“We did it,” Evie said softly. “I swear I can actually feel her here with us in the kitchen.”
“I know.” He draped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her up against him. “I can too.”
CHAPTER 8
The next morning Evie made her way over to Randy’s house, Christmas box clutched in her hands. As he opened the door, she grinned at him. “I just couldn’t open the next item alone. I feel like this is something we’re doing together.” She didn’t voice the thought lingering in her mind—or fully acknowledge it to herself—that she’d simply wanted to see him. After baking the cookies with him yesterday, she felt a closeness to him and found herself looking forward to sharing the ritual of opening a new item with him.
His face lit up with a wide grin. “I’m good with that. Come on in.” He held the door open, and she slipped inside. “I just brewed some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with two steaming mugs of coffee. They settled onto his comfortable couch, the Christmas box between them. She motioned toward it. “It’s your turn to choose this time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, I insist.”
Randy leaned forward and reached in. His hand hovered over one item before moving to another. He carefully liftedout a small package, then seemed to reconsider and selected a different one.
“Unwrap it. Let’s see what it is.” She nodded encouragingly.
He peeled away the tissue paper, revealing a well-worn Christmas stocking. “Well, would you look at that,” he said softly, holding it up for her to see. “It appears to be hand knit.” He smiled slightly. “I’m kind of an expert on what hand-knit items look like. Miss G always had her knitting with her.”
“She did.” She leaned in for a closer look. “And it does look hand knit. I wonder whose it was?” She reached for it and turned it over in her hands. “It doesn’t have a name on it or even initials. I guess this is one that we’ll never figure out.”
As she ran her fingers along the soft, aged fabric, she noticed something peculiar about the toe. Frowning, she carefully slipped her hand inside the stocking. To her surprise, her fingers brushed against something tucked away in its depths. Slowly, she withdrew an old photograph, its edges slightly curled and faded with time.
“Here, take a look at this.” She handed the photograph to Randy.
He accepted it, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image. “It’s a young man in uniform.” He turned the photo over, running his fingers along the blank surface. “No name or date on the back, though.”
She sighed. “I suppose that’s it then. An item with a mystery we’ll never unravel.”
His eyes lit up. “Let’s not throw in the towel just yet. We could pay a visit to the historical society. Etta might be able to help us piece together this puzzle.”
“From just the photo?” She looked at him doubtfully.
“Maybe. It’s at least worth a shot.”
“I’m game. Let’s see if she can help us.”
They took his truck over to the historical society, where a woman was just opening the door. “Good morning, Randy.”
“Etta, this is Evie. She’s Miss Genevieve’s granddaughter.”
Etta turned to her. “Oh, I heard you were here on the island. I’m so sorry for your loss. Miss Genevieve was a wonderful woman. She loved looking into the history of the island. We had many a long chat.”
“Thank you.” Evie waited for the tears to creep into her eyes, but thankfully, this time, no tears. “And her love of the history of the island. That’s kind of why we’re here. I found this wooden box in the storage room at Nana’s. And she had all these items in it carefully wrapped up. We found an ornament handmade by a glass blower that used to have a shop on the island.”
“Oh, yes. Sam Waterman. I’ve read about him. He had some troubles during the Great Depression. An anonymous benefactor from the island showed his work to a buyer from a large department store. They made a large order and his shop was saved.”
“Exactly. And we found an original handwritten sugar cookie recipe from a bakery on the island. Herbert’s.”
“I recall reading about that bakery, too.”
“And Nana used that recipe for her sugar cookies each Christmas.”
“No kidding. She didn’t tell me that.” Etta smiled. “But they sure were delicious.”
