CHRISTMAS TREASURES
Saturday dawned. A time when flea markets, yard sales, church bazaars, and many backyards, provided tables full to overflowing of used merchandise. Someone always paid good money for another person’s junk. Travis distributed maps to everyone and teams of people headed off to find the prize of a lifetime. Lots of Christmas extras would be in abundance and the only requirement for this outing was that each guest return to the Inn with a novelty item under five-dollars to donate to the afternoon stocking event. Trevor remained behind after the groups pulled out.
Angie noticed him in the sitting room reading a book. “I thought you’d enjoy this activity with your friends.”
“My tour friends? No, I don’t go there. Creating a certain distance is always the best way to run a tour successfully.”
“It sounds lonely,” Angie said.
“Perhaps, but I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.”
“I hear a story coming on,” Angie said.
“Had a lady guest once who loved the concept of free travel, and eyed me as sugar-candy, which she tried to polish off frequently.” It surprised Angie to see the amusement in his face. Then he tossed in the finish line. “It was awkward, and the gentleman in me did not want to hurt the old lady.”
“Old lady?” Angie said, trying to hold back the grin.
“She was over fifty, still good looking, but fifty! All she really wanted was a cheap way to travel around the countryside. Tick things off her bucket list. Her kids had given her the tour as a gift and she was using it to her full advantage.”
“What did you do?” asked Angie.
“I made up sheets of expectations and rules of conduct – for both sides – and stick to it religiously. And I also raised the price tag. Wealthy people want nothing from me but a memorable tour. The contract suits everyone.”
“And did you break the woman’s heart?” Angie was curious.
“We spoke, and she apologized. In the end, it all worked out. She took up with a lonely elderly man with lots of money.”
Angie laughed so hard that it hurt her sides. “Oh, so that’s what happens on tour buses. And so, if I invited you to join me on my flea marketing adventure, would you consider that a come-on, Mr. Dristoll?”
Trevor stood to his feet and stretched his tall frame. “You, my dear lady, are not fifty, or under contract. And after last night, I’d rather enjoy spending more time with you – even if it’s traipsing around yards to find trashy gifts. I can’t believe all these rich people fell for this activity.”
“Judging from the way they raced out of here, I think they were pretty excited that they just might find a lost treasure stashed in a back yard box.”
“By now they will have picked through all the decent stuff, leaving nothing for us to put in a stocking.” Trevor pointed to the door. “We better get going.”
“Now that’s the spirit.”
They walked for three miles, or so her stepper recorded. On the final trek down the last street, she saw it – a stocking-stuffer to die for.
Angie lifted the item from the nearly full table. “However did you keep this gem so long?”
“Don’t know. Think the crowds are bypassing this street. Did you see my sign before you headed up?”
“I saw the sign,” Angie said.
“My theory is that a higher source was preserving this table just for you, Angie,” said Trevor.
“You mean like Santa Claus or the Miracle Maker?” the old man said.
The blood drained from Trevor’s face, turning him white as a ghost. He silently cast a plea for help in Angie’s direction.
“Why Mr. Fagerty, we all know that you’ve experienced proof firsthand when it involves matters of the heart. I recall you and your Mrs. receiving some special magic before you married.”
“Sixty-eight years ago, but I remember it like yesterday.”
“Tell Trevor your story while I pick out my treasures.”
“Listen up, young man. You ever felt yearnings from the heart? No need to answer. I see the absence of it in your face. But your day for a miracle is close by, just like it was for Bessie and me.”
It took the old gentleman ten minutes to relate his tale of love, and he held Trevor’s attention the entire time. He was like a sponge, soaking it all in and letting the wonder of a surprise encounter fill the vacant dream in his eyes. With Trevor left speechless at the end, Angie stepped in to rescue him.
“Mr. Fagerty, we all miss your Bessie so much at church and the socials. She used to be a regular at the Inn – getting all gussied up at the spa just for you.”
The old man chuckled. “Did that to keep me on my toes. There wasn’t another woman in the whole town could match her in the beauty department.”
Angie held up a picture of an owl. “Don’t you think this looks like my Dibber in the barn?” she asked Mr. Fagerty.
“I reckon she does. What are you going to do with it? Hang it out there?”
“I have the museum in the back that people come from far and wide to see.”
“I know. Bessie and me came at least once a year to check on the new generation of owls setting up housekeeping in your rafters.” He looked at Trevor.
“Have you been out to see the miracle in the barn, boy?”
“No, sir.
