'Tis the Season

  “Oh! There’s the sign,” said Flora. “‘Sheltering Arms,’” she read. “‘A safe haven for stray, abandoned, and abused animals.’”

  “See?” said Tobias. “That doesn’t sound like the name of a place where animals are put to sleep, does it?”

  “No,” admitted Nikki. Still, she reached over her seat and clasped Flora’s hand.

  The woman seated at the front desk of Sheltering Arms was young and friendly — not at all like an animal killer. “May I help you?” she said when Nikki, Flora, and Tobias stepped through the door.

  Tobias took charge. “This is my sister Nikki,” he said. “We live out in the country.” He told the woman about the stray dogs and explained that their numbers were increasing. “And so I think we need to do something,” he said finally.

  “But I love the dogs!” Nikki blurted out. “I want to help them. And I don’t want you to kill any of them!”

  “I can assure you,” the woman said seriously, “that we do not kill animals here. Not unless they are very ill or have been seriously injured and are in pain and won’t be able to recover.”

  “But I can’t bear to think of them in cages, either,” said Nikki, who felt dangerously close to tears.

  The woman held up her hand. “That’s why I think Sheltering Arms is the perfect place for them,” she said. “I’d like for you to talk with Ms. Hewitt now. She’s our expert on stray dogs.”

  With that, Nikki, Flora, and Tobias were ushered into a small office where a very nice woman brought in extra chairs so they could all sit down, offered them bottles of water, thanked them for being responsible citizens, and generally treated them like adults.

  “What we’ll do,” Ms. Hewitt explained, “is come to your property from time to time and humanely trap the dogs. Humanely,” she repeated when she saw the look on Nikki’s face. “Then we’ll transport the dogs back here, give them vaccinations and rabies shots, treat any wounds or illnesses we detect, and spay or neuter each one. Do you know why spaying and neutering is important?”

  “So they can’t keep on having puppies?” asked Flora.

  “Exactly,” said Ms. Hewitt. “Each animal we spay or neuter prevents thousands of other strays from being born. After the dogs have recovered,” she went on, “we’ll keep them here while we try to find homes for them. You can see that we have very few cages at Sheltering Arms. The ones we do have are for dogs who are ill or recovering from surgery. Otherwise, our dogs can play in those large outdoor areas.” (Ms. Hewitt gestured at the window, through which Nikki could see a group of dogs playing with toys in an enormous outdoor enclosure.) “Or come inside to our ‘living rooms.’ I’ll show you the living rooms later. They’re rooms — not cages — with actual furniture in them so that stray dogs can get used to a home environment before they’re adopted.”

  “And what about the dogs who aren’t adoptable?” asked Tobias.

  “They’re welcome to stay here for the rest of their lives.”

  “And they’re never put in cages?” asked Nikki.

  “Not unless they’re ill and need to be watched closely.”

  Nikki looked joyously from Flora to her brother to Ms. Hewitt. “This sounds like a dream,” she said. “A good dream. I know more dogs will probably show up at home, and I like feeding them. But I need help. And I want the dogs to find homes.”

  “You can call on us anytime,” said Ms. Hewitt. “We’ll be sending someone to your property in the next couple of days, as soon as we talk to your mother.”

  Nikki left Sheltering Arms thinking that the dogs were going to get an unexpected Christmas present.

  “I’ve never been to an old people’s home before,” Ruby whispered to Flora.

  “Yes, you have. You just don’t remember,” Flora whispered back. “And don’t say ‘old people’s home.’ It’s an assisted living community. Mr. Willet said so.”

  “When was I at an, um, assisted thing?” asked Ruby.

  “When you were four and we were visiting Dad’s aunt. I’ll tell you more about it later. We have to stop whispering. It isn’t polite.”

  It was a Saturday morning and Flora, Ruby, Min, Mr. Pennington, and Mr. Willet were crowded into the Willets’ car on their way to visit Three Oaks, where Mrs. Willet would soon be moving. (Min had taken the morning off from the store.) Mr. Willet was at the wheel, Mr. Pennington beside him, and Flora, Ruby, and Min sat in the back. Ruby was in the middle because her legs were the shortest and she would be the least bothered by putting her feet up on the hump. That was what Flora had said, anyway, and now Ruby was attempting to prove her wrong by letting her legs slide off the hump and bump Flora’s ankles. Flora wanted to kick her sister, but even more so, she wanted Mr. Willet and Mr. Pennington to see how completely grown up she was, so she moved her legs delicately to the side and looked primly out the window.

  “Here we are,” said Mr. Willet a few minutes later. He approached a stoplight, where he turned left onto a long drive.

  Flora could see a cluster of low buildings.

  “Those are apartments for independent living,” said Mr. Willet, as though he could read Flora’s mind. “They’re really lovely. They come in various sizes — one bedroom, two bedrooms. And each one has either a patio with a garden or an upstairs terrace. But Mary Lou will be moving to the facility for people with Alzheimer’s, people who are having problems with their memory and with caring for themselves.” Mr. Willet turned right and drove around the apartments.

  Flora saw a sign that read D-WING PARKING, and Mr. Willet pulled into the lot.

  Everyone climbed out of the car. Flora looked at the building that stretched in front of her. Privately, she thought it rather dreary. The stucco sides were painted a very pale yellow. Evenly spaced from one end of the building to the other was a row of wood-framed windows. The windows didn’t have shutters, and to Flora they looked like eyes without lashes. She could see a few bare trees and noticed that hanging from two of them were bird feeders. Even so, she found D-Wing a bleak place.

  “It’s not very cheerful, is it?” Ruby whispered, and Flora nudged her. Would Ruby never figure out when to keep her mouth closed?

  “I know it doesn’t look like much from out here,” said Mr. Willet, and Flora glared at her sister, desperately hoping that Mr. Willet hadn’t heard what she’d said. “But it’s really a nice place. Wait until we’re inside.”

  “Has Mrs. Willet been here?” asked Flora. “Does she know she’ll be moving here?”

  “She’s visited several times,” Mr. Willet replied. “She came here to be evaluated and to meet with the staff and for a tour. But I don’t think she remembers the visits, and she doesn’t realize that she’ll be leaving the Row Houses.”

  Flora wanted to ask Mr. Willet about a hundred more questions (among them, “Will Mrs. Willet be sad to leave the Row Houses?” and “What if she doesn’t want to stay once she gets here?”), but she knew better than to ask them now.

  They reached the door to the dreary building, and Mr. Willet opened his wallet, consulted a piece of paper, put the wallet back, then punched a code into a keypad by the door.

  “Good security,” said Min.

  Mr. Willet nodded. “You have to enter the same code when you leave, but that’s so the residents can’t wander off by themselves,” he said sadly.

  “You mean Mrs. Willet will be locked in here?” exclaimed Ruby.

  “I know it seems cruel,” said Mr. Willet, “but she’ll be much safer that way. If she left this building she wouldn’t know where she was, and worse, she wouldn’t know how to ask for help or be able to tell anyone where she lives.”

  Mr. Willet held the door open and Flora was the first to step through it. She found herself in a wide hallway with a red rug and several brightly colored armchairs. The walls were covered with finger paintings, each paper carefully labeled: Jamie S., 5 years; Taisha, 4 years.

  “Those were done by the children at the day care center,” said Mr. Willet. “The day care c
enter is for kids whose parents work here. Sometimes the children visit with the residents or put on plays or holiday programs for them. And some of the residents — not in this building, but the ones who live in the apartments — volunteer at the center.”

  Flora began to feel more cheerful.

  Mr. Willet approached a desk, a gently curving polished wood desk on which were arranged a vase of flowers, a small stuffed bunny, a plaque reading HANG IN THERE — IT’S ALMOST FRIDAY, a tiny decorated Christmas tree, and a bowl of foil-covered chocolates. On the wall behind the desk was a calendar featuring a picture of a menorah. Next to that a large sign proclaimed, TODAY IS SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15TH. THE WEATHER IS CLOUDY AND COLD.

  “That sign is for the residents,” Mr. Willet told Flora and Ruby. “It’s easy for them to lose track of things. The information helps to …” He paused, thinking.

  “To orient them?” suggested Flora.

  “Yes!” said Mr. Willet. “Exactly.”

  “Hello, Mr. Willet,” said a cheerful-looking man seated behind the desk. “How have you been?”

  “Very well, thank you. Mr. Anderson, these are my friends. This is Mindy Read, Rudy Pennington, and Flora and Ruby Northrop. I was wondering if I could give them a quick tour. I’d like for them to see where Mary Lou will be living.”

  “Certainly,” said Mr. Anderson. “You know your way around. You came on a good day. Everyone is decorating the Christmas tree in the activities room.”

  Mr. Willet turned to his friends. “In that case, I’ll show you some of the residents’ rooms first. Most of them will be empty, so we won’t disturb anyone.”

  Flora and the others followed Mr. Willet down a hall. It was hung with paintings and photographs, pictures of people and animals and foreign cities.

  Mr. Willet pointed to a painting of a street in London. “That’s Mrs. Willet’s favorite picture. She says so every time we visit. I don’t know why she likes it so much — she can’t explain — but she always pauses to study it. Now, here,” he continued, “are the rooms. I suppose it’s all right to poke our heads into a couple of them.”

  Flora peered into the rooms with interest. They weren’t big, but each looked more like a cozy bedroom than a hospital room. Still, she wasn’t sure she would want to move here and tried to imagine Mrs. Willet as she left the big Row House for this small room.

  “We can bring as much of our own furniture as we want,” said Mr. Willet. “Except for the bed. Mary Lou will have to use the Three Oaks hospital bed. But we’ll be bringing her bureau, a couple of armchairs and tables, and, of course, lots of smaller personal items — pillows and photos and knickknacks and so forth. Oh, hello! Look here, everyone. This is Panda.” Mr. Willet stooped to pick up a large black-and-white cat. “Panda and his sister Honey live here. They have the run of the place.”

  “Hi, Panda,” said Flora and Ruby. They stroked his head, and when Mr. Willet set him down, he came along for the rest of the tour. Panda, Flora thought, must be a great comfort to the people who lived here. She pictured him curled up on the end of Mrs. Willet’s bed.

  Mr. Willet showed them a beauty parlor and barbershop, a small gift shop, a fitness room full of exercise equipment, and a dining room. The dining room, Flora thought (and hoped Ruby wouldn’t say out loud), looked as dreary as the outside of the building, but she found the rest of the building quite pleasant and was pleased when everyone they met smiled and greeted Mr. Willet by name.

  “Now,” said Mr. Willet at last, “here’s the activities room.”

  Flora peered into a large, brightly lit room with lots of tall windows that looked out onto a snowy hillside. Christmas music was playing loudly, and in a corner of the room stood an artificial tree, haphazardly hung with paper snowflakes (which Flora thought had probably been made by the children in the day care center) and colored balls. A woman wearing a red-and-green smock had taken an old man by the hand and was guiding him to the tree. “Put that ornament wherever you like,” she said, handing him a snowflake.

  The old man was the only one decorating the tree. Eleven other residents were in the room, but six of them were in wheelchairs that had been arranged in a semicircle, and four of those people appeared to be asleep, heads tipped back, mouths open. Flora was shocked to see that one man had not a single tooth in his mouth. The other residents wandered around the room. Two women were mumbling to themselves, and another was humming under her breath. A man dressed in a three-piece suit was standing by the windows, saying loudly, “I told you I haven’t had my dinner yet. I want my dinner!”

  Flora glanced at Mr. Pennington and thought she saw tears in his eyes. She inched closer to him and took his hand. Mr. Pennington managed a wavering smile.

  “This is a good place for Mrs. Willet, isn’t it?” Flora said to him. “It’s a little sad, but it’s nice, too. Everyone smiles, and they think up nice things, like having Panda and Honey around. And it’s good to have activities, even when people can’t really do the activities. I mean, it’s always nice to be included. Mrs. Willet will be safe, and there’s more for her to do here than there is at home. And Mr. Willet can visit her whenever he wants.”

  Flora felt pleased when she saw Mr. Pennington brighten a bit. “You know what?” she added as they turned to leave. “I might come here sometimes with Mr. Willet, if it’s all right. I might like to help out here.” And they walked outside, Min smiling, Mr. Pennington trying to smile, and Mr. Willet saying, “I do think it’s the right place for Mary Lou.”

  Open House in Camden Falls was one of Olivia’s favorite events of the year. She liked it as much as trick-or-treating on Main Street and the Memorial Day parade, in which once, dressed as a petunia, she had ridden on a float. On the night of Open House, all the stores in town stayed open late and served snacks and hot cider and coffee, and people bundled up to do their last-minute holiday shopping. Groups of carolers wove through the crowds singing Christmas songs, and everyone felt festive and merry.

  Olivia’s family walked into town at just the hour when, on an ordinary day, Needle and Thread would be closing. In Olivia’s pocket was a piece of paper on which she had written her Christmas shopping list. Her parents didn’t need to do much shopping (their baskets were coming along nicely), but they said they couldn’t miss the annual event. “I’m glad I don’t have to work tonight,” added Mrs. Walter.

  As they walked down Aiken Avenue, their breath forming misty puffs, the scent of pine needles and wood smoke in the frosty air, Olivia thought of Open House the year before. Flora and Ruby hadn’t lived next door then, and Olivia hadn’t known Nikki well or had any close friends, but how happy she had been that night. Her father still had his job at the computer company, and the thought, the horrible thought, of living somewhere other than Camden Falls had never entered Olivia’s mind.

  Now it was almost all she could think about. And still she hadn’t mentioned it to Nikki or Ruby or Flora. She couldn’t. For one thing, she didn’t think she could bear to see the stunned looks which, she was certain, would cross the faces of her friends. For another, Olivia felt that if she talked about the possibility of moving, she would somehow make it actually happen.

  So Olivia walked silently into town with a heavy heart, wondering if she would ever again enjoy life.

  “We have to remember to look for Ruby and Lacey,” said Henry suddenly. “They get to wear costumes. Old-fashioned costumes.”

  The carolers this year were members of the Camden Falls Children’s Chorus, and they were going to dress as children from nineteenth-century London.

  “I get to wear a long coat and a velvet bonnet,” Ruby had said, “and carry a fur muff. Fake fur,” she had added hastily, knowing how Olivia felt about killing animals for their fur. “And on my feet, those little boot things with lots of buttons. They take a long time to fasten.”

  The Walters turned onto Main Street and, despite her gloomy mood, Olivia brightened when she saw the twinkling stores and the crowds of people, smelled a heady mixture
of cinnamon and apples and coffee and peppermint, and heard the high, clear voices of the Children’s Chorus.

  “Wassail, wassail, all over the town! Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown …”

  “Just like carolers in old London probably sang,” said Henry, who had watched A Christmas Carol on television the night before.

  Other lilting voices drifted across the street. “Please bring us some figgy pudding, please bring it right here!”

  “I wonder which group Ruby and Lacey are with,” said Olivia, standing on tiptoe and craning her neck.

  “Olivia!” someone called then, and Olivia turned to find Nikki hurrying toward her.

  “You came!” said Olivia.

  Nikki grinned. “Tobias drove me. He’s going to pick me up later. Where’s Flora?”

  “At the store, I think. Mom, Dad, can Nikki and Flora and I go shopping by ourselves? We promise to check in with Gigi every half hour.”

  Permission was granted, and Olivia and Nikki ran to Needle and Thread.

  “It’s your first Open House, Flora,” said Olivia.

  “Mine, too,” said Nikki.

  And laughing, feeling excitement swell up inside them, they left the store and joined the crowds on Main Street.

  “Now — I have a shopping list,” said Olivia, sounding official.

  “Me, too,” said Flora.

  “I have a list in my head,” said Nikki. “But I don’t have much money, so I have to be very careful.”

  None of them had much money as it turned out. But it didn’t matter. Shopping could always be finished another day. The fun of Open House was greeting friends, and looking for Ruby and Lacey, and seeing what treats each store was offering.

  “You won’t need to eat dinner tonight,” Olivia said confidently to her friends. “Let’s go to Ma Grand-mère first. Last year they had cookies and gingerbread.”