Christmas in Candle Cove
By Mary L. Briggs
Smashwords Edition
COPYRIGHT © 2018 Mary L. Briggs
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
“Try one, just one! Pretty please?”
Ellie laughed at the pouting expression on Willa’s face. Didn’t the girl understand that if she ‘just tasted’ everything baked in the kitchen, she would have to buy an entire new wardrobe? “OK. One,” she agreed, reaching for a small sugary cookie.
The first bite and she knew it would be a best seller for the bakery. “Delicious! You keep this up and I’m going to have to give you a raise,” she declared, licking the last bit of maple flavored sugar from her fingers. “You’ve done it this time, Willa. They’ll be trampling all the merchandise to get back here to your cookies,” she teased.
“Oh, thank you,” the young blond, blue eyed woman nodded, her cheeks flushing in response to the praise. “I call them Maple Delights. I just created them last night and thought they would be perfect for this time of year.”
Ellie nodded and adjusted the neck strap of her blue-checked apron. “You’re one of this business’s greatest assets, Willa. And Danny begs me for your cookies all the time.”
“Well, you just send him right on to the back when he gets here from school. I have some milk in the refrigerator, a plate of sandwiches, and a batch of these cookies. He’ll need some strength for the chores Rory has in mind for him.”
Ellie sighed. “All of you are going to spoil that boy.” Willa kept him in sweets and sandwiches, Rory taught him to properly use a hammer, how to clean old tools, and how to work with wood, and Madge was going to teach him to add figures to the accounts book, back in the office.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Willa said, as she turned and headed to the back to tend to her job, manning the counters at The Farmhouse Cookie Corner. “Besides, we single moms have to stick together,” she reminded Ellie.
Ellie smiled after her. She was blessed with so many good friends and employees. Opening Farmhouse Finds had been the best decision she had made since Harry died. And a hard decision, as well. Leasing out her grandparent’s old farm had gone against everything inside of her, but with her husband gone, she could think of no other way to keep a roof over their heads.
It was a comfort to know that Grandma would approve. She would love the store and everything in it. She would have been Ellie’s biggest cheerleader in this venture. But Grandpa? Probably not.
But what could he expect? She was not cut out to be a farmer, herself, and the Lord hadn’t seen fit to send her a farmer husband, so a retail business was her only choice. And she would do her best to keep her grandfather’s farm in the family. It would be for Danny. Maybe he would take after his great-grandpa Landers and be a farmer someday.
“Hey boss! Your name’s in the paper!” Rory exclaimed through a mouth full of cookies.
Ellie turned and looked at her youngest employee, seated at the counter. He was twenty, but apparently, his mother hadn’t taught him table manners. “And why is my name in the paper?” More important, why wasn’t he busy putting up the Christmas lights above the shelves? They wouldn’t use the lights for another week, but it would be nice to be ahead of that task.
“Go ahead and read it to me,” she said, picking up a pine cone and setting it in the basket she was busy filling. The arrangement would work fine for the rest of the week, and next week, she could remove the baby pumpkins and insert some snowy branches and imitation birds, along with a few shiny baubles for Christmas cheer.
Rory swallowed his cookies, and shook the paper to lessen the wrinkles. “It’s an article that Betty Jo did on the old Sinclair mansion. With all the hoop-la going on, I guess she thought she’d cash in on the excitement,” he grinned, eyes studying the page in front of him.
“We’re waiting,” Willa called from the back corner.
“OK, OK,” he grinned and cleared his throat. “Despite concern of the townsfolk for Candle Cove’s only historic mansion, Bart Sinclair has plans to tear it down.” he paused. “Can you believe she called us townsfolk? Like we’re some obscure village?” he criticized.
“Just read it!” Ellie laughed.
“The protests are continuing daily and growing in size as the weeks progress. There is much speculation that a group of college students from Fayetteville will arrive the week of Thanksgiving to give their voice to the protest. Yeah, right,” he snorted after reading the last sentence.
Ellie felt her patience waning. What could this article have to do with her? She didn’t bother to advertise in The Candle Cove Observer. The town was small enough for a sign in the store window to suffice.
“Upon interviewing many local citizens, several shared their memories of the historic home. Mrs. Janice Lewis mentioned that she owned an old jewelry box that had been sold by the estate. She purchased the item from Ellie Courtland, at Farmhouse Finds. A similar story came from Judy Dart, who purchased a small storage chest from Ellie. Charlie Burns still cherishes the old clock he purchased, as well. And then it goes on and on about how people used to go there and have picnics on the grounds and such,” he finished, folding the paper.
Ellie nodded absently and rearranged the tiny pumpkins. “I remember going on a picnic there, one time. And my grandmother gave Rosa Sinclair piano lessons for a while. But I never went up to the house with her. They didn’t pay her for the lessons, just gave her an old piano for payment. In fact, it was an old player piano. Grandma was crazy about it.”
Rory studied the article a few more moments. “If you can think of more things you bought from the estate, I’m sure Betty Jo would like mentioning them in the paper. And, hey, it’s free publicity for the store.”
She shook her head and positioned another pine cone. “I did buy and resell quite a few things from that small auction Mr. Sinclair had a couple of years ago. That’s where I got my desk,” she nodded toward her back office. Old and dark, the desk was full of slots and cubbyholes, perfect for her own disorganized kind of organization.
Rory nodded and grabbed the last cookie on his plate. “Guess I should get to work,” he said, with a sheepish grin.
“Yes, you’d better,” Ellie laughed, and carried the basket to a farmhouse table stationed in the front of the store. Nestled among the many crocks and blue glass canning jars, the basket added a nice fall touch. “And I don’t know why you laughed about the college students coming. They aren’t all just interested in movies, cars, and girls,” she teased.
“If any of ‘em come
, it’ll just be the girls,” he grinned, positioning a ladder to the tall loft type shelf that ran over large paned windows that graced the front of the store. “Which makes me think I might stir up a little community spirit in myself and go help them. On my own time, of course,” he added with a grin, as he picked up a box of Christmas lights and began his climb.
The bell over the door clanged and she turned her attention to a customer. After a day of window shoppers, maybe this one was wanting to spend some money.
Chapter 2
“Gabe!” Marisa shrieked.
Gabe Chandler swerved the car to the right, narrowly missing the pretty buckskin doe that darted across the road in front of the vintage Corvette. He let out a breath and shrugged his arm from her sharp nails.
“I can’t take much more of this,” she fumed. “That is the fourth deer that we’ve almost hit. Can’t they do something about them?”
He laughed and glanced at her pretty face. “What would you suggest?”
She sighed and shook her long blond hair. “I don’t know. Put them all into a zoo or something, I guess. They’re dangerous for people out here on the highways, like this.”
Gabe grinned. “This is the Ozark National Forest, Marisa. We’re in their country, not the other way around.” He’d never considered what a city girl she was until this trip. What, exactly, was his mother going to think of her? The thought brought a faint memory that he tried to push aside.
He had never discussed Ellie Landers with Marisa, other than refer to her as his old girlfriend. The fiancé part of their relationship had never surfaced. And what did it matter? Ellie hadn’t spent her life pining away for him. She had married and moved on. Had a child, too. Then, her husband had been killed in Afghanistan four years ago.
Another stab of guilt in his side. He should have called her or written his condolences to her. He hoped she was doing well and getting her life back together. And part of him hoped he wouldn’t see her face to face anytime this next month. Probably a futile wish in a town the size of Candle Cove.
“You don’t have to remind me that we’re on our way to Hicksville, Arkansas,” Marisa grumbled. “That’s apparent from the scenery,” she added as they passed a small log cabin nestled in a grove of old oak trees, a few leaves still clinging to the gnarly branches on this mid-November afternoon.
He grit his teeth. It would do no good to argue with her. When Marisa was in a bad mood, there was no reasoning. Once they got to Candle Cove, she would have a change of heart. And while he had had no desire to live out his life in such a small place, lately memories of Candle Cove had been stirring in his mind, leaving an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Pulling him back to his childhood and the love and friendships that he’d known. In all his years of travel, he’d met many people, and made a lot of friends. But none were sealed with a bond tighter than those of his past.
He cracked the window and let the cool air mingle with the heat in the car. “It’s where I’m from. Don’t you think home is important, Marisa? Didn’t that talk at Bible study last week make an impression on you? I—sorry, I forgot you weren’t there.”
“I hear that tone in your voice, Gabe. You know I have to work late, sometimes. Of all people, you should understand how work interferes with fun, Mr. I-love-my-work-more-than-anything-else.”
He nodded. She was right. He had missed more dates with her than he cared to count. But deadlines were deadlines, and it couldn’t be helped.
But, it wasn’t just the memories that had been stirring around inside of him. The phone calls had only complicated his mixed emotions. It was easy enough to hear the longing in his mother’s voice for him to move closer to home. There was no doubt that the town would always hold a special place in his heart. Marisa’s petulant comments would never convince him to feel any different.
He sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek, a rather painful habit when he was upset. Women had to complicate everything. Not only would Marisa insist on complaining most of the next few weekends when she was in town, there was no doubt he would have to endure many subtle hints from his mother during the visit, as well.
“I don’t know how you’re going to stand it for the next few weeks,” Marisa said, unwrapping a piece of Christmas candy and handing it to him. “I promise to keep you up on everything back home,” she said. “And of course, you’ll have the weekends to look forward to. I’ll be flying in every Friday. And there won’t be any need for you to pick me up. I’ll be renting a car.”
Gabe nodded, noting that for all of her Hicksville talk, she had been impressed with the stop at a small candy store filled with locally made items. Still, his instinct told him that maybe she should wait and see how she liked the town this first weekend, before committing herself to several more. Except for Christmas.
It was important for her to be there for that special day. His mother was getting on in years and he wanted to spend time with her. Marisa should be part of this time in his family life. If only his father had lived to meet her. His dad had wished for him to have a family of his own.
Topping the hill, he pulled the car into the overlook. “C’mon, get out!”
She reluctantly climbed from the car and followed him to the high barrier.
“There she is!”
Marisa leaned forward and stared. “What?”
“Lake Rosewood,” he pointed. “Once we get down this mountain, we’ll take a left and head to the other side of the lake to Candle Cove.”
“Charming little name,” she said, racing him to the Corvette and reaching the driver’s seat first. “My turn.”
He shrugged and got in the passenger side. “The highway is clear down this way,” he said after a minute, gritting his teeth as the gears let out a grinding sound.
“OK, I forgot. Tell me the story again,” she said, once they were back on the road.
“Not much to tell,” he said, eyes on the winding highway ahead. “Until the mid 1950s, folks had to take a ferry across the lake to get back, unless they wanted to drive the rough little pig trail around the lake. In the old days, near dusk, folks would stand on the cove side with candles to lead in the ferry. Later, they used lanterns.”
“I’m thinking that the story is probably the quaintest thing about the place,” she laughed, braking to avoid a wayward squirrel.
He clutched tight to the door handle and shook his head. “Just promise me you’ll give it a chance.”
Marisa made a face. “I’ll try.”
***
Ellie Courtland stared at the bill and closed her eyes for a second. There was enough in her checking account to cover the amount for the loan payment, but she would have to be careful of her spending for the next week. Most of her grocery shopping was done for the month, and Willa baked bread for them, so milk would be her only ‘must’ purchase. And there was always plenty of that in the store’s kitchen refrigerator, if she ran short.
The insurance payment last month had set her finances back, as it would every year. What she needed was a week of good sales in the shop. OK, maybe a month of good sales. With Christmas coming in another month, house wares, small antiques, candles, and especially glassware, made good last minute gifts. And Mr. Weaver’s Amish Made Rockers were a good Christmas seller, too. A good thing for him, as well as for herself.
Her eyes drifted to the stacks of boxes at the end of her small living room. Mystery Box had been written on their labels at the auction last weekend. A farmer across the state line, age catching up with him, and no children willing to take over the family business, had finally succumbed to selling his home and land. His wife had been gone for several years now, and all of her possessions had been included in the sale.
She depended on those sales for antiques and used items, but it was sad to see it happen to the lives of others. Was that scenario in her own future? Please, Lord, I want to raise Danny to appreciate all that You’ve given to us. I want him to know the value of family heritage, and being together.
She had bid on and won several things from the auction, then satisfied herself with browsing the tables being sold as ‘yard sale’ items. With nothing else to interest her, she had taken a chance on whatever items the farm woman had boxed up in her attic years ago. And tonight, she was going to find out what they held.
“Mom! Mom, look at me!” a childish voice, muffled by a mouthful of crackers sounded.
She leaned down and smiled at her small son’s face, brown eyes peeking from beneath the red, white, and blue Road to Oklahoma quilt that covered her pine plank kitchen table. Danny loved his ‘fort’ and had spent the last hour of this cool evening inside of its dark interior. Including a brief fifteen minute nap. A nap that hopefully wouldn’t keep him up past his regular bedtime. A cranky kindergartener was never a good thing.
“I see you,” she laughed, letting her doubts drift away. How could she let money worries steal her joy when she had Danny to love?
A pang of regret clouded her happiness for only a moment. Harry would have loved this boy so much, spent so much time with him, taught him all the things that a father teaches his son. But it was not to be. She would have to do her best to teach Danny about his father, but what he knew for now, was that his dad was in heaven, his body lying still, and quiet in Hilltop Cemetery, just outside of town.
She shook away the thoughts and glanced at the clock. “It’s almost six-thirty. Are you ready to eat?” By now, Willa’s sandwich and cookies must have faded from his always hungry stomach.
“Can we have carrots?”
Startled from her still cloudy thoughts, she concentrated on her son’s words. Vegetables were not Danny’s favorite part of a meal, except for potatoes. He would gladly consume a bowl of mashed potatoes and nothing else. “You mean for supper?”
No doubt, he was ready to go outside and dig a few more of the orange sticks from their small collection of raised bed garden containers. Mrs. Harding, next door, had complimented their small plot several times, noting that Danny took to gardening like a true farmer.
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