A Vineyard Christmas

by Jean Stone

  “You let me worry about my wife. We’ve been married almost fifty years. I know how to handle her.”

  “But won’t it be worse if Bella’s mother comes to the cottage and sees that no one’s there? That wouldn’t be fair, would it? I mean, wouldn’t she freak out? Wouldn’t you, if you were in her shoes?”

  “First of all, I would never be in her shoes, and neither would you. We have more sense than to do what she did. Second, I don’t give a crap if she freaks out. She got herself into this mess; it’s her own fault. Let her worry about where the baby might be. It might get her to think twice about what she’s done.”

  But Annie shook her head. “I don’t know, Earl. It just doesn’t seem right.”

  He turned down North Neck Road, the light from his headlights skimming over what was left of the snow. “We could go over to the Littlefields’ now, but, frankly, I’m too tired for confrontation. But that’s the other piece of my plan. When I bring you home in the morning we’ll pay her a visit. In the daylight. When it’s safer. We’ll see if she’s been there all along. I said we because I’m going with you. If this girl is a nutcase, I’m not going to let you meet her alone.”

  “But we don’t even know if she’s there.”

  “Oh, I think you were right. It’s the only place I know of on this road that doesn’t have an alarm system. And, like I said before, that driveway never gets plowed anymore. Not to mention that people on the island who find themselves homeless always know where to go. As old as I am, I’ve never figured out how that happens, but it does. Maybe she knew, or maybe it was a good guess. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ll check it out—together—in the light of day, and get whatever needs to be done, done. We can’t have everyone falling in love with this little baby only to have her shuttled off to a foster home as if none of us cares.” He pulled down Annie’s driveway and turned off the truck. “Now, go get your things.”

  Annie sat for a moment, contemplating all that Earl had said. Then she sighed. “There’s something else I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Taylor came by this morning. She pretended she was looking for my cat.”

  “You don’t have a cat.”

  “I know that. But remember when we ran into her the other day and you told her my cat had run away? Well, she came to tell me the Flanagans wouldn’t let me have one, that it would have been in my lease. That if I get caught, I could get evicted.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “It seemed odd that she’d stopped by to tell me when she could have mentioned it last night.”

  Earl toyed with his keys. “She smells a rat. I should have known she would. She’s a smart cookie. Not to mention that she’s always had a crush on John. My bet is she sees you as competition for his affections. She’ll probably do whatever it takes to get you off the island.”

  “Seriously?” Annie asked. “Seriously?”

  “Yup. Which makes it all the more important for us to get this mess sorted out in the morning. Now, go get your things.”

  Annie knew not to argue any more: her dad had taught her the importance of knowing when to stop. No point in picking up a book to read if someone’s turned off the lights, he liked to say. Which, of course, had been before the advent of e-books. In any event, Annie did as she was told now; she figured the fact that both Earl and Claire now cared about Bella, too, could work in her favor once she finally told the truth. Later, she’d contemplate Earl’s suspicion that Taylor might be jealous.

  * * *

  Bella woke up early in the morning, so, naturally, Annie did, too. After quickly dressing, she changed the baby, scooped her up, and tiptoed downstairs, hoping they hadn’t awakened Earl or Claire. Or John, who’d decided to sleep on the pullout sofa in Earl’s man cave because he didn’t have to work again until midnight on Wednesday.

  Claire had been surprisingly kind when Annie and Earl had returned the night before. She agreed with Earl that Annie and Bella should not be expected to sleep in a house without electricity. “This isn’t the nineteen fifties, after all,” she said. From that comment, Annie had deduced that some homes on Chappaquiddick hadn’t had power back then.

  After instructing John—as if he were a teenager—to clean the junk out of his room and change the linens, Claire had heated a bottle for Bella and made a cup of tea for Annie.

  Yes, she had been kind, which might have surprised Winnie, but it had seemed genuine. It was also why Annie felt terrible when she reached the foot of the stairs, rounded the corner, walked into the kitchen, and found Claire standing in her bathrobe, looking outside at a cardinal perched atop a tree branch.

  “Oh,” Annie whispered. “I’m so sorry we woke you up. I was afraid of that.”

  But when Claire turned, she looked wide awake, almost glowing in the early light. “Nonsense! I’m an early riser. I was up long before you two girls!” She laughed, so Annie did, too. “Coffee?”

  Bella wriggled in Annie’s arms. “First, I think Bella wants food.”

  “Let me feed her,” Claire replied. “Please?”

  “As long as you’re offering . . .” Annie handed her the baby, took the bottle Bella hadn’t finished the night before from the refrigerator, and set it in a pan of water on the stove to warm. Then she moved to the window. “What a peaceful morning. I’ve never been off the main road on this side of Chappy.”

  “I used to walk down to the water every morning. Now my back won’t let me do that. Doc Ellis says I have to stick with yoga and Pilates—the kind of exercise that announces to the world that you’re old. Not that I need a public proclamation. But I do take classes at the Council on Aging. Sometimes, it’s even fun.” As she spoke, she rubbed Bella’s back, turning the baby’s soft cries into little murmurs.

  “My mom had back issues, too. That was before they recommended any kind of exercise. She mostly sat inside and suffered.”

  “Are you a walker?”

  “I used to enjoy it. But other than walking back and forth to the On Time once in a while, since I’ve been here, I seem to be too busy.”

  Claire nodded toward the window. “Now’s the best time of day. Go ahead. Have a nice walk. I’ll take care of Bella.”

  Annie almost hesitated, then decided that was foolish. Claire would take good care of the baby. Or she’d have Earl to answer to. “Actually,” she replied, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll wait for coffee until I come back.”

  She found her coat and pulled on her hat and gloves. Claire directed her toward “the best path down to Wasque,” and Annie headed out.

  The morning was spectacular.The sun wasn’t as glorious as the day before, but it cast a mellow peace over the earth. Small mounds of snow still huddled here and there among the scrub oaks, and the silence—the stillness—was like nothing Annie had ever heard. Or, rather, had not heard.

  She made her way along a sandy path that twisted through the mini forest. It was carpeted with damp brown leaves—they seemed to have lost their crispness of autumn, no doubt from being tossed by winds and drenched with rain and snow. She was glad that, when Earl had brought her home the night before, she’d changed out of her ballet flats and into her boots and out of her cashmere and into her jeans.

  It felt wonderful to walk. Annie had never thought of herself as much of an outdoorswoman. When she’d been a Girl Scout, she’d had fun when they’d gone camping, though the best part had been the ritual of sitting by the campfire, eating s’mores, and making up stories. But there was something about the Vineyard—the light, the land, the sea—that felt different. Peaceful. Whole. Even the blizzard hadn’t frightened her the way the snow often had in Boston, when it made her claustrophobic, with neighbors upstairs, downstairs, and on both sides, and with the buildings squished too close together. Even the spacious apartment that she and Mark had lived in had made her feel squeezed in. She wondered now if it had been her marriage and not the rest that had been choking her.

  The truth was, the only real thing that frightened Annie no
w was that Bella’s mother was stalking her. She could deal with Taylor—or could leave it to Earl to deal with her. But if Bella’s mother had changed her mind and wanted her baby back, why was she acting so secretive? So . . . creepy? What was she hiding?

  The wind picked up; Annie pulled her hat over her ears. She was growing tired of trying to figure out what had been going on in the young woman’s mind.

  Turning around the next bend, she saw the Atlantic Ocean stretched out before her. The water glimmered its winter indigo; waves curled toward the shoreline in their endless, graceful dance. Annie stopped, watched, and breathed. Murphy had often said that everyone, in every moment, is exactly where she or he needs to be. Standing in the quiet, listening to the ocean’s symphony, Annie certainly could not dispute that theory. Until she heard footsteps approach from behind.

  * * *

  She didn’t know if she should turn around or run. If she weren’t in boots, she’d be faster on her feet. Her hands started to tremble inside her mittens. Maybe it’s just a squirrel, she told herself until she remembered that Earl once told her there were no squirrels on Chappy. Maybe it was the hawk that had been trying to get the chickens at the Alvord place. But she had no idea where the Alvord place was, and she didn’t know whether or not a hawk was the kind of predator she’d want to come up against.Would it be worse than Bella’s mother?

  The footsteps grew louder, closer, sounding more . . . human.

  She stiffened her shoulders so they were square and straight, the way her mother had taught her to do when, at twelve, Annie had begun to slouch because she’d grown taller than the boys in seventh grade. “Remember to stand straight as an arrow!” her mother barked every morning that year when she sent her off to school. Her dad explained that straight shoulders showed confidence. And that confidence would get her far in life.

  If Bella’s mother was sneaking up on her, Annie knew she needed confidence. She had to remember she was the one in control. After all, she was the one who had the baby.

  Besides, maybe it was only Taylor. Surely, Annie could deal with her. Unless she was there to threaten Annie, too. Again.

  Then, because she had convinced herself she was capable of taking control of the situation, Annie spun around with confidence—and came face-to-face with John.

  She screamed.

  He laughed.

  Her hand flew to her throat. She looked away.

  He touched her hand and said, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just out for a run.”

  Was he? she wondered. Really?

  “Didn’t you hear me coming?”

  She turned back to the water; he pulled his hand away. “You could have warned me,” she said. “Called out my name or something.”

  “I didn’t see you until I came around that last curve. Jeez, Annie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the jumpy type.”

  What type do you think I am? she wanted to ask. Instead she shook her head. “It’s okay. You startled me, that’s all. I was deep in thought, mesmerized by the ocean.”

  He moved to stand beside her. “Yup. The prettiest place on earth, if you ask me. ’Course, those who live up island think the cliffs are the prettiest. And those in Menemsha think their harbor’s the prettiest. And on it goes.” He was a good five or six inches taller than she was; it had been a long, long time since Annie had wanted to lean against a man’s chest the way she wanted to do right then.

  “And on it goes,” she echoed.

  “So what were you thinking about?” he asked.

  You don’t want to know, she thought. Or maybe you do. But I’m not going to tell you. Yet. She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Nothing much. Life.”

  “I thought you were going to say you were thinking about the book you’re writing.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, that, too, I suppose.” Or the e-mails she’d yet to answer. Or the social media tidbits she’d yet to post. Any of those would have provided a believable answer, if only she’d thought of them.

  “How’s the writing going, anyway? There are so many writers and artists on the Vineyard, but I’ve never talked to any. Except maybe in the summers, when I’ve doled out my fair share of speeding tickets. I don’t suppose asking, Do you know how fast you were going? could be considered conversation.”

  She laughed, grateful that her heart had resumed its normal pace. “Probably not.”

  “So,” he said, “do you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

  The fact that she’d been startled when he’d come up from behind her did not compare with the way she felt right then. Literally speaking, they’d had dinner together the day before. And the night before that. Was he asking her on a date? Could she do that? Could she go out with him and pretend she wasn’t hiding a great big secret? And worse, what would Taylor do if she found out? “I . . . I don’t know,” she finally answered.

  He shrugged. “Nothing fancy. Something casual. Like the Newes? Then again, most people know me there, which might make you uncomfortable. We might be better off to head to Vineyard Haven to the Copper Wok. Which is no guarantee I won’t get sidetracked. Or we could go up island to . . . shit. Nothing’s open up island now ’til spring. Then again, you haven’t said you’d go, so I guess it’s what you might call premature to pick a restaurant.”

  She thought about it. Briefly. As tempting as the offer was, how could she go out with him? How could she go anywhere with a man who might need to arrest her in a few short hours? “No,” she said abruptly.

  Silence cut the air.

  “No?”

  Maybe he wasn’t accustomed to having a woman turn him down. “I’m sorry, John. It’s just not a good time for me.”

  He nodded briefly. “No problem. I understand.” He shrugged and waved, then ran off in the direction from where she supposed he’d come.

  “Idiot,” came Murphy’s whisper from somewhere in the scrub oaks.

  * * *

  By the time Annie got back to Earl and Claire’s, John’s truck was gone. Earl was up and dressed, sitting at the table eating scrambled eggs and toast; Claire was sitting, holding Bella, whispering to her. Annie was not in the mood to smile.

  Earl gestured toward the stove. “Help yourself to coffee. And there’s more eggs in the pan. I asked Claire if she minded keeping the little one here while we go into town. You said you have errands; so do I. Might as well go together. Is that okay with you?”

  Errands? Oh, right. She supposed that checking out the possibility that Bella’s mother had been—was still—living next door to the cottage might be considered an errand. If the girl wasn’t there, maybe Earl would drive Annie to the police station and get this over with. At least John wouldn’t be working, so she would not have to face him. Which, unlike how she’d felt earlier, would no doubt be better. Quicker. Less entangled. After all, he must think she was strange enough already.

  “I’m not hungry now,” she said, “but thanks. And yes, I need to go into town. If you’re sure you don’t mind sitting with Bella, Claire? It would make things easier for me.” Since Annie had left to take her walk, Claire had clearly found the time to shower, dress, fix her hair, and put the baby in the clean onesie that Annie had packed the night before.

  “Do I mind?” Claire asked. “I wouldn’t mind in a million years. This one is a sweetheart.”

  Earl brought his dishes to the sink. “Okay then, we’d best get going to avoid the after-Christmas rush.”

  Annie pretended to laugh because she knew it was a joke. With the holiday over and the tourists long gone—the last of whom no doubt had departed on the Grey Lady after Christmas in Edgartown—the Vineyard was desolate. Even, as she’d just learned, up island, where the restaurants were closed until spring.

  Chapter 17

  Annie convinced Earl to let her stop at the cottage and pick up some Christmas cookies for Bella’s mother. “I want her know that we come in peace.”

  A slight guffaw urped from his throat, but he pulled into her
driveway anyway. She ran inside, dropped half a dozen candy cane cookies into a plastic sandwich bag, and stuck a bow on top.Then she raised her eyes and said, “Murphy, I need a little help now, okay? Even though you think I’m an idiot?”

  Back outside, Earl was standing next to the truck. “I think we should walk over. Otherwise, we might scare her off. In fact, we can cut through. I found a path that runs from the Flanagans’ property to the Littlefields’.”

  “Which must be how she’s come back and forth.”

  “More than likely.”

  Of course, that still didn’t answer the questions of how she’d known where Annie lived in the first place, or why she’d picked her out of the hundreds or more women who stayed on the Vineyard in winter, most of whom were no doubt imminently more qualified to take care of a baby than she was.

  Earl led the way. They ducked under a few trees and pushed back some brush, but the path definitely provided a gateway between the two land parcels. Once they reached the other side, Annie was stunned to see that, from the water, what looked like a magnificent place, had, as Earl had hinted, fallen into disrepair. Shingles, tree limbs, and litter were scattered across the lawn like seaweed and debris that had ridden in with the tide and had been left on the shore to rot. A hemline of shrubbery skirted the foundation of the house; bushes that once must have been lush were skeletal, remnants of snow clinging to their naked twigs. A broken rose trellis was slumped over, as if it had been shot.

  “Wow,” Earl said in a low voice, “it’s worse than I thought.”

  “Now I understand why the driveway wasn’t plowed. You were right: no one seems to care about any of it.”