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| About the Book |
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| Read an excerpt |
Belle slowed, a clump of snow landing squarely on top of her hat. She glared upward at the offending branch. The branch remained unapologetic.
I had to look away.
Snow whispered down from a branch as she stepped around a smaller fir and stopped. She studied the tree, her gloved hand brushing a low branch, sending a shower of powder cascading to her feet.
She stopped so suddenly that I knew she’d found it before she said a word. Tree selection worked the same way she made every other important decision, entirely on instinct.
There you are.
The thought slipped through me before I could stop it.
Relief settled through me before I could question why.
Which seemed excessive for a Christmas tree.
The tree stood apart from the others, not perfectly symmetrical. One side grew fuller than the other, having reached toward the light over the years, and the top leaned ever so slightly west under the weight of countless winters.
Slightly crooked. Entirely itself. It wasn't trying to be the prettiest tree in the grove. It was simply the one Belle couldn't walk away from. She had chosen the only tree in the grove that reminded me of people instead of decorations.
She stepped back from the tree, tilting her head one last time, brushing a dusting of snow from her mitten, then turned toward us. "What about this one?"
There was no trace of uncertainty in her voice. She never seemed afraid of choosing. She simply chose.
Mary studied it for only a second before smiling. "Oh, that's a good tree."
Nana Iris circled the tree once, tapping the trunk lightly with her mitten. "Hm."
Belle laughed. "What does that mean?"
I liked her laugh.
"It means I'm consulting the spirits."
Christopher pinched the bridge of his nose. "The tree does not contain spirits."
Nana Iris patted his shoulder. "That's exactly what a man losing an argument with a magical house would say."
The twins immediately declared the tree perfect.
Tinsel barked in agreement, apparently settling the matter.
Christopher appeared outnumbered.
Again.
He looked at the tree, then at the five people smiling back at him.
"I'm beginning to suspect democracy was a mistake."
Farther up the mountain, beyond the upper tree fields and the hidden caverns buried within the cliffs, a bell rang faintly through the stillness. Not loud and not near.
A chill crawled up my spine.
Nick lifted his eyes toward the ridgeline, then he smiled again.
But I had seen it.
He'd heard it too.
Belle stayed beside the tree, one hand resting against the tree, looking perfectly content to wait for the rest of us to catch up.
I liked that.
Standing there in the quiet grove, watching her laugh, felt less like choosing a Christmas tree and more like glimpsing the life I'd tried not to imagine.
Christopher looked toward me.
Then Mary.
Then Nana Iris.
Every single one of them wore the exact same expression.
Traitors.
A smile tugged at Belle's mouth.
"You don't have to."
I crossed the clearing, snow crunching beneath my boots, and wrapped my hand around the saw. "I know."
When I glanced back, Belle was still watching me. Still smiling. That smile followed me across the clearing. It shouldn't have mattered. It always did.
The mountain no longer
frightened me as much as the woman standing beside that tree.
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