The Christmas Sisters

by Sarah Morgan

  “Brilliant. Bonnie was a champ.”

  Posy was about to provide details but stopped herself. She knew her mother wouldn’t want details. There was an unspoken agreement in their family that anything to do with snow and avalanches weren’t to be mentioned.

  She knew from her father that her mother had experienced another one of her nightmares a few nights before.

  She wished she could help wipe out those nightmares, but she had no idea how. She didn’t really understand how someone could still have bad dreams twenty-five years after an event, no matter how terrible it had been.

  She darted into the small office, wincing as she saw the growing stack of paper on the small desk. Paperwork, Posy thought, was the waste of a life. Someone needed to sort through it, or they’d miss something important, but it wasn’t going to be her.

  She ripped off her outer layers until she exposed the blue T-shirt emblazoned with the Café Craft logo. Then she swapped weatherproof trousers for jeans and her trainers.

  If she was going to be on her feet all day, there was no way she was wearing heels.

  She slipped a clean apron over her head, tied it around her waist and emerged into the cinnamon-scented warmth of the café.

  Her mother had an almost-magical ability to create a welcoming, cozy atmosphere wherever she went. In Café Craft you felt as if you were cocooned and protected, not only from the icy Highland winds, but from the icy winds of life. Reality was forced to wait outside the door until you were ready to let it in.

  “Let me just finish this order and you can tell me all about Bonnie. Two cappuccinos and a chocolate brownie to share—” Suzanne turned to the machine, a look of determination on her face, and Posy nudged her aside.

  “I’ve got this.”

  “Could you deal with the paperwork later if it’s quiet?”

  Posy hunted desperately for excuses. “You’re better at it than I am.”

  “Which is why I think you should do it,” Suzanne said. “This place will be yours one day and you need to know everything there is to know about running it.”

  Oh joy and bliss.

  A lifetime of paperwork stretched ahead of her.

  “Plenty of time for that. You won’t be retiring for ages.” Please don’t retire. “I took a slab of your fruitcake to the team this morning. They almost bit off my hand to get to it. You’d think those guys never eat.”

  Pushing the thought of running the café to the back of her head, she ground the beans, tamped the coffee and timed the pour. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted upward and she had to fight the impulse to drink the first cup herself. There was nothing, she decided, nothing in the world better than good coffee when you’d been out in the cold and the snow.

  She heated the milk and created a leaf pattern on the surface of the coffee that satisfied her artistic instincts.

  “Take a seat, Jean,” she called out. “I’ll bring these to your table.”

  The café was already filling up. There was a comforting hum of conversation, a feeling of camaraderie and inclusiveness. In the summer the place was always packed with tourists eager to soak up the whole “Scottish experience,” which they generally assumed to be tartan and shortbread. If they’d returned in the winter months, they would have experienced the true Scottish experience. This was a community that supported all its members through the harsh winter months. Everyone knew each other and looked out for each other.

  As the last village in the valley, Glensay was sometimes cut off in the winter. For decades the Glensay Inn had been the only place to eat out, and it had been Stewart’s parents who had come up with the idea for a café. Suzanne had eventually taken over the business, and she was the one who had expanded the space and added crafts. As well as a place to sell the pieces she and her friends knitted, it was somewhere for the locals to meet on cold winter days.

  Suzanne had created a place that people wrote about when they arrived home. As a result they had visitors from all over the globe. But the beating heart of Café Craft were the locals.

  Three evenings a week Suzanne opened up for different groups, as a way to combat the dark nights. Monday was Book Group, Wednesday was Art Club and Friday was Knitting Club.

  Posy wondered how she was going to keep that part going when she eventually took over. Despite her frequent trips to the library, she never had time to read, the only thing she’d ever painted was the henhouse and she couldn’t knit.

  She’d be qualified to run an Outdoors Club, but there wouldn’t be much point in holding that indoors.

  Posy glanced at her mother, noticing the blue sweater for the first time. The wool had a hint of silver that sparkled under the lights. “That’s pretty. New?”

  “Finished it last night. I should probably be wearing one of our shirts, but I figured as I’m the boss, I can wear what I like.”

  “It looks good on you.”

  “I’m knitting a few to sell in the café. I had another box of yarn delivered yesterday. I can’t wait to get started, but I have those Christmas stockings to knit first. Anytime you’d like me to teach you—”

  “No, thanks. I’m scared of needles, and that includes knitting needles.”

  All but two tables were occupied, and Posy knew that by the time they closed at five, her legs would be aching more than they did when she went ice climbing.

  She put the cups on a tray and added a slice of perfect gooey brownie, so deliciously chocolaty that it probably should have come with a health warning. Posy had to employ every last morsel of willpower to carry it to the table and not eat it herself.

  “Here you go, ladies.”

  Jean took one of the coffees. “You were out training with the team this morning?”

  “Yes. We’ve had people from the Canadian mountain rescue team giving us avalanche training.” Posy tucked the empty tray under her arm. “The whole community will be pleased to hear that we didn’t disgrace ourselves.”

  “I hear your long-term tenant volunteered to be a body.”

  “He did, and Bonnie had no trouble finding him.” Posy didn’t bother asking where she’d heard it. Jean was married to the leader of the mountain rescue team, but even if she hadn’t been, the gossip still would have spread. It was the reason Posy was reluctant to have a relationship with anyone locally. She’d done that once, and it had been a disaster. She and Callum were back on speaking terms now, but for years they’d done nothing but glare whenever they’d passed each other, which in a village the size of Glensay was often.

  “I wouldn’t have had a hard time finding him, either. There are some folks I’d happily leave under the snow, but that man isn’t one of them. I’d dig him out with my bare hands.” Moira gave a laugh and Posy smiled as she cleared plates from an unoccupied table nearby.

  “Moira Dodds, that is the dirtiest laugh I have ever heard. Shame on you.”

  Moira sliced into the brownie. “All your girls will be home for Christmas this year, Suzanne?”

  “That’s right.” Suzanne wrote a label for the St. Clement’s cake she’d baked that morning. “It’s great Hannah is able to make it.”

  Great that her sister had found time in her busy life to finally remember she had a family.

  Posy realized she was grinding her teeth and made a conscious effort to relax her jaw. If she ground her teeth every time she thought of her sister, she’d be reduced to chewing her Christmas lunch with her gums.

  Jean beamed at Posy. “I bet you can’t wait to see your big sister again.”

  Posy beamed back, although it took some effort.

  She knew that by the end of it she’d want to drive her sister to the airport early.

  Beth would come bearing gifts and goodwill. She’d willingly help with everything and anything.

  Hannah would bring emotional turmoil.

  Memories of Christmas past grew
in Posy’s mind.

  There had been the year Hannah had barely left her room except to eat a Christmas lunch that other people had prepared. And the year she’d spent most of the time in the café, not helping as Beth had done, but availing herself of the free Wi-Fi, which was unreliable in the lodge.

  Posy didn’t really understand what it was her sister did. The conversations she’d overheard might as well have been conducted in a foreign language. She knew nothing about strategy, economics or five-year plans, but evidently her sister did and people were prepared to pay a great deal for her expertise.

  Posy found Hannah a little intimidating, but the root of the problem was that her sister hurt her feelings. Posy was naturally affectionate and Hannah was distant with her.

  Jean and Moira went back to their coffee and chat, and Posy strode into the small kitchen and started making up lunch items with Duncan, their chef.

  “Today is curried parsnip and winter vegetable.” Duncan pointed to the board and she nodded.

  “Got it.” Every day in the café they offered two soups, and they changed daily so that regular visitors didn’t end up eating the same thing.

  Posy loved chopping vegetables. There was nothing like attacking something with a sharp knife to let off aggression.

  Damn Hannah, she thought as she slaughtered a helpless onion. This year she wasn’t going to let herself be upset. She wasn’t going to be sensitive.

  The parsnips suffered the same fate as the onion, as did the potatoes.

  Duncan glanced across at her. “Promise me if I ever annoy you, you’ll tell me before you reach for the knife.”

  “You have my word on it.” She’d been Duncan’s babysitter when she was a teenager, so seeing him working in the kitchen always made her feel old.

  Her life was slipping through her fingers. At this rate she’d still be here when she was ninety, taking the minibus to the store.

  With a sigh, she dropped the vegetables into the pot.

  She would rather have been climbing a rock face than cooking, but her work as a mountain guide was sporadic, and working in the café brought in an income, as well as helping her mother. It was a family business, and family was everything to Posy. It was a warm blanket on a cold day, a safety net when you fell, a chorus of support when you attempted something hard.

  The vegetables and spices were simmering when Suzanne walked into the kitchen.

  “I’ve written today’s specials on the board.” She gave the soups a stir. “You should have brought Luke to the café for a bowl of hot soup, poor man.”

  “There’s nothing ‘poor’ about him.” Posy rinsed tomatoes. “He has a log burner, a stocked freezer and the facility to heat up his own bowl of soup if that’s what he wants.” And apart from that, her feelings about him were complicated.

  Still, Luke’s presence here was temporary, so if something did happen, at least she didn’t have to worry that she’d be bumping into him for the rest of her life.

  Posy chopped herbs and sliced tomatoes while her mother helped Duncan with the leek and ham pies.

  Suzanne rolled out pastry. “You and Luke seem to be getting along fine.”

  Posy threw herbs on the tomato salad. She knew what her mother was asking, and the one thing she had in common with Hannah was that she wasn’t prepared to discuss her love life with her mother. “He’s paying us good money to rent the barn. I make sure I stay on good terms with him.”

  And yes, she liked him.

  Take this morning. How many men would volunteer to lie buried in snow while patiently waiting for a dog to find them? And he loved mountains, which made him interesting as far as she was concerned.

  Right now, he was writing a book on the great climbs of North America.

  Posy had never climbed in North America.

  Once, when she’d been doing her weekly clean and bedding change in the barn, Luke had come back early and she’d asked him to tell her about Mount Rainier.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  She wasn’t ready to tell him that. “It’s going in your book?”

  “Rainier? Yes.” He opened his laptop and hit a couple of keys.

  An image appeared on the screen of a white snowcapped mountain.

  She’d seen the same, or similar, before of course, but somehow the fact that it came from his own photo collection made it more real.

  She stepped closer, studying the heavily glaciated faces of the mountain. She had so many questions, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to answer any of them. “You’ve climbed it?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own.

  “Many times.”

  “And it’s a volcano. Dormant, though.”

  “We call it episodically active.” He saw her surprised glance. “I worked for the US Geological Survey after I graduated. Lived just outside Seattle. I could see Rainier from my bedroom window.”

  She’d almost confided in him then, but something stopped her. She didn’t want to risk him raising it with Suzanne. “Which route did you climb?”

  “I’ve climbed all of them, at different times of the year. In the summer you have wildflower meadows. In the winter you find yourself waist deep in snow. You’ve never climbed in the US?”

  “No. Scotland, and the Alps.”

  “You should come to the US.”

  One day, she thought, although she wasn’t sure she was ready for Mount Rainier. Maybe she never would be. Going there would upset her mother.

  Posy thought back to that conversation as she made large bowls of salad.

  “Hannah emailed me last night,” Suzanne said. “She sent a list of the foods she is avoiding at the moment.”

  Posy focused on the salad. If she rolled her eyes, there was every chance they’d be stuck in her skull never to emerge again.

  “Right. Well, you’d better forward that email to me so I can adjust my list. What was it she asked for last time? Quail eggs? I found that deli in Edinburgh that did mail order.” And used half the Christmas budget in the process. “If I’d thought about it, I would have explored the possibility of keeping quails.”

  “I read somewhere they get easily stressed.”

  “And that’s before they meet Hannah.” Posy caught her mother’s eye and swiftly changed the subject. “Talking of our feathered friends, Martha has stopped laying.”

  “It’s December.” Suzanne trimmed the pastry with a knife. “Not enough light.”

  “I’m using artificial light. I don’t think it’s that.” Maybe Martha knew Hannah was coming home. Maybe she didn’t see the point of laying whole eggs when Hannah ate only the egg white. “I need to give Gareth a call. With a houseful of people, we’re going to need eggs. Normal eggs,” she added. Normal eggs for normal people.

  Her mother wiped her hands. “I wish you and Hannah were closer.”

  “Me, too.” That part wasn’t a lie. “But she lives so far away.”

  That, of course, was only part of the problem.

  If her sister had been a laptop, Posy would have run antivirus software because there were times when she was convinced Hannah had been taken over by malware.

  Posy considered herself to be tough and hated the fact that her feelings could still be hurt.

  Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to handle Hannah alone. Beth, Jason and the girls would be there, too.

  Posy and Beth were still close.

  There was no drama in Beth’s life.

  5

  Beth

  Beth had settled the girls in bed and was clearing toys out of the bath when Jason arrived home. This was her favorite time of day, when the chaos was almost behind her and the prospect of a calm evening stretched ahead. Sometimes she poured herself a glass of wine and allowed herself to read a few pages of a magazine before she started on dinner.

  Tonight, she was too excited
to contemplate reading anything, but she knew she had to at least let Jason take his coat off before she told him her news.

  As she scooped up wet towels, Beth could hear him talking on the phone.

  “We nailed it. They loved the ideas. I’m going to talk to Steve in the morning and get those figures sent over. The London office is closed now, but I’ll call first thing tomorrow. I’ll be in the office at six.”

  Beth turned off the light. Six would mean a 5:00 a.m. alarm call, which also meant that if the girls disturbed her in the night, which Ruby did with frustrating frequency, Beth would be woken again predawn by her husband.

  Trying not to think about her sister flying first-class with her own cubicle and champagne on tap, Beth dealt with the towels and then walked to the living room, where Jason was ending the call.

  Soft light bathed the room in a warm glow. She’d cleared away all traces of the toys, tutus and tiaras that had been strewn around the room a few hours earlier. The glossy fashion magazines that were her indulgence were neatly stacked on the table. A vase of lilies added an illusion of elegance only slightly marred by the two Lego bricks peeping out from under the sofa.

  Beth loved flowers. She loved their fragility, their femininity. She loved the way they transformed a room and lifted her mood. She associated them with happiness, and she associated them with Jason.

  At the beginning of their relationship, he’d bought her flowers every week. Once they’d had the girls and money was tighter, it had happened less often, and the occasions when he’d splurged and brought home a bunch of blooms had been all the more special.

  For this brief moment in time the apartment seemed like a child-free zone, an adult-only space, where the conversation of the occupants might revolve round current affairs, travel and Manhattan restaurant experiences rather than debates about whether the next game should be “ballerina” or “firefighter.” A tidy apartment gave Beth the fleeting sense that she was in control, even when she knew she wasn’t. When it came to the kids’ mess, there were many days when she felt as if she was bailing water out of a sinking boat.

  Jason ended the call and smiled at her, his face transforming from serious to sexy.