Back downstairs, Hope got a good look at her grandmother. A little older, but still with her cheerful face, sparkling eyes, and soft white hair. She wore a sweater with a holly pattern on it. Gram had always loved the holidays, no matter what was going on. Maybe she was getting older, but she kept herself young.
“Sit down, honey. I’ve got some fresh bread to go with that.”
Hope sat at the table and looked around. “Oh, it’s good to be home,” she said at last, as Mary put a bowl in front of her. “Where’s Grace?”
“Oh, I’m guessing she’s with J.C., putting the final touches on the plans for the festival tomorrow. She’s been helping him out, you know.”
“Grace? And J.C.? Working together?” She raised an eyebrow and gave her grandmother a telling look. “How many trips to the E.R.?”
Gram’s face took on an innocent expression. “They seem to be getting along just fine.”
“And Faith?”
“Faith and Marcus arrive tomorrow.”
“Faith and Marcus?”
Hope’s spoon clattered to the bowl. What? Last she’d spoken to Faith she’d claimed the Earl was getting on her nerves. But then, Hope remembered, there had been a particular tone in her voice that suggested something quite different...
“It appears Faith has decided to hold on to her earl,” Gram said, picking at the crust of a slice of bread. She put it down, folded her hands on the table and looked at Hope. “And what about you, dear? How was your trip to Alberta?”
Hope studied her bowl. “It was good. Mr. Nelson...” how strange it was to call him that! “...has a great facility, and the children were wonderful. I left him with a CD full of pictures.”
“And that’s it?” Gram sounded disappointed.
Hope schooled her features and looked up. “Was there supposed to be more?” she asked innocently.
Gram watched her closely but didn’t say anything.
“You wouldn’t have been playing matchmaker, would you, Gram?” She sent her grandmother a sly look.
“Of course not!” Gram protested, but roses appeared on her cheeks. “Well, maybe. He’s very good-looking, and right around your age, and I know he’s from good people...”
Hope fought the urge to laugh and patted Gram’s hand. “This chowder is as good as I remember. And the ten days away were good for me—so you’re forgiven for issuing ultimatums.”
Mary’s face relaxed. “It’s good to see you, Hope. I never thought I’d see all my girls under one roof again.”
“It’s good to be back.”
But a bit of Hope was still stuck in a sleigh in an arctic breeze, watching the northern lights. She missed it already—the coziness of the log house, the barn, the sight of the mountains in the distance and Anna’s cooking in the kitchen while Blake teased.
How was it she could be homesick for a place she hardly knew? She’d only been there for a few days. And she’d been gone for hours, not years.
“You all right, Hope?”
Hope shook the thoughts away. “Just tired. I think I might have a hot bath and an early night. Can we catch up more tomorrow?”
“Of course we can. You go ahead. I’m not going to be far behind you. Gotta keep up my energy for tomorrow’s hoopla.”
Hope kissed her grandmother good night and headed up the stairs. In the bathroom the scent of pink rose soap was in the air—a scent she always associated with Gram. She started the bath and went to her room while it was running to open her suitcase and take out pajamas. She found the flannel pants toward the bottom and was pulling them out when Blake’s present fell out onto the floor.
She picked it up and examined the wrapping, touching it with her fingertips, feeling the texture of the silver foil and the soft curve of the ribbon. She went to the bathroom and turned off the bath, and then went back and sat on her bed. Slowly she untied the ribbon, putting it carefully on her dresser. She split the tape with a fingernail, wanting for some odd reason to leave the paper perfectly intact.
Inside was a square box. She removed the lid to find an exquisite dream catcher inside, lying on a nest of soft cotton.
She lifted it out, admiring the intricate weave and the gorgeous gray and black feathers drifting down. She wondered if Anna had made it. She wouldn’t be surprised; the woman could do just about anything.
Folded on top of the cotton was a note. Her heart pounded as she took it out of the box and opened it.
There are different stories of the dream catcher, but this is my favorite: the hole in the center of the dream catcher is to let good dreams pass through and bless your sleep. The web is to catch all your bad dreams so they disappear with the dawn.
May all your dreams be sweet ones, Hope.
All my love, Blake
All my love. Hope stared at the note, stared again at the beads and feathers, and touched each bit tenderly.
All my love. The words repeated in her head and she bit down on her lip. Was that the feeling she couldn’t seem to pinpoint? Was it love? It must be, because why else would she feel so miserable?
CHRISTMAS Eve morning dawned as all Christmas Eve mornings should—cold, clear, with a robin’s-egg-blue sky and beams of sunlight that bounced off crystalline snow.
Hope slept in past the sunrise, waking shortly after nine. In Alberta it would be just past seven. Blake was probably up already and finished with the chores. His parents would arrive today from Phoenix for the holiday. He’d open his presents tomorrow, including the one she’d placed under the tree for him before she left.
The idea made her so lonely she curled up in the covers once more, soaking in the last bit of warmth.
But it was Christmas Eve, and there were things to be done. The festival was today, and events were going on all over town. She forced herself out of bed, straightened the covers, and looked in the mirror.
Should she straighten her hair? She looked at the curls tumbling over her shoulders, tighter than usual because it had still been damp when she went to bed. She’d been straightening it for years, but today she wanted to let it go. It looked...relaxed. And she was going to try to relax more. Accept things as they were rather than trying to be in control.
Besides, everyone in Beckett’s Run would remember her with corkscrew curls. She smiled to herself as she dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Why shouldn’t she enjoy the holiday? There’d be street vendors with food and hot chocolate, music and events all over town.
And if she joined in maybe she wouldn’t think of Blake quite so much.
That plan was soundly thwarted when she arrived downstairs. Grace was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee. When Hope walked in Grace simply got another cup out of the cupboard and poured her a drink.
“Hey,” Hope said quietly, wondering if Grace was still mad at her. Their last conversation hadn’t exactly gone well. “Where’s Gram?”
“Hey, yourself.” Grace handed over the cup. “Gram’s helping out with one of the events today. She said you went to bed early. I got in late...”
“I heard you. That board on the porch, remember?” Hope grinned at her sister. “It always did cause you trouble. With J.C. then, too, if I remember right.”
Grace