The village has had a surprising year. Dozens of new citizens have moved in, bringing new energy, new business, and new money. "We are on the map now," claims Mayor Pittman, ever the optimist. "Between the newly dredged harbor and the extra train stops, why, anything is possible. Before long we could rival New York!" (Well, maybe not New York, he admits to close allies. But possibly New London.) In the meantime, he is promoting something new: an outdoor market. In winter! Granted, whether it will succeed or not depends on the day's weather, but Mayor Pittman is a man who is willing to take risks. Why else engage a flower vendor in December?
While the village square is abuzz with market vendors, St. Elmo's church is nearly as lively — but with furry, feathered, and woolly creatures instead.
It has been years in the making, but St. Elmo's church has finally been rebuilt after a terrible fire. Brother Joseph, an old friend of the pastor who oversaw the rebuilding but who is sick in bed with influenza, has agreed to pinch-hit and do the Blessing, a most delightful event. Brother Joseph loves animals and especially dogs. Because who doesn't? He has assured Father O'Malley that he will remain until the last dog (or cat. Or goat. Or cockatoo) has been wished a long and healthy life.
It is, he believes, a darn good turnout. After a snowy week the weather has let up and the front path to the church has been cleared, because the last thing Brother Joseph needs is to have someone, or a pet, slip and fall (although Dr. Allen's veterinary clinic is conveniently nearby).
Brother Joseph's first customer, so to speak, is a lobsterman who has come back from sea, leaving his crew to mind his boat in the harbor just so that he can have his beloved, gentle Doberman Rosie blessed. All of the pet owners there have agreed that Rosie should go to the head of the line because (1) she's a little scary and (2) her owner Jacob has spent the night setting his traps and is really tired.
Next in line is Silas Thoms, who's the proud owner of a couple of basset hounds. Easy-going and floppy-eared, the dogs love to be alongside Silas anytime, anywhere. They're even willing to ignore his cockatoo, although that did take some getting used to. Meanwhile, a young boy is surprised and fascinated by the big bird. "That's the most giant bird I ever did see!" he cries. "Can I put him on my arm?"
But Silas declines gently. "He's very old, much, much older than you are. As old as me!" And besides, the boy would not have had the strength. So the issue is resolved.
Behind them, a dog seems to be a little too interested in the bird. His young owner, who forgot the dog's leash, is doing his best to hold him back. Will grabbing the dog by his tail work out? Possibly not.
Next in line is a gentleman in a dramatic cape, with a dramatic dog beside him. He's one of the newcomers — an actor from New York who is a bit of a ham, according to all the reviews. He's just bought a weekend home in the village and wants to fit in. His dog, who is used to more artistic types than the humble villagers around him, has not yet formed an opinion.
"How nice of the Petersons to have us for tea," Harmony murmurs while they await the couple who bought the house from them.
Will agrees. "It seems like yesterday that we were standing here, hoping to buy the place ourselves. And yet that was, what, eight, nine years ago?"
"Fourteen, dear."
"It can't be!" he says, genuinely shocked.
Will was never very good at dates. But he remembers the day he fell in love with Harmony. He was setting up a manger scene for Father Andrew and was holding a (very heavy) sheep figure in his arms as he tried desperately to think of something to say that would hold her interest. They were so young ....
"It's nice to see Miss Bates and her husband doing so well, don't you think?" Harmony remarks. "I suppose they're here to have Boots blessed. What a fright they had last year when he wandered off."
"Looking for his old herd, maybe. Once a sheep dog, always a sheep dog," Will says, chuckling, then adds, "I just hope Jasper can hold on to those dalmatian puppies. They can be a lot to handle, puppies or no."
The door opens to the couple and the owners within, all smiles and friendliness, welcome them inside.
"They will never melt. They're practically indestructible," the factory foreman boasted. "We're very proud of that. Oh yes, you have your Good & Plenty and your candy corn, and they're both a sturdy candy. But this is new. This is big."
Miss Martha's plan was to offer samples of all the candies she collected to a select group of children — her Official Tasters — and then put in an order, depending on their preferences. (She herself was partial to licorice.)
But there will be no taste tests today. Today she was so tired from the long trip that she scarcely heard the growling nearby. She glanced behind her. Are those two dogs just playing, or is it for real?
Young Henry was sure it was for real. "Eddie, do something, do something!" he cries, clapping his hands in a quick, nervous gesture. "Before they get hurt!"
"Ah, relax," Eddie answers, adjusting his shoelace. (He never gets it just exactly right — it's always too tight or too loose.) "They's brothers."
"No, they're not. They're too different!"
"Sometimes that's how it goes. Don't worry about 'em. They play like this all the time."
Certainly Grace Greene had seen the dogs playing before, but her goddaughter had not. Little Flora needed the same reassurance as Henry, especially since she was with her own dog, Mopsie, who seemed to be excited about the idea of being blessed. Mopsie always stood on her hind legs when she was excited, mostly to get her yippy bark as close as she could to Flora's ears. Little dogs are like that.
Mrs. Beaton (known by the children as "The Beagle Lady") liked neither yipping nor growling and complained about it to Grace. Grace, true to her name, did not bring up the fact that Mrs. Beaton's beagles were very fond of barking themselves. Not to mention howling and baying.
Nearby, Eloise is feeling unsure. She has finally, finally, been allowed to have a cat. But how do you bring a cat to a blessing? Her mother had suggested that Eloise bring Ginger in a basket with a cover over her, but Eloise preferred to carry Ginger in her arms to the blessing. However, Ginger had other ideas. Clawing her way to the ground, she raised her fur, lifted her tail, and hissed at the dogs in general. Whether she would take off after that was anyone's guess.
"I told you," said Mrs. Pettifore. "But you will not listen."
Meanwhile, there is a family crisis! Mama Dalmatian has just realized that her three pups aren't in their bed at home. That will not do! She knows just where they are, though, and is making a beeline to be with them. What was Jasper thinking, going to the blessing without her? That was not acceptable!
Jasper's older brother, hat flying, is right behind her, also wondering what Jasper could have been thinking. But Jasper had a history of not thinking things through, like lighting the Christmas candle that accidentally burned down their house.
None of the drama around them was affecting the boy and his pet goat, though. Because goats raised around sheep dogs don't really care.
"But there are so many waiting to be blessed!" her son cries. "When will it be our turn?"
"Soon enough. You should be patient, like Blackie. And his cousin Copper. They're dogs, and look how well they're behaving. Plus everyone is moving right along, so shush."
"I won't shush if I don't want to," her son says — but in a very, very low voice. You might even call it shushed.
Below them, Patches has taken a detour, guided by his young master. They were to haul a small load of hay to a chicken farm at the other end of town, but that would have to wait. Patches came before chickens in the boy's estimation. So they have fallen in line behind Lucas, who's brought a neighbor's border collie to be blessed while his own dog recovers from a sore paw.
"You were born under a lucky star, Albert," Dr. Greene says, looking around. "How else explain such fine weather after a week of worst? This could have gone very badly."
Albert Pittman blows air into his cheeks. "Nicholas, I'm inclined to agree with you for once. To be honest, I doubt I'll try something like this again. If it hadn't cleared, Lavinia would have had me on the carpet." The mayor liked to joke about his wife ruling the roost, though everyone knew that what she really ruled was the purse.
Everyone except their gentleman companion, who did not know that. Aaron Dreyer, an Amish visitor from Pennsylvania, has had hopes of marketing Amish quilts and hand-crafted wood furnishings at the village's next Christmas market. "But I see that this is not that kind of market," he admits. With a shrug he adds, "It was worth a try. I was going to be in the area anyway."
"Yes, pots and pans and holiday trees are more likely wares," the mayor admits. "And winter produce. Some hothouse flowers. But tables and chairs? Well, it doesn't much matter now, unless we can find a space indoors ... which, who knows ... I'll have to look into that further. Hmm ...."
The pots-and-pans vendor, Fabrizio, would surely appear at an indoor venue; his pots don't take up much room. And Talin from Jamaica would certainly show up with his hothouse flowers, because December would be their last chance to be sold. Mulled cider, used books — and fish! There is always a market for fish, especially for Christmas Eve. An indoor market could well expand from there. Why, they might even find room to sell beautifully made Amish items, as long as they weren't table-sized.
Never give up, that's Mayor Pittman.
Below Billy, a vendor tries to coax a man into buying mulled cider. "Aye, sir, and you be lookin' right chilled," she calls to him, holding up a cup of steaming cider. "This, sir, will melt that chill away."
Blowing warm air into his cold hands, the likely customer says, "Spiked, is it, then?"
"Well ... no," the vendor says regretfully. "There be little ones coming to market. Can't serve 'em a spiked drink, now, can I?"
The Woodcuts have a workaround for that. Mr. Woodcut never goes to any gathering without a bit of rum in a small flask, because you never know when you might need it. Today is one of those days.
"Well, what do you think?" he asks Mrs. Woodcut. "Will the winter market be a hit, or a miss?" He knew his wife had a keen sense about such things.
"Hard to say," says Mrs. Woodcut, compressing her lips. "I see more sellers than buyers."
Her husband nods and then says, "Look at Alice, leaning into Old Man MacGowan, What's the girl want?" Mr. Woodcut couldn't hear very well and has been relying more and more on his wife to translate for him.
"She was asking him if he wants her to take Pank to the blessing for him. He said that Pank has way more than nine lives left and is healthy as a horse. She said that it can't hurt to be blessed. He said, 'Well, all right. If it ain't a bother'."
"That's settled, then," Mr. Woodcut says, sipping his cider. "Good. No point taking chances. Pank means all to 'im, even if he don't say so."
So focused are they on eavesdropping that the couple misses the disaster unfolding behind them. Somehow, who knows how, young Percy has managed to lose both — not one but both — leashes on the dogs he was taking to the blessing for his uncle. It all started when someone in the market threw a bone at one of the Akitas. Off he ran with it, with the other Akita in hot pursuit. Dogs being dogs, and these being really nimble dogs, the lead dog tore through (rather than around) Mrs. Clarke's produce stand, sending the whole stand, with its oranges, cabbages, eggplants and all, tumbling over.
Percy didn't know what to do except to cry, "Oh, no, oh, no, oh no" and keep on chasing the pair.
Jeffrey and Jimmy, those scamps, have their own hopes. Jeffrey thought he saw a newlywed couple throw a coin into the large terra cotta pot in front of the hotel and make a wish before they checked in. He knows exactly where they threw it, sort of, so up he goes, over his brother's shoulders, as he roots around for the coin. Who knows? It could be a dollar! Or it could be a penny. Because who would throw a dollar? But you couldn't be sure. Because those two were in love! But maybe not a dollar's worth.
Only one way to find out: Jimmy will have to walk Jeffrey around the pot, easier said than done when Jimmy keeps wriggling his shoulders to ease his load. "Keep circling, before someone sees us," his brother warns in a hiss. Again: easier said than done.
Near them, Imogene, the flame-haired little girl who always has an exact plan for what she wants to do when she and her mother visit, is still disappointed that Mr. Peters won't be hosting a "Santa's Village" again this year. That was so much fun. Still, the winter market has possibilities. She will want to check that out immediately. Maybe there could be toys for sale.
Behind them is the train conductor. He's ended his shift and welcomes the thought of a good night's sleep. The last week has been misery itself, what with snow drifting across the tracks everywhere and causing endless delays. Not to mention the hay wagon that the train smashed to pieces. (Thankfully neither horse nor driver was hurt.) He waves away the paper that the newsboy has tried to peddle. Sleep. That's all he wants. Sleep.
Of all the vendors and all the products in the market, only one customer is seen walking away with an actual gift-wrapped parcel in his grasp. The woman in the white muff teases him about it, because she's friends with his wife. "I wonder what that could be," she says playfully. "Or aren't you telling?"
"That is correct," the man says, walking past.
Tsk. He always was a grumpy sort.
So ... chimney sweep to the rescue! Fortunately, the sweep and his ladder were at the house next door, and also fortunately, someone saw the shivering cat, heard his timid mews, and was able to alert the sweep to the problem. Little Blue is one lucky cat.
The amazing thing is that no one -- not Farmer Hooks or Johnny Hooks (who is deep in conversation with his father) nor any of the children on sleds even noticed! That's how much fun everyone is having. Except for Farmer Hooks himself, who really is getting too old to have to listen to all the shouting of "Faster, faster!" Old people and old horses do not go fast.
"Didn't 'spect to see you here, son," says Farmer Hooks. His son shrugs and says, "Sonya is taking care of Mrs. Miller's chickens while she's away. I needed the cart, so I dropped her off while I go into town."
"Nice of Sonya. She don't have enough work on the farm?" the old man says. "Well, she be a good 'un, and no mistake. You was lucky to find 'er."
Johnny Hooks could not agree more.
But ... they are Clyde and Margaret. They will prevail. They are not by any means running out of money, their children are fine (if spoiled), and they have just booked passage for the family on the Cunard line for a transatlantic voyage to Europe. They do not know what they will actually do in Europe in winter, but surely the weather will be milder there than it is in Connecticut.
Well, it's her money; she can do what she wants with it, Sam reminds himself. But Sam has to wonder what it would feel like to throw money at, well, horse poop.
"Don't look at him, Annie!" Abbie warns. "Don't give him the satisfaction!"
"But ... it's hard not to look! He must have something to do with that car!"
"Don't be silly," Abby says, pulling her friend along by her white muff. "He's probably been paid to wash it, that's all. I guarantee he has nothing at all to do with that car. Now keep up, will you? And don't look!"
Still, it occurs even to Abby, who doesn't believe anything about anyone, that maybe Oscar does have something to do with the car. Why else stand there so smugly with his arms crossed that way if he was actually trespassing? Hmm! Oscar the Showoff is suddenly more interesting. Or at least slightly less obnoxious.
Oscar is throwing Abby and Annie his most irresistible look (he has practiced in the mirror). But unfortunately, he really is trespassing, hoping to enjoy a moment. He'll need to be quick about it; the owners could walk back at any time. He sighs as the girls glide past without a word. Their loss, he thinks.
Ha. Keep on telling yourself that, Oscar.
Nearer the road, Dorothea Sparks, recently married and more high-spirited than ever, crosses paths with Lavinia Pittman. By now Dorothea feels comfortable addressing the mayor's wife by her first name. "Lavinia! How good to see you! The Captain and I look forward to having you and Albert at our little gathering next week."
"Yes, certainly," the mayor's wife answers with her usual formality. It has not gone unnoticed by her that Dorothea Sparks and the Captain are developing a reputation for hosting lively soirées. Some have even called them fun. Fun! Since when has it become necessary to have fun at a soirée?
Her carriage is stalled — Farmer Hooks ahead is in no hurry — so she has no choice but to listen to Dorothea's small talk. "Lavinia, I understand that you are interested in creating an overnight ward for the parents of children who are hospitalized," Dorothea says. "May I say that you are a woman I very much admire; you have funded so many worthy causes in this village."
"Oh." The mayor's wife did not expect that. "Oh. Well, I thank you."
"It can't be easy, juggling everyone's interests, and proper funding, and then overseeing the execution of a project. Yet you do these things brilliantly."
"Oh. Yes, it isn't always easy," the mayor's wife confesses. "There are always obstacles."
"And yet you overcome them. Not many women — or men — are so capable."
The mayor's wife relents, just a little. "You are very kind to say so ... Dorothea."
"Well, then! This Wednesday evening!"
Whatever else they're doing, Mrs. Miller's chickens have not come home to roost. Just the opposite! Somehow Sonya has managed to leave the door open to the chicken tractor, and most of them have escaped before she is able to close the rest in. (Chickens can move faster than you would think.) It's all she can do to chase after them, mostly losing that race unless she can get someone to help round them up. "For pity's sake, how could I have left the door open?!" she keeps asking herself.
To the rescue comes a little boy who has watched it all. At first he laughed, because the lady chasing the chickens looked so surprised. But then he felt bad for her. "I'm coming, Missus, I'm coming!" he calls out to her. He goes after the Rhode Island Reds first, because he knows they're skittish and fast. After that, he'll help with the Isbars, who were more easy-going. (Little Felix knew his chickens.) "I'm coming, Missus!"
And a little way away from all of God's creatures — the dogs and cats and goats, the chickens and bluebirds, the crows and the cockatoos — a single doe reclines in the snow. She knows she is among her own, including her distant cousins who have been tasked with pulling a sleigh high above her in the sky. The animal world, at least, is at peace with one another.
