“How romantic!” says Mrs. Delaney.

  I open it and start to laugh. So much for romance. Inside are pictures of Pip and Yo-Yo, our familys’ dogs. The card is signed “Love, Stewart,” though, which is nice.

  Jess gets a new riding helmet, a pair of suede boots, several books, and from my brother, a silver charm bracelet with a little heart dangling from it. Poor Darcy, I think when I see it. He’s in for a rude awakening.

  Becca’s grandmother sent both of us a canvas tote bag with a picture of Betsy Ray on one side and another one of my favorite Betsy-Tacy quotes on the other: “Betsy returned to her chair, took off her coat and hat, opened her book and forgot the world again.”

  Jess gives me a fleeting smile when she opens my present. It’s a scoop-necked cashmere sweater I got for her in England last summer before we came home. It was on sale, and I had some leftover birthday money, and it looked like it would be perfect for her. Especially the color—a dreamy pale blue. I had visions of her wearing it to audition in.

  “Thanks,” she says politely.

  “You’re welcome,” I reply, just as politely.

  Her mother gives us a funny look.

  “Where’s your present for Emma?” she asks, and Jess shrugs.

  “Around here somewhere, I guess.”

  It isn’t, though. There’s no present at all for me from Jess. I try not to show how much this hurts, but it’s almost impossible, and her mother gives us another speculative look.

  Uncle Hans claps his hands. “The vans will be leaving for the Christmas Eve service in the village in ten minutes!” he announces, and a number of families scurry off to get their coats, including us. But just as we’re heading through the lobby, the phone at the front desk rings.

  “Ja,” says Uncle Hans. “I understand. Don’t worry—we know all the words.”

  He hangs up and looks over at us. “That was the minister. Our organist can’t make it. His car broke down.”

  “Maybe we can help,” says Mrs. Delaney, whispering something to the twins.

  Half an hour later, we’re all seated inside the small church. I’m finally next to Jess—not that it does me any good at the moment. This isn’t the time or place to try and talk to her.

  The door at the back opens, and Jonas and his parents step inside. Jonas smiles and waves as they slip into a pew a few rows behind us. Jess smiles back. I don’t.

  The service is as simple and beautiful as the evergreens and white candles that grace the altar. The minister reads the nativity story from the Gospel of Luke, and then Dylan and Ryan march up to the front with their recorders. The boys look solemn and unnaturally clean.

  Mrs. Delaney leans over to Jess and me and whispers, “I fixed their hairs,” which gets a faint smile out of Jess and a chuckle out of me. Betsy and Tacy’s friend Tib always says this, because she’s German, and the German word for “hair” is plural.

  The twins accompany us manfully if not exactly tunefully as we sing “Away in a Manger” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”

  We finish with “Silent Night,” this one a cappella, and as we sing the tale of a babe born in a faraway stable two thousand years ago, I pause for a moment, listening as the haunting melody spirals up to the church rafters. A shiver goes down my spine.

  It’s magic—pure Christmas magic.

  I glance over at Jess, wondering if she feels it too. Her eyes are closed; her face alight with joy. The quiet beauty of the old carol has clearly cast its spell on both of us. As I watch her, I feel something else: a rush of love.

  I can’t be mad at Jess. She’s my friend and always will be. It’s as simple as that.

  There’s more magic in store too, for afterward, the church doors swing open to reveal—

  “Snow!” Dylan cries in delight, grabbing his brother’s arm. The two of them race out into the parking lot, where they stand with their heads flung back, smiling up at the sky.

  The congregation flocks out to join them, and the boys throw their arms out and start twirling through the falling flakes. I feel like twirling too.

  “Deep Valley,” Jess murmurs beside me.

  We smile at each other, real smiles this time, and I feel more of the anger and hurt of the past couple of days draining away.

  “Can I talk to you when we get back to the inn?” I ask, and she nods.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too.”

  Jonas comes over to say good-bye, and gives us both hugs as he wishes us a Merry Christmas. I try not to look as he’s hugging Jess. I don’t want to spoil the magic.

  Back in our room, I close the door and lean against it. Jess hobbles over to her bed and puts her crutches down, then takes a seat. “You first,” she says. “You’re the one who’s mad.”

  “You’re the one who hasn’t been talking to me.”

  “Because you’re mad,” she says. “It’s only logical.”

  “Jess! This isn’t a math equation! This is my brother we’re talking about.”

  She wrinkles her brow. “Darcy? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “What do you mean, what does he have to do with anything? He has everything to do with everything!”

  Jess still looks baffled. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about you and Jonas.”

  “Me and Jonas?” She stares at me in disbelief. “What about me and Jonas? You mean you think—”

  “Come on, Jess,” I tell her. “Even Felicia noticed.”

  “So that’s what you two were whispering about at Nestlenook!” she says. “You think I like him?”

  “Don’t you?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course I like him, Emma. Jonas is smart, and funny, and he likes music and animals, and yeah, maybe we flirted a bit, but—”

  “Ha! I knew it!”

  “But I happen to be dating your brother, and I would never do that to Darcy. Don’t you know me better than that?”

  I shift uncomfortably. “Well, I thought I did, but Felicia said—”

  “Felicia, Felicia, FELICIA!” Jess’s voice rises. “Why would you take her word for anything, anyway? And while we’re on the subject of Felicia, is it any wonder I spent so much time with Jonas? I mean, besides the fact that my uncle hired him to hang out with me, which you seem to have conveniently forgotten? You ignored me, Emma! You completely and utterly ignored me. What was I supposed to do? Sit and twiddle my crutches while you ran around hanging on my stupid cousin’s every word?”

  I’m silent, stung by her accusation.

  After a while, Jess sighs. “I hate it that we’re arguing,” she says gloomily.

  “Me too,” I reply.

  I look out the window. I can see from the reflection of the Christmas lights that it’s still snowing. Where’s the magic now, I wonder? And then it occurs to me that maybe what I’m looking for isn’t out there somewhere, but in here, right inside of me, in the form of those two little words it can sometimes be so hard to say.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “I’m sorry too,” Jess replies, and the relief in her voice is audible.

  “You’re absolutely right,” I continue. “I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I shouldn’t have misjudged you. I was an idiot.”

  “You’re not the only one. I made things worse by giving you the cold shoulder.” Jess stands up and hops across the room to the dresser. “I have something for you, by the way. Two somethings, in fact.”

  “Really?” Jess has a present for me after all!

  She passes me a package that can only be a book, plus another little bag.

  I smile when I see it. “I have something else for you, too,” I tell her, reaching under my bed and pulling out an identical bag. We both shopped for each other at the Christmas tree farm.

  “Open the big one first,” she says.

  I unwrap it. “Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, wow.”

  “It??
?s a really old edition,” she tells me. “I was up in the attic at home a few months ago and found it in a trunk. Mom said I could give it to you. She knows how much you love it.”

  Jane Eyre. I run my finger across the title, then open the cover. “Gosh, Jess, I don’t know if I can accept this. It could be valuable.”

  “Nothing is more valuable to me than your friendship,” she says fiercely. “I don’t ever want to fight again, okay?”

  “It’s a deal. And thank you—this is beautiful. I love it.”

  We open the other bags at the same time and burst out laughing. We got each other the exact same ornament—a tiny red sleigh with two girl elves inside. On the side, written in glittery ink, are the words: Friends are the sisters you choose for yourself.

  I cross the room to give her a hug. “I hated being mad at you!”

  “Me too,” she replies.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask her.

  “Need you ask?”

  “Let’s go find something to eat. We can have a picnic up here in our room, Betsy-Tacy-style.”

  We change into our pajamas, pull on our robes and slippers, and make our way as quietly as we can down the hall to the kitchen. We put together a tray of cold roast pork, homemade applesauce, and gingerbread—mit Schlag, of course—and as we start to head back, I pause in the lobby.

  “Do you mind if I check my e-mail real quick?” I ask Jess.

  “Go ahead. I’ll check mine when you’re done.”

  I log on. I have two e-mails, one from Stewart (Merry Christmas! See you in three days!) and one from Megan. I suck in my breath as I read the subject line.

  “Jess!” I whisper urgently. “Check this out!”

  She swings herself over to where I’m sitting, and I tap the subject line with my finger, which reads: EMERGENCY MDBC MEETING!

  “Uh-oh,” says Jess. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  We scan the contents together:

  Sistren! The Chadwicks need our help. No one is

  supposed to know this, but Mr. Chadwick got laid

  off from his job a couple of months ago. They’re

  going through a really tough time.

  “That explains why I saw Mr. Chadwick driving down Main Street with a Pirate Pete’s sign stuck to the roof of his car,” says Jess.

  “You did?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shrugs. “I meant to, because I thought it was a little weird, but it was right before finals, and I had a lot on my mind. I guess I forgot.”

  We continue to read:

  Becca’s worried. If Mr. Chadwick doesn’t find a job

  soon, Stewart might not be able to go to college next

  year, and Mrs. Chadwick will have to drop out of her

  landscape design program.

  Stewart not go to college? My heart sinks. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.

  Here’s my snoggestion: I think the Chadwicks need

  a Secret Santa. What if we surprised them at our

  New Year’s Eve party with some practical things to

  help tide them over and cheer them up until Mr.

  Chadwick finds another job?

  Gigi’s totally on board, and I’m going to talk to

  my parents later tonight. If we all put our heads

  together, I’ll bet we can come up with some great

  ideas. Let me know what you think.

  It’s signed Love, Megan.

  “A Secret Santa for the world’s worst Secret Santa,” I say glumly.

  Jess pokes me in the back. “Becca’s not that bad. Besides, this is about the whole Chadwick family, not just Becca.”

  “I know. You’re right.”

  Jess shoves her crutches under her arms and starts down the hall. “Grab the food,” she says. “We’ve got some brainstorming to do!”

  NEW YEAR’S EVE

  “To go from Before Christmas to After Christmas was like climbing and descending a high glittering peak. Christmas, of course, sat at the top. The trip down was usually more abrupt and far less pleasurable than the long climb up, but not this year. For this year, the After Christmas held Mrs. Poppy’s party.”

  —Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown

  Megan

  “Parties came thick and fast in Deep Valley during holiday week.”

  —Heaven to Betsy

  “I hope you all appreciate what a big sacrifice I’m making,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, opening the rear door of my mother’s hybrid sedan and extending her hand to my grandmother.

  Gigi grasps it as she climbs out. “We certainly do,” she says. “Will Mr. Darcy ever get over the shock of you deserting him for our humble party?”

  Emma’s mother always spends New Year’s Eve watching Pride and Prejudice—the six-hour one with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. She’s making an exception this year because of our book club’s progressive dinner.

  “He’ll survive,” Mrs. Hawthorne assures her. “Besides, I promised I’d spend all day tomorrow with him instead.” She tucks Gigi’s hand into the crook of her arm as my dad climbs out of the car behind her. The three of them start across the icy driveway. “Go ahead and park over there,” Mrs. Hawthorne calls over her shoulder to me, pointing to a spot on the far side of the garage that’s been shoveled smooth.

  “Okay,” I call back, shifting into drive and nudging the gas pedal.

  “Watch out for Pip,” my mother says sharply, as if maybe somehow I couldn’t see the large, furry shape bounding straight for us.

  “Sheesh, Mom, I’m not blind!”

  “There’s no need to get snippy.”

  Driving with my mother is no fun at all. Even though I’ve had my learner’s permit for a while now, she’s still incredibly nervous whenever I’m behind the wheel, and jumps at every little thing I do, or don’t do.

  I manage to park without (a) squashing the dog, (b) hitting the side of the garage, or (c) disgracing myself in some other unforeseen way. Still, my mother breathes a huge sigh of relief when I turn off the engine, as if she’s just returned to earth from a dangerous mission in space. I don’t know how she’s going to survive when I actually get my license.

  As the two of us head for the back door, I feel my stomach twist into a knot. I haven’t seen Becca—make that Rebecca—since we got back to Concord.

  The last few days of the cruise were awful. Becca and I weren’t talking to each other, and hiding it from our families wasn’t easy. She took a sudden interest in Scrabble and skipped most of the beach day to attend the final competition and cheer on her brother and grandfather. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time hiding out in the spa reading fashion magazines and dreaming about Paris. I even went to the towel-animal class with my mother and Gigi.

  I avoided Philippe, too. I was too embarrassed to talk to him.

  Besides, to be totally honest, I wasn’t all that into him anyway. It was just that having somebody—anybody!—interested in me felt really good after being dumped by Simon. And it was especially nice to have that somebody be so handsome. But Philippe and I had absolutely nothing in common. Looking back, I’m feeling a little guilty that I pretended to be so interested in his stupid ship. A little la de da can get a person into a whole lot of trouble.

  “Come in, come in!” says Mrs. Hawthorne. “Welcome to the first stop on the official New Year’s Eve Betsy-Tacy Progressive Dinner!”

  She takes our coats and looks me up and down. “Wow, Megan, look how tan you are! I can tell you had a great time.”

  I smile automatically and nod, peeking over her shoulder into the living room. I wish my first postcruise encounter with Becca wasn’t so public, but the rest of the group is already here, chowing down on appetizers. Pip bounds past me and makes a dive for the plate of bacon-wrapped somethings on the coffee table. Jess’s little brothers leap up and fling themselves on him, and fortunately, they’re able to stop h
im before he can do any damage.

  “Nice save, boys,” says Mr. Hawthorne, grabbing the dog by the collar and towing him out of the room.

  Mrs. Hawthorne pours my mother and me some punch, and I squeeze in beside Emma on the sofa while my mother goes over and perches on the arm of my dad’s chair. The Hawthornes’ house is really small, so we’re all kind of squished together here. Not that anybody minds—Emma’s house is one of the coziest I know. There’s something about all the shelves full of books and the comfy furniture and colorful art on the walls that’s really appealing. I even like their pink kitchen, although I’m not sure I’d want to paint ours that shade.

  Gigi has a been given a place of honor in the armchair by the fire, and Darcy and Stewart and the twins are sitting on the floor by her feet. Cassidy’s on the floor too, leaning against her mother’s legs. Chloe is in Cassidy’s lap, eating a cracker. I carefully avoid looking at Becca, who is perched beside her dad on the fireplace’s brick hearth. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell that she’s just as carefully avoiding looking at me, too.

  “Did you hear anything more from Simon?” Emma whispers to me.

  I shake my head regretfully.

  “Too bad,” she says, squeezing my arm. Then she looks down at it and pushes up her sleeve. “Man, check out that tan! I look like the belly of a fish next to you.”

  I smile and fix myself a little plate of appetizers—a stuffed mushroom, some carrot sticks and dip, a few crackers, couple of the bacon-wrapped things (scallops, as it turns out), and what looks like a little bundle tied with a green ribbon. I bite into it. The outside is crunchy, and the inside is creamy and delicious.

  “Aren’t those good?” says Cassidy, piling a bunch more onto her plate. “I can’t stop eating them.”