A Wish for Christmas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  The Cape Light Titles

  CAPE LIGHT

  HOME SONG

  A GATHERING PLACE

  A NEW LEAF

  A CHRISTMAS PROMISE

  THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

  A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER

  A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  A CHRISTMAS STAR

  A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2009 by The Thomas Kinkade Company and Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  eISBN : 978-1-101-14907-2

  1. Disabled veterans—Fiction. 2. Cape Light (Imaginary place)—Fiction.

  3. New England—Fiction. 4. Christmas stories. 5. Domestic fiction. I. Spencer,

  Katherine, (date) II. Title.

  PS3561.I534W57 2009

  813’.54—dc22

  2009019174

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This book is dedicated to the men and women in the U.S. military

  and to their families. With humble thanks for their great

  service and sacrifices.

  —Katherine Spencer

  CHAPTER ONE

  LILLIAN WARWICK HAD INVITED HER ENTIRE FAMILY TO celebrate Thanksgiving at her house this year. In fact, she had insisted upon it.

  This was despite the fact that Lillian was many years beyond entertaining and could no longer shop, clean, or cook. Or even arrange the table with her treasured set of heirloom china, her sterling silver flatware, and the lace-trimmed table linens that she had bargained for in the streets of Florence on her honeymoon, decades ago.

  The truth was, Lillian had never expended much energy or interest in such homely tasks. For the better part of the matriarch’s long life, there had been dutiful servants to carry out these mundane chores. Though Lillian had always been quite enthusiastic in directing exactly how things should be done.

  And still was, her oldest daughter, Emily, knew well.

  When Lillian had extended the invitation—more like a decree—to her two daughters, their husbands, and all her grandchildren, Emily knew that her own daughter Sara would be shouldering the lion’s share of the work. Sara and her husband, Luke, had been living with Lillian in the looming, mansard-roofed Victorian on Providence Street for the past three years. The grand old house was certainly large enough to afford everyone their privacy, though Emily knew that her mother was so nosy and opinionated, it probably felt like very close quarters to Sara and Luke.

  But this was the last holiday that Sara and Luke would spend as part of Lillian’s household. They were moving to Boston the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Sara had found a new job, as a reporter for the Boston Globe, and they had signed a lease on a charming apartment in Cambridge.

  Sara had broken the news to her grandmother in early November. As everyone had expected, Lillian had not taken it well. She had pouted and sulked ever since, making Sara feel very guilty. As if her granddaughter were abandoning a sinking ship.

  Surely, Emily thought, her mother realized the young couple could not live there forever. The arrangement was originally meant to be temporary, some family help while Lillian recovered from a fall, but it had somehow solidified and dragged on.

  “Your grandmother will have to make some adjustments. It’s well past time,” Emily had told her daughter. “I know you love her, but she’s not your responsibility. She’s mine. Mine and your aunt Jessica’s, of course. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

  Emily had hoped her words had eased Sara’s guilt and concern, or at least been a buffer to Lillian’s dark looks and sulky silences.

  The truth was, this Thanksgiving could be everyone’s last holiday in the big house. Who knew what would happen once Sara and Luke left? Emily and her sister had been mulling over the possibilities for a long time. It definitely seemed time for their mother to downsize, which was a pleasant way of saying Lillian had to sell the place, move to some senior community, or move in with one of her daughters. But none of that had been discussed yet.

  As her husband, Dan, drove up to the house and parked in the driveway, Emily could see they were the first to arrive. Carrying covered dishes and trays, they walked up the path to the side door, which led into the kitchen. Her mother hated it when guests came in through the kitchen.

  “Dinner guests enter through the front door. Not the back, like servants or a delivery service.”

  But the etiquette faux pas could not be avoided. There was too much to carry. Sara was a wonderful cook, but Emily wanted to contribute something to the meal and had ended up assigned the salad and hors d’oeuvres.

  Her younger daughter, Jane, who was only four, carefully carried a bowl of artichoke dip, which Emily hoped would make it to the kitchen intact. “Try to hold it straight, Janie,” Emily told her.

  Nearing the house, they found Sara outside, snipping sprigs of rosemary from a large bush near the kitchen door.

  Emily kissed her cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s it going?”

  “Grandma’s driving me crazy. Luke and I have been cooking for two days, and nothing is right, of course.”

  Emily had expected as much. “Let me handle her. You did your part.”

  “And more, I’m
sure,” Dan added. He grinned at Sara, balanced a tray of stuffed mushrooms with one arm, and swung open the side door with the other. “Here we go, ladies. Ready or not.”

  Emily led the way into the house and soon found her mother in the kitchen. Lillian stood at the sink, holding a crystal wine goblet up to the light.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Mother.” Emily placed her foil-covered dishes and trays on the table. “Wow, it smells delicious in here. What did you cook? Let me see . . .” Emily glanced at Sara with a proud, approving smile as she walked over to the stove where pots and pans covered every burner.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Lillian said absently, still turning the glass. “Or it would be if the table was set properly.” She looked over at Emily. “These glasses are dirty. Spotty stemware ruins the whole table setting. You have to be more careful, Sara.”

  Before her exhausted daughter could reply, Emily stepped between them. “Here, let me see.” Emily took the offending goblet in hand. She could not see a spot and doubted she would be able to find one even with a magnifying glass. But she made a good show of rinsing the wineglass under warm water. Before she could dry it, her mother snatched it away.

  “I’ll do it. The right way,” Lillian insisted, wiping the glass carefully with a paper towel.

  That was her mother for you. She not only saw the glass half empty, it was marred by a hideous spot.

  “You had better check the rest, Sara,” Lillian said. “Bring the dirty glasses in here to me. Hurry, the others will be here soon.”

  “I’ll go,” Emily offered. She walked into the dining room. “Oh, look at the table,” Emily called back to Sara and her mother. “It’s so beautiful, like something out of a magazine.”

  It was no exaggeration. The table really did look splendid. It must have taken Sara hours—polishing the silver; rinsing off the Wedgwood china dishes that were hardly ever used; ironing the cloth napkins, which had been folded into fan shapes; and even making the centerpiece, a combination of autumn-colored flowers and leaves and swirling vines.

  Sara had even bought a chocolate turkey for each of the children, which she set next to their place cards. Emily expected Janie would want to eat hers before dinner; her grandmother would certainly have something to say about that.

  Emily heard the chimes in the foyer sound and Luke calling out that he would get it.

  Then she heard the door open and the voices of her sister Jessica, her brother-in-law Sam, and their two boys, Darrell and Tyler, all talking at once as they came in. Emily picked up two wineglasses and went back into the kitchen.

  “They’re here. It’s about time.” Her mother sighed, looking as if she were preparing herself to face some irksome but unavoidable duty. Hardly the doting grandmother, cheerfully greeting her offspring on a holiday.

  Lillian smoothed the white satin cuffs on her gray wool dress and adjusted a cameo that hung from a gold chain.

  “We had better get out there before the barbarians storm the kitchen,” Lillian warned. “Children aren’t taught any manners these days.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Emily said with a laugh. “This isn’t a state dinner at the White House. It’s Thanksgiving.”

  “Do you need your cane, Grandma?” Sara asked.

  Lillian shook her head then held out her arm. “Just take me in. You know how I hate that walking stick. It makes me look like an old crone.”

  It really didn’t, Emily thought. Her mother always dressed well and carried herself with great dignity. But Lillian would soon enough miss an arm to lean on, figuratively and literally. Emily looked on with mixed emotions as Sara dutifully stepped beside her grandmother, clasped her arm, and led her out to greet the family.

  Her mother’s big house sometimes seemed to Emily like a museum or the carefully preserved residence of some notable person—one with very limited hours open to the public. But today, filled with family, the house felt warm and full of life as rambling conversations and even laughter echoed through the long hallways and high-ceilinged rooms.

  While Lillian greeted her guests in the large front parlor, Emily helped Sara and Jessica put the finishing touches on dinner. Emily smiled as she heard the sounds of a football game on TV. Normally, her mother did not permit TV viewing during family gatherings. Obviously, she had been overruled.

  Of course, Dr. Elliot had been invited to join them. He had a gift for engaging Lillian in conversation and keeping her out of everyone else’s hair. He had probably handled the delicate TV negotiations, Emily guessed. Ezra and Lillian had known each other since they were young, and it often seemed he was the only one who had any influence with her.

  Of course at some point, her mother was bound to return to the kitchen to supervise.

  “Isn’t the meal ready yet? I’m about to faint away from low blood sugar.” Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Lillian surveyed the scene with a critical eye. “What’s that you’re adding to the gravy, Jessica? Light on the seasoning and the salt, please. I wake up parched in the middle of the night.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother. It will be just right,” Emily’s younger sister, Jessica, promised. She turned to face Emily and rolled her eyes. They both knew that if it were left up to Lillian, the food would taste bland as cardboard.

  Before her mother was able to take too many steps past the doorway, Emily stepped over and headed her off.

  “We’re just about to carve the turkey. Why don’t you ask everyone to sit down at the table, Mother? You’re the hostess, after all.”

  “Very well,” Lillian agreed reluctantly. “And please don’t serve until they’re all settled in their seats. I don’t want to go through all this trouble and eat cold food.”

  “Good point,” Sara agreed.

  Lillian nodded curtly and disappeared.

  The three women stared at one another, then burst out laughing.

  “Mother doesn’t change, does she?” Jessica added a pinch of salt and a touch of fresh rosemary to the gravy.

  “No, she doesn’t.” Emily glanced at Sara. “But I know it means a lot to her to have us all here. Let’s just try to relax and enjoy it.”

  The family was finally seated and, with Dan and Luke’s help, all the platters and bowls were brought in, and everyone began passing food around the table. When all the plates were full, Lillian bowed her head and led the family in a blessing.

  “Dear Father, we offer our thanks for this bountiful table and the well-being of everyone seated here today. We ask for your continued blessings and guidance. On this Thanksgiving Day, please look into our hearts and help us understand the true meaning of . . . gratitude.”

  Emily saw her mother lift her head and catch Sara’s eye. Her mother was sending her a silent message, even now, across the dinner table. Trying her best to make Sara feel guilty over her plans to move. As if she and Luke were horribly ungrateful grandchildren to abandon her this way. As if, at the very last minute, the young couple would suddenly see the error of their ways and change their plans.

  Though these looks were blood-chilling, no sudden change of heart was likely, Emily knew. She wished her mother would give up and let Sara enjoy the day.

  “Everything is perfect. I think we should make a toast to the cook,” Emily proposed, raising her glass. “And to Luke, too.”

  Everyone raised their glasses. Even Lillian stuck her hand out and fiddled with her wineglass, though she didn’t quite lift it.

  “To Sara and Luke. Thank you for cooking this absolutely wonderful meal,” Emily said. “And to my mother, for inviting us all here to share it.”

  “Thank you for the footnote, Emily,” Lillian said huffily. “How kind of you.”

  “Cheers, everyone,” said Dan.

  Lillian seemed about to make some other disparaging remark, but Dr. Elliot quickly leaned over and clinked glasses with her. “Lift your glass, Lily,” he urged her. “You remember how to make a proper toast, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.” Lillian fi
nally, grudgingly lifted her glass all the way. “If the political speeches are concluded, I’d like to eat. Before my food is intolerable,” she said, glaring at Emily. “If it isn’t already.”

  “Try some hot gravy,” Dr. Elliot said, passing the china gravy boat. “Does wonders.”

  “A doctor pushing gravy? There’s something wrong with that picture, wouldn’t you say?” Lillian shook her head but took the china boat from him anyway and ladled a minute amount over her plate.

  “It’s a holiday,” Dr. Elliot told her. “We won’t worry about our diets again until tomorrow.”

  The conversation jumped from cholesterol to current affairs. From gossip around town to the progress of Jessica’s pregnancy.

  “When are you due, dear? No, let me guess.” Dr. Elliot squinted at her and rubbed his chin. “January . . . twenty-third?”

  Sam put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “That’s amazing. You hit it right on the nose, Ezra.”

  Dr. Elliot laughed. “I’ve brought a few babies into the world in my day.”

  “Or I mentioned the date and you remembered. It’s marked right on my kitchen calendar,” Lillian chided him.

  Ezra shrugged and winked at Jessica. “That’s possible, too,” he admitted.

  “Two months, I can’t believe it. It’s going to pass so quickly,” Emily said.

  “Not fast enough for me.” Jessica sighed and pushed back from the table. “The last few weeks are the hardest part.”

  “I’m sorry we won’t be here when the baby is born, Aunt Jess,” Sara said. “But we’ll come up as soon as we hear.”

  “Sara, how sweet. Don’t worry about it. You’ll see the baby when you can,” Jessica said. “We’re having Christmas Eve at our house. I hope you guys can make it.”

  Lillian sat back and sniffed. “She’s moving to Boston, not the moon. Of course, she’ll return for Christmas. That’s a full month away. I expect she’ll come back even sooner.”