Page 7 of Christmas Cove

“Brampson, ma’am.”

“Thank you Brampson. Will you let me know when we are getting close? I’d like to take notes on my first impressions.”

“Of course,” he said, and the privacy partition rose between them.

America sat back and dropped her head to the headrest. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said aloud, and the car lurched forward. Her trusty watch buzzed the hour on her wrist, and she wondered how her parents’ flight was going, and how surprised they were going to be when she told them what she was up to. In her estimation, they were somewhere near the Azores on the way to their layover in Paris.

Her mother said they would call when they got to Italy, and America planned to tell them about her adventure then. And perhaps, by then, she’d have something to tell. Up until that moment, all she had done was pack a bag and feed a squirrel. She would need something a bit more interruption-worthy if she were going to take away any time from her parents’ once-in-a-lifetime vacation.

America used the remaining battery life in her computer to look up everything she could about Christmas Cove. She learned that a young entrepreneur founded the town in the year 1869, when the railroad needed a watering station beside the lake. Later, when industry had moved nearby, the picturesque lake setting was the preferred destination for locals to spend any leisure time.

The summer playpen expanded into a winter haven after World War II, when returning soldiers took their families to quiet spots dotted throughout New England for long-awaited holidays. Christmas Cove lived up to its name with one of the biggest festivals in the area: The Bonfire of Fears.

America giggled when she read about it. It sounded worse than it was.

According to the custom, a bonfire is set ablaze on the icy shore, and people write their prayers and their fears on rice paper and throw them into the flames. When the paper incinerates, the tiny particles float skyward with the rising heat.

What a beautiful image the event created in her heart!

The battery icon on America’s computer blinked death, and she put it away, opting for an old standard instead, her favorite book.

CHAPTER5

“I appreciateyou coming over to help get the place ready,” Leo said. “I can’t believe that I got such a great booking this time of the year. It was a long shot trying to rent this place out, all things considered.”

“It’s not like there’s much else to do around here,” Edwin teased. “You know I’m happy to help you out. Now, where should I start?”

Leo handed the older man two brown grocery bags and pointed at the cabin. He had a few hours until the guest would arrive, and he wanted the place to be perfect. Having a long booking hadn’t happened in years, and he was thankful for the chunk of change the travel agency said the guest was willing to pay to stay there.

He hadn’t even argued when the name on the booking had switched from Meghan to America. He didn’t care much who she was.

Edwin came back out of the cabin and skipped down the front steps. “What’s next? Do you want me to go into town and get a few decorations? It is Christmas, after all.”

Leo looked out at the vast and empty countryside with fog lingering in the southern sky and sighed. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary. But thanks for the offer.” Leo handed the man two more bags from the bed of his truck and carried the tub, overflowing with fresh linens, inside.

While Edwin loaded the fridge with fresh produce and drinks, Leo made up the bed with layers of white sheets and a soft duvet. He hated that he knew the name for the thin covering and wished his mother hadn’t always been such a stickler for the way beds were supposed to be made. But here he was, about to turn thirty years old, and making up a bed in his little cabin with the most expensive sheets and blankets he’d ever purchased.

“You think she’s pretty?” Edwin yelled from the kitchen.

“Who are you talking about? Don’t tell me you bought another horse!”

“I’m talking about the lady. The one checking in today.”

“Why would I even care? It’s a booking. I’m simply happy to have one. Not to mention, if she’s a writer, she probably looks like she’s been locked up in a bookstore for the better part of her adult life and speaks in poetic soliloquies like she’s a long-lost Bennet sister.”

“That’s a very specific response,” Edwin laughed.

Joining Edwin in the kitchen, Leo sorted some of the dry goods on the counter. “It’s a habit. My mother was a literature teacher.”

“All I’m saying is to keep your mind and eyes open. You never know when a chance will be your only chance.”

“Now that sounds like a very specific response too,” Leo pointed out. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“I’m nearly seventy years old, of course I’m speaking from experience.” Edwin shut the fridge door and gathered the trash into one of the emptied brown paper bags. “When was the last time you dated? I know there are no unmarried women in town that are age-appropriate for you. Unless you count Scrooge McCarol.”

“Pa!” Leo scolded, using Edwin’s nickname. “Carol is your age, first of all. Secondly, I don’t need to go on dates to find someone. I’ll just know her when I see her.”

“And you’ll never find her if you don’t go anywhere outside this town of yours,” Edwin said. “But I, for one, feel like something big is about to happen for you. For this town. You know what I mean?”

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