by Teri Wilson
“Charms really are your thing, aren’t they?” she says.
I nod. “I studied jewelry making in college. Re-crafting vintage pieces is my specialty.”
Betty frowns down at her knitting and the click-clack of her needles stops. “Then why aren’t you selling your own designs?”
“You mean I should open an Etsy store or something?” I’ve considered it, but with all my hours at Windsor, I’ve never found the time to make enough pieces to keep a side business up and running.
“Not exactly.” Betty gives me another of those soul-piercing looks that makes my cheeks warm. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you just might need to learn to dream bigger.”
Seriously? Windsor Fine Jewelry is one of the most glamorous and recognizable jewelry stores in the world. It’s legendary. What could be bigger than working there? But as Betty’s charm bracelet rattles, drawing my eyes to its silver shimmer, I get the distinct feeling that Betty isn’t talking about Windsor at all.
“Dream bigger.” I let out a laugh. “You sound like my roommate. She keeps telling me I’m going to have the Christmas of my dreams, even though it’s been pretty much of a disaster so far.”
“I sensed something might be amiss. You seem sad, dear, and no one should be sad at Christmas. It’s the most magical time of the year.”
There’s that word again. Magical.
Something inside my chest loosens, like a shiny satin ribbon unspooling. I have the sudden urge to tell Betty everything, even though she’s a total stranger. “I suppose I am sad. I thought my boyfriend was going to propose last night, but it was just a crazy misunderstanding. And now he’s no longer my boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Me too.” I sigh. “I’m supposed to be in Paris with him right now, actually. But I couldn’t bring myself to go after the non-proposal.”
Betty’s lips curve into a sympathetic smile, and her glasses slip to the very tip of her nose. I desperately want to tell her that she looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Mrs. Claus, but I don’t want her to take it the wrong way.
Plus, I’m not quite sure how to explain the impression she’s made on me. It goes beyond appearance. Talking to her is astonishingly comforting, even though she’s a stranger. Against all odds, I’m starting to feel like everything will be all right. Even better than all right, maybe. A warm glow starts to wrap itself around me, and I feel like I’m brimming with possibility.
With hope.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” I ask, and I’m not altogether sure why. Betty has never even met Jeremy, and I’ve only known her for the better part of an hour. Her opinion shouldn’t carry much weight, but for some strange reason, it does.
“Only you can answer that question, my dear.” Her eyes shine as she speaks.
And then the strangest thing happens. I start telling her more and more about my life in New York. I tell her about Audrey’s pink necklace and the gingerbread ice cream I shared with Maya last night. I tell her about our shoebox of an apartment and how the television is always set to the classic movies channel. I tell her about the thick, plush carpet at Windsor, the view from the big picture window and how on a crisp clear day, I can stand at the charms counter and see the tower of Belvedere Castle looming over Central Park.
I don’t stop there. I talk and talk, pouring my heart and soul out to this kind woman who, like Maya, seems to have more faith in me than I have in myself. I tell her how much I used to love Owl Lake, and I even admit that I’m a little bit nervous to be going back there again. I know it can’t be the exact same town that I left all those years ago, but I admit that part of me hopes that it is. It would be nice to think that the most precious things in life can be preserved somehow, immune to the passage of time—kind of like the vintage jewelry I love so much.
Betty knits as she listens, and my gaze goes back to her bracelet again and again, drawn by the movement of the charms as the stitches on her needles pile up, row upon row. When at last I run out of things to say, a perfect red Christmas stocking hangs from her knitting needles. The overhead lights of the train have gone dim, and the only thing visible on the horizon is the glint of snow beneath a sliver of December moon.
My eyelids grow heavy. I am exhausted all of a sudden—tired to the bone. Tired of my fast-paced life in Manhattan, tired of wondering why I’m not enough for Jeremy, tired of thinking about the past. I can’t wait to get home.
“I thought this was going to be a new beginning,” I murmur as my eyes drift shut. “I believed. I really did. I thought this would be the Christmas of my dreams.”
“Perhaps it still will be,” Betty says quietly.
And then the last thing I hear as the rocking motion of the train finally lulls me to sleep is the gentle music of her charm bracelet, as tender and soothing as a Christmas lullaby.
“Attention, passengers. This is your conductor speaking. We’re nearing the Owl Lake Station, our final stop. All train passengers must disembark. Thank you for traveling by rail, and have a happy holiday season.”
I jolt awake, disoriented as the train comes to a stop. The overhead lights have been turned up brighter, and I seem to be the only person left in my car. My heart sinks as I realize that the seat Betty occupied is now empty.
I’ve missed the chance to tell her goodbye.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and something in my lap shifts. When I look down, I spot a familiar red bundle—it’s the stocking Betty had been knitting while I shared my story. There’s a small lump near its toe, and when I gather the stocking in my hands, it makes a jingling sound.
No. My heart hammers in my chest. It can’t be.
I reach inside, and as soon as my fingertips brush against cool silver, I know it’s true. Betty has left me her vintage charm bracelet.
My astonished gaze travels over it, moving from charm to charm, and I run the pad of my thumb over the bracelet’s interlocking links. The charms swivel in place, almost as if they’re winking at me. I can hardly believe it. This bracelet can’t possibly be mine. There’s no way I can accept it. It’s far too precious for Betty to give it away to a perfect stranger.
I glance up and down the aisle, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She must have gotten off at an earlier stop, and I slept right through it. How can this be happening?
I peer inside the knit stocking, hoping she’s left me her contact information. If so, I’ll return the bracelet the first chance I get. Sure enough, there’s a small piece of paper folded into a square deep inside the stocking’s round toe. But when I unfold the note and scan Betty’s swirling cursive script, there isn’t a hint of an address or phone number. Not even her full name. She’s only written a single, mysterious sentence.
Please wear this and have the Christmas of your dreams.
I’m not sure what it means, exactly. I guess she noticed how much I loved the bracelet and probably felt sorry for me. I had, after all, just spent the past several hours opening my heart to her, even though we’d never so much as met before.
Somewhere in the periphery, I’m aware of a throat clearing. When I look up, the coach attendant is standing in the center aisle, scowling down at me. “Excuse me, miss. Perhaps you missed the announcement? It’s time to disembark.”
I stand and immediately bump my head on the overhead luggage rack. Ouch. The attendant lets out a weary sigh.
Bah humbug to you, too.
“Yes, I know. I’m so sorry, but the lady who was sitting beside me left something behind. It’s valuable.” My fist tightens around the bracelet. Part of me thinks I should turn it over to the train personnel, but I wholeheartedly doubt that Betty would want me to leave it behind with this cranky person. I need to find her. “Did you happen to notice where she exited the train? She had pale silver hair and wore reading glasses decorated with holly sprigs. Her hair was in a bun, and
she wore a red cape with white trim.”
The attendant snorts. “Sure, a man with eight reindeer friends and a belly that shook like a bowl full of jelly picked her up a while ago.”
So helpful. “I’m being serious. Didn’t you see her?”
“No, and I really need you to get off of the train. There’s an ice storm headed this way, and we need to clear the track. You’ve got three minutes.” He turns on his heel and leaves, muttering something about visions of sugarplums dancing in my head as he goes.
Okay, then. I’m stuck with the charm bracelet—at least for the time being. I look down at Betty’s note again.
Please wear this…
I take a deep breath, unfasten the bracelet’s catch and secure it around my wrist. I tell myself it’s only temporary, so I won’t lose it before I manage to track Betty down. I’m afraid I might accidentally misplace the lovely piece of jewelry if I jam it back inside the stocking while I gather my things and get off the train. It will be safer if I wear it. I already have a handbag and a giant wheeled suitcase to keep track of, and the Grinch himself is rushing me out the door.
The charms tinkle as I gather my things together, and a strange shiver runs up and down my spine.
Welcome home.
Chapter Five
I grab the lone cab at the small taxi stand outside the station instead of calling my dad to come get me, because, true to the Grinch’s word, it’s already started sleeting outside. Granted, my dad spent a large part of his career maneuvering the OLFD’s 42-foot-long ladder truck over steep mountain passes in all sorts of weather, but it’s bad enough I’m showing up unannounced. I really don’t want to make him climb out of his favorite recliner and drive to the train station when it’s on the verge of raining ice cubes outside. And anyway, the sooner I can get indoors for the night, the better.
Sleet pings against the taxi’s windows, and the driver makes animated chitchat as the cab winds its way from the railway station toward Main Street. The town’s namesake lake shimmers in the center of our small village, surrounded by a three-mile walking trail that runs the length of downtown. On the opposite side of the lake, homes sit perched above the frozen water. In the summertime, the surface of Owl Lake is like a smooth mirror, reflecting everything in sight. Now, with the lake frozen over and piled with snow, it’s a breathtakingly pristine blanket of white.
I lean closer to the window for a better view, my breath fogging the glass. I clear it away with a mittened hand, and the charms around my wrist jingle again. The sound is somehow comforting. My heart starts hammering hard in my chest as soon as the lights of downtown come into view. I haven’t seen my hometown all decked out for Christmas in years, and even though my mom has been peppering me with photos, the images on my phone can’t compare with the real thing. Sights I’ve known for as long as I can remember make me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time—the old stone church at the corner with its original Tiffany stained glass windows and exposed rafters of polished maple; the Christmas lights and fir garlands trimming the gabled roof of the chalet-style inn with its sweeping view of the lake; the letters that spelled out White Christmas and Holiday Inn on the Palace Theatre’s glittering gold marquee.
A sign announces that the monthly classic movie marathon is showing on the twentieth of the month, just as it always has. My throat grows thick with emotion. With memories.
Not everything has remained unchanged, though. The boughs of the evergreen trees lining the walking trail are covered in snow and twinkle lights as always, but they’re much taller than they were the last time I saw them. I remember my dad and the other firefighters volunteering to plant them as saplings when I was in sixth grade, and now they tower over the roofs of the quaint shops and restaurants on Main Street.
Everything is just like I remember it, but also different, all at the same time. It makes me nostalgic for years gone by, and a very small part of me wonders if coming here is a mistake. I’m confused enough about the state of my life as it is. Do I need the emotions of an overdue homecoming piled on top? I take a deep breath and toy absently with the charms on Betty’s bracelet as we pass the firehouse, standing sentry over Owl Lake at the top of the hill. A sign advertising the annual Firefighters’ Toy Parade stretches from one end of the apparatus bay to the other.
“Almost there,” the cab driver says. “You got here just in time. This storm is supposed to be a doozy.”
Just in time, I repeat to myself. Of course coming back to Owl Lake isn’t a mistake. This is where I belong. I’m home, even if home doesn’t quite feel the same as it used to.
The taxi crests the small hill that leads to my parents’ lake house, where a ribbon of smoke rises from the chimney. One of the fir trees growing in the front yard has red velvet bows tied to its branches and shimmers with white lights. An antique sleigh sits in the middle of the lawn looking like something out of a Christmas card. My parents have always been big on decorating for the holidays, but they’ve really gone all out this year. I press my hand against the window and squint in the direction of the front porch. The interior lights are still on, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won’t have to sneak inside while my mom and dad are sleeping.
But then I blink—hard—convinced I’m seeing things.
There’s a dog sitting on the welcome mat on the shelter of the wide, wraparound porch. With its luxurious honey-colored coat and gentle expression, the dog looks like it might be a golden retriever mix. A huge red bow is tied around its neck and, despite the icy conditions, the pup looks as if it just arrived straight from a grooming appointment at the pet salon.
When on earth did my parents get a dog? I begged and begged for one when I was a little girl, but the answer was always a firm no. And why hasn’t my mom mentioned it to me?
All those text messages, and zero mention of a new, furry family member. It doesn’t make sense.
“Let me help you with your luggage,” the driver says as I hand him a ten-dollar bill.
“That’s okay, I can get it. I’m sure you want to head home before the roads get any worse.” I climb out of the backseat. “Thanks so much for the ride.”
“Sure thing. You have a merry Christmas, now.” He grins at me as I shut the car door. While I haul my suitcase to the walkway, he turns the cab slowly back toward the main road.
I eye the strange dog warily as I approach the front porch. It stays seated, greeting me with a wide doggy smile and happy swish of its tail. There’s something so familiar about the animal, from its sweet expression and the tilt of its head to the massive bow around its neck. I’m certain I’ve never seen it before, though—definitely not at my parents’ house.
“Good boy,” I murmur once I get a closer peek at the animal.
The tail wagging intensifies as the golden gives me a melting look that makes my heart feel like it’s being squeezed in a vise. I reach out a tentative hand, and I’m immediately rewarded with a swipe of a warm, pink tongue.
“What’s your name?” I bend to check the dog’s collar, but he’s not wearing one. The bow’s red satin ribbon is the only thing wrapped around his thick, furry neck.
What are my parents thinking? It’s not safe for a dog to be outside on his own, especially without any sort of identification tag. And right now, there’s an ice storm on the way. This sweet pup should be lying by the hearth, gnawing on a soup bone or something.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll get you right inside.” I knock on the front door, and the dog rises to stand beside me, tail beating against my leg with glee.
The door swings open almost instantaneously, and my mom goes wide-eyed at the sight of me.
“Ashley?” She clasps her hands to her mouth, then lets out a full-on squeal. “You’re home!”
She throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight, and I feel my eyes fill with tears. I clamp them shut in an effort not to cry. There’s nothing like
a hug from Martha James.
“What are you doing here?” She releases me from her embrace, but keeps her hands planted on my shoulders, as if trying to anchor me in place. “You’re supposed to be in Paris.”
“Right…that…” An anguished sniffle escapes me, despite every effort to maintain a brave face.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We can talk about that later. The important thing is that you’re home for the holidays.” My mom’s gaze shifts from me to the dog. Her forehead crinkles in apparent confusion. “And you brought a dog with you?”
“What? No? That’s your dog.” I glance down at the sweet pup who’s begun to lean against my leg, all softness and comforting warmth.
“Don’t be silly,” my mom says, waving a dismissive hand. “You know we don’t have a dog.”
“Then what’s he doing here, sitting on your doorstep, all dressed up for Christmas?”
Before my mom can respond, my dad ambles toward the door from the direction of the den. He’s wearing his favorite flannel buffalo plaid shirt—always a staple during the holidays—and the slippers I sent him for Christmas a few years ago. “What’s all the commotion out here?”
He stops in his tracks when he spots me, and his face splits into a wide grin. “Well, what’s this? It must be a Christmas miracle. Ashley’s home!”
“Hi, Dad.” Feeling bashful all of a sudden for turning up out of the blue, I give him a little wave.
He wraps his arms around me in a big bear hug, no questions asked.
Well, technically there’s one question…
“When did you get a dog?” He rests one of his big hands on the golden retriever’s broad head, and the dog responds with a full-body wag.
“He’s not my dog,” I repeat. Something seriously strange is going on. “Are you two playing some kind of joke on me? The dog was sitting right here by the door when the cab dropped me off. His fur isn’t even wet. He couldn’t have been out here long. I thought maybe you’d just let him out to do his business a second ago, and he was ready to come back inside.”
