Libby's Sweet Surprise Read online

  “All right,” he said as they started moving. “Are you hoping something lucky will happen today? Is that why you’re wearing the bracelet?”

  “Not really. I just like wearing it. Though I am hoping it will help me find a certain something that belonged to my great-grandma.”

  “The one who died?” Cedric asked.

  “Yes,” Libby said, feeling a little pinch in her heart at those words. She knew he didn’t mean to be harsh or rude with the question. He just wanted to be clear about whom she was talking about.

  “What do you want to find?” he asked as he picked a leaf off the ground and proceeded to crumble it in his hand. He then let the leafy brown confetti flutter to the ground.

  “An old canning jar,” Libby told him.

  “And you thought black trousers weren’t very exciting,” he teased.

  “I know, it sounds strange,” Libby began to explain. “But I want to find it because a friend from America gave it to Grandma Grace, and wrote her a poem that she stuck inside. Grandma Grace thinks she accidentally gave the jar to one of her friends, along with some flowers. Haven’t you ever had a certain something you wondered and wondered about? The jar with the poem is like that for me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Well, I hope your lucky bracelet works,” Cedric said as they stopped while Dexter and Goldie both sniffed a tree. “My trousers have been lucky three different times. It’s pretty amazing, really.”

  “Tell me about what happened,” Libby said as they started walking again.

  “The first time I wore them, I found a pound on the pavement. The second time I wore them, my parents learned they’d been approved by the bank to open up the sweetshop. And finally, I met you and Dexter at this very park while wearing them.”

  Libby knew she should say something about the third thing he mentioned. That it was nice of him to think of the day the two of them had met as a lucky day. But she’d stopped in her tracks as soon as he’d said the word, “sweetshop.”

  It couldn’t be, could it?

  The two hadn’t known each other very long. And in the short amount of time they’d been friends, they hadn’t talked much about their families at all. Cedric had no idea that Libby’s family owned Mr. Pemberton’s Olde Sweetshop. He didn’t know her parents had died when she was four and she’d gone to live with her mother’s brother and his wife. Libby had a different last name from her aunt and uncle, because her father hadn’t been a Pemberton, only her mother. Because of all this, it wasn’t something Cedric would have easily put together.

  “Libby?” Cedric asked. “Are you all right? Did I say the wrong thing? I mean, did that embarrass you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not at all. I’m glad we met too. I’m just, well, I’m curious what you meant, about opening a sweetshop.”

  Cedric smiled. “Oh, I see. You love sweets then, is that it? Me too. Which is why I’m so excited we’ll be opening up The Sweet Retreat very soon. Don’t you love that name? My mum thought of it. We knew we wanted a name that sounded new and fun, not old and stuffy like that other shop in town. Anyway, it’s been my parents’ dream forever to have a business all their own. My dad lost his job recently and they decided it was finally time for them to follow their dream. My mum has very fond memories of a sweetshop she visited as a child, and that’s why they chose to sell candy. She wants to give other children happy memories like the ones she has.”

  For a moment, it felt like someone had punched Libby in the stomach. She held her breath as she tried to decide what to do. Should she tell him? Tell him that the “old and stuffy” sweetshop belonged to her family? But if she told him, surely he wouldn’t like her very much anymore. Would he?

  Libby scanned the park as she tried to decide whether or not to tell Cedric they were now sweetshop competitors. That’s when she spotted Rebecca, on the other side of the park, talking and laughing with her new group of friends. She looked so happy, and Libby knew she should probably be glad about that, but all it did was make her miss her best friend even more.

  Seeing Rebecca and feeling the hurt all over again made her want to hold tightly to everything else she didn’t want to lose. She couldn’t tell Cedric. Not yet, anyway. She had to find a way to break it to him gently. To make sure he knew that it didn’t matter to her, and she really didn’t want it to bother him, either. When she told him, she had to know for sure that they could still be friends.

  Libby turned around and took off in the opposite direction of Rebecca. “Come on,” she told Cedric. “Let’s go this way instead.”

  “Are you all right?” Cedric asked. “You’re acting sort of strange.”

  “I just spotted my best friend over there. Or, the person who used to be my best friend, I’m not really sure. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, and I miss her.” She looked at Cedric and tried to smile. “It hurts, you know?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t go to Bennett Memorial like us, then?”

  “No,” Libby said. “I’d hoped that wouldn’t matter. I mean, it shouldn’t matter.”

  Just like it shouldn’t matter that Cedric’s parents were seen as enemies in Libby’s home, for potentially hurting their family business.

  Why do these things have to be so complicated? Libby thought to herself. She looked down at the charm bracelet she wore and thought of her time at camp with Mia, Caitlin, and Hannah. That was how friendship should be. Fun and easy, and filled with happy memories, like the one at the lake.

  And then, she found herself missing them too, as tears welled up in her eyes.

  “We need to cheer you up,” Cedric said, looking over at her. “I’ve never seen a walk in the park make someone so sad. I wish The Sweet Retreat were already open so I could take you there. I’d let you pick out any sweets you’d like. That’d make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

  She thought of all the work she’d done earlier, filling up the jars at the shop. If only he knew that seeing more candy today was about the last thing she wanted to do.

  Libby couldn’t help but laugh at how silly the whole thing was.

  “What?” Cedric asked.

  “It’s just, my stomach kind of hurts, and candy doesn’t really sound that good right now,” she said. “But it’s very sweet. I mean, you’re sweet. Candy is too, of course, but I meant … oh, never mind.”

  Cedric laughed. And Libby realized she felt a little better. At least, she would until the next time Cedric decided to mention The Sweet Retreat.

  “Let’s sit on that bench,” Cedric said, pointing. “I brought something I want to show you. Something I’ve been working on.”

  Before they sat down, Cedric pulled some papers out of the pocket of his jacket. He reached over and handed them to Libby. As he did, she gave Dexter’s leash to Cedric so she could have her hands free. While Libby and Cedric settled in on the bench, the two dogs lay down next to each other on the grass, perfectly content.

  The pages Cedric had given to Libby were filled with drawings, and words here and there. And they were folded to be like a book. A comic book, Libby realized.

  “You made this?” Libby asked.

  “Yes.”

  Libby read the first words of the story out loud. “When he was a young boy, Vincent Rooper lost his parents in a terrible accident at sea. At least, everyone thought it was an accident. Everyone but Vincent, who knew the truth — but refused to talk about what had happened that dreadful day. Losing his parents wasn’t the only thing that had happened at sea. And every month that a blue moon occurred, he was reminded of the tragic day, for Vincent Rooper disappeared. And in his place, Lobsterman appeared.”

  Cedric had drawn Lobsterman to be a big man with huge claws for hands.

  “You’re a really good artist,” Libby said. “But is Lobsterman a good guy or a bad guy?”

  “He defeats the villains, so he’s a good guy.”

  Libby nodded. “I love making art too. But I like drawing nature. Trees and flowers. That sort
of thing. So, I guess you like reading comic books too, right?”

  Cedric took his pages back and handed Dexter’s leash back to Libby. “Yep. They’re one of my favorite things. What do you like to read?”

  “Stories about friendship, mostly. Animals too. But you know what? My friend Caitlin, who I met at camp, brought a little book of poetry along with her and we took turns reading from it. I really liked the poetry. More than I thought I would. Maybe that’s why I want to find the jar and poem that my grandma Grace talked about in her journal. I don’t know. This situation with Rebecca just really bothers me, and I keep thinking maybe the poem will help me somehow.”

  After the last words were out, Libby wondered if maybe she’d shared too much. She didn’t want to scare Cedric off with her friendship drama. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit better about finally telling someone that there were troubles between her and Rebecca.

  Cedric leaned forward and untangled Goldie’s leash, which had managed to get wrapped around Dexter’s. “Would you like me to go with you? To talk to the ladies about the jar?”

  Libby thought about this for a minute before she responded. In some ways, it would be nice to have someone along with her. She couldn’t deny that she was a little bit nervous about asking these women about a jar they might not even have. But on the other hand, what if they mentioned Mr. Pemberton’s? It came up often in conversations with other people. Libby would feel horrible if Cedric found out like that rather than her telling him. And she knew she would have to tell him, eventually. She just needed time to figure out the best way to do it.

  “No,” Libby said, leaning back against the bench. “I think it’s something I need to do on my own.”

  “What if they slam the door in your face? Or call you names? What will you do if something bad happens?”

  Once again, Cedric was thinking of the worst possible scenarios. “Why would they slam the door in my face? It’s not like I’m trying to sell them something like that ridiculous magic carpet cleaner everyone’s talking about.”

  “Some people just don’t like to be bothered,” Cedric said.

  Was he right? Would the people be irritated with her for knocking on their door and asking about a silly old jar they might not even have?

  “If I don’t look for it,” Libby said, thinking out loud, “I think I might regret it for the rest of my life. Maybe that sounds overly dramatic or whatever, but it’s like a puzzle that’s been put in front of me and it’s my job to find the missing pieces.”

  “I like puzzles,” Cedric said.

  “Or maybe it’s more of a mystery,” Libby said. “I don’t know. All I know is I want to find that jar with the poem.”

  “When will you start looking?”

  “Tomorrow,” Libby said. “Now that my lucky bracelet has arrived, there’s nothing else getting in my way.”

  Cedric rose from the bench. “I should get home. Come find me at school on Monday. I want to know what happens tomorrow.”

  Libby stood up. “All right. I hope I have good news.”

  “Me too.” He looked at her. “Would you like to borrow my lucky trousers before you go knocking on doors?”

  Libby smiled. “No thanks. Like I said, I have my bracelet. Besides, you should keep all of the luck for yourself. You never know when you might need some again.”

  “Well, I don’t mind sharing. If you change your mind, give me a ring.”

  Libby waved as she turned in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Cedric waved back.

  As Libby and Dexter walked toward home, she thought about The Sweet Retreat and what her aunt and uncle would say if she told them she’d become friends with the owners’ son. Would they forbid her from seeing him? She couldn’t be sure what they would say, really, so it was probably best not to mention it to them.

  How strange that her normally boring life was now filled with mysteries and secrets. Some might think the whole thing was exciting, but to Libby, it seemed mostly overwhelming.

  After lunch on Sunday, Libby rode her bicycle to Margaret’s house, the first friend her grandma had mentioned in her journal. Margaret had been one of Grandma Grace’s best friends, and Libby knew her well. When Libby had told her aunt and uncle that morning that she wanted to go and visit Margaret, and see how she was doing, they both thought it was very thoughtful and kind.

  Of course, it wasn’t the complete and honest truth, but it was true, in a way. She liked Margaret, for a couple of different reasons. First of all, Margaret always had the best biscuits to serve to company who came to visit. Not only that, she had a teacup collection Libby adored, many of them passed down through generations.

  When she reached Margaret’s cottage, she parked her bike and made her way to the purple front door, rubbing the charm bracelet for luck. When Libby had been younger, she’d been fascinated by that door. She’d even asked Margaret why she had a purple door and Margaret’s answer had simply been, “Well, why not? It’s a lovely door, isn’t it?”

  Now, Libby knocked, hoping her great-grandma’s friend would be happy to see her.

  “Libby!” Margaret exclaimed when she opened the door. She peered at the young girl over her reading glasses. “This is quite the surprise. Please, come in.”

  Margaret was a short, stocky woman who rarely smiled but had a friendly face all the same. She slipped the reading glasses off as Libby made her way into the small house.

  “I hope it’s all right that I stopped by,” Libby said. “I just wanted to come over and say hello. See how you’re doing.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice of you,” Margaret replied. “Come into the kitchen and take a seat. I’ll make us a spot of tea, how’s that sound?”

  “That sounds nice, thanks.”

  Libby followed Margaret into the cozy kitchen, which was bright and cheerful, with walls the color of lemons, and her pretty teacups displayed in a cabinet in the far corner, near the kitchen table.

  “I’ve added some cups to my collection,” Margaret said as she put the kettle on the stove and turned it on. “Would you like to see them?”

  “I’d love to,” Libby said, sitting down at the table.

  Margaret went to the cabinet and pulled down two teacups along with their saucers. One of them was covered in lavender roses, while the other one was mint green and white with three four-leaf clovers on the inside of the cup. Gold lettering on the saucer read, “Good luck.”

  “They’re both pretty, but I like this one,” Libby said as she examined the four-leaf clovers. “It’s very different.”

  “And supposedly lucky,” Margaret said. “You can drink your tea out of that one, then.”

  Margaret picked up the teacups and took them to the counter, next to the stove. “I know it’s early and you probably just finished lunch, but would you like a biscuit with your tea?”

  Libby smiled. “Yes, please.”

  As Margaret fiddled with the tea and biscuits, Libby tried to get up the nerve to ask about the jar. She wanted to get it out of the way. The sooner, the better, her aunt always said.

  Just as she was about to ask, the telephone rang, in another room. Margaret turned to Libby and said, “Let me get that, then we’ll have our tea.”

  “That’s fine,” Libby said. “Take your time.”

  It seemed like maybe this was the lucky break Libby needed. Perhaps she could simply look for the jar on her own, and not even mention it to Margaret. If she found it, she could grab the poem from the jar and just slip it into her pocket. Margaret would never have to know.

  Libby hopped up and began quietly opening cupboard doors. She could hear Margaret talking in the other room. As long as Margaret kept talking, Libby knew she was probably safe from being caught. Still, that knowledge didn’t stop Libby’s legs from trembling. It would be so embarrassing if Margaret found her peering into her cupboards.

  Libby had searched every cupboard but the ones she was too short to reach. As she l
ooked around for a step stool, she heard Margaret say good-bye, so she quickly ran back to the table, sitting down just in the knick of time.

  “Did I hear you get up?” Margaret asked as she went to the stove.

  Had she seen Libby snooping? Did she know? Libby swallowed hard. “Oh er, yes, I was just washing my hands.”

  “Oh, good,” Margaret said. “Our tea is ready.”

  As the older woman went to work pouring hot water and arranging the biscuits on a plate, Libby decided it was now or never.

  “One of the reasons I came here is so I could ask you something,” Libby said. “About my grandma Grace. If you don’t mind?”

  “No, I don’t mind at all,” Margaret replied matter-of-factly. “Ask away.”

  Libby spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “She mentioned an old, clear canning jar that her friend Mae brought over from America in the forties. She was looking for it shortly before she died, because it was special to her, and she couldn’t find it. I wondered if she might have given it to you, with some flowers in it? I know she often gave you and some of her other friends flowers from her pretty garden.”

  Margaret pulled out a wooden stool that sat in the corner and said, “If you’d like, you can come and look for yourself. I keep all of my vases and whatnot in the cupboard above the sink.”

  Libby stood up, her legs slightly wobbly again, but this time for a different reason. Margaret was letting her look for the jar. It almost seemed too good to be true. Maybe she’d actually find it.

  Libby climbed the stool and peered into the cupboard that was filled with vases and jars. There were so many. She picked up one, and then another, and then another.

  They seemed to be never-ending. How would she ever find it?

  “Can I help you there?” Margaret asked as she took the tea tray to the table.

  “I think I might have to take them all out so I can see them. Would that be all right?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you hand them to me, and I’ll set them here, on the counter. It will go quickly that way.”