Chapter 2
The enthusiasm in Nancy’s voice warmed Penny’s heart.
For forty-two years and counting, The Tattered Page had been an integral part of the fabric of life in Heartsprings Valley.
Penny’s newlywed parents, Bob and Carmen Quinn, had started the store with little more than a love of books and a willingness to work hard.
For them, the bookstore had represented a leap into the unknown, a chance to work together on a shared dream.
Though their early years had been lean and challenging, they’d persevered and eventually found their footing.
The bookstore was now a treasured local institution and a draw for book lovers throughout northern New England.
For Penny, the bookstore meant even more. She’d grown up amongst its bookshelves. She knew — adored — every nook and cranny. Throughout her childhood, she’d spent countless hours in her special seat behind the sales counter, devouring book after book while her parents rang up customers.
And now, with her parents’ recent retirement, management of the bookstore had passed to her.
For probably the millionth time, her gaze wandered over the place she’d always thought of as home: the original oak bookshelves running all the way up to the ceiling, the display tables loaded with new fiction and nonfiction, the silver tinsel framing the front windows.
Over the store’s sound system, the local radio station was playing a cheerful ditty about a certain red-nosed reindeer.
A gentle chime of the front door’s silver bell pulled her from her reverie. The day’s first customer had arrived, bringing with her a gust of brisk winter air.
Penny smiled when she saw who it was.
“Good morning, Hettie Mae,” Nancy said enthusiastically, throwing Penny a triumphant, I-guessed-right look.
“Morning, Nancy,” Hettie Mae replied as she shut the door behind her. “You’re certainly in a good mood this morning.”
“Penny and I were just speculating about who would arrive first, and I bet on you.”
Hettie Mae smiled. A tall woman in her seventies with excellent posture and a forthright manner, she had served as the town’s librarian for decades and now kept herself and her husband busy with an active travel schedule. “I see.”
“Morning, Hettie,” Penny said from the sales counter. “How was the cruise?”
“Oh, wonderful. The Rhine River during the holidays — nothing like it. We got back two nights ago.” She reached into her handbag, approached the counter, and handed Penny a small, gift-wrapped box. “I brought this back for the store.”
Penny turned the gift over in her hands, admiring the wrapping paper’s silver swirl of snowflakes over a rich blue background. “From the Christmas markets in Europe? You shouldn’t have — though I’m glad you did. Okay if I open it now?”
“Please do.”
Nancy hurried over, curious.
Taking care to avoid tearing the paper, which looked exquisite, Penny gently unwrapped the box and opened the lid.
Inside, nestled in a bed of soft white wrapping paper, was a gorgeous green glass ornament shaped like a Christmas tree.
“Oh, Hettie Mae,” Penny murmured. “This is beautiful.”
“Hand-blown and hand-painted,” she informed her. “Made by a family-run ornament company in Strasbourg.”
“The details are incredible,” Penny said as she feasted her eyes on the red, blue, silver, and gold paint dabs depicting the tree’s colorful ornaments. “I’ve heard so much about the Christmas markets in France and Germany.”
“Les marchés de Noel, as they say in Strasbourg. Well worth the visit.”
“We’ll have to find the right place to hang this — it’s so beautiful.”
“I can do that, boss,” Nancy volunteered. “Maybe in the front window, where the glass can catch the morning light?”
Penny handed her the ornament. “Thank you, Nancy.” She returned her attention to Hettie Mae. “And thank you for the wonderful, thoughtful gift.”
Hettie Mae gestured to the back. “Need help setting up for the reading group?”
“The help is always appreciated, as you know.”
“I’ll get started.”
“I’ll join you in a minute.”
The bell at the front door signaled the arrival of another customer, followed immediately by another.
And just like that, the busy shopping day had begun.
A few moments later, when another of her employees, a young man named Ben, arrived to take over at the sales counter, Penny headed to the annex to join Hettie.
Unlike the front part of the store, which was built in the 1880s and oozed old-fashioned Victorian charm, the annex was a modern space, open and airy, with a high ceiling, big windows, and plenty of natural light.
Added a decade ago, the annex had not only tripled the store’s retail space but allowed for a dedicated meeting area for a variety of gatherings, including story time for kids, book signings by visiting authors, and monthly meetings of the bookstore’s reader group.
In keeping with the holiday season, a colorful banner hung on the wall above the meeting space, featuring a classic Charles Dickens quote from A Christmas Carol: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
Several regulars had already arrived and were helping Hettie arrange seats in a circle. Among them was Donald, a dapper fellow in his seventies dressed in a tweed jacket and bow tie. “I must say, Penny,” he said as she joined them, “I was very pleased with your book pick this month.”
“Glad to hear that, Donald,” Penny replied.
Her selection, Gathering Point by Daniel Bedford, a family saga set in New England in the first part of the twentieth century, was that rarest of creatures in publishing: a critically acclaimed work that resonated with readers and kept selling strongly, with no signs of slowing down.
“Speaking of the author, Daniel Bedford,” Hettie Mae said as she adjusted the position of a chair that Donald had just set in place. “Did you read the article he wrote?”
Donald’s eyes narrowed — he’d noticed Hettie moving the chair. “Article? What article?”
“He wrote an article in The New York Journal that went viral.”
“What do you mean, ‘viral?’ Are you saying the article contracted a virus?”
Hettie Mae sighed. “In the world of the Internet, Donald, ‘viral’ means a lot of people are reading the article and sharing it with other people.”
“The article is getting good word-of-mouth, you mean.”
“Yes, but on the Internet.”
He frowned. “What you’re actually saying is that the article itself is a virus — a highly contagious virus.”
“If that helps you wrap your head around the concept, Donald, then yes.”
He sighed. “All these changes we’re being asked to absorb, everything coming at us faster and faster…. It gets rather tiring.”
Hettie Mae snorted. “Or invigorating, if you open yourself to the possibilities.”
He eyed her doubtfully. “If you say so.”
“If you’re not too overwhelmed by the novelty of the topic, I can tell you why his article went viral.”
Donald squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for an ordeal. “Very well. Infect me.”
“It’s caused quite an uproar, I can tell you.” She whipped out her phone and the members of the reading group — they were up to six people now — inched closer to listen.
After a few taps, Hettie cleared her throat. “Here’s the title: ‘Christmas Is Thoroughly Terrible.’”
The group gasped.
“He said what?” one of them said. “About Christmas?”
“Here’s how the essay begins: ‘Many of you will hate what I’m about to state. Many of you will become upset. But what I’m saying needs saying. Christmas is expensive, boring, and needs a complete overhaul.’”
There were indrawn breaths. “Oh, dear,” Donald said.
“His next sentence is even better: ‘For the sake of us all, we must fix the holiday immediately.’”
A member of the group spoke up. “Hettie, there’s nothing ‘better’ about that sentence.”
“Oh, shush. There’s a lot more — the article is quite thorough.
He tells us how much money is spent on Christmas — average consumer spending, retail sales, all sorts of numbers.
The fellow did his research, I’ll give him that.
He brings up the difficulties that can arise with shopping and travel.
” She glanced over at Penny. “Here’s a quote: ‘The holiday season is an utter nightmare for retailers, who are forced to scramble for a huge chunk of their annual sales in a compressed window of time.’”
Penny shook her head. “Christmas is definitely my busiest time of the year, but that’s not how I feel about the holiday season.”
“Of course not, dear,” Hettie Mae replied. “The poor man doesn’t understand the meaning of Christmas. He’s missing the point entirely. What saddens me most is how ‘bored’ he says he is by Christmas. Here’s a quote, to give you a taste: ‘The rituals are cloying, tedious, and hollow.’”
“Oh, dear,” Donald murmured.
“Quite disappointing, I must say. After reading his book, which I greatly enjoyed, I expected more.”
“More what?”
“More insight, more generosity, more understanding.”
A member of the group, a quiet woman named Sylvie, spoke up. “You said something about an uproar?”
“Oh, dear, yes. People are quite upset, the TV people in particular, and you know how animated they get. There’s even talk of a boycott.”
“Oh, my. Boycotts aren’t good.”
“Not good at all. His publisher and agent have issued apologies, but no one seems to care what they have to say. Everyone’s waiting to hear from him.”
Donald’s frown returned. “What do you mean, they’re waiting to hear from him?”
“Since the article came out,” Hettie Mae said, shaking her head with disapproval, “he hasn’t said a word.”
“Not a single word?”
“Nary a peep. Despite getting chased everywhere by journalists. It’s becoming a bit of a sport — seeing how fast he can flee. Every reporter wants to be the one who corners him and gets him to crack.”
“That’s not good.”
“A new video came out this morning.” Hettie Mae tapped her phone. “Here he is. In front of his apartment building in New York. Outrunning a horde of reporters.”
Everyone crowded around and watched a brown-haired man step out of an apartment building, squeeze through a camera-wielding crowd, and dash away at high speed.
“Oh, dear,” someone murmured.
“He’s fast.”
“Faster than the reporters, at any rate.”
“Look at him go!”
“Since when are authors so athletic?”
“Oh, they’re not,” Hettie Mae assured her. “Most authors are quite sluggish.”
Penny smiled — Hettie was right about that — and cleared her throat. “Okay, folks, time to turn our attention away from the author and toward his book.”
She waited for everyone to settle into their seats.
“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming to the bookstore this morning to take part in our monthly book discussion.” She held up the book.
“Gathering Point by Daniel Bedford. A best-seller from the moment it came out two years ago. A contender for a slew of awards, including the Pulitzer and National Book Award. Most importantly from my perspective, a favorite of customers at The Tattered Page.”
She looked around. “There’s a lot to discuss in this book — about family, community, New England, hardship, war, and more — and I know you’re eager to dive in. Who wants to start?”