A Mrs. Miracle Christmas(20)

Mrs. Miracle gently and carefully guided Helen to her favorite chair without her having to ask for help.

“Let me get you some tea,” the other woman said, disappearing into the kitchen. Helen could hear her bustling about, the click of the gas burner being turned on, the opening and closing of cupboard doors, and the kettle whistling.

Helen closed her eyes while she waited. Tea had been her dear mother’s solution to nearly every problem. When James, her brother, had been in a fight at school, her mother had greeted her father at the door with a cup of tea upon his return from a long day in the fields. Only then did she break the news. Or if a bad grade at school deeply distressed her mother, the hot water was put on for tea. And when a neighbor stopped by to bemoan the loss of her husband’s job? Doubly strong tea. Her mother once told her that every problem in life could be settled with three things: a hot cup of tea, enough time, and God’s wisdom.

    Mrs. Miracle returned shortly with the steaming tea, served in an antique china teacup that had belonged to Helen’s mother.

“Drink this and rest. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

Helen did as she was told. The flavor was richer than anything she’d had before, but she didn’t question the contents. In no time at all, it seemed, she was herself again, energized and ready to get on with her day. She suddenly felt the desire to venture out and explore the town, especially now that she had her own personal angel to escort her. It’d been a few years since she’d gone shopping with her granddaughter.

“How about doing a bit of Christmas shopping?” Helen suggested. “It’s been so long since I’ve gone into town, and there’s no better time than the present.”

Mrs. Miracle smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

They waited until mid-morning and then caught the bus to the downtown shopping district. The streets were filled with shoppers, the air festive with the sound of the bell-ringers. A vendor stood on the corner selling hot chestnuts, bringing back childhood memories for Helen. She paused, sure she could smell cinnamon blended in with the smell of freshly cut evergreens.

    They walked arm in arm toward Pacific Place, the shopping mall in the heart of downtown Seattle. A group of carolers strolled past, dressed in Victorian costumes, complete with fur mufflers and long wool coats. The men wore top hats and knitted scarves. Helen and Mrs. Miracle paused to listen to the singers’ harmonizing voices until they faded as they rounded the corner.

“This is everything that I remember about Christmas,” Helen said, pausing to look inside the Nordstrom windows at the long line of parents with impatient children awaiting their turn to visit Santa.

Helen recalled taking Laurel here for her picture the first Christmas she’d come to live with them, despite the ten-year-old’s protests that she was too old. The pictures that were returned to them in the mail spoke volumes of the grief lingering in Laurel’s heart. Helen had been desperate, doing everything she could to bring a smile to that grieving child. Nothing had worked, until they’d baked those gingerbread men.

Stepping out of the cold, Helen and Mrs. Miracle walked into the mall and took the escalator to the second floor, to Laurel’s favorite stationery store. Helen wanted to purchase a box of high-quality stationery for her granddaughter, knowing how much Laurel would treasure this gift.

    As she was about to head to the cashier, Helen’s eyes landed on a shelf displaying baby announcements. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Mrs. Miracle. “It’s a girl, you say?”

Mrs. Miracle grinned and nodded.

Helen added a box to the basket on her arm, knowing that Laurel would love to use her own beautiful handwriting for the exquisite announcements rather than spend money for the online version. “Should I put those under the tree? Or wait until after Christmas to give them to her?”

“The tree,” Mrs. Miracle advised with a twinkle in her eye.

Helen’s heart swelled. Laurel had to hold on only a while longer.

They ate lunch at a lovely Italian restaurant, both savoring the ravioli. Splurging, Helen enjoyed a glass of wine with their meal and felt light-headed again for an entirely different reason.

“You shouldn’t have let me order that Chianti,” she chastised her friend.

“No worries. I’ll make sure we make it home safe and sound.”

    Once they finished lunch, Helen wanted to stroll down to Pike Place Market. She’d always loved the unique market, which happened to be the longest-running farmers’ market in the States, a fact that all of Seattle was proud to boast.

As they walked past the shop that sold Beecher’s cheese, Helen noticed a line extending out the door for the original Starbucks. It amazed her to see so many willing to wait for the experience of paying five dollars for a cup of coffee. Several were looking at their phones, hardly aware of the moving line.

They stepped across the street and into the market. Pike Place Market was a wonderland of sights and sounds, of fishmongers tossing salmon, and of colorfully displayed fresh vegetables and fruits. Booth after booth of craftspeople were selling their wares, from leather goods to flavored honeys, spiced nuts, and beautifully arranged Christmas bouquets.

Mrs. Miracle paused long enough to look over the figurines crafted out of ash from the 1980 eruption of Mount Saint Helens. Thinking Zach might use the collectible as a paperweight on his work desk, Helen purchased one shaped like an orca, knowing how much he liked whales.