Leah used the scissors from her Christmas wreath-making project to open the package from Nan, her hands trembling. She missed her grandmother so much that she held her breath from the moment her fingers touched the envelope. She set the scissors next to the pile of spruce needles that were still on the kitchen table and ran her fingers through her thick, blonde hair. She’d straightened it that morning, but after all day in the rain and sleet, it had started to curl back up.
Tipping the package upside down, Leah caught a lone key in the palm of her hand, recognizing it immediately. She pulled out a stack of documents with a note in Nan’s scratchy handwriting clipped to the top. The notepaper was pink and lacy, the edges rounded delicately with little holes punched out. She laid the documents on top of a few Christmas cards that had come in the mail and focused on the letter, aching to hear Nan’s soft, reassuring voice again.
“Mama,” Leah’s daughter, Sadie said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She was still wearing the red-and-blue leotard Leah had gotten her as a surprise for her birthday. Sadie had seen it in her gymnastics magazine and she’d kept the page open to it all the time. When Leah had asked her about it, she’d said that one day she’d like to have one of her own. Together, they’d made the matching bow clip in her white blonde hair. Every day after school she put it all on to practice her gymnastics. And she was quite the natural.
“The Girls are here,” Sadie said. She bent down, placing her hands on the tile floor, between the table and the kitchen counter, keeping her feet in place until she lifted a leg into the air. Slowly, from a perfect standing split, she put her other leg up, straightening out into a handstand. Sadie had learned to do this move slowly, as swift movements used to send Leah leaping across the kitchen, throwing her arms around Sadie’s legs while simultaneously grabbing dishes and knick-knacks to keep them safe. But when Sadie did it slowly, Leah was able to see the precision in her movements, her skill evident, and she didn’t worry at all. Leah grinned.
Sadie righted herself and opened the side door that led to the driveway, sending a wave of wintery air in past the new wreath Leah had made from evergreens she’d found in the woods. She’d just hung it today. Leah slid the contents and the letter back into the envelope and put the key in her pocket. Another gust sent a chill through her as The Girls came in chattering together, Roz short and Louise tall, both swaddled in their winter gear.
“The Girls” was the name Leah had given to herself and her two best friends when they’d first met. They’d started out as a single mothers’ group of around seven women, which Leah had joined after meeting Roz, her coworker at the florist’s. But over the years, The Girls had dwindled to three—Leah, Roz and Louise—and they’d become more than a support group. They’d become best friends. Tonight, Leah was having them over for a late dinner.
“You’re early,” Leah said with a grin as Roz, all bundled up in a dark burgundy, double-breasted peacoat and striped fingerless gloves, set a bottle of wine on the counter dramatically. It was some sort of cutesy specialty wine with a gold, swirling Christmas tree on the label.
“Louise was insistent that the snow was going to fall all at once and if we waited any longer we wouldn’t be able to drive here,” Roz said, pulling off her gloves and dumping them on the counter. She ran her hand around Sadie’s ponytail affectionately and gave her a wink. Then she shrugged off her coat. Roz walked over to the cupboards and started rummaging around for wine glasses. Leah smiled—she liked how Roz felt as comfortable as if she were in her own house. She was like family.
“At least I can say we’re safe,” Louise said, giving Leah a side hug as she was holding a bowl of salad and a tin of cookies in her other arm. She was covered from head to toe, with a hunter-green, wooly scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, covering her long, red hair. “And you’re sure we can camp out here if the snow does start to fall?”
“We hardly ever have that kind of snow this early in the season,” Roz said, busying herself at the sink. “But I brought my toothbrush just in case!”
Leah’s house was small—a brick rancher tucked away behind a thick strip of woods that separated it from the main street, a four-lane expanse of pavement which was teeming at this time of year with holiday shoppers as they crawled along in traffic to get from one shop to another. But the woods allowed some privacy, and at night, in the dark, it seemed almost secluded. She had rented the house for its proximity to work and the cozy feel of the living room. Although quite crowded when everyone got together, it had offered a comfortable space to make memories with Sadie.
Louise looked at Leah thoughtfully for a second, as if just noticing her. “How are you?” she asked, studying her face until the pop of the wine cork behind them pulled her attention away.
Her friend could always read her. Leah was dying to see what Nan’s letter said, but she didn’t want to bring everyone down tonight by bursting into tears. It was supposed to be a fun night with The Girls.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Leah smiled. “I was just going through the mail…”
“Well, ignore it!” Roz said, swinging a glass full of red wine her way. The purple color of it nearly matched Roz’s dark hair. It was bottle-black, her latest beauty experiment, and in the light, it had almost a reddish-purple tint to it. “We’re going to have an amazing night of…” As she pressed her bright red lips together in thought, she handed the other glass to Louise. “What are we doing tonight besides drinking wine and having dinner? Did anyone get a movie or anything?”
“I thought we could play cards,” Louise piped up, taking a dainty sip from her glass and looking back and forth between Roz and Leah. “I brought some. They’re Toy Story though.”
Roz snorted as Louise pulled her five-year-old’s cards from her handbag.
“I couldn’t find mine so I took some from Ethan’s room,” she said.
Sadie climbed up into a kitchen chair and reached for one of the silver, foil-wrapped chocolates that Leah had put out for tonight. The two of them had started their Christmas decorating today, and they’d been nibbling on those chocolates since early afternoon. Leah gave her daughter her best not-too-many face.
Roz poured one more glass of wine for herself and then filled a glass full of fruit punch for Sadie. Both Roz and Louise had the weekend free since their children were with their fathers, but Leah didn’t have anyone to help with Sadie, so Sadie always joined them. She was like an honorary member of The Girls.
Sadie, who’d taken a seat next to Louise, sipped her juice and said, “May I stay up to play?”
Leah raised her eyebrows at Sadie. They’d agreed she’d go up to bed when The Girls arrived. Sadie flashed the playful smile she always used because she knew it made Leah laugh, and Leah chuckled. “One game,” she said, “but then it’s teeth and pajamas time.”
“It’s the weekend. She needs to let loose.” Roz offered Sadie a conspiratorial smile.
“She’s seven!” Leah said with another laugh, standing next to Sadie and tousling her hair. “She’s still developing that perfect little brain of hers, and I don’t want her to look back on her childhood and realize that her mother hadn’t raised her right.” She wrinkled her nose and smiled at her daughter. Sadie looked away lightheartedly, as if she were trying not to roll her eyes.
Leah felt so lucky with Sadie. They just got each other. While Leah’s parents had always done their best, it was clear how different she was from them, how she was so much more like Nan. While Leah relished quiet time in the familiar surroundings of Nan’s Virginia plantation house at Evergreen Hill, her parents craved the fast pace of city life, traveling the globe, spending years in Paris, her father taking jobs just to allow their travel. Leah had never spent long enough in one place to settle, and she’d only ever called Evergreen Hill home. With both her parents working long hours, Leah had made a lot of her own decisions about bedtimes, school, and studying. She wished she’d had someone to guide her like she could now guide Sadie.
She’d gravitated to a simpler life most of her childhood, opting to stay with Nan every holiday, and because of that she was fiercely independent, but she found comfort in the support of those who understood that about her. As a young girl, she had gotten that support from Nan, and now she got it from Louise and Roz, but there had been times with her parents when she’d felt very alone. She didn’t ever want Sadie to feel like she didn’t have anyone to turn to, but being a single parent sometimes made it tough. She’d had to take a second job to make ends meet, and spent many hours studying for her evening class in business management and corporate event planning, Sadie was often left with other people, and the guilt was difficult to bear.
Letting Sadie stay up felt more like indulging herself than giving into Sadie.
Sadie turned and pressed herself up against Leah affectionately. “We’re supposed to get a snowstorm anyway. It was on the news! We probably won’t even have school on Monday because of the snow. I can get my sleep then.”
“All right,” Leah said. She didn’t want Sadie to miss out on a fun night.
“Awesome!” Roz said, leaning back on the two legs of her chair to grab Louise’s tin of cookies off the island. Leah and Sadie had re-covered the vinyl kitchen chairs themselves to match the cream-colored Formica tabletop. They’d found the set for an amazing price at the second-hand shop in town, and it looked so nice with the greenery they’d placed in the center today alongside the dishes of chocolates.
Roz popped the tin lid open and handed one to Sadie—a sugar cookie the size of her palm with red-and-white icing swirled in a pattern resembling a peppermint candy. Sadie took a bite, a delighted grin on her face that showed two front teeth that hadn’t completely come in yet, her big brown eyes bright and excited.
“Well, I suppose we should eat before we do games or anything,” Leah said. “Sadie, do you want something else to eat?” Sadie had eaten earlier, but now with her bedtime routine out the window, Leah figured she might as well ask.
“I’m okay with the cookie,” she said, brushing crumbs from her lips. “I want to paint with you. When are you going to do that?” She pointed through the large open doorway separating the small kitchen and living room, where a small pile of canvases lay on the floor by the blue recliner they’d gotten as part of the rental, left by the previous tenants.
“The arts-and-crafts store had a clearance,” she explained to The Girls, “so I bought us canvases and a few paints. I got Christmas colors. I figured we could paint something tonight. But it can wait if you want to play cards.”
“Oh! I love that idea! We can do both!” Louise clapped her hands. Then, she sobered, as if something had just occurred to her, and turned to Leah. “You didn’t have to buy anything,” she said, a grateful smile on her face.
It was hard for Leah to open up about some things, and she’d never told anyone how difficult she was finding supporting her little family, but after Nan passed she’d just felt overwhelmed and had confided in Louise one night about her financial situation. She wasn’t struggling completely, now that she had the other income from part-time waitressing, but things were tight, and she didn’t know how she’d be able to pay for gymnastics lessons for Sadie. Sadie had never asked, but after the sports day at school, Leah and all the other parents had been blown away by Sadie’s floor routine, and the gym teacher had taken Leah aside and said that, with the right coaching, there was no limit to where gymnastics would take her.
Leah had signed her up at a shabby little gym—all she could afford—and Sadie got to go once a week, but the coaching wasn’t great, and Sadie often showed more skill than what the gym could offer lessons for. There was barely enough room to have floor routines. The tumbling mats were short, so she couldn’t get a big sequence down, and their uneven bars were supposedly being repaired, although they hadn’t seemed to change at all since they’d enrolled. Once Leah had finished her degree, she hoped to start a career that could earn her real money to provide for her and Sadie. And then there was Leah’s ultimate dream. She wished she’d had a chance to read Nan’s letter.
“I know I didn’t have to buy anything, but I wanted to. It’s December; we can make some new decorations. Maybe we could do something that represents the three of us.”
“I’ve already got ideas for mine,” Louise said to Sadie, her perfectly lined eyebrows bouncing in excitement.
“Mama and I went all through the woods today, looking for greenery to decorate. She held me up over her head just to get the perfect sprig of holly,” Sadie said, her eyes round with excitement as she giggled. She turned to Leah. “I’m going to paint that holly, Mama.”
“Oh, Sadie, that’s a great idea,” Leah said, smiling as she thought of their time in the woods together. It was something they had done for the last few years. Leah would continue to look for that perfect piece even after she’d gotten what she needed—just so that they wouldn’t have to end their walk in the woods. Sadie talked the whole time, telling her about her friends at school and things she was doing in class. She’d spilled the beans about a clay dish she was making in art as a Christmas present for her. “What a great memory to save, Sadie,” said Leah. “I can’t wait to see what you paint.”
“You want me to be sentimental?” Roz teased with a crooked grin from behind her trendy new black-framed glasses. She took a big drink of her wine.
“Yes,” Leah said.
Louise giggled.
Roz pursed her lips playfully. “I don’t do warm and fuzzy.”
“Make yours modern art,” Louise said. “Christmassy modern art.”
“If you’re going to make me do Christmas, I’d better have more of this.” She pulled the bottle from the island and topped off her glass.
Leah understood Roz’s feelings on Christmas.
It was that one time of year when Leah’s life choices really stood out to her, and she knew Roz was the same. Leah had always wanted a big family, rows of fuzzy-socked feet in front of the fireplace, an enormous tree with too many presents to fit underneath it, rooms of bunk beds for the kids and their friends, the golden glow of lamplight, and walls of shelves full of books and board games.
She’d had a taste of that life growing up whenever she went to Nan’s. Nan lived in an old brick Georgian-style manor house with double chimneys and view of the river. When Leah was very young, before Nan bought the house outright, a little boy, his mother, and his grandmother had all lived there with Nan. Nan would have tea parties for the ladies in town, and they were always encouraged to bring their children. Nan made every small affair feel as though it were the most important event. She’d spend the day baking a pie, cookies, finger sandwiches, and all sorts of side dishes, and she’d display them on the center island in the kitchen. While the ladies had tea, all the kids would line up along the hearth of the fireplace to keep warm, an endless supply of homemade treats on hand-painted china in their laps. Leah had enjoyed that memory so much that she’d recreated it with Sadie, asking Nan for her recipes.
Making memories was so important to Leah. That was why, when Sadie asked to stay up, almost all of the time she’d let her. With a grin, she looked at her daughter now. She was in the living room, showing Louise her handstand. Her fingers spread on the old carpet, her ponytail dragging the ground, she had her toes perfectly pointed, her feet in the air. Louise was clapping and Roz had brought in their glasses of wine, all topped off. Leah got up and joined The Girls.
Leah sat in the small living room of her home, cuddled under a quilt with a cup of coffee. The three painted canvases from last night leaned against her bookshelf, the tall oak case overflowing. She’d separated the shelves by her favorites, the ones she’d yet to read, and all the textbooks from her coursework. She shifted on the warm tweed sofa and looked over at the colored lights shining on the small tree in the corner, Nan’s package in her lap.
She peered down at Nan’s familiar handwriting, thinking of all the plans they’d had. Her whole life, Leah had visited the plantation, Evergreen Hill, where Nan had made her living, hosting weddings and other events. As soon as she was old enough, Leah had joined Nan, working there on holidays and summers. Nan had retired when she hit sixty-five, but had immediately started missing it.
Leah was the first one up, and the sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon, casting a pink glow on the edge of the sky through the window, despite the forecast of snow. She slid the key off the side table and held it in her hand.
The Girls had stayed the night last night, having had a little more wine than they should. Not to mention, the roads were getting icy. Sadie had slept with Leah, and Roz and Louise had stayed in Sadie’s double bed. Whenever they stayed over, it was always a tight squeeze, but they’d all agreed that it brought them closer together.
Leah quietly fiddled with the torn edge of the package to retrieve the documents, so as not to wake The Girls or Sadie, and slid Nan’s letter out with the other papers. She held it in front of her for a moment, knowing she was about to hear from Nan. She missed her so much.
Tears welled up in Leah’s eyes as she read “Dear Leah” in Nan’s writing. It was like her grandmother was talking to her from Heaven.
As a child, it had been Nan who had had those long, giggly conversations into the wee hours of the night with Leah; it had been Nan who would listen as she talked about boys or her school problems. And, when she’d gotten pregnant, and the child’s father refused to be a part of their life, she’d gone to Nan to find out what to do. Nan had raised Leah’s mother, Marie, and her uncle, William, by herself, and she was the strongest person Leah knew.
Leah could hear her grandmother’s voice perfectly as she read—soft like a whisper, the way she’d been when she’d tucked her in during her visits when Leah was a girl. As the words “Evergreen Hill” slid in front of Leah’s eyes, she could feel the warmth in her cheeks, and she knew what it was: hope welling up that she’d be allowed one last way to be near Nan. Leah had just one class left before she’d have her degree, and while she’d entertained finding a job as a corporate events planner to broaden her experience, the plan had always been for Nan to teach her the business—but only after she’d finished the classes. Nan wanted her to be prepared and also to have enough background to build her own vision for Evergreen Hill.
She had planned to finish her degree, wrap up Sadie’s school year, then drive the two hours to Evergreen Hill with all their worldly possessions and start a new life. Nan had always said she hoped Leah would be throwing big white weddings on the lawn, opening up the library for local historians, and showing school kids round the vast halls and servants’ quarters long after she’d gone. She had even promised that Leah would inherit the house.
That hope was burning Leah from the inside, telling her she might be able to give Sadie the life she’d always wanted her to have—the life Nan and Leah had planned. She blinked over and over as she read her inheritance: the plantation was hers. Evergreen Hill, with its winding paths and acres of open land, would now belong to her and Sadie. It was bittersweet, but she could hear Nan telling her to relax and focus on the positives.
Leah looked up at the paintings but she wasn’t focused on them. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she realized that part of her had been dreading Christmas. It just wouldn’t be the same without Nan. But now it might feel different—still sad, but as if Nan were watching over them, spending Christmas with them, taking care of her and Sadie even after she was gone. And now, more than ever, she needed Nan. Leah imagined driving up the long drive, lined with oak trees. Snowy woods wrapped around three sides of the house like a familiar hug, the rest of the property sprawling out behind it—the old tobacco fields now enormous green pastures. The dark of the deciduous tree limbs a stark contrast to the white snow as they towered over the smaller evergreens; the cold juxtaposed with the yellow champagne-c. . .
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