed her piece. ‘You taste and tell me what you think it is. No one ever gets it right but they always head home with some in their shopping bags.’
Christa took the little napkin with the pinky marbled fudge sitting atop, waiting to be discovered.
She put her shopping down and looked at the fudge and then picked it up took a bite, then she took another bite and then finished the sweet off and wiped her mouth with the napkin.
‘Any guesses?’ asked the man who was old enough to be her father. He had twinkling eyes and a weather-beaten face. She liked his energy immediately.
‘It tastes like champagne but it’s not champagne. It’s tart but it’s not sour. The sweetness comes from the fudge not from the flavouring.’
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’re closer than most.’
Christa paused and closed her eyes as she tasted the last remnants in her mouth.
