The Christmas House

by Victoria James

  “That’s sweet, Wyatt, but I’m fine,” she said, opening the door.

  He shrugged into his jacket and boots. “Yeah, well, it bothered me the other night that I never walked you back to Ruby’s. Please,” he said, holding the door.

  “Okay,” she said, turning from him and stepping onto the porch.

  After he locked up, he joined her outside. “Feels like snow,” he said, trying to make conversation as they walked. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was better than awkward silence.

  “I don’t mind. I like your Christmas lights,” she said, pulling her hat down a little further.

  “Thanks. Sam and I usually put them up at the beginning of November. There’s a lot of pressure being the house next to Ruby’s,” he said, shooting her a grin as they approached the end of the driveway. There wasn’t a car in sight or a sound other than the wind, and it was such a far cry from where either of them came from.

  “Very true,” she said.

  They walked in silence, and as they approached Ruby’s house he knew he owed her more than he was giving her. Or maybe he owed himself too.

  “Charlotte,” he began, his voice sounding thick to his own ears, filled with the affection he’d always had for her.

  She slowed, turning her head to him, those gorgeous eyes filled with the same quiet curiosity he remembered. She had always been easy to talk to, without judgment.

  “Thank you for your help today. I can see that Sam really enjoyed spending time with you,” he said, searching for the words he really wanted.

  “She’s a great kid, and it was my pleasure to help,” she said, standing at the bottom step of Ruby’s porch. This was all so formal, almost like they were strangers.

  “When you made dinner it just brought back memories of our conversations and … how you always made dinner for your dad and—”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? That has nothing to do with it. I was there. Your daughter hadn’t had dinner yet. That’s all. Wow.”

  Shit. “No, I’m not … hell, I don’t know what I’m saying or implying. Just never mind. Thank you,” he said, taking a step back.

  “I didn’t think you remembered our conversations,” she said, tilting her chin up, and he read the pride in her eyes. He knew then that he wasn’t going to be able to pretend anymore, not to himself and not with her. He didn’t quite know what to do about that yet, but he wasn’t going to continue letting her think that she’d been insignificant and that their friendship hadn’t mattered to him.

  He took a step closer to her, drawn to her in the same way he’d always been. Her hair swayed gently in the wind and, for a second, under the twinkling stars and white lights of The Christmas House, he saw them both, the scared kids they were, and wished he could go back. He wished he could go back to that time where expressing his feelings with her had become second nature.

  “I remember. I remember everything about you. I remember your smile when I’d hold the door open for you. I remember the look in your eyes when I’d tell you something about my dad. I remember the way I felt when I talked to you. I remember you were the only person I could ever talk to about my home life. You were a ray of sunshine in a dark time, Charlotte, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think that you weren’t important.”

  His heart was pounding, and he had the inexplicable urge to reach out for her, to hug her and feel her in his arms. And it had so much more to do with how she made him feel than her just being an incredibly beautiful woman. She glanced away, but not before he caught the sheen in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He wanted her to stay and talk. He wanted her to say that he’d been just as important. Hell. He knew what all this meant. He didn’t want to lose Charlotte a second time in his life. “It’s the truth,” he said, taking a step onto the porch.

  She backed up a few steps. “I appreciate that … you told me that. You did the same for me. I’ll see you later, Wyatt. Thanks for walking me home,” she said, turning quickly and walking into the house.

  He took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. He had wanted to believe that Charlotte being Ruby’s granddaughter was a coincidence. That would have been easier. But as he stood on the steps of The Christmas House, he knew in his gut that Charlotte being in his life had never been just a coincidence.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JULY 30, 1969

  SILVER SPRINGS

  Ruby finished scrubbing the toilet and stood, wincing as her lower back protested. She forced herself to place all the cleaning items back under the sink and then washed her hands. The water ran over her soapy hands, and as she rubbed them together she noticed they didn’t have the texture they used to. They were rougher now. She shut the taps and as she dried her hands on the linen hand towel she paused to gaze at her reflection.

  The woman staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t someone she knew, or really wanted to know. This woman made her anxious. The scarf tied around her head, which kept her hair securely off her face, was one she wore every Friday, cleaning day, so that she could focus on getting the house in pristine condition and never have Mrs. Pemberton doubt that she was capable of maintaining this house, even as her pregnancy advanced. Ruby touched her face, lightly running her finger over her cheek, noticing how full her face had become. She supposed it was normal, this close to childbirth. Her gaze wandered lower, taking in the obvious curves she now had, just the sight of her changing body making her uncomfortable. She clutched the side of the counter as a wave of heat washed over her—she’d come to recognize the feeling as humiliation. It had trailed behind her all this time after leaving Toronto; when she looked in the mirror, all she saw was shame.

  Smoothing her hand over her rounded belly, a pang, a longing for her mother claimed her senses and for a moment she wanted to be a little girl again. She wanted to look up at her mother’s face and ask her what to do, she wanted someone to solve this problem for her. She had thought that parental love was supposed to be unconditional. She would have unconditional love for this child. She would be better, do better, than the four grandparents who’d rejected this baby.

  “Ruby dear, are you feeling all right?”

  Ruby jolted and turned to see Mrs. Pemberton standing in the doorway. The elderly woman’s forehead was deeply creased, and she was watching Ruby with worried eyes. Ruby forced a smile on her face.

  “Oh yes, don’t worry about me. I was just finishing up in here,” she said, closing the cupboard, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming.

  She owed this woman everything, and in the last few months had come to really think fondly of her. She was always making sure that Ruby rested at the end of the day, and she was never fussy about the food Ruby prepared. They ate every meal together and talked about things in the news or the weather or sometimes gossip about Mrs. Pemberton’s friends. Her days here were full and busy, and she was thankful for that because it meant she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself or dwell on what had happened. In the quiet times at night, sometimes her thoughts would turn dark and she’d feel deep anger toward her family and Richard.

  “Oh good, then how about we have a cup of tea together and some of those lemon cookies I baked yesterday?”

  Ruby smiled and nodded. The older woman loved her tea, and Ruby pretended to like it just as much. Mrs. Pemberton had a sweet tooth and, on her better days, she liked to keep herself busy with baking. “That sounds perfect.”

  Mrs. Pemberton started walking and then paused. “Ruby, dear, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I’m afraid of offending you.”

  A pang of worry bloomed inside her. There were a thousand things that she could ask Ruby about and none of them were good. Of course, Sister Juliette had told her about Ruby’s background, and the older woman had been so kind and nonjudgmental, but she also hadn’t asked for any specifics about Ruby’s circumstances. Maybe now she wanted answers. Maybe people in town were starting to talk about her. Ruby swallowed her pride a
nd forced a smile on her face. She owed her everything, and she wouldn’t say no to whatever this woman was asking.

  “You don’t have to be worried about that. Please, ask me whatever is on your mind.”

  Mrs. Pemberton bit her lower lip for a moment and then motioned for Ruby to follow her. She led Ruby to her large bedroom. It was the prettiest bedroom Ruby had ever seen and the first time she’d entered she couldn’t believe how large it was, how beautiful the view was from up here. The large windows overlooked the forest and river below. Some early mornings Ruby had even seen deer. She focused her attention on Mrs. Pemberton, who was looking inside her jewelry box. A moment later she turned around and extended her hand to Ruby.

  Ruby was surprised to see her holding two rings. “Those are lovely rings,” she said, not quite sure what Mrs. Pemberton was doing.

  “Thank you. They were my mother’s. Her engagement ring and wedding band. Sapphire with diamonds and gold. Ruby dear, I would like you to have them.”

  Ruby gasped. “I can’t. Oh, it is so nice of you, but I could never.”

  Mrs. Pemberton tilted her head, her perfect curls swaying with the motion, her eyes shining. “I know the way the world is for young women without husbands. I know how people talk, and it isn’t fair, dear. I want you to wear these and, if you’re comfortable, you can tell people when they ask that you are a widow. You can keep them for as long as you wish.”

  Ruby’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the rings and Mrs. Pemberton’s eyes until her own vision blurred. The weight she’d been carrying for months felt like it had just become a little lighter, like she could breathe a little easier. She’d never brought herself to buy a ring, the need to hold onto her money in case of an emergency taking precedence. Yes, yes, she could just say she was a widow. “They’re your mother’s, though,” she finally managed to whisper against the rawness in her throat.

  “Well, they’re just sitting in a box doing no good to anyone, aren’t they? Take them, Ruby,” she said, reaching out for Ruby’s hand and dropping them in her palm.

  Ruby stared at the sparkling rings. “Is it wrong? Is it wrong for me to lie?”

  Mrs. Pemberton shook her head. “You aren’t hurting anyone. He was your fiancé. You would have been married. You will give your child a much easier world like this,” she whispered.

  Ruby looked up from the rings. She was right. Maybe sometimes it was okay to hide. At the very least it was easier. Right now, easy was all she could handle.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “How’s Olivia doing?” Charlotte asked her grandmother tentatively, while kneading the homemade pizza dough they were making. She thought it odd that Olivia hadn’t been down for breakfast that morning.

  Her grandmother placed a pan down in front of Charlotte. “Hiding. She’s hiding from us, she’s hiding from life. She said she slept in. But I’m not buying it. And she didn’t eat a thing for breakfast—just black coffee. That girl is keeping something from us, and I’m worried about her. She’s hurting and I hope that in a few days, once she’s properly rested, she will confide in us,” she said, wiping her hands on her tartan plaid apron.

  Charlotte worked the dough so that it spread to all four corners of the pan that had already been drizzled with olive oil while she processed what her grandmother had said. She was rougher than necessary, now even more worried about Olivia. She used to love cooking with her grandmother in the big old country kitchen. It had been updated here and there through the years, but nothing major, and Charlotte was happy about that. Nostalgia clung to the vintage ornaments on the small tree in the corner of the eating area. Garlands sat atop the upper cabinets, and Christmas wreaths were hung in each of the four large windows.

  She was worried about her sister. Maybe she should go and try and talk to her, even though it felt like Olivia should be the one to break the ice. But Charlotte thought her grandmother was right, that she might be hiding something. She battled with the dough a few times when it kept shrinking back until it looked stable enough to pass off to her grandmother to place the toppings.

  “Maybe the smell of homemade pizza will lure her downstairs,” Charlotte said.

  “That’s the plan, my dear.” Her grandmother spread the sauce around, and Charlotte busied herself with tidying the kitchen.

  “I’ll be heading out to Wyatt and Sam’s around three again today,” Charlotte said, trying to keep her voice as natural as possible. Sadly, on the inside she was doing a teenage-type squeal.

  I remember everything about you … You were a ray of sunshine in a dark time, Charlotte, and I’m sorry if I made you think that you weren’t important. No man in her life had ever come close to eliciting the response inside her body Wyatt had, with just a few sentences, with the sound of his voice, or with the resolute gaze. She had wanted to run up to him and hug him, just as she had wanted to when she was twelve. But just because he’d said all that didn’t mean … they would or could be anything more than friends for the holidays. She needed to stop thinking about him.

  Easier said than done, of course. Even on her walk into town that morning, he’d been on her mind. She had managed to finish her Christmas shopping, with the exception of Sam. She’d have to get a little something for the girl now. Getting something for Wyatt would be silly. She didn’t know anything about him. Not really.

  “Smells good in here,” Olivia said, standing in the doorway.

  Charlotte turned to give her a big smile but struggled to hold it. Her sister looked better than she had the other day, but she still had those dark circles under her eyes. “Hi. We’re making pizza and I was just about to put a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup?”

  “Uh, sure, that would be great,” Olivia said, her voice strained and barely a smile on her face as she walked farther into the kitchen.

  “Is that darling baby taking a nap?” Grandma Ruby asked while placing the pizza in the oven.

  “She is,” Olivia said, sitting down on one of the chairs at the butcher block island.

  Charlotte paused, pretty sure she’d just heard a cry. “Did either of you hear that?”

  Olivia sat up and frowned. “No, what?”

  “I thought I heard Dawn crying.”

  “You sit yourself right down, Olivia,” Grandma Ruby said when Olivia stood. “I’ll go check on that sweet baby.”

  Olivia looked almost panicked, and Charlotte didn’t know if it was because they’d be left alone in the kitchen or if she wanted to be the one to get Dawn. Either way, no one really ever argued with Grandma Ruby, so she sat back down as their grandmother marched out of the kitchen. Charlotte turned the coffee pot on and, when she heard the stairs creak, she walked over opposite Olivia at the island. She had to try and break the ice before she jumped into what she’d discovered in the basement. “So did Grandma tell you about the robberies?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “When I first got here, her neighbor—”

  “The handsome sheriff Grandma keeps talking about?” Olivia said, raising an eyebrow. For a second it almost looked like she might smile. Charlotte glanced away, trying not to look guilty. She knew she should tell her it was Wyatt. She was pretty sure Olivia would remember him. But that would also mean Olivia bringing up Charlotte’s crush on him and then making way too big a deal about this. And, perhaps selfishly, she didn’t want to share her feelings with Liv because her sister had shut her out for so long. She didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of her because at the end of the holidays if Liv walked out of here and their relationship wasn’t back to normal, then she’d feel like an idiot. She had never shared the details of her life with anyone except Olivia. And she wanted to protect herself from getting hurt again.

  “Right.”

  “The one you’re helping?”

  Charlotte frowned. She needed to stay on track. “That’s beside the point. Anyway, Grandma thinks it’s not a big deal, but I really worry about her being in this giant old house
by herself—”

  Olivia groaned as the sound of Dawn crying rang through the large house. Crap. Olivia stood and winced. Their grandmother seemed to be in better shape than her sister. “Char, I can barely keep it together. Just leave it with the sheriff to figure out. No one has ever been able to tell Grandma what to do anyway. I need to go and get Dawn. I’ll … uh, I’ll be back to grab my coffee later.”

  Charlotte tried to quell her disappointment, but the heaviness in her chest was unmistakable. It was the same one that had followed her whenever she thought about her sister the last two years. But now it felt as though the ache only grew because Olivia was shutting her out even when Will wasn’t around. It’s not like she’d said they could chat later. It felt like a real brush-off. She was so done with being the one who always got hurt. Olivia hadn’t had a real conversation with her since she’d gotten married. Nothing. She knew nothing about her life anymore. This didn’t feel good. It felt unhappy. Dysfunctional.

  She walked over to pour herself a coffee, tension tightening between her shoulder blades. She needed a break from this, from being dismissed by her sister. She stared out the window, in the direction of Wyatt’s house. Wrapping her hands around the mug, that pull toward him surfaced and she wasn’t afraid of it. It was … hopeful. Everyone in this house had moved on with life except her. She had walked through life with full armor on, never letting anyone close because of her fear. Her father was long gone. Her childhood was over. Her relationship with her sister had deteriorated. But The Christmas House was still here. Grandma Ruby was still here. And Wyatt … had come back.

  Maybe all of this was exactly as it should be. Maybe this was her chance to stop carrying the burden of her childhood and everyone’s problems again. She was worried about her sister, about her grandmother, and she was dreading her mother’s visit. It was stifling. She placed her mug down in the sink with a thud.

  She wanted to escape. The long-forgotten feeling, the anticipation of walking out the door to see Wyatt hit her without warning. Pushing aside everything holding her back now, she surrendered to that twelve-year-old girl, buried deep inside, and grabbed her coat, smiling with anticipation at seeing Wyatt.