Dachshund Through the Snow - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,6
looks could kill, poor Rad would be headed to Easterbrook Funeral Home, not the Christmas Spectacular.
“You will give me that dog,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s important.”
“So’s the play,” he countered, undaunted by her. “Get me a ticket, and you can have the dog. I’ll be here all day, ’cept for taking Rover for a walk. If you can’t get the ticket, you can’t have the dog.”
“Then we’ll get a ticket,” Yiayia said, signaling for Gramma, Pru, and the dogs to follow her out the front door.
“Bye, Ralph,” Pru whispered into the tank, then gave a quick pet to the dog Rad held. “See you, Rover.” She looked up at the man. “You drive a hard bargain, dude.”
“I want the ticket.”
“Got it.” Pru zipped out with the two dogs to find Gramma Finnie and Yiayia deep in conversation on the sidewalk. “So, we’re going to the church to try and sell our souls for a ticket?”
“Whatever it takes,” Gramma Finnie said.
“Thank you.” Yiayia put her hand on Gramma’s back. “You’re a good friend, Finola.”
While they trudged back down Ambrose Avenue, Yiayia was silent as Gramma Finnie chatted about her friend Melvin Jankewicz, the set director, and how he could help them. She was certain he’d be at First Baptist all day, so they headed toward the large white columns of the stately church not far from the town hall at the perimeter of Bushrod Square.
“Won’t take but a minute to get the ticket,” Gramma said.
Yiayia gave a skeptical look over her shoulder in the direction they’d just come from. “Then he better give us that dog when we get back with the ticket and not send us off on another goose chase,” she said. “Maybe he’s some kind of scam artist.”
“A scam to go to a Christmas play?” Gramma Finnie gave a soft snort. “My word, Agnes, you don’t trust anyone.”
“Life has taught me that,” she said. “Life taught me…”
Her words faded in Pru’s ear at the outburst of girls’ laughter from the square as they passed one of the entrances. The musical cadence of one was all too familiar. She looked to her left and felt a stab of pain at the sight of Teagan huddled with Caitlin, Sarah, and one other girl who ran in that crowd at school.
Just as Pru stared at them, Teagan looked up, a flash of something in her eyes, then she quickly looked away, pretending she hadn’t seen Pru.
“Oh…” The sound slipped from Pru’s lips, getting a quick look from Yiayia. But Pru didn’t say a word because, for all she knew, Yiayia would march under those candy cane arches and demand an explanation from Teagan. “That’s…sad,” she finished.
“What is?” Yiayia asked.
“That life taught you not to trust people.” Although, wasn’t life grinding that lesson on Pru’s heart right then?
“How did that happen, lass?” Gramma asked, sliding a loving hand through Agnes’s arm. “Who let you down?”
“Who didn’t?” she answered in her wry Yiayia tone. “And on Christmas Day, too.”
“Really?” Pru asked.
“Certainly not your husband or children,” Gramma said. “Not on Christmas.”
The other woman didn’t answer for a long time, looking ahead, her eyes pinned on something in the distance. Or a memory.
“What happened?” Pru asked. “Can you share with us?”
Yiayia’s eyes shuttered closed, and some color drained from her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s all such ancient history now.”
“That’s the best kind,” Gramma said.
“Last Christmas Eve, Gramma Finnie told me the most amazing story. Now it’s your turn.”
Yiayia smiled and sighed. “I’m not the storyteller your Irish great-grandmother is.”
“You can’t share anything about your life?” Pru asked.
“After I’ve told you so much of mine?” Gramma added.
They took a few more steps, silent. Then Yiayia slowed and finally stopped, tugging at the dogs. “The first person to let me down and break my trust was my father,” she said softly. “I walked into the kitchen on Christmas morning, just a few days after I’d turned eighteen, and he announced that he’d found my husband, a man from Greece who I’d never met.”
Pru gasped. “You had an arranged marriage?”
“Not…exactly.”
Chapter Three
Astoria, New York, 1955
Agnes opened her eyes and squinted through the tiny slats of her attic window to confirm that it had, indeed, not stopped snowing yet. Which might make a lot of people happy today, Christmas morning, but it meant that Norman’s car might not make it all the way to Astoria from the city tomorrow so they could meet and have their secret gift exchange.
Her heart dropped. It was already risky