Christmas in Tinsel Tree Village Page 3
“It crossed my mind,” Neve said.
Trent laughed, hard, and his dimples were on display again.
Jackson’s ghost, Neve thought. Sitting in front of me.
“Well, I have another business proposition,” he said. “I know it’s a bit last-minute, but it’s also personal, and I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”
“Go on.”
“Have you heard of Saugatuck, Michigan?”
“I have,” Neve said. “It’s on the other side of the state from where I lived, but I’ve visited numerous times. It’s adorable. Called the Art Coast, right?”
“That’s right,” Trent said. “And at the holidays it’s known as ‘The Cutest Little Christmas Town in America.’ I have a resort home there on the lake. The town is so quaint at Christmas. There are no chains or big-box stores allowed in town. It’s all independently owned stores, shops, restaurants and art galleries. All the little places come alive at the holidays.”
“And?” Neve asked. “How do I fit in?”
“The small businesses in town—like too many around the US—were deeply hurt by COVID. Some are still struggling to survive, and they need a big boost to end the year,” Trent said. “Many won’t survive without it. I’m chair of the chamber there, and I said I would step in and come up with a plan. Actually, I said a ‘big’ plan. Me and my big mouth.”
Neve cocked her head. “And how do I fit in exactly?” she asked again.
Trent smiled. “Well, you’re my big plan.”
He leaned over and swiveled his oversize computer screen toward them.
“This is a photo of downtown Saugatuck. I want you to design windows for the anchor shops in town.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am,” he said. “I was thinking a miniature Michigan brought to life—scenes of winter on the lake, in cottages, at the state park, along the dunes overlooking the lake, the chain ferry, the marinas... In essence, bring Saugatuck’s holiday theme—‘The Cutest Little Christmas Town in America’—to life in the windows.”
Neve shook her head. “Do you know how much time and effort that will take? I usually plan my designs months in advance. And I always work alone.”
Neve looked at Trent and removed an invisible piece of lint from her pants to try and cover her surprise.
“Not to mention that I live here, and I have a number of jobs left to complete for you,” she continued.
And there is no way I am returning to Michigan during the holidays, she thought firmly. My soul couldn’t take the pain. It would make everything real again.
“I know how busy you are,” Trent said. “And I know how hard it must be to return to Michigan again at this time of year.”
Neve jerked her head upright and stared at him.
“You could stay at my lake cottage,” Trent said. “For free. There’s a guesthouse overlooking Lake Michigan. And I could round up a team to help you if you need it. I would generate huge national and regional publicity for this. I know the morning shows would love to come to town to cover such a sweet, holiday story. It would be a boon to the town’s tourism and business, and a boon to your brand as well.”
“No, I can’t,” Neve said. “I just can’t. And I would prefer to pass on the publicity.”
“I would make it worth your while.” Trent opened a screen on his computer. “This is what I’ve budgeted.”
“Wow,” Neve said. “That’s quite generous.”
“No, Neve, this number is just your compensation,” he said. “And I’d personally cover all your design expenses. It would mean the world to me...” He stopped. “And I think it would mean the world to you, too.”
Neve stared at this man she barely knew, this man who looked so similar to Jackson, this man who seemed to know her every thought and action. The room began to spin. Neve took her fingers and placed them over Trent’s face.
“Are you minimizing me?” he said with a laugh.
“That has so many meanings,” she said, surprising herself, and matching his laugh. “Actually, I am. Sometimes, it’s the only way I can make sense of things.” She paused. “I’m sorry to get so personal.”
“That’s why I escape to Saugatuck, Neve. It’s small, too. It’s the only way I can make sense of things sometimes. I’m so busy running this company, I don’t have time for a life or a family of my own. There, especially at the holidays, I feel calm, like I have a deeper meaning. I feel like I can fade into a magical world for a while. I don’t feel so alone there.”
Neve stared at him.
“I’m sorry to get so personal, too.” Trent took a deep breath. “It would be a smart move for your career. And—” he hesitated, as if he was reading her mind again “—Saugatuck is far away from Frankenmuth. All the way on the other side of the state.”
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t,” Neve said.
“You can’t run forever, Neve.”
Her eyes widened at his words. They were Madge’s words.
“I...” Neve was about to say “no” again, about to stand and walk out of his office, maybe even run to another city to start over one more time. But outside, beyond Trent, snow began to fall. It felt like a sign.
“Look,” Trent said, again seeming to read her thoughts. “It’s snowing. Isn’t it beautiful to see it fall way up here? I love getting to see it before it ever reaches the ground.”
Neve felt as if she was in a snow globe. She could see Jackson driving away, she could picture her cottage in the woods and pines flocked in white. Neve closed her eyes for just a second.
I can see Michigan at Christmas, she thought. Perhaps I need to see Michigan at Christmas. To say hello again. And goodbye.
For the first time in ages, Neve’s broken heart fluttered.
“Okay,” Neve said. “You’ve got a deal.”
Four
As soon as Neve passed under the big blue Pure Michigan! sign and crossed the state line, it began to snow.
As if to remind me of my total and complete stupidity, Neve thought.
The more Neve’s SUV rounded the bend and got closer to the lakeshore, the harder it snowed.
Having been born and raised in Michigan, Neve was used to the snow. And driving in the snow—here and in Chicago—had become second nature. It usually started snowing in Michigan around Halloween. As a kid, Neve always marveled at the images of kids in warmer climates she saw on TV trick-or-treating without coats.
You can actually see their costumes, Neve thought.
Neve always had to shed her jacket and hand it to her parents every time she knocked on a new door just so people could see hers. Then, she’d throw it back on to ward off the cold.
“Princesses aren’t supposed to be cold or wear coats!” she’d say to her parents.
Neve remembered the joke people in Michigan and Chicago always told: “What are the two longest seasons around here? Winter and construction.”
Neve’s old SUV was so loaded down with luggage and decor that it actually made it more stable.
But my mood? Neve thought. Not so much.
The snow was falling steadily but lightly, the fluffy kind of snow that blew around in the north wind. Winter in Michigan was like another world, so different from summer, but beautiful in its own majestic way. Neve glanced right and left as she drove. In so many ways, Michigan’s woods resembled Neve’s bottlebrush Christmas-tree collection: deep green pines, white birch, the bright red berries of the winterberry, or Michigan holly, the flame-red and bright yellow twigs of the dogwood against the newly fallen snow.
There is such beauty and such life in the dead of winter, Neve thought. I’m caught between two worlds, too: The past and the present, Michigan and Chicago, before and after.
That’s when she saw it.
Neve slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. Before s
he knew it, she was running through a field and into the woods. Snow seeped into her boots and socks, but she didn’t slow until she was standing in front of a Fraser fir.
“You’re perfect,” Neve gasped, her breath coming in heaving puffs. “Perfect.”
She reached out and touched the tree, gingerly and carefully, as if it was human.
The fir was dark green and its needles had a silvery underside. The branches and stems stood straight and upright, proudly, like a toy soldier. This tree was perfectly shaped.
Neve inhaled.
“You smell like Christmas,” she whispered. “You look like...”
Neve didn’t finish her sentence, but her mind did.
The last tree Jackson and I decorated.
The Fraser fir had been Neve’s family’s go-to Christmas tree growing up, and she was happily surprised to discover it was Jackson’s as well, albeit for more practical reasons.
“It’s a very resilient tree, and its needle retention is superb,” Jackson—ever the tree-farm owner—had said.
“Like you ever vacuum,” Neve had joked.
Married to a man who owned a Christmas-tree farm, Neve learned that everyone in the world had a favorite tree.
Some loved the needles of a blue spruce, which was gloriously blue, like the sky at dusk, and shaped like a pyramid.
Other folks favored the Scotch pine for its bright green color and long-lasting freshness, while some adored the fragrant Douglas fir or the sturdy, straight balsam, whose strong branches were perfect for hanging lots and lots of heavy ornaments.
It all depends on their memories of the holidays, Neve thought.
Neve inhaled again, and more memories flooded her mind.
She saw herself looking for the perfect spot to hang her mother’s vintage ornaments, she saw herself placing the angel atop the tree and she saw herself drinking eggnog and watching her husband fill the tree stand with water.
“One quart for every inch of the trunk’s diameter,” Jackson had said with a wink, catching her watching him.
She took a seat in the snow, right in front of the tree, and was instantly surrounded by those she’d loved.
“Here’s one for you to hang,” Neve’s mother had offered. “A vintage glass ornament that belonged to your great-grandma.”
“Up you go with the star!” Neve’s father had proclaimed once, as he’d lifted her onto his shoulders so she could hang the tree topper.
“What do you see when you look out there?” It was what Madge used to ask Neve when they’d sit in the loft of the barn and watch the snow fall over the tree farm.
“Everything,” Neve had replied.
“Exactly,” Madge returned with a smile. “That’s called imagination, and you’re blessed with acres of it. Never forget that.”
“There’s nothing like choosing and cutting your own Christmas tree,” Jackson and his father always told visitors. “Family traditions are important.”
But as more and more people purchased artificial trees, business—like the needles on a Christmas tree in January—began to dry up.
“People should never lose their traditions,” Jackson had insisted. “They lose their history, and then they just lose their way. Promise me we’ll never lose our traditions.”
Neve thought of her empty condo in Chicago, and all of her pent-up emotions—so raw, so painful—escaped from somewhere deep in her soul.
“No!” she yelled.
The lone word echoed across the field.
And then an idea hit Neve. She stood, brushing the snow off her backside, and looked at the fir.
“If I can’t take you, I’ll take your neighbors,” she said.
Neve ran back to her car and grabbed her pruners, which she always kept on hand for decorating. She sprinted this way and that, cutting pine branches, holly, and red and yellow twigs from the dogwood. She raced back to her car and stuffed them in the trunk alongside the boxes of her bottlebrush trees.
As Neve pulled back onto the highway, her car was filled with the scent of Christmas.
“I will honor tradition,” Neve said, then whispered, as if to herself, “by saying goodbye.”
Neve smiled when she saw her greeting to Saugatuck.
A big sign—a painter’s palette with the town’s name—was glowing in the snow. Decorated trees, lit in colorful lights, stood before the sign. Snow flocked the magical scene.
Neve drove downtown, and it was just as cute as she remembered from her visit long ago, just as adorable as Trent had described.
Currier and Ives comes to life, she thought.
But even more so during the holidays.
Huge, twinkling snowflakes dangled from the trees that lined the streets, illuminating the real flakes that flew all around them. A massive star twinkled atop Mount Baldhead, the highest sand dune for miles. A gazebo overlooking the river that led to Lake Michigan was outlined in white lights. Horse-drawn carriages—just like the one Neve had at her wedding—filled with families trotted up and down the charming little lanes.
Neve slowed her car and looked at the storefronts she was to decorate: a cozy coffee house, an art gallery, some quaint restaurants, a few cute shops.
She could envision the empty windows coming to life and that buoyed her spirits. Neve felt that electric excitement she always experienced with new projects.
The British-sounding voice of her car’s navigation system knocked her from her thoughts, urging her to do a U-turn, when legal, as soon as possible.
“Okay, okay,” Neve said.
Trent Wilkes’s cottage was located on Lakeshore Drive, the exclusive enclave of homes that sat directly on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.
She followed the directions out of Saugatuck and toward its neighboring, and just as adorable, sister city of Douglas. As she drove over the bridge between the two towns—which both had holidays flags flapping from every pole—Neve saw light on the water. At first, she thought it might be a boat, but as she slowed her car, Neve saw a massive Christmas tree sitting on a barge in the middle of the harbor.
She turned at Center Street and followed the little road to the end of Lakeshore Drive. Neve went left, the homes growing bigger and bigger, as mini mansions turned into behemoths.
“They call these cottages?” Neve said to herself with a chuckle. “I must use a different thesaurus than these folks.”
She continued to drive until her navigation said, “You have arrived at your destination.”
She pulled into the driveway, the car’s lights illuminating her new temporary home.
Neve smiled. Trent’s “cottage” was a mix of both worlds, new and old. The original cottage—shingled and shuttered, lake-stone fireplace rising from the cedar-shake roof—crouched low to the ground. But attached behind it was a towering structure that, despite its size and modernity, was respectful of its history. The new structure was akin to a shingled lighthouse rising from the shore, with wings on both sides. Large circular nautical-style windows gave a wink to the lake.
Neve got out of her car, and the wind off the lake howled, chilling her to the bone.
She grabbed her cell, scrolled through her texts and found the code to the house. She turned on her flashlight, punched in the code, headed inside and began searching around for the lights.
The cottage wasn’t grand, nor was it decorated ostentatiously. The furnishings matched the history—it was a mix of knotty pine and shiplap with old, beamed ceilings and wide, wavy windows. There was a worn leather sofa draped with an old quilt, armchairs made up of fabric that had been fashioned from vintage camp blankets, a live edge maple coffee table loaded down with old magazines and framed family photos going back generations atop a lake-stone fireplace. A gorgeous oil painting of the lake was propped on a mantel made of an ancient barn beam, with a horse hitch dangling off the front.
The feel of the home reminded her of the one she’d shared with Jackson.
Filled with tradition.
Neve steadied herself and found the kitchen in the back of the cottage facing the woods, and she gently touched the old aqua appliances while making appreciative remarks.
Beyond the living room sat a small reading nook with two comfy chairs and a tiny potbellied stove. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and books—old and new, hardcover and paperback—were stacked haphazardly everywhere.
Neve smiled.
Books that have actually been read, she thought.
French doors opened to a long, windowed walkway, and Neve could tell immediately that this is where the new addition began. Suddenly, she looked down and nearly stumbled: the floor of the walkway was made of glass panels, almost like a terrarium, and Christmas ferns were growing beneath her feet.
The entryway led to a great room—a bit more formal than the tiny one in the original cottage—and a massive staircase. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked for the text from Trent on her phone again.
Your guest suite is at the very top! All yours!
Neve felt the need to be nosy—is Trent’s master on this floor?—but then glanced nervously around the hallway, searching for hidden cameras.
Neve continued her climb to the top floor. When she turned on the lights, she gasped.
“No,” she marveled. “It couldn’t be.”
A massive Fraser fir sat on a tree stand by the large windows overlooking the lake. An envelope was tucked into one of its branches. Neve opened it to find a handwritten letter.
I thought a tree might help you feel a bit more at home. I even cut it down myself! I read an interview with you where you said the Fraser was your favorite Christmas tree in the world. There’s nothing like a live tree at Christmas, is there? Smells like the holidays! I do love tradition, even though I rarely get to enjoy it. You still have to decorate it, that is if you have any free time. My grandma’s vintage ornaments are in boxes in your closet. I plan to be up next week to see your progress in town, and I will have my assistant touch base with you after you’re settled. There are some groceries stocked, just a few things to tide you over until you can go shopping. I truly hope you feel as if you’re home for the holidays. Look forward to seeing what you create with your big imagination and little trees.