“I appreciate your loyalty, Molly, I really do, but it hurts me that you won’t even listen to what he might have to say to you. I’ve forgiven him. Why can’t you?”
Molly withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want you to feel bad, but I just can’t.”
Nell decided to drop the subject of reconciliation. To the young, the world was black-and-white. The young were notoriously unsympathetic and couldn’t be expected to be otherwise.
“You’re still going ahead with your plans?” she said instead.
“Nothing has changed overnight, Mom.”
“All right. But since you confided in me in the first place I’m asking you to hear me out.”
Molly nodded. “I guess I can’t stop you.”
“No,” Nell said. “You can’t. Molly, there are a lot of good reasons to end a relationship, and a lot of bad ones, too. Be very certain breaking up is what you want to do. Some mistakes can’t be corrected.” And I should know, Nell added silently, glancing at the newspaper on the table. Eric Manville.
Molly sighed. “I know that, Mom. I do. It’s just that I don’t want to be someone who gives up her life just to be a wife and mother, and that’s what will happen if I marry Mick. I’ll be . . . I’ll be consumed by Mick and his parents and the farm. I’ll be Molly Williams of Williams Family Farm. I won’t have any identity apart from them. I won’t be me.”
“You could look at the situation and see servitude rather than a partnership,” Nell agreed. “But I think you’re being unfair in assuming that Mick would be unwilling to respect your concerns. You block out all sort of possibilities when you assume someone is going to react a certain way.”
“He won’t understand my position,” Molly replied flatly.
“He loves you,” Nell insisted. “Even if he doesn’t understand at first, he’ll try to understand. I know he will.”
“You can’t know that.”
Nell sighed. “Okay, maybe I can’t. But sometimes it’s wiser to cherish what you have instead of tossing it aside for some unknown, supposedly better thing. Sometimes what you really want is right in front of you. You just have to blink a few times to clear the smoke other people are blowing in your face.”
“No one is blowing smoke in my face, and I’m not going to change my mind, Mom. There’s nothing new for me with Mick. I know exactly what he’s going to say and do next. He’s so predictable. How can I spend the rest of my life with someone I know better than I know myself?”
“Just because you think you know someone doesn’t mean he won’t surprise you,” Nell said carefully. “We all change over time. We surprise each other and ourselves over and over again.”
“Did Dad surprise you when he said he was leaving you for his mistress?”
For a moment Nell wasn’t quite sure how to answer honestly. “He did surprise me,” she said finally. “But maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe I should have seen certain signs beforehand. But this conversation is not about your father and me. This is about you and Mick. What about the silver money clip you were planning on giving him for Christmas? You can’t give it to him and then end the relationship.”
“I’ll return it. I’ll get something less personal.”
“You can’t return it. It’s monogrammed with both your initials.”
“It’s just a thing, Mom,” Molly cried. “Why are you getting all worked up about a thing?”
“I’m not getting all worked up,” Nell protested. And then she sighed. She suddenly felt exhausted. “How was dinner at the Williamses’ last night?” she asked wearily.
Molly got up from the table. “Fine. I’ve got to go to class.”
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I’m okay. I’ll see you later.”
And then she was gone. Nell sighed again. She doubted the evening had been “fine.” Even if Mick and Gus hadn’t picked up on anything amiss in Molly’s mood, Mary Williams must have sensed that something was wrong. Women usually did, especially when it in some way involved their children.
So why didn’t I sense that something was troubling Molly? Nell wondered guiltily. Have I been so obsessed with the idea of my own impending loneliness that I’ve been ignoring signs of trouble brewing in the here and now?
Nell opened the newspaper again. She stared at Eric Manville’s image, and for a moment she had the distinct and disturbing feeling that he was looking back at her, about to speak to her, about to say . . . Nell abruptly closed the paper and shook her head. She had to keep her wits about her this Christmas if she was to provide her daughters with an experience they would never, ever forget.
Even when they were long gone from Yorktide.
Chapter 7
“Hey, did you see in the paper this morning that Eric Manville is doing a reading at the Bookworm?” Jill asked. “He’s such a big name I can’t understand why his publisher would waste their time sending him to Yorktide in the middle of winter.”
Nell, who was stirring a bowl that contained large quantities of butter, sugar, and eggs, nodded. “I saw the announcement,” she said. And without forethought she added, “I knew him once, you know.”
“No,” Jill said. “I didn’t know. When?”
Nell stopped stirring the batter. She hadn’t planned on sharing her secret, but the events of the last twenty-four hours had rattled her. Why not, she thought. What does it matter now? “I’ve never told this to anyone before,” she said. “Eric and I met in college and fell in love. We were going to get married. I was going to be a poet. At the time, Eric had no idea what he wanted to do with his life other than to . . . Other than to be with me.”
Jill sank into a seat at the table. “Wow,” she said. “This is huge. What happened?”
Nell sighed. “I broke it off. I allowed my parents to talk me out of the relationship. They had a different path in mind for me, one that didn’t involve someone they saw as a dreamer with no real direction.”
“A path that did involve Joel King?” Jill asked shrewdly.
“Yes. But to Joel’s credit he wasn’t complicit in my parents’ campaign. All he knew was that I’d once had a friend named Eric Manville.” Nell began to stir the batter again. “I’ll never forget this,” she went on. “Years later, after Eric had shot to fame, we were having dinner and one of the girls was gushing about the young actor in the movie version of one of his books. Joel turned to me and said something like, ‘You knew that guy back in college, didn’t you? I bet you wish you’d married him instead of me.’ It was a joke, but it hit a sore spot.”
“I’ll say. So, do you regret not marrying Eric Manville?” Jill asked.
“Yes,” Nell said. “I do regret not marrying Eric, but I don’t regret marrying Joel. Without Joel I would never have had Molly and Felicity. And Joel was a good husband until he wasn’t. He treated me well, though after the fact I realized he’d regarded me more as a junior partner than as an equal. But maybe I had something to do with establishing that dynamic.”
Jill shook her head. “You’re the most forgiving ex-wife I’ve ever known.”
Nell thought about that observation for a moment. She had indeed long ago forgiven Joel for betraying their marriage vows. Not that his leaving had been anything like a relief; it had come as a total and horrifying shock. But it hadn’t destroyed her, and it wasn’t too long before she understood why. Joel wasn’t Eric. He had never touched her in the way Eric Manville had. She had never fully given Joel her heart, so there had been no way for him to break it.
“I forgave him for the sake of my children,” Nell said finally. It wasn’t a lie, just not the entire truth.
“And you really never told anyone about this long-ago romance?” Jill asked.
“No,” Nell admitted. “My parents, of course, never mentioned the name Eric Manville after I broke things off with him, especially not after he became famous. They had been entirely wrong about him, and no doubt it rankled.”
“Good,” Jill said fir
mly. “They should feel rotten for butting in. So, are you going to go to the reading at the Bookworm?”
“I want to,” Nell said, “but I’m scared. I haven’t seen Eric since just before we graduated, and it wasn’t a happy scene. Just looking at his photo in the paper I felt kind of dizzy and disoriented.”
“I could go with you for moral support,” Jill suggested. “And you don’t have to go up to him afterwards.”
“I suppose.”
“Still, if you do decide to go, you should ask yourself what you expect to get out of the encounter. I mean, it wouldn’t be wise to harbor a fantasy of his taking you in his arms and declaring undying love.”
Nell laughed. “Undying love! I have absolutely no hope or expectation of that.”
“Okay. But a lot of memories might be stirred up. I think you should be prepared to feel sad. Just saying.”
“And yet you think I should go to the reading?” Nell asked.
Jill shook her head. “I think it’s your decision to make. And what was that about your being a poet? What happened there?”
“Nothing,” Nell said firmly. “Nothing.”
A clattering of heels racing down the stairs announced that Felicity was making her way to the kitchen.
“Don’t say anything about what I just told you,” Nell whispered. Jill nodded just as Felicity appeared in the doorway.
“I was just reading fondue recipes online,” she announced. “The hotel we’re staying at in Switzerland next Christmas serves traditional fondue made with Gruyère and Emmentaler and white wine and kirsch. Yum. I think I’ll order that every night.”
“You might get bored,” Nell said lamely.
“Not to mention clog your arteries,” Jill said with an arched eyebrow.
Felicity shrugged. “I’m young. My arteries don’t matter yet. So, Mom, what are we having for dinner? That casserole you made last week really was awesome, the one with celeriac and parsnips and the breadcrumbs on top. Can we have that again soon?”
Nell smiled. “Sure. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Well,” Jill announced rising from the table. “I’m off. One of my former employees and I are going to see the new zombie film and then have dinner at the Chinese place on Route One.”
Nell shuddered. “I don’t know how you can watch that sort of thing. I caught The Walking Dead once for about a minute and had nightmares for weeks. But have fun.”
Jill left with an assurance that she would have fun, and Nell began to form the dough she had been working on into one-inch balls.
“What’s that for?” Felicity asked, pointing to a large folded piece of sky-blue felt that sat on the table next to a hot glue gun, a craft knife, a pair of super sharp scissors, and a stack of cardstock.
“I’m not quite sure,” Nell admitted. “Either bookmarks in the shape of snowflakes or finger puppets in the shape of angels.”
Felicity laughed. “Maybe you should quit your job at the vet’s and become a kindergarten teacher! Well, I’m going to call Pam. I want to ask her about what sort of ski equipment I need to bring with me and what sort I can rent at the resort.”
Felicity loped from the kitchen, leaving Nell alone with her baking. There was no sound but the low whirring of the oven and the distant ticking of the miniature grandfather clock in the living room. Nell glanced toward the stack of cookbooks lined on a shelf by the fridge. In her copy of Sarah Leah Chase’s Cold Weather Cooking she had secreted the Bookworm’s ad for Eric Manville’s reading. Nell bit her lip. She wanted to drop what she was doing and stare hard at the image of her first and only love. But she resisted the urge. There was the baking to finish and dinner to prepare. Those were the more important things.
Chapter 8
“What are you baking today, Mom?” Felicity asked the next morning, taking a seat at the kitchen table with a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of juice.
Nell looked up from her breakfast. “How did you know I was planning to bake?” she asked.
“Because every single day this month you’ve baked cookies or tarts or bars.”
“Don’t forget pies and cakes and breads,” Molly added.
“I haven’t baked every single day,” Nell protested.
“Yup,” Felicity said. “Well, okay, there was that one day you had a migraine and didn’t get out of bed, but other than that . . .”
“Don’t you find coming home to the smell of gingerbread and cinnamon and chocolate comforting?”
Felicity shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I guess.”
“Good. Today I thought I’d make Linzer sandwich cookies and pfeffernüse. But I have to pop out to the store first because I’m out of powdered sugar.”
“I’m not surprised you’re out of powdered sugar,” Molly said, pouring more coffee into her cup. “The way you were mounding it on those butter cookies yesterday.”
Felicity frowned. “Mom, how much money are you spending on all this stuff?”
“We’re perfectly within budget,” Nell said, a bit defensively.
Felicity got up from the table and went to the small pantry off the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a precariously balanced stack of cookie tins. “There’s no way we can eat all of this! Let me bring a few of these tins to one of the local food banks.”
“And I can make up a basket to take to school,” Molly added. “The admin staff in the psych department will appreciate it.”
Nell felt a little bit foolish. She also felt a little bit angry, a feeling she knew was not justified. “Sure,” she said with feigned nonchalance. “Take what you want.”
The doorbell sounded, and Nell got to her feet. “I’ll get it,” she said. A moment later she opened the front door to find Molly’s boyfriend.
“Mick,” she said with the automatic smile the sight of the young man always summoned. “Come in.”
Mick followed Nell into the house. It was the first time Nell had seen him since Molly’s announcement that she was ending the relationship, and now, after the first flush of pleasure at his presence, Nell felt almost as if she were the one betraying him.
“Morning Mrs. King,” Mick said. “I’m sorry it’s so early, but I’ve been up since four with one of the cows. We almost lost her back in the autumn to bloat, and ever since then I’ve been keeping a super close eye on her. My father thinks I’m being too cautious but, well, Mabel is one of my favorites.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” Nell told him. “You’re always welcome.” And then she realized that before too much longer Mick would not indeed be welcome at the King home, and she felt even more duplicitous.
“I thought I heard your voice!” Felicity came dashing into the living room, followed more slowly by her sister, and threw herself into Mick’s arms.
“Ooof!” Mick said with a laugh.
Mick Williams was a tall, broad-shouldered young man, powerfully built and the proverbial picture of health, from his ruddy cheeks to his thick, sandy hair. He was a person of common sense and practicality, yet not without a sensitive soul. Nell felt her heart break watching his face light up as he gave Molly a kiss.
“What’s that?” Molly asked.
From the gift bag Mick held he extracted a scroll tied with a red ribbon. “This,” he said, handing the scroll to Molly, “is an illustrated copy of the lyrics to ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas.’ On each of the twelve days between now and Christmas I’m going to bring you a present.” Mick reached into the bag again and removed a wrapped package about four inches square. “Here’s today’s present,” he said, “and on Christmas there’s going to be a really big surprise.”
“What’s the surprise?” Felicity asked excitedly.
Mick laughed. “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise!”
“I promise I won’t tell Molly. Just whisper it to me.”
Molly scowled at her sister. “Fliss, stop it.”
“It’s all right,” Mick said good-naturedly. Then he kissed Molly on the cheek. “I’ve got to run,” he
said. “’Bye, Mrs. King, bye, Felicity.”
“Goodbye, Mick,” Nell said. She closed the door behind him and turned to her daughters.
“You know, the twelve days of Christmas are the ones after the twenty-fifth,” Felicity pointed out. “Still, what Mick’s doing is sweet. Don’t you think it’s sweet, Molly?”
Molly nodded. Her expression had become alarmingly blank.
“So, what’s in the package?” Nell asked.
Molly looked down at the package in her hand as if she wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. Slowly she unwrapped it. “It’s a pack of Partridge Family collectible cards,” she said. “For a partridge in a pear tree, I guess.”
“Cool,” Felicity said. “They might be valuable if they’re originals from the seventies. Mick’s awesome. Well, I’ll be late for school if I don’t get out of here now. Bye!”
Felicity grabbed her coat and bag from where they were flung over the back of an easy chair and hurried from the house. Nell waited for her older daughter to speak.
“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” Molly said finally.
“What?” Nell asked. “Treating you well? You’ve got to talk to him, Molly. It would be cruel to let him carry on with some grand romantic scheme when you’re planning to break up with him.”
Molly didn’t reply. She put the stack of collectible cards on an end table.
Nell sighed. “Have you thought about how breaking up with Mick will affect your relationship with Gus and Mary?”
“What do you mean?” Molly asked.
“Well, if you’re going to end things with Mick you’ll be ending your relationship with his parents, too. Maybe years down the line relations could be amicable, but you certainly won’t be having dinner with them once a week like you’ve been doing for the past six years.”
Molly laughed grimly. “Are you saying I should stay with Mick so that I don’t upset his parents?”
“Of course not, Molly,” Nell replied. “But no relationship exists in isolation, especially not in a small community like ours. I just want you to be aware of how lots of things will change if you and Mick part ways. Your mutual friends might take sides as the easiest way to handle the new situation. You’ll have to accept that and not be angry with them.”
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