ChapterOne
Nora Bennett was having a moment.
Wrapped in the silence of her thoughts in her cozy home office, she doodled intricate patterns on a paper on the desk in front of her.
She was supposed to be writing her latest novel, but the words were not coming … and hadn’t been for a few days. Nora did not want to admit she had a bad case of writer’s block, but it was the truth.
She doodled some more.
Through the window, she watched snowflakes twirling and floating around, as if in no hurry to land. When they finally settled gracefully on the ground, bushes, and tree branches, everything looked pristine and untouched. The ultimate winter wonderland.
She had never figured it out but was certain there must’ve been a psychological explanation for the peace that flowed through her on snowy days. For as long as she could remember, it had been that way.
Probably one of the biggest reasons was the fact that Jeremy, her beloved late husband, had proposed to her in a memorable snowstorm like this one, at the top of their favorite ski run on Blue Mountain. Down on one knee, as friends of theirs got off the chairlift and gathered around, he had spoken the sweetest words to her. Then he dropped the ring box in the deep, powdery snow, which had turned Nora’s tears of joy into tears of laughter as he dug it out. The tears of joy returned as he tenderly placed the ring on her finger and whispered promises they believed would come true.
Nora had grown up in northern Ontario, where white winters were the norm, and happy childhood memories always surged back with fresh falling snow. She especially loved a winter storm with big fluffy flakes, and this was the first one this year. Early too. Since it was only mid-November, it would all probably melt in a few days. But she hoped it was a sign of what was to come.
Chickadees and cardinals were taking turns at the snow-topped bird feeder, while a noisy blue jay squawked its displeasure at the visitors from the apple tree in the corner of the yard. Nora was glad she had filled the feeder earlier in the week. The cardinal was Jeremy’s favorite bird, as well as hers, and she went to the pine sideboard, steps away in the hall, to pick up his binoculars to enjoy the show at the feeder even more.
Just then, her phone beeped with a text from her daughter Chloe, an artist living in Paris.
Chloe: Are you home? I’ve got the most exciting proposition for you and we have to talk about it now! I’m in a meeting but will FaceTime within half an hour. Can you be somewhere to take the call?
Nora: I will be here and can’t wait to talk to you. xo
She wondered what the exciting issue might be. Nora never knew what to expect from her exuberant daughter. Chloe had blossomed from a teen who had her share of struggles into a thoughtful, grounded young woman filled with resilience, kindness, and fire. She expressed such passion in her art, and Nora was deeply grateful she had found her path.
She went back to the window with the binoculars.
This was her happy place: her garden in the small yard of her grandmother’s 1850s cottage home she had inherited at twenty. Small-town life suited her, and she never regretted returning sixteen years ago with her thirteen-year-old daughter after being widowed the previous year.
The loss of Jeremy, a true soulmate and best father ever, to a sudden brain aneurysm had been devastating. But he had ensured she and her daughter were taken care of by taking out a generous insurance policy early in their marriage. Nora and Chloe had slowly found healing here in the comfort of the cottage and the closeness to nature. Hiking and skiing became their seasonal obsessions.
Both agreed they did not miss city life.
The red-brick, story-and-a-half house had been a weekend escape even before Chloe was born and already provided a comfortable ambiance in those early years. After Jeremy’s passing, mother and daughter shuffled existing furniture around and moved in their favorite early-Canadian pine pieces that Nora and Jeremy had collected at auctions in their first years together.
Art from their city house filled each room including the van Gogh, a Pissarro, and several Monet prints, bought on her splurge-worthy Paris honeymoon. Chloe’s treasured posters of van Gogh’s sunflowers brightened her bedroom. She had begged for them on her first visit to the Art Gallery of Ontario when she was six.
Without question, the Christmas trunk had been the first item loaded into the moving van that had brought their possessions from the city. A battered pine blanket box filled with cherished decorations going back to Nora and Jeremy’s childhoods, its unpacking was a tradition every December 1st,after a ceiling-high blue spruce was brought home the weekend before. Its sweet piney aroma always filled the house with a cozy festive vibe.
Chloe had grown up hearing her mom teasingly referred to by Jeremy as Mrs. Claus. Nora’s devotion to their family traditions made each Christmas special. Year after year, her magic filled the house once the trunk was opened and the tree securely fixed in the living room. The ritual of admiring each of the decorations and placing them on the tree and around the house was almost a religious undertaking. The tissue paper surrounding each one was carefully unwrapped and inevitably Nora told the story of the ornament’s provenance, even though the three of them knew it by heart.
That seasonal magic was contagious and eagerly embraced. Friends and family gathered for shortbread baking, carol singing and hearty meals year after year.
Mother and daughter shed tears when they closed the door of the house in the city for the last time. But before long, it felt like the cottage had always been home. Friends and family pitched in to make the transition as seamless as possible. The memories of Jeremy moved in with Nora and Chloe, helping bring comfort as the two became settled.
Nora and Chloe grieved together, at times weeping in each other’s arms and other times curled up alone in a quiet corner of the house. They talked openly about the pain brought into their lives by the loss of Jeremy. As years passed, there were still tears, but both women knew those tears were firmly rooted deep in their hearts. Expressions of eternal love.
Nora dedicated herself to being strong and positive for her daughter’s sake. Jeremy’s passing had left such a hole in their lives. More than anything, she’d wanted Chloe to grow up knowing her father was watching over them. His spirit was with them.
Jeremy continued to be Nora’s loving partner and soulmate in her heart, and she still talked to him about everything. He had been the best reader of the first drafts of her novels and she trusted his comments and critiques. This she missed. She had a supportive writing group she had belonged to for years, but it wasn’t the same as sitting by the fire or out in the garden or snuggled in bed sharing her writing with him. That loss had been another adjustment.
She wore his favorite silk nightgowns to bed every night. Those intimate memories had not faded. On some nights, she closed her eyes and could sense his hands caressing her, making her feel cherished and loved as he always had. She was convinced it was all she needed.
They had committed to a date night every two weeks after Chloe was born, and Nora had never stopped that ritual. She chose whichever weekend night she did not have any plans, poured herself a glass of wine, and got cozy with a good book, always trusting Jeremy was with her. Some of those nights didn’t go so well. After repeatedly playing “If the World Was Ending”shewould be in a puddle of tears with an empty wine bottle, angry at herself for being unrealistic.
When Chloe left for art school in Toronto, Nora missed her, but Toronto was less than two hours away and she came home most weekends. Nora felt no regrets about continuing life alone in the town where she had made trusted friends.
