A Vineyard Christmas

by Jean Stone

  The woman nodded. “Well, welcome to the Vineyard, anyway. I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before. I’m Claire Lyons. Earl’s wife.”

  A lump of golf ball proportions popped into Annie’s throat. “Oh,” she squeaked, “Earl’s terrific.” She should have said more, but the lump was in the way.

  Claire rapped on the door, startling Annie again. “You’d better move,” she said, and at first Annie thought it was a threat meant to shoo her from the island, to send her back to Boston. Then Claire pointed a long, gloved finger toward the water, and Annie saw that the SUV had driven onto the ferry and that the captain was waiting for her to board.

  * * *

  “This is precisely why some people prefer not to have babies,” Annie joked half-heartedly. She looked down at Bella, who was toying with her bottle—taking her sweet time, Murphy would have said with a laugh.

  But Annie wasn’t laughing; she was eager to get Bella fed, changed, and resettled in her safe replacement basket, which, Nancy Clieg’s grouchy personality aside, really was much nicer than the one the baby had arrived in.

  After having been startled by Earl’s wife, Annie knew she needed to get serious about finding the girl; she planned to start by spending what remained of the daylight hours scouring Chappaquiddick for clues. She decided that if she’d made no progress by the end of Christmas Day, she’d go to the police the next morning. It would be the right thing to do. Until then, she’d be giving Bella’s mother a few more days to show up. And relishing some baby time for herself.

  But Bella clearly felt no urgency. She rested in the crook of Annie’s arm and closed her eyes with disinterest. Annie had no idea if she should keep trying to feed her or assume she simply wasn’t hungry.

  “Three minutes,” Annie said in a low, but firm, voice. “If you don’t finish this in three minutes, we’re going out on our mission and pray we don’t run into Earl.” She wondered if birth mothers had more patience, if they instinctively knew the boundaries between putting their babies’ needs first and not letting them take control. She thought about the six weeks between when she’d been born and when the Suttons had taken her home. She had no recall of those weeks; she only knew she’d been removed from the hospital and placed in foster care until the paperwork was completed, until Donna MacNeish had signed the final papers, attesting that no, she did not want her baby, she had not changed her mind.

  It was a thought that, despite it being ancient history, still managed to make Annie well up.

  But there was no time for welling up right now.

  Sliding the bottle from Bella’s tiny mouth, Annie eased her to a sitting position and said, “I wonder if my foster mother had more patience than I do.”

  When she was as sure as she could be that Bella was finished, she re-bundled both of them and headed for the door, hoping to find something—like footsteps in the snow, or some sign of anyone who might be trying to hide.

  It was the kind of caper she and Murphy had liked to do. Of course, capers did not always work—like the time they’d followed Murphy’s brother-in-law, who’d claimed he was going to London by himself, without Murphy’s sister, who was his wife. Naturally, they’d suspected he was cheating . . . until he caught them, red-handed and red-faced, stalking him when he arrived back at Logan. As expected, he was not alone, though his companion was a cocker spaniel puppy that he’d traveled to England to buy as a surprise for his wife’s birthday. The women were suitably embarrassed and professed that they were ashamed, but Murphy convinced him that their hearts had been in the right place. After, they’d all laughed about it over chardonnay.

  But that was then, and this was now. In only a few minutes, Annie was gingerly driving down Chappaquiddick Road, scoping out every driveway and building she saw. She passed the community center, Pimpneymouse Farm, and the fire station, then traveled all the way to Wasque Point, which she’d heard pronounced Way-squeee by a local fisherman. The road was tightly restricted thanks to the hefty snowbanks that hugged the sides but thankfully acted as convenient cushions each time her car lost traction and swerved in the wrong direction.

  Yes, she reminded herself. Next year I will buy a more suitable vehicle. It was her first official acknowledgment that she wanted to stay on the Vineyard forever.

  But there was no time for thinking about that, either.

  When she reached the deserted strip of road that sloped down to the nature preserve that skirted the east side of the coastline, Annie stopped. She knew there were no homes out there, only piping plovers, which, like many other islanders, might have flown south for the winter.

  Though she’d once heard a tourist describe Chappy as mostly “scrub and sand dunes,” she had learned that was far from the truth. Chappaquiddick—the Wampanoag word for “island unto itself ”—was rich with sunrises and red cedar woods, rare nesting birds and white-tailed deer, unspoiled marshes and spectacular blue herons. And it was quiet. Like now, when the thick quilt of snow silenced the land, when Annie had not seen a single vehicle or a single person, let alone Bella’s young mother.

  In fact, she’d barely seen a house. Most places were set back from the road; the few that were visible seemed unoccupied, closed up for the winter, without a single column of smoke curling from a chimney or a single coal-eyed snowman standing in a yard. She wondered if Earl and Claire’s house was isolated from its neighbors.

  Propping her elbows on the steering wheel, she cupped her face with her hands and considered how, even in today’s high-tech world, it wasn’t hard to disappear. She thought about Mark, how the police had searched for him those first few weeks, then were diverted to more pressing cases. Months later, his file was converted from paper to digital, then relinquished to the cloud, or to wherever the server had sent it back then, out of sight, out of queue. “It’s not exactly a cold case,” the sergeant had explained. “But we must be realistic. It doesn’t look as if your husband wants to be found.”

  She wondered now if that were true for Bella’s mother, too.

  A soft whimper rose from the basket on the floor.

  “Bella, Bella, Bella,” Annie said. “How on earth will we ever find your mommy?”

  When she received no answer, Annie turned the car around and headed back to her cottage. She was discouraged: the next day was Monday, Christmas Eve; Tuesday would be Christmas. Wednesday would mark a full week since Bella had arrived on her porch. If the mother hadn’t returned by then, that was the day Annie had marked to bring Bella to the police. Annie worked well with deadlines, and worked in a timely manner, though at the present time, her editor might not agree with that. Nor would fans whose e-mails sat in her bulging in-box awaiting responses, or others who had noticed her lack of recent posts on social media. And though Annie was not a quitter, she knew she had to honor the deadline regarding Bella that she’d set: Wednesday, December twenty-sixth. Maybe it was because she couldn’t shake the feeling that Bella’s mother wasn’t coming back. Or maybe it was because the longer Bella stayed with her, the more Annie felt her old wounds being pried more widely open.

  Just before she reached the cottage, Annie heard Murphy whisper: It’s okay to say, “enough is enough.” Thank God; her old friend hadn’t deserted her. Annie knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Because Murphy was the only one who’d known almost all of her demons.

  “You’re right,” Annie said. “As usual.” She supposed she could take some solace in having tried to do the right thing by honoring the young mother’s request, by waiting those “couple of days.” She did know she was grateful that she hadn’t been caught or been arrested. Yet.

  But seconds later, when she pulled down her driveway, Annie saw Earl’s pickup. And then she saw him, sitting on her porch.

  * * *

  Earl stood up and meandered toward the Lexus in his slow, lumbering gait. As he grew closer, Annie felt her cheeks flush. Had his wife told him about Bella? He would never believe that Annie was babysitting for a friend: he knew that the only other f
riend she’d made on the island so far was Winnie. And he’d know that Winnie’s clan would hardly need someone to babysit because, first, they did not have a baby, and second, if they did, they had plenty of relatives to take care of one of their own.

  She turned off the car and shifted into park, her eyes never leaving the red-and-black wool jacket that was moving closer. She was reminded of the time her father had caught her smoking outside Brigham’s Ice Cream, where the kids liked to hang out until the manager shooed them away. How was she to know her father would have picked that night to stop on the way home from his lodge meeting for a pint of rum raisin—her mother’s favorite? Annie had simply been trying to be cool, standing with her friend Lisbeth, talking with the boys who were seniors at the high school where she and Lisbeth were only sophomores. She’d never dreamed her dad would show up . . . never dreamed that he’d walk past the group and make eye contact with her. He did not say a word, not then, not until she got home and he sauntered up the sidewalk in front of their house to greet her the way Earl was sauntering toward her now. She wondered if Earl would say he was disappointed in her, the way that her father had, the way that had left her in tears and more upset than if he’d grounded her.

  But Annie was over fifty now, not fifteen. And Earl was her friend, not her father. She straightened her spine and wondered why it was that the child within often remained there, teasing the adult with unsteady emotion anytime certain buttons were rebooted. Murphy once said it was so shrinks could make a living.

  Earl stopped a few feet from the car.

  Annie opened the door and got out.

  “Been off island?” he asked.

  She dropped the keys into her pocket. She closed the door quietly behind her. “Yes. Off this island, anyway. I was in Aquinnah. Up at Winnie’s.” At least her heart wasn’t thumping like a racehorse at the gate.

  “Well, you know, Chappy’s technically no longer an island,” he said. “Not since the breech was closed in 2015. It broke open again later that winter, but by the following January it had filled in again.”

  It might have amused Annie to listen to Earl’s small talk if it weren’t for that infernal elephant in the room, which, in this case, was a baby in the car. “That’s right,” she replied, “I forgot. But I had a wonderful time with Winnie and her family. I spent the night there. They’re such a fun-loving family.” She wondered how long she should leave Bella in the car with the door closed and the windows up. It was a far cry from summer, but did cold weather affect a sleeping baby the same way excessive heat did? Thankfully, Bella hadn’t been on the porch long enough that first night for Annie to find out.

  “Yup. They’re a good bunch,” he replied. “Done a lot for the tribe.”

  Annie shifted on one foot, then the other, then averted Earl’s eyes altogether. She wondered if he expected her to invite him inside for coffee. Or cinnamon rolls. He wasn’t usually there this late in the day. Yes, she decided, Claire must have told him. Maybe, with a little luck, he’d let Annie mind her own business. “So,” she said, “I guess I can still get some work done before nightfall.” She looked up at the sky as if searching for inspiration.

  “Writing the book?”

  She nodded. “I’m finally getting somewhere with it.” In addition to telling Nancy Clieg that Winnie had said the basket wasn’t up to her standards, and to telling Claire that she was babysitting for a friend, Annie had now told three lies in the same day. That did not feel terrific.

  Earl scratched at what looked like a two-day growth of whiskers on his chin. Then he said, “Do you read it to her?”

  Annie gulped. “What?” Her voice came out in a whisper.

  “To that baby in your car. Do you read what you’re writing to her? It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

  She bit her lip. “Well. Yes. But no. I don’t read it to her. She’s just a baby.” There was no sense pretending Bella wasn’t on the floor of the Lexus. But Earl didn’t need to know the details. Did he?

  Trying to act innocent, Annie strolled to the passenger side, her thoughts clanging together.What would she do if he asked for proof that Bella belonged there? She had the note, but would that be enough? He hardly knows you. He only met you a few months ago. How would he know she didn’t have a sister or a relative who needed help with babysitting? Then Annie remembered: He’d know because over coffee one morning, she’d told him she was alone in the world. A grown-up orphan with no siblings and no close—or even distant—relations. And that her best friend had just died. She hadn’t mentioned her birth mother, because Annie didn’t think the woman counted. And besides, she might be dead now, too.

  She pulled on the handle and opened the door. Stay cool, she thought. You’ve done nothing wrong.

  But she felt his eyes on her as she reached inside.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  That’s when she realized he had quietly moved and was now standing directly behind her. And that his voice was patient and kind, much like her father’s had been. Though she mostly talked to Murphy these days, she thought about her dad a lot, too. She’d been closer to him than to her mom, especially after the incident with the vice principal. Love, she knew, never really left the heart or the mind.

  She wondered what her father would advise her to say. Would he be disappointed in her for what she’d been trying to do? Then Annie looked down at Bella, whose eyes were wide open, looking brightly around as if searching for something . . . or someone. When her sight landed on Annie, she broke into a big smile. For the second day in a row, Annie began to cry. “I do,” she whispered to Earl. “I really do need help.”

  Earl walked around her, leaned down, and hoisted the basket from the floor of the car. Without saying a word, he trudged back to the porch and let himself into the house. Annie closed the car door, wiped her eyes, and followed his tracks up to the porch.

  Chapter 8

  “Well,” Earl said, when she’d finished sharing Bella’s story, “how ’bout that.”

  Annie laughed with relief. “You sound like Winnie.” She’d put hot water on for tea, though she probably had drunk enough up island. She’d then picked Bella up and was still holding her, had been holding her the whole time that she’d talked, guarding her, she supposed, keeping her close as if Earl might want to snatch her and whisk her off to the police.

  “Claire said she met you at the On Time.”

  “I did. She was very nice. But I lied to her, Earl. I said I was babysitting for a friend.” Annie liked Earl. Despite her guilt, she trusted him. It wasn’t only because he sometimes reminded her of her dad; it was also because of all he’d done for her since she’d arrived. How he’d gone out of his way to show her that, beneath its celebrity and its beauty, the Vineyard was really about good neighbors in a caring community. But Annie didn’t know if she could also trust his wife, who had eyed Annie with suspicion. Or maybe Annie’s conscience had made her think that.

  “I have no idea why the young woman picked me,” she continued. “For one thing, I know nothing about babies. Maybe my cottage was the first place she found during the storm where she could tell a fire was burning in the woodstove, and that someone was living here, probably safe and warm. Or at least safer and warmer than she and Bella were right then.” She stood up. “Care to take her while I fix the tea?” She needed the reminder that she trusted him.

  “You bet,” Earl said, extending his arms. “Been a while since I’ve held one of these beauties.”

  “I learned pretty quickly that they don’t break. Which was really good news to me.”

  He took over while Annie filled two mugs, set them on the table, then put a few chocolate chip cookies on a plate.

  “So what’s your plan now?” he asked as he swiftly moved Bella to his left arm and helped himself to a cookie. He was clearly a father and a grandfather, comfortable with a baby in his arms. Her dad would have loved holding a baby, too, if she and Brian had only known the urgency for them to have one before he and, soon afte
r, her dad died.

  She sat again, with so many feelings spinning together. “I thought I’d wait until the day after Christmas. If Bella’s mother isn’t back by then, or if I haven’t found her, I’ll go to the police. Part of me—the novelist part that always secretly longs for a happy ending—hopes that because of all the fa-la-la of the holiday, the young woman will feel sentimental and will come back for her. There’s probably a better chance of that than of me finding her. Because if she’s still here on Chappy, I’m afraid she’s well-hidden.”

  Earl chewed, swallowed, took a big gulp of tea. “If you want, I can check with the ferry captains. See if any of them remember if a young woman came over with a baby, then crossed back alone. It might sound like a long shot, but they know everyone who lives on Chappy year-round. Anyone who doesn’t belong sticks out like a sore thumb. We might at least learn if she’s still here, or if she’s gone back to the main island or to wherever she’s from, to take care of some other, more pressing business. As if anything could be more pressing than this.” He snorted sarcastically at his last remark, then wiggled his little finger until Bella grasped it.

  Annie wanted to tell him she’d be grateful if he talked to the captains, but her stomach started to churn. She broke a corner off a cookie and took a small bite. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m afraid if you ask anyone, it will set off an alert that something dreadful has happened . . . that a mysterious young woman left a baby here. I think they’d feel obligated to contact the police right away.”

  “Good point. Well, then, will you at least let my Claire help out? She’d love to have a little one around. Even if it’s only for a couple of days.”

  Annie didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t like Claire—good grief, she did not even know her—but she had to think about Bella first. “I’m sorry, Earl. I’m just so worried that the more people I involve . . . well, that it will drag them into this and make them partly responsible, too. If I get into trouble for not turning Bella over right away, I’d hate to make anyone else an accomplice.” She thought that sounded plausible without hurting his feelings. Then she smiled. “Of course, I guess present company is now excepted.”