Home for the Holidays

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  She’s been hyperventilating about those sleighs ever since we got here and Aunt Bridget showed her the brochure.

  Emma helps me wrap my cast in a garbage bag and duct tape it closed. Taking a shower is a bit of a production, but Uncle Hans and Aunt Bridget put us in one of the inn’s handicapped rooms, so there are handrails for me to hold onto once I hop into the big shower stall, and a bench to sit on if I want, so I manage. Afterward, I get dressed while Emma showers, and then we make our beds.

  This was one of Mom’s rules for coming to the Edelweiss, because she didn’t want us creating extra work for the staff. Actually, Emma’s the one who’s been doing most of the work, since it’s kind of hard for me to maneuver in my cast. I hop around gamely for a bit until she finally shoos me out of the way.

  I grab my crutches and go over to the window to check on the weather. The Edelweiss Inn is built on a hillside overlooking the Mount Washington Valley, and the view is breathtaking. Outside, the early morning sun sparkles on the snow-frosted evergreens that dot the property, and in the distance I can clearly see the peaks of the White Mountains. It’s going to be a beautiful day.

  This might not be some fancy resort in Switzerland, but I have to admit it’s pretty fabulous, even if it is as familiar as an old ski boot.

  The Edelweiss was designed to look like a Bavarian chalet, with white stucco walls and dark wood balconies and shutters, and a sharply peaked roof with a deep overhang that offers protection from the heavy winter snows. All the upstairs rooms have window boxes. They’re empty now, but come summer Aunt Bridget will fill them with red geraniums. For the holidays, Uncle Hans outlined the eaves and windows with white lights. It looks magical at night.

  “That takes care of that,” says Emma, fluffing up the last pillow and surveying the room with a critical eye. She’s trying to be a super-conscientious guest. “Ready?”

  “For breakfast, or for Felicia?”

  My cousin is the only drawback to this vacation so far. We’ve never gotten along all that well. Mom says she’s going through an awkward phase, but she’s been saying that since Felicia was five. The weird thing is, though, that Felicia and Emma have really hit it off.

  I follow Emma out of our room and down the long hallway to the lobby. My uncle Hans, a big, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and the ruddy complexion of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors, flashes a smile from behind the front desk when he sees us.

  “Guten Morgen!” he says.

  “Guten Morgen!” we chorus back.

  My uncle is from Bavaria. He met my mom’s sister Bridget when she was a visiting professor at the University of Munich. After they got married they moved here to the White Mountains because Aunt Bridget wanted to live near family, and Uncle Hans wanted to be able to ski. The inn was really run-down when they bought it, but it’s gorgeous now. They put a ton of work into renovating it. It was worth it, though, because everybody who comes here falls in love with the place, and families come back year after year. There’s a special feeling at the Edelweiss. It’s so cozy—gemütlich, Uncle Hans calls it—with all the dark wood paneling and comfy overstuffed chairs and sofas and the big stone fireplace in the living room. It’s the best place in the world just to hang out and relax.

  “Did you sleep well?” asks my uncle.

  We both nod.

  “Sehr gut,” he says. “Very good.” He winks at me. “I have it on good authority that there are gingerbread Pfannkuchen on the menu this morning.”

  Emma has picked up enough German in the last few days to know the word for pancakes when she hears it, and she practically swoons at this announcement.

  “You’d better hurry, though, before Dylan and Ryan eat them all,” teases Uncle Hans.

  Emma and I race off to the dining room. Well, she races; I limp along behind on my crutches. I will be so glad to get rid of these things. I can’t wait to be able to walk normally again, and to run, and ski, but most of all to ride. I haven’t been able to exercise Blackjack since the accident.

  “Morning, glories,” says my father as we take our seats at the table. He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him look in ages. My parents work really, really hard on the farm.

  “Pass the pancakes, please,” says Dylan.

  I whisk the platter out of his reach. “Pig! We haven’t even had any yet.” I slide two onto my plate and hand the platter to Emma, who helps herself to a couple as well before passing them to my little brother.

  There’s homemade applesauce to go with the pancakes, as well as eggs, sausages, and all kinds of cereal and granola. Best of all, there’s Edelweiss Inn’s famous cocoa. Uncle Hans special-orders this amazing chocolate from Germany, which he grates by hand and then melts over a double boiler before adding steamed milk. I drink pots of it every time I come here. With homemade whipped cream, of course. Mit Schlag, as my uncle calls it. A lot of things on the menu here are served mit Schlag.

  “My pants aren’t going to fit if I keep this up,” says my mother, who doesn’t sound too worried about the prospect. She adds another dollop of whipped cream to her mug.

  “Could you pass the applesauce, please, Jess?” says Emma.

  I look across the table at her and snort.

  “What?”

  I point to my upper lip. She’s wearing a whipped cream mustache. Dylan and Ryan instantly grab their cups and give themselves matching ones too.

  We all get the giggles, and a minute later my entire family has whipped cream mustaches. Aunt Bridget and Felicia come into the dining room just then, carrying more platters of food.

  Aunt Bridget laughs. “Behave yourselves!” she scolds, but her eyes are twinkling. “I want people to think I have normal relatives!”

  My cousin doesn’t laugh at all. She just shoots me a disgusted look and gives our table a wide berth.

  That’s the thing about Felicia. She’s kind of a snob. She’s bilingual, of course, having grown up with Uncle Hans as her father, and she likes to show off that fact whenever she can. She also likes to show off the fact that she’s a year older than me and has spent a lot of time in Europe what with her dad being German and her mother teaching medieval history. Aunt Bridget takes Felicia along on all her research trips.

  I know it bugs my cousin that she lives in this tiny little town in New Hampshire instead of someplace like New York or Paris or Rome, and it about kills her that I got a scholarship to a top-ranked school like Colonial Academy. Felicia likes to brag about the fact that she scored high enough on her IQ tests to qualify for MENSA, that genius society. Unfortunately, she also scores really high at making people feel stupid. She’s a master of the smirk that says, I can’t believe you didn’t know that. I try never to do that to people, and I’m just as smart as she is, only in a different way. Where I’m more into math and science, Felicia is all about English and history. Which is probably why she and Emma are getting along so well.

  After breakfast, Emma and I go out to the kitchen to see if we can use my cousin’s laptop. There’s no sign of her, though, so we head for the library instead. The Edelweiss Inn doesn’t have cable TV or Wi-Fi—Uncle Hans wants to make sure that guests unplug and relax—but there’s a computer terminal available so people don’t feel completely cut off. Cell phone reception is spotty here too. I haven’t been able to call or text Darcy much, and it’s the same for Emma and Stewart. So we’re stuck with dashing off the occasional e-mail on the computer in the library, or on Felicia’s laptop on the rare occasions that she deigns to let us use it.

  We’re in luck; the terminal in the library is free.

  “You go first,” says Emma, and I take a seat and lay my crutches on the floor while she circles the room, checking out the titles of the books on the shelves.

  There are two e-mails waiting for me, a brief one from Darcy—he misses me and hopes I’m having fun—and a cautious one from Savannah, who is trying to pretend like Switzerland isn’t all that great. She’s a terrible liar, though, because it’s easy to read
between the lines and tell that she’s having a fabulous time. Especially since she mentions some guy named Andreas, like, twenty-seven times.

  “Your turn,” I tell Emma, gathering up my crutches.

  I flip through a magazine while she’s reading her e-mail—it’s probably from Stewart because she keeps laughing—and when she’s done, we go back down the hall to our room to brush our teeth and grab our jackets and everything else we’ll need for Nestlenook.

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby,” Emma tells me, rooting around in her bedside drawer for her notebook. “I’ve got to write something down before I forget it.”

  Leaving her to her poem or story or whatever’s buzzing around in her head, I close the door behind me.

  “Hans, Jonas is here!” My aunt’s voice floats down the hall, and as I approach the lobby, I see a lanky boy standing by the reception desk. His face looks vaguely familiar.

  “You must be Jess,” he says when he spots me. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “You have?” I cock my head, trying to place him. Where have I seen him before? “Oh, you’re Josh’s brother!”

  I’d forgotten that Half Moon Farm’s hired hand was from around here.

  Uncle Hans comes up behind us and drapes his arms around our shoulders. “I’ve arranged for Jonas to be your escort today,” he informs me. “He’ll be keeping a close eye on you and make sure you stay safe around all that ice.”

  I can feel my face flushing, though whether from embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure. Probably both. My uncle hired a babysitter for me?

  “I can manage on my own just fine,” I tell him stiffly.

  Uncle Hans gives me a mischievous grin. “Of course you can, but you’ll have so much more fun with a handsome young man to keep you company.” He slaps Jonas on the back and heads back toward the kitchen, just as Felicia comes in.

  She’s changed out of her waitressing uniform, the traditional Bavarian dirndl that she and my aunt and the other kitchen staff wear when they’re on duty, and she’s changed her hair, too. It’s dark, like Aunt Bridget’s, but unlike my aunt, who wears hers loose around her shoulders, Felicia has piled hers on top of her head in some complicated braid thing. It’s probably a medieval hairstyle—I wouldn’t put it past her to have researched it on the Internet.

  “Sir Jonas,” she says, dropping a deep curtsy. Did I mention that in addition to being a card-carrying member of MENSA, my cousin is also kind of socially awkward? Jonas must be used to it, though, because he doesn’t even blink.

  “Milady,” he replies, inclining his head politely.

  Felicia turns to me. Her eyes are a piercing blue, like Uncle Hans’s. “Where’s Emma?”

  “In our room. But she’s—” I don’t get a chance to finish telling her that Emma wants some time alone before Felicia is off like a shot, leaving me standing there feeling irritated. I might as well be part of the furniture as far as my cousin is concerned.

  I turn back to Jonas. “You really don’t have to do this,” I tell him.

  He laughs. “Don’t worry about me. It’ll be fun.”

  For you, maybe, I think sourly. For me, not so much. But I follow him out to the driveway, where my mother is standing by one of the vans. When she sees Jonas, she does a double take.

  “You have got to be related to Josh Bates,” she says.

  Jonas grins. “I’m his baby brother.”

  “Pretty big baby,” my mother replies, gazing up at him. He laughs.

  The front door of the inn swings open, and Felicia and Emma appear, laughing about something. They come over to join us, and Emma’s forehead crinkles when she takes a look at Jonas.

  “Are you—”

  “Yep,” says Jonas, answering her question before she even asks it. “He’s my brother.”

  As he and Emma and Felicia start talking, I pull my mother aside. “Mom!” I whisper furiously. “Did you hear what Uncle Hans did?”

  “No, what?”

  “He hired Jonas to babysit me today!”

  My mother smiles. “Lucky you—he seems like a really nice guy. And what a sweet thing for your uncle to do. Hans is always so thoughtful.”

  “Thoughtful? Mom—it’s humiliating!”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t understand what the big deal is. Jonas is just going to keep you company. That way Emma and the rest of us can, uh—” She pauses and bites her lip.

  So that’s it, I think, feeling as if my face has been slapped. I’ve just been a big wet blanket all week, have I, keeping everyone from having fun? And now, with me out of the way and safely in Jonas’s care, nobody will have to think about me. Especially not Emma.

  I glance over at her just as Felicia whinnies nervously at something Jonas has said. Emma laughs too. I don’t get it. How can she stand my stupid cousin?

  “Has Emma been complaining about me to you?” I ask my mother.

  She sighs. “Of course not. And that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that I’ve noticed what a good sport she’s been about hanging out here with you while the rest of us have gone skiing and sledding, and this will give her a chance to stretch her legs today, that’s all.”

  When I don’t say anything, she continues, “Look, I know you’re sick of that cast, honey, and that you’re going a little stir-crazy from all the forced inactivity, but please don’t be a drama queen. Your aunt and uncle have been incredibly generous to us this week. They know how hard we work all year on the farm, and they’ve gone all out to see that we have a really good time. That everybody has a good time, including you and including Emma. Could you please just try to be diplomatic about this thing with Jonas?”

  I’m quiet for a moment. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I’m silent on the ride to Nestlenook, mostly because everybody else has plenty to say. My dad is talking to Uncle Hans, my mother is fishing Jonas’s life story out of him, and Emma and Felicia are debating the relative merits of Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë, tossing around terms like “leitmotif” and “gender relations” as they discuss which book is better, Pride and Prejudice or Jane Eyre. Nobody seems interested in anything I might have to say, so I just sit and stare out the van window. It’s a pretty ride, at least, and I’ve always liked watching for the covered bridge in Jackson. I poke Emma with one of my crutches as we pass it.

  “Awesome!” she says, whipping out her camera and snapping a picture. Then she dives right back into her conversation with Felicia.

  Stung, I pull my jacket closer around me and hunch down in my seat. Forget BFBB, it looks like the latest rule is NFBBF—new friends before best friends. Fine. Emma can have her shiny new toy.

  My gaze wanders over to Jonas instead, who’s telling my mother all about UNH. He has dark hair and gray eyes, like his brother, but his smile is broader and his nose a little narrower. His hands are different too—less blunt, with long, slender fingers. He’s definitely cute.

  Not that it matters. I’m taken. And I slip my cell phone out of my pocket and look at pictures of me and Darcy just to prove it.

  A few minutes later we pull into the parking lot by Nestlenook’s frozen lake. Emma’s eyes widen as she gazes out the window. Before I can stop myself, I lean over and murmur, “Deep Valley, right? Didn’t I tell you?”

  She nods.

  Felicia looks at us sharply. “Deep Valley? Wait a minute, isn’t that from those dumb Betsy-Tacy books?”

  “They’re not dumb!” I tell her. “They’re really good. We’ve been reading them for our book club.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She gives me a look of deep disdain. “I read those back in elementary school.”

  Emma laughs uneasily. “Well, these days our club is mostly just an excuse to get together with friends, you know, Felicia? We let our moms pick the books to keep them happy.”

  I gape at her. Traitor! After she’s spent the past four months gushing about how much she loves Maud Hart Lovelace, too! Is she so worried about impressing F
elicia that she won’t even stick up for our book club?

  Before things escalate further, Jonas reaches over and opens the van door, then climbs out. “Can I give you a hand, Jess?”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, then promptly trip over my crutches in my haste to get away from Emma and Felicia.

  “Whoa, careful there,” he says, catching me and setting me down gently onto the snow-covered parking lot.

  “Um, thanks,” I tell him. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. There’s nothing like falling into the arms of some guy you barely know to make your face turn red.

  “Perfect day for skating,” he says, looking around.

  It’s true—and this is a perfect spot for it. We have a pond that we skate on back at Half Moon Farm, but Nestlenook’s is easily three or four times the size of it, and at least twice the size of the rink back in Concord. It’s also ridiculously picturesque. There’s an arched bridge that spans one of the narrow spots, and since it’s Christmas, it’s been decorated with garlands of evergreens and a big wreath with a red bow. There are Victorian gas lamps lining the pathways, and in the middle of the lake is a small island where a hut with a fireplace offers skaters a chance to warm themselves and drink hot chocolate. Plus, there are sleigh rides. It’s like something out of a Dickens novel. Or Deep Valley, no matter what Felicia thinks.

  “Mind your step,” says Jonas, handing me my crutches and watching as I place them under my armpits. “The parking lot is pretty slick.”

  The twins burst out of the second van and race for the frozen lake.

  “Boys!” calls my mother. “Watch out for other guests!”

  They ignore her, of course, and she shakes her head, then joins Emma and Felicia in trailing Jonas and me as he leads us toward one of the benches near the bridge.

  “How’s this?” he asks me.

  Catching my mother’s warning glance, I resist the urge to tell him I’m not ninety and don’t need to be hovered over. I nod, and he spreads a blanket on the bench. I lower myself down onto it, then stack my crutches underneath where they won’t be in danger of tripping anyone. Especially me. I don’t need to be catapulted into Jonas Bates’s arms again today. Once was more than enough.