Christmas at Barncastle Inn: Four-in-One Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Janelle Mowery, Lynette Sowell

  He found a parking spot next to a sensible gray sedan and turned off the engine. “Guess this is it, sir.”

  “Here we go, m’boy. Into the lion’s den.”

  A glow of light appeared from the barn as one of two white doors slid open and three figures emerged. Two of them waved as Armand exited the car.

  “My girls!” Armand called out. He started toward the women.

  Sean left the SUV and shut the door, following the older man.

  “Pepé!” One of the women with dark honey blond hair, hugged him tight. “We’ve missed you.”

  “I haven’t gone anywhere.” Armand growled, but Sean heard the tenderness in his voice. “Those kids at school giving you gray hair yet, Marcella?”

  “No, Pepé.” The honey-blond laughed, the sound like musical notes to his ears. She flicked a blue-eyed glance over Armand’s shoulder. “Who’s with you?”

  Sean cleared his throat and approached. “Hi, I’m Sean—”

  Armand waved him closer. “Girls, this is my roommate. Sean McSweeney. I invited him to join us for Christmas. You said we could have up to twelve people here for the week.”

  Marcella’s blue eyes grew round. “You’re Sean McSweeney?”

  Sean folded his arms across his chest. No one had said his name like it was a disease before. “That’s my name. And it’s nice to meet you. Your grandfather talks so much about you both. I assume you’re Marcella, and this must be Amity.”

  “Yes.” Amity stepped up and extended her hand toward him. As she did so, she shot a glance at her sister. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Right. If Sean were a betting man, he’d bet they thought Santa Claus would show up at Christmas, not their grandfather’s roommate. Hopefully they’d let him explain about their arrangement. Which, it seemed, Armand probably hadn’t.

  “Mr. Goudreau, welcome,” said the third woman, who until now had been looking on. “I’m Jayne Gilbert. Do you need help with any bags?”

  “No,” said Armand. “Sean and I can get them fine.”

  “Well come inside where it’s warm, and I’ll get your room keys.” Jayne motioned toward the main house. “Supper is served at five-thirty most evenings. Tonight we have a traditional New England boiled dinner.”

  Sean popped the trunk and pulled out both men’s bags. “I’ve got the luggage.”

  Armand was quick to snatch his carry-on, which had the weight of half a dozen bowling balls, as well as a shopping bag stuffed with wrapped gifts. “I’ll get mine.”

  “Pepé, do you want help?” Marcella stood close by. Sean caught a whiff of her perfume. Her hair swished just past the collar of her tailored wool coat. A pretty woman with a voice he could keep listening to, even if all she did was read the dictionary.

  “No, said I’ve got it.”

  They all headed to the house, a curious parade, with Sean taking his time at the rear of the group. He might as well have worn an invisibility cloak, but then he didn’t need one. Ms. Gilbert had greeted him pleasantly enough, but Armand’s granddaughters barely gave him a second glance.

  Amity was shorter than Marcella and reminded him of afinch with brown eyes. She flitted beside Ms. Gilbert, talking about Christmas songs and rehearsal schedules.

  Invisible, indeed. Sean nodded to Armand, who held open the thick wooden front door of Barncastle Inn. Sean was accustomed to being invisible at Christmas. Not that it was a bad thing. He celebrated quietly, in his own way. Mom usually wasn’t easy to deal with at Christmastime. Most years he ended up working through the holiday and enjoying time cheering up patients at the hospital.

  What had he just gotten himself into?

  Chapter 2

  The moon lit the Lady’s Bower with a pale bluish glow. Marcella blinked at the landscape just beyond the balcony outside. Sean McSweeney. Young. She’d pictured an old man, maybe not as old as Pepé, but certainly not a man about her age, or even closer to Amity’s twenty-eight instead of Marcella’s twenty-six.

  Her sister’s even breathing told her that Amity was out for the night. After stuffing themselves with Mrs. Barncastle’s supper, they’d sung carols in front of the roaring fire in the parlor, made s’mores, and listened to vintage radio shows on a CD player that looked like an old radio cabinet.

  Her niece Jade and her nephew Jeremy had been enthralled with the radio stories, too. Marcella hadn’t even checked her e-mail on her phone, and by the time Amity and Peter had tucked the children into their bed, she was yawning, too.

  Mom and Dad had brought Memé, who’d glared at Pepé as they sat down to supper, until Marcella maneuvered to sit between them. She’d found herself looking at Sean McSweeney and finding it hard to ignore him.

  She liked the sound of his voice, a medium tone with a low richness to it. When he sang, was his voice bass, or baritone? Maybe he didn’t sing. His brown eyes looked at her pepé with a fond expression as if he were his own grandfather, and then glanced at the faces around the table.

  He’s lonely. And nervous.

  Marcella had glanced down when he caught her studying him. Truthfully, she hadn’t wanted anyone else in the mix this Christmas. Sure, the inn had room for one more pair of guests to round out an even twelve in the group, but no one had booked the room yet.

  Even now, she punched her pillow and sat up in bed. The remains of the earlier fire glowed in the fireplace. Marcella found her slippers and robe, draping her robe around her red flannel Christmas pajamas. Jayne had said something about snacks available on the dining room sideboard, in the event any of the guests had a hankering to munch during the night.

  She felt like an intruder slinking along the inn’s hallway to the main staircase. The carved wood was cool to her fingers as she held on to the railing and headed downstairs. What it must be like, to live year-round in a grand place like this.

  Lord, please help us have a good Christmas. Our greatest gift would be Memé and Pepé getting back together, and realizing how much they have in each other. True love like theirs comes once in a lifetime.

  If only Sean McSweeney hadn’t come.

  Marcella crossed the main reception room and found her way to the dining room, where the sideboard with its promised snacks waited. A solitary lamp lent a glow to the room, accented by the green pine garland lit with white lights.

  A lone figure stood at the sideboard, staring at a row of trays. Sean McSweeney.

  A floorboard creaked under her foot, and Sean darted a glance in her direction.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she managed to reply. “I’m looking for those snacks that Jayne mentioned at supper tonight.” She slipped her arms into her robe’s sleeves. Her pajamas were just as modest as her regular clothing, but the barrier of a robe made her feel even more covered.

  Sean gestured to the sideboard, lined with trays of cookies and breads, covered with plastic. “Mademoiselle, zee Barncastle has a smorgasbord of delights for zee sweet tooth.”

  His faux French accent made a giggle tickle the back of her throat. She wasn’t supposed to want this man around. “Sweet tooth?” She eyed the tray of breads. “Yummy, that looks like banana bread. My favorite. With chocolate chips, too.”

  “Chocolate chips in banana bread?”

  “Good stuff.” She took a slice of bread and placed it on a paper napkin. Maybe she ought to eat this in her room.

  “There’s a carafe of hot water, too, and some packages of hot chocolate mix.”

  A quick cup of hot chocolate couldn’t hurt. “Oh, that’s almost as good as a mug of warm milk.”

  “Can’t sleep?” Sean reached for a cup as well, and their fingers brushed.

  “No, I can’t. There’s a full moon shining in our window.” Marcella wiggled her fingers and picked up the cup next to the one Sean chose. “Hard to sleep with the light streaming into the room.”

  Sean nodded. The rustic yet elegant atmospherereminded Marcella of another Christmas story on the silver screen, another young woman who couldn’t sle
ep. But Bob Wallace had offered Betty Haynes sandwiches and buttermilk, and their encounter had ended with a kiss. Nope. Not this encounter.

  “I guess my coming was a surprise to all of you.”

  “Not just you coming. You’re a lot, um, younger than I thought you’d be. From the way Pepé talked, you sounded a lot older.”

  “I left my cane and walker at home, and yes, this is all my real hair.” His brown eyes sparkled and a hint of a dimple appeared in one cheek.

  Funny. Marcella smiled at him and noted his brown hair, cropped close on the sides and back, but a little longer on the top. Long enough to run fingers through. “Pepé said you were a veteran.”

  “I am. I earned my commission after college, then had three tours in the Middle East. Managed to get out of there intact, finished out my six year commission, and came home. The natural choice was to work for the VA here.”

  Pepé had served his country in Vietnam, then he came home to work in a machine shop in Chicopee until his retirement. “Thank you for serving our country.” She watched him prepare his hot chocolate, unsure of what else to say.

  “Look, about your grandparents …”

  Marcella took her time emptying the hot chocolate mix into the cup, then filling it with water from the carafe. “They’ve been married for over fifty years. Fifty-four, to be exact. That’s more than twice my age.”

  “I’ve seen troubles like this happen to older couples before.”

  “Well it’s never happened to this older couple, and it’s not right. Just because you’re a doctor doesn’t mean you can clinically dismiss—”

  “I’m not a doctor. I’m a physician assistant. I’m not a home wrecker either. Your pepé has found his second wind in life, and he challenges me to not waste mine.”

  Marcella sipped her hot chocolate. “I understand. You’re trying to encourage Pepé. I’ve noticed some positive changes in him. But this week we’re trying to help him and Memé see that they have too many years invested in each other to toss each other away. You wouldn’t have wanted to see them at Thanksgiving. It was the worst.” She nibbled on the banana bread, savoring the moist goodness and tinge of chocolate.

  “I’m not here to cause trouble.” Sean set his cup on the sideboard. “In fact, I wouldn’t have come at all if your grandfather hadn’t insisted.”

  “He can be pretty insistent, that’s for sure.” Marcella crumpled her napkin up. She didn’t see anywhere to put it, so she held the crumpled paper in her fist. “But I’m sure you had other plans for Christmas, someone else to spend time with?”

  “No. Not really.” Sean looked at his empty cup as he spoke. Then he looked back at Marcella. “Not every family is like yours. Not everyone has a picture-perfect Christmas to protect.” He gave her a nod and walked away from her, out of the dining room.

  “Good morning,” Jayne Gilbert called out as Sean crossed the entryway, heading for the front door. “Are you joining us for breakfast?”

  “Ah.” Sean froze. “I’m heading to town for a little bit. Do you need anything? I’ll be glad to pick up whatever you need.”

  “No. But thank you. If you’re back before ten, there’s tobogganing on the hill. Or an ice skating excursion on the lake. Take your pick.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” He hoped Jayne didn’t hear his stomach growling like a bear coming out of hibernation. Maybe they had some cross-country skis he could use. Now, that he could get into.

  Within a few minutes, he was headed east into Castlebury and looking for a fast-food drive-through. Yes, Jayne had offered breakfast. He didn’t care to face Marcella or her family this morning, not after their late-night conversation. If it wasn’t for the fact he’d disappoint Armand, Sean would leave. The hospital always needed people to volunteer rotations over the holidays. As it was, he needed to be back in Northampton by Christmas night.

  He didn’t want to explain to Marcella, or anyone else, about his mother. They were all each other had. His brother lived in California and had his own family. They talked on holidays but since the kids had come, his brother didn’t travel to the East Coast much.

  She spent her Christmases with Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan. He loved her, but the few times he’d tried as anadult to have a semblance of a Christmas with her had been disastrous. He’d given up trying to create the image of a perfect Christmas.

  Castlebury’s streets were packed with vehicles of customers doing last-minute shopping. No fast food, but a café on the town square boasted breakfast all the time, to go, even. Sean found a parking space on a side street. He could get something to go, then take his time eating as he drove back to the castle.

  The gray remains of crusted snow lined the curb, and Sean stepped over it and headed to the café. A poster in the window caught his eye.

  WHITE CHRISTMAS AT BARNCASTLE INN.

  JOIN SISTERS AMITY CARRUTHERS AND MARCELLA GOUDREAU FOR AN EVENING OF HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE CLASSIC HOLIDAY FAVORITE WHITE CHRISTMAS.

  6 P.M. NIGHTLY THROUGH DECEMBER 24.

  WITH SPECIAL GUEST, BARITONE JONATHAN SEVIGNY.

  Marcella and Amity stood poised in matching blue glittery dresses, with large feathered fans. Marcella’s dark blond locks had been coiffed into a hairdo that reminded him of the movie character Betty. Her blue eyes shone as she smiled at the viewer. At him.

  White Christmas. Besides A Christmas Story, the movie was one of his holiday favorites. Over the years as a kid, he’d grown adept at changing out DVDs in the player. Mom would burn dinner and he would spend Christmas Day watching movies. This one, he had to admit, he knew by heart, every song. The movies were what held Christmas together for him when he was a kid.

  If only Marcella knew how good her family has it, Lord, she would trust You a little more to work this out. There are far, far worse things than one Christmas when Grandma and Grandpa aren’t speaking.

  “I’m sorry,” said the young man standing across from Marcella’s keyboard, onstage in the barn. He looked pale, his skin moist. Worse, his voice cracked. “I’ve got strep throat. I shouldn’t even be out right now. But I wanted to apologize in person.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  Jayne looked worried. “We understand. Take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll try. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gilbert.” With that, Jonathan Sevigny hung his head, pulled the wool scarf around his neck, and trudged down the barn’s aisle and out into the cold. With that, Marcella and Amity’s plans for the White Christmas performances started to crumble.

  Marcella’s hands remained frozen on the keys. Forget crumbling. This was an avalanche in the making. As if on their own, her fingers thawed and started playing the introduction to “Blessings.”

  Then she stopped. “Jayne, is there anyone else we can ask?”

  “Ask what?” Amity’s voice echoed in the barn as she entered through the door that Jonathan left open. She slid the door shut and motioned over her shoulder. “Was that our soloist leaving? I thought we were going to run through the male-female duets this afternoon.”

  “Unfortunately, he had to cancel. Strep throat,” Jayne said. “I’ll have to ask around. Maybe the choir director at church knows someone. That is, if they haven’t left town already for Christmas.”

  “Maybe you and I can work out the duets, and we can skip the male singer,” Amity suggested.

  “But you’re the soprano and I’m the alto.” Marcella looked at the musical score in front of her and started working out the key transposition in her head. “It won’t work. We’d have to jump octaves and that would sound goofy. Plus, everyone hears Bing and Rosemary singing ‘White Christmas.’ It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Ha.” Amity crossed her arms. “So you don’t think I can do Rosemary and you can do Bing?”

  “Listen to yourself. It sounds crazy.”

  “Honestly, Marcella. Some things you don’t need to have ‘just so.’ People probably won’t mind as much as you think they will.” Amity climbed up to the stage, and s
lid her arm around Marcella’s shoulders. “Little sister, you worry too much.”

  “I want everything to be just right. And we open tomorrow.”

  Jayne looked thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can do. All is not lost. Have a little faith. I’ll let you know what I find out.” She climbed down from the stage and gave them a wave before she left the barn. She slid the door open.

  “Hello, in there!” boomed Pepé’s voice. “You girls need to get out from behind that piano thing and come ice skating.” He ambled into the barn, his boots clumping on the floor. A pair of black ice skates were slung over one arm.

  “You’re going ice skating?” Marcella’s voice squeaked. “I didn’t know you knew how.”

  “Course I can. The Barncastles have a bunch of extra skates. I’m sure they have some that’ll fit your feet, too.”

  “Is Memé going skating, too?” Amity asked.

  Pepé shrugged. “Don’t know. Think she’s holed up in the kitchen, talking about making some froufrou finger sandwiches for the performances. Why anyone would want to make sandwiches out of fingers is beyond me.”

  “Did you ask her to come with us for a little while?” Marcella couldn’t believe how childish the two of them were acting. Memé wouldn’t sit near Pepé, not even across from him, at breakfast. She had asked Mom to run her into town for some last-minute gifts, then returned to the inn and retreated to the kitchen with Jayne’s mother.

  “Why would I invite her skating? She’d complain about the cold and how it was too slippery and why we couldn’t just stay in by the fire.” Pepé shook his head. “I’m not going to beg her either. But Jade and Jeremy and the little Gilbert boy and I are going to the pond. You ought to, also.”

  “We should,” said Amity. “C’mon. I’ll see if Peter wants to go, too. We can’t rehearse the male duets without our male. It’s just for a short while, anyway.”

  Marcella hadn’t been ice skating since … well, she didn’t know when. But what if one of them got hurt? She dismissed the thought immediately. Worrywart.