“Everybody have a good night in your new house? I’m glad I put out some extra straw for you. Did you girls huddle up together to stay warm?” She filled their water dish with fresh water and poured chicken mash into their feeder.
“Okay, stay warm, ladies.” Ivy dashed for the kitchen door with Punkin at her heels, her breath making clouds in the chilly morning air
She shed her damp boots, jacket, mittens, and knit cap and poured herself a cup of the coffee she’d brewed before going out to check on her flock.
“I feel like a real farmer girl,” she confided in Punkin, who seemed puzzled that she was still in her pajamas—although with a sweatshirt pulled over them for warmth. “Do you feel like a farm dog? Maybe, in the spring, I should get you a cow to herd?”
Ivy stood, staring out the kitchen window at the winter wonderland that had transformed the landscape overnight. Footprints—hers and Punkin’s—were the only things marring the thick white layer of snow covering everything in sight.
Snow! That sound she’d heard in the middle of the night was sleet, turned to snow. It blanketed the hard-packed ground, the weathered toolshed; even the newly rebuilt chicken coop was covered with snow. She’d been living in Atlanta—where it snowed only rarely—for so long that she hadn’t considered how frequently snow came to the mountains of North Carolina.
She heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway.
Punkin stood at the front door, barking furiously and wagging his tail. There were two vehicles. Ezra was emerging from his Jeep, and the box truck from the community thrift store pulled up alongside with Ezra’s friend Jake at the wheel.
It was only nine o’clock. On a Sunday morning. She didn’t know whether to be alarmed or grateful for her real estate agent’s dogged helpfulness.
Ivy ran to the bedroom and hastily stepped out of her flannel pajama bottoms and into a pair of jeans. She ran a brush through her sleep-tangled hair. She was halfway to the front door but turned around, bolted back to the bathroom, washed her face, and brushed her teeth.
* * *
The two men staggered under the weight of the massive, lumpy sofa as they lugged it up the porch steps and into the house.
“How on earth did you manage this? On a Sunday? This close to Christmas?” Ivy asked as Ezra nodded a greeting.
“Don’t ask,” Jake grumbled as he set the sofa down in the same exact spot he’d moved it from only a week earlier.
“I found his mother-in-law a new house. Three hours away,” Ezra said. “No more Sunday drop-in visits from Big Mama. He owes me. Big-time.”
“Consider that debt paid,” Jake said. He looked around the living room. “What next? You want the dining room table and chairs?”
“All of it, I guess,” Ivy said. “Especially the bed frame. And whatever else the thrift store didn’t sell.”
“It’s all out in the truck. Every dad-burned stick of it,” he added meaningfully.
“Jake?” Ezra’s voice sounded a warning. “We haven’t closed on Big Mama’s house yet. You might want to adjust your attitude.”
“I’m going.” Jake trudged out onto the porch, with Punkin bringing up the rear.
* * *
After she’d tipped Jake heavily, despite his halfhearted protests, she and Ezra watched the truck pull away from the farmhouse.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Ivy said. “Hauling all that stuff off—and then bringing it back on a Sunday—when you could be watching football, or, I don’t know, doing Christmas stuff…”
“Too early in the day for football. Anyway, I’m more of a pro baseball fan, myself,” Ezra said. He plopped down on the sofa, looked up, and patted the cushion next to him. “Come on, sit down for a minute. Every time I come over here, it seems like you’re in a constant state of motion. Don’t you ever slow down?”
“I do,” she protested. “How about you at least let me fix you some coffee or something?”
Ezra looked dubious.
She sank down onto the sofa beside him. “Okay, maybe you’re right. It’s part of my nature. I’ve always had a lot of pent-up energy. My grandmother used to call me Busy Lizzie. And it was high on the list of my ex’s very long list of ‘things I hate about Ivy.’”
“No offense, but your ex sounds like a dick,” Ezra said.
Ivy guffawed. “You know what? He really is a dick. I’ve wasted so much time this past year, beating myself up for being a failure as a wife, for not being what he needed me to be, I guess it didn’t occur to me until very recently that actually the divorce probably wasn’t all my fault.”
“Glad I could help out with that,” Ezra said modestly. “All part of being a full-service real estate agent.” He gazed around the room, at the worn but sturdy furniture, the wing chairs with their faded floral upholstery flanking the fireplace, the oak dining room set with its scarred tabletop and old-fashioned wobbly chairs, and the massive carved-oak sideboard.
“I’m sorry all your belongings got ruined in that wreck, but I gotta say, this stuff just looks like it’s supposed to be here.”
“You might be right,” Ivy agreed. “I think it’s starting to grow on me.”
“There’s only one thing missing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
He got up and walked to the right of the fireplace, to a small nook lined with bookshelves.
“You need a Christmas tree. And this is the exact right spot for it.”
“What for?” Ivy countered. “It’s just me and Punkin. And I’ve still got so much I want to do to get settled here, a messy Christmas tree is the last thing I need.”
Ezra clutched at his heart, pretending to be shocked. “Do you even realize where you’re living? Christmas tree farms—especially ones that sell Fraser firs—are a major part of the economy in this part of the state. According to the Tarburton Chamber of Commerce, of which I am a proud member, everyone needs a Christmas tree.” He pointed down at the scarred floorboards. “Look. There are gouges in the wood here, and there’s an old water stain. And there’s an electrical outlet right here. I’ll bet you money, this is where the Roses put up their tree.
“Maybe next year,” Ivy said. Why was everyone so insistent that they knew what was good for her? “Come on out to the kitchen. The least I can do after all your hard work is give you something to drink.”
* * *
Ezra wrapped his hands around the mug of coffee and leaned down to scratch Punkin’s ears. “Have you guys been out playing in the snow yet?”
“Punkin went romping around a little bit this morning when we went out to feed the chickens, but it was so cold, we came right back inside,” Ivy said. “I was just standing in here looking out at it when you and Jake pulled up with the furniture. It’s so beautiful, all that clean, untouched white. I hate to muddy it up any more by tromping around in it.”
“That’s what snow’s good for,” Ezra said. “Besides, there’s more where this came from. I saw the weather forecast this morning. We’re supposed to get another two or three inches by midweek.”