Chapter Twelve The Winter Market
Dex.
By the time I came downstairs, the Bennets were already in motion.
It wasn't the calm, efficient family outing I had been raised to expect.
It was life in full surround sound. Helen was humming carols off-key while Kitty argued with Lydia about social media rules.
Meri and Jane were helping William locate his wallet under a pile of scarves.
It was a miracle they made it anywhere on time.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene. There was so much chaos with the family, yet there was also warmth. Every voice overlapped and every laugh carried. While there was friction, there was also forgiveness and acceptance.
As an outsider who had never experienced a large family dynamic, I found it daunting and endearing at the same time.
“Coffee’s on the counter, Dex. I made one up for you just how you like it,” Helen called without looking as she wove a scarf around William’s neck.
“He likes it black. It’s not like that was difficult,” Meri wryly noted.
“You’re coming with us, aren't you?” Kitty wondered
“I suppose I am,” I accepted. While I could continue working on the inn, I found myself drawn to the Bennets. I also found myself drawn to Lucy and wondered where she was.
Kitty tossed me a scarf from the coat rack. “You need color. You look like an undertaker in that coat.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly, catching the scarf.
Braxton appeared in the doorway, his cheeks pink from the cold as he clapped his gloves together. “All the purchases from the hardware store are on the porch.”
“Excellent. I’m looking forward to staining that wainscotting in the dining room,” William approved.
Lucy appeared then, tugging on her mittens. Her hair was tucked under a knitted hat and she wore a thick coat that somehow made her more adorable. “You don’t have to come if you’re busy. Markets are mostly handmade things and cider. You might be bored.”
“I have never been to one,” I admitted.
She paused, her brown eyes meeting mine in surprise. “Never?”
“No.”
“Not even a small one? Booths, hot chocolate, carolers?” she asked with a tinge of disbelief.
“Not that I can recall.”
Her eyebrows rose. “How do you live a life without cider and carolers? What about at school? Surely you had some sort of Christmas festival with booths?”
“My school wasn't exactly the festive sort,” I admitted.
“What kind of school was that?”
“An all boys boarding academy with latin mottos and political leanings,” Braxton interjected with a shrug, his usual good cheer dampening a little.
It had been a struggle for both of us, Braxton more than I. I found myself trying to soften the moment with a bit of humor so that everyone wouldn’t be tempted to pry further. “We celebrated achievement and discipline, not cinnamon and cheer.”
She laughed, a low sound that made something stir in me I pretended not to feel. “That explains so much. You have the posture of a man who has stood in line for inspection.”
“Not since graduation.”
“I am impressed you survived.”
“I am still recovering,” I said.
Her smile lingered as we filed out to the cars and I had a warm fuzzy feeling in the center of my chest for being the author of her amusement.
The morning was bright, the air cold, and the snow reflecting under the sun.
Breath curled like smoke as we loaded into the van and car.
I followed in the rental car with Braxton, who had recovered his good humor.
Helen and William insisted on coming with us, climbing in the back seat of my vehicle. We were treated to a blend of Christmas music requests, questions about our jobs, personal lives, and plans for the future while also having to listen to the good qualities all of their daughters possessed.
William was silent throughout it all, enjoying the view and occasionally patting Helen’s arm.
By the time we made it to town, my head was spinning from the whirlwind that was Helen Bennet. Fortunately, Braxton seemed to thrive on providing conversation, so William and I were mostly silent. I felt a kinship with the older man.
The market spread across the town square like a picturesque painting.
There were canopies draped in lights, stalls dusted with snow, and the air thick with the smell of cider, gingerbread, and pine.
A small band played near the gazebo. Children darted between booths holding gingerbread men bigger than their hands.
I had walked through hundreds of polished lobbies and architectural showrooms, but none of them had felt half as alive as this atmosphere fit for a scene from a B list holiday movie.
In the parking lot, Lucy turned to the group, already in command. “All right. We will meet back here in three hours. No one buys anything alive, flammable, or electronic.”
“Define alive,” Kitty said.
“Breathing,” Meri quickly replied, eying her sister. “No repeats of the two guinea pigs.”
“They were cute,” Kitty defended.
“Two turned into two dozen, then six dozen, then more. They were very difficult to find new homes for,” Meri cautioned.
“But they were so cute!” Kitty said.
“No!” came all the other Bennet voices at once.
“Fine,” Kitty muttered, crossing her arms.
“Define flammable. I want to buy candles,” Lydia added.
“The flame thrower incident comes to mind,” Lucy explained.
“It was for science,” Meri muttered.
“No unattended candles at the inn. We don’t need a fire,” Jane advised.
“Relax. It’s a market, not a minefield,” Helen chastised.
Lucy shot me a look as if to say see what I deal with? “You don’t have to tag along. You could explore on your own.”
“I think I’m safer near the organized one,” I mentioned. Besides, at this point I was curious as to what the Bennets would do. What was the flame thrower incident? I would have to ask Lucy later.
She grinned. “That’s debatable.”
We started with the candle booths. The air was warm and fragrant, and the vendor smiled at our group. She picked up a candle shaped like a pinecone and inhaled. “Cinnamon and vanilla. Smells like Christmas baking.”
“What is the point of a candle?” I wondered, even as I slowly took the proffered candle from her hand, giving it a quick sniff. She was right. It smelled like homemade cookies.
“For ambiance. The light gives an added warmth and the smell is lovely,” she replied.
“It’s a fire hazard,” I murmured, even though I agreed about the smell being nice.
She laughed softly. “Only in the wrong hands.”
We moved to a booth selling hand-knit scarves, then one with carved wooden ornaments.
Helen appeared briefly to insist I try hot cider, pressing a cup into my hand before vanishing again into the crowd with William in tow.
I watched Lucy sip hers, eyes bright from the steam.
Her cheeks were pink, and the wind had loosened a curl from beneath her hat. She looked entirely at home here.
“You really have never done this before?” she suddenly asked.
“No. My family was more... structured." My mother would never think about going to a common event just to shop for handmade items. It wasn’t because she was a snob, it just wasn’t something Fitzwilliams did. We went to galas, and charity events instead.
“How structured?” she asked, her head tilting to the side as she looked up at me.
“Imagine the opposite of this." I gestured around us. “My parents valued composure above almost anything.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“Sometimes I suppose it was. My mother was the kind of woman who believed achievement equaled happiness. My father believed silence meant respect,” I mentioned in a matter of fact voice. It was the simple truth.
Lucy’s voice softened. “Are they still living?”
“No. They are both gone now. It has been years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s all right." I said the words out of habit. I had lost my parents very young and suddenly was thrust into a role I wasn’t quite ready for but needed to be. I found myself suddenly adding, “I have my sister.”
Her eyes brightened. “You have a sister? Tell me about her.”
“Her name is Georgianna. Everyone calls her Georgie. She is twenty-two and studying piano performance at school. She is a happy person and gets top marks.”
“She sounds lovely,” Lucy responded with a smile.
“She is,” I said, smiling despite myself. I had the feeling Georgie would love Lucy. I looked around the market to distract myself from the thought. “She reminds me of this place. She feels everything. Loudly.”
“And you?” Lucy prompted
“I think too much and feel later." I shrugged.
“I do both at once. Usually badly." Lucy laughed.
“You seem perfectly balanced,” I quietly observed.
She blushed faintly and turned toward another booth. I let her change the subject. We wandered through aisles of pottery, paintings, and knitted hats. She spoke with every vendor. People lit up when she smiled. I found myself wishing she would turn that smile at me more often.
At a table of wooden toys, a craftsman was demonstrating a whittling knife to a small boy. Lucy watched, fascinated. “Look at the details. He makes it look so easy.”
“Precision like that takes patience with years of repetition.”
“You say that like you know.”
“I suppose I do. I used to do my architecture designs by hand before software took over. Drafting tables, rulers, mechanical pencils… there is an art to it,” I mentioned.
She looked at me thoughtfully. “You miss it.”
“I guess I do. I miss creating something that feels permanent." I shrugged off the emotion that came with the statement.
“You’re doing that here at the inn. Helping us to create something that will last,” Lucy mentioned.
Her words landed somewhere deep, in a place I rarely let anyone touch.
We stopped for roasted almonds and pretended we were cold enough to justify a second cup of cider.
Jane and Braxton passed by, laughing, both carrying paper bags.
Lydia trailed behind filming commentary, and Kitty was debating with Meri whether or not to buy a tablecloth.
I caught Lucy watching them, a faint, proud smile tugging at her lips. “They really are happy here.”
“If they are, it's because of you.”
She blinked. “Because of Mom’s delusion and Dad’s savings account.”
“No. You are the glue that holds your family together,” I observed.
For a moment she said nothing. Then she turned, pretending to examine a rack of scarves, though her hand trembled just slightly as she lifted one. “You give me too much credit.”
We met the rest of the family near the ornament booth.
Helen had somehow accumulated three bags of purchases and was still negotiating for more.
A resigned William carried at least six more bags for her.
Kitty and Meri were comparing purchases while Lydia checked the latest stats on her social media.
Jane and Braxton joined us, both with smiles on their faces.
When we returned to the vehicles, the sky had softened into late-afternoon gold.
Snow began to drift again, light as breath.
Everyone piled into the van and car, weighed down by purchases and sugar.
The radio hummed with static and faint music, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t mind the quiet.
Back at the inn, the porch light glowed warm against the falling snow. We carried in the bags, the house filling instantly with chatter again. The family scattered, mostly to put their purchases away, but I saw Jane disappear into the kitchen again.
Lucy lingered by the door, unbuttoning her coat. The faint scent of cold air and pine clung to her. “Thank you for coming. Most men would have found that exhausting.”
“I did, but I liked it,” I said honestly.
She laughed. “There is no such thing as enjoyable exhaustion.”
“There is,” I decided.
Her eyes met mine, soft and steady. For a moment I thought she might say something more, but Helen called from the upstairs hallway asking about a missing bag, and the spell broke.
Lucy gave a brief smile before going to walk up the stairs, her hand gliding along the old railing we had polished last week.
I watched her until she disappeared around the landing.
When the house fell quiet again, I stood in the empty foyer, the faint scent of cinnamon still hanging in the air. My hands were cold from the drive, my coat dusted with snow, and I had done exactly nothing in the past few hours yet the time didn't feel wasted.
My cellphone vibrated, indicating a text. I pulled it out of my pocket to see that Carly was contacting me yet again about visiting the ski lodge.