Season of Angels (9781101612170) Read online

  The Cape Light Novels

  CAPE LIGHT

  HOME SONG

  A GATHERING PLACE

  A NEW LEAF

  A CHRISTMAS PROMISE

  THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

  A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER

  A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  A CHRISTMAS STAR

  A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE

  CHRISTMAS TREASURES

  A SEASON OF ANGELS

  The Angel Island Novels

  THE INN AT ANGEL ISLAND

  THE WEDDING PROMISE

  A WANDERING HEART

  A Season of Angels

  A CAPE LIGHT NOVEL

  THOMAS KINKADE

  & KATHERINE SPENCER

  A Parachute Press Book

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa • Penguin China, B7 Jaiming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2012 by The Thomas Kinkade Company and Parachute Publishing, LLC.

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  Cover image: Family at Deer Creek by Thomas Kinkade. Copyright © 2010 Thomas Kinkade.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  FIRST EDITION: November 2012

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kinkade, Thomas, 1958–2012.

  A season of angels / Thomas Kinkade & Katherine Spencer. — 1st ed.

  p. cm

  ISBN 978-0-425-25277-2

  1. Cape Light (Imaginary place)—Fiction. 2. Grandmothers—Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 4. Families—Fiction. 5. Christmas stories. I. Spencer, Katherine, (date) II. Title.

  PS3561.I534S43 2012

  813'.54—dc23 2012026357

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  The drive to Cape Light from Vermont had been challenging. Adele Morgan rarely drove on the interstate these days. Her travels were confined to the back roads near her home and then, only in good weather and daylight. She had left for Massachusetts right after breakfast and crept along the right lane of the highways for hours, enduring the honking horns and sour expressions as other cars and trucks flew by her little green Subaru.

  She was not the driver she used to be, that was for sure. She had been wise to take a few breaks to rest and check the map. It was hard to remember the last time she had made this trip on her own. Too long ago, she knew that much.

  These days, as she neared the impressive age of ninety, memories seemed to float just below the surface of her awareness, elusive and slippery, like golden fish darting about in a dark pool.

  You had to keep a sense of humor and plug along; that’s what the years had taught her. To take life one day at a time. One hour at a time, if necessary. To fret far less about the small stuff and have more patience with herself and everyone else.

  These days she was happy just to open her eyes in the morning and put her two feet on the ground. To know God had blessed her with another day in this beautiful old world.

  Adele knew this well. She knew it in her heart. It was a large part of the reason she had come all this way, sneaking into town without a word of warning to her family—her oldest son, Joe, and his grown children, with children of their own now.

  She drove through the village of Cape Light without turning off to see any of them. She remembered the way to Angel Island without checking the map at all, though it was nice to spot a few signs along the way, confirming that she was on the right track.

  After all this time, it was still the same. One road on to the island and one road off. How much simpler could it be? Luckily, the tide was low and the old land bridge was open for crossing. It was all just as she recalled, and the stark beauty of the place still took her breath away.

  A brisk wind off the water battered her little car, the salt air reminding her how much she missed living near the sea. Vermont was a lovely place but there was no ocean, a definite drawback in her book. Moving from Cape Light to Vermont had been her husband George’s doing. They never would have left this place, but George had been transferred by his company and didn’t want to lose all his seniority and retirement benefits. Their two sons were grown and on their own, so off they went, planning to return once he retired.

  But as the saying goes, “Man plans, God laughs.” That was another thing she had learned. A few years later, well before retirement age, George was downsized and out of a job. Adele had wanted to return to Cape Light then, but George decided they should take their nest egg and the severance package from his firm, and buy a little business. Something they could run part time as they got older.

  George found a variety store for sale in Highland, the town where they lived, and that was that. She had loved him dearly, but he’d been a strong-willed man who always got his way. So up in Vermont they stayed, leaving behind their closest friends and family and never returning to live here again.

  Adele drove across the bridge slowly as the memories came rushing back. She forced herself to focus on the road, the wide blue sky above and the dark blue
waves that washed up on either side of the rocky shoulder. The wind pushed at her car, and she gripped the wheel hard to stay on course.

  Just like life, she thought. You have to hold on tight to stay aimed at your destination. Her decision to come back here this weekend had been impulsive. But she did feel focused and determined in her mission, driven by a sense of urgency that only someone at her stage of life could truly understand.

  Once she crossed the bridge, she headed north up the main road, one of two that crossed the island. The stunning panoramic view on her right, of the sea and sandy hillside that led down to the beach, was distracting. On her left, she saw open fields, wooded spaces, and the occasional house or farm.

  Just a few miles down, the grand Queen Anne came into view. “Just where I left it,” Adele said aloud. She pulled into the gravel drive and parked near the front porch. A hand-painted sign read, ANGEL INN—ALL ARE WELCOME. She remembered that, too. The inn looked very much the way she remembered, back in the day when Elizabeth and Clive Dunne ran it. Adele heard the place had been falling apart and was even closed for a time. That was when Elizabeth was ill and finally passed on. But the news that Elizabeth’s niece, Liza Martin, had taken it over was heartening, and now Adele could see that the place was thriving once again.

  In fact, the inn had never looked better, she thought as she got out of the car and slowly got the kinks out of her arms and legs. The grand old house was painted a rich cream color with sea-green trim. The porch was decorated with autumn’s bounty, with cornstalks framing the entryway, pumpkins in various sizes stacked near the door, and the hardiest, last blooms of the season—purple and white kale plants. Bunches of mums in the fall colors of harvest gold, burnt orange, and deep burgundy lined the window boxes and stairway. Adele expected the decorations would be even more lavish once Christmas rolled around.

  It’s the perfect headquarters for my campaign, she thought. The perfect place to plan my strategy.

  “Adele? You’re early. We didn’t expect you until three.”

  Claire North was coming down the porch steps to meet her. When Adele was living in the village, she and Claire had attended the same church together, the old stone church on the green. She had not seen much of Claire since her move to Vermont, but amazingly, Claire did not look any different at all.

  “Dear Claire. How are you?” The two women greeted each other with a hug. “Must be something in the water down here. You don’t look a day older.”

  Claire leaned back and laughed. “I could say the same about you, Addie. You look wonderful.”

  “Oh, go on. I’m old now. But I feel pretty good and I’ve still got my marbles . . . most of them,” Adele added with a grin.

  “That’s plenty to be thankful for,” Claire replied with a smile. She opened the hatch and grabbed Adele’s suitcase and tote bags, carrying them easily. “I’ll take your things,” she explained as she led the way inside. “I’ll get you settled right away. We’ve fixed you a lovely room with a water view. It’s very quiet here right now. There’s only one other guest checking in today.”

  “Fine with me. I like the quiet.”

  Adele had expected as much. In fact, she had been counting on it. The first weekend in December was too late for the leaf-peepers and apple-pickers who roamed New England in herds during the fall. And it was too early for Christmas visitors.

  “How long will you be staying? Liza didn’t say.”

  They had reached the first landing, and Adele followed Claire down the hall. Adele was relieved to be on the first floor. One flight these days was plenty. Just enough to keep her fit without making her breathe too heavily.

  “Oh, I’m not really sure. Maybe a week, maybe more.” Adele shrugged. “I’m just going to play it by ear,” she said honestly. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “Not at all. We have very few guests this time of year. But Liza has done a wonderful job renovating the place and we’re very busy in the summer and fall. We fill up some weeks.”

  Claire sounded pleased and proud. Adele smiled. It was good to see her old friend. Claire had such a warm, calming manner that it made Adele instantly glad she had come here. It was the right decision, she told herself.

  Claire stopped and put down the bags. “Here we are. Number five, one of my favorite rooms.”

  Claire opened the door and allowed Adele to walk in first. Adele went straight to the wide double windows that framed a view of the sea and sky. The upholstered window seat looked inviting, but she just stood and stared out.

  “What a sight to wake up to. I may just stay up here and look out the window all day.”

  “You’re not the first to say that.” Claire arranged the suitcase on a stand and put the tote bags on the floor, near a small standing wardrobe. “Lunch is almost ready, but Liza is out running some errands. She should be back soon. I can knock in an hour or so if you’d like to take a rest. That was a long drive.”

  For someone your age, Adele knew she had almost added. It was true, spoken or unspoken.

  “I am tired, but I’m ready anytime for some of your cooking, Claire. Why do you think I came all this way?”

  Adele had been a good cook in her day. Claire’s cooking, however, was in a league of its own. Claire was known all over the county for her unique versions of classic New England dishes.

  “Thanks for the compliment. But I’m sure you have some better reason to come all this way than a bowl of chowder, no matter who cooked it.”

  Claire was still so intuitive. She hadn’t lost that special gift, Adele thought. “Well . . . I did come for a pressing reason,” Adele admitted. “But your chowder was high on the list, too.”

  The two old friends laughed. Adele was relieved, but not surprised, when Claire did not press her for any more explanation. They both knew Adele would tell her the whole story in due time. When she was ready.

  Once Claire left the room, closing the door softly behind her, Adele walked back to the window seat and gazed out at the sea, watching the waves wash in and out of the shoreline and rocky coast.

  Everything in due time, she reminded herself. She had taken the first step and would soon be ready for the next. There was something in the Bible about that, wasn’t there? “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven . . . A time to break down, and a time to build up . . .”

  Well, here I am, God, ready to build things up again, to mend them once and for all. I hope this is the right season to take up that task. I don’t know that I have any time left to put the job off longer. You got me this far. Please help me with the rest.

  * * *

  “Oh, Dad, thanks for coming. You didn’t have to bother.”

  “You called me, honey. So here I am. Who could help you out of this jam better than your old man, huh?”

  Molly Willoughby just shook her head and smiled. Nobody but her dad, Joe Morgan, was the answer to that question.

  She would have hugged her father, but she was elbow-deep in a box of melted mini-meatballs. She was all alone in the back of her shop, Willoughby Fine Foods, trying to pull together the appetizers for a cocktail party in town that was due to start in a few hours. She was shorthanded on staff today, and to top it all off, one of the freezers had died during the night and all of the food for the party was ruined.

  “What a mess, Moll. What a waste.” Joe Morgan shook his head and quickly exchanged his jacket for a white cook’s apron and a pair of food-handling gloves.

  “Tell me about it. It’s not just the meatballs. It’s the mini ravioli, the shrimp, and the spinach puffs. The extra freezer went south on me overnight. No warning.”

  “Might be something simple to fix. I’ll take a look later. I can run to the restaurant supply place in Beverly for you.” Joe looked at his watch. “What time did you have to start the setup?”

 
“There isn’t enough time, Dad. We have to find something around here . . . I just don’t know what.”

  Molly knew she was stressed and not thinking clearly. She had been running this business for eight years and was a seasoned pro by now. Willoughby Fine Foods was always in demand. But the holidays were the craziest time of the year and, as usual, today she had totally overbooked.

  Which wouldn’t normally be a problem. Her partner, Betty Bowman, was so capable and organized she could run three parties at the same time. But Betty had called at six this morning, her voice tight with pain. Betty’s back had gone out, and there was no way she could run any parties today. Meanwhile, a winter flu had also sidelined two of their most experienced workers, and Molly was down to a skeleton crew.

  No wonder she had called her father in a panic. But, as usual, he was always willing to lend a hand and share his ample knowledge. Joe Morgan had worked in commercial kitchens—in hotels, schools, and restaurants—all his life. He had not only passed on his culinary talents, but he had been her coach, mentor, and cheerleader—sometimes her only cheerleader—when she finally took the leap and started her own business.

  Her father had always wanted to run his own business, Molly knew. But with six children to support, that was a risk he could never afford. Now he watched from the sidelines as she carried out his dream, one he was happy to help prod along, with his own spatula and whisk whenever necessary.

  “How many pieces do you need, Molly?” Joe asked, staring into the big pantry.

  “At least two hundred. I could put out bowls of nuts to fill in but—”

  “Nix the nuts. This is no problem, baby. I have a few ideas. Go grab me an armful of those nice baguettes you have out front and slice them up real thin. We’ll do some crostini with these tomatoes and some herb dip with the parsley, scallions, and that tub of cream cheese . . .”

  Molly could practically hear the wheels turning as he gazed into the big refrigerator. Her father did some of his best cooking under pressure, in a total culinary crisis.