When the Snow Falls

by Fern Michaels

  A small girl came in and began to wander around after Veda checked out the visitors at the register.

  “My dad’s next door,” she explained, pointing toward Reese’s law office, as if in answer to a question Veda hadn’t asked. The child moved to the display rack of candles and began to pick them up, unscrewing each jar to sniff.

  “Ummm,” she said after a minute. “This is my favorite.”

  Veda walked closer to her. “What flavor is it?”

  “Christmas cookies!” She grinned. “I love Christmas cookies.”

  “Me, too.”

  The girl studied her. “I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Veda, Rita Jean’s niece. She used to talk about you all the time.”

  Veda lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t think I know you yet.”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I’m Pamela Renee McNally. My daddy is Reese McNally and that’s his office next door. My granddaddy is Harold McNally and he works across the street at his Texaco. We live on the McNally Farm, up Chestnut Springs Road, the next road right beside Daddy’s office.” She studied Veda again. “You should know that. You played there when you were little because you and my daddy were friends.”

  Veda realized, looking at Pamela, that she should have guessed this was Reese’s child—same dark brown, wavy hair and chocolate brown eyes, her face much like old pictures of Reese’s mother.

  “You don’t look like Dee Dee,” Veda said without thinking.

  “Good.” Pamela made a face. “Because I don’t like her, and no one around here has anything good to say about her either.”

  “I’m sure she has her good traits.” Veda made an effort to be polite.

  Pamela looked at Veda pointedly. “I don’t know why you’d say that. You didn’t like her. I know you used to fight her. My granddaddy told me. I also heard she stole my daddy away from you when you were sweethearts.”

  “You hear a lot of things around here. It’s a small town.” She picked up a candle to sniff the crisp evergreen fragrance. “But your daddy and I broke up before he started dating your mother.”

  “Maybe.” She wandered across the store. “You don’t have your tree up yet at your house,” she said, changing the subject and walking over to the decorated cedar in the store. “Why not?”

  “I haven’t been here long. I guess I haven’t had time.” Veda realized she hadn’t even thought about the fact that a tree hadn’t been put up at the farm.

  “Rita Jean always put the tree in the front window where you could see the lights from the road. She always made her own wreath, too, like yours on the big door.” She gestured toward the front of the store. “And she always made Christmas cookies. I helped her. Sutton liked them. He’ll be sad if you don’t put up a tree and make cookies.”

  A niggle of guilt pulled at Veda’s conscience for not picking up Rita Jean’s role of making Christmas at the house. “Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. I don’t have to work then.”

  Wide eyes turned to hers. “Can I come help? I don’t have school then. Rita Jean always let me help ice the sugar cookies and shake sprinkles on them, and she let me put the cinnamon dots on the gingerbread men.”

  Before Veda could answer, the door opened to let Reese in.

  Veda felt a catch in her stomach at the sight of him. He didn’t have movie-star looks, but he was tall and nice-looking in his own way, dark-haired, olive-complected, with warm brown eyes behind his glasses, and a lock of hair that never stayed in place because of a cowlick. He’d always been a smart, serious, geeky kid, but he could be fun, too, with a quirky sense of humor and an impulsiveness that could surprise you. When he smiled, like he did now, it lit up his whole face and always softened a spot in Veda’s heart.

  “Pamela, we need to go home,” he said. “And Veda needs to close the store.”

  “Veda is letting me come up to Rita Jean’s to help her decorate her tree tomorrow and make Christmas cookies,” she announced. “She hasn’t even put her tree up yet or made her cookies, and you know I always helped Rita Jean. It wouldn’t be fun for Veda to have to do it all by herself now, with Rita Jean gone. It would be sad. And you know Sutton won’t help. It’s his tree time and he has to open the Christmas tree store all day on Saturday for people to buy his trees.”

  Reese sent Veda a questioning look.

  “We were talking about decorating the tree and making cookies tomorrow,” Veda said, not sure what else she wanted to reveal.

  His eyes followed Pamela as she crossed the room to pick up one of the rag dolls Beth Robbins had made. “You may not know it, but Pamela spent a lot of time with Rita Jean. Your aunt took care of Pamela a lot for me.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking for words. “At our place it’s just Dad and me, so Pamela loved being with Rita Jean. It gave her a woman to spend time with, and it’s only a short way between the properties on the path through the fields between our house and yours.”

  “I know.” Veda could remember she and Reese practically wearing down that old path running back and forth between each other’s houses growing up. Halfway between the properties, they’d even carved their initials in the trunk of an old oak tree by the property fence.

  Reese pulled at his ear in the distracted way that always meant he was thinking. “If you don’t mind Pamela coming, it would mean a lot to her, Veda. Dad and I are not very good at cookie making and girl talk. Pamela has really missed Rita Jean.” He lowered his voice. “We’ve had some pretty bad crying times since her death.”

  Veda’s eyes drifted to the child, remembering her own loneliness at having a mother who had no time for her, and little interest in her either. She remembered, too, how Rita Jean had filled that void for her, made her feel loved, important, and valued for who she was.

  “I miss Rita Jean, too.” She let her eyes meet Reese’s. “Bring Pamela over in the morning, after I’ve had a chance to eat breakfast with Sutton and drag the decorations down from the attic. I’ll pick up some cookie-making supplies on my way home.”

  Veda watched him study her face, trying to see into her thoughts like he’d always done. He nodded at last. “How about if I bring lunch after your morning of cookie making with Pamela, sample what you girls create, and then help decorate the tree? It’s always good to have a guy to string the lights. Sutton might be too busy to do it.”

  Veda dropped her eyes from his, considering the offer. She busied herself straightening the candles on the display rack while she did. She’d carefully avoided Reese these last weeks, dodging him whenever possible. But with Pamela with them, it should be all right.

  “I guess that would be okay,” she said at last.

  He started to reach a hand toward her but then pulled it back. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sure this is all Pamela will talk about tonight.” He glanced over at the child, noticing her still playing with the handmade doll.

  Reese leaned toward Veda. “Put that doll back for me after we leave,” he whispered. “She seems to like it, and I could use a few more Christmas presents to wrap up.”

  Veda smiled. “It’s a nice one. Beth made it. There are clothes to go with it, too. Want me to pick out a few outfits to box up with it?”

  “Yeah.” He sent her one of those smiles again that always tugged at her heart. “She’d like that. Especially if Beth made them. She and Beth’s daughter Laurie are best friends, getting into that spend-the-night stuff, giggling and talking on the phone now.”

  “I did that some with Beth, too. I remember.” She laughed.

  Pamela bounced back their way, her eyes bright. “What time should I come to your house tomorrow, Veda?”

  “Your daddy and I decided about ten would be good.”

  “I’ll be really nice and polite.” She turned to her father. “You don’t have to give me the talk.”

  He pushed her toward the door, grinning. “I probably will give you the talk anyway, you minx. Come on, let’s go. Dad will be wanting us home for supper.”

 
; They headed outdoors, and Veda followed to lock the front door behind them and hang the CLOSED sign in the window. Returning to the counter, she finalized the work schedule, tacked it on the bulletin board, hung a few more ornaments on the Christmas tree, and then started counting out the register.

  Before going back to get her coat, she picked up the doll Pamela had taken such a fancy to. Brown-eyed with brunette hair, it resembled Pamela. The child looked nothing like her mother. Veda could still see Dee Dee in her mind, blond, pretty, shapely—always one of the prettiest girls in school, like her own mother had been, a queen bee with a court of dedicated followers. Spoiled, too, and used to getting her way in everything—and to getting everything she wanted. But Dee Dee wasn’t kind, and she enjoyed teasing and hurting others.

  Aunt Rita Jean had said, “Don’t worry over that girl and what she thinks. She’s the type who would pull the wings off a butterfly with no regret if it brought her special attention.”

  Still, it had been hard to ignore Dee Dee Palmer. She’d made life hard for Veda from the first day they met at school. Probably because Veda wouldn’t bend to her, wouldn’t kowtow to her. Dee Dee had made Veda pay for that for years. Especially after Veda fought her on the playground and bloodied her nose because she teased and taunted Reese. That day had bonded Veda and Reese, and put them both permanently on Dee Dee’s hit list. That is, until senior year, when Dee Dee started flirting with Reese and showing him decided attention.

  Veda had stopped Dee Dee on the school stairwell one day, blocking her path. “Why are you flirting with Reese McNally? You’ve never liked him or me. What kind of game are you playing? If you’re trying to set Reese up for one of your little schemes, you’d better stop it right now. I’m on to you.”

  Dee Dee had tossed her head. “I simply figured out that Reese McNally is about the only boy in our class who’s going somewhere after we graduate. He’s going to law school. Lawyers make good money. I like money and I want to get out of this hick mountain town. I’m interested in anybody who might help me accomplish that—even Reese McNally.”

  She’d trilled a laugh. “I know Reese thinks he likes you, but do you really believe he’ll pick you over me after he gives it a little thought? Look in the mirror, Veda Trent. You didn’t get your mother’s looks, and you got your father’s red hair and weird ways. Everyone always called him odd—like they call you odd.” She’d looked Veda up and down. “What’s so special about you? Think about it. Are you a cheerleader? Did you win any senior awards? How many people stood in line to get you to write in their yearbook?”

  Dee Dee had given Veda a nasty smile. “Reese has been shaping up the last year or two, getting better-looking, pitching for the baseball team. He even got a letter jacket and got admitted to the honor society. I hear he might be valedictorian. And what have you been doing? Nothing. Just playing around on that tree farm, working part-time in your aunt’s little Co-op. Still a loser. You certainly didn’t take after your parents, did you? Your mother was a famous model and your daddy is still a well-known photographer. Travels everywhere, I hear. What are your plans after graduation? Simply going to hang around poky little Townsend and keep living off your aunt and uncle?”

  Looking back, Veda knew Dee Dee had hit all her tender spots that day. She hadn’t made any special plans for after high school, and she already knew Reese seemed more focused and confident than she, more sure of who he was and where he was going. Although Veda knew Reese disliked Dee Dee and laughed at her efforts to attract him, Dee Dee had seeded doubts in Veda’s heart about their relationship, along with hurt. She’d stirred a restless discontent in Veda, too, a yearning to find who she was in her own right, a need to prove herself, get out on her own and be someone special.

  Veda hugged the rag doll to herself. “Dee Dee was right, you know. She did get Reese in the end—exactly like she said she would.”

  Sighing, Veda picked out some outfits for the doll and found a box to put the doll and clothes in. She tucked the box on a shelf in the back storage room before cutting the lights and gathering up her coat and hat to head outdoors.

  She checked her watch. Still plenty of time to run to the market and pick up the groceries to make cookies. Sutton didn’t close the tree shop until late on Friday nights, now that the holiday season had settled in. He’d told her earlier that morning that he’d be home late, and for her to make dinner for herself and not wait for him. Perhaps she’d pick up something at the store for dinner while she was there, and maybe get a movie from the Redbox.

  She’d also start looking for jobs on the Internet. Staying here only seemed to bring back painful memories every time she turned around. With regret, Veda wished she’d found some excuse not to entertain Reese’s daughter—or Reese—the next day.

  Chapter 4

  On Saturday at around noon, Reese let himself in the front door of the O’Neill farmhouse to the sounds of girlish laughter coming from the kitchen and the scents of sweet, holiday sugar cookies and spicy gingerbread drifting on the air. He stopped to drop two extra boxes of multicolored chaser lights beside the freshly cut cedar tree in the front window of the living room and then headed for the kitchen.

  “Daddy!” Pamela held up a gingerbread man she’d just finished decorating. “Look what I made!”

  “Very distinguished.” He walked over to examine the gingerbread man with its green icing bow tie, white outlining, happy smile and eyes, and red cinnamon dots for shirt buttons.

  “I’ve named him Mr. Ginger.” Pamela studied him with childish satisfaction. Over her jeans and T-shirt, she wore an apron heavily spattered with cookie dough, candy sprinkles, and flour. Veda looked equally festive in a bib apron dusted with more cookie bakings, her red hair pulled up in a ponytail in back and her eyes twinkling like the lights on a Christmas tree. Reese’s heart jolted. Ever since he’d been a scrawny kid, Veda had made his heart pump.

  “As you can see, we’ve been having a good time.” Veda gestured around at the plates and cookie sheets full of lavishly iced sugar cookies and honey-brown gingerbread girls and boys.

  Reese let his eyes wander over the familiar cookie shapes of trees, stars, ornaments, Santas, snowmen, and reindeer, all painted with multicolored sugar icing and embellished with sprinkles, cinnamon dots, silver balls, and creative outlining. “You girls really did some beautiful work here.”

  Pamela beamed. “I helped Veda cut out the cookie shapes and got to put on the sprinkles, dots, and balls after she squirted around the outlining.” She frowned. “I tried to do that part, too, but I kept messing up. It’s like squiggling out skinny toothpaste, and you need to be real careful.”

  “Outlining is hard.” Reese laughed at her description. “But you’ve made wonderful cookies.”

  He reached over to wipe a dollop of icing off Veda’s cheek and felt the old connection kick in at the touch. He watched her pull away with a frown, turning to dump some dishes in the sink.

  “What did you bring for lunch?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.

  “By request from Pamela this morning, I picked up cheeseburgers and fries from The Last Deli.”

  “And big dill pickles?” Pamela chimed in.

  “And big dill pickles right out of Mary’s mason jar on the counter.” Reese dropped his take-out bags on a cleared spot on the table.

  “Move some of those cookie plates over to the sideboard and to the kitchen counter,” Veda directed. “I’ll set out silver and get the plates down. I see you brought drinks.”

  They chitchatted over lunch, Pamela dominating the conversational topics with talk of cookie making, Christmas gifts, and the ongoing holiday activities at school and in the community.

  “I’m going to be an angel in the Christmas Eve nativity pageant at church,” she told them. “So is Laurie, and Mrs. Beth is making our costumes. We get wings and everything.”

  “That’s nice of Beth.” Veda dipped a French fry in a dollop of ketchup.

  “Beth said you were going to tell
one of Rita Jean’s stories since she can’t do it anymore.” Finishing her lunch, Pamela got up to pick out a decorated reindeer cookie for dessert, nibbling off the head first with a grin.

  Reese raised an eyebrow at Veda. “I didn’t know you were planning to do that.”

  Veda crossed her arms with annoyance. “I’m not. I’m not a storyteller like Rita Jean.”

  Pamela wrinkled her nose. “Anybody can tell stories if they want to, and you’ve heard all Rita Jean’s stories and even have her old storytelling clothes. Sutton said you could do it.”

  Veda gave a disgusted snort. “There’s an art and a gift to good storytelling.”

  Pamela considered that. “Rita Jean told me you needed to listen to the wind sing and then the right story to tell, and the way to tell it would come to you.”

  “That’s what I mean.” Veda got up to begin cleaning off the table. “Aunt Rita Jean had a gift for storytelling. I don’t have that.”

  “Are you sure?” Pamela asked with childlike innocence. “Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re not.” Reese grinned. “You are a first daughter, after all.”

  “Those old legends are fanciful and not always true.” Veda sent him a warning glance.

  “Well, I think you should tell a story at the service to be nice,” Pamela said. “Everyone wants you to because you’re Rita Jean’s niece. It’s like a tribune.”

  Reese laughed. “I think you mean tribute, an act to show gratitude and respect.”

  Pamela smiled. “Yeah—a tribute for Rita Jean.”

  Seeing Veda still scowling, Reese remembered how she’d always felt alternately fascinated and disdainful of Rita Jean’s Indian legends and beliefs, ridiculing the concept that she might carry some special gift through her Indian bloodlines. “Veda, I think you could manage a short story for Rita Jean’s memory. It doesn’t mean people expect you to become a mountain storyteller. They just want you to do this in remembrance of your aunt this first Christmas without her.”