Page 3 of A Nantucket Season

“Yep,” Alana said.

“Wow. What a gorgeous place!” Andy said as he shook Greta, then Bernard’s hands. They gazed at him adoringly, already in love with their short-term “son.”

“Welcome to The Copperfield House,” Greta said, stepping back to open the front door. “These are my daughters, Ella, Julia, and Alana. One of them will show you to your room.”

Ella jumped up to greet Andy, who had sandy brown hair and wide-set eyes. “Can I take your bag?” she asked.

“I got it,” Andy said. “It’s probably heavier than you are.”

Ella laughed, charmed by this English lad, and led him toward the half of the Victorian that housed the artists. “Normally, you won’t enter the residency this way,” she explained as she opened the door for him. “There’s a side entrance for the artists so that you don’t have to go through the family house.”

“Got it,” Andy said. “Do you all live here?”

Ella laughed, sensing it was strange to explain why all four of the adult Copperfield children and much of their families lived in The Copperfield House these days. “We were gone for decades,” she said finally. “And it’s been nice to catch up. It’s felt like a big hotel filled with people I’ve loved my whole life.”

“And now, the artists are coming to ruin that,” Andy joked.

Ella snickered as she led him up the back circular staircase toward the second floor of artist bedrooms. “Mom and Dad are over the moon to welcome all of you.” When she reached the room they’d assigned to Andy, she opened the door with a creak and tilted her head inside. “It’s simple, but it should have everything you need, a bed, desk, and internet. Just a note that setting up the Wi-Fi in this old, big place is a nightmare, but my sister, Julia, figured it out. God bless her.”

Andy laughed and set his backpack next to the bed. “It’s perfect. The view of the ocean is wonderful.” He peered out the window and sighed. “I’m normally trapped in London with a view out my bedroom window of a brick wall.”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “I understand that life. I was in New York for decades, cramped in a little apartment with my boyfriend and our two kids.”

“Yikes,” Andy said. “I take it you’re an artist, as well?”

Ella nodded and brushed her hair behind her ears, as suddenly, Andy’s face transformed with shock. “Wait a minute,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “You’re in that band! Man, I used to love you guys. I saw you perform in ’07 and ’08 at Glastonbury Festival.”

Ella dropped her head back, surprised at how joyous it was to be recognized again. This far after forty, she didn’t exactly look like the young rocker who’d graced covers of music magazines. “Those were crazy times,” she said.

“I can’t even imagine.” Andy sat at the edge of the bed. “I have a good feeling about this place. I really do.”

Ella floated back down the staircase to find that Alana and Julia had both taken an artist upstairs— Alana with Barbie Deinhoff, the forty-two-year-old writer from Seattle, and Julia with Tom Taylor, the 37-year-old Welsh musician.

“We’re just waiting on Felicity Rollins and Aurora, your favorite,” Greta said as she hurried from the front porch toward the kitchen, where she was in the midst of preparing a massive French-inspired feast for the Copperfield family and the newcomers— leeks in vinaigrette, roast Provençal chicken, summer tomato bouillabaisse with basil rouille, and cherry-almond clafoutis. There was a small note on the website for The Copperfield House that basically insinuated vegetarians had to fend for themselves and that all others could enjoy Greta’s cooking.

“Girls!” Greta called from the kitchen as Alana and Julia re-entered the family house. “Will you go out and set the table, please?”

Just as they’d done as teenagers, Ella, Alana, and Julia found themselves outside, hands laden with beautiful china, ensuring that the long, wooden table was just as immaculate as one found in an upper-echelon restaurant. Greta believed in the power of making a statement with food. For a brief moment, Alana and Julia squabbled about where to put which fork, which was ultimately cleared up when Julia googled it and found that she was right. This put Alana in a momentarily foul mood, at least until Jeremy showed up again to refill her rosé. Julia locked her gaze with Ella’s and rolled her eyes, a reminder that, although they loved Alana to pieces, she would always be a little bit out of her element compared to them. She’d lived a glamorous life for too long before she’d come home.

“Felicity is here!” Greta called from the open kitchen window. “Catherine is showing her to her room!” Catherine was Quentin’s wife, who’d just gone into cancer remission. She’d been a pleasure to have around the house, especially because she didn’t carry around any of the original Copperfield “baggage.” She was kind, beautiful, funny, and thoughtful— and she knew how to diffuse an argument between the siblings in an instant. Ella and Will privately called her the peacekeeper.

“Where is Aurora?” Will asked as he stepped out onto the back porch.

Ella shrugged, remembering that on Aurora’s application, she hadn’t listed a home address. This wasn’t so strange for an artist and a musician, especially one who seemed so wild and free. Ella had never been allowed such freedom, as she’d had children young and had had to manipulate her musician career around motherhood rather than the other way around.

“I’m sure she’ll show up at some point,” Greta said. “Dinner is at seven on the dot. If she’s here, she’s here. If she’s not… well, more chicken for us.”

To Ella’s disappointment, Aurora did not arrive at The Copperfield House by seven. With her eyes on the house to make sure she saw her if she walked up the porch steps, Ella sat at the long table, thanking Will as he poured her a glass of white wine. The artists had congregated on one end of the table, glancing at one another nervously and with curiosity. Greta had instructed they leave one of the seats near them free just in case Aurora did arrive after all.

When the wine had been poured, Bernard stood at the head of the table, blushed, and took stock of the immaculate table, heavy with plates, surrounded by the people he loved most in the world— and four brand-new individuals he hoped to help push forward in the art world. He believed in art and its power in communities and how it could change people.

“Good evening, everyone. For those of you who are new, Andy, Barbie, Felicity, and Tom, I want to welcome you to The Copperfield House. Many, many years ago, in 1978, to be exact, my darling wife and I decided to set aside one-half of our home for artists such as yourselves, and it was our pleasure, for nearly twenty years, to give a place of solitude and artistry to those who wanted to take their art to the next level. After a little break…” Bernard paused and smiled at his children, trying to make light of the fact that that “little break” had been his twenty-five-year stint in prison, then added, “We are off to the races again. Now, I don’t want to get too longwinded, especially because Greta gets angry if my speeches ruin her perfect food. So, please… enjoy, and thank you for your belief in The Copperfield House.” He then raised his glass and said, his eyes glinting with tears, “We’re back, baby!”

Ella’s heart filled with love for him, and she couldn’t help but clap. The others joined her a split-second later, overjoyed.

Over the next hour, the Copperfield Family feasted alongside four of their new artists, asking them questions about their work, so grateful to hear about their stories up until now and how their lives had changed their art. Felicity was the youngest of the four, at only twenty-two, but even she spoke with maturity about her work. This begged the question: where would she be in her photography career at Ella’s age? Surely, she would be one of the best in the business.

All the while, as Ella ate her mother’s delicious meal, she kept tabs on the front door and the street in front of the house, waiting for Aurora. Her heart dropped by the minute with disappointment. There had been something so earnest, so heartbreaking, and so sensational about Aurora’s music— and Greta had nearly fallen to her knees when she’d seen Aurora’s paintings. To Ella, at least, Aurora was the most talented of the bunch and the one she most wanted to meet, as she sensed that she could help Ella become the best creative musician she could be. It was important, Ella felt, to push herself creatively by surrounding herself with the creativity of others. It ensured that she didn’t become complacent.

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