{"id":9772,"date":"2021-12-16T20:15:18","date_gmt":"2021-12-17T02:15:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=9772"},"modified":"2023-12-21T12:57:28","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T18:57:28","slug":"a-trail-of-friendship","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/a-trail-of-friendship\/","title":{"rendered":"A Trail of Friendship"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A Christmas Story<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/em><\/strong><\/h1>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

The door swung open, minus the tinkling brass bell she had expected to hear. Silence numbed the shop interior. When she was feeling like this, some place noisier would be better. In this quiet, she could only hear her thoughts that looped around being alone and lonely at Christmas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen turned to leave, and a voice called out to her. \u201cMerry Christmas. Come again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A gray-haired man in a plaid shirt of muted blues and greens looked up from a tall checkout counter. He smiled at her, or at least his eyes did, over a black mask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen stepped forward into the shop, immediately immersed in displays of new and used books. The newly released best sellers stood nearest the cash register, their smooth bright covers facing outward and begging to be picked up like puppies at a pet adoption. Signs suspended from the ceiling marked each section: literature, poetry, music, gardening & home d\u00e9cor, history, psychology\u2026. It wasn\u2019t so bad, she decided. The cacophony of books made up the lack of human voices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            At the local history section, Gwen considered buying a book about her new state, but the thought of learning about a place from a book instead of from people kicked up the emptiness she had felt all day. She backed away and nearly collided with the man in plaid. \u201cI\u2019d like to show you something,\u201d he said and beckoned her to follow toward the back of the store.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cJust got these in. You\u2019re too young to remember them, but I thought you might enjoy seeing them.\u201d He held up a bright yellow hardcover with a picture of a young woman holding a lighted candle and climbing a staircase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen accepted the book when he handed it to her. \u201cNancy Drew. <\/em>My mother had a whole set from when she was young. My sister and I used to read them.\u201d  She peered in a box and saw a half dozen more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNot as valuable as first editions, but someone will enjoy owning them.\u201d His eyes crinkled above the mask. \u201cI\u2019m Rory. I own this shop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cGwen Malthesson.\u201d She pronounced her last name carefully, enunciating the \u201cl\u201d that most people didn\u2019t hear or ignored. Her students did it all the time, calling her Professor Mattison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cLike Malthus?\u201d Rory asked, and the reference impressed Gwen. Not many people knew about the 19th<\/sup> century economist and his doomsday theory about abundance spawning growth in the world\u2019s population beyond what the planet could possibly support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIn pronunciation, yes, but I\u2019m more of an optimist.\u201d Gwen laughed at her own comment, and the knot she\u2019d been carrying inside her chest began to loosen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Rory unpacked books from three cartons, and soon a hodgepodge of hardcovers and softbacks lined the table. He asked a few questions, and she yielded bits of her story: transplanted four months ago to teach women\u2019s studies at the university, swapping the Northeast for a new home in the Northwest. She left out breaking off a two-year relationship that had proved more casual than durable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Someone came into the store and called out for Rory. He excused himself, and she headed for art & architecture. A title caught her eye: Brunelleschi\u2019s Wonder<\/em>, and she took down a tall, slim book about Filippo Brunelleschi who, in the 15th<\/sup> century, had achieved the architectural feat of designing the enormous brick dome of the cathedral in Florence. Looking at a photograph on the cover, Gwen thought fondly back to her trip to Italy seven years ago, when she had been in her early thirties and traveling alone in Europe had been an adventure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She headed to the checkout, where Rory was talking to a woman who turned out to be his wife, Millie. After pleasantries all around, and now feeling much better than when she had come in, Gwen paid with cash and left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

That evening, Gwen sat in the living room of her rented condo, grading a stack of final projects. The microwave beeped, and she put her work aside. As the gooey combo of rice and vegetables in a brown sauce cooled, she picked up Brunelleschi\u2019s Wonder<\/em>. Turning the glossy pages, she touched a firmer texture and extracted a postcard with a picture of Florence\u2019s massive cathedral. Then she turned it over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            This place is amazing\u2014the food, the wine, the architecture. Maybe I\u2019ll fall in love with a Medici. But all the interesting ones are 700 years old. Miss you so much! Love, Cindy.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The postcard had been addressed to Beth Amberts in a town Gwen had never heard of, but a quick Google search on her phone revealed it was only about 20 miles away. Tipping the smudged postcard toward the light, Gwen read the date\u20141971.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Turning more pages, Gwen found another postcard\u2014this one of Michelangelo\u2019s David cropped strategically at the navel. <\/em>Holding the book by the spine, Gwen shook it, and two more postcards slipped to the floor. All of them of Florence, all from Cindy to Beth, all of them describing a young woman\u2019s adventure in Florence, and all of them ending with the line \u201cmiss you so much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen dumped the microwaved food, now cold and gelatinous, into the trash and foraged for cheese and baby carrots while she dialed her sister. Maeve answered the phone with a hint of concern that made Gwen regret calling so late. \u201cSorry\u2014I\u2019m having time zone amnesia. I keep forgetting you\u2019re three hours ahead of me,\u201d Gwen joked. \u201cI\u2019m calling for no reason. Let\u2019s talk tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIt\u2019s fine. We\u2019re just watching a movie\u2014some action thing. What\u2019s up?\u201d
            Gwen told her sister about buying the book and finding the postcards. As they spoke, Gwen typed \u201cBeth Amberts\u201d into a Google search on her laptop but came up with nothing. \u201cWell, Beth doesn\u2019t live around here anymore, and I don\u2019t know Cindy\u2019s last name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou doing okay?\u201d Maeve asked. \u201cI wish you\u2019d come with us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cToo far, too expensive\u2014but thank you.\u201d She\u2019d never intrude on her sister\u2019s ski vacation with her husband and children. \u201cI\u2019ll be fine. Really.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen returned to\u201cThe Book Nook\u201d the next day, bringing Brunelleschi\u2019s Wonder <\/em>and the postcards with her, but Rory had neither recollection nor record of Amberts in his files.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She examined a postcard of the Ponte Vecchio, Florence\u2019s most famous bridge, but the messages intrigued her most. \u201cThey\u2019re so personal\u2014you can feel the connection between these two women. And Beth saved them for 50 years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou going to find out who they were?\u201d Rory asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen moved her head slightly, then nodded in earnest. Having this little project appealed to the researcher in her, and with the semester finishing in a few days she\u2019d have more time\u2014and nothing else to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Ten days later, Gwen followed the instructions on her GPS: taking the highway north, then exiting on a secondary road where gas stations and fast-food outlets clustered near the interchange. A mile or so later, signs of civilization thinned, and Gwen drove through a swath of national forest. Another town appeared with modest houses spaced far apart. The GPS alerted her to a right turn coming up, followed by a left a half-mile later. Gwen glanced at the phone battery: using Google Maps had eaten half the charge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Pulling onto the shoulder, she rummaged in the glove compartment and the storage area beneath the armrest between the front seats. No charger. Google Maps showed four minutes to her destination. Gwen pulled back on the road and kept going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A white clapboard farmhouse stood back from the road, surrounded by an orchard of bare trees. Christmas lights dangled from the roofline, and an inflatable Santa bobbed in the breeze by the front porch. She pulled into the driveway, and immediately two dogs kicked up a chorus of barking, but their wagging tails assured her she wouldn\u2019t be torn to pieces. Gwen pulled the handle, and the car door swung open an inch.  A dog\u2019s nose intruded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cHe\u2019s harmless, although you might get licked to death.\u201d A woman who appeared to be about Gwen\u2019s age called from the front porch. \u201cYou lost?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNot yet,\u201d Gwen grinned. \u201cBut if my phone goes out, I will be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The woman called to both dogs, and they obeyed. Gwen got out of the car and brought Brunelleschi\u2019s Wonder <\/em>with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            They stood outside for the first five minutes, as Gwen described the book and the postcards that had been mailed to this address. The woman, who\u2019d introduced herself as Tyra, explained that she and her husband had bought the farm from the Amberts about five years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cBut not Beth,\u201d Tyra added quickly. \u201cRoger Amberts\u2014probably late 60s then. Maybe her brother? This was a family farm for three generations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen looked out over the neat rows of trees. \u201cWhat do you grow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cHazelnuts.\u201d Tyra pulled a sweater around her. \u201cCome in for coffee\u2014if you don\u2019t mind kids and dogs and a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            In the kitchen, their conversation transitioned to what had brought Tyra and her husband to the area\u2014they wanted land and a farm of their own\u2014and Gwen\u2019s relocation a few months ago to teach at the university. After an hour, Gwen brought her coffee mug to the sink. \u201cI\u2019ll let you get back to your family.\u201d She pulled her phone off the charger Tyra had loaned her. \u201cAnd thank you for this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Tyra stood, and her three-year-old immediately wound around her knees. \u201cSo we have this party every year on Christmas Day. It\u2019s super casual. People come over around three or four. Dave is going to roast a pig this year. We get quite a crowd. You should come.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            As Gwen composed the politest way to decline, Tyra begged her not to say no. \u201cWhen Dave and I moved here, we barely knew anyone other than the realtor who had sold us the place,\u201d Tyra went on. \u201cSo we started throwing parties a few times a year. It\u2019s really fun and better than sitting by yourself on Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen thought of how Maeve would be happy to hear she had plans for Christmas. \u201cOkay, I\u2019ll let you know. But I\u2019ll try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNo need\u2014just show up. We cook for an army. You\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When December 24th<\/sup> arrived, two movies and an afternoon nap made a dent in the day. By early evening, Gwen had to escape the four walls and drove to a mall before the stores closed. In the grocery aisles, she cruised the prepared foods and decided on grilled salmon with dill and a Mediterranean salad for dinner. On the way to the checkout, she selected a wedge of camembert and a small wheel of brie. And a gift bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Not wanting to get blocked in if she decided to leave early, Gwen parked her car at the shoulder and walked down the long driveway. The dogs greeted her with wagging tails and a couple of barks. A man opened the door, introduced himself as Dave, and motioned toward the kitchen where Gwen could find Tyra.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She bristled at the thought of gender stereotypes: women in the kitchen, men being served, then quickly dispelled that notion as Tyra worked side-by-side with her father at the stove. Tyra hugged her and introduced family members who had come just a couple of days before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhat can I do?\u201d Gwen asked and immediately got an assignment to help set up chairs under the huge tent in the backyard where torchieres blasted their warmth between long tables.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            More food than she\u2019d eaten in a year, more people than she\u2019d met since moving, and more conversations than she could keep track of filled the late afternoon and brought her well into the evening. After helping to clear tables and stack chairs, Gwen decided to leave, until Tyra brought out her guitar, and four other musicians dragged over stools. She sat back down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A man in a heavy sweater sat down next to her and introduced himself as Thad with a last name that Gwen didn\u2019t catch over the music and clapping. \u201cI heard about your postcards,\u201d he said in her ear. \u201cBeth Amberts was my aunt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A rush of recognition gripped Gwen, then she registered the past tense verb. \u201cShe\u2019s\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cBeth died a few years ago. She was married to my father\u2019s brother. Nice lady.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cDo you know who Cindy is?\u201d Gwen asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thad shook his head. \u201cBut I bet my Dad will. I\u2019m going to call him tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thad\u2019s wife came over, and the three of them talked and laughed until the evening waned into night, and Gwen worried about driving home so late. Tyra told her she should stay, and when the party broke up well after midnight, Gwen curled up on an air mattress in an alcove that held a computer and a narrow bookshelf and slept until sunlight and the smell of coffee roused her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Her hair mussed and her mouth tasting stale, Gwen went off in search of a glass of water and the bathroom. Tyra appeared a moment later in pajamas and a robe, and Gwen handed her a mug of coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI thought for sure someone would have known Beth and Cindy,\u201d Tyra said. \u201cBut we\u2019re not going to give up. There are plenty of people in their 70s around here who could have known them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Gwen\u2019s smile broadened. By following the trail of friendship left 50 years ago, she had found a friend. She looked around the kitchen, now swarming with people who started making breakfast. How quickly her world had changed from empty to full. Someone put on Christmas music, someone else started to sing, and, for the first time in so many months, Gwen felt at home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Christmas Story Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2212,2,18],"tags":[6,38],"class_list":["post-9772","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-holiday-fiction","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","tag-christmas","tag-holidays"],"yoast_head":"\nA Trail of Friendship | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/a-trail-of-friendship\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" 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