Page 18 of Christmas Treasures (Sugarville Grove #6)

MAX

T he morning after Bianca arrived, he woke to a white landscape outside the windows.

Snow had fallen during the night and now a thick, even blanket of snow coated everything in sight—the rooftops, the greenhouse, the fence rail, and the line of pine trees along the back drive.

The Christmas village was still dark, with Santa not arriving until midmorning.

For now, everything was quiet and peaceful.

Today would be a good day to get a Christmas tree. In years past, he’d bought a tree closer to Christmas so that it remained fresh for his annual Ugly Sweater Party. However, this year was different. He wanted to make it as special as possible for Bianca. Which meant a trip to Christmas tree farm.

Would Charlie still want to join them? He’d call and ask, even though he felt that she might have changed her mind. Still, he had to try.

He quickly pulled up her number and called. She answered on the second ring.

“Is everything okay?” Charlie asked, sounding breathless .

“Yes, all is well. Everyone slept through the night.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid she might wake up disoriented and scared.”

Had Charlie experienced that after her mother died?

“It’s good that Camilla’s here and agreed to sleep in her room.” Max had put an air mattress on the floor for Camilla so that Bianca would feel less lonely in a new, strange house. “But she’s leaving in a few days.”

A slight pause. “Was there a reason you called?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you still wanted to go with us to get a tree?”

Another pause before she said, “I actually can’t. Something came up. Anyway, you don’t want a Scrooge along to spoil the fun.”

His instinct was to press, but he knew better. Charlie would be less likely to back down if she felt at all cornered. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Thanks for the invite, though.”

“If you change your mind, we’re headed out after breakfast. Will probably be there around ten.”

“Good to know.”

He hung up, still staring out at the snowy scene. Behind him, the soft patter of feet broke the silence.

Bianca.

She had her stuffed cat tucked under one arm, and her hair was sleep-mussed on one side, flat where it had pressed against her pillow. She joined him at the window, pointing outside. “è neve?” Is it snow?

“It is,” Max said. “Fresh as it gets. It came while we were sleeping.”

She leaned closer, hands on the glass. “Tutta la notte?” All night?

“Mm-hmm.” He crouched next to her. “Have you seen snow before? ”

She shook her head. “Solo nei film." Only in movies.

“Well, welcome to the real thing.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Just stared at it as though it might melt if she looked away. Then she whispered, “Posso toccarla?” Can I touch it?

“We’ll have breakfast first, and then we can go out.”

Her eyes lit up. “And angeli?” And angels?

Max chuckled. “Yes, angels.”

Camilla appeared then, wrapped in a robe. “Good morning.”

“She wants to make snow angels,” Max said. “Does she have the right clothes for the snow? Mittens and a warm jacket?”

Camilla shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. I can find something in the shop. We keep a stock for tourists. For now, let’s have some breakfast.” Max ruffled Bianca’s hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Dov’è Charlie?” Bianca asked. Where is Charlie?

“She’s at her home. è a casa sua." His Italian was starting to come back to him. Lucia had teased him terribly about his American butchering of pronunciations, but he’d kept trying anyway.

Bianca asked a series of questions about Charlie. Why wasn’t she here? Where was her home? Could they visit her?

Max did the best he could to answer, with Camilla explaining what he couldn’t say. She was at her home, and yes, they could visit her if they were invited.

Max led them into the kitchen. Camilla and Bianca settled in at the table while he made coffee and whipped up some pancake batter. “Pancakes with some Hayes family syrup?”

Camilla conveyed this to Bianca, explaining that Max’s family made the syrup. Bianca nodded enthusiastically.

Soon, the griddle was hot, and Max poured some of the batter into sizzling oil. A few minutes later, he had a stack of pancakes for each of them. The coffee had finished brewing, and he poured Camilla a cup before adding milk to his own.

“Ready to eat?” With a dramatic flourish, Max held up the plate for Bianca’s inspection.

She nodded quickly, her legs swinging under the table. Her pink socks had a hole in one toe, and she kept curling it under as though she was trying to hide it.

Max placed it before her, remembering how his mother used to supervise the usage of the syrup, not wanting them to have too much sugar. He’d protested back then but was glad now that he was an adult that she’d had enough sense to regulate him and his brothers.

With this in mind, he poured a modest stream of syrup over her stack. “This is the good stuff. The kind we save for snow days.”

Bianca tilted her head, looking at the bottle, then tracing the Hayes Maple Syrup logo with her finger. “Your name?”

“That’s right. My family has a maple syrup farm. This comes from inside the trees.” He thought she might think they actually made the syrup themselves instead of merely harvesting it.

Bianca took a bite and closed her eyes. “è dolce.” It’s sweet.

“You like it?” Max asked.

She nodded, mouth full.

“Good.” He joined them at the table. “I was thinking—today would be a good day to get a Christmas tree. Here in Sugarville Grove, we all get our trees from the local tree farmer. There are rows and rows of trees to choose from. What do you think?”

Camilla translated to Bianca, explaining that they would get a real tree at a local farm and decorate it here at Max’s home.

Bianca said something to Camilla that he couldn’t catch. Camilla translated for him. “She wants to know if it hurts the tree when they cut it down. And if Christmas trees here have maple syrup inside of them.”

Max chuckled, explaining that they would get a fir tree and they didn’t have syrup inside them. “And it definitely doesn’t hurt the tree to be cut. In fact, it will be excited to be chosen, especially by a little girl named Bianca.”

Camilla translated and Bianca expressed relief that the tree didn’t hurt. “L’albero saprà che sono io?” Will the tree know it’s me?

He had to think quickly to come up with a good answer.

“You’ll have to look and listen carefully to know which one is calling out to you.

When you’re in nature, you must be quiet.

Only then can you hear the songs of the trees and the whispers of the grass.

They have something important to say, if you only listen.

If you do, you’ll find your tree. And yes, it will know who you are. ”

Camilla conveyed this to the child in Italian.

Bianca listened with such an earnest expression on her face that his heart swelled in a way that felt both tender and raw.

She was an intelligent and sensitive child.

And she reminded him of her mother so much it hurt.

Lucia had been kind in the same way, always feeding anyone who came in, even if they couldn’t pay the full bill.

He’d once said she needed to be less generous so that she could actually make a profit.

She had replied that seeing a hungry person eat her nourishing food was payment enough.

By then, they’d finished their breakfasts. Max had already showered, but Bianca and Camilla still needed to get ready. He left them to it so he could go down and help his staff open the store for the day, promising to be back for them in thirty minutes with some snow boots and pants.

First morning down. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Max turned on Christmas music as they drove out to the Martins’ farm.

Bianca sat in the back seat, looking out the window, clearly taking it all in.

What was it like to see Sugarville Grove and its surrounding countryside, blanketed with snow, for the first time?

He’d lived here for most of his life, other than his years traveling the world, and sadly, he didn’t really see this beautiful place as he should.

It was easy to take for granted when one lived here.

However, imagining it from Bianca’s viewpoint made it all seem fresh and new to him too.

The red barn appeared first, roof lined with twinkling lights, like a beacon of Christmas joy. As Max turned into the gravel lot at the tree farm, Bianca let out a gasp from the back seat.

“Guarda,” she whispered. Look .

The wide farmhouse porch was wrapped in garlands of pine, bright red bows dotting the banisters. A massive wreath hung on the front door, and lanterns flickered warmly along the steps. Beyond the house, rows upon rows of snow-dusted trees stretched across the lot.

Max parked the truck, then turned around. “What do you think?”

Bianca drew her hands together, eyes shining. “è bellissimo.”

“I’ve been coming here every Christmas season since I was even younger than you,” Max said.

Camilla translated.

“Eri piccolo come me?" Bianca squinted at him, as if it was impossible to imagine. Were you small like me? "Ma tu sei così grande adesso, com'è possibile che sei stato piccolo?" But you’re so big now, how is it possible you were ever small?

“Trust me, kiddo. I used to be small and scrappy. ”

Camilla chuckled and then translated what he’d said to Bianca, who giggled.

They stepped into the crisp air, treading carefully through the ice and mud of the parking area.

From speakers near the barn, old-fashioned Christmas music drifted into the winter sky, cheerful and sweet.

A firepit crackled nearby, surrounded by rustic benches where kids roasted marshmallows.

Tree hunters laughed and chatted, strolled through the rows, sipping cider or hot chocolate.

Max held Bianca’s hand as they approached the small wooden gift shop beside the barn. He suggested they go in and pick out a few new ornaments. Camilla translated this to Bianca.

The child seemed intrigued by the idea as they stepped through the door of the shop.

She held up her nose, sniffing the air that smelled of cinnamon and fresh gingerbread.

Another thing he hadn’t truly noticed in years.

Experiencing the world through the eyes of a child was a remarkable gift. One he’d not fully anticipated.

Shelves were lined with hand-carved reindeer, delicate glass ornaments, painted snowflakes, quilted stockings, and miniature Nativity sets. A small display near the counter offered fresh gingerbread men and women with smiling faces and dustings of sugar that sparkled under the lights.

Bianca wandered, stopping to peer at certain items. Her gloved fingers traced the edge of a snowflake carved from wood. She paused at a small table filled with ornaments.

“You may choose two,” Max said, crouching beside her.

Her gaze slid across the table before she pointed to a simple ceramic angel, hand-painted in white and gold. “This one…è come la nonna.” It’s like Grandma.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, it is.”

The second ornament Bianca chose was a small glass heart with swirls of red and green encased inside, and a ribbon looped at the top. “For Mamma.” This was said in English.

“We’ll hang it near the top of the tree. Where the light hits it best.” Max swiped at the corners of his eyes. This little girl was too precious for this world. He vowed right then and there to keep her safe. No matter the cost to himself.

Bianca gave a small nod, then tucked the heart against her chest for a moment.

They wandered through the rest of the shop.

Bianca stopped in front of a Nativity set displayed on a small wooden table.

Each figure was hand-carved with smooth, rounded features and soft, earthy tones.

The stable was a pale weathered blue, its roof topped with a delicate star.

Mary and Joseph gazed down at the babe in the manger.

Around them, shepherds and animals gathered—a kneeling sheepdog, lambs nestled together, a curly-haired boy with a bundle of wool, and a donkey.

Overhead, two angels hovered mid-flight, wire wings delicate, their hands holding trumpets or tiny gifts.

One angel leaned forward, as though whispering good news to the world below.

Bianca stepped closer. "A casa, avevamo sempre un presepe." At home, we always had a Nativity set. She traced the baby’s cradle with the tip of her finger. "Posso averne uno anche qui?" Can I have one here too?

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Max said. His mother was going to love this girl.

Bianca was all sweetness and love. How cruel that she’d lost both her mother and grandmother.

But now she had him. And his family. That counted for something.

He was about to suggest they head out to find the tree when movement at the front door caught his eye.

He turned to see Charlie standing there, looking pale and shaky. But she was there nonetheless .

Bianca squealed and ran toward her, throwing her arms around Charlie’s knees and speaking rapidly in Italian.

Charlie squatted down to the child’s level, replying in Italian. Camilla had wandered off to look around but came back to greet Charlie with a warm smile.

“I didn’t think you could come,” Max said.

“I thought Bianca might need me,” Charlie said. “And it felt selfish to stay away.”

Max moved closer, speaking softly in her ear. “Is that the only reason?”

She met his gaze, a pretty flush on her cheeks. “It might have something to do with you too.”

“Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.” Max discreetly brushed his hand against hers. “Really glad.”

“Me too,” Charlie said.

He told all three of the ladies that he would pay for their items and meet them at the hot cider stand. They agreed, all chattering in Italian as they exited the store.

He smiled to himself as he headed toward the checkout line.