But then it happened again.
And again.
Each morning, Sarah would open the store, to find a garment hanging from the hanger. Each time someone would come in that day, looking for that particular garment, cheerfully paying the price on the tag.
A business suit.
A sun dress.
A leather jacket.
A wet suit.
The prices varied, the clothing varied, but without fail the hanger had something suspended from it every morning, a small paper price tag dangling in front.
Sarah couldn’t figure it out. She had the locks changed, she set up a security camera. But the camera didn’t work and the clothing kept appearing. As did customers, new ones who became repeat ones, who brought clothes to consign, who came back and bought other clothes.
Within a month Sarah was in the black.
Within six months, she had back inventory and Pam was full-time. She could be pickier now, setting aside the older and worn items to donate to the Salvation Army.
During this time Sarah became a bit superstitious. She forbade Pam to touch the hanger, and left it on the rack in all its glory. Pam, of course, just shrugged. She didn’t seem to notice or care about anything other than her paycheck.
And the clothes kept coming.
A christening gown of linen and lace.
A slinky little black dress.
A XXXL wedding dress, with veil and slippers. Sarah waited all day to see who would show up for that one.
And sure enough, close to the end of the day, in walked a large woman with her groom-to-be. She fit the dress perfectly. And never blinked at the price. Once the sale was made and Pam had left for the day, Sarah stood in front of the rack and stared at the hanger.
“I don’t suppose you could find me a man? I’m not fussy, although I prefer brown eyes to blue.”
The hanger just hung there in silence.
Sarah laughed, and shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m grateful for the clothes and the help.” She eyed the hanger seriously. “But it won’t last forever, will it?”
The hanger remained silent.
And so it went.
Sarah’s Closet became the in place to shop, with both the society crowd and the young people looking for bargains. Sarah had enough stock that she was starting to think about the Internet, getting a website, and putting pictures of the clothing on-line. But something deep within made her hesitate. “Nothing good lasts forever” echoed in the depths of her brain. “Wait and see” was another thought. After all, magic never lasted, now did it? In all those stories. She took the prudent and cautious route.
So she wasn’t really surprised the morning she opened the shop, a year and a day later, to find that there was nothing on the hanger.
The cold air and snow blew in as she stood there in the doorway, staring at the rack. It was indeed empty, swaying slightly in the draft.
She stomped the snow off her boots, stepped in, and let the door close behind her.
A year and a day.
It had been a year and a day since she’d seen that odd man and given him a coat. He’d handed her the hanger in exchange, a more than fair exchange for the magic that it had brought with it.
Magic that had saved her dreams.
Sarah sighed, mild disappointment flowing through her like a wave. She’d expected it, but it still hurt. It had been a wonderful year, and she was in good shape financially. The store would still need hard work, but she knew that she could make it, after this year.
The magic was over and done.
But to see the hanger just… hanging there…
It hurt.
She sighed, and went about the day.
Business was brisk in the morning, but the snow kept falling all day, large wet flakes. Customers slowed to a trickle, and the radio spoke of businesses closing early. Sarah let Pam go home and settled behind the counter and watched the snow. She tried to ignore the hanger, which was still on the rack.
Once or twice it occurred to Sarah to pack it in and treat herself to a bubble bath, but she had the oddest sense of waiting, as if something was going to happen.
There were no more customers, and the only call she got was from the Salvation Army, asking if she had anything to be picked up. She said she did, and they’d be by shortly.
Sarah’d wait for the truck and then close the store and go home. Yes, a bubble bath, that new hardbound romance she’d just bought, some General Tso’s from the Chinese place next door. Good plan for a snowy night.
The Salvation Army truck pulled up; it was the regular guy, so he went in back and carried out the box crammed full of clothing. He set it down on the floor and handed Sarah the clipboard with the paperwork. She signed off, and he put it under his arm and reached back down.
When he lifted the box up, the hanger was tucked in among the clothes.
Sarah darted a look at the rack, and sure enough, her hanger wasn’t there. She looked back as the man headed for the door.
She could just see the wooden corner of the hanger, as if it were waving goodbye over his shoulder. It seemed right somehow. Fitting, even.
At the same time, the door opened, and a customer walked in, dancing around the man with the box with a laugh and an apology. Sarah was still focused on the box, and she watched as it was loaded on the truck, the big metal door coming down with a muffled clang.
“Excuse me.” The customer placed a coat on the counter.
Sarah looked down. It was a well-made coat, from a high-end designer. Warm and thick, with deep pockets. She reached out to touch it.
“You want to sell this?” She was still oddly distracted. There was something familiar about the coat.
“No,” came a warm, deep voice that carried a hint of laughter. “Actually, I found it, and your business card was in the pocket, so I brought-”
It was the coat that she’d given away, a year and a day ago! It had to be.
“Where did you get this?” She looked up into a smiling face and the warmest pair of brown eyes she’d ever seen.
The man laughed again. “Well, that’s kind of a strange story, truth be told.” He smiled even wider, and Sarah caught her breath. “I’ll tell you,” he continued, then hesitated for a moment as he seemed to study her. “I’ll tell you, but only over some dinner. Do you like Chinese?”
THE RED SHOES by Sarah Zettel
Once there was a clergyman who had a stout wife and a fine family of children. He was a kind man, though in the great dark church on solemn Sundays he preached sermons warning against all sins-great and small.
One day the clergyman came home accompanied by a young girl just in the first flush of her woman’s beauty. He called his wife and children into the parlor and said to them: “This is Karen. She is in need, and God has sent her to us. She will help you watch the children, my wife, and do such other tasks as may make her useful. Make your greetings, my children.”
One by one, the children all said hello, for they were all raised to be polite. But they were also children, and they could not help but stare. For though Karen was a pretty girl, she had no feet. At the ends of her legs were two crudely carved wooden slats, and she got about on two wooden crutches.
The children were naturally very curious as to how she came to lose her feet. Their mother, though, hushed and scolded them so that they eventually stopped trying to ask. But still they wondered, especially the youngest girl, whose name was Elsa.
Karen tended the fire and stirred the kettle. She sewed and she knitted. She rocked the cradle and sang a lullaby when the baby boy was lonesome, and she did any other thing that was asked of her. But she never spoke of her feet. Elsa sometimes stood in the shadows of the chimney corner and watched Karen move about. Thump, thump went her crutches. Creak, creak went the wooden slats, and tears of pain ran down Karen’s pretty face.