Chapter Two
T here was nowhere more magical than Keystone Ridge at Christmastime. The small mountain town one hour east of Calgary, population fourteen hundred, was nestled into the heart of the Rocky Mountains and could have been plucked right from a snow globe or sold as individual pieces in a Christmas village display.
The town’s storefronts were all festooned with thick wreaths, compliments of the local business improvement association, and every fifteen feet along the sidewalk there was a tree made up in a different theme, each sponsored by one of the area’s community associations. There was an outer space–themed tree, dripping in miniature planet ornaments and astronauts, with a rocket topper in place of a star; a baking tree with cookie-cutter ornaments, miniature whisks, and measuring spoons; and a superhero action-figure tree that would likely be a few figures short after unminded children passed by, their parents too busy checking items off shopping lists to notice their little ones had pocketed an early Christmas toy.
Contributors to the annual ice sculpture exhibition had just finished chipping away at the final touches on their glittering and intricate ice sculptures under the pavilion behind city hall, and at the park at the end of the street, families were gliding down the big hill overlooking Butterfly Lake on their toboggans and brand-new GT Snow Racers.
As Jeannie drove through town toward the lodge, she made a mental list of the different places she wanted to drop by before everything closed for Christmas. Queen of Buns, for their sticky toffee buns (and to try for the hundredth time to get the owner, Heli, to share her recipe) and A Novel Idea to buy some paperbacks to get lost in over the next couple of days. The lodge had a sizeable library, but there were a few new-release mysteries that she planned to devour and leave behind to add to the collection. Finally, she wanted to go to CFNB680, the local radio station, to surprise her friend Hector.
The Butterfly Lake Lodge was just a short two-minute drive from town, on the shore of the eponymous lake. In the summer, the teal-blue waters drew visitors from all over the world to marvel at the preternatural colour. In the winter, the lake froze over like a pane of glass you could stand on, and you could see all the way to the lake’s bottom in the few days before the ice was coated with a sparkling layer of snow. In any season, it was the definition of majestic.
A wide grin spread across Jeannie’s face as she pulled into the lodge’s driveway. Strings of bright, colourful lights were hung across every last surface area and tree of the property, and a fresh dusting of snow made everything pristine and sparkly in the morning sunshine. She pulled her Ford Pinto into the parking spot beside her grandpa’s old pickup truck.
She’d been counting down to this moment for weeks, as she did every year as soon as the Christmas commercials started to play on the radio. This year, however, her excitement was slightly tempered with a tinge of sadness that this would be the last time the Carmichael family would ever celebrate Christmas the same way they had since as long as she could remember.
After operating the Butterfly Lake Lodge since 1934—the same year the Sunshine Village ski area opened—Duke and Sue Carmichael were ready to retire. They’d spent forty-four years renting rooms to the seasonal ski instructors who over the years had started to flock to the area.
They hadn’t yet sorted out their plans for what to do with the lodge, but they’d informed their young boarders—mostly from Australia, with a few from Eastern Canada, and one or two from the States—that this would be the last season their property would be available.
The town had also been put on notice that this would be the Carmichael family’s final year hosting their traditional Christmas Eve party, originally designed to give their boarders, who were away from their families for Christmas, a sense of home and belonging on such an important day. Over the years, the party had morphed from a simple dinner and modest stockings for each boarder to a must-attend event in Keystone Ridge that was packed with community members eager to bask in the lodge’s enchanting Christmas setting and indulge in Sue Carmichael’s famous cooking and decadent treats.
Jeannie exited the car, the crisp winter air punctuated by the sound of clacking hockey sticks on the ice down by the lake, where there was a large rink shovelled out for the lodgers’ use and anyone else’s from town who wanted to challenge them in a game of shinny.
On Christmas Day, the rink would play host to the Keystone Ridge Christmas Classic hockey game. After five years of losing out on the title, Jeannie knew her grandpa was desperate to win back the cup from the Larson family as a way of capping off their final traditional Christmas at the lodge, and if Jeannie could buy the win for him as a gift, she would.
The sky was bright, the still-rising sun casting an iridescent sparkle across the snowbanks lining the driveway and snow blanketing the tree branches overhead.
Despite the Butterfly Lake Lodge’s pristine beauty in its most basic, stripped-down state, Jeannie’s grandfather’s mission was always to have the most well-decorated property in the area, and folks drove from counties away to see his display every year. He capitalised on this attention by setting up a space for canned food donations at the base of the lodge’s driveway, and he always collected boxes upon boxes for the local food bank.
Every tree surrounding the lodge glowed with colourful lights, and the railings of the porch were all covered with fresh evergreen boughs. Wreaths, thick with juniper and pinecones, hung in the windows from sparkly gold ribbons. A painted S ANTA’S WORKSHOP sign stood near the walkway to the entrance, and the painted elves, Santa, and Mrs. Claus wooden cut-outs that Duke had made when Jeannie was five took their usual places where passersby could see them from the street. The lamp-posts were made up to look like candy canes with white-and-red ribbon wrap, and two wooden snowshoes were propped up against the sign for the Butterfly Lake Lodge.
Jeannie stood for a moment, taking in the beauty of the festive decor, and took a deep breath of clean, frosty air. The fireplace in the great room of the lodge was no doubt blazing, the sweet scent of burning pine and tamarack carrying through the crisp winter breeze.
She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and balanced her laundry basket full of gifts for her family, only making it a few steps before the front door of the lodge swung open. Duke Carmichael appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t much more than five feet tall, but what he lacked in height he made up for in his exuberant expressiveness and big energy.
“There’s the Jean Jeannie!” Duke exclaimed. He’d been calling her the nickname for the last few years after the song had been such a hit on the radio. He was a huge music buff and the only person Jeannie knew from his generation who bought records ranging from David Bowie and Roxy Music to Sister Sledge and Heart.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Jeannie said, passing him the laundry basket, which he put down on the porch right away and put out his arms for a big hug.
“Your grandmother’s had everything set up since the crack of dawn. Come on in.”
The lodge was warm and alive with the scent of cinnamon, butter, and unmistakable pine from the ten-foot balsam tree in the great room. A series of stockings dangled from the wide mantel: one for each of the Carmichaels, then ten more stockings for the boarders who would be spending their Christmas at the lodge away from their families. Thick flannel quilts were draped on every seat, and a life-sized carved Rudolph figure stood in the corner of the room.
Everything was as same as in Christmases past. For the last time , Jeannie reminded herself, a pang of sadness sharp in her chest.
Jeannie found her grandmother, Sue, in the lodge’s kitchen. The light-filled space was full of industrial-grade appliances, but still maintained a homey feeling with shelves of knick-knacks on the wall, a grandfather clock in the corner, and a wall of windows that showcased the wide vista of the Three Sisters mountain range in the distance while she cooked for the boarders every day.
Sue was wearing her blue apron and grey hair tied back in a bun and was fiddling with the radio. When she looked up and saw Jeannie, her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re here!” she said, crossing the kitchen and wrapping Jeannie up in a big floury hug.
“Hi, Grandma,” Jeannie said. “Mmm. Smells incredible in here.”
“I just got off the phone with your mom. Your parents are just down at St. Christopher’s helping to finish filling the Christmas boxes.” Jeannie’s mom, a retired bank teller, and her dad, a former insurance salesman, lived at the edge of town in a small bungalow they’d purchased after Jeannie had moved out to go to university, so now when Jeannie visited Keystone Ridge she stayed in one of the lodge’s rooms, which Duke and Sue kept reserved for her visits.
Sue tossed her an apron. “They’ll be here by lunch. But in the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”
For Jeannie, it wasn’t work. She cherished this time spent with her grandmother in her kitchen, and this tradition was a big part of what she’d been looking forward to for weeks.
With Johnny Mathis’s voice floating from the radio and the sun streaming through the windows, Jeannie caught her grandmother up on her life. They rolled out the dough for Sue’s famous shortbread, which would be part of the annual competition at the Legion the next morning once the ice sculpture winner was announced. They melted chocolate for salted caramel and pretzel bark, then cut thin slices of orange peel for cranberry orange bread.
“And is there a special someone I should know about?” Sue asked, looking up from the star and tree shapes she was carefully lifting from the rolled dough with a spatula. “Sorry, that’s your mom’s job to ask.”
Jeannie flashed back to the night before at the pub and the stupid grin on Ben Kane’s face as he flirted with the bartender. “No,” she said. Her cheeks reddened with the memory of her foolishness. “Why, know anyone?”
“Well, as always, these boarders are as charming as they come,” Sue said. “But most of them are too young for you now. And your grandfather would toss them out on the street if they ever so much as looked at you the wrong way.”
Jeannie smiled to herself. The boarders were always good fun and, for the most part, polite and charming young men, most of them thrilled to be living abroad, spending a winter on the slopes before returning to Australia to start their professional careers. There was always one or two she’d had a crush on growing up, and in her teens she’d agonised over what to wear to the Christmas Eve party or how she was going to get their attention. Now she just enjoyed the energy they brought to her grandparents’ lives, and she knew her grandparents were good de facto parents for the young men at a time they were so far away from home.
“I’m fine on my own, Grandma,” she said.
Although it wasn’t the whole truth. At twenty-eight years old, many of her friends had already married and had children while she’d been busy studying at law school and working hard to get noticed at her firm. Marcus, her only serious boyfriend whom she’d met in the summer between undergrad and law school, had declared himself sick of her devotion to her schoolwork and how often she turned down invites to join his family for a week in Florida in the winter or a camping trip with friends over Thanksgiving weekend in favour of acing an upcoming test. The small sacrifices were a no-brainer to Jeannie, but she knew if Marcus couldn’t handle her working hard during law school, he certainly wouldn’t be happy with the hours she planned on putting in during her first articling job, and then after that as an associate, so she’d broken it off.
Part of the reason Ben Kane was such an attractive option was because he fit into her work schedule just as nicely as he fit into her vision for the future. But clearly he had other plans for his future.
“Of course you are, sweetheart,” her grandma said. She leaned over and gave Jeannie a peck on the cheek. “You’ll make someone the luckiest man alive someday.”
Jeannie fought the urge to roll her eyes. Time to change the subject, which no doubt her mother would bring up again within the first ten minutes of her arrival. “Is everything set for the party tomorrow night? Anything I can do to help?”
“I’ll be making the ribbon finger sandwiches fresh in the morning, if you want to help me with that. The band’s coming at seven, and guests at seven thirty. Same old, same old. I told your grandpa that it’s a good thing this is the last year. We’re getting too old to be hosting a wild party, but he started looking forward to this in August, so!” She threw her dough-covered hands up in the air, and Jeannie laughed. Sue loved the party just as much as Duke did and would likely be one of the last ones standing at the end of the night.
After Jeannie’s parents arrived, the rest of the day was spent finishing up the baking and playing checkers and Parcheesi in the great room where the party would be held. Before an early dinner, which Jeannie’s mom and dad had offered to make, Jeannie and her grandparents got bundled up to go for a walk into town where Jeannie was able to visit the shops on her list, then look at the entrants in the ice sculpture contest. Her favourite entry was a series of Canadian geese, sculpted to appear in mid-flight. The rest of the sculptures were equally impressive: a fairy-tale castle, a giant octopus with flailing tentacles, a polar bear wearing a toque, a centaur, and a steam engine lit from the inside with glowing blue floodlights.
Jeannie bought three paperbacks at the bookstore and dropped off a card and a box of chocolates at the radio station for Hector to give to his mother, who’d had knee surgery a week earlier and wouldn’t be able to make it to the Christmas Eve party.
On the way back to the lodge, Jeannie hung back a few steps behind her grandparents, who were still sweetly arm in arm, although a little more stooped over and a little slower than she remembered.
It made sense this would be their last year running the lodge and their last big party. But it still didn’t feel right.
Enjoy it , she reminded herself. There was no use wasting the holidays feeling sad about something that hadn’t happened yet. She took a few quick steps to catch up to her grandparents and linked her arm around her grandma’s free one, the boots of all three of them crunching along the snowy path back to the lodge.
*
By the time Jeannie woke up for breakfast the next morning, the boarders were already long gone for their shifts at the ski resort. They’d be back before the party began, flushed with fresh air, famished, and in full festive mode.
Sue had a piece of quiche Lorraine warming in the oven for Jeannie, and as soon as Jeannie sat down it was placed in front of her along with a mug of steaming hot coffee.
The kitchen phone rang. “That’ll be your mom,” Duke said. He stood up and crossed the room to the phone on the wall beside the counter. Jeannie took a long sip of her coffee, which somehow always tasted better in the mountains than it did in the city, and looked over to see her grandfather’s confused expression.
“Well, that’s no good. That’s no good at all,” Duke said. “You tell them we hope they feel better, and if there’s any chance they could still come by, we’d welcome that.” He hung up the phone. “Two of the three members of the jazz trio have food poisoning. They think it was the prawn cocktail at a wedding they played last night. And Marty’s starting to feel a rumble in his stomach, so you know what that means.”
“For goodness’ sake,” said Sue. She slid her glasses off and rubbed the area between her eyes. “Well, what can you do? We’ll put some records on. It’ll be fine.”
But Jeannie knew this was disappointing news for her grandparents. While Duke had enough records to play through the party, there was something about having live music that added an extra-special layer to the atmosphere, and everyone always looked forward to it.
That scrap of paper the guitar player had handed her the night before. Where had she put it? Maybe she could call and see if the band were free.
But it was a dumb idea. They weren’t going to drive all the way out of the city on Christmas Eve to play a little party at a lakeside lodge.
She pushed the idea out of her mind and set to helping Sue pack her shortbread for the competition. The pieces were so buttery that the parchment paper they were sitting on had gone completely translucent.
*
“Where’s Grandpa?” Jeannie asked. It was early in the afternoon, a time when the lodge was quiet, the boarders still out teaching ski lessons to visitors from out of town.
“He’s gone to lie down for a while,” Sue said quietly. “He’s slowing down a bit, honey.”
Jeannie flinched. Of course, her grandfather was in his senior years. But the idea of him slowing down meant that there was a chance that not only was this going to be the last Christmas at the lodge, but that there would be a Christmas one day without him there. The idea summoned a lump in her throat.
She had imagined spending every Christmas for the rest of her life at the Butterfly Lake Lodge with her grandparents, her parents, extended family, the boarders and community members, and someday not too far in the future, a husband and children of her own. Okay, so it would be a different type of Christmas next year, but the idea that Christmases with her grandparents were limited shouldn’t have caused the tug on her heart to be such a surprise; maybe she’d just avoided ever thinking about the inevitable.
The timer on the oven went off, and Jeannie opened the oven door just enough to see that the cranberry orange loaves had risen perfectly, with just the right amount of golden crust on the top. She pulled them out to set on a cooling rack, watching out of the corner of her eye as her grandmother scraped the last bit of dough from her silver mixing bowl and then dusted her rolling pin with some flour. She was still moving well. Spry. Maybe there was nothing to worry about just yet.
Regardless, Jeannie was resolved to do whatever she could to make this Christmas as perfect as she could so she would never have any regrets.
Starting with the party that night. It had to be amazing.
“I’ll be back, Grandma,” she said. “I just want to wrap a few gifts in my room.”
She ascended to the second-floor bedroom that her grandparents kept free just for her. It had a double bed with an oak frame and a large blue-and-yellow quilt, a dresser to keep some items so she didn’t need to pack every time she visited, and a vanity dresser that had her favourite framed photographs from over the years.
Her purse was hanging from a hook on the back of the door. She rummaged around in it and extracted the envelope her boss had given her the day before that held her bonus.
She double-checked the amount in the envelope: three crisp fifty-dollar bills. Her plan had been—fingers crossed—to spend the money on a New Year’s Eve gown, but now she’d only be dressing to impress Jazzy the cat on the 31st. She tucked the money back into her purse, then rummaged a little deeper beneath her wallet and her pocket mirror and found the little slip of paper she was looking for right next to the Cupid’s Cranberry lipstick.
Quietly, she descended to the lodge’s office and shut the door behind her, then picked up the phone and started to dial, crossing her fingers for a Christmas miracle.