A Christmas Hope Read Free

very special. Back before you were born there were many legends about Santa Claus, who is also called Saint Nicholas. Your papa found this, picked it out himself.”
    â€œEnough of the history lesson,” Papa said. “Let’s tell the story.”
    I settled in, joy widespread on my cherubic face as he began to read the familiar words: “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse . . .”
    It wasn’t the rhyming words I was concentrating on, but rather the deep, masculine tones coming from Papa as he read to me Clement Clarke Moore’s famous Christmas poem, finding security in his confident voice. As he read each line and as he turned the pages, all of which were filled with colorful images of Santa (still green-suited), his flying reindeer, a cavalcade of holiday scenes came vividly to life. For a moment it felt like magic spun inside our house, and I settled in as I asked Papa to read it again, and then a third time, and finally during the fourth time I fell asleep, dreaming of my own sugar plums and dancing fairies.
    It was a Christmas Eve I would remember forever.
    Mostly because our family would never again spend Christmas in Linden Corners, and though I took many memories with me, what I left behind . . . was the book. Youth are foolish, not knowing what they have when they have it. With age grows a certain wisdom. You realize what you have lost, and you miss it dearly. You want it back.
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    And so here I am. That’s the reason I’ve returned to Linden Corners, to rediscover the lost magic of Christmas all over again, to be able to revel in its joyful spirit. While the early steps of my journey were done so at your urging, it is just mine now to complete. Only when I hold that antique book in my embrace again will I consider my mission complete, not only for me but for you, for us. The last gift I ever received from my father, a gift that needs to be rediscovered and shared with the world, it is that which I must find. For me, but most especially for you, my dear.

P ART 1
    RETURNING HOME

C HAPTER 1
    N ORA
    â€œ H ow come it’s snowing . . . it’s only October.”
    â€œBecause, honey, we’re in the thick of Upstate New York and in this neck of the woods they only have two seasons, winter and August.”
    â€œThat makes no sense, one’s a month and the other is a season.”
    No argument there. She nodded agreeably. “Welcome to Linden Corners.”
    The boy looked dubiously at his mother. “Am I going to like living here?”
    Good question, she thought. Was she? Did she ever like it?
    The drifting snowflakes falling all around the fire-red Mustang were only the first hint that she was nearing the tiny village of Linden Corners, but it wasn’t until she crested over the rise in the highway and came upon the spinning sails of the old windmill that she knew she was truly home. Home, she thought, afraid to taste the flavor of the word on her bitter tongue. What other notion instilled such a juxtaposed sense of both comfort and failure? Being back here was reason enough to sigh, and not in a relaxed way. Her name was Nora Connors Rainer, and she wasn’t pleased by any of this, not the snow and not the sight of that windmill, not to mention the idea of Linden Corners itself. Returning to the place of her childhood meant only one thing: Her adult life was an utter disaster, and given the fact that her car was overstuffed with her belongings—what some might call “baggage”—a jury would render a verdict within minutes of deliberating. Guilty, Your Honor, of grossly mismanaging her life, as well as that of her twelve-year-old son. She was a lawyer by trade, unable to even win her own case. How she wished she could just continue driving through the village, it was small enough it would only take a minute or so. A one-blink-and-you-miss-it kind of town.
    There was