“You’re here with my tree!” The woman had her hands thrown skyward in praise. “I was just telling Bert that it isn’t Christmastime until the Yuletide tree is up and trimmed. And here you are! Hallelujah!”
“Now that is a greeting,” Kate murmured as their heads swiveled the direction of the emphatic customer bounding toward them. “I sure wish I had my camera rolling for that.”
“Oh, Deacon!” Blanche clasped her hands near her bosom. “Is that one ours? She’s just gorgeous! Look at those full branches. Even more beautiful than last year.”
“Yes, ma’am. This is the one.” Deacon bent to grab the tree’s pot and hoisted the evergreen into his arms. “Where’s she going? Same spot as last year?”
Blanche was about to answer when Kate cut in, a hand pushed into the space separating Deacon and the woman. “Hi there. I’m Kate Carmichael and I’m on assignment for Channel 14 News out of the valley. Would you mind terribly if I recorded your tree delivery today? I’m putting together a piece on Yuletide Tree Farm and I really think you’d be great on camera.”
“You’d like to record me for television?” The woman looked aghast with disbelief.
“Yes, but only if you’re comfortable—”
“Am I comfortable? Darling, I was made for the silver screen! The ladies down at church will never believe this! I’ve always told them I missed my calling as an actress. They tease me that I’m too much, even for Hollywood, but I know they’re just giving me a hard time. Maybe even a little jealous.” Blanche looked like she could spontaneously combust with joy. “What are my lines? I’m great at memorizing. Would you believe I can recite all the states’ capitols in alphabetical order? Albany, New York. Annapolis, Maryland. Atlanta—”
“No memorized lines. I’ll just film as Deacon carries your tree into the house and then I’ll ask a few questions about your experience with the farm. Maybe get some footage of you hanging a few ornaments if that’s okay.”
“If that’s okay?” Blanche grabbed Kate by the shoulders and shook her wildly like a hopeful child shaking a piggy bank. “This is the greatest thing to happen to me since I won pancakes for a year down at The Toasty Tater. Remember that, Deacon? Nine-hundred and sixty-four entries and I had the winning ticket.”
“Sure do.”
“I thought I’d used up all my life’s luck on that, but then you come driving up with my tree, asking me to be on your show. Don’t think I can handle much more excitement than this!”
Deacon looked directly at Kate when he said, “It’s definitely not everyday that you get to be interviewed by a reporter as prestigious as Kate Carmichael.”
“It sure isn’t. Oh, my stars. Bert’s gonna fall over dead when I tell him.”
Kate’s eyes flashed. “Let’s hope not—”
“Follow me on in, Deacon. The tree is going right in front of the big bay windows like always.” With a swing of her hips, Blanche pivoted around and sauntered up the path with sashaying, wide movements fit for the catwalk. “Are we recording?”
Kate lifted her phone. “We are now.”
If Kate hoped for a backdrop that could rival the North Pole, Blanche’s home fit the bill and then some. This was always Deacon’s favorite part of deliveries. He loved to see his neighbors’ homes fully decked out for the holidays. Each house was different—the ornamentations, the smells, the extent to which they created a winter wonderland within their four walls. But the holiday comfort was the same. Christmas would always be Deacon’s favorite time of year and he was grateful to have a job that celebrated it each and every day.
As he maneuvered around a huge Santa statue that came clear up to his shoulders, he could hear Kate recording an introduction for the interview. Just a conversation between friends, he replayed her words of encouragement in his mind. That likely came so naturally for Kate because she viewed everyone as a potential friend. Deacon wondered if that was innate or something learned over her many years in the business. There was a symbiotic relationship between a reporter and the interviewee and instant trust was a necessary element.
It surprised him how quickly he’d grown to trust Kate, and yet, he still knew so little about her.
“This is where that majestic tree goes!” Blanche took an over-the-top bow as she waved toward the only empty portion of floor space visible throughout the home. Every other surface was dusted with flocked snow and loaded with Christmas décor. Blanche was right, the tree was the only element left.
Deacon happily occupied himself with the setup while the women conversed at his back.
“And how many years has this particular rental tree had its holiday home at your place?” Kate asked.
“This is our fifth year, I believe. We were one of the first families to sign up for the rental program, if I remember correctly.”
“And what led you to going the living tree route?”
“Well, we had been cutting down our trees at Yuletide for years,” Blanche explained, looking deeply into the camera as though auditioning for a feature film. “When our kids were still at home, it was such fun to load up in the car and head down to the farm. They loved roaming the forest and finding the perfect tree. Even fought over who got to chop it down. Deacon’s trees are the best, but even great trees don’t last forever once they are cut. Every year, when Christmas passed and the tree started to die, so did a little bit of my spirit.”
Deacon prayed his snort wasn’t picked up by Kate’s phone. He thought Kate had a flair for the dramatic, but Blanche’s antics were Oscar-worthy.
“I just hated putting that dry, brown thing out on the street to be collected and thrown into a landfill,” she elaborated. “Seemed so wasteful.”
“So you were drawn to the idea of having a living tree instead?” Kate inferred.
“Absolutely. For us, it was the perfect solution. We get to have the same tree every year and we also feel like we’re doing our part for the environment. It’s become a tradition as important to us as Grandma Tilly’s infamous fruitcake.”
Deacon had sincerely hoped she’d forgotten, but when Blanche reached for a cardboard box resting on the fireplace mantel nearby, he realized he wouldn’t be able to avoid the camera much longer.
“And my absolute favorite tradition is placing this star right at the tip-top.” Blanche withdrew the glittering decoration from its storage place and held it expectantly. “The big bonus is that with a man like Deacon delivering our tree, there’s no need to haul out the ladder. Sweetheart, would you be so kind as to help me out again this year?”
He’d wanted to get through this particular delivery without making his camera debut, but putting the topper on Blanche’s tree was tradition and he wasn’t going to let his nerves—or his pride—take that from her.
“I’d be honored.” He hardly had to stretch to place the shiny, bright star right at the apex of the tree.
“Deck the halls!” Blanche shouted.
Kate pulled the camera close and said a few final words before clicking the screen and stowing it away. She had Blanche sign some sort of release which made the woman feel even more like a genuine superstar, and Kate thanked her again for the opportunity before they were merrily on their way.
The next few deliveries followed the same pattern. Kate would introduce herself to an overjoyed customer who couldn’t be happier than to oblige for an interview. Not a single one put up the stink Deacon had. That made him wonder if he’d made this entire interview process out to be something it wasn’t. Still, he couldn’t understand the whole fifteen-minutes-of-fame thing. If it were entirely up to him, he’d be happy with a lifetime of anonymity.
Somehow, he had a feeling he wouldn’t have much say in that matter.
Kate
Let me know if you need anything else! I hope there’s something here you can work with.
Kate composed and sent the text to Cora Langley, the IT expert down at the news station. She had just uploaded the day’s footage to a shared online folder and finally felt
her shoulders sag in sweet relief. Doing things this way wasn’t altogether terrible. In fact, Kate enjoyed the freedom she had in capturing every aspect of the day from her own perspective.
With each tree delivery, Deacon’s wariness seemed to ease up, too. She swore she even saw him cast a few purposeful glances toward the camera by the end of their day together. It was obvious the man was private, but Kate began to wonder if a little of that was for some other unknown reason and not so much due to shyness. He didn’t seem nearly as guarded when it came to his interactions with his customers. From placing the tree topper on Blanche’s tree to helping little Abbie Cornwall assemble the roof on her gingerbread house, it was clear Deacon had deep, meaningful relationships with the people he did business with.
Kate rose early the following morning. Breakfast in the main house was continental style with fat cinnamon rolls slathered in gooey, sweet icing, sliced orange wedges that reminded her of youth soccer snack times, and maple sausage links that made her mouth water. Deacon was right; freezer meals had fast become a distant memory. She figured by the end of her stay at Yuletide Farm, she’d not only gain experience as a tree farmer, but a handful of pounds, too. If she got to eat like this everyday, she wouldn’t complain one bit about a little more padding around her middle. Every bite was well worth it.
After pouring coffee from the pot into her favorite thermos—the one with the Channel 14 News logo embossed onto the side—she made her way over to the onsite store to meet Marla for their morning of wreath making. As she stepped onto the porch, the air that whisked over her was crisp; invigorating like a splash of cold water.
She decided right then that if she could live anywhere other than the Sacramento Valley, it would be in the Sierras. The summers were mild and the winters often severe, but the mountain beauty was unmatched. And within the confines of a cozy cabin—or even barn loft—any weather condition could be enjoyed.
Today’s conditions were unrivaled in wintery splendor. Soft clumps of white sprinkled tree branches, not yet melted even with the sun shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky. Woodland critters scurried about, leaving little prints on the snowy earth and birds chirped in lighthearted chorus.
Nature was showing off and the thought of spending the day cooped up in a shop almost had Kate’s smile slipping from her face. That was, until she opened the door to the farmstand store. If the month of December could take on visual form, this small space brought it to life to perfection. Thick garlands draped from the rafters, boughs of emerald green stretching wall to wall in impeccably spaced swags. There was a tree ornamented with rustic decorations. And the aroma. Kate couldn’t get over the aroma. She pulled in a breath of the rich, sweet scent and filled her lungs to capacity.
“This one’s my favorite,” Marla acknowledged Kate’s appreciation of the candle flickering on a nearby display table. “It’s called An Heirloom Christmas. Isn’t it heavenly?” Taking the candle into her hands, Marla strode over to Kate and waved it just beneath her nose. “Hints of clove and orange and vanilla.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Haven’t spent any time as a candle maker for On the Job yet?”
“Not yet,” Kate said. “But I think I’ll have to chat with my boss about adding that to our assignment list. I would love to learn how to make my own candles someday.”
“Well, today you’re going to learn how to make the wreaths we sell here on the farm. I’ve only got a handful left to assemble, but I sure could use your hand in making that happen.”
“I’m ready. Do you mind if—?”
“If you get something on film first?” Marla anticipated Kate’s request. “Of course not, dear. That is why I hired you, remember?”
It was a relief to hear Marla reiterate that. Kate’s presence on the farm was mutually beneficial, even if Deacon didn’t always make it seem so. Her show offered an unparalleled opportunity for publicity. She couldn’t even keep count of the number of people who had contacted her over the years, boasting of increased sales and ventures as a result of appearing on her show. Things would be no different with the tree farm, Kate was sure of it.
She lifted her phone and set right in. “Good morning, Sacramento! Kate Carmichael here and today I’m with Marla Winters, the matriarch of the Yuletide Tree Farm. Yesterday, you got to ride along as we delivered our first round of rental trees, but today we’re slowing things down to get a little crafty. Marla, would you mind showing our viewers just what we’ll be up to?”
“I’d love to, Kate.” Marla reached for one of the assembled wreaths and propped it in front of her. “For the last thirty years, we’ve operated a little farmstand on our property during the month of December. We sell ornaments, holiday decorations made by local vendors and artisans, along with some homemade edible goodies. But our bestsellers are always our fresh custom wreaths.”
“And you make each one by hand?”
“We do. Every single one. My mother-in-law, Kay Winters, used to be the main wreath-maker, but after she passed, I took over the tradition and it’s one I’m honored to continue.”
Kate kept the camera rolling a few minutes more while Marla gave a brief tutorial demonstrating how to best adhere the Douglas fir trimmings to the frame to create a full, festive wreath. She showed off an assortment of embellishments from pine cones gathered on the property, to clusters of holly berries, to wire ribbons and made note of the sizes of wreaths available for sale, along with the prices of each.
Kate was impressed. Marla was detailed and thorough, but engaging in the way Kate knew her viewers would appreciate. It was easy to see why everyone sang Yuletide Farm’s praises. Between Deacon and his mother, Kate was already doing the same.
“You’re not half bad at wreath making, Kate,” Marla teased when the women finally took a break to grab some lunch up at the house.
“That doesn’t mean I’m half good, though.” Kate laughed. She followed Marla into the kitchen and helped her grab the fixings for turkey sandwiches from the fridge. They placed the items on the tiled counter like an assembly line and got to work.
“Give yourself a little credit. You’re still learning.” Marla spread mustard across the face of a slice a bread and passed it off to Kate. “Let’s make a few extras while we’re at it. Deacon just texted and said he’ll be stopping by for a quick bite.”
At that bit of information, Kate’s stomach did a full-on somersault. What had this man done to her that the thought of seeing him again made her react this way?
The front door creaking open and then thudding back into place made Kate’s pulse uptick, but it was Deacon’s expression when he came into the kitchen and their eyes locked that made her mouth go dry.
“Hi,” he mouthed and she was about to do the same when a man Kate didn’t recognize stepped around Deacon.
“Got room for one more at the table? I’m famished!”
“Joshua Evans!” Marla threw the mustard knife to the counter with a clatter and dove at the man for a hug. “You know there’s always room for you at our table! I thought you were still in Santa Cruz. What brings you back up the hill?”
He swiped a knit beanie from his head and balled it up in his hands. His hair was an unruly mop of wavy bleached blond that fell clear to his shoulders and he had a tan few naturally sported during these winter months. He wasn’t quite as big at Deacon, but was definitely tall with a lean, muscular build.
“I’m working at Sierra Slopes for the season. Teaching snowboarding lessons here and there and helping out wherever I’m needed around town on my days off.”
“And today, that was on my truck, assisting with tree deliveries.” Deacon came up next to Kate and took his place in the sandwich line. He gave her a warm smile. “How’s wreath making going?”
“It’s going.” She handed him two slices of bread and a packet of deli meat.
“What Kate means to say is, ‘It’s going great.’ Her wreaths will be the first to sell out; I’m sure of it.”
“Only because we’ll need to deeply discount them.”
Deacon knocked her with his shoulder. “I’m willing to bet people will pay top dollar to own an authentic Kate Carmichael wreath.”
“Kate Carmichael?” Joshua hadn’t even bothered with the actual sandwich and instead helped himself to a handful of turkey that he crammed into his mouth. “I knew you looked familiar!” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and squinted his eyes as he placed her face with the memory. “You worked with my buddy, Chuck Cravens, a few summers back on a surfing piece for your show. I was there as an extra for one of the days you filmed.”
“No way! Small world. That was so much fun. Chuck’s a great guy and an excellent surf instructor. The fact that I didn’t drown is a major miracle in my book.”
“You been out in the water since?”
Kate shook her head. “I wish. Haven’t really had any time.”
“Well, if you ever find yourself in Santa Cruz during the summer months, look me up. I’d be happy to give you a little refresher. I’m sure Chuck would love to see you again, too. He talks about that television piece like he’s reliving his glory days.”
“I will definitely do that.” Kate collected her constructed sandwich and plate and followed the hungry crew into the dining room to settle in. “How do you and Deacon know each other?”
“We go way back.” Joshua had his mouth stuffed again. He was like a teenage boy with his ravenous hunger. The lack of manners fit the bill, too. “As in diapers, way back.”
“These boys got into more trouble than two foxes in a henhouse back in their youth,” Marla divulged as she scooted out her chair.
“Back in our youth?” Joshua feigned offense by clutching his chest and slumping back against his seat like he’d been dealt a fatal blow. “Are you implying we’re old or something?”
“You’re no spring chicken,” Marla teased, her voice rich with laughter. “You two are getting up there, you know. I keep telling Deacon I’d like to get him married off sooner than later. I’d love to become a grandma while I still have the energy to be a fun one. But he has yet to honor my many requests to find a good woman and tie the knot.”
Christmas at Yuletide Farm: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Page 7