A Bayberry Christmas
A Bayberry Island Novella
By
Susan Donovan
Copyright © Susan Donovan, 2016
All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
Susan Donovan’s Bayberry Island Series
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Susan Donovan’s Bayberry Island Series
(in order of publication):
A Seaside Christmas, introductory novella (2012)
Penguin USA/Berkeley Romance, now available on Kindle for the special price of $2.99.
Sea of Love, Book #1 (2013)
Penguin USA/Berkeley Romance
“This lovely romance…leaves the reader sighing at the romance but aware of the concerns common to us all. Well done!”
- RT Magazine
The Sweetest Summer, Book #2 (2014)
Penguin USA/Berkeley Romance
“Delightful …The author portrays love in so many disguises …several well stitched story threads that are also full of humor, witty dialogue, and romance. Ms. Donovan knows how to tell a story, and she definitely tells this one very well.”
- Reader To Reader Book Reviews
Moondance Beach, Book #3 (2015)
Penguin USA/Berkeley Romance
“A powerful tale …both tender and funny, this warmly genuine romance affirms the power of love.”
- Publishers Weekly
“Clear storytelling …endearing characters …wonderfully romantic…explosively passionate.”
- RT Book Review Magazine
A Bayberry Christmas A Christmas e-Novella (2016)
Susan Donovan
Just before Midnight
December 21st
Another winter solstice has come to Bayberry Island. Tonight, the veil thins. The border between the mundane and the magical fades to a mere wisp, as delicate as a snowflake.
This night heralds the beginning of Christmastime, the most enchanted time of all.
From sixteen feet above Fountain Square, I keep watch over my wintry little rock in the North Atlantic. Bayberry sparkles below, its narrow old streets alive with holiday lights. The shops along Main Street are draped with garlands and tied up with bows. The sturdy old spruce on the public dock once again wears her seasonal finery.
Summer tourists might not recognize Bayberry Island in winter. Summer is a loud and colorful party that culminates in the Annual Mermaid Festival. But Christmas here is a time to rest and reflect. There are no parades. No outdoor art fairs, clambakes, or costume contests. Instead, our year-round residents focus inward, on home and family. The stillness is interrupted only by the wind, the waves, and our twice-weekly ferryboat that stops on its way from Martha’s Vineyard to Nantucket, weather permitting.
At least in theory.
This Christmas promises to be unusually eventful for the Flynns, descendants of the island’s founding family. They have much to celebrate. New careers are in full swing. New babies have been born, and more are on the way. Old lovers have reconciled — Mayor Fraser Flynn and his wife, Mona, are back together after a long separation.
Since no one expected the couple to reach the fortieth wedding anniversary mark, their children are throwing a Christmas Eve party in their honor.
Among the guests will be a man named Leo, and a woman named Tess. These strangers will feel like outsiders at first, standing on the sidelines of another family’s laughter and love as they wrestle with their own brokenness. They will wonder why they’ve never found this kind of joy in their own lives, why happiness has passed them by.
Until the kiss…
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Suffice it to say that the story of Tess and Leo will remain a subject of debate for years to come. Some will say their meeting was just plain luck, while others will insist that yours truly had a hand in what transpired.
I will never tell, but keep this in mind: though my water has been shut off for the winter, I am still on the clock.
Another round of snow is on its way. Soon, pristine white frosting will sprinkle down on an already snowy world. My bronze arms will sparkle with it; my ornate fantail will shine.
Tess and Leo will laugh as they lift their faces toward it.
In the meantime, I shall keep watch over my island, as I’ve done for more than a century. I shall rise into air perfumed with pine and wood smoke. I shall shimmer under a sky of diamond starlight.
And I shall be reminded that we are part of a great mystery, and that wonder cradles us in the palm of its hand.
At Christmastime and always.
Chapter One
Afternoon, December 22nd
Tess Curry’s cousin had warned her that the winter ferry ride to Bayberry Island was not for the faint of heart. He’d been right.
She was slumped over in a plastic chair bolted to the passenger deck, sick as a dog, as sick as the Golden Retriever she’d seen in her Boston surgical clinic just that morning.
Come to think of it, Tess had much in common with old Beavis. They’d both made spectacularly bad choices. Beavis had chosen to eat three boxes of Christmas tinsel, and it nearly killed him. Tess had chosen to waste four years on a man who, she’d just discovered, never loved her.
And she felt half dead.
Tess dared look out the ferry’s pockmarked plastic windows toward the horizon line. The green-gray waves were capped with angry white froth. The sky drooped low, like a frown of disappointment.
Tess was not supposed to be here. She was supposed to be with Jake at their favorite Vermont country inn, watching the snow fall, curled in his arms before the fireplace. This was supposed to be the Christmas he popped the question.
Instead, she was alone, curled up with a seasickness bag watching the rain come down, trapped in a rattling, diesel-stinking ferryboat pounding toward her only East Coast relative. “Disappointment” didn’t even begin to cover it.
Tess would spend Christmas with her cousin, Nat Ravelle. Their mothers — twin sisters — hadn’t even bothered to hide their agenda from their grown children. This trip was nothing more than a hastily thrown-together pity excursion, more of a family intervention than a holiday celebration.
Tragic Tess. Duped and dumped at Christmas. Alone with a broken heart.
She propped an elbow on her knee, and dropped her cheek into her hand. God, how she wished she could take back the conversation she’d had with her mother just last week. “He’s already bought a ring, Mom. I saw the jewelry store receipt. This is the year, I’m sure of it.”
Tess groaned — more from sadness than stomach trouble — but it must have sounded like a cry for help. The friendly conductor appeared at her side.
“We’ll be pulling in at five P.M., right on schedule,” he said. “Spending the holiday with family, Miss Curry?”
She nodded weakly, turning her head from the undulating waves.
“I happen to know most everybody on Bayberry. Who is it you’re visitin’?”
She didn’t feel up to chitchat, but she took a deep breath and tried to smile. “Nathaniel Ravelle. My cousin.”
Her voice! Tess raised her hand to her throat, surprised by the sound she’d just heard. It was the rasp of someone who’d just swallowed a bucket of sand.
Or her pride.
“Nat, did you say?” The conductor chuckled wi
th satisfaction. “Well, what d’ya know? Wasn’t all that long ago that he arrived on this ferry at Christmastime, choppy seas and all, just like you’re doin’. He came to make a movie but found true love with Annabeth Parker. Never left. It happens a lot, on account of the Great Mermaid.”
Tess didn’t have the energy to debate the existence of true love, let alone a supernatural mermaid fountain said to channel it. She had only the one seasickness bag, after all.
Besides, what the conductor said about Nat was mostly true. Her cousin had come to Bayberry four years before to do location scouting for a paranormal TV show. He met the island’s X-rated bakery owner, quit his Hollywood job, and spent years doing a documentary on the island’s mermaid legend instead. Tess had never seen Nat’s film, though her mother insisted it was funny, sweet, and even thought provoking.
She had four days to kill at the Safe Haven Bed and Breakfast — plenty of time to watch a movie. Besides, she’d probably need to take a break from hiding in her room, slamming hot toddies, and sobbing.
“Hang in there, Miss Curry.” The conductor patted her shoulder. “You never know what you’ll get with a Bayberry Christmas.”
Oh, Tess knew exactly what she’d be getting this Christmas — a big ole sack o’ single.
* * *
“Tess!”
She disembarked from the ferry and stepped right into her cousin’s bear hug. Nat squeezed her tight and gave her back several reassuring pats before he held her at arm’s length. “So great to see you. You look wonderful, T. C’mon.”
Nat grabbed the handle of her wheeled carry-on and began to stomp down the gangway. She followed, pulling the hood of her parka over her hair.
Nat pointed. “I’m parked right on the dock. That’s me, the Jeep with the flashers on.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pretty nasty out, huh? Watch your step — this ramp gets icy.”
Tess’s first and only visit to Bayberry had been two years before, for the annual Mermaid Festival. The island had been hot, flooded with sunshine, and packed with costumed tourists. The air had carried the scent of fried fish and hot dogs and the din of live music and laughter.
It was hard to believe this was the same place. The sun had already gone down, leaving the waterfront in darkness. The only scent in the air was the sea and the ferry exhaust, and all she heard was the crash of the waves. There wasn’t another soul in sight, just a huge Christmas tree at the center of the public dock, its sparkling lights boring a hole through the darkness.
Nat opened the passenger door for her and tossed the bag in the back of the Jeep. He started the engine and turned on the headlights, but didn’t put his foot on the gas.
“Annie’s meeting us at the Safe Haven. She’s helping get your room ready.”
“That’s sweet. I look forward to seeing her.”
When Nat finally turned her way, Tess saw the worry in his expression. She braced herself for the questions that were surely coming, wondering about the intel Nat had received from the moms.
“You okay, Tess? They told me what happened.”
She slumped against the headrest. “What did they do — conference call you or something?”
“Skype, actually.”
She closed her eyes. “Wow.”
He patted her coat sleeve.
Nat was a good guy, her favorite cousin, by far. And they’d had a lot of fun together as kids during those endless summers on Lake Michigan. As Tess recalled, having a slightly older cousin had its perks. Nat taught her to sail and drive a stick shift. He taught her to drink, smoke cigarettes, and cuss. Nat also taught her the fine art of sneaking out at night without getting caught on your way back in.
But they’d never been BFFs, exactly, especially as adults. And Tess wasn’t all that interested in baring her soul to Nat about her sham of a relationship.
So how would she answer the question he’d just asked? Would she lie and claim she was fine? Would she break down and lose her shit before he’d even put the Jeep into drive? She opted to stay silent.
“It’s got to suck hard to get dumped just before Christmas, but I have to tell you — you really do look great.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m serious. The moms made it sound like you were a mess — huddled in front of the TV watching It’s A Wonderful Life while eating straight out of a Fancy Feast can.”
Tess heard herself chuckle. The chuckle turned into a full laugh, which developed an edge to it, one of those near-hysterical edges. She cupped her face in her hands and tried to pull herself together.
Nat cleared his throat. “I never liked Jake much. Sorry, but I always thought he was a douche.”
Tess mumbled into her hands. “I can’t believe what a clueless idiot I’ve been.”
Nat patted her sleeve once more. “You are not an idiot — you’re a brilliant woman who was betrayed. And I’m glad you’re here, Tess. It’ll give you a chance to decompress.”
They drove away from the dock and through the little island town, then up the hill and toward the bed and breakfast.
They didn’t talk much during the five-minute drive. Tess dropped her hands from her face and looked out on all the little Main Street storefronts strung with Christmas lights.
They drove past cedar shingle Cape Cod houses tucked into snowy properties along Shore Road. Nearly every front porch was lit with a welcoming light, she noticed. Every door was decorated with evergreen boughs or wreaths. This place looked like an impossibly sentimental Christmas card.
“The rain is supposed to turn back to snow soon,” Nat said.
“That will be pretty.”
Not as pretty as Vermont.
Tess saw the Safe Haven Bed and Breakfast appear on the rise of the hill. Its position and size made it impossible to miss, even through the swish of the wiper blades. Muted floodlights accented the outline of its roof, gables, and porches. Turrets rose like spires into the dark winter sky. The grand old mansion’s countless windows shone cheerfully against the gloom. Tess felt herself smile as they pulled through the ornate wrought iron gates.
It was her first smile in days.
Right then, Tess told herself she was lucky. If she needed to run away and lick her wounds, this wasn’t a bad place to do it.
* * *
A half-hour later, Tess found herself sitting on the edge of a nicely appointed four-poster bed, her head spinning.
Nat and Annie had shown her to the suite and were now seated in two overstuffed chairs before the fireplace. Annie glanced at her husband, then back to Tess, biting her lip.”Sorry about that,” she said.
Tess blinked at her.
“The Flynns can be a little…boisterous sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tess had walked through the rain and into a circus. Kids and toddlers ran around, followed by a barking three-legged dog. Babies cried. The police chief’s walky-talky squawked. Several older ladies kissed Tess’s cheek and Mr. Flynn squeezed the breath out of her.
Someone shoved a glass of wine into one hand and a plate of food into the other. And though she’d met a few of the Flynns during her visit two years ago, they’d been so busy with the festival that they’d had time only for a quick greeting.
Tonight she’d received the full treatment. She’d been swallowed whole by the hospitality monster.
“If someone quizzed me right now, I don’t think I could remember the names of half the people downstairs.”
Annie smiled. “No quizzes. You have my word.”
Tess had always considered Nat’s wife to be one of the most effortlessly likeable women she’d ever run across. Even if Annie Parker weren’t married to her cousin, Tess would have sought out her friendship.
Nat was less laid-back. “I’ll break it down for you.” He rose from his chair and began to give detailed biographies of Mona and Fraser Flynn, their three grown children and spouses, and grandchildren. He talked about the Mermaid Society — a group of women who kept the legend alive. Then, Nat veered
off into subjects like sibling rivalries, occupations, and just plain gossip.
Tess looked sideways at Annie, who shrugged in response. “What can I say? The documentary turned my husband into the island busybody.”
Nat kept going. And it occurred to Tess that Bayberry Island was nothing but blissfully married couples, one happy couple after the next. It was as if Match.com ran aground on Gilligan’s Island.
Coming here had to be the worst idea ever. Tess had just been betrayed in the most heartless way possible. She’d expected to get a ring and instead got the hammer. And this was where she’d come to mend her broken heart?
Her cousin stopped abruptly and looked to Annie.
“Did Leo come downstairs tonight? I don’t think I saw him.”
“Nope.”
Tess detected a slight shift in her cousin’s tone of voice. “Who’s Leo?”
Nat shrugged. “You’ll probably meet him tomorrow. He’s a very nice guy who works for Duncan. He’s spending the holidays here.”
Later, Tess would wonder why she’d immediately assumed Leo was an older man. In her mind, she pictured a distinguished gentleman with gray hair, perhaps a widower, who wore a beret and a cashmere scarf. Maybe it was the name — Leo. It had an old-world flavor to it.
“We should probably let you get some rest.” Annie stood and looped her hand into Nat’s arm, leading him toward the door. But before they exited into the hallway, Nat spun around.
“Hey, I forgot to mention this, but there’s going to be a big Christmas Eve party here. Huge, really.”
Tess immediately shook her head. “I’m not really—”
Nat held up his hand. “You don’t have to come down, but I thought I should warn you. It’s Fraser and Mona’s fortieth anniversary.”
Tess felt a heavy weight of exhaustion settle onto her shoulders, pressing down into her spine. She’d brought nothing to wear to an anniversary party. She wasn’t in the mood for a party. Honestly, she wasn’t even in the mood for Christmas.
A Bayberry Christmas: A Bayberry Island Holiday e-Novella (The Bayberry Island Series Book 5) Page 1