Enright Family Collection (37 page)

“Who?”

“He’d be a scholar, perhaps of Latin or Greek. Perhaps ancient history. Not at all like …” A name seemed to catch on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. “Well, like the boys here in Devlin’s Light who were on their way to being bay men like their fathers were. Oh no, August Devlin was not going to settle for anything less than a romantic hero who sat with her by the fireside and read Browning’s sonnets.”

“Did you never find him?”

“Oh, I found him all right.” August smiled ruefully. “A classics professor from Princeton, if you will.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you marry your hero and live happily ever after?”

“It took me a while to realize it, India, but he was a man who was more in love with the image he created of himself than he could ever have loved someone else. He loved the idea of being a man who dressed in tweeds and drank sherry. He loved the idea of reciting poetry to a breathless young woman. He loved the idea of being passionately in love. But he never loved
me.
Not the way I needed to be loved. Not the way … some others might have loved me.”

Not daring to ask who those “some others” might have been, India watched her aunt take a small sip from her cup.

“Well, by the time I realized just what it was that I really did need, it was too late.” August tapped her fingers on the table in front of her. “By the time I had returned to Devlin’s Light, it was simply too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“Too late to do what I should have been doing all those years I was chasing the fancies of a young and very foolish girl.”

“Why was it too late?”

“Because while I was sipping sherry with the man in tweeds, the man I should have married had done exactly what I had told him to do when I left Devlin’s Light. He found someone else and married her.”

A shocked India watched her aunt walk to the cupboard where she kept her baking supplies and begin to take down what she would need that afternoon.

“Aunt August …”

“Don’t bother asking who, or why,” August told her without turning back to face her. “Just learn from my mistake. Don’t think there’s anything better waiting for you anyplace else, India, because men like … like
Nick
don’t come along but once in a lifetime.”

“Know where you belong, and with whom,” India repeated the sentiments August had expressed.

“My words, all right.” August nodded. “And don’t think I haven’t choked on them.”

“What made you choke, Aunt August?” Corri asked, concerned, as she carried the mail into the kitchen. The stack of magazines, catalogs and Christmas cards filled her arms. “Can I help open the cards?”

“You may open all the cards,” August told her. “But you
must show them to India and me, so that we know who to thank.”

As Corri carefully opened each envelope and read each card aloud, asking for India’s help when confronted with a word she did not know and could not sound out phonetically, India watched her aunt putter efficiently in the kitchen and pondered this new information. Aunt August had had a beau, one from Devlin’s Light, whom she had scorned in favor of a great unknown world that had beckoned her. She had told him to find someone else, and in time, he had. What had become of him?

And no, in her heart, India knew that she would not make the mistake August had. If nothing else, last night with Nick had confirmed what she herself had begun to suspect. There had never been a man like Nick Enright in her life, and there would never be another. She now knew
who
, and she was pretty sure she knew where.

She was wondering if it was too soon to tell Nick when his face appeared in the glass panel of the back door. He rapped twice before letting himself in.

“Hi,” he called in.

“Hi,” all three Devlin women answered back.

“I was just down at Lolly’s and she was telling me that tonight was Christmas caroling night.” He stood in the back doorway, his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, his face ruddy from the cold.

“Well, if you want to know what’s going on in Devlin’s Light, Lolly’s coffee shop is the place to go.” August smiled and took down a big yellow earthenware bowl and set it on the table. “So, Nick, what did you think of the captain’s house?”

“It’s wonderful.” He looked over August’s head to meet India’s eyes. “I hope I don’t have to wait a whole year to go back.”

India blushed and Nick laughed. August pretended not to notice.

“We’re baking stuff,” Corri announced. “Christmas stuff, ’cause Christmas will be here before you know it.”

“Hmm.” He looked over August’s shoulder at the recipe she was scanning. “Looks pretty good. Want some help?”

“India, is he allowed?” Corri asked, pointing to the
basket she had hauled in from the pantry to serve as the repository of Nick’s goodies.

“Sure.” India nodded, then leaned over and whispered in Corri’s ear, “He won’t know that some things will find their way into his basket.”

“Okay,” Corri whispered back.

“And then,” Corri said, “you can go caroling with us. And drink cocoa at Mrs. Osborn’s house.”

“That sounds like a great plan. I haven’t gone caroling in years.”

“Neither have I,” India admitted.

“You’re kidding, right?” Nick took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “How could you be in Devlin’s Light at Christmas and not do all the Devlin’s Light Christmas stuff?”

“Because for the past few years I haven’t been home except for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

“Where were you?”

“Chasing dragons, Nick.”

He nodded, understanding.

“And how ’bout you, Nick? What do you usually do on Christmas?”

“I usually go to Mother’s. This year I told her I wanted to be here.”

“Does she mind?”

“No. Not at all. She’s looking forward to spending the holiday in Devlin’s Light. She thinks it’s time I started making my own traditions.”

“She does, does she?”

“Umm-hmm. I think we did exactly that last night, don’t you?” His face was close enough to touch, and she did, the fingers of both hands trailing the outline of his jaw.

“You are referring to serving at the holiday tea, of course?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “Now tell me what I’ve been missing besides caroling.”

“Mrs. Carpenter’s wassail party,” Corri piped up. “The house tour—that’s where people decorate their houses real special and everyone else comes in to see. And there’s a living manger down at the church down the street with real animals. And …”

Corri chatted away, giving Nick the full holiday rundown. In her mind’s eye, India saw it all, as it had been for all of her holiday seasons for so many years of her growing up, not realizing until that very minute just how much she had missed the simple joys of a small-town holiday season. This year would be different. This year she would do it all, and share it all with Nick and Corri and Aunt August, and along the way, maybe she’d establish a new tradition or two.

She smiled to herself, wondering how, in an effort to maintain tradition, they would manage to sneak into Captain Jon’s bed again next year.

Chapter 22

It had been the best holiday ever, filled with so much love and joy that India could not believe she had stayed away so long. With old friends and neighbors, she had wandered through the wide streets of Devlin’s Light, singing traditional carols and holding hands—Corri on one side, Nick on the other—stopping at this house or that throughout the night for hot drinks and nibbles of holiday treats, their faces stinging from the cold air that blew off the bay. Once back at the big house on Darien Road, Nick had built a fire and they warmed themselves at the hearth, sipping herbal tea, which Aunt August insisted would chase away any chill they may have caught along the way. Nick had hung mistletoe right inside the front door, and he kissed India senseless before he left the warmth of the old house to set off for his own later that night.

India had forgotten what an event it was to trim a Christmas tree until the Sunday before Christmas, when Aunt August announced that
today was the day
and the three Devlins headed toward Captain Pete’s, where trees were offered for sale in the parking lot right off the dock.

“I want a really big tree,” Corri sang as they got out of Aunt August’s Buick and danced across the parking lot.

“Corri, wrap that scarf around your neck, child,” August
called after her. “You’ll catch your death. India, where are your mittens? That wind is biting cold.”

“Aunt August, relax.” India laughed. “We’re bundled. We’re warm. We’re fine.”

Grumbling under her breath, August trailed behind India, seemingly nonchalant, yet somehow, suddenly, plagued by a bad case of the fidgets at the same time.

Curious
, India thought.
She’s jumpy as a cat.

“I found one!” Corri zipped around a row of Scotch pines. “Oh, India, wait till you see!”

The excited child dragged India to the first row of trees, those largest ones that stood apart and lined up along the edge of Captain Pete’s dock.

“Here, here, look!” Corri jumped up and down and pointed to a large blue spruce that lay stretched out along the wooden boards for ten feet running.

“Oh, it’s enormous!” India laughed.

“How on earth would we get such a tree home?” August took a step back and squinted skyward as a young man in a dark blue parka hoisted the tree and turned it slowly to show off its perfection.

“Nick said he’d meet us here,” India told her. “He’ll get it home for us.”

“Oh, can’t you just see it in the sitting room?” Corri closed her eyes and smiled joyously, envisioning this king of trees gaily bedecked and suitably bedazzled.

“Well, you know that we always put a tree in the dining room as well. I doubt Nick will be able to get both that monster tree and another tree on top of that four-wheel-drive of his.”

“Well then, I suppose I could arrange to deliver one for you.” Captain Pete leaned on his cane and surveyed the scene. Was it India’s imagination, or did he appear to be looking at everyone except her aunt?

“That won’t be necessary, Pete,” August told him, not looking at him either. “India said Nick would take it home for us.”

“Suit yourself, August.” Pete stiffened slightly and turned toward the door of his shop.

“Wait, Captain Pete,” India called after him. “Maybe you
could have someone deliver the big tree and Nick can take the smaller one.”

“That’s what I said,” Pete told her.

“That would be fine.” India smiled and patted the older man on the arm. “We would appreciate it. And I’m sure that Nick will be happy to have only one tree to strap on to the roof of his car.”

“Nick already has one strapped on the roof of his car,” Nick said, emerging from the pine forest that rose temporarily between the boardwalk and the parking lot, “but there’s room for one more.”

“Oh, Nick!” Corri clapped her gloved hands. “Wait till you see. There. There it is! Isn’t it the best tree
ever?”

“Wow!” Nick whistled. “Now that’s what I call a
tree.
Makes that little six-footer I just bought look like a twig.”

“Won’t it be wonderful?” Corri danced.

“What does India say?” Nick asked, putting an arm around India’s shoulders and pulling her to him.

“Wonderful.” She smiled into his eyes, a smile of welcome, of promise. “It will be wonderful.”

“We still need a tree for the dining room,” August spoke up, her voice flat and devoid of her usual enthusiasm.

“One more tree for Miss August.” Nick took her by the arm. “How big?”

“Five, six feet or so.”

“Fat or thin?”

“Whatever.” August shrugged, and India turned to stare. Whatever was going on?

“Show us what you’ve got, Pete.” Nick turned to the captain, whose eyes seemed to follow August’s back as Nick led her down the path toward the smaller trees.

Pete coughed and scratched his head when he realized that both India and Nick had caught him staring at August.

“I’m sure Pete has someone who can help us.” August marched on without turning back.

“Oh, but no one knows trees like Pete.” India, determined to get to the bottom of whatever it was between the good captain and her aunt, gestured to Pete to accompany her to the six-footers.

“Well, what kind would you be wanting?” Pete nodded,
falling into step next to India. “We’ve got some nice white pines.”

“White pine needles are too soft. The ornaments fall right off. If all you’ve got is white pine, then we’re wasting our time,” August called over her shoulder.

“You know I carry more than one kind of tree, August. But if you want to take your business out to the highway to one of those places where they sell half-dead trees out of the back of a truck, don’t let me stop you,” Pete called back, leaning on India so that he could wave his cane at August’s back.

“I saw some great Scotch pines and some beautiful firs,” Nick said. He dropped back to whisper in India’s ear, “What do you suppose that’s all about?”

“Beats me.” India shrugged. “I have never seen my aunt act like that to anyone.”

“You’d almost think they were …” Nick stopped on the path and grabbed India’s elbow. “It’s almost as if there is something there.”

“Aunt August and Captain Pete?” India asked, wide-eyed.

“You have to admit, they’re circling each other like a couple of wary cats. Let’s just watch this play out.” Nick grinned.

The captain and August were still at it when Nick and India caught up to them right around the five-foot firs.

“It’s as fresh a cut tree as you’ll find,” Pete said, leaning forward on his cane, “unless of course you cut it yourself.”

“Hmmm. There’s a thought.”

“That’s a perfectly lovely tree, Aunt August,” India interjected. “I think it’s perfect for the dining room.”

“If you say so, India.” August shrugged, as if it was all the same to her.

“Well, then.” Nick held his hands out to take the tree. “Let’s get these babies bound up for travel. Let’s see, we can put this one on top of the Pathfinder with my tree, and Pete can have the big one dropped off later.”