“All of them? That kind of sucks, doesn’t it?”

Ivy shrugged. “Most of them were from his family. I don’t mind. Decorating for Christmas isn’t really a priority for me this year what with all I need to do around here.”

“Like what?”

She ticked off the items on her list. “Number one is replace the missing pane of glass in the bedroom window. I’m afraid I’ll eventually have to replace or reglaze all these drafty old windows. But in the meantime, there’s another missing pane in the back bedroom window, and then my bathroom sink is stopped up, and I want to replace that front door lock because it really is too tricky. And then there’s the chicken coop…”

“I might know a guy,” Ezra said. A horn honked from the driveway. “Okay, I’d better go.”

Her new friend, Phoebe, called just as Ivy was washing the last traces of paint from her hands and arms.

“Hey, Ivy. My mom said she’d love to talk to you about her friend Carlette. I’m going over there this afternoon, and you could go with me if you want.”

“I’d love that,” Ivy said.

“I’ll pick you up at four.”

Sally Huddleston read the Santa letter out loud, then folded it and handed it back to Ivy.

“This brings back so many memories,” she said, sighing. “Carlette and her mama lived across the street from my family, growing up on Spruce Street. I believe that house belonged to Mr. Jones’s parents, and they were staying there while Mr. Jones was off in Vietnam.”

“Jones?” Ivy said eagerly. “That was her last name?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Huddleston nodded. “I know her daddy’s name was Everett, and her mama’s name was something with a D. Debra? Or Donna? Of course, I always just called her Mrs. J. I asked my own mother once why Mrs. J. hardly ever smiled or laughed, and she said it was because of the war.”

“Do you know how to reach Carlette now?” Ivy asked. “Do you know if her father did make it back from Vietnam?”

“No, honey,” Mrs. Huddleston said sadly. “I honestly don’t know if he did. They moved away, I think it was right before we started third grade. Somewhere in South Carolina where Mrs. J had family of her own. We were both real tore up about it, because up until then, we were inseparable. We were pen pals for a while, but then I guess one of us quit writing.”

“Did you save any of her letters?”

“I did,” Mrs. Huddleston said. “Saved ’em up in a Whitman’s Sampler candy box, but who knows what happened to that? I wish I had more answers to give you.”

Ivy’s shoulder sagged a little, and Mrs. Huddleston gave her knee a sympathetic pat. “How are you liking Four Roses Farm? I sure hope you’re going to keep up Bob and Betty Rae’s tradition.”

“Dressing up as Santa and Mrs. Claus?” Ivy laughed. “I don’t think so.”