An Heirloom Christmas Page 5

  “I’m going to go look around.”

  “Sure thing.” Preoccupied, Everleigh’s eyes darted about the room.

  “I’ll find you at close out.”

  “Yep!” Answering now only in one word sentences, Chrissy had lost any bit of what little attention her sister had left to give.

  While it was obvious certain wreaths drew more consideration than others, Chrissy was pleased with the overall buzz at the event. The energy was palpable. In fact, she had a hard time locating any wreaths that didn’t already have at least one bid, the competitive spirit high and bids even higher. That fact made her burst with small town pride.

  After completing two full laps around the room just to be sure she hadn’t missed anything, Chrissy scribbled her number onto the paper below an ordinary, run-of-the-mill wreath that looked like it could be purchased from the holiday section of any department store. It wasn’t ugly at all, there just wasn’t anything special about it to make it stand out. Even still, Chrissy felt an obligation to offer her bid. If she didn’t, it risked being the only wreath to go unclaimed. Even if the wreath was nothing special, Chrissy figured the person who made it had to be. That someone took time out of their schedule to create something to bring in money for charity was a special thing. While the wreath was lackluster, Chrissy doubted the person was.

  By the end of the night, she’d consumed half a dozen sugar cookies, made pleasant chatter with her friends and storefront neighbors, and successfully avoided another run in with Nick. Every time she’d spotted him, she’d ducked away, thankful for the crowd to take cover in. One conversation for the evening felt plenty sufficient.

  As Miss Sandra came over the speakers at final call, urging all participants to make their last bids, the activity in the room kicked into high gear. Women decked in knit Christmas sweaters shoved about; husbands scooted out of the way to avoid an altercation. Chrissy figured her father was busy standing his post, this portion of the night the most potential for a ruckus. Chrissy could hear Everleigh shout something along the lines of “Candy time, it’s all mine!” and she knew she would head home with either an extremely elated, or extremely dejected, sister. She prayed for the former.

  Tossing her empty hot chocolate cup into a nearby trash can, Chrissy made her way to the only wreath she’d bid on all night. Looking at the sheet, she saw she had remained the single bid throughout the evening, no one else wishing to hang this particularly plain wreath on their door.

  “Their loss,” Chrissy muttered to herself as she pulled the paper from the table and wreath from the wall. It wasn’t the best looking wreath, but the spirit in which it had been created and purchased was enough to make Chrissy proud to hang it on her shop door the very next morning. For her, it was just perfect.

  Nick

  NICK GRABBED HIS jacket from the hook next to the door and stepped out onto the front stoop. The morning air met him with an icy embrace. Shivering, he reached back to snag his scarf before locking up the house. He wrapped the fabric around his neck in two loops and then buried his hands in his pockets, quickening his pace to stride up the drive and onto the sidewalk.

  The Beasley home was a short distance from his rental. Doris was eager for help with the tree, as she’d already called him twice that morning to confirm. It was barely nine. It would be good to check the task off of Nick’s list, though he didn’t mind helping his neighbors. He often thought back to the time Earl gave his truck a jumpstart when he had been a new driver and didn’t know not to leave the radio running when the engine wasn’t. Nick had stranded himself in front of their downtown coffee shop, Jitters, and Earl quickly came to his rescue, jumper cables in hand, smile on his kind face.

  Though he knew the gesture didn’t require repayment, it would be good to reciprocate the favor, even if a dozen years after the fact.

  Puffing out a breath that suspended in front of his face for a moment before it dispersed, Nick tried not to inhale too deeply. The air was stinging cold and his lungs tightened with each frosty breath. Wishing his bum knee would allow a faster pace, Nick pressed forward, eager for the warm escape the Beasley home promised.

  He had to check his phone for the house number, failing to remember which one belonged to the couple. One house he did recognize, however, was Lee Davenport’s, just three homes south of the Beasley address. A pair of empty rocking chairs were perched on the front porch, just like they had been the last time he visited. The last conversation Nick had with Lee took place in those chairs. Nick hadn’t intentionally rocked in his, but his nerves had trembled out of his body, making the rocking inevitable. It felt the same as pacing back and forth, that anxious, uncontrollable habit.

  Nick never imagined Lee would grant permission for Chrissy’s hand. They were young—newly turned twenty—and the idea of a father gladly giving away his daughter in marriage to a man without a steady income or real job wasn’t a favorable one.

  But not only had Lee agreed to give Nick his blessing, he’d been happy to do so.

  “I’ll finally have the son I’ve always wanted,” Lee had said, a comment that Nick felt so deep inside that it became a part of him. Whether intentional or not, he’d wanted to live a life that made Lee proud, something in him craving that approval from the man he greatly admired.

  To that very day, Nick hadn’t been able to shake the shock of Lee’s blessing. And he hadn’t been able to muster up the courage to speak to him after everything had unraveled.

  Nick had been nervous to see Chrissy again, but he’d been terrified to encounter her father. He was glad that meeting had yet to occur.

  Ambling up the pathway, Nick arrived at the Beasley home in good time. He lifted his hand to knock—just below an ornate wreath he assumed had been purchased at the auction—when the door swung open before his fist could meet the solid wood. His hand hung in the air.

  “Good morning, Nick! Or is it even still considered morning?” Doris flipped her wrist over, a trio of bangle bracelets clanging together. Her eyes squinted as she examined her watch.

  “I apologize, ma’am,” Nick began as Doris waved him into the foyer and motioned for his scarf and jacket. “I slept in a bit today.”

  “I suppose that’s allowed,” the petite woman teased. “And as I remember, that was the precise reason you only lasted two days at the coffee shop. Kept oversleeping.”

  “I made it three days, I think. Never even got a chance to learn the espresso machine, though,” Nick corrected with a wide grin. “But you’re right; I do enjoy my sleep.”

  Nodding in the direction of her husband, who reclined in a leather chair in the living room just off the entryway, Doris said, “So does Earl.”

  The man gargled a perfectly timed snore.

  “Earl!” Doris barked. “Get up! Nick is here to help with the tree.”

  Snapping into an upright position, Earl launched from his chair. “Who’s there?” He whipped his head back and forth and then fumbled for his glasses on the side table. Once fitted to his face, his worried expression relaxed and he grinned as the young visitor came into focus. “Well, if it isn’t Nick McHenry? Good to see you!”

  “Same to you.” Nick went in for a handshake, but his knee buckled underneath him and he had to grab onto the back of the sofa to keep from tumbling to the ground. All pride rushed out in that instant, the look of shocked pity in both Doris and Earl’s eyes enough to make him feel small.

  “Careful, Nick,” Doris quipped. “If you injure yourself again, then I’m really not going to have a tree to put out at all this year. Be a gentleman and wait until after it’s down from the attic before you go hurting yourself, please.” She winked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nick smiled, grateful in that moment of embarrassment for a bit of levity.

  Doris grabbed his elbow. “Let’s go. The attic access is in the back hall. I’ve already got out the ladder, I just need you to go up and get the tree.”

  Following his instruction, Nick trailed behind Doris, Earl shuffling
a few feet back. Doris was a dynamo, her energy level unmatched not only in her own age group, but likely among everyone else in town. She was quick witted and spirited, her reaction giving Nick little opportunity to feel sorry for himself, and for that, he was thankful.

  Taking to the ladder, Nick gripped the sides firmly with his hands, hoping his knee didn’t pull another stunt like it had back in the living room.

  “Just give the hatch a good whack. It sticks a bit.”

  Nick did as instructed. The attic trapdoor creaked open, dust particles releasing into the air. Stifling a cough, Nick budged it open all the way.

  “We’re in!”

  Using all of his upper body strength, he hoisted himself into the crawl space. Immediately, he was met with thick, stale air. Years’ worth of memories stored in the dank attic filtered out in a musty, wafting aroma. While the Beasley’s kept their home tidied and presentable, the attic was a free for all, boxes littered about the cramped interior like the sorting room of a post office.

  “Any clue where it might be?” Nick hollered down through the ceiling opening.

  “Earl?” Doris yelled. “Where’d you put the tree last year?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Dory. Somewhere in the attic. Next to a bunch of old boxes, I think.”

  “A bunch of old boxes,” Nick muttered, chuckling. It was a fair assessment that the amount of old boxes was incalculable. “You have any idea which old boxes? West wall or east wall?”

  “Gosh. You know—I don’t actually remember,” Earl said taking to the first rung of the ladder to peer up into the attic. “Maybe the south?”

  “Earl doesn’t even remember what he ate for breakfast this morning,” Doris said. “I said it before, but it will be an honest to goodness Christmas miracle if I get my tree up at all this year.”

  “We’ll get your tree up, Doris. I just need to look around a bit.”

  In truth, it would take more than a bit. Nick figured he’d need a good hour to locate anything in the disorganized attic. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he swept up on the screen to illuminate the flashlight. It didn’t help much, but he could now see his feet and make a pathway through the packages so as not to stumble about.

  Sweeping the ray of light back and forth, Nick read the labels on the boxes, locating every possible holiday except Christmas. Then, peeking out just above a stack of milk crates, he spotted a green, leafy branch.

  “Think I might’ve found something!” Nick called out. Yanking on the object, he tugged it free, dejected when it pulled out too easily. “Never mind. Just a wreath,” he said, but his choice of wording wasn’t accurate at all. It wasn’t just a wreath, it was a beautiful one, definitely more impressive than any of the wreaths he saw the night before at the auction. Blowing onto it, dust flickered into the air like bits of stardust illuminated in the stream of light from his phone.

  “You might want to put this out on display, Doris.” Nick crouched down to pass the wreath to Earl through the open hatch. “It’s too pretty to keep tucked away in an attic.”

  “Would you look at that?” Doris’s voice became thick with emotion. “Earl, remember this?”

  “Absolutely,” her husband said, his tone equally filled with awe. “I don’t have as bad a memory as you think, my dear.” He winked at his wife, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “And I had maple raisin oatmeal for breakfast. See? Sharp as a tack.”

  Dropping his legs down, Nick placed his feet on the top of the ladder. “I honestly don’t see the tree up here, Doris. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Nick. I’ll just go without this year,” Doris said, unreasonably dejected. “No Christmas miracle for me.”

  “Now that I think of it, didn’t we leave it on the street during curb pickup last spring?” Earl asked. “Remember? All the strands but one were out and last Christmas you said you couldn’t stand to look at the sorry excuse for a tree for one more season. Something about getting rid of it since it no longer brought you joy. See? I do remember things, dear.”

  A sheepish grin spread onto Doris’s lips. “Well, that doesn’t sound right,” she countered, unwilling to give in.

  “No,” Earl pressed. “I remember it clear as day now. We had it out there right next to the shattered Easter platter. I commented how ironic it was that we were getting rid of both a Christmas tree and an Easter decoration. Thought our friends from church might start to worry about us.”

  The more her husband continued, the more Doris’s mouth turned downward. “Alright, alright. We don’t have a tree. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Nick, but I do appreciate you coming by.”

  “It wasn’t a waste of time. I found the wreath, at least,” he said, carefully descending the ladder. “Maybe you could put that up for now?”

  “I’ve already got one on our door that nearly cost me a kidney. What about you? Did you bid on one last night?”

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “That’s alright, though. My parents are selling a few at the store. I can always snag one of those.”

  Shoving the wreath into Nick’s chest, Doris said, “Take this one, dear. It has far too much value to be crammed away in a dusty attic. We’d love for you to have it.”

  Nick agreed. A wreath of that caliber deserved to be on display for all to see.

  “Accept it as my payment for officially wasting your morning. I’m just so embarrassed.”

  “No need to be. Wasn’t a waste at all.” Nick followed the couple through the house and to the front door where he collected his scarf and coat, readying to leave. “You know, Tucker’s family tree lot opens up this weekend. Maybe a real Christmas tree is in order for this year?”

  “I like that idea, Nick. We always put up the fake one out of convenience, but I do miss that crisp pine scent of a freshly cut tree. Might take your suggestion on that.”

  Nick tipped his head as he said his goodbyes and headed back toward his rented house, new wreath in hand. It wasn’t that it was intricately decorated, but something about it brought a warmth to Nick’s chest that no jacket could. Flipping it over, he noticed a small, white tag and when he read the name neatly written on it perfect cursive, his heart caught on a beat.

  * * *

  THE PLAN WAS to hang the wreath and then run. Well, hobble, more accurately, since running wasn’t on the list of things Nick was very skilled at anymore. To his relief, a long nail stuck out of the door, almost as though it was awaiting the wreath’s return, like a porch light left on by a parent after curfew. Nick lifted the decoration quietly, breath secured in his lungs, footsteps kept purposefully light. His entire body sagged with relief once the wreath was lowered onto the nail. Backing away, Nick swiveled on his heel to go.

  The lock turned over.

  “Nick?”

  Eyes shut, Nick’s composure slumped further. “Mr. Davenport. Sir.”

  “How are you, son?” Chrissy’s father glanced around, scanning his surroundings like he was on patrol. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I just—” Nick racked his brain to form an excuse, but his thoughts didn’t come fast enough.

  The pallor of Lee’s face drained of all pigment as his gaze swung back toward his front door. “Did you…?” His voice trailed off. He pointed to the wreath as his brow creased in confusion.

  “I found it in the Beasley’s attic. Didn’t realize who it belonged to until I saw the nametag on the back. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped by bringing it here, sir. I just figured it was something you might like to have back.”

  “No.” Lee paused. His eyes remained fixed on the wreath when he answered, “You haven’t overstepped, Nick. Not at all.”

  Nick figured the words were meant as a comfort, but the strained look on Lee’s face made him question whether he had done the right thing. Regret took root in his gut.

  “Nick, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” Lee’s gaze clung to the wreath, studying it, examining every minute detail. He shook his head, tossing off the st
are as he angled toward Nick. “I’d love to catch up if you have a moment.”

  Nick did have ample time to spare, his only plan to stop by the hardware store later in the day to help his dad with a delivery of space heaters.

  “Of course, sir.” Nick rubbed his hands together, creating the friction necessary for warmth. “That would be great.”

  “Having a real cold snap around these parts.” Lee pushed the door open with his hand and motioned for Nick to go on ahead. As though he was entirely mystified by the wreath, he stole another brief look before shutting the door. “Everleigh just got me a new espresso machine for my birthday and I figure I should test it out. Care to be the guinea pig?”

  Nick laughed. “There’s one of those fancy things at my place, too.”

  “Really?” Lee perked up. “Maybe you could give me a few pointers?”

  “I’ve yet to use it. That thing intimidates me and I even worked at a coffee shop once!”

  “It intimidates me, too. I restored my dad’s ‘57 Chevy, but a dang coffee maker has me feeling like a real dummy. Glad to know I’m not the only one. I told Everleigh I was just fine with my old coffee pot, but she insisted I needed to join the twenty-first century. Apparently that means drinking frou-frou coffee drinks.”

  “I won’t lie. They can be pretty good. Almost like a dessert.”

  “I’m always up for dessert,” Lee said. Their conversation was a surface one, no arguing that, but there was a comfort in it, merely because there was comfort in being in the Davenport home again.

  For years, it had been a home away from home for Nick, so much so that sometimes he even failed to knock before entering. In those days, Lee had given him a hard time about that—that although Nick was like family, there were still boundaries to adhere to.

  Nick couldn’t shove down the feeling that showing up unannounced with the wreath was one boundary he’d grossly overstepped.