A small town has held on to their traditions and celebrates Christmas as if it were 100 years ago…which reporter Jake Logan finds surprisingly charming, but wonders if it’s too good to be true.
Jake has traveled the world but never really felt at home, until he spends time in a town that has its own unique way of celebrating the holidays. The longer he stays, the more he comes to like the town, the people, and one charming B&B owner in particular.
Lorna Sullivan has never met anyone like Jake, but she knows tourists don’t stay once the holidays are over. The more time she spends with Jake, the easier it is to wonder if this could be different…but there are secrets in every small town and this one could destroy their chance at happiness.
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And you can read the Prologue and part of the first chapter now.
“At Christmas, all roads lead home.” ~Marjorie Holmes
Two Native-American boys raced through the forest as the snow fell silently around them. The older one glanced over his shoulder at the tracks they left behind. Even though they knew the men would find them, running was their only option.
The three men riding horses followed the prints in the snow. The one in front was angry, kicking his horse to make it go faster. It would soon be dusk, and he didn’t want to lose the trail.
“Come on,” he yelled to the others. “They can’t be far ahead of us.”
The boys ran as fast as they could until they reached the water. It was too cold to run down the creek to lose the men, so they splashed across it instead. As the older boy, almost twelve, reached back to help his brother up the hill, the men on horses caught up with them.
“What are you two doing out here?” demanded one of the men.
“I’ll ask the questions,” the angry one said. “You know that was my deer, don’t you?”
The boys said nothing, which only made the man more upset.
“Answer me!” he said, bringing his horse up even with the boys. He leaned down to grab the smaller one, who looked about ten. Trying to protect his brother, the older boy slapped the horse’s rump.
The horse reared, catching the man off guard. The reins slipped out of his hand, and he fell, face first into the snow. As his horse ran off, the other men laughed. The boys glanced at each other, then started running again.
“Help me find my horse,” the angry man demanded, sitting up and wiping the snow off his face. “Then, I’m going to teach those boys a lesson.”
Silver Birch Valley is a peaceful town, set in the mountains just south of the Canadian border. The founder of the town had come from Scotland and stopped in the valley to rest his horses. He and his wife had fallen in love with the landscape and decided to stay and build their home. The town quickly grew around them as more people stopped to take in the view or rest their horses. In a land of beautiful vistas, this one took their breath away.
Silver birch edged the creek, which started as a waterfall coming down from the mountains. As it made its way into the valley, the creek ran between hills covered with evergreens until it reached the flat. There, the water wound its way quietly between the clumps of silver birch. Grass pasture stretched on either side until it met the hills. Beyond, there were mountains all around except for the two narrow passes, leading in and out of the valley.
When the boys reached the top of the hill, they saw the town below. The older one grabbed his brother’s hand as they hurried down the other side. Twice, they almost slipped but managed to stay upright. The streetlamps of the town could be seen through the snow as they ran across the valley. It was almost dark when they finally reached the livery stable.
The men on horses followed the tracks to the livery and dismounted. Open up!” the angry man yelled, banging on the closed barn doors. One slowly slid open and a man walked out.
“Can I help you?” he asked, looking around at the other men.
“I want to talk to those boys,” demanded the angry one.
“What boys?” asked the owner of the livery stable.
“You know who I’m talking about!” the man exclaimed. “Bring them out here or…”
“Or what?” asked the sheriff, walking up behind them. It was 1913, but he still carried his rifle when strangers rode into town.
“Or there’s going to be trouble,” the angry man replied. “Maybe not today,” he added, glancing at the rifle, “but soon. You can’t protect those people forever.”
“What people are those?” asked the sheriff, taking another step towards him.
The man glared, then looked over at his friends. “Things are changing around here. There’s more moving in, who think the way we do. It’s just a matter of time before we’re the ones making the rules, then all those Native people will be out of this valley and these mountains.”
“Maybe,” the sheriff replied, “but today is not that day. Get on your horses and ride out of town.”
As the three men rode past the Christmas tree, the angry one yelled, “You boys can’t hide here forever. I will find you.”
Lorna Sullivan walked by the town’s Christmas tree, carefully carrying her basket over one arm. Her auburn curls were neatly pinned up to keep them out of the way, but also because it was expected. She looked up at the Victorian house across the street, which was her business and her home. It had been a rooming house many years ago, but now she and her friend, Millie Andrews, ran it as a Bed and Breakfast.
She smiled as she glanced down at the basket. The tourists enjoyed these little details, like using a basket rather than a tote. These were the things that made Silver Birch Valley unique. Well, at least one of the things. The Edwardian outfits, the hairstyles, even the horse-drawn carriages and vintage automobiles spoke of a simpler time and their visitors loved it.
Lorna stopped for a moment and looked back at the Christmas tree, which barely fit in the park’s large, octagonal bandstand. The tree was covered with old-fashioned decorations but no lights. Not yet. The tree lighting ceremony would take place tomorrow night and the entire town would be there. Silver Birch Valley had celebrated this ceremony for over a hundred years. Ever since those two young boys had been chased into their town and asked for help. It was a way to bring light and peace into a sometimes, dark world.
She took a step back and saw the little angel ornament hanging on one of the lower branches. It was a new addition and she guessed one of the children had placed it there this afternoon. They often made ornaments to hang on the tree and hoped people would vote for them at the ceremony. The whole town would gather to watch the lighting, sing Christmas carols, visit with each other, then enjoy desserts and warm beverages. And of course, vote for their favorite ornament.
Lorna loved living in a small town because it wasn’t like a big city. Whether people grew up in Silver Birch Valley or moved here as an adult, like herself, everyone soon became a part of the community.
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