Christmas in Vermont Read online

  “I was hardly jetting around; I flew to Wisconsin to see my family.” She perched on the bed. “And there couldn’t have been snow showers.” She waved at the trees outside the window. “The whole campus is in bloom.”

  “The snow melted after the first day. Spring is wonderful.” He sat beside her. “It makes it almost real: graduation and summer and starting our lives.”

  The months since Fletcher told her he loved her at Christmas were the best she’d ever had. They did everything together: ate their meals in the dining commons and studied at the library and took long walks around the quad. Emma brought her textbooks to rehearsals, and Fletcher said the only thing that kept him from collapsing after ten hours onstage with no break for lunch was knowing that Emma was in the back of the theater.

  Neither of them talked about what would happen after graduation. Their relationship was like the kites students flew on the Colby Green: bright and beautiful, but if you tugged at the string too hard they could come crashing back to earth.

  There was a scratching sound in the closet, and Fletcher frowned.

  “What’s that noise? Don’t tell me you have another guy in here!” he said. “Is that why I got the cold welcome?”

  “It’s a male, but not the kind you’re thinking,” Emma laughed and opened the closet. The kitten brushed against her ankles and she picked him up. “I found him outside. I waited for an hour but no one came.”

  “He’s a beauty.” Fletcher stroked his fur. “Pets are forbidden. The guy on the next floor hid a ferret in his room. The ferret chewed his roommate’s speaker wire and he almost got kicked out of school.”

  “I’ll take him to the shelter in Waterville tomorrow,” Emma agreed. “But I have a study session for an Econ exam in the library in an hour. If I leave him in my room, someone might hear him.”

  “I’ll take him,” Fletcher offered.

  “You have a performance, and cats aren’t allowed in the theater,” Emma reminded him.

  “I’ll think of something.” Fletcher picked up the box. “Othello and I will be fine.”

  “Othello?” Emma repeated.

  “If I call his name, people will think I’m talking about the play.” Fletcher kissed her. “Don’t worry, we’ll see you tonight.”

  * * *

  Emma stood in front of the library and inhaled the night air. It was at moments like this, when the sky was black velvet and every star was a diamond, that she wanted to stay in college forever.

  What would happen after May? Even if they both ended up in New York, it might not work out. Fletcher would be swept up in the theater world, while Emma was grinding away at an office job. They would be too broke to go out on proper dates, and with different schedules, they might lose touch altogether.

  She tried to imagine life without Fletcher, and there was a hard feeling, like Othello’s bony frame pressing against her chest. It didn’t matter that they were young and inexperienced; they were in love, and she didn’t want it to end.

  “There you are.” Fletcher appeared in the dark. A scarf was wrapped around his neck and he was carrying a cardboard box.

  “Is Othello all right?” She scooped up the cat.

  “He’s a trouper.” Fletcher grinned. “He never made a sound.”

  “What did you do with him during the performance?” Emma stroked his fur.

  “One of the actors carried him in a wicker basket during the market scene.”

  “Othello was onstage?” Emma gasped. “What if he meowed or tried to jump out?”

  “The basket was supposed to hold a loaf of bread, but a cat was more authentic.” Fletcher grinned. “There were lots of stray cats at the markets in the sixteenth century. I might use Othello again.”

  Emma reached up and kissed Fletcher. “Thank you; I was so worried.”

  “One of the stagehands lives off-campus and offered to keep him,” Fletcher said. “I wanted to check with you first—you’re his adoptive parent.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” Emma beamed. “You have to thank him for me.”

  “The theater is a family; everyone helps each other,” Fletcher said, and was suddenly serious. “I want you to be part of that family, too.”

  “What do you mean?” Emma wondered.

  “We don’t talk about graduation. It’s like discussing the final episode of a favorite show that’s going to be canceled.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t know where we’ll be or what we’re going to do, but I love you and I want to stay together.”

  “I want that too,” she whispered.

  Fletcher pulled her close, and there was a meowing sound.

  “I think we’re squishing Othello,” Emma laughed, handing him the cat.

  “At least we know he’s a male.” Fletcher grinned. “He can’t stand me kissing you.”

  Four Days Before New Year’s Eve

  Snowberry, Vermont

  Emma looked out her guestroom window at the church steeples wrapped in snow and took a deep breath. They had been so in love; she’d thought nothing could tear them apart.

  That had been eleven years ago, so there was no point in thinking about it now. Fletcher had a child, and he was engaged. He probably didn’t even remember the promises they’d made to each other. Emma was just an old college girlfriend.

  She grabbed her coat and opened the door. She and Lola were going to blanket every store in Snowberry with flyers about the talent show. Maybe Bronwyn had been wrong. Perhaps Emma was in Vermont to do a good deed for someone at Christmas. If she could help Betty save The Smuggler’s Inn, she could believe that the pain of seeing Fletcher again was worth it.

  Ten

  Four Days Before New Year’s Eve

  Snowberry, Vermont

  FLETCHER FELT LIKE A NEW man. Breakfast at the Crêpe Café with Lola this morning had been so much fun. Fletcher had eaten a savory crêpe with cheddar cheese and ham and been reminded of the meals he and Lola had shared at Tutton’s in Covent Garden before a performance at the Old Vic.

  People thought he was crazy to take a little girl to an elegant restaurant when they could have eaten fish and chips backstage. But Fletcher loved watching the pre-theater crowd sipping Pimm’s, and Lola couldn’t take her eyes off the women in their cocktail dresses and fur stoles. Lola would eat Cumberland sausage with mushy peas, and Fletcher would order steak and kidney pie, which he swore brought him good luck; then they’d share a dessert from the glass case, like sticky toffee pudding or white-and-black chocolate brownie with Dorset clotted cream.

  Cassandra would already be at the theater putting the finishing touches on costumes, and he cherished those meals with Lola alone. Lola loved hearing stories about being a director: the actress who wouldn’t go onstage unless her poodle was waiting in her dressing room, the actor who demanded Fletcher fix him bourbon with honey before every performance. And Fletcher loved listening to Lola’s dreams of playing Maria in The Sound of Music or Mary in Mary Poppins.

  This morning after breakfast, Fletcher took Lola ice skating, and they practically had the rink to themselves. Lola slipped her small hand into his and they glided around the ice to “Jingle Bells” and “Silent Night.”

  Then they’d returned to The Smuggler’s Inn, and Fletcher and Megan went to the Antique Mall. It reminded Fletcher of the markets at Covent Garden, where you could find everything from heirloom jewelry to jars of preserves. Each dealer had a selection of antiques: potbelly stoves and pewter tea sets and kerosene lanterns. Megan fell in love with a pair of silver candlesticks, and Fletcher found a pair of bookends and bought Lola an antique doll. A vendor tried to sell them an old-fashioned rocking horse, and Fletcher felt a surge of excitement. Perhaps one day he and Megan would have a baby, and they could return to Vermont and buy a nineteenth-century jelly cupboard to hold the baby’s blankets and bibs.

  Now Megan was in the village getting her hair done. Fletcher bounded up the stairs of The Smuggler’s Inn to Lola’s room.

  “Here you are.”
Fletcher opened Lola’s door. “I brought you a present.”

  Lola unwrapped the tissue paper and discovered a doll wearing lace pantaloons.

  “The vendor swore it’s from the nineteenth century, but the shoes are plastic,” he said, pointing to the doll’s red slippers. “But her hair reminded me of yours, and I thought you’d like it.”

  “It’s lovely, thank you.” Lola placed it on the desk.

  “What are you doing?” Fletcher surveyed the posters spread out on the floor.

  “I’m making posters for a fundraiser,” Lola said. “We’re going to hold a talent show on New Year’s Eve.”

  “New Year’s Eve?” Fletcher repeated. “I don’t know if we’ll still be here.”

  “We have to stay.” Lola’s eyes widened. “Betty is in danger of losing The Smuggler’s Inn, so we’re going to charge a fifty-dollar entrance fee. The talent show is going to be held in the playhouse, and we’re going to put posters up all around Snowberry.”

  “There’s an important theater party in New York, and Megan doesn’t want to miss it.”

  “But The Smuggler’s Inn is Betty’s home. If she loses it, she won’t have anywhere to go,” Lola said. “You’re the one who said the best part of being in the theater is helping others. Is it more important that Megan shows off at a fancy party, or that we help Betty keep her home?”

  “Megan isn’t showing off,” Fletcher said loyally. “She has my best interests at heart. She’s trying to create interest in the new play.”

  “You’ve directed more plays than she’s seen in her whole life, and you never go to theater parties. They are a waste of time, and you’d rather stay home and read scripts.”

  Once Fletcher became an established director, he’d told Graham he didn’t want to attend any more parties. The smoked salmon gave him stomach acid, the champagne gave him a headache, and he’d rather stay home with Cassandra and Lola.

  “Megan says networking is important, and she’s right,” Fletcher offered. “No one knows me in New York.”

  “There will be other parties. Please, can we stay?” Lola begged. “Betty is counting on us and I don’t want to let her down.”

  “Us?” Fletcher repeated.

  “I sort of told her that you would put up posters and help with the sets,” Lola admitted. “Betty’s husband died and her children live far away. The Smuggler’s Inn is all she has.”

  “I’m glad I was consulted,” Fletcher chuckled, admiring Lola’s tenacity.

  “I’m asking now,” Lola said hopefully. “All you have to do is say yes.”

  “Our reservation at The Smuggler’s Inn is through New Year’s,” Fletcher wavered. “And we’ve been invited to another theater party at the end of January. It’s at the home of some big critic, and Dustin Hoffman is going to be there.”

  “I don’t know who that is, but I’m sure Megan will find someone there to show off to.” Lola jumped up. “You carry the posters and I’ll tell Emma.”

  “Emma?” Fletcher stopped.

  “Emma helped make the posters.” Lola gestured to the poster board. “We’re going to hang them around town together.”

  “Emma helped you with this?” Fletcher glanced at a drawing of a sled stacked with wrapped boxes. The caption read: THE BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT IS BEING WITH FRIENDS. CELEBRATE NEW YEAR’S EVE AT SNOWBERRY’S FIRST ANNUAL NEW YEAR’S EVE TALENT SHOW.

  “First annual talent show?” Fletcher raised his eyebrow.

  “Emma said it’s an old advertising trick. You make people think they’re missing out on a tradition.” Lola looked at Fletcher. “She’s really good at this stuff. You should hire her to write your playbills.”

  “We have that covered,” Fletcher said uncomfortably.

  “Well, let’s go.” Lola grabbed her coat. “I have to tell Betty first, and Emma is waiting in the mudroom.”

  Emma was zipping up her boots when Fletcher reached the mudroom. Seeing her perched on the bench with her mouth set in a firm line reminded him of the long winters at Colby: Emma hurrying to put on her boots and not be late for class, Fletcher offering to carry her backpack, and Emma smiling and saying she’d be fine.

  “Oh, hello.” Emma looked up. “I never seem to find a pair of boots with a working zipper. I should give up and move to a warmer climate.”

  “It’s remarkable to see you,” Fletcher said without thinking. It had been one thing to discover Emma playing the piano in the dining room of The Smuggler’s Inn. Even dinner at the Goose Duck Inn was manageable, because they’d been surrounded by Megan and Lola. But now, finding Emma in the mudroom while Lola was in the kitchen with Betty, there was nothing to separate them from the past.

  “Remarkable?” Emma repeated, curious.

  “It’s such a crazy coincidence,” Fletcher said quickly. “I’ve only been in New York since last spring. What are the chances of us staying at the same inn in Vermont at Christmas?”

  “I know what you mean,” Emma replied. “I was going to say the same thing.”

  “Well, it’s very…” Fletcher stopped as Lola hurtled into the mudroom.

  “I’m sorry I took so long.” Lola turned from Fletcher to Emma. “I know you’re old friends, but you’re not going to talk about how when you were in college no one looked at their phones, or how much better life was before Facebook.” She rolled her eyes. “I promised Betty we’d get the posters up before dinnertime.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of it.” Fletcher took Lola’s hand and opened the door for Emma. “It seems we’re on a mission. We’d better get started.”

  * * *

  The Christmas tree in the village square was lit with gold and silver lights, and the lampposts were adorned with green bows. Children were making snowballs, and there was the sound of laughter and the scent of pine needles and cinnamon rolls.

  Lola darted into a store and Fletcher found himself standing next to Emma. Fletcher was used to awkward situations: coaxing an actress to go onstage after she read a devastating review in the London Times, or having to tell a producer the last play had lost money while asking him to back the next venture. For the first time since he’d spilled champagne on Cassandra at the theater party years ago, Fletcher didn’t know what to say.

  “Your daughter is very special.” Emma watched through the window as Lola talked animatedly to the shopkeeper. The man hesitated and then took the poster and placed it in front of the cash register.

  “I’ve learned often the best thing to do is to stay out of Lola’s way,” Fletcher said, chuckling. “She once convinced her teacher to take the whole class to a matinee showing of Paddington. Lola claimed it would be educational to see the most loved figure in children’s literature on the screen. She even got the manager to give each child a box of mints if their parents promised to write a review.”

  “I can’t believe she’s only nine,” Emma said. “She’s more mature than I was in high school. And she has a wonderful sense of style.”

  “She gets that from her mother. Cassandra could turn a Hanes T-shirt into something to wear to a cocktail party,” Fletcher agreed. “I do worry about Lola. There’s a whole world outside the theater. And it’s a hard life; you can be talented and still never get a break.”

  “You’ve done well,” Emma said. “Lola told me about the time that Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge came to a performance.”

  “It was last Christmas for The Nutcracker,” Fletcher recalled. “Lola wrote a letter to Santa Claus, saying the only thing she wanted for Christmas was to see the Duchess of Cambridge in person. Graham gave the letter to the Duchess before the first act. At intermission, the Duchess stopped by Graham’s private box to say hello. Lola almost fainted.”

  “Who’s Graham?” Emma asked.

  “My producer,” Fletcher said and smiled. “Also my best friend, and the only guy who tells me when I’m about to ruin my life. I’m lucky to have him.”

  “I have a best friend like that. Bronwyn is a dermatologist wit
h a stockbroker husband and two gorgeous little girls. She’s the kind of friend who will say that my shirt is unbuttoned or I have something between my teeth when my date is waiting impatiently downstairs.” Emma blushed.

  There was a strained silence. What was he doing chatting with Emma when Megan wasn’t even there? He should make an excuse; he needed to send an urgent email and go back to the inn. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lola ran out of the General Store.

  “The owner promised to put posters in every section of the store,” Lola announced. “The store is really cool. There’s a shelf of comic books and a selection of Christmas cookies. He even sells doors—not just doorknobs, the whole door.”

  “Maybe I should go back to the inn and let you two do this by yourselves,” Fletcher said brusquely. “Megan is getting her hair done, and I should be there when she returns.”

  “You can’t stop now.” Lola tugged at his arm. “And Megan will be ages. Mom says she’d never go blond because you have to spend all day at the beauty salon. It’s too time-consuming.”

  “You two can hang the posters,” Emma suggested. “I really should buy presents for my goddaughters.”

  “I didn’t mean…” Fletcher began, and Lola cut in.

  “We all have to work together. I approach the shopkeepers and Dad carries the posters and Emma is in charge of making sure we don’t run out of tape.”

  Fletcher looked at Lola and his shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; he was helping Betty save the inn.

  “I suppose we have our marching orders,” he said to Emma, and turned to Lola. “What unsuspecting shopkeeper do we ask next?”

  They left posters at the ski shop and the travel bookstore, which oddly didn’t sell travel books, only guides to Vermont. Everyone knew Betty and wanted to help. The woman who ran the haberdashery store offered to whip up costumes, and the girl at the party store said they should fill the playhouse with balloons for New Year’s Eve. The owner of Snowberry Sweet Shop gave them samples of “Vermonsters”—dark chocolate with caramel and nuts—and suggested wrapping them in red ribbon and giving them to all the contestants.