Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
T he next morning Evie made her way over to Randy’s house, Christmas box clutched in her hands. As he opened the door, she grinned at him. “I just couldn’t open the next item alone. I feel like this is something we’re doing together.” She didn’t voice the thought lingering in her mind—or fully acknowledge it to herself—that she’d simply wanted to see him. After baking the cookies with him yesterday, she felt a closeness to him and found herself looking forward to sharing the ritual of opening a new item with him.
His face lit up with a wide grin. “I’m good with that. Come on in.” He held the door open, and she slipped inside. “I just brewed some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with two steaming mugs of coffee. They settled onto his comfortable couch, the Christmas box between them. She motioned toward it. “It’s your turn to choose this time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, I insist.”
Randy leaned forward and reached in. His hand hovered over one item before moving to another. He carefully lifted out a small package, then seemed to reconsider and selected a different one.
“Unwrap it. Let’s see what it is.” She nodded encouragingly.
He peeled away the tissue paper, revealing a well-worn Christmas stocking. “Well, would you look at that,” he said softly, holding it up for her to see. “It appears to be hand knit.” He smiled slightly. “I’m kind of an expert on what hand-knit items look like. Miss G always had her knitting with her.”
“She did.” She leaned in for a closer look. “And it does look hand knit. I wonder whose it was?” She reached for it and turned it over in her hands. “It doesn’t have a name on it or even initials. I guess this is one that we’ll never figure out.”
As she ran her fingers along the soft, aged fabric, she noticed something peculiar about the toe. Frowning, she carefully slipped her hand inside the stocking. To her surprise, her fingers brushed against something tucked away in its depths. Slowly, she withdrew an old photograph, its edges slightly curled and faded with time.
“Here, take a look at this.” She handed the photograph to Randy.
He accepted it, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image. “It’s a young man in uniform.” He turned the photo over, running his fingers along the blank surface. “No name or date on the back, though.”
She sighed. “I suppose that’s it then. An item with a mystery we’ll never unravel.”
His eyes lit up. “Let’s not throw in the towel just yet. We could pay a visit to the historical society. Etta might be able to help us piece together this puzzle.”
“From just the photo?” She looked at him doubtfully.
“Maybe. It’s at least worth a shot.”
“I’m game. Let’s see if she can help us.”
They took his truck over to the historical society, where a woman was just opening the door. “Good morning, Randy.”
“Etta, this is Evie. She’s Miss Genevieve’s granddaughter.”
Etta turned to her. “Oh, I heard you were here on the island. I’m so sorry for your loss. Miss Genevieve was a wonderful woman. She loved looking into the history of the island. We had many a long chat.”
“Thank you.” Evie waited for the tears to creep into her eyes, but thankfully, this time, no tears. “And her love of the history of the island. That’s kind of why we’re here. I found this wooden box in the storage room at Nana’s. And she had all these items in it carefully wrapped up. We found an ornament handmade by a glass blower that used to have a shop on the island.”
“Oh, yes. Sam Waterman. I’ve read about him. He had some troubles during the Great Depression. An anonymous benefactor from the island showed his work to a buyer from a large department store. They made a large order and his shop was saved.”
“Exactly. And we found an original handwritten sugar cookie recipe from a bakery on the island. Herbert’s.”
“I recall reading about that bakery, too.”
“And Nana used that recipe for her sugar cookies each Christmas.”
“No kidding. She didn’t tell me that.” Etta smiled. “But they sure were delicious.”
She held up the stocking and the photo. “Now we found this. An old stocking. And we found a photo inside it.”
“Well, come inside, and let’s see if we can figure out where the stocking came from.” Etta motioned them inside.
They sat at a large wooden table, and she handed the photo to Etta. The woman looked at it carefully. “Looks like a World War II uniform.”
“But how would we ever figure out who he was?”
“I have a file somewhere. It’s in the old paper files that haven’t been scanned yet. That scanning is quite the project. I have to coax our old computers to take the uploads of the scans. Give me a minute or so and let me see if I can find it.”
Etta disappeared, and Evie turned to Randy. “You think she’ll be able to help us?”
“If anyone can, she can.”
Etta returned with a stack of files in her hands. She sat down and opened the top file. “Ah, ha. I knew we had this. A list of islanders who fought in World War II. Looks like we had a dozen men who fought.”
“But how do we figure out if this stocking was one of theirs?”
Etta picked up another file. “There are photos from that time period in here. Let’s see what we find.” She set the photos out, one by one. But none held any clue.
Frustration swept through her. Maybe they really wouldn’t figure out why this stocking was in Nana’s box.
“Wait, this might help.” Etta held out a photo of eight men in uniform. She flipped it over and smiled. “And some kind soul wrote the names of the men on the back.”
They all looked closely at the photo. “That man at the end…” Evie pointed. “Does that look like the same man in our photo?”
“It does, kind of. It’s so faded though.” Randy frowned. “What is his name?” He pointed to the last man in the photo.
Etta flipped it over. “That’s Warren Guthrie. That will help us. Let’s see what we can find out about Warren. We’ve got photos of the high school graduating class from every year. That’s already scanned and online.” She scooted over to the computer and typed into the search bar. The computer just sat there. “Come on, girl. You can do it,” Etta said encouragingly to the machine. As if it heard her, it popped up a grid of photos.
“There—that’s him, right?” She pointed to a young man.
“Sure looks like him.” Randy nodded.
Etta typed into the computer again and read the screen. She clicked and read some more. “Listen to this. It looks like Warren’s mother passed away and that was all the family he had. It says the town all got together and sent items to him in 1943. There’s a list of items. Razors, bars of homemade soap, candy, and look here. A hand-knit Christmas stocking.”
“You think this is that stocking?” She peered at the article on the screen.
“I’d have to think so.” Etta nodded as she clicked the mouse again and another photo popped up.
“Look… it’s there.” Evie clapped her hands in excitement. “On that table with all the gifts.”
Randy leaned in, reading the words under the article. “It says the Christmas stocking was knit by Mrs. Chancey.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “That would have been some relative of Nana’s, right? Well, a relative of Grandfather’s, I suppose.”
“Right, because Miss G married into the Chancey family.” Randy nodded.
“So you think that’s how Nana ended up with it?”
“Maybe.” Randy smiled. “Maybe she heard this story and found the stocking and saved it. Part of her history.”
Suddenly, a terrible thought struck her. She swallowed hard. “Etta… do you know if Warren made it back from the war?” she asked softly.
“Let’s see if we can find mention of him after 1945.” Etta clicked way on the keyboard, searching. Soon her face broke into a wide smile. “Look here. It’s Warren and his wife and two little girls.”
Relief rushed through her. “Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Looks like we have a happy ending to this item.” Randy grinned.
Her smile widened as she met his gaze, a warm feeling of success and happiness washing over her. Their mission to uncover the stories behind Nana’s Christmas box treasures was proving more successful than she’d dared hope. And she realized part of her happiness was from how much she enjoyed sharing this journey with Randy. His enthusiasm matched her own, making the research feel less like a task and more like an adventure.
“I never imagined we’d find out so much about these old keepsakes. It’s like piecing together a family puzzle.”
Randy nodded, his expression mirroring her satisfaction. “Your grandmother would be proud,” he said, his voice gentle. “We’re honoring her memory by bringing these stories to light.”