“What have I told you about getting up on that ladder?” Miss Carolyn asked, hands firmly on her hips, silver eyebrow firmly raised. Kate avoided her gaze. She focused instead on breaking down the ladder for storage, no easy task considering the ladder’s height.
“Tomorrow’s the big day and everything has to be perfect.”
“There’ve got to be a thousand lights on that tree. How in Heaven’s name did you spot the broken one?”
There were actually 12,460 lights on the Main Street Christmas tree, but Kate didn’t want to correct her boss. Or look like the biggest festival nerd in town, though everyone probably already suspected as much. She shrugged.
“It’s a gift.”
To be fair, her eagle eye came more through experience than through some miracle of heavenly gift-giving. A lifetime of staring up at the tree with joy and awe had taught her the weak electrical spots. With the ladder broken down and folded, Kate scooped up the handle, groaning with the effort. She’d definitely feel the strain in her muscles tomorrow, but it was all worth it for that one tiny light. If the tree brought joy and the holiday spirit to even one person, Kate’s mission would be accomplished. Christmas Eve was the night the crowds were the densest and most hopeful; Kate didn’t want even one thing to go wrong for them.
She started off for Town Hall to return the ladder. With its balcony level and classic architecture, the main ballroom was used as Scrooge’s house, but they used some of the anterooms and recreation rooms for storage and costume changes. Miss Carolyn followed behind.
“You’re my best worker, kid, but you’re stubborn as they come.”
“We make Christmas for people, Miss Carolyn. What we do is important, right down to the tiniest little light bulb.”
“You really love this, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
Kate didn’t need to think about that for more than a second. Her entire life revolved around the festival. As far as she was concerned, Christmas was the best time of year. Not because of the presents or the food, though those were certainly part of it. To her, Christmas was the one time of year when everyone put aside their differences and sat together at the table of humanity. Hope lit the lamps and compassion played the music. Christmas wasn’t a holiday but a microcosm of the best of mankind, a reminder of what they could be if they only carried the spirit with them all year round.
It also made her excessively poetic.
“Well.” Miss Carolyn cleared her throat and pulled Kate away from the side door. “I need you to come with me.”
“Why?”
“We have a visitor from Woodward. And they’re waiting on us.”
The swinging of the heavy, oaken front doors of the town hall punctuated the ominous line. Heavy ladder still in tow, Kate stepped through the main marble atrium to see they were not entering some intimate meeting with their corporate overlords.
Judging from the sheer number of people present, the room looked more like an intervention than a meeting to discuss cost-cutting measures or whatever it was corporate decided to throw at them next.
Heads turned at the doors opening and a sea of worried, familiar faces turned to greet them. Mitch and Betsy Plinkett held hands and stared with distant eyes. Lindy Turnbull’s perfect skin wrinkled with concerned lines. Even little Bradley Lewisham, their Tiny Tim, gripped his prop cane until his knuckles went white. Costumes mingled with plain clothes, but one thing was consistent: fear.
Something had happened. Or was happening. And no one had told Kate about it. Her stomach dropped too far for her to pick it back up. She glanced sidelong at Miss Carolyn. She was a rock of consistency and positivity. If there was a North Star in this room, she would be it.
But when Kate looked, there was no guiding light to follow. Miss Carolyn’s rosy cheeks sunk into a pale shade of gray. Her eyes hardened. Dread prickled the hairs on the back of Kate’s neck. If whatever happened was enough to rankle their leader, it could only mean one of two things. Either someone had died, or they were getting shut down.
“Good evening.”
Kate’s head snapped to the front of the room, where a hastily constructed podium and a microphone stood. Too distracted by her friends and neighbors, she hadn’t noticed the setup when she walked in, but now it was all she could do to even blink. Behind the podium stood a solitary man. Against the white walls of the atrium, his black suit and golden hair stood out with the entrancing shock of an abstract painting, as if he were nothing more than lonely brushstrokes on a canvas.
He was also, as far as Kate could see, the only person in the room without an identifiable expression in his face. For someone so young—he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her, if that—he had the practiced look of a lifelong poker player. She wouldn’t have stood a chance against him in a game of Hold ’Em. His natural state seemed to be one of stone. Worse still, when he spoke, she realized it wasn’t just a skin-deep distinction. His unavailable emotions went all the way to his core.
“My name is Clark Woodward, and it’s my sad duty to inform you that my uncle, Christopher Woodward, passed away last month.”
Gasps from
