“Not that you’ve shown any interest in sweet potatoes,” she said to him as she backed the car around. “But you’re too young for the brandy.”
Winding her way down the ring road, she waved at the people she passed, gathering at neighbors’ houses. When she arrived at the Cooper house, Miss Olivia was just pulling in ahead of her. Louisa got out, waving enthusiastically. She retrieved their daddy’s ashes from the back seat while Olivia pulled an enormous picnic hamper from her side.
Blossom trotted over politely.
“Hello, Katie,” Louisa said, bending to give Blossom a pat.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Kathleen said.
She followed them to the house, only remembering as they opened the front door that the Coopers had a cat.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Joe, who was there to greet them and take the heavy basket from Olivia. “I can take him back to the cottage.”
“No need,” Joe said, giving Blossom a rub. “We’ve had dogs. Minnow can hide if she doesn’t like him.”
The inside of the house smelled like heaven—all kinds of cooking smells, apple and cinnamon candles lit everywhere, the smoky smell of the fire.
Louisa and Olivia dove in to help Jenny in the kitchen. Joey and Matty were sitting in the family room.
“Best to stay out of the kitchen,” Joey advised.
Kathleen hefted her basket. “Need to get this in there.”
“Good luck,” Matty said with a grin, stretching out and crossing his ankles.
Joey saluted. “If you don’t emerge unscathed in five minutes, we’ll come to get you.”
“I won’t,” Matty said. “I’m not going anywhere near that henhouse. They’ll put us to work.”
Kathleen shook her head and cautiously stepped into the kitchen. Louisa grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward the table. Rebecca was curling triangles of dough into rolls on a baking sheet. She slid the sheet over to make room.
“Kathleen, we’re so glad you could join us,” Jenny said, glancing up from the stove, where she was dropping lobsters into a huge pot of boiling water.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Kathleen reached into her basket and took out her pan of sweet potatoes. “These might need to be warmed up.”
“We’ll put them in the oven when the turkey comes out,” Jenny said.
Molly opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen with an armful of wood. The smile on her face warmed Kathleen through and through. She wound her way through the kitchen to carry the logs out to the family room.
“Can I help?” Kathleen asked. “I don’t want to be in the way. Joey and Matty made it sound like…”
“Oh, don’t you worry.” Jenny chuckled. “The boys will be doing the dishes after dinner. You and Molly could set the table. We’ve got everything covered in here.”
She found Molly kneeling in front of the fireplace—who knew jeans and flannel could look so sexy?—settling another log in place and playfully swatting at Matty. “Move your big feet.”
He grudgingly shifted.
“Your mom asked us to set the table,” Kathleen said when Molly got up.
Molly went to the china hutch and handed stacks of dinner plates, bread plates and platters to Kathleen. She retrieved water glasses and the nice silverware.
“These are beautiful dishes,” Kathleen said, turning one of the plates over to check the marks on the back.
“They’ve been in Mom’s family for a few generations. They would have gone to Rebecca, but since she never married, she insisted Mom should have them.”
The table had been stretched to its max with two leaves, but they still needed to squeeze a couple of extra chairs in.
“Remember one for Mr. Woodhouse,” Molly said.
“Already counted him,” Kathleen said, sliding an eleventh chair up to the table.
And if she stopped for a moment to consider how weird that would have been a couple of months ago, it was soon forgotten as she was caught up in the laughter around the table. Even Aidan—after an initial awkward nod in Kathleen’s direction—seemed to enjoy himself, reaching over to poke a hole in Molly’s mashed potato moat and let her gravy run onto her bread stuffing. She in turn grabbed his lobster, holding it up in the air until he apologized.
“They do this every year,” Rebecca said, leaning near as Kathleen watched with a bemused smile. “Probably seems silly.”
Kathleen sighed. “It’s wonderful.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear as she bent over her plate. “Who styles hair here on the island?”
“Oh, you have to go to George,” Joey said.
Kathleen noted the evil glint in his eye. “Isn’t George the barber in town?”
“Everybody who’s anybody goes to George,” Matty said, trying to keep a straight face. “Just ask Mo.”
Molly’s cheeks colored as she ducked her head. “Shut up.”
Aidan grinned and pushed back from the table.
Molly’s eyes opened wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“There’s a reason we call her Mo,” Joey teased.
Kathleen frowned. “I thought it was short for Molly.”
“Nope.” Aidan reappeared holding a frame.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Molly muttered as Aidan turned the frame around with a flourish.
Kathleen clamped her mouth shut, fighting the urge to laugh at the photo of a very young Molly with a severe bowl cut. “I remember you now.”
“Great. This she remembers.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight, but she had this cut until she was fifteen!” Matty crowed. He and Joey almost fell out of their chairs laughing.
“George scarred me for life,” Molly said dramatically.
Kathleen giggled. “I’ll never look at the Stooges the same.”
Jenny tugged the photo out of Aidan’s hands. “Sit down. Stop teasing your sister.”
Olivia shrugged philosophically. “It’s only hair.” Her silver bowl cut glinted as she bent over her plate.
“It’s not only hair when you’re a kid,” Molly grumbled. “George only knows two cuts—this or a crew cut.”
Kathleen looked around at the Coopers. “But your hair looks great.”
“Mom cuts it now,” Joey said.
“I’ll be happy to do yours if you want,” Jenny said. “But you can’t hold me responsible if you’re traumatized.”
Kathleen grinned. “I promise not to complain.”
A few hours later, Molly accompanied Kathleen out to her car, her basket now loaded with leftovers.
“I’m really glad you joined us,” Molly said, opening the back door for Blossom.
“Me, too.” Kathleen took the precaution of putting the basket in the trunk. Blossom might have ignored the sweet potatoes, but she didn’t think his restraint would extend to turkey.
She came around the car and stood looking back at the house. “This… this was so nice.” Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak.
“Hey,” Molly said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Kathleen’s shoulder.
“You just don’t know…” Kathleen sniffed. “Your family is so great. I’ve never had a holiday like this.”
“You mean you were never embarrassed by your older brother?”
Kathleen gazed out over the trees. “Bryan did tease. I’d forgotten. Our family used to be happy. Before.”
Molly lowered her hand. “I guess it was hard on your parents, after he died.”
Kathleen felt as if a stone had dropped into her stomach. “Yeah. I guess it was.”
She opened the car door. “Thank your mom and dad again for me.”
Molly opened her mouth, but Kathleen didn’t wait to see what she was going to say. She started the ignition and pulled away, leaving Molly standing there in the cold.
Chapter 10
MOLLY SOFTLY HUMMED “God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen” as she shifted her drop cloth. She carefully poured more paint into a smaller container and
climbed her ladder to continue cutting in along the ceiling of Tim and Miranda’s bedroom. She eased the brush along the ceiling edge, her hand steady as she drew the pale yellow paint in a straight line.
The image of Kathleen’s face before she got in her car came back… Something had caused that wall to come crashing between them again. It happened every time they talked about Kathleen’s family. Bryan’s drowning was tragic, and Molly knew her own mom and dad would never fully recover if anything happened to her or her brothers, but there was something else there, something that made Kathleen shut down anytime they got too near it.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Molly.”
She glanced down at Miranda, who was holding little Ellis. “I swear if he gets any chubbier, he’s going to pop.”
Miranda laughed. “He has a good appetite.” She stepped farther into the room. “I love this color.”
Molly twisted on the ladder to inspect the far wall and nodded. “It’s pretty. Reminds me of spring.”
“If only,” Miranda said.
Outside, snow swirled in huge flakes.
“The snow’s perfect for Christmas,” Molly said, climbing down to shift her ladder.
“Next year, this one will be old enough to be excited about Christmas.” Miranda gave the baby a little bounce. “He pulled up to stand yesterday.”
“He’ll be running before you know it.” Molly climbed back up to work on a fresh stretch of wall.
“I’ll leave you to it. Just holler if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Miranda.”
Miranda had just stepped out of the room when a thought occurred. “Hey, Miranda.”
She came back into the room.
“Has Kathleen Halloran been looking at anything in particular when she comes into the market?”
A tiny smile played over Miranda’s lips as she looked up at Molly. “Thinking Christmas present?”
“Well… yeah.”
“The only thing she’s been looking at lately is paint. I told her what we were doing. She said she’s been sleeping in her old room, leaving Maisie’s empty. She was thinking about painting it to turn it into her room.”
“Really? She didn’t happen to mention a color, did she?”
“As a matter of fact, she asked me to mix up a couple of samples for her. I told her we don’t have the colors the big paint stores do, but she picked out three she liked.”
Molly thought quickly. “Can you give me the samples instead?”
Miranda grinned. “I will. I’ll make up some excuse if she asks.”
“Thanks.”
Out in the hall, Miranda smiled as she heard Molly singing, “We wish you a Merry Christmas…”
BLOSSOM WHINED AS HE sat at the bottom of the attic steps.
“It’s okay,” Kathleen called down to him. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
In the dim light from the small windows in the gable ends of the cottage, she located Nanna’s boxes of Christmas stuff. Tugging the flaps open, she found one box of lights along with a tree stand and skirt. Another was packed with ornaments wrapped in newspaper. She shifted them to the top of the stairs and looked around.
It was freezing up here. Molly was right. The house would be a lot warmer if she got this attic fully insulated.
“One more project for the list.”
There was another stack of boxes under the eaves. She had to drop to her hands and knees to get to them and tug them free.
She opened the top box in the stack. Inside were old drawings Kathleen had done for Nanna. Every single one she’d done in the summers she’d spent here. There were the stories Kathleen had written, her imagination let loose on the island with stories of buried treasure and pirates. Bryan’s old baseball mitt and ball were there. Kathleen picked them up, holding the mitt to her nose, inhaling the scent of old leather. She remembered Bryan and Aidan and the other boys playing baseball when they were here.
She shifted that box and opened the next. Inside were yellowed papers, curling and brittle. Scrawled across them were drawings and stories and school assignments by Michael and Moira. It looked as if Nanna had kept everything Kathleen’s father and aunt ever did for school.
“She saved it all,” Kathleen whispered.
She hardly knew her aunt and could barely remember a father and mother who laughed and looked forward to coming to Little Sister. She knew that side of them had been there, before the accident, before Bryan died. She ran a tender finger over a drawing her dad had done in second grade and felt a sudden crushing weight, making it hard to breathe.
How lonely Nanna must have been, all those years without any of them.
Down below, Blossom whined again. Kathleen hurriedly closed the flaps of the box and carried the Christmas boxes down the attic stairs.
Blossom stood on his hind legs and nosed her, looking concerned.
“I’m okay.”
She gave him a rub and lugged the boxes downstairs. She untangled the tree stand from the lights and took it out to the front porch, where a small Christmas tree sat in a bucket of water.
A few minutes and a lot of cussing later, she had the tree propped in front of the living room window where the snow was still coming down. She filled the stand with water and snugged the tree skirt around its base.
She turned to the box holding the tangled strands of lights.
“Hey!”
Blossom had pawed aside the tree skirt to drink out of the stand.
“That is not for you,” she said sternly, wrapping the colorful skirt back around the tree.
She turned on her iPod and played a Christmas playlist while she strung the lights and decorated the tree. Nanna’s ornaments were mostly handmade—some obviously made by her dad and aunt when they were kids that Nanna had carefully kept all these years; others Kathleen remembered were made by Bryan and her and mailed to Little Sister when they were very young. There were several cross-stitched ornaments with the initials LW or OW on the back. She smiled. These looked like something Louisa or Olivia would make.
When she was done, she stepped back and inspected her work. It was a homely tree, one she knew her mother would never have approved of but—it suits me perfectly. Knowing this was the way Nanna decorated her tree added to its appeal.
The old-fashioned light bulbs glowed merrily as she went to her computer to get a few hours’ work in on a manuscript she’d promised to have edited before the holidays.
It took her a few minutes to read back through three or four pages to get her mind into the story again. Just as she started to type a comment on a new section, the telephone rang.
Expecting to hear Louisa or Olivia on the other end, she went to the kitchen and picked up. “Hello?”
“When are you coming home?”
Her mouth hung open for a moment. “Dad.”
“Obviously. So when are you coming home for Christmas?”
“Um… I’m not.”
In the silence that followed, Kathleen heard her own pulse in the handset pressed to her ear. Something creaked and then there was the sound of a door closing, and she knew her father had shut himself in his study.
“You weren’t here for Thanksgiving and now, you’re not coming home for Christmas?”
Kathleen clamped her free hand over her mouth to stifle her initial impulse to laugh. When she could speak, she said, “Dad, I haven’t been with you for Thanksgiving for years. And last year, you and Mom were in the Bahamas for Christmas. And Vail the Christmas before that. Why would I come back, even if I could get off the island?”
She could almost hear her father’s frown at being contradicted in a way he couldn’t refute.
“Well, we’re here this year, and we’d like you to come. Your mother—”
“Don’t.”
The telephone line almost crackled with the tension.
“Don’t even try telling me Mom misses me or wishes I would come home more often.”
“Why can’t you and your mother get along?”
Kathleen took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “You’ll have to ask her that.”
The ensuing silence pressed upon her, making it hard to breathe.
“Susannah said the islanders have basically kidnapped you.”
This time Kathleen didn’t even try to stifle her ridicule as she laughed. “So now you and Susannah are confidants?”
“I’ve always liked Susannah.”
Kathleen waved a hand in the air. “Whatever. I won’t be there for Christmas. I’m sorry that you and Susannah don’t like it—”
She stopped suddenly. “You know what? I’m not sorry. I’ve spent almost every Christmas for the past twelve years by myself. The island is my home now. I’m where I want to be. Period. You can wish Mom a Merry Christmas for me. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Now I have to get back to work. Bye, Dad.”
She hung up and stood there, her hand still gripping the phone as it took a few seconds for what she’d just done to sink in.
Where did that come from?
She had no idea, but it felt good. Really good. With a little skip, she went back to her computer.
THE ISLAND LOOKED LIKE a Currier and Ives print. Snow lay like frosting, coating every tree branch, softening the lines of roofs, and creating a hush, as if the entire island were hibernating.
That wasn’t so, of course. With Christmas just a couple of weeks away, there was a flurry of activity. The scheduled arrival of the ferry came with the anticipation of a visit from Santa Claus. It was a feeling Molly remembered from when she was a child.
She couldn’t go into any of the shops in town without someone casually spying to peek at what was in her canvas tote bags. She remembered too late how hard it was to pick things out for people who all knew each other and only had a handful of places to buy from. She wished she’d put more thought into her own Christmas shopping when she and Kathleen were on Big Sister. As it was, she’d relied largely on catalog shopping and hoped desperately that the ferry would come on schedule.
Everyone used Bobby’s address as their shipping address. He and her aunt were such good sports about getting dozens of packages delivered to their house for all of the islanders.
After escaping the market, where Wilma was trying hard to see what she had in her cart, she ducked into Greyeagle’s Gift Shop. “Hello, Siobhan.”
When the Stars Sang Page 14
