She sat on a bench near the memorial, enjoying the feel of the winter sun on her face as she took inventory of the shops around the square. From here she spotted a hardware store and a gift shop, the café where she’d had lunch, a candy shop, and a florist.

“Hi!”

The young woman stood a few feet away. She was in her early twenties, Ivy thought, with dark, expressive eyes, long, wavy brown hair, and a shy smile, and she looked vaguely familiar.

“Hi,” Ivy said.

“Don’t think I’m weird, but I work in the clerk’s office, and I couldn’t help but overhear you just now, asking Mr. Schoonover about someone named Carlette? My name’s Phoebe Huddleston, by the way.”

“Hi, Phoebe, I’m Ivy Perkins. You don’t seem too weird to me. What’s up?”

“The thing is, my mom’s best friend’s name, growing up, was Carlette. She almost named me that, but anyway, it’s not a real common name, so I thought—”

“Maybe your mom knew Carlette? And her family?” Ivy asked eagerly.

“Mom lives over in Rockdale, but I’m going over there this weekend, so I could ask, if you want. Or maybe you could come with me and ask her yourself. She loves having company.”

Ivy thought about everything she needed to accomplish at Four Roses Farm before the moving truck with her belongings arrived. There were more closets and cupboards to be emptied, the broken window in her bedroom needed to be replaced, and she wanted to walk her new property and check out the old chicken coop. Her to-do list was long and time was short.

But. The prospect of discovering the fate of Carlette’s father was irresistible. She took out a scrap of paper and scribbled her phone number on it. “Here’s how to reach me. I would love to meet your mom and ask about Carlette.”

Chapter 4

Ivy stood back from the fireplace wall to admire her progress. She’d spent the morning painting the parlor. The color she’d chosen was a soft blue-gray-green that seemed to change as the light shifted in the room. It was the exact color—or so she hoped—of the eggs her Araucana chicks would lay, eventually.

She’d made another surprise discovery too, while getting ready to paint the front doorframe. A small wooden carved object with Hebrew lettering, which had been screwed to the right side of the doorframe.

“Huh.” It looked to be a mezuzah. It was yet another puzzle, finding a traditional symbol of the Jewish faith—at a home owned by a family known far and wide for their embrace of all things Christmas.

She heard the sound of a vehicle in the driveway. Punkin heard it too and gave a short, sharp bark. When she looked out the window she saw a large box truck parked there, and Ezra Wheeler and a helper were wheeling a furniture dolly onto the porch.

“Hi!” she said, opening the front door. “I thought you’d call to let me know you were coming?”