Christmas in Vermont

by Anita Hughes

  Fletcher leaned forward and kissed her. “We’ve been apart for eleven years. Now that we’ve found each other, I’d like to try again.”

  Emma kissed him back. He put his arm around her and crushed her against his chest.

  “I would like that too,” she whispered, and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “But now we have to hurry. The talent show starts soon, and we can’t be late for Lola’s number.”

  Fletcher put the car in drive. The wheels spun, and for a moment he thought they were stuck. Then Emma touched his arm and the car edged onto the road.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let us miss the show,” he said. “Lola’s counting on both of us, and we won’t let her down.”

  * * *

  Fletcher stood in the back of the Snowberry Playhouse and thought everything looked perfect. A gold banner reading WELCOME 2020! was strung across the stage, and below it was a Christmas tree decorated with ornaments. The women in the audience were wearing glimmering cocktail dresses, the men were dressed in dinner jackets, and the hall was filled with the scent of perfume and men’s cologne.

  Emma sat at the piano in her red dress with the gold stole draped over her shoulders, and Fletcher thought she’d never looked so beautiful. Lola was wearing one of Cassandra’s most outrageous creations, a patchwork velvet jumper over a turtleneck and neon yellow tights. Her hair was festooned with a red bow, and she was wearing black Mary Janes.

  As Fletcher waited for Lola to start, he recalled the nights he’d stood anxiously in the back of the Old Vic, like when the female lead in The Taming of the Shrew had a Scottish accent and he was afraid no one would understand her lines. Even when Daniel Day-Lewis had been in the audience of King Lear, he hadn’t been as nervous as he was now. Lola was going to sing in front of all these people, and he didn’t want anything to go wrong.

  Stephen appeared on the stage and announced the next act. Lola strode to the podium and took the microphone as if it were an old friend.

  The opening strains of “So This Is Christmas” came from the piano, and Fletcher let the music carry him away. He recalled the first time he’d heard Lola sing at a child’s birthday party, when he’d realized she had a special talent. Emma looked up from the piano in his direction, and he thought his heart might burst.

  The song ended and everyone stood up and clapped. The applause continued, and the smile on Lola’s face was as wide as the Ferris wheel in Hyde Park.

  The curtain came down and Fletcher was about to return to his seat. Suddenly Lola hurtled down the aisle and flung her arms around Fletcher’s waist.

  “How did I do?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed. “Do you think I could be a Broadway star when I grow up?”

  “You don’t have to wait until you grow up.” Fletcher picked her up and twirled her around. “You’re a star now.”

  It was the last act and everyone returned to their seats. Betty appeared on the stage, wearing a silver evening gown. The spotlight illuminated the diamond earrings in her ears.

  “What a wonderful night we’ve had,” Betty said into the microphone. “In all my years of celebrating New Year’s Eve in Snowberry, I can’t remember one I’ve enjoyed more.” She looked out into the theater. “Before I announce the winners, I want to thank everyone for being here. Less than a week ago, I thought I might lose the inn, and a special girl suggested how I might keep it. I was skeptical, but that’s because I forgot about Christmas miracles. You’ve all shown me so much love and support. No matter whose name is in this envelope”—she waved the envelope—“I’m the biggest winner tonight.”

  Everyone clapped, and Emma slipped into the seat beside Fletcher. He squeezed her hand and there was a rustling onstage.

  “We have a tie for second place,” Betty read from the card. “Marie Gould for her rendition of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ and Tom Addams for his piano recital of Brahms’s ‘Lullaby.’”

  Everyone applauded, and Fletcher saw the look of hope mingled with disappointment on Lola’s face. He put one arm around her and waited for Betty to continue.

  “Our grand prize winner is a young lady with a voice we’ll hear many times in the future.” Betty peered at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost midnight, so I’m not going to waste any more time announcing Lola Conway as tonight’s winner of a week’s stay at The Smuggler’s Inn!”

  Lola jumped up and dashed onto the stage. Betty squeezed her tightly and Stephen joined them at the podium.

  “I want to thank Betty and Stephen and everyone involved with the talent show,” Lola said into the microphone. “But mostly I want to thank my father for bringing me to The Smuggler’s Inn and Emma for helping me practice. I’m almost ten, and I thought I had to stop believing in Santa Claus. But I think I’m going to keep believing. What else besides a Christmas miracle could be responsible for all the good things that happened this week in Snowberry?”

  Lola returned to her seat and showed the trophy to Fletcher and Emma. Betty came and joined them and Lola was so excited she kept humming “Jingle Bells” while people stopped by to congratulate her. Then Betty and Lola joined Stephen and they passed out sparkly eyeglasses and bags of confetti.

  The overhead lights dimmed and the hall was only lit by the twinkling lights on the stage. Everyone glanced up at the ceiling and gold and silver balloons floated to the ground. “Auld Lang Syne” played over the loudspeaker and everyone clapped and cheered. People blew streamers and Fletcher pulled Emma closer.

  “Happy New Year,” he breathed, kissing her. Emma kissed him back. Fletcher whispered in her ear, “Lola’s right; everything about this week has been a Christmas miracle.”

  Twenty-one

  New Year’s Day

  Snowberry, Vermont

  EMMA FOLDED BLOUSES INTO HER suitcase. It was New Year’s Day, and she was driving back to New York. Triple A fixed the battery and she and Fletcher had picked her car up this morning. Fletcher and Lola were leaving at the same time, and they were going to caravan. Outside the window, the sky was a crisp blue, and the fields were blanketed in fresh snow.

  Last night after the talent show had been a whirlwind. The snow had finally stopped, and she and Fletcher and Lola went to the diner and shared an ice cream sundae. Lola put her trophy in the middle of the table and was so excited, Fletcher had to keep reminding her to take bites of the vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup.

  When they returned to The Smuggler’s Inn, Lola went to her room to Skype Cassandra, and Emma and Fletcher lingered in the parlor. Betty had discreetly left out a bottle of sherry, and they talked for hours. Fletcher told Emma about being a director, Emma described her work as a copywriter, and they talked about London and New York.

  Then they went upstairs and kissed in the hallway for so long, Emma’s mouth was numb. Emma was tempted to ask Fletcher into her room, but decided against it. They were both exhausted from the talent show, and there was no reason to rush into making love.

  There would be plenty of opportunities; they both agreed they wanted to start seeing each other regularly. Fletcher asked her to attend the opening of a Broadway show, and Emma invited him to a dinner party at Bronwyn and Carlton’s. They planned a trip to the Natural History Museum with Lola, and Emma suggested an English pub Fletcher might like in Midtown.

  There was a knock at the door and Emma answered it.

  “I wondered if you needed help packing.” Lola entered the room. “Betty is making a late breakfast before we leave. She said we need a proper Vermont breakfast: pancakes with maple syrup and cheddar cheese omelets and sausages.”

  “I’m still full from last night,” Emma groaned, tucking a book into her suitcase. “What did your mother say when you showed her your trophy?”

  “She was thrilled. We’re going to keep it next to her Oliver award for costume design—that’s like the British Tonys,” Lola said knowledgeably. “Stephen’s friend at the Southern Vermont Gazette is writing an article about the talent show, and he�
�s going to use my photo. I hope my hair looks all right; it gets frizzy under the lights.”

  “Spoken like a true actress,” Emma laughed. “Trust me, you looked lovely. You stole the talent show.”

  “Betty said we raised enough money to save the inn,” Lola said eagerly. “She’s going to make the talent show an annual event, and next Christmas she’ll donate the proceeds to charity.”

  “Your mother should be proud of you,” Emma returned. “Learning how to help others is one of the most important lessons of all.”

  “She said we could do something special to celebrate.” Lola fiddled with her hair. “I told her I’d like some new boots, and maybe we could get something for the baby at the same time.”

  “You said you knew about the baby!” Emma exclaimed.

  “I didn’t mean to; it slipped out.” Lola perched on the bed. “But I’m glad it did. I hate keeping secrets. At first she seemed upset, but then I told her I couldn’t wait to read the baby my Beatrix Potter books.” Lola looked at Emma. “The funniest thing happened—my mother started crying. She said there was something in her eye and that she needed tissues. But when she came back, her eyes were watery and she was sniffling.”

  “I’m sure she was relieved,” Emma offered. “There’s nothing she wants more than for you to be happy.”

  “How can I not be happy? I won a trophy, and someday I’m going to be on Broadway.” Lola noticed Emma’s belongings scattered on the bedspread. She picked up a black jewelry case and opened it. “Why do you have a man’s watch?”

  “It’s a present,” Emma said quickly, holding out her hand.

  “It’s engraved with Dad’s name.” Lola’s eyes widened. “To Fletcher, you have my heart. Emma.”

  “I gave it to your dad a long time ago,” Emma admitted. “Then the craziest thing happened. I found it in a jewelry store in New York on Christmas Eve.”

  “You mean you and Dad were more than just friends in college?” Lola asked.

  “I guess you could say that,” Emma said, nodding. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I could tell you liked each other!” Lola exclaimed. “I have an instinct about these things.”

  “I do like your father.” Emma looked at Lola. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

  “It’s the best news ever.” Lola nodded happily. “We can do so many fun things in New York, like visit Dylan’s Candy Bar and climb to the top of the Empire State Building.”

  “Slow down,” Emma laughed. “You have to go to school and I have to work. But we’ll make a list and work our way through it.”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Lola jumped off the bed. “I can smell the pancakes from the top of the staircase. Broadway actresses always eat big breakfasts after a performance.” She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Using your vocal cords makes you hungry.”

  * * *

  “There you are,” Betty said when Emma entered the dining room. The table was set with a floral tablecloth and a potted chrysanthemum. There was a pitcher of orange juice and a plate of homemade muffins. Fletcher was sitting at one end of the table, digging into scrambled eggs. Lola was next to him, pouring syrup onto an enormous stack of pancakes.

  “It smells delicious, but that ice cream sundae last night almost finished me off.” Emma pulled out a chair across from Fletcher. “I’ll start with coffee.”

  “You need more than coffee.” Betty placed a cup in front of her. “You have a long drive to New York. I packed turkey sandwiches, so you don’t have to eat at some highway stop where the sandwiches come in vending machines and the cheese tastes like plastic.”

  “I will miss Vermont cheeses; there’s nothing like them in Manhattan. I’ll miss everything about The Smuggler’s Inn.” Emma looked at Betty. “Especially having a new friend.”

  “I’m the one who should be grateful.” Betty sat down. “The talent show raised enough money to pay the taxes, and the phone is ringing off the hook with new reservations. Stephen and I are planning a trip to New York in January. He has to check on some investments and I’ll buy some cruise wear.” Betty glanced from Emma to Lola. “Maybe you can join me for afternoon tea at the Plaza.”

  “We’d love to.” Emma smiled.

  “And Dad and I will be in Snowberry all summer,” Lola announced, eating a bite of sausage. “Stephen said I can be a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m going to take tap lessons at the local dance studio. A Broadway actress has to be well-rounded.”

  “Will you be joining us this summer?” Betty asked Emma.

  “We talked about it last night.” Emma glanced at Fletcher. “I can work from home on Fridays, so I’m going to come for long weekends.”

  “Emma will stop me from spending all my time at the theater.” Fletcher smiled. “Without her to drag me away from the playhouse, I’d be the only person in Snowberry who doesn’t have a tan by Labor Day.”

  “Emma showed me the watch she gave Dad when they were in college,” Lola announced to the table. “She found it in a used jewelry store on Christmas Eve.” She sighed. “It’s like the romantic movies that Cammi’s mother watches when she’s supposed to be making dinner.”

  “I was going to give it to you as a late Christmas present,” Emma said to Fletcher. “That is, if you’ll wear it.”

  “Of course I’ll wear it.” Fletcher nodded and reached into a shopping bag. “I bought you a Christmas present.” He handed her a box wrapped in red paper.

  Emma opened it. Inside was a silver charm bracelet, with one charm: a maple leaf.

  “I found it at the Snowberry General Store,” Fletcher said. “Every time you return to Vermont, you can add a new charm.”

  “It’s lovely.” Emma fastened it around her wrist. “Thank you.”

  “I bought you a present too,” Fletcher said, handing Lola a parcel wrapped in Christmas-themed paper.

  Lola tore off the paper and discovered an American Girl doll. She had wavy red hair and carried a tennis racquet.

  “It’s an American Girl doll, because now you’re an American girl,” Fletcher said to Lola.

  “I love it—I can’t wait to show it to Cammi.” Lola hugged her father. “Cammi says the American Girl Café is the coolest restaurant in New York.”

  “She’s carrying the tennis racquet to remind you to be a child,” Fletcher said, hugging her back. “Not everything in life revolves around the theater.”

  “This is the best Christmas ever,” Lola gushed. “I made new friends and won a trophy, and learned how to stitch teddy bears back together.”

  “It is the best Christmas,” Fletcher said, smiling at Emma. “And there’s so much to look forward to: summer in Vermont, and the opening of the play on Broadway. I can’t wait until next year when we all celebrate Christmas at The Smuggler’s Inn.”

  Emma looked at Lola with her wild red hair, and Fletcher in his turtleneck and ski sweater, and was completely confident that in 365 days she’d be sitting between them toasting the new year.

  If anyone had told her a week ago that she’d be having breakfast with Fletcher and his daughter at a Vermont inn with snowflakes sticking to the windowsill and logs crackling in the fireplace, she would have said they were crazy. But, as Bronwyn would have pointed out, that was the thing about synchronicity: it appeared in your life when you least expected it, and made your dreams come true.

  “I agree,” she said, returning Fletcher’s smile. “Next Christmas is going to be perfect.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Lauren Jablonski, and agent, Melissa Flashman, and to the incredible team at St. Martin’s Press: Meghan Harrington, Jordan Hanley, Brant Janeway, and always to Jennifer Weis and Jennifer Enderlin.

  Thank you to my dear friends Tracy Soderberg Whitney, Sara Sullivan, Kelly Berke, Laura Narbutas, and Pat Hazelton Hull. And thank you to my children for all the joy in my life: Alex, Andrew, Heather, Madeleine, and Thomas.

  Also by Anita Hughes


  Christmas at the Chalet

  California Summer

  Christmas in London

  Emerald Coast

  White Sand Blue Sea

  Christmas in Paris

  Santorini Sunsets

  Island in the Sea

  Rome in Love

  French Coast

  Lake Como

  Market Street

  Monarch Beach

  About the Author

  ANITA HUGHES is the author of Christmas at the Chalet; Christmas in London; Christmas in Paris; Emerald Coast; White Sand; Blue Sea; Santorini Sunsets; Island in the Sea; Rome in Love; French Coast; Lake Como; Market Street; and Monarch Beach. She attended UC Berkeley’s Masters in Creative Writing Program, and lives in Dana Point, California, where she is at work on her next novel. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Anita Hughes

  About the Author