I expected my first day of work at Best Watches and Jewels to be much more enjoyable than the job at Wilson's as a delivery boy.
For one thing, it would allow me to stay in a warm environment, dry and away from the harshness of winter as I worked. But the shelter wasn't what mattered most.
What mattered most was the company and the change in overall atmosphere.
Not to mention, I didn't have to make several trips to the station each day, thus avoiding contact with Marigold's family.
"Did you two do the decorating?" Marigold asked, as Mr. Best turned on the lights and opened the shades on the front windows.
"I think we did a pretty good job of it, too," I said, but Mr. Best shrugged.
"It's missing a woman's touch. If you see anything you'd like to improve upon, Miss Sutton, please feel free to do as you see fit."
"Are there any more ornaments?" she asked.
Her mood seemed to be improving for the first time since she'd arrived on Best's doorstep. Maybe a distraction, no matter how small, could bring her some comfort.
"I...think there is one more box in the attic..." he hesitated, finally adding, "Sarah's favorites."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"No," Best interrupted, reassuring her. "It's time to bring them out. Mr. Wainwright, if you'd be so kind."
"I might need someone to hold the ladder for me, so I don't kill myself coming down out of the crawl space."
"Of course. Miss Sutton, will you keep an eye out here? If any customers come, just tell them I will be back in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir." Without being asked, she picked up a feather duster and began tidying up the displays.
Mr. Best and I proceeded upstairs, to the apartment and into my room.
He looked around for the book and, not immediately seeing it, glanced at me sideways.
"Has that thing been of any use to you...as far as...understanding how you're going to get home?"
"Not really. It seems as though I still have to wait and hope the special returns," I replied as we moved the ladder into position, and I slid the hatch in the ceiling open to access the attic. "However, the book, and Sutton's actions, have confirmed what I must do."
"I don't like the sound of that, not one bit," Mr. Best replied, in the sternest tone he'd ever taken with me. "What good will telling Marigold of her parentage do? It will only work against a reconciliation with her father. Something I hope, somehow, I can mediate."
"Do you really think it possible?" I asked, as I pulled the last and only box of ornaments I could find from the space and handed it gingerly down to him. If these were his wife's favorites, I didn't want anything to happen to a single one of them.
"I don't know, but it must be attempted. For her sake."
"It's better for her to be around the heartless bas..." I paused, stopping myself from cursing. "Beast than to be living with your wife's sister? A place where she might actually have a little peace and independence?"
"I don't know how she'll get along with Prudence over time. That remains to be seen. Not to mention, what happens later on, after you go?" He waited until I was standing with both feet on the ground again before looking me straight in the eye. "I know you're taken with her, Mr. Wainwright. I have little way to judge based upon her behavior if she's also taken a liking to you. I only know you're leaving here soon, and I worry what will become of her after you've gone."
"I wish I could take her with me," I blurted, before realizing what I was thinking let alone saying.
"I know," Mr. Best replied, heading for the door and not looking back. "I know."
***
The store was busy from the point of our return on. It was difficult to concentrate on the lessons Mr. Best was trying to teach me, not because he was a bad teacher, or because I was a slow learner. Working in such close quarters with Marigold was more than a simple distraction; it was completely disarming in all the best possible ways.
She was so sweet, and charming, and gracious in everything she did.
Mr. Best set her up behind the counter with paper and string to wrap the would-be Christmas gifts after they were purchased, and she did so with flair and skill.
"I wonder, Mr. Best, if you might not be able to purchase some spools of ribbon, in red and green, before the General Store closes today?"
"For what purpose, Miss Sutton?"
"So I might make the packages look even prettier tomorrow."
With a small smile and nod, Mr. Best agreed. "Of course I can. I look forward to seeing what you'll do with them."
I helped out in the shop in any way I could, mostly opening cases to show watches, though Mr. Best had to answer most questions about them. If a particular timepiece was similar to my Grandfather's, at least I could explain how to open the front to set the time, and where to put the key to wind the watch in back.
The day flew by, and before we knew it, it was closing time.
Soon, the store would stay open later; tonight was the last night we'd close before seven o'clock. That may be nothing in my time, in which twenty-four hour retailers were the norm, but for Wishing Cross, it was quite an event for a store to be open after dark.
"I'll even open the store the last Sunday before Christmas, but I'll close early on Christmas Eve. Everyone does, so they can spend the evening with family." He seemed haunted by memories I knew he couldn't put into words. "This year, it'll be just you and I, Mr. Wainwright. But I shall be most pleased to have your company."
"Unless I can convince Miss Finch to allow me to cook a meal for us all that night, or the next day, on Christmas Day," Marigold said, seeming emboldened by the fact she'd made it through the day and was still, despite everything, alive.
"I'd be happy to help you prepare the food, if she's amenable," Mr. Best replied as he locked the door to the shop behind us.
"I'll be happy to set the table," I offered. "You really don't want me near the food, well, not if you want it to be especially edible."
"You sell yourself short, Mr. Wainwright," Mr. Best said. "I'm wondering, would you object to walking Miss Sutton back to Finch's house?"
"I don't know, sir," Marigold said, nervous. "Perhaps I'd best go alone."
"It's too dark for a young woman to be walking the streets alone, even in Wishing Cross," Best replied. "Either the young man escorts you, or we all go together."
Marigold looked at me shyly, just for an instant. "I wouldn't want to trouble you any further today, sir. If you insist I am accompanied, then Mr. Wainwright will be acceptable."
"Very well. Mr. Wainwright, I will expect you back within half an hour," he warned. "I shall have dinner well underway by then."
"Yes, sir." I held my hand out toward him as he looked at me, questioning. "Thank you, sir. For everything you've done today, for me, and also for Miss Sutton."
"I only did the right thing," he answered, shaking my hand firmly.
"You did what no other would do," Marigold replied. "So much more than just the right thing."
"Go on, you two, it's cold out here." He waved us away, and I watched as Marigold pulled her gloves on and adjusted her hat.
Just those small, feminine motions were enough to render me speechless. That is how we continued on, without a word spoken between us, until we arrived at the end of Miss Finch's block.
"Surely Joseph and Jeremiah are building a fort in the snow tonight, we've had so much today," she said at last, sadness clear in her voice. "We'd be waiting for Father to come home. Sam would be making sure Father's paper, pipe, slippers, and all were arranged just so by his favorite chair."
"And you?"
"I'd be helping Helen with dinner, or making it myself if she had to work late at the ticket booth. Or sometimes, she'd let me work in the booth, and I was glad. It's my favorite part of working at the station. At least, it used to be." She looked away.
"Why?" I asked, slowing my steps deliberately so our walk would take longer.
"Because it gives a person hope, watching the comings and goings of others," she explained. "Reminds me there is some kind of world out there, beyond the borders of Wishing Cross. Father's almighty station is not the island he treats it as, perfect and untouched by time."
I thought it a very strange phrase for her to use, 'untouched by time', and I wondered if Sutton hadn't figured out, somehow, that the visitor who had come into town and destroyed his life was from not just another place, but another time as well.
"I often dream about what it'd be like," she continued, but only as we reached Finch's front porch and knocked upon the door. "Buying a ticket, packing a suitcase, leaving town on the next train. Bound for anywhere but here." She looked up at me now, eyes shining. "Maybe even boarding the special, just to see where it would take me."
"You know the special has a name," I said, despite my attempts to control myself. I had to ease into telling her everything she needed to know somehow...maybe this was the way. Maybe it wasn't, but I was in too deep now to back pedal.
"I know," she replied, hurrying to finish her thought as we heard Miss Finch unlocking the door. "It's called the Aurelia Belle."
Miss Finch opened the door, and my jaw hung slack. What else did Marigold know?
"Goodnight, Mr. Wainwright. I shall see you in the shop tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Miss Sutton." I nodded to Prudence. "Miss Finch."
"Goodnight," Finch said, and then she soundly slammed the door in my face.