“Your spaghetti was pretty good,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Somehow I doubt that’s up to the standard the guests would expect. Remind me and I’ll show you some of the old menus. Mae stopped doing the dinners about ten years ago, when it got to be too much for her, but she saved all the records. Since she left the file right where she knew I’d find it first thing, I’m sure she was hoping that I’d open the dining room again in the evenings.”
The rest of the party passed in a blur. Soon guests were putting on coats, thanking Savannah for having them over and leaving for the Christmas Eve services planned by the local churches. When the last guest had departed, Hannah found Savannah and Trace standing on the front porch.
“Mom, this was the best. I must have met everybody in my class at school. I can’t wait to start after New Year’s. And there’s going to be an ice-skating party in a couple of days and I’m invited. Isn’t that totally awesome?”
“Totally,” Savannah agreed.
Trace grinned. “Then you’re back to being happy about living in Vermont?”
“Absolutely,” Hannah said. “Can we go to church now?”
Trace glanced at Savannah. “What about it? Are you too tired?”
“I’m tired, but exhilarated. Besides, going to Christmas Eve services was always part of the tradition. I’ll grab my coat.”
Trace drove into town, which was teeming with many of the same families who had just left Holiday Retreat. They were all walking toward the various churches within blocks of the town square. Bells were ringing in the clear, crisp air.
As they entered the same little white chapel Savannah had attended with her family so many years ago, the scent of burning candles, the banks of red poinsettias by the altar, the swell of organ music, all combined to carry her back to another time. A wave of nostalgia washed over her.
How had she let moments like this slip away? As a child, she’d had no choice, but she could have insisted on coming back as an adult, even if she’d had to leave Rob behind to sulk in Florida. His mood had always been sullen around the holidays anyway. What would it have mattered if it got a little worse because she was sharing an experience like this with their daughter?
Ah, well, those days were behind her. She glanced at Hannah and saw the wonder in her eyes as the choir began to sing “O, Holy Night.” Trace slipped his hand around hers as the familiar notes soared through the tiny, crowded church.
Savannah’s eyes filled with tears at the beauty of the moment. Trace regarded her with such a concerned expression that she forced a watery smile. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured.
“Merry Christmas, angel.”
Hannah heard the murmured exchange and beamed at both of them. “Merry Christmas, Mom. Merry Christmas, Trace. I don’t care if we don’t have presents. This is the best holiday ever.”
Gazing into Trace’s eyes, Savannah couldn’t help but agree with her daughter. It was definitely the best one ever.
Nine
Savannah was hearing bells. Convinced it was a dream, she rolled over and burrowed farther under the covers.
“Mom! Mom! You’ve got to see this! Hurry!” Hannah shouted, shaking Savannah.
Groaning, Savannah cracked one eye to stare at her daughter. “This had better be good.” She and Trace had sat up talking until well past midnight, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the clock on her bedside table said it was barely seven. Even if it was Christmas morning, she had counted on at least another hour’s sleep, especially since Hannah wasn’t expecting Santa’s arrival.
“It’s not just good,” Hannah said, clearly undaunted by her testy tone, “it’s fantastic. Come on, Mom. Hurry. I’m going to wake up Trace.”
“Wait!” Savannah shouted, but it was too late. Hannah was already racing down the stairs screaming for Trace. Savannah heard his groggy reply, which amazingly was far less irritated than her own had been. In fact, he sounded downright cheerful.
Even with all that commotion right downstairs, Savannah could still hear those bells, louder and more distinct now. She tugged on her robe and went to the window, then stood there, mouth gaping at the sight that greeted her.
There was a huge, horse-drawn sleigh coming through the snow toward the house, the bells on its reins jingling merrily. The back was piled high with sacks and wrapped packages. And the driver was…She blinked in disbelief and looked again. Nope, no mistake. The driver was Santa himself.
Savannah whirled around and headed for the stairs, pausing only long enough to run a brush through her hair and take a swipe at scrubbing her face and teeth. She met Trace at the second-floor landing. Hannah was already downstairs with the front door thrown open to allow in a blast of icy air.
Savannah studied Trace’s expression, looking for evidence of guilt. “What do you know about this?”
“Me? I have no idea what you mean.”
“Santa? The sleigh piled with gifts? It has your name written all over it.”
“Actually I don’t think you’ll find that’s true,” he said, giving her a quick kiss. “Stop fussing and go down there. Santa’s a busy fellow. I doubt he has all day to hang around here.”
“Trace!”
“Go,” he said, waiting until she led the way before following along behind.
They arrived downstairs just as Santa trudged up the steps toting two huge sacks. Still filled with suspicion, Savannah stopped him in his tracks. “Are you sure you have the right place?”
“Holiday Retreat?” he said, edging past her. “You’re Savannah Holiday, right? And that young lady out there by the sleigh is Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is definitely the place. Even after such a long and busy night, I try not to make mistakes. Sorry about not squeezing down the chimney the traditional way, but if I go home with this suit all covered with cinders, Mrs. Claus will have my hide.”
Savannah barely managed to suppress a chuckle. “I had no idea Mrs. Claus was so tough on you.”
The jolly old man with a weathered face and white beard, who looked suspiciously like Nate Daniels, rolled his eyes. “You have no idea. Now, where would you like these gifts?”
“Under the tree, I suppose.”
“And that would be?”
“Inside, in the living room on the right.”
Santa carried two loads of packages inside, declined Savannah’s offer of hot chocolate, then left with a cheery wave and a hearty “ho-ho-ho” that echoed across the still air. Hannah stared after him, still wide-eyed.
“Mom, do you think that was really Santa?” she asked.
Savannah exchanged a look with Trace, trying to gauge from his reaction whether her guess about Nate Daniels was correct. Before she could respond, Trace spoke up.
“Looked exactly like Santa to me,” he said. “And you said you weren’t going to have presents this Christmas, so who else but Santa would bring them?”
“Oh, I have some theories about that,” Savannah muttered under her breath, but she kept her opinion to herself. She might have a few words for Trace later in private, but she was not going to strip that excitement from her daughter’s eyes. “How about breakfast before we open gifts?”
“No way!” Hannah protested. “I want to see what’s in the boxes, especially that great big one. Santa could hardly get it up the steps.”
“You know that Christmas is about more than presents,” Savannah felt duty-bound to remind her.
“I know, Mom, but these are here and some of them are for me. I checked the tags.”
“Only some? Who are the others for?”
“You, silly. And Trace.”
“Me?” Trace said, looking more shocked than he had at any time since this incredible morning had begun.
Savannah studied him intently. His surprise seemed genuine. Was it possible he wasn’t behind this? Or at least not all of it? Curious to find out for sure, she acquiesced to Hannah’s pleas and followed her into the living room.
“Big
box first,” Hannah said, rushing over to it. “Okay?”
“Your call,” Savannah agreed.
The big box turned out to contain skis and ski boots. Hannah immediately had to try them on. “These are so totally awesome,” she said, then wailed, “but I don’t know how to ski.”
“Maybe Santa thought of that,” Trace suggested, his expression innocent.
Hannah’s expression brightened at once. She began ripping open her remaining presents in a frenzy, oohing and aahing over each toy, over a new ski jacket and finally over the certificate for ski lessons that came in a deceptively large box.
Though a part of Savannah wanted to protest the degree of excess, she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the moment.
“Your turn now, Mom,” Hannah said, bringing her a comparatively small box that seemed to weigh a ton.
“What on earth?” Savannah said when she tried to lift it. She began carefully removing the wrapping paper until Hannah impatiently ripped the rest away, then tugged at the tape on the box. Inside, nestled in packing chips and tissue paper, was a tool kit, painted a ladylike pink but filled with every conceivable practical tool she could ever possibly need.
Her gaze shot to Trace. How had he guessed that she would prefer a gift like this to something totally impractical?
“It’s perfect,” she said, her gaze locked with his.
“Santa must know you pretty well,” he agreed.
“Mom, there’s a huge box here for you, too,” Hannah said, shoving it across the floor.
This time she discovered a floor polisher, precisely the kind she would need if she was to keep the inn’s floors gleaming. For most women, an appliance on Christmas morning would have been cause for weeping, but Savannah’s heart swelled with gratitude.
“Wait, Mom. There’s something little tucked inside with a note,” Hannah said, her expression puzzled as she handed it to Savannah.
At the sight of the jewelry-size package, Savannah’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze shot to Trace, but he looked as puzzled as Hannah had. Then she caught sight of the handwriting on the envelope. It was Aunt Mae’s.
Tears stung Savannah’s eyes as she opened the note.
My darling girl,
I hope you are happily settled in by now and that you will love your new home as much as I have over the years. I’ve done what I could to be sure you find joy here.
Here’s something else I hope will bring you happiness. It belonged to your great-great-grandmother.
With all my love to you and Hannah. I wish I could be there with you this morning, but please know that wherever I am, I will always be looking out for you.
Mae
Savannah sighed and blinked back tears. Finding Mae’s present tucked amid all the others made her question everything. She’d been so sure that Trace had sent them, but now? Recalling Santa’s resemblance to Nate made her wonder if Mae hadn’t been behind this whole magical morning.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Hannah asked, leaning against her and regarding the box with evident fascination.
Savannah slipped off the wrapping paper, then lifted the lid of the velvet box. Inside, on a delicate gold chain, was an antique gold cross. The workmanship was exquisite. The gold seemed to glow with a soft light of its own. She could remember Mae wearing this cross every day of her life. She had always said it symbolized faith itself—so fragile yet enduring.
She opened the delicate clasp, slipped on the necklace, then fastened it. The gold felt warm against her skin, as if it still held some of Aunt Mae’s body heat. Once more, her eyes turned misty. She felt Trace take her hand and give it a squeeze.
“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly.
“Wait!” Hannah said. “There’s another box. It’s for you, Trace.”
Once more, he looked completely disconcerted. Hannah gave him the present. He handled it gingerly, studying the large, flat box with suspicion.
“What does it say on the tag?” Savannah asked, curious herself.
“Just Trace,” he said. “No other name.”
“Must be from Santa, then,” she teased.
He slipped open the paper, then pulled out the box and lifted the lid. The grin that broke over his face was like that of a boy who’d just unexpectedly received his heart’s desire.
“What is it?” Savannah asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.
“It’s the biggest, mushiest card I could make,” Hannah said, grinning. “And Mrs. Jones took me to get it framed so Trace could hang it on his office wall.”
Trace stared at her, looking completely mystified. “But I lost the bet.”
“I know,” Hannah said delightedly. “But I could tell you really, really wanted the card, so I made it anyway.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas!”
To Savannah’s shock, there was a distinct sheen of tears in Trace’s eyes as he hugged her daughter.
“It’s the very best present I ever received,” he told her with such sincerity that Hannah’s whole face lit up.
If this didn’t stop, Savannah was going to spend Christmas morning bawling like a baby. She was about to head for the kitchen to start on breakfast, when Trace grabbed her hand and halted her.
“Wait. I think there’s one more present for you, Savannah,” he said, pointing Hannah toward a flat box beside the chair where he’d been sitting earlier. “Bring that one to your mom.”
The box weighed next to nothing, but when Savannah tore off the paper and looked inside, her mouth dropped open. “Stock certificates?” she asked, turning to Trace. “In Franklin Toys? I can’t possibly accept such a gift from you.”
“It’s not from me,” he said firmly. “Not directly, anyway. These were Mae’s shares of the company. She gave me power of attorney to vote them for her during the last weeks of her illness, but she told me I’d know what to do with the shares after her death.” He looked straight into Savannah’s eyes. “I think she would want you to have them.”
“But she left me the inn,” Savannah protested. “And Franklin Toys is your company.”
He grinned. “I hope you’ll remember that when you vote, but in many ways the company was as much Mae’s as it was mine. She’d want you to have the financial independence those shares can give you.”
“But I don’t know anything about running a corporation.”
“You can learn,” he said. “Or you can sell the shares back to me, if you’d prefer to have the cash. The choice is yours.”
Savannah sat back, still filled with a sense of overwhelming shock and gratitude. And yet…She studied Trace carefully. “Is this really what you want to do? She gave you her power of attorney, not me. I think she wanted you to control these shares.”
“She wanted me to do the right thing with them,” he corrected. “And I think that’s turning them over to you. They’re yours, Savannah. My attorney took care of the transfer yesterday.”
Once again, Savannah looked at the certificates. She had no idea what each share was worth in today’s market, but it had to be a considerable amount. The thought that she would never again have to worry about money was staggering.
This truly was a season of miracles.
Christmas morning had been incredible. It was everything Trace had imagined, from the awe and wonder on Hannah’s face to the amazement on Savannah’s when she’d realized that her financial future was secure. Trace had given the two of them everything he knew how to give. He’d been deeply touched by their gratitude.
Somehow, though, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, but he had no idea how to ask for it, or even if he had the right to, especially after knowing the two of them for such a short time.
Struggling with too many questions and too few answers, he wandered into the kitchen where Savannah was just putting the turkey into the oven.
She turned at his approach, studied him for a minute, then gave him a hesitant smile. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” he
asked, feeling defensive.
“I’m not sure. You seem as if you’re suddenly a million miles away.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. In fact, if you don’t need my help right now, I was thinking of taking a walk to try to clear my head.”
“Sure,” she said at once. “It’ll be hours before the turkey’s done, and everything else is set to go in the oven once the turkey comes out.” She continued to regard him worriedly. “Want some company?”
Trace shook his head. “Not this time. I won’t be gone long,” he said, turning away before the quick flash of hurt in her eyes made him change his mind. How could he possibly think about what to do about Savannah if she was right by his side tempting him?
He heard her soft sigh as he strode off, but he refused to look back.
Outside, the snow was a glistening blanket of white. The temperature was warmer than it had been, though still below freezing if the bite of wind on his face was anything to go by. He almost regretted the decision to take a lonely walk when he could have been inside in front of a warm fire with Savannah beside him.
He headed for the road, then turned toward town. He’d only gone a hundred yards or so when Nate Daniels appeared at the end of his driveway. He was bundled up warmly, an unlit pipe clamped between his teeth. He paused to light the tobacco, then regarded Trace with a steady, thoughtful look.
“Mind some company?” he asked, already falling into step beside him.
“Did Savannah call you?” Trace asked.
“Nope. Why would she do that?”
“I think she was worried when I took off.”
“She called earlier to wish me a merry Christmas, but that was hours ago,” Nate said. He regarded Traced curiously. “Funny thing, she seemed to have the idea that I was over there this morning playing Santa. Where would she get a notion like that?”
“Santa did bear a striking resemblance to you,” Trace said.
That Holiday Feeling: Silver BellsThe Perfect HolidayUnder the Christmas Tree Page 16
