Susan Wiggs - Lakeshore Christmas

“Susan Wiggs paints the details of human relationships with the finesse of a master.”

—Jodi Picoult

“With the ease of a master, Wiggs introduces complicated, flesh-and-blood characters into her idyllic but identifiable small-town setting, sets in motion a refreshingly honest romance, resolves old issues and even finds room for a little mystery.”

— Publishers Weekly on The Winter Lodge (starred review, a Best Book of 2007)

“[A]n emotionally gripping tale centered on family. Wiggs is in top form.”

— Booklist on The Summer Hideaway

“Susan Wiggs writes with bright assurance, humor and compassion.”

—Luanne Rice

“A lovely, moving novel with an engaging heroine. Wiggs’ talent is reflected in her thoroughly believable characters as well as the way she recognizes the importance of family by blood or other ties. Readers who like Nora Roberts and Susan Elizabeth Phillips will enjoy Wiggs’ latest.

— Library Journal on Just Breathe (starred review)

“Wiggs’ storytelling is heartwarming.”

— Publishers Weekly

“Susan Wiggs is a rare talent! Boisterous, passionate, exciting! The characters leap off the page and into your heart!”

— Literary Times

“A poignant, beautiful romance.”

—Kristin Hannah on The Lightkeeper

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contemporary Romances

HOME BEFORE DARK

THE OCEAN BETWEEN US

SUMMER BY THE SEA

TABLE FOR FIVE

LAKESIDE COTTAGE

JUST BREATHE

The Lakeshore Chronicles

SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE

THE WINTER LODGE

DOCKSIDE

SNOWFALL AT WILLOW LAKE

FIRESIDE

LAKESHORE CHRISTMAS

THE SUMMER HIDEAWAY

Historical Romances

THE LIGHTKEEPER

THE DRIFTER

The Tudor Rose Trilogy

AT THE KING’S COMMAND

THE MAIDEN’S HAND

AT THE QUEEN’S SUMMONS

Chicago Fire Trilogy

THE HOSTAGE

THE MISTRESS

THE FIREBRAND

Calhoun Chronicles

THE CHARM SCHOOL

THE HORSEMASTER’S DAUGHTER

HALFWAY TO HEAVEN

ENCHANTED AFTERNOON

A SUMMER AFFAIR

To the many librarians I know—including John, Kristin, Nancy, Charlotte, Wendy, Cindy, Rebecca, Elizabeth, Suzanne, Melanie, Shelley, Stephani, Deborah, Cathie—and to the many more I’ve never met…You have no idea how much you enrich people’s lives. Or maybe you do. I hope you do.

Thank you.

I get by with a little help from my friends—Anjali Banerjee, Carol Cassella, Sheila Roberts, Suzanne Selfors, Elsa Watson, Kate Breslin, Mary Buckham, Lois Faye Dyer, Rose Marie Harris, Patty Jough-Haan, Susan Plunkett and Krysteen Seelen—wonderful writers and eagle-eyed readers.

Thanks to Sherrie Holmes for keeping all my ducks in a row.

Thanks to Margaret O’Neill-Marbury and Adam Wilson of MIRA Books, Meg Ruley and Annelise Robey of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, for invaluable advice and input. Thanks to my publisher and readers for supporting the Lakeshore Chronicles and for inspiring me to return to Avalon again and again.

A very special thank-you and all my love to my daughter Elizabeth, for her help with the recipes and for her marketing expertise. Thanks also to my sister, Lori, for proofreading, and to my mother, Lou, for mothering me no matter how old I get.

My family—the reason for everything—is bigger and more blessed than ever this year. Welcome to the family, Dave.

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

—Hamilton Wright Mabie (1846—1916), American essayist

The boy came to the edge of town at twilight, at the close of a winter day. Although the snows had not yet begun, the air was brutally cold, having leached the life from the fields and forests, turning everything to shades of brown and buff.

The road narrowed to one lane and passed through a covered bridge on ancient river stone pilings. Through the years, the structure had weathered and been replaced, plank by plank, yet it never really changed. The tumbled rocks and sere vegetation along the riverbanks were rimed by a delicate breath of frost, and the trees in the surrounding orchards and woods had long since dropped their leaves. There was an air of frozen waiting, as though all was in readiness, as though the stage was set.

He felt a quiet sense of purpose, knowing his task here wouldn’t be easy. Hearts would have to break and be mended, truths would be revealed, risks would be taken. Which, when he thought about it, was simply the way life worked—messy, unpredictable, joyous, mysterious, hurtful and redemptive.

A green-and-white sign in the shape of a shield identified the town—Avalon. Ulster County. Elevation 4347 feet.

Farther on, a billboard carried greetings from the Rotary, the Kiwanis and at least a dozen church and civic groups. The message of welcome read Avalon, in the Heart of the Catskills Forest Preserve. There was another sign exhorting travelers to visit Willow Lake, The Jewel Of The Mountains. The bit of hyperbole might apply to any number of small lakeside towns of upper New York state, but this one had the earnestness and charm of a place with a long and complicated history.

He was one of those complications. His understanding of what brought him here only extended so far, a narrow glimpse into the mystical realm of the human heart. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to know why the past and present were about to collide at this moment in time. Perhaps it was enough to know his purpose—to right an old wrong. Exactly how to accomplish this—well, there was another unknown. It would reveal itself, bit by bit, in its own time.

The main feature of the town was a pretty brickwork square around a Gothic block structure which housed municipal offices and the courthouse. Surrounding that were a variety of shops and restaurants with lights glowing in the windows. The first Christmas garlands and light displays of the season adorned the wrought-iron gas lamps around the square. In the distance lay Willow Lake, a vast indigo sheet under the brooding sky, its surface glazed by a layer of ice that would thicken as the season progressed.

A few blocks from the main square was the railway station. A train had just pulled in and was disgorging passengers coming home from work in the bigger towns—Kingston and New Paltz, Albany and Poughkeepsie, a few from as far away as New York City. People hurried to their cars, eager to escape the cold and get home to their families. There were so many ways to make a family…and just as many to lose them. But human nature was forged of forgiveness, and renewal might be only a word or a kind gesture away.

It felt strange, being back after all this time. Strange and…important. Something was greatly at risk here, whether people knew it or not. And somehow he needed to help. He just hoped he could.

Not far from the station was the town library, a squared-off Greek revival structure. The cornerstone had been laid exactly ninety-nine years ago; the date was seared upon his heart. The building was surrounded by several acres of beautiful city park, lined by bare trees and crisscrossed by sidewalks. The library occupied the site of its original predecessor, which had burned to the ground a century before, claiming one fatality. Few people knew the details of what had happened or understood the impact the event had on the life of the town itself.