An Island Christmas

1

The Friday of Thanksgiving weekend was unusually cold, with a strong salty breeze blowing off Nantucket Sound, but the hundreds of islanders clustered on the corner of Main Street and Orange didn’t mind the weather. As twilight fell at four o’clock, friends, neighbors, and visiting relatives chatted together, rubbing their hands for warmth and discussing Christmas plans. Children jumped up and down, all antsy with anticipation. Dogs strained at their leashes, trying to sniff other dogs.

On the top step of the Pacific National Bank, a man dressed like an old-­time town crier stood in his black cape, red muffler, and glossy top hat, like a conjurer about to perform magic. And wasn’t electricity a kind of magic, especially when carried in a cable along the watery floor of Nantucket Sound, thirty miles from the mainland to the island? The town crier offered a hearty greeting, flicked a switch, and suddenly all the way to the harbor, on both sides of the long cobblestone street, short plump festive evergreens burst into twinkling radiance like a chorus line of flamboyant elves. In front of the bank, a thirty-­foot-­tall fat Norwegian spruce suddenly blazed with white lights and crimson bows. The holidays had officially arrived, the shops were adorned, and the boisterous crowd, led by the town’s beloved music teacher, sang the season’s first carols.

The exuberant voices of the singers carried a few blocks down to a charming, painstakingly restored 1840s Greek Revival house on Chestnut Street. Jilly Gordon, who in past years had always attended the festivities, now sat in her peach cashmere sweater set, curled up on a down-­filled sofa in front of a crackling fire. She was sobbing.

Jilly was on the phone with her best friend, Nicole Somerset. “Oh, Nicole, I really don’t know if my heart can take this. I don’t understand why Felicia wants to live so far away.”

“Of course you know exactly why, Jilly. Felicia wants to live with the man she’s going to marry and the man she’s going to marry lives in Utah.”

“Utah . . .” Jilly moaned. “Why doesn’t she just move to the moon?”

“Jilly, you’re taking this too personally. Felicia is not trying to get away from you. Not everyone appreciates this funny isolated island the way we do. She’ll be happier in Utah, where she can do all that hiking, skiing, and rafting she’s always enjoyed.”

“It’s all so dangerous! Why can’t she be more like Lauren? More sensible, more prudent? Plus, if she has to climb mountains, why can’t she climb them in New Hampshire or Massachusetts? We have perfectly fine mountains in the east!”

“Felicia prefers the desert. You know that. She enjoys the hot sun on her skin. But more than that, and most important, Felicia loves Archie. She sounds very happy with him. He seems to be the perfect guy for her. You can’t change that, Jilly, and you can’t change your daughter. She’s twenty-­nine years old.”

Jilly frowned. “I will never understand why these girls are so different. Lauren was always such a girly girl while Felicia even thinks her name is too prim! It was my grandmother’s name! But I thought she treasured Nantucket. When she’s here, she’s always swimming or walking on the moors or out in the harbor sailing or in her kayak or on that—­that, that new way to drown yourself, what do you call it?”

“Paddleboard. It’s fun, Jilly.”

“Fine,” Jilly sniffed. “Paddleboard. For the elegant woman.”

Nicole laughed. “You’re just all wound up because she’s getting married. Come on, Jilly, give the girl some credit for trying to make you happy. She’s agreed—­no, she suggested holding her wedding on Nantucket on Christmas Day. Isn’t that proof enough she wants to please you?”

Jilly blew her nose on a tissue. She could do this on the telephone with Nicole because they were best friends. “I know you’re right, Nicole. The irony is, I don’t want her to get married here this Christmas. Steven Hardy has just bought the house next door to us right here on Chestnut Street.”

“Wait. Whiplash. What?”

“Miles and Elaine Hardy were our first close friends when we moved here to Nantucket. Their son Steven is just Felicia’s age, and they were best friends and maybe more than that. He’s knockout handsome and really sweet.”

“You’ve told me about him. Wasn’t he Felicia’s prom date in high school?”

“Yes, they made the most stunning couple. They lost touch when they went off to college, and then Miles and Elaine moved to Arizona so we lost touch with them. Now I’ve just found out that Steven is moving back here. He’s a fabulously successful stockbroker, and he’s bought the house next door because he wants to live year-­round on the island! Just think, Nicole, if Felicia married him—­”

“Hang on. How do you know he isn’t married?”

“The realtor told me.”

“I’m speechless.”

“I’m desperate! Remember when George and I flew out to see Felicia in Utah last year, we met Archie. He was muddy, bruised, unshaven, and he had blood on his T-­shirt!”

“Jilly. Get a grip. You told me he’d just returned from leading a white-­water rafting tour. You showed me photos of him. I think Archie’s handsome.”

“Fine, he’s handsome, but in a Gerard Butler, hairy swashbuckler way. Steven is much more elegant, all very Pierce Brosnan, suit and tie and briefcase. He’s been over for dinner since he moved back to the island. I’d like to invite him for Christmas dinner.”

“Maybe you should rethink that.”

“Well, I didn’t know Felicia was going to call me up and drop this wedding on me. I thought she’d come home for Christmas . . .”

Jilly stopped talking as her mind, leaping ahead of her mouth, exploded with such a brilliant idea she almost laughed aloud. Felicia was bringing Archie to the island two weeks before Christmas, so she’d have some time to show her fiancé all her favorite spots. Two weeks might be just enough time for Jilly to throw Felicia and Steven together . . . surely once they saw each other again, and spent time with each other, and . . .

“Jilly? Are you still there?”

“Um. Sorry. My mind wandered. I guess I’m overwhelmed with Felicia’s news, plus the responsibility of turning this house into a magic Christmas scene plus a house for a perfect wedding reception.”

“Jilly, you’ve got to slow down. You always set your standards way too high. You’ll drive yourself crazy this way. Your house doesn’t have to look perfect, although I’ve got to say you are starting with perfection. I’ve never seen a house so beautifully decorated and completely uncluttered as your house. And you know I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“That’s kind of you, Nicole. I’m sure I’ll call on you.” Jilly took a deep breath. She really wasn’t manic or an overwrought anal-­compulsive. Or maybe she was, but just occasionally. “Are your stepdaughter and her family coming to your house this Christmas?” Jilly asked.

“No. They’re going to spend part of the holiday with her mother and Alonzo and the rest of it with James’s parents. I have to say I’m relieved. Sebastian and I are looking forward to having a peaceful holiday. We deserve it after last year. Plus, everyone’s here for Thanksgiving.” Nicole switched the focus back to Jilly. “What does George think about all this?” George Gordon was a retired accountant: kind, thoughtful, leisurely, and logical.

“Oh, George! He stays in his study at his computer working on his family tree.” Jilly’s laugh was tinged with hysteria. “That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? He’s so busy tracing his ancestors that he doesn’t deal with what’s going on with his real living family.”

“Well, after all, Jilly, what could George do? Do you expect him to fly out to Utah, tie your daughter up, and drive her back here in the trunk of a car?” Nicole was glad to attempt to jolly her friend along. Last Christmas, Jilly had saved Nicole from losing her mind. This was what friends did for each other.

Jilly laughed. “Now that you mention it, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I think this Archie fellow has Felicia under his spell.”

“I should certainly hope he has her under his spell if she’s going to marry him. That’s the only reason to get married, isn’t it? Being crazy in love with a man?”

“Nicole, you are such a romantic.” Jilly rose from the sofa, picked up a poker, and poked the logs.