“Oh,” she realized, “I guess hewouldbe a lot older. You, uh, you want some coffee? Mine’s not as good as across the street, but not half bad.”
“No. I’m good. Thanks.”
Clara looked at her and chuckled. “I can’t tell you how strange it is to say ‘John Travolta’ out loud and have someoneknowwho I’m talking about.” She went over to the radio and turned it on. “Stu wasn’t the angel in these parts back then. It was a woman named Ruth, but yes, I stayed. The Clara Dawson I left in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, never came out of her coma.”
“Why’d you stay?”
“Oh,” the senior one sighed, “lots of reasons. I wanted to remove myself from certain people and temptations, and I fell in love with someone here. Matter of fact, we’re still together.”
“Really?” Goldie asked. “Who is he?”
“Sheteaches music over in Golden.”
Goldie nodded. “D-does she know where you really?—”
“Oh, no,” Clara interrupted. “That’s against the rules. If you wind up staying, you’ll get to know all about the rules. Like, if you tell people certain things about the future, it won’t register in their minds. The origins of what they hear get fuzzy. For instance, I can recite song lyrics from my youth to people and they’ll remember the lyrics, but not where they came from.”
The tubes in the radio warmed up just as Kay Starr was singing.
“You,”Goldie realized. “You’re the one responsible for me hearing lyrics from groups like The Jackson 5, the Bee Gees, and the Beatles.”
Clara smiled. “It’s my little way of messin’ with the universe and keeping Stu on his toes. As you might imagine, it was difficult for a young woman to go from listening to Linda Ronstadt to Kate Smith. By the way, did the Beatles ever get back together?”
“Uh, no.”
“Not even for one concert?”
“I, eh, I don’t know what I’m allowed to say and not say about the future.”
“Okay, honey. Don’t sweat it… if you stay, I’m sure Stu will give us some guidelines. For now, just talking to someone like you is Christmas present enough.”
The two women looked at one another for a moment, then Clara walked over to the visitor and took her hand.
“You did good, Goldie. Believe me, Iknowwhat you went through. I tried to reassure you as best I could. But every soul has to find their own way.”
“I understand,” Goldie said.
Clara patted her hand, then went over and flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open” and unlocked her front door.
“Once you made your decision to stay,” Goldie asked. “Was it hard?”
“Of course it was. Damn hard! No matter how much time you have to mentally prepare, you don’t fully appreciate all the things you’re giving up. Not just people, music, and familiar surroundings, but things that won’t be invented for decades. I’d kill for my toaster oven, or my Princess Phone, or my cassette tapes. So, yeah, it’s hard. On the other hand, because you know what you know, you’re privy to some wonderful secrets and can help people in ways you never thought possible. You can warn a friend about the effects of smoking. Or teach people to be less wasteful and find new uses for things. Or talk someone out of investing their life savings into an idea that you know isn’t going anywhere. Even educate folks about gay rights. Most importantly, though, in the darkest days of this war, you can give others hope and encouragement because youknowwe’re going to come out of it on the other side. It’s not being smarter than others, Goldie. It’s just using what you know to make a positive difference.”
“So, you don’t regret your decision to stay then?”
“It was the right choice for me. It may or may not be the right choice for you.”
Just then, a customer walked into the store.
“So, what’re you going to do?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know… but thanks for your insights.”
After she left Clara’s Gifts, Goldie tracked down Father Fitzsimmons and acquired the photography negatives she needed for her article. Then she returned to her hotel and spent several hours writing two drafts of a three-thousand-word article entitled, Sparkledove: A Small Town With A Big Christmas Heart.” It was a homey and positive profile about a town that valued its heritage and offered lots of holiday activities from yesteryear, but welcomed guests with all the modern amenities anyone would need. She didn’t write about Charles and Peter Banyan but focused on several other townspeople instead; from Maddie and Dean, to Eli, Clara, Deke and Chad, and even Saul and Paul McCaw, who she described as “generous and charming, but diamond tough, as mountain men of the Rockies should be.”
It was close to 6:00 p.m. by the time Goldie took her article and negatives down to the lobby. Dean, working behind the counter, had an envelope to accommodate her materials, and Goldie addressed everything to Owen Mitchell using the address on one of her business cards. Dean promised to mail everything off for her, then Goldie thanked him sincerely for all of his and Maddie’s hospitality. She had no sooner turned toward the restaurant across the busy lobby when Eli came through the front doors. Slipping off some gloves, he smiled and limped over to her.
“Howdy,” he greeted.
