The House on Honeysuckle Lane (26 page)

C
HAPTER
49

D
aniel smiled as he surveyed the crowd that had gathered in the heart of town this evening. The weather had consented to be as near Christmas-like as possible; temperatures had fallen rapidly since the late afternoon and had now settled at about thirty-five, encouraging the appearance of goofy holiday-themed hats, brightly colored mittens, and furry ear muffs.

The Christmas Parade and Festival was arguably the biggest annual communal event in Oliver's Well. Shop owners were happy to participate in open house hours, with merchandise on deep discount and window displays to rival those found in big city department stores. Restaurants and cafés provided happy-hour-priced wine, hot chocolate, and free snacks. The Wilson House welcomed those who wanted to visit the displays of Oliver's Well artifacts and to view the videos the OWHA had produced through the years, chronicling the founding and the development of the association. About a dozen performers set up on various street corners and played guitar or violin, juggled balls and pins, or performed simple magic tricks. And each year a different member of the Chamber of Commerce volunteered to play Santa Claus; like Santa at the end of the famous Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, he was pulled along Main Street in a sled set upon a float decorated with papier mâché reindeer, noisily jangling jingle bells, and a blanket of artificial snow. The most popular part of the float, Daniel thought, was not Santa but the handful of local children dressed adorably as elves, complete with pointy hats and shoes. When the float passed the yarn shop at the end of Main Street, it was then time to look forward to the ultimate event of the evening—the lighting of the massive fir tree that had been erected at the small square at the intersection of Main and Market streets.

People came from all the neighboring towns to stroll, eat, chat, and to buy. It wasn't unusual for a shop to make more money on this one night than it did in the three weeks leading up to Christmas. Richard Armstrong of the Angry Squire had told Daniel that the restaurant was routinely completely booked for dinner as early as the first of December.

Daniel found himself alone with Rumi, Marco, and Sophia; Anna Maria, Andie, and Emma had gone off to check out the sales, and shopping held no interest for Daniel and the youngest Reynoldses. He estimated there were close to four hundred people gathered in the center of town, and though he wasn't particularly worried about criminals—there hadn't been a violent crime in Oliver's Well in almost twenty years—he didn't want either of his children to come to any harm in the throng.

“Sophia, keep an eye on your brother,” he told his daughter. “I don't want him getting lost in the crowd. You know how he tends to dash off.”

“I'm on it, Dad,” Sophia assured her father, every inch the responsible older sister. She took her brother's hand—under great protest—and steered him toward a juggler dressed in a bright and motley assortment of garments.

Daniel smiled at his niece. “I can't tell you how I used to look forward to this night when I was a kid,” he told her. “I swear I started obsessing about it in August.”

“Uncle Daniel,” Rumi said, taking his arm, “you're such a sentimentalist.”

“Guilty as charged. I'm a sucker for anything that tugs on the heartstrings.”

“It's what makes you such a good dad.” Rumi sighed. “Too bad my dad couldn't be here tonight. But he really wanted to see his old friend Tom. He's got some sort of cancer, and Dad said he's really been down.”

“Your father is a good man.” And Daniel remembered the feelings of tenderness toward his oldest sister he had experienced after his meeting with Reverend Fox that morning. “And your mother's not so bad, either,” he added with a smile. “Try to go easy on her.”

“It's just that she can be so frustrating,” Rumi said with a sigh, removing her arm from his. “She's always quoting some guy who's been dead for like a thousand years. Sometimes I wish she were just an ordinary mother, boring and predictable.”

“But only sometimes?” Rumi shrugged and Daniel decided not to pursue the subject. “So, what's your favorite part of the festival?” he asked.

Rumi's face took on a distinctly sheepish look.

“What?” Daniel prodded. “What's going on?”

“Well, I didn't tell anyone, but the Artful Soul agreed to show a few of the bracelets and necklaces I made recently. You know they have that section of the shop for new local artists and craftspeople to showcase their work. And tonight is my debut, so I guess
that's
my favorite part of the festival.”

Daniel smiled. “Good for you! But why keep it a secret?”

“I don't know,” Rumi admitted. “I guess I'm kind of scared. What if nothing sells? What if I told Aunt Emma or Mom and they each bought something just to make me feel good? I don't want that happening.”

“I understand. But you know your mother and aunts might see your work if they happen to stop in at the Artful Soul.”

“I know. I guess I can't do anything about that.”

“Well,” Daniel said, “I wish you success. Maybe you'll make some money.”

“I don't really care about the money,” Rumi said. “Honestly. If I do make some money I'll use it to buy more materials so I can make more pieces. And maybe before long I'll be able to afford a course in metalworking.”

She's more like her mother than she knows,
Daniel thought. “So it's not about profit,” he said, “at least, not at the moment.”

Again Rumi shrugged, and again Daniel decided not to pursue his questioning. Suddenly, the kids came dashing toward them, no mean feat in such a crowd.

“Dad,” Sophia cried, “can we go into Billet-Doux? My friend Rebecca just told me they have awesome hot chocolate.”

“Yeah, Dad, can we?” Marco echoed. “They put peppermint sticks in it!”

Daniel shrugged. “Sure. We'll all go.”

Together the four members of the Reynolds family made their way to the specialty card and gift store, where Rumi wandered off to look at the handmade notebooks and Sophia and Marco got on line for their hot chocolate. Daniel was idly looking at a rack of greeting cards when he became aware of a man standing next to him.

“Daniel,” the man said, extending a hand. “It's so good to see you.”

For a second Daniel didn't recognize the man. And then it came to him; it was Reggie Beaton, Cliff's childhood friend. Mr. Beaton had left Oliver's Well over twenty years before for a job in New York City.

“Mr. Beaton, hello,” Daniel said, shaking the man's hand. “I'm sorry, but it's been a while.”

Reggie Beaton laughed. “And I've gained at least thirty pounds since I last saw you. And you've grown a few more inches!”

“What are you doing back in Oliver's Well?” Daniel asked.

“I decided to retire here in my old hometown.” And then Mr. Beaton moderated his jovial tone. “I was very sorry to hear of the death of your parents. My wife and I sent condolences, but I'm afraid both times I was working at our office in Basel and couldn't get back in time for the memorial services.”

Daniel felt tears threaten. “Thank you,” he finally managed to say. “It was a shock with Dad, even though we knew about his heart condition. And with Mom . . .”

“I know,” Mr. Beaton said with sympathy. “I heard. It's a great loss to our community. I'm sorry I won't be able to spend my retirement years in your parents' company. You know, it's funny how the people who are your friends in the early years of your life are so often the ones you want most to spend the last years of your life with. I grew up with Cliff. I guess I expected to grow old with him, too.”

“Thanks,” Daniel managed again. But he couldn't bring himself to say more.

“Well, the wife is waiting for me at the candle shop. It was good to see you, Daniel. I'm sure our paths will cross again.”

Mr. Beaton went off, leaving Daniel experiencing a disturbing mix of emotions—sadness warred with fond nostalgia and pleasant memories.

“You okay, Uncle Daniel?”

Daniel startled; he hadn't been aware that Rumi had joined him. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm fine.”

Rumi looked at him worriedly. “Sure? You look sad all of a sudden.”

“It's nothing,” he assured her, with an attempt at a smile. “I just saw a ghost is all.”

Rumi laughed. “Well, if
that's
all it was! Come on. I think you need a hot chocolate.”

C
HAPTER
50

I
n spite of the distraction of the streetlamps and the bright lights of the shops, Emma could make out a few stars in the sky. She felt it was a good sign, though why she couldn't exactly say.
Maybe,
she thought,
I'm just wallowing in nostalgia, seeing good omens and dreaming of a future that was as perfect as the past seems now.

Emma turned to her sister “Remember that one year—gosh, it must have been when we were still in grammar school—when all the lights on the tree sputtered out just after they were turned on? The collective groan,” she told Anna Maria, “was probably heard in Washington!”

Andie smiled. “And then the lights came back on, just like magic.”

Emma grinned. “More likely someone corrected a technical malfunction.”

“Look.” Anna Maria nodded. “The Shelby Gallery is just ahead. Why don't we stop in?”

Emma opened her mouth and then closed it. What had she been going to say? Of course she would like to see Morgan Shelby, but the thought of chatting with him in the company of members of her family struck her as potentially . . . awkward. Would Andie and Anna Maria, both astute women, be able to tell that Emma had feelings for him?
Yes
, Emma thought
. They will be able to tell. I'm a terrible dissembler.

“You two go on,” she said. “I want to stop in the Eclectic Gourmet. I'll meet you in about ten minutes?”

“Okay,” Andie said with a shrug, and she and Anna Maria went into the gallery. Emma made her way into the specialty food store—a store she did in truth like—feeling more than a bit foolish.
Really,
she thought,
what am I hiding? Who am I hiding from?
Whatever the answers to those puzzling questions, the fact remained that at the moment Emma felt the need to keep her nascent relationship with Morgan (if that's even what it was) to herself.

After a few minutes mindlessly browsing the store's vast selection of spices and dried herbs and handmade pastas, she rejoined the others on the sidewalk. Andie was wiping her lip with a paper cocktail napkin decorated with an image of a poinsettia. “That was the best brownie I've had in an age,” she said. “Emma, you should have come in with us.”

“The brownies were good, but I was more taken with the nineteenth-century sideboard Morgan just got in,” Anna Maria said with a sigh. “If Savories and Seasonings ever makes it really big I think I'd like to have a sideboard like that at home. Of course, it might not actually fit in the living room, let alone through the front door!”

“Morgan asked for you,” Andie went on, stuffing the napkin in the pocket of her jacket.

“Did he?” Emma said. “Oh.”

“I told him you were around. Maybe we'll bump into him later. He seems very nice.”

“Yes,” Emma said, affecting what she hoped was a tone of nonchalance. “Maybe we'll see him later.”

“Look, here comes Maureen. Who's that with her?” Andie asked.

“It must be her beau,” Emma said. Maureen was wearing a lightweight down vest over a bright red sweater. Emma was glad to see that the awful clay brooch of Santa Claus was nowhere in sight.

“Emma!” Maureen called, waving to them. “Andie. Anna Maria. Let me introduce you to Jim.”

The women took turns shaking Jim's hand.
He has a nice face,
Emma thought.
An honest face.

“It's great to meet you all,” Jim told them. “Maureen's met my friends, and I was beginning to think there was some terrible reason she was keeping me from her oldest buddies.”

Maureen playfully slapped his arm. “Remember,” she said, “the Reynolds gals don't live around here. We only get to see each other once or twice a year at best.” Maureen smiled then at Anna Maria. “And Anna Maria is a busy mom and businesswoman. Her schedule isn't exactly wide open.”

The others chatted for a few minutes, but Emma found herself not quite able to join in. In the midst of the proverbial crowd she felt a sharp twinge of loneliness. It was difficult not to compare Maureen's happy situation with her own uncertain relationship status. Not that she begrudged her friend the joy she had so obviously found with Jim. No, Maureen deserved whatever bit of happiness she was able to find for herself.

“Looks like the whole town is out tonight!” Maureen said with a cheerful laugh that broke through Emma's melancholy reverie.

Jim nodded. “All we need is some snow and this would be a perfect night! And speaking of perfect,” he added to Maureen, “didn't you say you wanted to check out the sales in some dress shop?”

“I almost forgot! Maybe we'll see you guys around the tree later.”

When Maureen and Jim had moved off, arms linked, Andie said, “Well, he's a huge improvement over that loser she married. I hate to use that term, ‘loser,' but in Barry's case I think I'm justified.”

“And I was her maid of honor,” Emma told Anna Maria. “I cringe when I think of how I didn't see the truth about him before it was too late.”

“You might have been able to warn Maureen that she was marrying a bad seed,” Anna Maria pointed out, “but that doesn't mean she would have heeded you.”

Emma managed a smile. “You're right. The mistakes we make for love.”

“If you have to make a mistake,” Andie said, “and being human, we all do, making the mistake in the name of love isn't the worst thing.”

Before Emma could reply—and she had no idea what she would say to Andie's observation—she spotted Joe Herbert and his family gathered by a young man and woman playing fiddles. She had last seen Jenna at Caro's funeral, but she hadn't seen the children in at least three years. The boy, Edward, would be around seven or eight now, she thought. The girl, Alice, must be ten or eleven. They were an attractive family and, if the fact that they were all laughing proved anything, a close family. She remembered Joe telling her that he was working too many hours, and she thought,
With a family like that to come home to, who in his right mind would want to spend crazy hours at the office?

Emma ambled on alongside her sister and sister-in-law, feeling a tiny bit like a fraud. She hadn't even told Andie that she was considering moving back to Oliver's Well. Why? Was she afraid that Andie would tell her she was being crazy, abandoning the safe life she had built in Annapolis? No, she thought. Andie was firmly for change and growth. So was the reason she had kept her thoughts from her sister because voicing the idea of coming home to Oliver's Well to anyone in the family would make it
too
real?

A loud burst of laughter and applause caused Emma to look toward a small crowd gathered around a magician—he had to be a magician, what with the black cape and the wand from the end of which was sprouting a bouquet of silk flowers. And in that crowd stood Morgan Shelby, a classic Burberry wool scarf wrapped around his neck. He must have closed the gallery early, Emma thought, or have hired someone to man the counter while he took some time to enjoy the festivities.

“I'm just going to pop into the Hyatt Gallery,” she told her sister and sister-in-law hurriedly. “If I lose you we'll meet later at the tree.”

Anna Maria looked slightly suspicious—at least, Emma thought she did—but said only, “Okay.” Andie simply nodded, and Emma went off, wondering if she was becoming paranoid as well as childishly secretive.

When she was within a few yards of the magician's audience a very attractive young woman joined Morgan with a cry of greeting. Morgan bent down to let the woman kiss his cheek, and then he kissed hers in return. Emma stopped in her tracks and felt a surge of jealousy that stunned her. It was something she had never once felt in relation to a man.
What is happening to me?
she thought.
It's as if . . . It's as if I'm really waking up for the first time in my life....

She wanted to turn away but couldn't. Instead she allowed herself to be tortured by the sight of them chatting animatedly, the woman putting her hand on Morgan's arm in what Emma saw as a gesture of possession. Finally, she could stand no more. Emma abruptly turned away and went in search of her family. She had no claim on Morgan. She knew that. But now she thought that she might want a claim. She thought that she would like to matter to him. She remembered what Andie had said to her at the Pink Rose Café. She had said there was a candle in her heart, waiting to be kindled. Making her way through the throng of revelers in search of her sister, Emma thought that Andie might just be right.