Chapter Thirteen
It snowed overnight. In the morning, the view from Caroline’s window was like a postcard. The mountain was a bright white, and the branches of the aspen trees were heavy with snow. Caroline spent a lazy hour drinking coffee and watching a squirrel make footprints in the forest.
Daphne sent a text saying she and Luke were going to take a morning Jacuzzi and she’d meet Caroline at the dress shop at 11:00 a.m. Caroline was too relaxed to leave her room.
She picked up Nina’s next letter and started reading.
Dear Anne,
It was lovely to meet you for lunch, you could have at least let me pay. You’ve done so much for me already, who knows when you’ll see a return. That must be the funny thing about being an agent. You invest so much time in an author, and sometimes the book never sells. I was thrilled with your critique of the first ten pages of my novel. I don’t usually drink at lunch but I was so nervous, I needed that vodka martini. When you said you loved it, I felt like a puppy having his fur stroked. Most authors are the same, without a shred of self-confidence about our work.
I understand why you need to tell editors why I haven’t written for forty years. When I sat down to write these letters, it was because it was too complicated to explain over dinner. But the letters have come to mean so much more. I’ve always been a visual writer. When I take out my writing paper, I see myself as a young woman, and Teddy… well, Teddy being as handsome and irritating as ever.
So, if you’ll indulge me by reading the letters, I promise you’ll hear the whole story.
Teddy was never more infuriating as when we went to Vermont. Or maybe that’s because I was feeling guilty. I was still furious at him for what happened with Gwendolyn. And for letting his mother come between us. But a week at a farmhouse in Vermont when he could be enjoying Christmas in New York was a harsh punishment, on top of the fact that we were no longer engaged.
Then I pictured Gwendolyn’s parents’ villa on Saint Kitts and I was happy to banish Teddy to Vermont. I only wished I didn’t have to go with him.
Teddy drove. I was a New Yorker, I didn’t have a license or a car. Teddy wasn’t rich, remember, so his car wasn’t anything special. And it wasn’t made for the snow. The tires skidded, the heater blinked on and off.
We arrived in the late afternoon. From the outside, the farm was as I imagined it. A low-slung wooden farmhouse with a white picket fence, and a red barn. Inside, I was pleasantly surprised. There was central heating as well as a fireplace, and the kitchen had every utensil.
“Where did Margaret find this place?” Teddy asked, inspecting a rocking chair. “It’s right out of an L.L.Bean catalog. I bet the closets will be full of herringbone sweaters.”
“I like it.” I opened the bedroom door. “As long as the bedrooms are heated, we’ll be fine.”
Teddy walked through the rest of the house. The master bedroom was off the living room, and there was another bedroom behind the kitchen.
“The bedrooms might be a problem,” he said. “There are only two of them.”
“Well, there are only two of us…” I said, and stopped. Teddy must have realized what I was thinking because he started laughing.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he admitted. “When your contest winner arrives, we’re going to have to share a bedroom.”
“We’ll do no such thing!” I exclaimed. “I’d rather sleep in the bathtub.”
“You’d be welcome to, but I saw the bathroom. There’s only a shower.”
I had expected to pretend that Teddy and I shared a bedroom. We were supposed to be engaged, and it was the 1970s. Even a matron from the Midwest would assume that we’d sleep together. But after everyone went to bed, Teddy would move to the study. Except there was no study.
“I can’t bunk down in the living room,” Teddy said as if he could read my thoughts. “That would hardly show how much we’re in love. Besides, the sofa is lumpy and I have a bad back.”
“Sharing a bed with you is out of the question,” I said, stepping outside.
There was a covered porch but that would be impossible. Teddy would die of frostbite.
I kept walking to the barn. It was one large space with a loft.
“I solved our problem,” I announced, walking back into the house.
Teddy had already found the alcohol. Two bottles of scotch and an ice bucket on the sideboard in the living room.
“I said I’d watch out for bears, but if you think I’m going to sleep on the porch…”
“It wouldn’t do Laura Carter’s column any good if her fiancé got eaten by a bear,” I agreed. “You can sleep in the loft above the barn. We’ll take up a space heater, and there are plenty of blankets.”
“I will not! I’m allergic to horses,” he protested.
I narrowed my eyes. “You never mention that when you go to the racetrack with a client, and they want you to meet the jockey.”
“My allergies are changeable. Like your affections.” He walked to the door. “All right, I’ll sleep in the barn. I’ll see you later.”
I asked where he was going.
He turned and looked at me. It was times like that when I wished he weren’t so handsome. Just looking into those blue eyes made me melt.
“To the general store to buy more scotch. I can already tell that two bottles isn’t going to last the week.”
While Teddy was gone, I inspected the kitchen pantry. Margaret hadn’t told me the name of the contest winner but I assumed she would reflect the magazine’s core demographics. A married mother in her forties who used artificial sweetener in her coffee because she watched her weight, but still ate a few of the chocolate cookies she put in her child’s lunch box.
A car appeared in the driveway. It was big and luxurious, not the type you saw in Vermont. A man got out. I ran into the living room and hid behind the curtains. He might be the photographer who had taken photos of the farm. If he took photos of me, I’d have to pretend to be Laura Carter forever.
There was a knock. I ran to the hall closet and found an old fishing hat. I put it on and opened the front door.
“Good afternoon,” I said. “Can I help you?”
The man was in his mid-thirties. He was slender and attractive. Wide shoulders, amber-colored eyes.
“I’m looking for Laura Carter.”
“And you are?” I prompted.
He took off the hat he was wearing.
“I’m not being polite, my grandmother would be furious.” He held out his hand. “James Stanley.”
I still didn’t want to ask him inside. But I couldn’t stand at the door forever. I wasn’t wearing a coat and it was freezing.
I motioned for him to follow me. When I turned around, he was looking at me strangely.
“Is something wrong?” I questioned.
“I’ve never seen anyone wear a fishing hat in Vermont in December. The lakes are frozen.”
“I’m writing a column about including fish in your Christmas menu. The hat gives me inspiration.” I flashed him my widest smile. “It reminds me of the trout I caught last summer.”
James kept looking at me oddly. I was getting impatient.
“Look, if you need more photos of the farm, go ahead. But I’m writing, so you’ll have to show yourself around.”
“I’m not here to take photos. Though I probably should, my grandmother would love them.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Stanley?”
He twirled his hat in his hand. “Didn’t your publisher tell you? I’m the contest winner.”
My mouth couldn’t have opened wider if a black bear had been standing in the living room.
“Do you always enter women’s-magazine contests?” I asked when I regained my composure.
“To be honest, I don’t read Women’s World Monthly. My grandmother loves your column. She’s too old to travel, and she wants to know everything about your life on the farm. I couldn’t say no to her. It’s Christmas and she’s always been good to me.”
I took off the fishing hat and sank onto a chair. The scotch on the sideboard looked incredibly tempting. But I doubted Laura Carter downed a scotch on the rocks at five o’clock in the afternoon.
“So, we’re going to spend Christmas week together?” I gulped.
His face broke into a smile. When he smiled, he had an adorable dimple on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way. And I’m pretty handy. My family has a ski cabin in the Adirondacks.”
I was about to ask what he did for a living when there was the sound of tires crunching. I’d forgotten about Teddy!
Then I really panicked. What would Teddy say when the middle-aged matron from the Midwest turned out to be a handsome man who drove a fancy car and whose family owned a ski cabin?
Teddy entered carrying a brown paper bag. There was mud on his trousers.
“I parked in front of a mud puddle at the general store.” He walked straight to the closet and hung up his jacket. “And I forgot to stop at the bank, so I could only afford one bottle of scotch.”
He turned around and noticed James.
James reached into his pocket and took out a wallet. “Since I’ll be here all week, I’d be happy to contribute to the groceries. I only have a hundred dollars on me, I can get more when the bank opens tomorrow.”
“Who are you?” Teddy asked.
“James, this is my fiancé, Teddy Chandler,” I introduced them. “Teddy, this is James Stanley, the contest winner.”
I could see Teddy sizing him up. James was wearing an expensive-looking wool jacket and leather boots.
“You entered a women’s competition?” Teddy said, puzzled.
“My grandmother assured me anyone could enter.” James turned to me with a worried expression. “I didn’t want to do anything wrong.”
“Of course you could enter,” I said hastily. “Teddy and I are thrilled you’re the winner.” I shot Teddy a look. It wouldn’t be good for the magazine if James wrote a letter to the editor saying he had been treated badly.
I opened a bottle of scotch. It was close enough to cocktail hour and we all needed a drink.
“Teddy will have someone to talk to while I prepare Christmas dinner.” I filled the glasses with ice cubes. “Here on the farm, I can’t rely on ready-made stuffing or pre-roasted turkey. I make everything myself.”
Teddy noticed my look and put on his sweetest expression.
“Laura is practically Julia Child in the kitchen,” he gushed. “You can help me milk the cows. I can lend you some clothes, if you didn’t bring any.”
“I have a couple of suitcases in the car,” James said. “I’m used to working on a farm. My family owns a horse farm. I don’t spend much time there, but I enjoy it.”
“A horse farm?” Teddy repeated.
“I grew up in Washington, D.C., but my parents love the countryside. There’s the horse farm, and the ski cabin. Now that my father is retired, they’re buying a villa in the South of France.”
“What did your father do?” Teddy asked.
Teddy didn’t have any respect for men who lived off their trust funds. He believed everyone should have a career.
“He was in the diplomatic service. My mother ran the company that my grandmother started. Barbara’s Pies.”
At the time, Barbara’s Pies was one of the most successful frozen-cake brands. It started with frozen apple pies in the 1940s, and quickly added more flavors. Cherry pies, peach pies, and pecan pies at Christmas and Thanksgiving. You couldn’t open a freezer without finding a Barbara pie box, with a picture of Barbara in her signature red apron.
“My grandmother Barbara grew up on an apple farm in upstate New York. She moved to Washington, D.C., when she got married. She didn’t fit into Washington social life, so she filled her hours by baking pies. The pies were so good, a friend urged her to get them in a supermarket and it grew from there. A few years ago, she had a stroke and stopped working.”
I glanced uneasily at Teddy. He had already finished his scotch, and was pouring another.
“Do you work there too or live off the proceeds?” he asked.
“Neither, I’ve never been good at business.” James shook his head. “I do love to bake, it’s a great stress reliever. I’m a pediatric oncologist. Someday, I’d like to teach medicine at my alma mater.”
Teddy never finished college. It was one of the things he was sensitive about. He was offered the job at Colgate-Palmolive during his senior year at Cornell and dropped out.
“Let me guess, you’re a Harvard man,” Teddy said dryly.
James let out a small laugh. “Hardly, I’m not that smart.” He finished his scotch. “Georgetown for undergraduate and Johns Hopkins for medical school. Johns Hopkins was expensive but I was lucky. I got a full academic scholarship.”
Anne, I must stop there, I promised my neighbor I’d walk her dog. That’s one thing I miss about the farm. I love animals. They’re so uncomplicated compared to men. At my age it’s too hard to have a dog in New York so I walk the neighbor’s dog instead.
I can see the three of us in that living room in Vermont so clearly, as if we were all still young. These letters bring me more joy than I’ve had in years.
Warm regards,
Nina
Caroline placed the letter back on the stack. Nina was the best kind of writer. When Caroline was reading the letters, she lost track of time. But Daphne would be waiting for her at the dress shop. She grabbed her jacket and went to join her.
Aspen Clothiers was on Cooper Avenue in a quaint Victorian building. Inside, there were racks of vintage dresses. Styles from the 1950s with calf-length pleated skirts and tucked waists. A multicolored dress from the 1970s made in Morocco, and a yellow ski suit that was the kind seen at European ski resorts.
For a moment, Caroline wished she were more adventurous with her wardrobe. But publishing in New York had its own dress code. Pants and turtlenecks, and one good winter coat that could be worn at author events.
Daphne already had a dressing room filled with dresses.
“There you are,” she said to Caroline. “I’ve been here awhile. Ask the saleswoman, Marissa. I’ve already tried on a dozen dresses.”
Marissa smiled at Caroline. “Matching up a bride with her dress is my favorite part of the job.”
“Don’t you want to wear white?” Caroline frowned.
Daphne zipped up a pale pink crepe dress. “A bride doesn’t have to wear white. The wedding dress is like anything else. You have to fall in love with it.”
Daphne tried on more dresses, and put the pink one on again. The skirt fell below her knees and it had a lace bodice and pearls sewn into the hem.
“This is the dress. I’ll wear the turquoise earrings Mom gave me last Christmas for something blue.”
“I agree, the dress is perfect.” Marissa nodded. “You remind me of a customer I had last summer. She had the same-shaped face and blue eyes.”
Caroline and Daphne exchanged a glance. Daphne showed Marissa a photo on her phone.
“Is this the woman?”
“Yes!” Marissa said in surprise. “She came in a few times. She bought one of our prettiest dresses, an orange sundress with a huge belt. She said she was going to wear it if either of her daughters ever got married.” Marissa paused. “She sounded sad, as if she thought that would never happen.”
Caroline’s stomach made a small lurch. In June, Anne had been in remission. Had she lied to them about her health, or did she somehow have a premonition that the cancer would return?
“I’ll take it,” Daphne said firmly.
Caroline could see the tears in Daphne’s eyes. She wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
Daphne put on a brave smile. “Now we have to shop for Caroline. The maid of honor’s dress is as important as the bride’s.”
They chose a navy wool dress and a cashmere wrap. Caroline insisted on paying for both dresses. It was her wedding present to Daphne.
When they left the shop, they were both lost in their thoughts. Daphne spoke first.
“We should have come to Aspen with her. It would have been the last time we were all together.”
“The doctor wouldn’t have let her go if she wasn’t in remission,” Caroline reasoned. But what if her mother had lied to the doctor about how she was feeling?
“We should have known, we were her daughters,” Daphne persisted.
“No one knows someone else completely,” Caroline said. “Max was talking about that yesterday. Everyone keeps secrets. Have you asked Luke why he didn’t tell you that his parents are spending Christmas in Paris?”
Daphne shrugged. “There hasn’t been time to bring it up. We’re meeting a Realtor this afternoon to see spaces for a restaurant.”
Caroline stopped walking. “You can’t be serious! You promised you’d listen to me. At least wait until after you’ve been married for a while.”
“Luke and I get along so well, it would be fun to work together,” Daphne returned. “Anyway, you’re not going to win the dare. You’re not even trying.”
“What do you mean?” Caroline demanded.
“You’re spending time with Max but you haven’t done more than kiss him,” Daphne replied. “That’s fine for most couples. Luke and I didn’t sleep together for two weeks. But that’s not your style. You haven’t slept with Max because you’re afraid of what will happen next if you do. It’s easier not to keep a relationship going if it never starts in the first place.”
Caroline shielded her eyes from the Aspen sunshine. She wondered if Daphne was right. She did like Max, but something was stopping her from being as flirty and casual as usual.
“I invited Max to dinner last night, but he had plans with Lily.”
“You could have asked him to come over for a drink afterward.” Daphne twirled her shopping bag. “If you move beyond a few kisses, I promise we won’t sign any real estate papers for three months.”
“You’d do that?” Caroline asked in surprise.
Daphne gave one of her best smiles. “Someone has to crack that ice castle you live inside. Besides, it’s Christmas. A miracle might happen and you could fall in love.”