Thomas Kinkade's Cape Light

by Katherine Spencer

  “We would all worry about you, Mom, trying to hold a big party like that.” Evelyn put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “You’re not up to it. So please don’t argue with us.”

  “I’m not going to argue,” Sophie said calmly. “I’m telling you all, point-blank, I’m having Christmas at my house. Just like I always do. If you don’t want to come, well, that’s your business.”

  “Oh, Mom, don’t be like that,” Una said. “Please don’t be so stubborn. All the parents of my friends have passed the big holidays on to their children, and a lot are much younger than you.”

  Sophie shrugged. “To each his own. Maybe they don’t enjoy it. But I do. I see no reason why I can’t have you all this year, like I always do. Didn’t I just bake a dozen pies without batting an eye? What do I need to do to prove I’m well again—jog home in the snow?”

  Her son, Bart, walked into the kitchen, obviously lured by the smell of coffee and the dessert table. “Who’s running home in the snow? What are you arguing about in here anyway?”

  “Evelyn and I decided that I should have Christmas this year. Remember, we told you?” Una’s tone was nervous, Sophie noticed. Maybe there was a chink in their armor.

  Bart nodded but avoided Sophie’s gaze. “Oh right . . . I remember now,” he mumbled.

  So he’s in on this, too? Surprise, surprise.

  “Mom doesn’t agree. She not being realistic,” Evelyn added. Sophie knew her older daughter was very practical, a trait that served her well most of the time. Being “unrealistic” was one of the most severe criticisms Evelyn could level at anyone.

  But there are plenty of times when you should be impractical and unrealistic, Sophie knew. When you should bend a bit, like a birch tree. Evelyn, bless her heart, was more like a mighty oak.

  Bart stared down at his mother. “I guess I agree. It’s high time you passed the holiday-making to the younger generation. We’re not even that young anymore.” He laughed, glancing at his sisters.

  Sophie knew that was true. But they had no idea how young they seemed to her, still in their forties and fifties. She would give a lot to be that age again. Beyond that, they would always be her children. Her babies.

  “Very true. But you never know, this could be my last year in that house. I have my heart set on celebrating Christmas there, like we always do. Like we did when your father was alive. He was crazy about Christmas. That was the high point of his entire year,” she reminded them.

  She could see the expressions on their faces soften. Thank you, Gus, she said silently. I knew you would help me sort this out.

  “Oh, Mom. You don’t have to make us teary now,” Una said.

  “Sorry, dear. Not at all my intention,” Sophie said honestly. “But it’s true.”

  “What’s this about it being your last year in the house?” Bart leaned against the counter, a mug of coffee in hand. “Does this mean you’re ready to sell the place?”

  Sophie had expected this question to come up today. But the dinner conversation had gone so smoothly, she had let her guard down and felt unprepared.

  “I didn’t say that, son. Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I only meant you never know what the good Lord has in store. This could be my last slice of pumpkin pie, for all we know.” She smiled and continued to cut the pies, though her hands trembled a bit.

  “I hope not, Mom,” Evelyn said. “But that’s our point. You’re not getting any younger. We really don’t want you to go through another winter like last year, stuck all alone in that house. Even if your health is perfect.”

  Before Sophie could reply, Bart said, “We’ve been waiting for your answer on this question, Mom. Waiting since last winter,” he reminded her. “You know what we think you should do. In fact, we’ve been talking about it, and we’d like you to put the place on the market right after the holidays, sometime in January.”

  “So, you have your own timetable, whether I’m ready or not. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Not exactly,” Evelyn said with a sympathetic look. “It’s your house and ultimately your decision. But we have to be reasonable. We want you to be reasonable, too. If this winter is anything like the last, it won’t be safe for you to be there all alone. Even with visitors and help from the church group.”

  “Surely you must see that? You were snowed in several times,” Bart reminded her.

  “We could hardly take care of you, and we were worried sick. And it’s already started snowing,” Una pointed out. “Maybe you should move in with me, and we’ll make Christmas together—at my house?” she suggested in a more cheerful, cajoling tone.

  Sophie swept a glance around the room. Her children stared at her, waiting for her answer. The way they did years ago, waiting for permission to stay up late for a favorite TV show, or to ride their bikes to the beach to go swimming on their own.

  “My, my. Time changes everything doesn’t it?” she said softly, mainly to herself.

  “Yes, Mom. It does, whether we like it or not.” Evelyn’s tone was low but firm. They meant business this time.

  Sophie took a breath and brushed a few crumbs from her hands. “I know you all mean well, trying to push me along, out of love and concern. But put yourself in my shoes. An apple doesn’t fall from the tree until it’s ripe. That’s how I feel. I’m just not ready to go.”

  “Oh, Mom . . . please.” Bart sighed and closed his eyes. She could tell he was trying to hold on to his patience.

  “You’re not an apple, Mom,” Evelyn reminded her sternly.

  Under any other circumstance, Sophie would have laughed. Instead, she felt stuck, trying to think of some reply.

  James walked in, his focus fixed on the desserts, like a bee heading for a rosebush. He picked up a paper plate and began piling on his selections.

  “So, Grandma is not an apple. Did you recently notice that? Or have you been considering the possibility for a while?” He glanced at his aunt, looking amused by the conversation.

  “We’re in the middle of something, James,” his father said. “A serious discussion.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” He glanced at his father and then at his grandmother. She could tell her grandson knew what the serious topic was. James took a fork and sat down at the table next to Sophie. He began eating, as if minding his own business. But she felt as if a loyal watchdog had suddenly appeared and planted himself at her side.

  “We know you don’t feel ready now, but will you ever?” Evelyn asked.

  “Someday I might,” Sophie offered honestly. “I’m not sure yet what I should do. Until then, I’m staying put. At least until the new year. I mean it, too,” she added, in case there could be any question.

  Her children exchanged looks. She sensed she had gained the edge. Thank you, Lord. Let’s close it now, okay? she asked silently.

  “I guess it can wait a month or so,” Bart said. “But in the meantime, you have to have some help in the house. Live-in help. And don’t say you don’t like that idea either, Mom. I won’t sleep a wink if you don’t agree to that at least.”

  “Yes, dear. I understand. I’ve already got that covered. I will have someone with me day and night, and all the help I need.” She turned to her grandson, pleased by the surprised looks on the faces of her children. “James is going to stay with me until the new year. Isn’t that good news?”

  Her daughters looked over at Bart, but he shrugged in a helpless gesture. “James, is that true?”

  “Yes, it is. Grandma and I talked it over yesterday. Things weren’t working out with my roommate, and I decided to take a break from New York. Too many distractions from my writing.”

  Sophie knew that wasn’t the entire story. Her son seemed to sense that, too, judging from his expression. She had thought that by now, James would have told his father what was going on in his life. Obviously not.

  But it wasn�
��t her place to set the record straight. She would encourage James to be honest with his father. That was the important thing.

  “Why don’t you regroup in Darien? It’s quiet there, too. And much closer to the city and your friends,” Bart reminded his son.

  “Very true. Too close. Too tempting. Besides, Grandma can use some help and some company. Isn’t that what you’ve been talking about?”

  “I think it’s very good of you to stay at the orchard right now, James,” said Evelyn.

  “It certainly solves our problem. For now anyway,” Una added.

  Sophie sighed. Was she suddenly a problem to be solved? She held her tongue, knowing it was not wise to rile up tempers. Not while she seemed to be winning this battle.

  Bart glanced at his sisters, who seemed relieved to hear James’s plan. “If that’s what you want to do, James, and it’s all right with your grandmother—”

  “Delighted to have him.” Sophie met her grandson’s bright gaze. “The nicest surprise I’ve had in ages.”

  “I guess it’s settled, then. For now,” Bart said. “We can wait until the holidays are over, if that’s what you need, Mother. But not much longer. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s for your own good.”

  “Let’s talk again after Christmas,” Evelyn suggested.

  “Which can be at your house. If you let us all help,” Una added.

  “Agreed. Thank you, children, for being so reasonable. I’m sealing this bargain with a slice of pie. Anyone care to join me?”

  “I’ll have another,” James said. “I think I’ll try apple this time.” Sophie met her grandson’s bright blue eyes and they shared a secret glance. Somehow, they had outfoxed the hounds. For now.

  She didn’t mean to be stubborn, but she believed she would know when it was time to leave her house and her trees. It was impossible to explain. But in her heart, she would just know.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Emily always enjoyed church on the first Sunday of Advent. The sanctuary wasn’t decked out in all its Christmas finery yet, but there were plenty of touches to set the mood—a centerpiece of pine boughs on the altar, a wreath hanging behind the pulpit, and the large blue Advent candles that would be lit one by one as Christmas drew near.

  “Oh drat . . . that candle prayer. I hope it doesn’t slow down the service,” her mother muttered.

  Emily sat between Dan and her mother. Jane was still at a sleepover, and Ezra, who was coming down with a cold, had decided to stay home. Emily had taken her own car to pick up her mother, expecting that they would run errands after the service. Dan had to head in a different direction to pick Jane up after her party.

  Emily and her mother had reached church a few minutes late. Dan had saved them seats toward the back of the sanctuary, which was easiest for Lillian, who walked with a cane, but was the last place she liked to sit.

  “They say a few short prayers and light the candle,” Emily whispered back. “It doesn’t take long at all.”

  “Who’s that family? I don’t know them,” Lillian replied.

  “Jeff and Carrie Carlson, and their son, Noah. Jeff has been in the church a long time. Carrie and her son joined about a year ago.”

  “I remember him. A doctor of some kind? He lost his wife a few years back,” Lillian recalled. “I see he found another.”

  “They’re newlyweds, married in September,” Emily said. Had they met at church? Emily didn’t think so. Carrie’s son, Noah, had brought them together in some way, but she couldn’t recall the story.

  “Well, I don’t know them,” Lillian mumbled.

  Then you should introduce yourself at coffee hour, Emily was about to reply, but Dan gave them a look.

  The Carlsons had stepped up to the candles. They took turns reciting the Advent prayers. Noah did very well for a little boy. He read in a loud voice without stumbling at all.

  The warm looks the couple exchanged, the way Jeff put his arm around Carrie’s shoulders, and how they both helped Noah light the candle, spoke of loving bonds that made Emily’s heart glad. Jeff had told Emily that after he lost his wife, he never imagined finding anyone he could love as much. But he had suddenly found two people who meant more to him than anything.

  If Carrie’s flowing dress and the way Jeff guided her down the steps were any sign, Emily guessed that they were expecting a little sister or brother for Noah soon, too.

  She glanced at her mother, who sat reading the church bulletin, clearly bored by the ritual. Reverend Ben walked up before the congregation and thanked the Carlsons, then began the weekly announcements.

  “Many thanks to everyone who donated food and who cooked and baked for the Thanksgiving baskets this year. The baskets were very bountiful and much appreciated,” he said sincerely. “Now it’s time to start our Christmas projects, including the annual Christmas Fair. As I mentioned last Sunday, our longtime chairperson, Sophie Potter, is stepping down. We are thankful for her many years of service and for her inspiration that created this event, so long ago.” He smiled in Sophie’s direction. “How many years ago was that, Sophie? Do you remember?”

  “I know you won’t believe it, but it’s almost forty,” she called back. “I love doing it, as you all know. But I need to rest on my laurels now. That’s what my children tell me,” she added with a laugh. “I’m happy to offer advice and cover my share of the crafts and whatever needs doing.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Reverend Ben said kindly. “But we need a new chairperson. No one has come forward yet for the job. As you all know, the fair is an important fund-raiser. We count on it to support our church and outreach projects. There will be a meeting for everyone interested in working on the fair right after the service. Perhaps we can elect a new chairperson today?”

  He gazed around the congregation. Emily felt her arm stir. She always loved the fair. What if Reverend Ben didn’t find anyone? It would be a shame if the church had to abandon that event. It was an important moneymaker, and she had plenty of experience managing people . . .

  She felt Dan lean against her, not that hard or in an obvious way. But enough to keep her arm in place. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered with a hint of amusement. “Someone else will step up. I promise.”

  “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Lillian leaned over. “Quiet, please. I can’t hear a thing back here in no-man’s-land.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” Emily said automatically, but her mind was on her new life. Maybe I’ll help a little, she told herself, but I’m not going to run a thing. Not for a long time.

  * * *

  Zoey had come to church with her mother and her brother Jamie. C.J. had a ride back to school today and might even be gone by now. Charlie had left the house early, off to the diner by dawn. She was going to work there after the service, when the lunch shift started. She didn’t mind that much; it was never as frantic as Sunday morning breakfast.

  She had spotted James sitting next to Sophie a few rows ahead. She was sure James hadn’t noticed her. But when the service ended, James quickly turned and waved, and Zoey waved back.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant hello or good-bye. Did he want her to walk over and talk? Feeling shy, she decided not to and ducked out a side door, then headed for the diner.

  She walked quickly across the green. A strong breeze off the harbor lifted her hair and cooled her warm cheeks. So, he had noticed her. That made her happy. At least I look better today than when we met. And I don’t smell of pumpkin.

  She was usually pretty cool about attention from guys. She attracted her share. But something about James Potter intimidated her. He was older, for one thing, and lived in New York. Zoey had only been there once, on a class trip in middle school. Lucy always promised they would go for a girls’ weekend someday, to shop and visit museums. So far, they hadn’t made it.

  Zoey knew she seemed arty an
d edgy for Cape Light. She had been a bit wild in high school and still had a blue bracelet tattoo around her wrist and a few extra piercings in her ear. She liked to dress in thrift-shop, bohemian style, too. But she guessed that James met a lot of girls like that, truly hip girls who were actresses, painters, or writers. He’ll never be interested in me. I must seem hopelessly quaint, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

  Okay, I have a tiny crush on him, she admitted to herself. Who wouldn’t? But he’ll be returning to New York any minute. He was probably waving good-bye. I’m surprised he’s stayed this long.

  * * *

  “Any special reason you didn’t want to stay for coffee hour today, Mother?” Emily snapped her seat belt, curious about her mother’s rush to leave church. Lillian had forgone her usual chat with Reverend Ben, including her weekly review of his sermon. She had even skipped socializing in Fellowship Hall, where she enjoyed giving her opinion on a range of subjects and gathering bits of gossip like a lint brush.

  “We can stop at the market and the drugstore on the way home. I’m sure you need a few things.” Emily glanced at her mother as they headed down Main Street. “Unless you think Ezra needs you?”

  “Ezra will be fine. He’s a doctor. He should be able to take care of himself for a few hours. He doesn’t need me to watch him nap.” Her mother turned to her. “I don’t need any groceries. But you could take me somewhere. To a meeting. And stay with me until it’s done, of course. I won’t have a ride home otherwise.”

  “A meeting? What group is this?” If her mother was going to attend any meetings today, Emily thought it would have been back at the church, one of the committees forming for Christmas projects.

  “The open-space group. They’re meeting today at the Elks Lodge. We’ll be just in time.” Lillian pulled out a flyer from her purse and waved it at Emily. Of course, Emily couldn’t read it while driving, but she got the main idea from the large headline on top. A knot of dread twisted in her stomach. Of all the underhanded tricks . . .