Free Special Delivery by Ann M. Martin

chrysanthemums that hung on the Lewises’ lamppost and the pumpkins that still marched up the steps to the Golds’ house. She walked through the gardens, now brittle and brown, to her cottage, grateful for the streetlights that lit her way, and had unlocked her door and swung it open before she noticed the basket at her feet.
    â€œWhat’s this?” she said aloud, and stooped to pick it up. A card was attached to the handle of the basket, but she couldn’t make out the writing in the dim light, so she carried the basket inside, feeling every bit as lucky as the man who had received his UPS package.
    Mary turned on a light and set her pocketbook on the floor. She sat in an armchair and admired the basket. It was made of wicker and lined with a soft dishcloth. She reached for the card again. It read,
Happy Thanksgiving, Mary!
    Mary turned the card over. That was it. Nothing on the back.
    â€œWell, it
is
a happy Thanksgiving,” said Mary.
    She turned her attention to the contents of the basket. A bouquet of delicate dried flowers had been arranged on one side. Nestled among brightly colored maple leaves were a small cardboard box, a cellophane bag containing cookies, and a pair of candles shaped like a Pilgrim girl and a Pilgrim boy.
    Mary reached for the box and withdrew it from the leaves. She sniffed. “Chocolate,” she said with plea sure, and opened the lid. Sure enough, six chocolate candies were inside. Mary replaced the box and opened the bag. “Gingersnaps. How lovely. Look, girls,” she’d added as Delilah and Daphne jumped onto the arm of the chair. “A Thanksgiving surprise. But who is it from?”
    Now in the pale light of Thanksgiving morning, Mary looked fondly at the basket again. She had several thoughts about who might have sent it, but she was enjoying the mystery and didn’t really want to solve it.
    The morning unfolded in the slow, delicious way of holidays. Mary began to prepare her solitary Thanksgiving dinner. She lit a fire in the fireplace. She put a small turkey in the oven, promising Delilah and Daphne that they would get samples with their suppers that evening. She had just fixed a pot of tea when her doorbell rang.
    â€œNow, who could that be?” Mary asked Daphne, who was sitting on the kitchen counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way to the front door. “Flora!” she exclaimed.
    â€œHappy Thanksgiving!” cried Flora.
    â€œWhat a surprise! Come in. I just made tea. Can you stay?”
    â€œLong enough for tea,” replied Flora. “I have to meet Min and Mr. Pennington at the community center soon. But guess what. The baby is on the way! Aunt Allie’s baby.”
    Mary clasped her hands together.
    â€œIt will probably be born today,” Flora went on. “And Ruby and I will have a new cousin, and Min will be a grandmother again, and Aunt Allie will be a mom. And we can stop calling the baby ‘it.’”
    Mary laughed. “What a wonderful way to celebrate Thanksgiving.”
    Flora left half an hour later, and Mary decided to read before the fire for a while. Early in the afternoon, she sat down to her turkey dinner, which she ate with two cats staring intently at her. “I told you I was going to give you turkey tonight,” Mary reminded them, and then fed them bites of turkey anyway.
    She was clearing her dishes when the telephone rang. “Min,” said Mary to herself. It could only be Min. She picked up the phone. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
    There was a brief pause at the other end of the line before an unfamiliar voice said, “Well, happy Thanksgiving. Is this … is this Mary Woolsey?”
    â€œYes,” said Mary. “Who’s this?”
    â€œWell, you don’t know me. I mean, you sent me a letter….” The voice trailed off. “My name is Catherine? Catherine Landry?”
    Mary frowned. The name sounded familiar.