Chapter 31
Lauren and Pumpkin joined the group of carolers gathering at the northeast corner of Spring and Mary Streets.
Twinkle lights wrapped the lamppost above them, casting a golden glow across the small crowd.
People stamped their boots against the brick sidewalk to keep warm, and their breath crystalized into frozen droplets as they exhaled.
Lauren scanned the faces for Helen, not finding her. She hung back, uncertain, suddenly aware she was a stranger stepping into a long-standing tradition.
The clerk from the shoe store where she had bought her knee-length, lug-soled black boots caught her eye. He glanced pointedly at her feet and gave an approving nod.
Lauren grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
He had steered her firmly away from the sleek, leather-soled boots with the three-inch stacked heel she’d admired.
Treacherous on brick and cobblestone, he’d warned.
The short two-block walk from the Vanderbilt had proven him right.
Even in sensible boots, she’d felt the slick sheen of packed snow beneath her soles.
An older man wearing earmuffs and a thick knit cap stepped toward her. “You must be Lauren,” he said warmly. “Helen called to let us know you’d be joining us.”
Lauren felt her shoulders relax. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until that moment.
“There she is now,” the man added, pointing behind her.
Lauren turned just as Helen hurried toward the group, slightly breathless. “I was halfway here before I realized I’d forgotten these,” Helen said, holding up a stack of stapled music packets. “If my head weren’t screwed on … ” She began distributing the booklets.
Pumpkin, sensing excitement, wove gently between boots and coats, sniffing hems and accepting pats from gloved hands. A man bent to scratch behind her ears. “Well, aren’t you the festive one?” he chuckled.
Helen handed Lauren a packet and took her place beside her.
“I’m so glad you came,” Helen said. “Another soprano called out this afternoon. She’s down with the flu.
I would’ve been on my own.” She tipped her head conspiratorially.
“We’ll have to sing extra loud. The tenors always try to overpower us. ”
Lauren laughed. “Then let’s let it rip.”
Helen’s eyes sparkled. “Are you wearing the blue dress?”
Lauren nodded. “Though no one can see it under this raincoat. It’s too cold to unbutton.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Helen said. “A dress like that gives a woman confidence. I changed into my favorite red one before I left the shop. No one can see it either, but I sing better when I’m wearing it.”
Just then, a small gray schnauzer in a plaid sweater trotted up, leash trailing behind.
“Oh!” Helen exclaimed. “There’s my girl. I allow her to greet the group on her own. This is Stella.”
Stella and Pumpkin approached each other with polite curiosity. After a brief nose-to-nose greeting, a tail wag, and a soft snuffle of approval, they settled at their respective owners’ sides like seasoned professionals.
The owner of the shoe store stepped up onto the curb and blew into a pitch pipe.
“Thank you all for coming out again this year,” he called.
“I know this is the highlight of the season for many of us. The flu nearly wiped out the soprano section, but, thanks to Helen’s recruitment efforts, we have reinforcements.
” He extended a hand toward Lauren. “Lauren, and her charming sidekick, Pumpkin, will be joining us tonight.”
A ripple of applause moved through the group.
“You know the drill,” he continued. “One carol per house. We move in order through the book. If anyone offers treats, we can accept, but we don’t linger. If I start moving, you follow. And, if anyone invites us inside, we always decline.”
Heads nodded. The group began walking.
Lauren flipped through the packet as they went. Religious hymns, secular classics—she knew every word. She’d been listening to Christmas music since November first.
Their first stop was a Federal-style home glowing with candlelight in every window. The eaves shimmered with fairy lights, and a thick evergreen wreath, studded with pinecones and dried orange slices, hung on the door.
The pitch pipe sounded.
The front door flew open. “They’re here! They’re here!” squealed two small children in red flannel footie pajamas.
The carolers began with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Helen’s voice rose beside Lauren, steady and pure. Lauren lifted her sternum, loosened her jaw, and let the notes bloom. The cold air sharpened the sound, making it ring like crystal.
When they reached the line about troubles being “miles away,” something inside her shifted.
The grief over losing her husband, the humiliation of Darren’s infidelity, and the ache of loneliness she’d carried into this trip all felt remote.
She anchored her breath low, the way her choir director had taught her years ago, and let the sound float free.
The final chord shimmered into the night. Applause burst from the doorway. A woman hurried down the steps, carrying a wicker basket filled with sugar cookies shaped like old-fashioned carolers, each wrapped in cellophane and tied with red ribbon.
Stella gave a hopeful bark.
Pumpkin sat up straight, her most dignified expression firmly in place.
“Such good girls,” the woman laughed, offering each dog a small homemade dog biscuit.
Helen slipped her cookie into a canvas tote slung over her shoulder. “We’ll be loaded down by the time we’re done,” she whispered. “Everything is delicious. Would you like to stash yours with mine? We’ll divide our loot at the end.”
“This feels like a mashup of Halloween and Christmas,” Lauren chuckled.
Helen grinned. “Pretty much.”
They moved from house to house—Queen Anne, Colonial, Georgian—each one trimmed in garlands, bows, and glowing lanterns.
Some porches held steaming thermoses of cider.
Others offered peppermint bark wrapped in wax paper.
At one home, a grandfather in a Santa hat conducted them with exaggerated flair from the doorway.
Pumpkin and Stella trotted faithfully at heel, occasionally tangling leashes in their enthusiasm but always untwisting themselves with minimal drama.
By the time they reached Church Street near Queen Anne Square, Lauren glanced at her watch in disbelief. It was after eight.
The group gathered in a loose circle, exchanging hugs and holiday wishes. Lauren found herself embraced as though she’d been coming for years. The leader bent toward her. “My dear, you have exceptional talent. Are you a professional?”
Lauren’s cheeks flushed. “No.”
“Well,” he said, “I hope you share that gift when you return home. It would be a shame to hide it.”
Helen rejoined her, Stella prancing in place. “I parked at my shop,” Helen said. “Let’s head to The Vanderbilt. We can divide the spoils in the lobby.”
They walked in companionable silence, heels clicking against snow-crusted brick, dogs trotting contentedly beside them.
Inside the hotel library, they settled into wingback chairs and emptied the canvas tote.
Cookies, fudge, peppermint bark, and candied nuts constituted a small mountain of generosity.
Pumpkin rested her chin on Lauren’s knee while Stella stood guard over the pile like a tiny, whiskered sentinel.
“Would you like to stay for tea?” Lauren asked.
“I would,” Helen said wistfully, “but tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I open early, and we’re usually busy in the morning.”
Lauren nodded. “I can’t thank you enough for including me. Tonight was exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”
“We would’ve been lost without you,” Helen replied. “You should make it an annual tradition.”
Lauren laughed. “If I didn’t live on the other side of the country ….”
“When do you fly home?”
“Late on the 26th.”
“And what are you doing on Christmas Day?” Helen asked.
Lauren looked away. She had planned to treat it like any other day. Ignore it.
“You don’t have plans, do you?”
Lauren shook her head.
“Then you’re coming to my house,” Helen declared.
“I host an open house and potluck every year for anyone without family nearby—or anyone who doesn’t want to be with their family.
It starts at four. People come and go. There’s no pressure, just goodwill to all.
” She squeezed Lauren’s hands. “It’s the best way to be alone without being alone. ”
Pumpkin gave a small, approving sigh.
“Give me your phone. I’ll put in my number and address. I live close enough for you to walk, but I’m happy to pick you up.”
Lauren handed it over.
“Think about it,” Helen said, returning the phone. “Some of the people in our group tonight will be there. You won’t be with strangers. And by tomorrow morning—I promise you—the mystery soprano will be the talk of Spring Street.”
Lauren smiled, her heart unexpectedly full. For the first time in years, Christmas didn’t feel like something to endure. It felt like something she might lean into.
She gathered up the handful of treats she’d kept to enjoy for her remaining time in Newport, and she and Pumpkin headed upstairs. When she opened her door, her checked bag sat in the middle of the room.
Lauren chuckled, shaking her head. If her bag had arrived earlier, she wouldn’t have gone shopping and wouldn’t have met Helen. She’d never have joined in the caroling or been embraced by these lovely people.
She scooped up Pumpkin and buried her nose in her fur. “I think everything’s turning out exactly as it should,” she whispered. Pumpkin lifted her muzzle and swiped Lauren’s chin with a doggy kiss.