Some of the actions on the list—like enrolling children in school—didn’t apply to Ivy. But there were a couple items she’d overlooked, at the end of the checklist. “Register to vote.” “Apply for homestead exemption.” “Register pets and obtain rabies tags.”

“Paperwork,” she muttered with a sigh. “Endless paperwork.”

Punkin just stared up at her, thumping his tail on the floor.

“Never mind that. Let’s check on our girls.” The chicks were snuggled into a corner of their cardboard carrier in a pile of straw. But the kitchen was cold, even colder than the rest of the house, so she carried their box into the living room and set it on a table near the hearth. Punkin pushed his muzzle up against the box and sniffed, wagging his tail.

“I know you’re supposed to be a bird dog,” Ivy chided. “But these girls are part of our family now, so you leave them alone.”

Dinner was high protein kibble for Punkin and for her, cheese and crackers, washed down with some of the excellent Cabernet she’d been gifted from Ezra Wheeler. She rinsed off her plate and the jelly jar she’d used as a wineglass and vowed to call him in the morning to thank him for the housewarming gift—and to inquire about the status of her new home’s heating system.

She spent the rest of the evening scrubbing the kitchen floor, counters, and cabinets before unpacking the boxes of kitchen equipment she’d loaded into her car.

When she looked up, it was after nine. “C’mon, Punkin,” she said. “It’s past our bedtime.”

The bedroom was even colder than the kitchen, and the cause, she quickly discovered, was a small missing pane of glass in the window across from the bed. As she ripped a piece of cardboard from one of her packing boxes and taped it over the window, she observed that all the windowpanes were loose and drafty. Probably every window in the house was in similar condition. She ruefully added new windows to the growing list of home repairs she’d been compiling ever since she’d pulled into the driveway at Four Roses Farm.

Punkin had already arranged himself across the foot of her bed, which was still draped with the red Santa suit. Surely, Ivy thought, Santa Bob’s family would want this sentimental family heirloom. After she shooed Punkin off the bed and onto his own fleece-lined dog bed, she placed the hat, boots, and trousers in the box where she’d found them. But as she was smoothing and folding the jacket, she felt something in one of the hidden pockets.

She unfolded a sheet of deeply creased blue-lined school notebook paper:

Dear Santa: I have been a very good girl this year. But I am sad becuz my mama is sad. If you could bring my daddy home from the war my mama would smile again and we would be happy and I would also like a puppy, but if you only bring me one thing, that’s okay. Please, Santa, bring my daddy home safe. His name is Everett and he has red hair, just like me. Your friend, Carlette.