He moved along with a grumble. Behind him were Marla and Darla, and one of them—Cyn was still never quite sure which twin was which—stepped up and repeated the process everyone else had gone through. As the first one pulled the name out, she announced that she’d chosen her own name, and Cynthia checked it and laughed.
“Well, maybe you did, maybe you didn’t.”
The card read Marla Devine.
Her sister came up and saw it and announced, “That’s not you; that’s me.”
“Regardless, put it back and try again.”
The twins finally moved away, seemingly satisfied with their choices. The line continued for another half hour or so, moving at a steady, continuous clip, all while around them darkness had begun to settle over the village, a cold wind blowing through the park causing some people to head indoors. After Mark and Sara chose their names, they left, she to help Martha serve the dinner rush at the Five-O, Mark to open the tavern, as Sunday was his usual night. The crowd was dwindling and the Santa hat was nearly empty.
At that point, Didi started up the steps to the gazebo, Janey at her side.
“You go first, Jane.”
So the young girl did, digging down as far as she could and pulling out a name. She held it tight against her small frame, repeating the process while proclaiming this one represented Brian’s pick, not even wanting to look at either until she was safely out of sight of others. She stuffed one of them into her pocket, avoiding the temptation of discovering who Brian had. Now, there was a girl who took the game seriously, Cynthia thought, but of course this game had really been Janey’s idea, so her actions came as little surprise.
“Didi, I believe it’s your turn?”
“I don’t know why I raised my arm,” she said.
“I do,” Cynthia said, but said no more. No further explanation was required.
Didi chose one, then a second for Kevin, and she did just as Janey had done.
As she started back to baby Jake, Didi nearly collided with another woman.
“Oh, my apologies . . . Oh, hello . . . you’re the woman from . . .”
“Trina Winter,” the woman said. “From the Solemn Nights. Hello, Mrs. Duncan.”
Cynthia could see Didi giving the woman a lingering gaze. Why did Didi find Trina so interesting? She wondered if Brian had said anything about having had a date with the woman. She rather doubted it, since Brian was reluctant to discuss it even with his friends.
“Trina, I’m so glad you made it. You almost missed your chance.”
“I almost didn’t come.”
Gerta looked over her list, flipping pages until she came to the end. “Actually, I’ve only got two names remaining. Yours and Richie’s. Did he come with you?”
Trina shook her head. “Guess I’m picking for him. No doubt shopping for him too.”
So Trina removed the two remaining slips of paper from the large Santa hat and without bothering to read them, stuffed them into the pocket of her jacket. She offered a quick good-bye, her eyes darting about the park while she started down the path. Nearly ready to chase after her and ask what was wrong, Cynthia realized she couldn’t fix everything, and even if she wanted to, the ringing of her phone stopped her.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said as she saw Bradley’s name pop up on the caller ID.
“We’re done, and ready for the unveiling.”
“We’re just finishing up, so we’ll be there soon,” Cynthia said.
“Brian said you should bring Gerta and anyone else you think is appropriate.”
Cynthia smiled as she watched a retreating figure nearly being swallowed by the falling night. Someone who needed to be shown the light. “A better idea I’ve never heard.”
CHAPTER 13
TRINA
First she arrived a stranger to Linden Corners, and now, weeks later, and in this very moment, she felt even worse. She felt like an imposter.
Trina Winter knew that the people of this village sought out the windmill and its inspiring ever-turning sails, hoping to send out wishes upon the wind, and ironically, Trina found that her wish would be to be anywhere other than in the windmill’s looming shadow, especially now. She’d yet to even lay her own eyes on it, and now with her friendship-plus with its owner, Brian, this wasn’t how she wanted to be introduced to it, in front of his friends and family. But Cynthia Knight wouldn’t accept no for an answer, much like she hadn’t when they first met at the Five-O Diner, insisting that Brian was someone she needed to meet. While Trina was loath to admit to anyone besides herself that she enjoyed Brian’s company and found him sweet, warm, and handsome, taking this deeper step into his personal life for the night’s annual lighting of the windmill was pushing the relationship a bit too far. He didn’t even know she was coming, and she didn’t want to blindside him. In a way, she felt coming to this setting was much more intimate than anything they might have shared that night in her motel room.
Something she was glad had been interrupted, and by his parents no less.
At this confusing time when her life was uprooted, when her future remained unwritten and her messy past something even she hated to discuss, getting involved romantically with anyone, much less a man with a motherless child, was an exercise in poor judgment. No matter how good a sweaty night of passion might have felt that night, the next morning she would have awakened with that pesky emotion called remorse. It’s funny that you could give your body to another person in the dark of night, only to feel shame and embarrassment when facing him as the sun rose.
“Trina, are you with us? . . . We’re here.”
She hadn’t realized they’d arrived at the farmhouse, Cynthia’s voice barely registering in the backseat.
“What? . . . Oh, sorry, I must have drifted off.”
“It’s not that long a drive, dear,” added Didi, who’d been sitting in the front.
Trina looked over at Jake in his car seat, sleeping so deeply it was like he wouldn’t wake till morning; how she envied him his innocence, the easy look of contentment written across his face. Still, he offered her a good excuse for being distant.
“Guess the little guy inspired me.”
Cynthia gathered her son up, Trina following after her down the driveway when a second car pulled in behind them. Nora, Gerta, and Travis emerged from within, and last, but certainly not least, came Janey Sullivan, the little girl tossing Trina a curious look. Wondering just who she was, no doubt, and why she was here. As the group gathered to make the trek down the hill, Trina again found herself saddled with an uncertain feeling that had her dragging her feet. As though she didn’t belong, not with this makeshift family, not in this picturesque setting, where she’d been told of a woman who had lived fully and died bravely and whose spirit reportedly still rode the wind. Trina knew she was being ridiculous; she should just go up and introduce herself to Janey.
The little girl beat her to it.
“You must be Trina,” Janey said matter-of-factly, scrunching her nose.
Trina looked for an accusation in her tone but found none. How strange that a ten-year-old could put her at such ease. She exhaled and said, “Yes, I am. And of course you’re Janey. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve come tonight; Cynthia insisted.”
“Cynthia just wants my dad to be happy,” Janey said. “Do you make him happy?”
This kid was smart; she knew how to play the game by keeping her opponent off balance, thought Trina, blushing slightly. “It’s a little too early for such a pronouncement,” she said, “so why don’t you just think of me as another friend of the family. One who hasn’t yet seen the windmill.”
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t?”
“Not all of us are as lucky as you, Janey, having such a beautiful object in your yard.”
Their conversation was halted by Didi, who was waving in Janey’s direction.
“Oh, Jane . . . Jane, please take my hand and help guide me down,” Didi said, standing near the edge of the driveway.
Janey looked like she wanted to remain at Trina’s side, hesitating slightly. But then she rejoined Brian’s mother, and the two of them began the long walk across the field. Travis did the same with his grandmother, leaving the three women—Cynthia, Nora, and Trina herself—the former two circling around their new friend and coaxing her to join them.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Cynthia said. “Janey is very resilient.”
“I think she was more the grown-up than me,” Trina said.
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Nora added, her tone flippant. “Shall we get this over and done with so we can warm up?”
“What’s with you, Nora?” Cynthia asked.
Nora looked apprehensive, almost like she didn’t want to talk in front of Trina.
“Nothing, it’s . . . nothing.”
“Where’s Nicholas? We haven’t seen much of him lately.”
“Like I said, it’s nothing.”
Trina tried to think of something to say but failed. Who was she to offer up relationship advice?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push,” Cynthia said.
“Let’s go; it’s cold.”
Indeed, at five in the afternoon, the winter’s night had fallen deep over the region, with a chilly wind blowing past, heightened by the open field behind the farmhouse. Glad she had brought a long scarf, Trina wrapped it around her neck in an effort to stave off the frigid air, then joined the ladies as their feet crunched through the snow. With the time spent at the gazebo amidst Christmas lights and assorted holiday wreaths and the fresh scent of pine, now headed toward an old-world windmill for its annual lighting, Trina was definitely feeling the crush of the season. She wondered if she’d done the right thing in participating in Secret Santa. And whether including Richie was a good idea. Despite how much he loved this little town, he joined in on its celebrations only on his terms and his alone, and he probably wouldn’t like Trina pushing him into something he wouldn’t normally choose. No going back now, she thought, and realized that applied to her current situation. Cynthia had dragged her here, so she supposed the season was one of adaptability for the Ravens family.
At last the three of them crested the hill, providing Trina with her first ever look at the windmill. With only a smattering of stars and a half-moon lighting the sky, the landmark was more shadow than structure, and so she felt rather deflated. That was the thing about buildup; it was often laced with disappointment. Or maybe she just didn’t have that special gene that made life in Linden Corners so special, perhaps the appreciation having skipped a generation. Richie spoke of the windmill’s simple beauty and had said he’d even spent time living near it, in these very woods, which tonight looked like skeletons dancing in the wind.
What she could see were half a dozen people mingling around the windmill, staring up at its dark hull, as though waiting for inspiration to strike them. The Connors family had already arrived, and joining them was the elderly Thomas Van Diver, whom she’d met that odd day at Marla and Darla’s store. Didi had taken up beside her husband, Kevin, whom Trina recognized from the other night at the motel, and then there was another man, tall and blond, whom she had to assume was Cynthia’s husband. Whom she didn’t see was Brian himself, and that made her final few steps toward the windmill that much more awkward for her. The one person she shared any kind of connection with, and he was nowhere to be found.
But then a light from inside the windmill caught her attention. As she drew ever closer, she saw that a catwalk lined the second level of the windmill’s tower, one of the windows revealed to be an actual door, a cutout in the wood of the tower. As the door opened, the soft light cast a glow upon the snow, managing also to catch Trina in its path. Brian emerged from inside, his hands resting on the iron rails of the catwalk as the latticed sails spun past him. His smile already wide, it grew wider still when he noticed Trina. She wished she could talk to him first and explain why she was here, but that wasn’t possible. To interrupt the flow of the evening now would only make her presence here more awkward. Might as well get on with it, and to the point, she saw in his hands a switch, his finger itching to turn it on. First, though, he spoke.
“Thanks, everyone, for being here,” he said. “Tonight is a special one, and not just because it’s the annual lighting of the windmill but because of who’s here among us. For the past two and a half years, I’ve been fortunate to call Linden Corners my home, and to live right beside this old windmill with a girl whose indomitable spirit keeps its sails turning. I don’t remember what made me think of lighting the windmill that first Christmas, only thinking that I wanted to do something so special for Janey she’d remember it forever, and what better place to do that than here, where she and I first met. Little did I realize that I was inspiring not just a young girl’s dreams of her mother, but filling a town with its own hopes for the holidays. Last year it was another person who helped fuel the windmill’s sails, a man who knew this land as a child, only to lose it. Of course, knowing me, I went too far last year by stringing so many lights I ended up blowing out the power. The windmill lay dark more nights than made me comfortable, and only on Christmas Eve did it light up again.”
“Just in time for Santa to find us,” Janey announced, her infectious joy creating a ripple of laughs amidst the small crowd.
“And it would have provided such good light for me to read the story of Saint Nicholas to the children,” Thomas added, “though the gazebo served me just fine too.”
Even Trina grinned at the refreshing innocence of both young and old, as she waited for Brian to continue his story. “When last year’s pageant had to be moved to Memorial Park, I sent out my own wish upon the wind, hoping Annie would hear it, and seeing you all here, I can only think she spends her days not just hearing them but granting them. Now another holiday season has come to Linden Corners, and we have so much to be thankful for—new friends who are seeing the windmill for the first time, other friends who may not see it lit for some time, as their lives are taking them far from our borders. For them, for us, and for the entire community, this year’s lighting of the windmill is all the more special because of the celebration it will host on the eve of Christmas. If I learned anything during my life in Linden Corners, it’s that time is precious, and it’s fleeting too. It ticks endlessly toward the future, held close by our memories. Traditions here are important, and the thing about traditions is they can be from long ago or the recent past, but they have one thing in common: a rich desire to see them fulfilled. Tonight the traditions of many families come together—three families for whom the power of the windmill has become a part of their fabric. For the Van Divers, who came first and built it, and for the Sullivans, who still imbue its mighty spirit, to the Duncans, who restored it and now help carry its treasured past on shoulders it made strong . . .”
Brian paused, another of the windmill’s giant sails swinging past him, another still. Like the building was a living, breathing entity, knowing it was the star of tonight’s show.
“So without further ado and with all of our friends gathered tonight, let me present to you the Linden Corners Memory Tree.”
Trina found herself holding her breath, realizing everyone else was doing the same. Not a sound could be heard, and only the chilly mist of their breaths gave away any hint of breathing, fading into the air like nearby memories. Standing a few feet back from the rest of the group, her hands clasped like those of a little girl anticipating that first gift on Christmas morning, Trina watched as Brian suddenly flicked the switch in his hand. She blinked, and in that split second of blindness what she saw was a flash of light and what she felt was an immediate warmth that spread deep inside her, and at last she opened her eyes and saw what everyone else saw, the color of magic.
It was like the sky had journeyed down to them from above, stars like raindrops dancing in front of them. The windmill sparkled gold, adorned with so many white lights they lit the open field and cast a gleaming coat of ice upon the snow. The oohs and aa
hs that followed were like those heard on the Fourth of July, and while the spectacle set before them was of a glowing white, inside her mind were explosions of vibrant color, red and gold, blue and silver, and all were shiny, like wrapped gifts under a tree.
“Oh, Brian,” Didi said, her eyes filled with wonder. “It’s magnificent.”
“I’m not done yet,” he said, quickly disappearing into the windmill again.
Trina was already impressed, yet waited eagerly to see what Brian had up his sleeve. As she waited, she saw Bradley and Cynthia snuggled close together, Jake’s eyes glistening in the glow of the lights; Janey stood between Didi and Gerta, with Nora and Travis and Kevin Duncan nearby, and with a tear slipping down his cheek, the man named Thomas Van Diver. How close they all were, how strong their bond. Again, Trina felt like she didn’t belong, wishing she could slink back to the motel, but even then it wouldn’t be far enough away. Richie was there, and like the sight before her, he was a reminder of all she’d missed out on in life.
The glow emanating from the windmill, though, wouldn’t release her from its hold. Even if she were to leave now, she would do so with all eyes watching her escape. So Trina stood there, alone amidst family. Brian at last returned to the catwalk, and Trina saw his eyes fall upon hers. As though by doing so, he was letting her know she belonged. He was glad she had witnessed this night.
Without further word, another burst of illumination lit the night sky. A glowing white star had been placed atop the windmill, its five points spinning in the wind like an iron weather vane, changing direction, as fickle as the sweep of the wind. Trina once again felt warm all over, and this time she attributed it not to the beam of light but to the wondrous generosity of the man still positioned along the catwalk. As he gazed upward at his last touch, Brian Duncan announced to the crowd, “Now, that’s a memory tree.”
“You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, Brian Duncan, Just Passing Through,” Trina said. “Can you tell me about the genesis of the memory tree?”
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