The end of the kitchen table had been cleared of all Holly’s craft and baking supplies, presumably to make space for the tin that sat in their place.
‘Mrs Templeton,’ Jack said, politely. ‘Lovely to see you.’
The older woman scowled up at him. Jack was oddly relieved at the evidence that not everything had changed.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘That blasted dog of yours—’ Mrs Templeton started, but Holly spoke over her.
‘I spotted Claude this morning,’ she explained. ‘He was digging in the school field.’
Jack glanced around the kitchen, his heart suddenly feeling too big in his chest. ‘You found him? Where is he?’
Holly gave an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry. He ran off again before I could get to him. But he looked fine, at least. All that gingerbread seems to be keeping him going. I’ve decorated my gingerbread house ready for when he comes home, too.’
‘That’s good.’ Not as good as bringing him home would have been, but at least they knew now that Claude was still on Maple Drive, and he was okay. That was something. ‘What was he doing on the school field?’ he asked, with a frown. As far as he knew, there was no gingerbread there, and that seemed to be the only thing Claude was really interested in.
‘He was digging for this,’ Mrs Templeton said, picking up the tin. She held it, almost reverentially, out to Jack, who took it with trepidation.
‘What is it?’ he asked, even as his mind was running through the possibilities. Bomb? No, this isn’t Afghanistan. And it’s a snowman themed tin. Probably not a bomb.
‘It’s a time capsule,’ Holly explained, and Jack looked at the tin with new interest. ‘Mrs Templeton put it together with her students twenty-five years ago, when she was the headmistress at Forest Green.’
Mrs Templeton had been a headmistress? Well, that explained the general aura of fear she projected.
‘And we’re going to open it?’ he asked.
Mrs Templeton scowled again. ‘What do you think we’ve been trying to do? The hinges are rusted shut.’
‘Do you want me to try?’ Jack asked, already trying to work the lid off.
‘I think this is going to take more than muscles,’ Holly said, and Jack had to admit privately that she might be right. He probably could rip the lid off if he tried, but not without the risk of throwing the contents across the room. ‘Hang on, I think I’ve got what we need.’ She disappeared out into the hallway, and Jack heard her opening the under stairs cupboard.
‘So, what’s in the time capsule?’ Jack figured he might as well try to make small talk with Holly’s ornery neighbour.
She gave him a scornful look. ‘It was twenty-five years ago. Do you really think I’d remember the details now?’
‘I suppose not.’ Some days, it was hard to remember what he’d eaten for breakfast. Yet the memory of Claude’s head nestled against his lap remained strong.
‘Besides, it was a secret capsule. Everyone had to put a note about their Christmas memories or dreams inside an envelope, along with something that made them think of Christmas. No one saw each other’s. We were supposed to open it ten years later, but then … well, a new headmistress took over, and I suppose I might have forgotten to mention it to her.’
A new headmistress. Jack rather got the impression that Mrs Templeton’s leaving Forest Green School might not have been entirely voluntary. Maybe that explained why she was so bitter all the time. Fifteen years resenting being pushed out could do that to a person, he supposed.
‘So nobody knows everything that’s inside this capsule,’ Jack said. ‘That’s exciting.’
‘I wonder, sometimes, where all the children are now that contributed to it,’ Mrs Templeton said, sounding very far away. Then she shook her head. ‘But of course, they’ve all grown up, moved on. Moved away, mostly, I imagine. Certainly, none of them ever came back to find it.’
‘I suppose they might have forgotten,’ Jack said.
‘Or they didn’t care enough in the first place,’ Mrs Templeton snapped. ‘I poured my life into that school, into those pupils, but in the end … well. Anyway.’
‘Anyway,’ Jack echoed, not really sure what else to say.
Thankfully, Holly reappeared to break the moment.
‘This should do it!’ She held aloft some sort of craft device that looked mostly like a pair of angled pliers, but with bright pink and flowery handles. ‘Hand it over?’
The floral device worked. Holly levered open the lid carefully, with a ping as the rusted hinges finally gave way. The tin was deep, and bigger than the usual sort of biscuit tin Jack was used to.
‘Wow!’ Holly said, peering in. ‘There are a lot of envelopes in here! And also something …’ she sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘I imagine, whatever attracted Claude to it in the first place,’ Jack guessed. Something, whatever it was, had held its strong, cinnamon and ginger scent for more than two decades. He dreaded to think how much it must have stank when it was first put in the capsule.
‘Let me see.’ Mrs Templeton shoved Holly impatiently out of the way, and reached inside the box to grab the top envelope. Ripping it open, she pulled out a small, wooden decoration, and a scrap of lined notepaper. Unfolding it, she read it, then placed it on the table beside the box.
Rolling her eyes at Jack, Holly picked it up and read the note aloud. ‘“My Christmas Memory, by Caitlin Manners. My favourite Christmas memory is singing in the carol service at school, with all my friends.”’ She put the paper back and smiled. ‘Aw, that’s nice. I always loved my school carol service, too.’
‘We used to walk through the town to the church,’ Mrs Templeton said absently, her hands already busy opening the next envelope. ‘A whole parade of children, all in perfectly pressed ties and shirts, ready to sing for the whole community.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ Jack said. Somehow, Mrs Templeton managed to make it sound like an indictment on modern society that this no longer happened, just through her tone. It was, he decided, a very special talent – even if it wasn’t one anyone else appreciated very much.
‘It was more than nice. It was a community service.’ Her eyes scanned the next note, and she placed it on top of the first one.
This time, Jack picked it up. ‘‘‘My favourite thing about Christmas is the presents. By Robbie Jacobs.” Well, nice to know some things don’t change.’
Mrs Templeton shot him a glare. ‘Robbie Jacobs’ family never had two pennies to rub together. At Christmas, we at the school would make sure he had something to open on Christmas morning. It was probably the only time he had anything new all year.’
She went back to opening envelopes, and Jack exchanged a look with Holly. Apparently Mrs Templeton had hidden depths of compassion. Very hidden. And very, very deep. But they were there.
What had happened to change her into the bitter old woman they knew today? Was it losing her job at the school? Or was it something more?
‘This community used to be like that, you know,’ Mrs Templeton went on, smoothing out the next note and adding to the pile, and standing up a little model of a reindeer on the table in front of her. ‘We looked out for each other. Took care of those who needed it. It used to be a real community. But it seems like I’m the only one who remembers that.’
‘That’s a lovely thing to do,’ Holly said, looking touched.
Mrs Templeton didn’t reply, too engrossed in the next note in the box. Her hands shook as she placed it on the pile, and Jack frowned as he reached for it.
‘‘‘My Christmas wish is that the whole community come together to celebrate Christmas this year, and every year. By …”’ He paused, and Holly looked up at him. ‘“By Mrs E B Templeton,”’ he finished.
Holly’s mouth opened just a little as she stared at Jack. Jack met her gaze as they both searched for what to say next.
In the end, Mrs Templeton beat them to it.
‘I always thought that Map
le Drive could be more than it is,’ she said, her tone misty and far away. ‘Yes, we’d lend a hand and work together, but at the end of the day everyone went home to their own houses, and that was it. I always wanted it to be … closer, somehow. A true community, sharing and celebrating together.’
And unfortunately, she tended to try to force that collaboration by issuing draconian orders about Christmas decorations. Not the best way to foster community spirit, in Jack’s opinion.
Holly, meanwhile, seemed more forgiving.
Sliding into the seat beside Mrs Templeton, she said, ‘It sounds wonderful. That’s exactly what I was looking for when I moved here, you know. And when I took the job at Forest Green. A community I could belong to.’ She looked up at Jack, and made a small motion with her head.
Was she asking him to do something? Probably. But what? Hand signals in combat situations he could follow no problem. Hints from a woman … they were a million times trickier.
‘I know Jack was too,’ Holly added, her voice heavy with meaning, and Jack caught on at last.
‘That’s right.’ He took the seat on the other side of Mrs Templeton. ‘When I left the army, I was hoping to find a new family, a new community, out here in civilian life.’
For a moment Mrs Templeton softened, her expression sympathetic. ‘You saw it too. The potential.’
‘We did,’ Holly said.
But then Mrs Templeton’s mouth tightened into a straight line again, and she shook her head as if to dispel any weakness. ‘Still, you both came to the wrong place. Everything I wished for, it never happened.’
‘But you still wish it would, don’t you?’ Holly placed a hand over Mrs Templeton’s and, to Jack’s surprise, the older woman didn’t push it away.
‘It was twenty-five years ago,’ Mrs Templeton snapped, but there was less venom in it now. Jack almost thought he heard an actual wobble in her voice.