The Christmas Table (Christmas Hope #10) - Donna VanLiere Page 0,5
help you?”
“I’m Andrea King, and I’m looking for a table or desk for the entryway to Glory’s Place. She said you’d know the size that would be best for that space.”
“Sure! My wife, Melanie, and I were there when volunteers were cleaning and painting and getting Glory’s Place ready.”
Andrea looks around the shop, wondering what he has that might work. “Well, we’ve all pitched in and we have a hundred and sixty dollars to buy something. What do you have?”
“The one I was working on when you came in would be the perfect size but…” He glances up at it. “No. It’s round. You need a rectangle.” He moves to the side of the shop with a few pieces of finished furniture, and Andrea follows.
“I love the smell of a wood shop,” she says. “It—”
“I do, too! Always have.” He stands in front of two desks and taps one.
Andrea notices the price—$1,600. The one next to it is $1,200. “Beautiful work, Larry.”
“That one there was a black walnut tree out at the Hurley farm. It had to be over a hundred years old and—”
Andrea lifts her hand. Gloria warned her that Larry would give the history of each project beginning with the tree when it was just a sapling. “It’s beautiful, but we can’t afford either of these desks. They are too much desk for what Glory’s Place needs. Do you have anything else?” He shrugs and leads her to two more desks, one that has obviously been created by Larry with a price tag of $700 and the other a simple oak desk with single drawer that costs $350. “This one’s nice and simple.”
“It’s an old library table I refinished,” he says.
“It’s really nice,” she says, looking underneath the table.
He bends over to look as well. “What are you looking for under there?”
“I have no idea, but it feels like I should do this.”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “When you’re done looking under the hood, we can talk business.”
“I think it will work great. Would you be able to take—”
“If Gloria needs it. Gloria can have it. I’m happy to donate it.”
“That’s awfully kind, Larry. Gloria said you’re one of her favorite people.”
“Ah,” he says, making a growling sound in back of his throat. “She doesn’t get out much.”
FOUR
May 1972
Joan holds the recipe card in front of her and turns on the oven, preheating it to 350 degrees. She places four bananas in their peels on a cookie sheet and pours two and a half cups of pecans into a shallow baking dish. While she waits for the oven to reach the proper temperature, she takes the pineapple from the grocery sack and stares at it, then grabs a large knife from the drawer. She whacks off the top and then the bottom and goes to work on the sides, just as her mom instructed, each time realizing she needs to cut away more of the skin in order to remove what Gigi calls “the prickles.” She cuts off a piece for the little girl.
“What is this again?” Gigi says, observing the moist yellow fruit in her hand.
“Pineapple,” Joan says, handing a piece to Christopher.
“Mmm,” Gigi says with her mouth full. “Good apple pie.”
“Pineapple,” Joan says, chuckling. She quarters the pineapple and cuts it into small chunks, enough for one cup. “I can’t believe I’m putting bananas in the oven, but here we go!” She places the bananas and pecans inside the oven and closes the door, setting her timer for ten minutes. “The peels need to be black, and the pecans need to be getting darker and smell fragrant,” Joan reads aloud from the recipe card.
“What’s ‘fabrant’?” Gigi asks, squatting down to look inside the oven.
“Fragrant,” Joan says, reaching over and scratching the little girl’s back. “It means they should smell good. Ready to mix everything together?” Gigi nods and Joan stands up. “Let’s do it!” She smacks the countertop and moves to the refrigerator. “I totally forgot to put the eggs out. Okay, we’ll put them in some water.” She hands three eggs to Gigi and fills a bowl with lukewarm water. “Put them right in here.”
“Why?”
“Because Grandma says so. If the eggs aren’t at room temperature you can put them inside a cup of warm water for a few minutes.”
“Why?” Gigi asks, filling a cup too full of water.
“Because Grandma says the eggs shouldn’t be really cold when you’re making a cake. They should be room temperature.” Joan peers again at the recipe. “Okay, you can