Chapter 27 Secret Santa Connection
secret santa connection
Holly
All that talk about home at the meeting the night before had left Holly curious about Betty Hale’s house. Maybe seeing it would help them understand the Hales better, or even give them a clue about what might make the siblings feel more welcome.
So, the next morning, she called Chad to ask if she could stop by. If he was surprised about her interest in the main property, he didn’t show it, too eager to secure her investment to question her motives.
And now, as the truck wheels crunched through the snow of the uncleared driveway, Holly found herself both excited and uneasy about what they might find.
“Maybe broom travel would have been easier,” she quipped when the tires spun on a patch of ice.
“Maybe it followed us here,” Ivar replied.
“When I left the inn, it was curled up in front of the fire with a coffee and a good book.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Of course I’m joking. It seems to have gone back to its regular dormant-broomy self.”
“Is it strange that this conversation doesn’t strike me as weird?”
Holly laughed as Ivar turned off the engine.
Silence settled around them as they glanced around the property. The house stood at the end of the drive, a weatherworn two-story with faded blue shutters, stoic and empty but not unloved. The shed off to the side leaned slightly, as if bowing under the weight of its secrets.
For a moment, neither spoke. A faint current of energy hummed in the air; it was subtle but also too strong to ignore.
Both of them shivered at the same instant, and when she turned to Ivar, he was already looking at her.
No words passed between them, but a quiet understanding did. Whatever that was, they’d both felt it.
A crunching sound came from behind, and they turned to see an SUV pulling up the drive. Chad stepped out, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.
Holly and Ivar walked to meet him as Rowan climbed out of the passenger seat. “Ivar is the local park ranger,” Holly said, introducing him. “He’s been consulting with me as I assess the land. I brought him along today for a second opinion, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Chad said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
“And you’re planning to tear down the buildings?” Holly asked.
“Yes,” he replied briskly. “I’ve brought the plans to show you.”
Rowan said nothing, eyes fixed on the ground.
“They must be over a hundred years old,” Holly said, studying the weathered siding and faded shutters. “Do you mind if I take a peek inside? I love old houses.”
“There’s not much to see,” Chad began, but Rowan’s face brightened, and she was already moving toward the porch.
“It hasn’t changed much,” Rowan said softly, running her gloved fingers along the railing. “Aunt Betty loved this place. She said that the quiet helped her think.”
“Did you ever come out here?” Holly asked Ivar quietly as he fell into step beside her.
He shook his head. “No. Not many people did. Everyone said Miss Hale was eccentric, but kind.”
Rowan turned the key in the old brass lock, the sound loud in the stillness. “Come on in.”
Inside, the air was cool and a little stagnant, but clean, carrying the faint scent of cedar, mothballs, and old paper. Light filtered through lace curtains, and the old floorboards creaked under their boots.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” Rowan said, her voice drifting ahead of them. “But I was smaller then, too.” She trailed her fingers across the top of a sideboard cluttered with glass jars and yellowed recipe cards. “But Aunt Betty always said that small houses have big hearts.”
Holly smiled faintly. “That’s a lovely sentiment.”
The living room opened on their left. Holly took in the floral wallpaper, brick hearth, and shelves of books that bowed under their weight. There was nothing remarkable about it. Just a sense of a life well-lived, of evenings spent by the fire, and of mornings with coffee and a hearty breakfast.
Chad lingered in the doorway, scrolling on his phone. “You see what I mean,” he said. “Nothing special.”
“Chad,” Rowan admonished. “This is our family history.”
“Whatever,” Chad replied.
Holly ignored him, focusing on Rowan as she took in the crocheted afghan on the sofa, the framed photographs of maple harvests and winter carnivals.
“Have you not been here recently?” Holly asked.
“Not for years. I kept in touch with Aunt Betty through letters and then emails, but I’m ashamed to say I never came here. Life seemed to get in the way. I regret that now.”
They moved through the rest of the house. Through the kitchen and pantry before climbing the narrow stairs leading to two small bedrooms. Holly noted the slant of the ceilings, the uneven floor, the nail in the wall where a picture used to hang. It was a home that had once been full of love.
“What will you do with all these items and family mementos?” Holly asked.
“If Chad had his way, we’d bulldoze the whole thing. But I’ll go through it. There are some things worthy of a local museum. Some things I’ll keep.”
As they made their way to the door, disappointment crept in. Nothing Holly had seen brought them any closer to understanding the Hales.
“There’s something else you should see,” Rowan said, her tone a bit brighter. “I spent a lot of time there each summer.”
They followed Rowan around the side of the house toward the shed. Holly’s eyes landed on the weathered door. On it hung a rusted bell from a green ribbon. She stopped as a tremor of recognition moved through her.
Rowan smiled wistfully. “She kept that up all year, saying, ‘A little Christmas magic keeps out the wrong kind of mischief.’” Then she pulled the door open, and they peered inside.
“I used to help her polish little wooden toys in here during summer visits. She’d hum these tunes I didn’t know and make me paint stars on everything. ”
This time, Holly went pale.
Ivar turned toward her. “You okay?”
Holly forced a smile. “Just taking it in.”
But she could tell he didn’t believe her. And he was right. She wasn’t just taking it in. She’d realized the Hales weren’t living near a Yule vein by chance. They knew something. About magic. About Kringles. The shed was full of signs.
Chad stepped up to the shed, peering in as if it were a closet of junk.
“Can’t wait to bulldoze this, either.” He wiped the snow off an old picnic table, laying out his construction plans.
“Imagine all this gone,” he waved at the buildings and the forest before pointing.
“Hotel there, village there. Shops and restaurants underneath. Condos on top. Parking to your left. The gondola takes you up. It’s quite a ride, but then you’re in the ski bowl. ”
Ivar peered at the map.
“Holly, take a look at this,” he said, pointing at the ski bowl.
She leaned over the map, pulse quickening as her gaze followed Ivar’s finger. The exact center of the ski bowl was also the location of the Yule Tree.
Her stomach flipped. Panic wasn’t in her vocabulary, but the world tilted, her body remembering the same dizzy surge she’d experienced the day Rita called the medic.
But then, Ivar’s shoulder brushed against hers. His presence steadied her, like roots anchoring a tree against strong winds. Her heart still raced, but the world stopped spinning quite so violently. As she turned to move, her foot slipped slightly on a patch of ice.
Before she could fall, Ivar reached out and caught her elbow. Reflexively, she grabbed his hand.
She didn’t let go.
Neither did he.
Their fingers interlaced naturally, like puzzle pieces finding their match. A warmth traveled up her arm that had nothing to do with temperature, but it also wasn’t Yule Tree energy. This was from her heart.
Their eyes met. His were steady and soft as they held her in his gaze, and she wondered if he knew how her heart stuttered as he looked at her that way.
He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice low. “I got you. But I think it’s time to go.”
Beside them, Chad scowled at the trees. “Good idea. This place gives me the creeps. Let’s wrap this up.”
Holly’s head was whirling. She had come hoping to learn about Rowan’s emotional connection to the property. Instead, it was as if someone had dumped a puzzle onto her lap and expected her to put it together without showing her the picture on the box.
It wasn’t until they reached Ivar’s truck that she released his hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What happened? I thought you were going to faint.”
“Me too,” she admitted, allowing him to help her up. They waved as the Hales drove off, and even though they were alone, she waited until he was inside the truck and the doors were closed to tell him what she suspected.
“The Hales,” she said. “They’re from my world.
The bell on the door, the wooden toys, and probably the tunes Rowan didn’t recognize.
They’re traditions, older, sure, but we still give out those bells when someone retires.
And people still recite what Rowan said: ‘A little Christmas magic keeps out the wrong kind of mischief.’”
“So what does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
Ivar started the engine, and they both sat in silence, lost in thought.
Suddenly, a flash of red caught her eye as a cardinal landed on the hood of the truck.
In its beak, it carried two small pine twigs naturally grown together in the shape of a heart, with a single red berry nestled where they joined.
The bird placed it gently on the windshield, then flew off into the trees.
Ivar reached out and picked up the sprig, handing it to Holly. “Any idea what this means?”
She shook her head, studying the delicate shape. The more they discovered, the bigger the mystery grew.