Read The Alpine Christmas for Free Online

for the weekend to visit your friends.”
    I recalled the trip, to a former
Oregonian
colleague’s home in suburban Tigard. Mavis Marley Fulkerston had worked on the editorial page while I toiled as a reporter. She had married a sportswriter from the paper, given birth to three children, won a Pulitzer, survived cancer of the cervix, and retired early. I had attended her fiftieth birthday party the previous November, a gala affair at the Benson Hotel.
    “Bridget didn’t have anybody on her side.” Vida was gazing at me without her glasses. Her face always looked sonaked, yet never really vulnerable, without those big tortoiseshell frames. “Doesn’t that beat all?”
    “You mean—no family or friends of the bride?” In Alpine, wedding etiquette was still observed to the letter.
    Vida nodded solemnly. “That’s right. Oh, the Lutheran church was packed—the Nyquists know everybody in Skykomish County—but there was nobody there for Bridget.”
    Ed was lumbering into the office, shaking snow off his overcoat. “There’s no end to it,” he grumbled. “Some of those dopey merchants in the mall want to have a pre-Christmas sale. Imagine!” Under the brim of his wool cap, Ed rolled his eyes.
    “I guess there’s no stopping them,” I noted in mock sympathy. It was a wonder Ed hadn’t tried to persuade the local retailers that they didn’t need to advertise in the paper because people would shop for Christmas anyway. As Ed heaved himself out of his overcoat and muttered under his breath, I turned back to Vida. “I thought Bridget was from Seattle. Why didn’t anybody come up for the wedding?”
    Vida gave a shrug of wide shoulders covered with a print blouse, a suede vest, and a plaid muffler. Apparently she wasn’t taking any chances on the heat going out again. “There wasn’t anybody to come. That’s why they had the wedding in Alpine, instead of Seattle. She’s an only child,” Vida continued, settling into one of her favorite sports, Family History. “Her father died about six years ago of a heart attack. He owned a small trucking company. Her mother committed suicide shortly before the wedding. As for friends, I couldn’t say.” Vida made a little face, as if she were disowning responsibility for Bridget’s lack of sociability.
    “Poor Bridget,” I remarked, watching Ed discover we were out of coffee. His galoshes made dark marks on the floor as he went out to give Ginny the bad news. “Has she made friends since she got to Alpine?”
    “I don’t know,” Vida admitted. “She’s trying, I’d guess. I think that’s why she does so much charity work. But let’sface it, Emma, there aren’t very many young women in her age group who have much in common with her. More to the point, she’d make them feel inferior with her lovely home and beautiful clothes. I suppose that’s why I feel sorry for her.”
    It was, I reflected, typical of Vida to lament the plight of someone who appeared to have everything. A successful husband, material possessions, financial security—on the surface, envy would be the emotion Bridget would elicit in most people. But Vida would go straight to the heart of the matter and see that somebody like Bridget was lacking a lot.
    “Why did her mother commit suicide?” I had worked with Vida long enough not to question her sources. Bridget’s background could have come from any number of Vida’s friends or relations.
    “She had cancer, poor thing,” Vida replied as Ginny tended to the coffee maker while Ed watched. “I heard that she didn’t want to do something embarrassing—like die-about the same time Bridget got married. So she threw herself off the Bainbridge Island ferry.”
    I winced. “Poor Bridget!”
    Vida inclined her head, then flipped open her phone book. “I think I’ll set up an interview at her house. I wonder how they’ve decorated the place. The Lovells went Amish.”
    The Lovells were, of course, the previous owners of the house on