He swallowed several times, then took out the mittens and put them on. “I have regulation gloves, but it can get pretty cold out in the weather,” he said simply. “This’ll help.” He kissed her cheek.
She handed the other package to Charles. “Your gloves have gotten a bit raggedy from all those heated nails,” she told him. She wantedto laugh, but the mood in the room was strange to her. “You have one hundred and thirty-nine other rooms to finish down cold corridors.”
Everyone laughed, maybe willing to forget frigid days for a few hours. Mrs. Quincy hurried into the kitchen and came back with more cookies. “Divide these,” she ordered. “Ellen and I will bake more tomorrow for the rest of the crew. Thank you all, and good night.”
“One moment.”
From her apron Ellen took the envelope Mr. Reamer had handed her earlier and gave it to Mrs. Quincy. “This is from Mrs. Child to you, Mrs. Quincy.”
“Oh no!”
“Go on,” she coaxed. “Look what she wrote on the back.”
Mrs. Quincy turned over the letter slowly, as if fearing what she would see. “A Christmas surprise?”
Mrs. Child isn’t unkind, Ellen thought.“It can’t be that bad.”
“If I must.” Mrs. Quincy opened the envelope and read the letter. Her expressionchanged. “I never in my life ...” Mrs. Quincy sat down. “She’s officially offering me my job back. I guess shewasright about the French chef.”
The others applauded, but no one looked happy, especially Mr. Wilson. Mrs. Quincy fanned herself with the letter. “I have until spring to think about it. I might stay.”
Ellen glanced at Mr. Wilson.This could be an interesting spring, she thought.
“It’s been a good day,” Mr. Wilson said as he and Charles doused the fires. Sergeant Reeves gave Ellen a small salute. As he left the lobby, she heard him whistling “Good King Wenceslas.”
She took Mr. Wilson’s arm and escorted him to the door. “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. The wren was perfect.”
“Thankyou. I’ve been wanting to do something nice for her.” He chuckled. “Guess I needed a nudge.”
She waved goodnight to the Penroses and followed Mrs. Quincy into the kitchen. The dishes were done, and plates were ready for tomorrow’s pancakes and bacon, a rare treat, but it was Christmas Day, after all. There wereample leftovers for the day, so it would be like a little kitchen vacation for them.
Mrs. Quincy hugged her and went to her room, leaving Ellen to douse the lights. Ellen left one lantern burning and went to the back door, happy for a small moment with Plato. She looked down at the snow-covered mound of the bravest cat in the universe.
“Ellen, do you have a moment?”
Startled, she turned around to see Charles Penrose standing inside the kitchen. She hurried inside, hoping he wouldn’t think her a fool for mooning over Plato.
“I have something for you. I wanted you to have this without an audience.” He held out an envelope.
A present. Her name in firm lettering.I will keep this envelope forever, she thought. She opened it. Seeds. Charles came closer.
“Every autumn, Clare shook seeds out of her summer flowers,” he said, his voice low, even with no one else around to hear. “She never was able to plant these, and I’ve hung on to them for two years.”
“I can’t . . .” she began.
He raised his hand. “You can, please.When spring comes, plant them on Plato’s grave. Goodnight, and Happy Christmas.”
Ellen wished she could tell him that no one had ever done a nicer thing for her, but he would probably scoff at that. “I will save some of the seeds. You and Gwen can plant them later, somewhere else.”
“If you’d like.” He drew her close for a surprising moment. “Thank you again for my daughter’s life. Words can be inadequate, even for a Cornishman.”
“It’s just that ...” How to explain this? “I wish I could have done better for Plato.”
“If we could delve into the feline mind, I think Plato would say you did very well by him.”
“I wish I felt worthy of that much devotion,” she admitted, surprising herself. “Who am I, after all? My mother—”
“You never knew her.”
