Devlin's Light (37 page)

“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.”

Before August could protest, India had paid for the two trees and Nick had tied the fir on top of his car with his Scotch pine. Anxious to get home and start decorating, India found Corri chasing a schoolmate through the aisles,
then set about to look for her aunt. She found her at the end of the dock, facing the Light.

“Our first Christmas without our boy,” August said softly, recognizing India’s footfall on the wooden planks.

“I miss him too.” India put an arm around her aunt and hugged her.

“It’ll never be the same.” August cleared her throat.

“No, it won’t,” India agreed, “but it can still be good.”

“I suppose so.” August nodded.

A languid land breeze bore the scent of pine, and India’s nostrils sought out the underlying salt smell of the bay. Pine plus salt equaled Devlin’s Light at Christmas, she thought, clinging to the smell of both land and sea. It smelled like home to her. She sighed deeply and, with her arm still around her aunt, walked back to the car, knowing full well that the eyes of the old captain followed every step they took.

“We are going to be decorating trees all day!” Corri crowed as the car pulled into the driveway on Darien Road.

“It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.” India nodded.

“It’s not dirty at all,” Corri told her, “’cept maybe in the attic when you go to get the boxes out.”

“I’ll do the dirty work this year,” Nick told her as he swung their tree off the roof of his car. “But in return, you have to keep me plied with snacks and warm drinks.”

“We have lots of good snacks,” Corri assured him. “We made tons of cookies and good stuff to eat. And we can make hot chocolate.”

“There you go then.” He leaned the tree up alongside the back of the house. “Tree stands?” he asked India.

“In the attic. With the dusty boxes.”

“Lead the way.” He stood back while August unlocked the back door.

“Follow me, sir.” India pulled off her red wide-brimmed wool hat and shook her curls loose, fluffing her hair with her hands. “I hate hat-head.”

“Hat-head?” Nick went up the steps behind her, thoroughly enjoying the view.

“When you wear a hat and your hair gets flattened down.” She grinned. “Hat-head.”

“Here, let me help you with that,” he murmured, stopping her halfway through the attic door and running his fingers through her hair, from her scalp to the end of the silky strands. “I have the cure for hat-head,” he told her, lowering his lips to hers.

“Nick,” she said, after kisses that left her breathless, “what has this got to do with my hair?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and kissed her again. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Save it.” She giggled and tugged on his sleeve, leading him up the steps to the large, well-lit attic. “We have work to do.”

They found the boxes of Christmas ornaments stacked in one corner and, after dusting off the lids, began the job of carrying them all to the first floor, where Corri poked in every one, exclaiming over its contents. Nick found the tree stands and, under August’s guidance, set up the tree in exactly the right spot in the dining room.

“Now, this tree gets the angels,” August told them. “So Corri, you find the box with the angels. First, of course, we need to get the lights on.”

“I’ll do that,” Nick volunteered, “and India, you can get me some of those wonderful spice cookies.”

“It’s almost noon,” August told them. “We’ll have some chowder first, then you can have some cookies.”

“Why do I feel like an eight-year-old all of a sudden?” Nick laughed and set about the task of getting all the lights on the tree, arguing all the while with India over whether the proper progression was from left to right or right to left.

Corri found the angels, and after lunch Nick sat back and watched Corri and India decorate the tree. There were finely spun glass angels, delicate as wishes on the wind, and cross-eyed angels made of bright construction paper by India as a first-grader, angels made of papier-mâché and painted with pale, heavenly shades of pink and blue and yellow, and angels made of porcelain, their wings touched with gold. Nick quietly watched the interplay between woman and child, his heart aching with love, a song of thanks singing somewhere in his consciousness. Not able to
wait until Christmas morning to give Aunt August her special gift, Corri proudly showed off the angel she had made of shells, and she could not contain her joy when August pronounced that it was the very angel that should sit at the top of the tree that year and look over all the other angels. Nick lifted the child to the top of the tree to place her angel there, and he felt a lump in his throat at her delight in the simple act of having her gift acknowledged for the treasure it truly was.

“Auctor pretiosa facit,”
August murmured. “The giver makes the gift precious.”

It was near four when a white panel truck pulled into the driveway and stopped near the end. Corri peeked through the curtains and shouted, “It’s Captain Pete with the big tree!”