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THE SAFE ANCHORAGE Gift Shop surpassed Katrina’s expectations to the same degree Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto surpassed Chopsticks. The items in the boutique were as artistic and creative as anything Katrina had seen in Southern California but were sold at half the cost. If she ever started to feel homesick, she could come here.
Colorful earrings made of intricately blown glass beads. Necklaces exquisitely carved from bone or shell. Goat-milk lotions, skin creams, and other health products in packages that were themselves miniature artistic masterpieces.
The graceful hues and subtle scents were like food to Katrina’s soul. The paintings on the wall, each one of them originals for sale, ranged from purely abstract splashes of color to realistic pet portrayals or impressionistic images of serene mothers with their children, as graceful as a Viennese waltz.
“May I help you, dear?”
Katrina recognized Connie, Grandma Lucy’s niece who herself was somewhere past middle-aged. Her smile was warm and inviting.
“I’m just looking.”
The bells on the front door jingled, and Mrs. Porter’s loud exclamations preceded her into the gift shop. “My word, that ice out there is something else. Hello, Connie. Good to see you looking healthy and well today. And Katrina. So you came to spend the money I gave you.”
Katrina nodded and picked up the brightly colored scarf she’d been eying.
“Oh, no.” Mrs. Porter grabbed the offending piece of cloth and shoved it back on the rack. “That yellow will do nothing but drown out your complexion. It’s all wrong. What about this teal?” She held the new scarf up against Katrina’s face and asked Connie, “Don’t you think this one’s a better fit?”
Connie was the kind of woman whose mouth had never learned how to properly frown and whose voice had probably never uttered a sharp word. “It’s whichever she feels most comfortable in. Everything here is lovely, if I do say so myself, and she’s got one of those figures that can look good in anything.”
“It’s not her figure I’m worried about,” Mrs. Porter explained with a pout. “It’s that pale skin.” She thumbed through a few more scarves before handing Katrina a lilac one. “Here. Take this. It will go well with that sweater you wore to church Sunday. Although you might want to save it for spring. Maybe it’s different in LA, but violet’s not really what we’d call a winter color here in Orchard Grove.”
Katrina remained speechless as Mrs. Porter turned to another display. “And what about jewelry? Are you looking for earrings today? Something to go with your new scarf? Or what about a necklace?”
Some of the other women in the symphony had learned how to play with bracelets sliding up and down their arms or necklace chains getting stuck beneath their shoulder rests, but Katrina was content with simple earring studs and her plain wedding ring. Leaving Mrs. Porter to eye the jewelry alone, Katrina made her way to the back of the store, where hand-bound journals, painted greeting cards, and small gift books were displayed with an artistic touch. She picked a flowered diary from its shelf.
“That’s a new batch we just got in,” Connie explained. “Made here locally. In fact, you know her. Joy Holmes from church. Young, pretty mama. Lots of kids. One more on the way you know ...”
From the jewelry section, Mrs. Porter produced a sneeze that was as unconvincing as it was loud. “Oh, Connie!” she called out in a falsetto. “Could you help me? I can’t decide which pair of earrings I want to take down to my daughter when we go visit.”
Connie bustled over, and Katrina pretended to study the journals while Mrs. Porter conveyed in a whisper that was not nearly as hushed as she probably thought, “You know Katrina’s just had a miscarriage, don’t you?”
Connie’s words were too low to hear, but not Mrs. Porter’s response.
“I thought maybe you hadn’t heard. It’s probably best not to mention Joy or the baby, don’t you think?”
Connie coughed awkwardly, and Mrs. Porter announced in a loud, grating voice, “You know, I think you’re right. I think she’ll like these turquoise ones better. Thanks, Connie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”