Finally, when the first light of dawn began to creep in under the window shades, she gave up. If she was the praying type, she’d send a desperate plea heavenward for a fortifying cup of coffee. As it was she just crossed her fingers and headed for the kitchen.
But a quick search of the pantry turned up only Spartan supplies—two cans of soup, some stale crackers, salt and pepper, a can of tuna and a couple of stray tea bags. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but at this point she’d settle for anything with caffeine.
As she filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave, she glanced around. The cottage might have appeared rustic on the outside, but Aunt Jo had created an impressive kitchen. Though compact, it was very functional, with state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances. And the adjacent eating area, tucked into a bay window that afforded a clear view of the churning waves in the gun-metal-gray water of early dawn, was inviting.
After making her tea, Morgan wandered into the living room. Despite their philosophical differences, she had to admit that Aunt Jo had good taste. The bright walls were hung with what looked like original paintings and watercolors, and plaid and chintz fabrics in cheerful colors covered the upholstered furniture. A small deck opened off the living room, again affording a panoramic vista of the ocean just seventy or eighty feet away.
As she stood at the window sipping her tea, dawn began to stain the sky an ethereal pink. She watched, transfixed, as the color deepened and spread, dispersing as the sun crept over the horizon. It seemed the storm had passed, for the sky was clear now and the wind had all but disappeared. As the sun rose higher, its rays reached out to touch the ice-encased trees and the snow-laden boughs of the fir trees, turning the scene into a magical, sparkling wonderland and filling the world with dazzling, brilliant light.
Which was a good thing. Because all at once the lights in the cottage flickered and went out.
With a look of dismay—and a sudden feeling of fore-boding—Morgan walked over to the phone and picked it up. Dead. Why wasn’t she surprised? So far, nothing about this trip had gone as planned. And with the electricity out, she could pretty much write off the possibility of getting much work done once her laptop battery gave out, she thought in disgust.
Setting her tea aside, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. She didn’t have much hope that it would function in this remote area, but it was worth a try. She’d promised to call Clare and A.J., who were spending Christmas together in North Carolina.
Much to her surprise, she got a signal, and a moment later Clare answered.
“Morgan! Did you get to Aunt Jo’s cottage okay? We heard on the news that there was a pretty bad storm in Maine, and we’ve been worried.”
“I’m here, safe and sound,” Morgan assured her.
“So how’s the cottage?”
“Remote. Isolated. And without electricity or phone right now. I’m on my cell.”
“Do you have heat?”
“I spotted a kerosene heater, so I should be okay. This must happen on a regular basis.”
“So what are you going to do today?”
Morgan dropped into a chintz-covered chair. “Well, I’d planned to work, but without electricity my laptop won’t last long.”
“Maybe you could think about going to church. After all, it is Christmas. Remember how we all used to go together early in the morning, then come home and open presents? And Mom always made a wonderful dinner. I can still taste her roast lamb and oven-browned potatoes.”
Morgan glanced at the cans of soup and tuna she’d taken out of the pantry, along with the stale crackers. It was a far cry from the holiday meals of her childhood, when she’d been surrounded by family in a house filled with love.
“Yeah, I remember,” she replied, her lips curving into a wistful smile. “Those were good years.”
“I wish you were here, Morgan. We miss you. And I hate for you to spend Christmas alone.”
“I miss you guys, too. But I’m used to being alone, so don’t worry about me. Can you put A.J. on?”
“Sure.”
After a few seconds of silence, her younger sister spoke. “So what’s this about working on Christmas?”
“Don’t start with me, A.J.,” Morgan warned.
“Hey, I only have your best interests at heart. Nobody should work on Christmas. It’s a day for God and family. So just chill out and relax for once. Maybe even go to church, like Clare suggested. It couldn’t hurt, you know.”
“I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do.”
“What are you having for dinner?”
Again, Morgan glanced at her meager supplies. She’d planned to stop and pick up a few things during the drive yesterday, but she’d gotten a late start, and when the weather turned bad she’d just kept going. She’d tossed a couple of frozen microwave dinners in the car with her luggage, but even if she could get the trunk open, the dinners weren’t going to be of much use without electricity.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“We’re having roast chicken with garlic mashed potatoes, and Clare made a wonderful chocolate mousse for dessert.”
Morgan’s mouth started to water. “Think of me while you’re eating.”
“You know we will. Listen, Morgan, Clare was right. We miss you.”
“I miss you, too. How’s it going at the bookshop?”
“Okay, I guess.” A.J. said with a chuckle. “But I think I’m driving my partner, Mr. Conventional, nuts. He’s the Oxford-shirt-wearing, let’s-plan-everything-out-down-to-the-last-detail type.”
Morgan laughed. “And how’s Clare doing with her assignment from Aunt Jo?”
“She seems to be ensconced in the Wright household. But I’d say she has her work cut out for her with the good doctor and his problem child.”
“Well, tell her I wish her luck. And stay in touch, okay?”
“You, too. Merry Christmas.”
As the line went dead, Morgan felt oddly bereft. She’d told Clare that she was used to being alone, and that was true enough. She liked her independence, and she’d created the precise life she wanted. But as she recalled the happy Christmases of her youth, she wished now that she could have found a way to join her sisters for the holiday. All at once the notion of spending the entire day alone, with only her work for company, held no appeal. Maybe she’d drive into Seaside and try to scrounge up some food. And if she saw a church, maybe—just maybe—she’d stop. After all, as both A.J. and Clare had reminded her, it was Christmas.
The trunk of her car was more cooperative this morning, and after a quick shower and change of clothes, Morgan tackled the drive into Seaside. The snow-covered roads were far easier to negotiate in the daylight, and within fifteen minutes she was in the tiny town. Maybe she’d find a nice restaurant or café and have a decent Christmas dinner after all, she thought, her sprits rising as she turned onto the main street.
But there was one little problem.
The streets were deserted and everything was closed and locked up.
As Morgan sat in her car debating her next move, a tall white spire in the distance caught her eye. She wasn’t in the mood for church, but a twinge of guilt about her lapsed faith niggled at her conscience. And it wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. Including eat, she thought, with one more glum look around the shuttered town. Besides, it might be nice to attend services, for old time’s sake. If nothing else, it would break up what otherwise promised to be a long, empty day. At least she could check it out. If she happened upon a service, great. If not…well, then it wasn’t meant to be.
But