Page 5 of A Winter's Miracle

The ferry drifted against the edge of the dock, and the ramp came off the side like a long tongue. Julia and Charlie waited, focusing on the ramp as the few people insane enough to travel on a snowy Christmas night burst from the edge. Most of them were hidden beneath hats or hoods. But suddenly, a golden retriever raced from the side of the boat and scampered into a snow drift, drawing some of the snow onto his nose and shaking his tail.

“That must be Luka!” Julia cried, putting her weight into the door and hopping out.

As Julia and Charlie raced through the snow, a young man of about six feet stomped down the ramp, going after the dog. “I told you!” he cried to someone Julia couldn’t see. “He doesn’t need to be on a leash. I trained him.”

Julia would have recognized Smith’s voice anywhere after their endless conversations via video chat about the state of his memoir. But unlike when they’d spoken, Smith sounded volatile and angry now, as though he’d spent the better part of the journey arguing with someone on board.

Charlie gave her a look, and Julia winced.

“He’s probably had a hard trip,” she muttered.

Smith hurried toward Luka and swept his hands through his fur, mumbling to him. Julia couldn’t hear what he said. As she got closer, something about his face gave her pause. It was the face of a much older man, etched with wrinkles, as though Smith had gone through tremendous pain that had left his twenty-six-year-old face haggard. Based on what Julia knew about him, this stood to reason. But it was strange to see it in person. It made it more real.

“Smith?” Julia finally said his name, and Smith turned from his dog and blinked through the snow at her. He didn’t smile. “It’s me. It’s Julia. Hi. Welcome to Nantucket.”

Smith strode toward Charlie and Julia, and Luka matched his pace, wagging his tail.

“Merry Christmas,” Charlie tried.

Smith stopped short in front of them. Snow piled up on his black hair, and his blue eyes were especially soulful and strange in the lanterns of the harbor.

“Hey,” Smith said finally.

“Did something happen on the boat?” Julia asked tentatively.

Smith rolled his shoulders back. “It doesn’t matter.” He looked defeated.

“Let’s get back home, shall we?” Julia suggested, forcing a smile. “My mother made an enormous feast with enough leftovers to feed us for days.”

Smith stiffened and glanced from Charlie to Julia and back again. “I don’t have to hang out with anyone. Do I?”

“No,” Julia blurted, her heart rate quickening. “Nobody expects anything from you. For you, The Copperfield House is, first and foremost, a residency. You can come and go as you please, write in your room or in the library, and even use a separate kitchen from the rest of us.”

“And we bought Luka dog food,” Charlie remembered. “It’s in your kitchen, next to a brand-new dog bowl.”

Smith’s lips turned into a half smile. Julia could have hugged Charlie right then for knowing just what to say.

“This is my fiancé, by the way,” Julia remembered.

“Charlie.” Charlie stuck out his hand and shook Smith’s. Smith’s grip looked formidable. “I hope you’re happy here,” Charlie said. “You just let us know what you need, and we can make it happen.”

Chapter Three

Anna was in the kitchen when her mother and Charlie returned with the newcomer, Smith. She dried a dish, watching out the window as they walked around the house to the artist residency entrance. A dog scampered after them, its eyes shining. It seemed Smith didn’t want to socialize. Then again, nothing was worse than meeting twenty-some strangers on Christmas night after traveling all day.

Eloise and Greta returned to the kitchen with piles of used plates and forks from a final round of pumpkin pie. Eloise was Greta’s long-lost little sister. After a series of strange events, Eloise picked Anna up in Ohio after Dean’s funeral and drove her back to Nantucket. Since then, she and Greta had picked up the pieces of their sisterly relationship and become thick as thieves once again. Sometimes, it felt like they had entire conversations in the air between them without uttering a single word. It was freaky.

“The new writer is here,” Greta announced.

“Can’t blame him for hiding himself away,” Eloise said quietly. “But I think I’ll make him a plate.”

The door between the artist residency and the family house opened, bringing Charlie and Julia back into the fold. Julia’s cheeks were red, but she smiled happily and slapped her thighs.

“He made it,” she announced.

“And his little dog, too,” Charlie joked, closing the door after them.

“How does he seem?” Greta asked.

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