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Theo leaned forward, his hands wrapped around his mug. “Uh oh. Did he slip?”
“He didn’t slip, but the wind blew the ladder flat onto the snowbank.” A laugh broke through her voice. “He was stuck on the garage roof for twenty minutes in a blizzard, wearing his red wool coat, holding two strands of unlit bulbs and yelling for me to bring the extension ladder out from the shed.”
Ben studied her face as she spoke. He saw the genuine warmth in her eyes, the gentle, affectionate way she held her husband’s memory, entirely free of bitterness or self-pity. She wasn’t avoiding the past, nor was she trapped beneath its weight. She had learned to carry her love for Tom forward into the present, allowing the happy memories to light up her life rather than obscure it.
A deep understanding settled into Ben’s heart. Standing in his kitchen, looking at Maggie across the kitchen table, he realized that she didn’t just offer efficient committee help or delicious cinnamon rolls. She understood the exact weight of loss he felt because she walked with it most days, and in her strength, he saw a path forward for his own heart.
“Sounds like he was a determined man,” Ben said gently and respectfully.
“He was.” Maggie met his eyes across the table, then she leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “And he would have appreciated your bark-flavored cocoa recipe.”
Ben smirked, lifting his stoneware mug in a silent toast as the first snow of the winter began to fall outside the saltbox window. He’d had reservations about inviting Maggie here, and he truthfully wouldn’t have if not for Theo insisting that she come.
Now, he couldn’t have asked for a better day.
BEN
The cold December sky over Main Street was a pale, brilliant blue, and still no more than a light dusting of snow had fallen by Monday afternoon.
Ben walked along the red brick path leading into Harbor Square, carrying two lined wooden crates stacked securely in his arms. The polished wood of the boxes gleamed as they held the twenty-four hand-carved ornaments he and Theo had spent the week finishing in the shop.
Beside him, Theo walked with quick, energetic steps, his winter parka zipped tight to his chin and his dark wool cap pulled low over his forehead. In his gloved hands, no longer mismatched thanks to a trip to the local outfitters on Sunday, Theo proudly carried a flat wooden display tray he’d sanded himself, holding it level like a precious tray of jewels. His curious eyes were wide as he took in the scene ahead, his face bright with excitement.
Harbor Square had transformed into a vibrant holiday fairground for the Mistletoe Market. White canvas vendor tents lined the perimeter of the brick plaza, decorated with pine garlands, dried cranberry wreaths, and bright red velvet ribbons wrapped around the iron lampposts.
In the center of the square stood the giant Fraser fir, its white paper wish tags fluttering in the sea breeze, while the smell of roasted pecans and hot cider filled the air.
Near the gazebo, the main booth for the Christmas Wish Society was decked in forest-green cloth. Maggie Bennett stood behind the long wooden counter, wearing her beige coat that made her dark hair stand out in stark contrast, and a red knitted scarf around her neck. She was arranging a row of ceramic mug sets when she looked up and spotted them coming along the brick path.
A warm smile lit up Maggie’s face as she stepped around the end of the counter to meet them. “Hello,” she said, her voice clear and welcoming against the chatter of the gathering crowd. “You two look like a real delivery crew.”
“We’ve got all twenty-four of them in the crates,” Theo announced proudly, setting his wooden display tray on the counter with great care. “Twelve stars and twelve harbor dories. I helped sand the dory hulls so they’re smooth as glass.”
“You did a wonderful job,” Maggie replied, reaching out to give Theo’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before turning toward Ben. “And you made incredible time. The market doesn’t officially open for another twenty minutes.”
Ben set the heavy crates on the sturdy wooden bench behind the display counter, pulling off his work gloves and tucking them into his coat pocket. “We wanted to make sure everything was set up before the crowd came in from the parking lot. The pine grain needed time to settle after the final coat of wax.”
He unlatched the brass hooks on the first crate and lifted the lid. Resting inside, cradled in clean white pine shavings, were twelve hand-carved star ornaments painted in cream and green. In the second crate rested twelve miniature harbor dories, each one crafted from clear white cedar with tiny copper ring pins for oars, and delicate grain lines sanded along the gunwales.
Maggie leaned over the crate, her breath catching slightly as she picked up one of the miniature dories. She held it in her palm, tracing the fine, precise curves of the bow with her thumb. “These are magnificent. The detail on the gunwales is extraordinary.”
Ben cleared his throat quietly, feeling a heat that he wasn’t used to rising along his neck. He looked away toward the gazebo, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just standard white cedar. Nothing fancy.”
“They’re far from standard,” a cheerful voice called out from the path.
Susan walked up to the booth, accompanied by David Harper, the high school music teacher. Susan wore a bright red wool jacket, her arms holding a tray of hot cider cups, while David carried a leather folder of what looked like caroling music.
Susan leaned over the counter, her eyes widening as she studied the carved wooden dories spread across the green cloth. “Look at the miniature copper ring pins on these dory oars!” she exclaimed, picking up a dory ornament to show her companion. “Wow. And the craftsmanship on this hull. This is legitimate hand-carved work, isn’t it?”
David adjusted his glasses, examining the tiny ornamental boat with genuine admiration. “It’s really remarkable. The proportions are exact to the working dories down at the marina. You couldn’t find details like this in any high-end store in Boston.”
“My grandpa carved the hulls, and I used the fine sandpaper on the bottoms,” Theo chimed in, standing tall beside the counter with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Ben’s heart felt light at the look of absolute pride on his grandson’s face.
“You’re a master craftsman in the making,” David told the boy with a wide smile. “I’m going to be the very first person in line to buy one of these for the chapel tree.”
Ben stood by the bench, watching his neighbors admire the ornaments as if they truly were something spectacular. He started to believe that he still had something to offer the world that could bring more than sad looks and avoidance. There wasn’t a trace of pity in Susan’s and David’s eyes. They saw a master woodworker whose hands had created something beautiful for their town.
He wondered why he let himself wallow in his own dreary existence for so long when this felt so much better.
