Add to that the fact that most of the jobs in town were relatively low-paying service-oriented positions at the resort or the other hotels that had sprung up—and the restaurants and bars that had followed—and Claire supposed it was no wonder some of the youth in town didn’t see a future for themselves here and had turned to crime.
“Caroline had that old sky-blue Plymouth she drove for years, remember?” she said. “It finally died last fall and even though she was much too proud to admit it, I don’t think she could afford to replace it. She made do for a few weeks catching rides from friends to church and the library or just walking if she had to do errands in town, but then the cold hit early.”
He said nothing for a long moment and when she glanced over, she saw his eyes were closed. He looked loose and relaxed in her recliner, more at ease than she’d seen him since he came back to town. Was he asleep? Was her story that boring or was the La-Z-Boy just too comfortable?
He opened one eye. “Go on. I’m still listening.”
Color climbed her cheeks. “Right. Sorry. Um, well, the morning of the first snow, Caroline woke up to find a strange car in the driveway. A Honda Accord only a few years old, complete with snow tires. Of course she called the police right away. Dean Coleman showed up and discovered two sets of keys inside the vehicle, along with a gift title made over to her and a note that said ‘Drive Carefully’ and that was it.”
He opened both eyes and she was astonished all over again at the vibrant green of them, like the foothills in May, lush with new grasses.
Alex had the same color eyes, but they somehow looked more startling amid Riley’s masculine features.
She shifted the throw off her a little, too warm now.
“Somebody gave Widow Bybee a car anonymously?”
“Crazy, right?”
“And she has no idea who did it?”
“None at all. You know Caroline. She’s not one to take things at face value. She tracked the purchase to a dealership outside Denver, but that’s as far as she could go with her digging. She hit solid bedrock and nobody would tell her anything.”
He looked intrigued and she remembered Mary Ella talking about how much Riley had always loved a good mystery.
“Obviously that wasn’t the end of it, as your visitor tonight indicates.”
“Not by a long shot. The rest of the winter, rumors started trickling around town of others who had been recipients of this unexpected generosity. Money left in mailboxes, baskets of food on porches, bills paid anonymously. Nothing along the lines of Caroline’s car, but always coming just at a critical moment when people were most discouraged.”
She smiled and gazed at her own basket, touched all over again that someone had gone to so much trouble on her behalf. For the first time, she realized that much of the impact these little gestures had on the recipient came not so much from the tangible gift as from the act of giving itself, the idea that someone had invested time and energy and thought into meeting a need without expectation of even a thank-you.
“Somewhere along the way, somebody coined the mysterious benefactor the Angel of Hope and the name stuck. It’s become quite a legend in town, with everyone trying to figure out who it might be. So far no one’s been able to catch him or her in the act. I probably came closer tonight than anyone else. It’s been really good for the town. I don’t think any of us realized just how fractured we’d become as a community until these things started happening.”
“Fractured? What do you mean?”
“Hope’s Crossing isn’t the same place it was when we were kids. It hasn’t been for a while.”
“Back then, the ski resort was just getting off the ground, only one double lift and a few runs,” he said.
“Right. We all thought Harry Lange and the other developers were smoking something funny to ever think they could make a go of another destination ski resort when Colorado was already glutted with them.”
“Their gamble paid off.”
“Right. Here we are, needing those tourists to survive,” she said, a little glumly.
“Any insight into who might be doing the good deeds?”
“There are about as many theories about that zipping around town as I’ve got seed beads at the store. I was thinking maybe it’s your mom.”
He snorted. “You’re crazy. My mom raised six kids by herself on a schoolteacher’s salary and whatever pitiful child support my dad condescended to pay before he died. No way would she be able to afford to buy a car for Widow Bybee, as much as she might love the cranky old girl.”
“It was only a theory. I think you’re probably right, not necessarily because of the money but because once Mary Ella was out of town visiting Lila when somebody had a cord of firewood sent to Fletcher Jones up in Miner’s Hollow.”