Finally—finally!—Annaliese’s promised “someday” arrived.
A few months after Great-Grandmama’s ninetieth-birthday party ball, Olivia and Ebenezer the Lighthouse Keeper and Annaliese and Throckmorton met up in Cannon City, where they entered the glamorous lobby of the Chesterfield Club.
In their earlier appearance in February, the Bird Land Big Band, starring Miss Chickadee Finch, had brought the crowd to their feet: a standing ovation. The club’s manager straightaway booked the band for a return engagement.
Annaliese was almost ten years old now and looking very grown-up. She wore a plum-and-blue paisley dress with a dropped waist, raglan sleeves, and lace cuffs, and a new pair of stacked-heel shoes. Her long hair was brushed into soft waves.
She’d dressed Throckmorton in a bright blue V-neck sweater. Knitted by Miss Pine, the sweater covered his yellow duck diaper pin ever-so-nicely. A striped hand-knit wool scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. When Annaliese held him up to Olivia’s engraved hand mirror, Throckmorton liked what he saw.
Très chic! A look of casual sophistication that suited him quite well.
As their party of four—Annaliese, Olivia, Throckmorton, and Ebenezer—approached the host stand at the club, the maître d’ glanced up, down, and all around.
The maître d’s eyes seemed to be asking: Is this some kind of a joke?
The expression on his face read:
Sock monkeys?
At the Chesterfield Club?
Impossible!
He quickly regained his composure and extended his hand for a shake. “Good evening, Miss Finch. Welcome back to the Chesterfield Club. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“I’d like a table for four please, for me and my friends,” Olivia said, but then corrected herself. “I mean, for me and my family.”
The maître d’ checked his seating chart. “I just happen to have . . . the best seats in the house available.”
Holy Hollywood!
The best seats in the house!
Sizzling bolts of excitement zigzagged up, down, and across Throckmorton’s tail. He could get used to this kind of life pretty quickly.
“And we’ll need a couple of pillows, or something,” Olivia added. “You know—for the monkeys.”
“Of course, Miss Finch.” The maître d’ bowed. “I’ll let your waiter know.”
Later, after every song that Olivia sang, the audience broke into wild applause. Many of her fans had heard Miss Chickadee Finch sing before, but they’d never heard her sing the way she sang that night.
Before the last song of her final set, Olivia invited Annaliese and Throckmorton to join her onstage. A stage manager set a stool in the center of the stage for Annaliese to sit on.
A golden glow from a circle of footlights enveloped them. A spotlight from above momentarily blinded Throckmorton. Although the rest of the faces in the audience seemed blurred, Ebenezer’s smile beamed ever-so-brightly.
Throckmorton might never know for sure whether or not he had a precious jewel hidden inside his own heart. It didn’t matter. Right now, his body felt as if it were stuffed with stars.
“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Annaliese, and her sock monkey, Throckmorton,” Olivia told her adoring fans.
She touched the top of his head gently, like a blessing. “Annaliese’s great-grandmother, Ethel, made Throckmorton by hand. She gave him to Annaliese on the day she was born.”
Olivia did her best to choke back her tears.
“If it hadn’t been for Throckmorton,” she said, “Annaliese wouldn’t be here with me tonight.”
She put her arm around Annaliese and drew her close.
“Please give them both a big hand.”
It was Throckmorton’s first taste of fame, and he loved it. He loved being onstage with everyone watching. He loved the sound of applause meant only for him. He loved the song that Olivia sang for his (pretzel-shaped) ears only as they waltzed around the stage:
Throck-monkey, Throck-monkey . . .
A most remarkable sock monkey . . .
For the rest of their long and happy lives, Annaliese never forgot about Throckmorton again.
Whenever the story of Ethel Constance Easterling’s ninetieth-birthday party ball was told, Annaliese repeated Olivia’s words—If it hadn’t been for Throckmorton—like the refrain of a much-loved song.
Indeed, Mr. Throckmorton S. Monkey had achieved the impossible.
How? his sock monkey descendants would ask.
Simply by being himself:
Loving.
And loyal.
A very good listener.
And he never—not even once!—stopped smiling.