Some Enchanted Season

by Marilyn Pappano

  “What did you ask for?”

  “An ‘A’ in sociology. A job. A baby.” The smile turned rueful. “He said he couldn’t help me with the last one—said Mrs. Claus would wring his neck if he even considered it. But I got the ‘A’. One out of three—that was about my average.” She sighed heavily. “I can go weeks without even thinking about my old friends, but then, for some reason, I do, and I feel so …” Lonely. Lost. “I miss them.”

  He stood up, took the ornament, and in a none-too-subtle move he hung it on the back side of the tree, where she would have to go to great effort to see it. She appreciated his choice.

  When he was done, he returned to his seat. “I know it wasn’t easy for them to see you the way you were, because it wasn’t easy for me. It was frightening how quickly you went from being a bright, capable, independent woman to being trapped in a body that didn’t work with a mind that worked enough for you to be aware of your condition. In those first months you were utterly helpless—and, to make it worse, it wasn’t because of something unique to you. The same thing could happen to anyone. It made us more aware of our own vulnerability—our mortality. Some people can face that. Some can’t.”

  Dr. Olivetti had told her the same thing. But all the logical explanations in the world couldn’t ease the hurt of losing her friends. She’d needed their love and support and they hadn’t given it. Reasons didn’t matter. Results did.

  “You’ve made new friends here,” Ross said quietly. “They’re the important ones now. They’re the ones who are going to be part of the rest of your life. Even if the accident hadn’t happened, you would have grown away from the others anyway when you moved here.”

  “I know you’re right. It’s just …”

  “It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re feeling nostalgic.”

  She nodded.

  “So get over it. There’s no point living in the past. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, and there’s no place in it for old friends who let you down.”

  His brusque tone made her blink, then slowly a smile started. Again he was right. She had a great future to look forward to, in a home she loved in a wonderful town filled with people she adored. There was no room for old disappointments like lost friends.

  Like Ross.

  That last thought dimmed her smile just a little.

  She didn’t want to know why.

  It was late and Ross was feeling it when finally he climbed to the top of the ladder and positioned the angel with her flowing satin robes over the uppermost branch. While he moved the ladder to the hall, Maggie shut off the lights, then stood in the broad doorway to look. Appreciate. Wonder.

  He joined her there, a safe two feet between them. “O Little Town of Bethlehem” was on the stereo—how appropriate—and they listened in silence until its last note ended. Then she said softly, “It’s beautiful.”

  It was, he agreed. Almost as beautiful as she was. The merest of smiles touched her mouth, giving her a look of utter satisfaction—a look he’d given her more than a few times himself, often after the tree-trimming.

  As the next song began to play—“What Child Is This?”—Maggie pushed away from the door. “I think I’m ready for bed.”

  In spite of his silent self-warnings, his body responded instantly to the image of Maggie in bed. It had been so damn long—last September, when she’d brought him to Bethlehem to finalize the deal on the house. For the first time in too long, he’d made overtures and, also for the first time in months, she had welcomed them. He had been so aroused and she’d been so satisfying that the suspicion she was acting out of gratitude hadn’t diminished his pleasure one bit.

  Then it had been back to life as usual. Sleeping in separate bedrooms. Living separate lives. She’d become as obsessed with remodeling and decorating this house as he was with business. She’d started spending more time in Bethlehem than in Buffalo, and he …

  At what point had he decided that it was all right to have an affair? When had he lost that last shred of dignity and self-respect? He’d known it was wrong—some part of him hadn’t wanted it as much as the rest of him had—but he’d done it anyway, and it had been an unqualified disaster. The sex hadn’t even been particularly good—though the best sex in the world wouldn’t have been worth the price he and Maggie had paid.

  The music stopped, and a moment later Maggie passed him on her way to the stairs. “Are you coming?”

  Wishing the question referred to more than accompanying her up the stairs and knowing that even if it did, he would have to refuse, he followed. Maggie safely reached the top of the stairs and her room. He stopped outside his own room and watched her turn on the lights and reach to close the door.

  She hesitated. “It was a really nice evening. Thank you.”

  The simple words touched him. What had he done besides show up?

  But wasn’t showing up all she’d ever asked of him?

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured, the words huskier than he would have liked.

  With an acknowledging nod she said good night, closed the door between them, and left him alone under the bright hall lights.

  “I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”

  Agatha Winchester gave her sister an amazingly innocent look, the kind that, in Corinna’s experience, devious—meant with great affection, of course—young children like Josie Dalton managed best. “Not a good idea? We’re stopping by a neighbor’s house to drop off a coffee cake fresh from the oven and extend an invitation to church. Whatever could not be good about that?”

  “It’s Sunday morning,” Corinna reminded her. “Some people don’t like to be disturbed on Sunday mornings.”

  “Well, I don’t believe Maggie’s one of those people. Besides, if we can’t extend an invitation to church on the Lord’s day, when can we?” Agatha pulled to the curb in front of the McKinney house and shut off the engine. “Five minutes. That’s all it’ll take. Are you coming with me?”

  “I would prefer to not give the impression that I think I can drop in whenever I please,” Corinna said testily. “However, since you’re determined, yes, I’ll go with you, or your five minutes will stretch into thirty and make us late for Sunday school.”

  “Why, I’ve never been late for Sunday school in my life—and that’s an awful lot of Sundays, I’ll have you know.” Agatha closed the door with enough force to rock the car from side to side, though it wasn’t fueled by anger, Corinna knew. Just energy. Her sister was blessed with twice the energy of a woman half her age. In that way, Agatha reminded her, again, of Josie. The two of them could run nonstop from sunup to sundown, sleep a few hours, and be ready to do it again the next day. Of course, young Josie was partly responsible for Agatha’s vigor. Being needed and loved gave an old woman a reason to thrive.

  It gave both old women reason, she admitted as she climbed out of the car and started after Agatha. Seconds after she reached the porch, the door was opened by Ross McKinney. His hair stood on end, and he appeared distracted, needing a moment or two to focus on them. “Miss Agatha. Miss Corinna. Come in.”

  They crowded into the hallway, then he closed the door. He looked more than a little awkward. He wheeled and dealed with some of the most powerful people in the country, and yet he seemed at a loss as to how to treat two nosy old women who’d interrupted his morning. Corinna found the notion somehow endearing.

  “I hope we haven’t disturbed you, Ross,” Agatha said. “We just wanted to drop this off”—she held up the foil-covered cake—“and invite you and Maggie to join us in church this morning.”

  “Maggie’s still asleep, but—”

  “No, I’m not. Hello, Miss Corinna, Miss Agatha.”

  They all turned as one to watch Maggie approach from the kitchen. For someone supposedly still asleep, she looked remarkably alert. Her navy trousers were neatly pressed, her turtleneck sweater without a speck of lint, her hair sleekly combed, and her face perfectly made up. Trade her slacks for a skirt and add a pair of
shoes, and she would be all set for church, Corinna mused—if she were so inclined.

  “I didn’t hear you come downstairs,” Ross remarked.

  “Because you were in the office with the door closed. Even God rested on the Sabbath, you know.” Maggie greeted each woman with a hug. “Mmm, coffee cake. I smell cinnamon … cloves … and dark molasses.”

  “Exactly,” Agatha said, beaming. “Why don’t you come in the kitchen and let me serve you a piece?”

  The two of them walked away, chatting about the recipe, leaving Corinna alone with Ross. “She’s right, you know. Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest.”

  The gaze he turned on her was troubled. “I wasn’t working. I was just … thinking.”

  About what? she wondered. Based on what she knew of him, there were only two things in his life—business and Maggie. She sincerely hoped Maggie wasn’t responsible for the disquiet in his expression. After all the crises they’d survived in the past year, she would hate to think that there was trouble between them now, when their lives were practically back to normal again.

  She wisely chose to change the subject. “We really would like to see you and Maggie in church.”

  He took a step back emotionally even if his feet remained firmly in place. “I don’t go to church. I haven’t been in—” Breaking off, he counted up the years, then, for reasons only he knew, kept the tally to himself. “A long time.”

  “Then the good Lord would surely like to reacquaint Himself with your handsome face,” she gently teased. That earned the beginnings of a smile from him even as he shook his head in rejection.

  “I don’t think so. I’m not sure …”

  “That church has anything to offer you?”

  “Maybe I don’t have anything to offer it.”

  A curious answer. Though she would like to pursue it, she didn’t. As Agatha and Maggie returned from the kitchen, Corinna laid her hand lightly on Ross’s arm. “Going to church isn’t necessary, of course. You can thank the Lord for your blessings as well right here as you can in a pew. He’ll hear you from either place.”

  At the mention of blessings, his gaze shifted down the hall to Maggie. Whatever his troubles that morning, at least he recognized that his wife was, indeed, a blessing. Surely, she thought—hoped, even prayed, as they said their good-byes—that counted for something.

  Chapter Ten

  Though the rooms at the McBride Inn were lovely, the lobby was Melissa’s favorite space. Once the living room in the original farmhouse, it was large and square, with a ceiling high enough to accommodate the giant Christmas tree Holly purchased every year. Several groupings of furniture provided quiet places to talk, and for solitary diversion there was a massive stone fireplace to cozy up to and big windows looking out on woods and wildlife.

  She waited there for Maggie, seated in an oversized wing chair of the sort that you sank comfortably into and hated to give up. There was a cup of the cook’s best mulled cider on the table beside her, and she’d already taken the edge off her hunger with a gingerbread cookie from the tray on the registration counter.

  “How are you, Melissa?” Emilie Bishop asked as she came out of the office. She eased onto the arm of a nearby chair, then adjusted her cardigan over her stomach. She was in the fifth month of her pregnancy—farther along than Melissa had ever made it—and looked radiant. Of course, she’d looked radiant ever since the courts had awarded her custody of the kids nearly a year ago and Nathan had proposed marriage. Pregnancy simply enhanced it.

  Deliberately redirecting her gaze, Melissa forced a smile. “I’m fine. How are you and Junior?”

  “We’re growing every day. Is Alex meeting you here for lunch?”

  “No, I invited Maggie McKinney. Can you and Holly join us?”

  “I’m afraid not. Holly’s out this afternoon, and I’m awaiting a call from one of our more troublesome suppliers.” She affected a heavier version of her soft Georgia accent. “He’s from South Carolina, and he usually responds much more favorably to my requests than to Holly’s.”

  “Do you suppose that has anything to do with the fact that you display true southern gentility and say please and thank you, while Holly opens with ‘What kind of idiot are you?’ ”

  Both women laughed, then Emilie gestured toward the portico. “There’s Maggie now, chauffeured by that incredibly wealthy—to say nothing of handsome—husband of hers.”

  Melissa turned to look as Ross opened the car door, then helped Maggie out. “He is handsome,” she agreed. “Of course, both Nathan and Alex are pretty darn handsome themselves—though they do leave a little to be desired in the ‘wealthy’ aspect.”

  “True. But money can’t buy love—or happiness. It can’t protect you from bad things happening. Maggie’s proof of that.” Emilie rose as Maggie came in the door. Outside, Ross was driving away. “On the other hand,” she said softly, “financial security can count for a lot.”

  Melissa silently agreed. But she knew Maggie would trade wealth in a heartbeat for a baby.

  So would she.

  After exchanging hellos, Emilie seated them at a table in a cozy corner of the dining room, presented leather-bound menus with a flourish, and recommended dessert before leaving them alone. Knowing what she wanted, Melissa left the menu unopened and gazed around the room.

  No matter how often she went there, she fell in love with the room all over again. The long, broad hall was filled with linen-covered tables and plants that thrived year-round, thanks to the southern exposure provided by a half dozen pairs of French doors. Outside the doors was a warm-weather dining patio. Inside, fireplaces at each end helped warm the room in winter and provided a backdrop for floral arrangements from Melissa’s Garden all summer. It was a lovely setting for any meal, particularly so for the wedding receptions held there throughout the year.

  At last Maggie laid the menu aside, spread her napkin over her lap, and folded her hands on the table-top. “I’m glad you suggested this. Ross has been working all morning, and I was getting restless for someone to talk to.”

  “If you ever get really restless, come by the shop. I’d be happy to talk your ears off while putting you to work.”

  Maggie smiled, then looked around. “This is a beautiful place.”

  “Yes, it is. You used to stay here while the workmen were getting your house ready.”

  “That’s what Ross said. I don’t remember it.”

  “That must be terribly difficult for you.”

  “It is and it isn’t,” Maggie said with a shrug. “It was hardest when I met everyone again. You were all strangers to me, and yet some of you knew me quite well. It still bothers me sometimes, but the rest of the time I forget that I’ve forgotten. It’s not as if last year was a tremendously different year for me. Other than coming to Bethlehem and buying the house, the only big thing that happened was the accident, and I think I may be better off not remembering that.”

  “I saw your truck when they towed it out of the ravine. I think you are too.” Melissa hesitated, then went on. “We were all gathered in the square for the Christmas service. They call it a midnight service, but that’s usually when it ends. The first to leave was one of the deputies on duty that night, then another. Then the paramedics got paged, and a couple of doctors, and someone came to get the sheriff. Most people didn’t even notice, but Alex and I did. We knew something terrible had happened to someone, but we didn’t know it was you until the next day. You were in everyone’s Christmas prayers.”

  Maggie sat silently for a long time, leading Melissa to ask, “Would you prefer that we make the months you can’t remember off limits for discussion?”

  This time she was quick to respond. “I’ve spent the last eleven months getting up close and personal with complete strangers. I’ve been forced to be so open that these days, nothing’s off limits. Do you, by chance, know what my plans were last year?”

  “Beyond fixing the house?” Melissa thought about it, recalling each of their
meetings. There weren’t many—eight, maybe ten—and several had centered around choosing flowers for the house. The rest of the time they had talked about city versus small-town life. Melissa had shared the trials and tribulations of a Christmas pageant director, and they’d talked with the same degree of wistfulness about Christmas, family, traditions, and children. “One day, when we passed an empty storefront downtown, you said that it would be a perfect location for the restaurant you’d wanted to open. Several times you mentioned that you would like to work with children. And you talked about the house as if it were your new home—as if you intended to stay.”

  Maggie looked as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it and substituted another question instead. “Did I talk about Ross?”

  “No,” Melissa said gently. She’d heard at the time that the McKinneys had fought their way through every visit to Bethlehem. Still, it had struck her as odd that not once did Maggie ever voluntarily speak of her husband. If someone asked about him, she answered, but that was the extent of his involvement in her Bethlehem life. Heavens, Alex was so much a part of Melissa’s life that she couldn’t keep him out of her conversation if she tried. It just wasn’t natural.

  “I did intend to stay,” Maggie said quietly. “We bought this house so I could live here.”

  “And Ross?”

  “He would have remained in the city. Once Christmas was over, he probably never would have set foot in Bethlehem again. And I never would have returned to Buffalo.”

  So the talk about how miserable they were had been true. They had come here on the verge of a divorce. “Out of tragedy comes triumph,” Melissa murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last Christmas was going to be your last Christmas together, but out of the tragedy of the accident, here you are—still together, better than before, about to spend another Christmas together.”

  A flush crept into Maggie’s cheeks as she shifted her gaze to the fragrant cinnamon and evergreen centerpiece. Was she wrong? Melissa wondered. Had the accident brought them closer together? Or had it merely delayed the end of a marriage gone sour?