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Chapter One
It was the week before Christmas, and glistening snow blanketed the island of Nantucket. Anna could feel expectation for the holiday in every corner of the island—in the warm conversation at the coffee shop, the bustle of the historic downtown, and every nook and cranny of the decorated Copperfield House. After all, the Copperfield family had spent an entire weekend together, selecting the perfect Christmas tree, stringing lights, and taking plenty of breaks to eat Christmas cookies (baked by Grandma Greta, of course). But Christmas felt distant this year—like something Anna couldn’t fully bring into her heart. At eight months pregnant, she was exhausted, her ankles were swelled, and her consciousness stunted with fear. In just one month, she would give birth to a baby boy. And because her fiancé had suddenly passed away last April, she would have to learn to parent alone.
In her bedroom at The Copperfield House, Anna sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the chaos through the halls and bedrooms of the immense home. It sounded like James was late for high school. It was his last day before classes let out for the holidays, and he yelled back to his mother, telling her it was all right, that he’d done all his homework, and that nobody cared if he was late on the last day.
Quentin’s booming voice came next, “We told you to get up an hour ago!” Anna smiled inwardly. At twenty-four, with so much “real life” behind her, high school now seemed like a romantic time of her life. An era of not knowing and of hope.
Just then, her grandmother, Greta, hollered downstairs, telling anyone who cared to listen, “There’s more coffee!” It was eight, meaning Greta would disappear into her office to write away the rest of the morning. She always woke up early to make sure the rest of the family was cared for.
Anna pulled her hair into a ponytail and waddled downstairs to pour herself a cup of tea and a large glass of water. There, Aunt Ella and Uncle Will sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper sections strewn in front of them. They’d just returned from several months of touring with their band. They were happy and easy to talk to, swapping stories about their trips to Memphis, Chicago, and New Orleans and asking Anna about her past few months in Nantucket.
“I’ve been busy,” Anna said with a laugh, referring to her giant stomach.
Aunt Ella chuckled and turned the page of her newspaper. “Your mom said you’ve been hard at work. Lots of writing?”
Anna raised her shoulders. Her dreams of becoming a travel writer had sort of diminished in the wake of Dean’s death. The accident happened on Orcas Island, where Anna was assigned to her first big-time writing gig. She couldn’t help but blame herself. Maybe if she hadn’t wanted to be a travel writer so badly. Maybe if she hadn’t forced her and Dean’s relationship to move so quickly. Maybe then, Dean would still be alive.
But it had felt like a wild rush of romanticism. They’d met a year and a half ago in Seattle and abandoned the rest of the world, their friends, and their responsibilities, falling in love in the only way two twentysomethings could. When Dean had asked her to marry him on Orcas Island, she’d felt her life stretching out before her like the stars in the black sky. And then, he’d died.
She hadn’t known she was pregnant. She hadn’t known she was about to enter the single most challenging era of her life. There had been nothing to do but keep going.
“I hope you don’t mind that your mom invited me to the Christmas market later,” Aunt Ella said. “She said you’re writing something about it?”
“It’s for Nantucket Insider Magazine,” Anna said, clutching her mug of tea. “They want a write-up of the Christmas market. Something simple. Easy.”
“Looking forward to it,” Aunt Ella said.
Anna disappeared in her bedroom to go over the edits for her most recent travel article, which was to be published in Travel + Leisure magazine. The topic was springtime travel in Nantucket. Anna had written separate guides for families, parents of young children, parents of teenagers, newlyweds, and singles. She’d wept during the newlywed’s section, imagining herself and Dean exploring Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard together, eating seafood, and hiking the white sand beaches. It seemed tremendously unfair that she wouldn’t be allowed that life.
Until recently, Anna had had a therapist to review this with. They’d discussed Anna’s inner rage for her circumstances and tried to build fresh hope for Anna’s new reality. But Anna’s therapist had moved to Los Angeles for her husband’s job—and Anna hadn’t gone through the trouble to make a new connection. She’d decided to call herself “healed.”
Anna’s cell phone pinged with a text. To her surprise, it was Violet Carpenter, Dean’s mother.
VIOLET: Hi, honey! How are you feeling?
Anna’s heartbeat quickened. Anna hadn’t seen Violet since Dean’s funeral back in April, a time that now seemed gray and amorphous. It was often difficult for her to remember it, as though grief had robbed her of short-term memory. Dean’s parents, Violet and Larry Carpenter, lived in Dayton, Ohio, where Dean was raised. Because Anna and Dean hadn’t even been together a year at the time of their engagement, Anna didn’t know them well. She hadn’t even gone to the wake, choosing instead to go on a mad road trip across the continent to return home.
Violet and Larry had seemed ecstatic about the pregnancy (as happy as two people who’d lost their son could be, that is). Violet had even made plans to come to Nantucket to visit. But with Anna’s travel writing, Violet’s grief, and the sheer fact that they were essentially strangers, they still hadn’t made it work.
ANNA: I’m doing well, thanks. Just one more month till the baby.
VIOLET: I’m over the moon.
VIOLET: Listen, honey. I’ve been such a mess over here. But you and the baby have never been far from my mind.
VIOLET: What do you think about me visiting a few days after Christmas? I’d love to shower you with baby presents and love.
Anna raised both of her eyebrows in surprise. Violet’s face flashed through her mind’s eye. She was around Anna’s mother’s age, forty-six, with dark-blond hair and eyes the color of a pine forest. Dean had looked more like his father than his mother, but he’d often told Anna that his personality was more like his mother’s. They both loved a little too hard, he’d said.
ANNA: The Copperfield House is enormous. We would love to host you.
It never occurred to Anna that once she invited Violet into The Copperfield House, she would have a hard time getting her to leave. Perhaps it should have. After all, The Copperfield House was an escape from the sinister realities that lurked outside of Nantucket. It was that way for everyone.
The Christmas market was located in the Historic District. It featured nearly thirty stalls where bundled-up and smiling vendors sold mulled wine, hot cocoa, pastries, chocolates, arts and crafts, and gifts. Anna suspected it was an intense time for them. They needed to make as much money as they could during the Christmas season. But Anna’s travel article couldn’t go into the economics of Christmas festivals. She needed to uphold the spirit and beauty of the Christmas festival. She needed to promote tourism on Nantucket—even though Nantucket definitely didn’t struggle in that regard.
Anna, Grandma Greta, Aunt Alana, Aunt Ella, and Anna’s mother, Julia, wandered through the Christmas market that afternoon, pausing to inspect hand-knitted mittens, Christmas decorations, and little Christmas treats. It wasn’t long before Greta discovered that one of the stalls was owned by a French woman selling traditional French Christmas decorations. Greta was quick to tell the woman that she’d once lived in France and remained fluent in the language. The woman responded in French, and the two of them spoke happily. Greta’s smile lit up the gray sky above.
“Here.” Julia appeared before Anna and handed her a mug of hot cocoa filled with marshmallows. “Are you getting cold?”
