Enough to Miss Christmas

The house dated from the nineteen twenties and was well maintained. The same family owned it until the matriarch Ellen Alcott, a grand aunt of our realtor, passed away this past winter. Over the years, succeeding generations added their touches. The basement contained a recreation room reminiscent of the nineteen-fifties, fitted with a full bar. The small den displayed paneling of a more recent vintage. The attic, untouched, contained trunks, boxes and out of date clothes from every era of the building's habitation, much to Karen's delight.

"When the auctioneer collected the household furniture the attic was padlocked," Miss Alcott said. "By the time the key was found, the auction was over. I'll speak to the heirs about getting this stuff out of here." Karen protested strenuously.

"It's just like a story book," she said looking my way. I smiled, recalling a Nancy Drew mystery I'd given her.

"I poked through most of the items and there isn't much of value," Miss Alcott said. "It was sad to see dozens of new, unused presents, probably sent by well-meaning relatives, but totally useless to an elderly woman. The bulk of the remainder was old out of date clothes and unneeded miscellaneous items."

"Toss the stuff in," Paul said, then quickly looked my way for approval. I smiled and nodded my agreement, pleased he solicited my opinion. Karen's smile lit up the room.

Miss Alcott continued to hover about as if in her absence we'd change our minds. Lunch was on her, at a pleasant café in town where she filled us in on local services and amenities. We learned there was a Catholic Church in town and made plans to consider a wedding here in lieu of Newton. While the procedure in arranging our nuptials might entail months of planning on the part of regular people, I had no doubt Paul could expedite our vow taking as quickly as he'd arranged everything else.

Now committed to a married life, I began in earnest to prepare myself for the practical considerations that confronted us. I would give a two week notice to the army, drive my old car north and move into our new home, alone.

"We best furnish this place before you move up here," Paul said.

"I slept on the floor in a sleeping bag in Alaska," I replied. "I can do it again. Believe me. It's warmer in Summerside. You're marrying a very adaptable woman."

"Can we sleep in a sleeping bag too?" Timmy asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Sure," I answered. "Maybe we'll all go camping this summer. I glanced at Paul to see his reaction.

"I'll play who's adaptable with you any time," he answered with a smile.