Chapter 13
“I’m telling you, he’s a matchmaker.”
Tillie reached for another kernel of popped corn to add to her string. It was quite long now, and took both Frank’s hands to keep the long strand from becoming tangled.
“And do stop eating the cranberries,” she scolded.
The pretty chain was nearly long enough now to stretch around the large evergreen tree by the summerhouse. Christmas wasn’t truly over for Tillie until she’d wrapped every tree in popped corn and cranberries for the birds and squirrels who were brave enough to poke their noses out of their winter nests.
“I doubt your uncle had any idea we’d fall in love when he demanded I lend your father my diplomacy skills,” he chuckled.
“Oh no? Well George and Corinne aren’t so sure.”
Now he laughed outright. “What do George and Corinne have to do with it?”
“Well, the Broughtons weren’t even going to come! But Uncle John wrote them and somehow persuaded the family to attend, and voila! George met Corinne and you shall never see a happier pair.”
“Hm. Well, not without looking in the mirror, anyway.”
He popped a piece of popcorn into her startled lips.
“Exactly! And then there’s Felicity and Jameson.”
“Now forgive me, my love, but that’s a stretch.”
“Not at all! If Uncle John hadn’t sent Felicity to Father’s study to retrieve a gift he’d left there for me she never would have spoken with Jameson. Or seen the shame he felt. Or heard his vow to reclaim his honor and rectify the damage he’d done.”
“So Uncle John just magically knew what three couples were going to fall madly in love and he arranged it all.”
“Well… yes.”
Frank laughed, a full and hearty sound that warmed Tillie’s heart. He’d come to Cherrywood Manor a strangely silent, reclusive fellow. And in some mystical, magical moment, he’d shed the bonds of his tortured existence and learned to laugh again. And to love. Her Uncle John Beckett had done this for him. And for her.
Tillie tied off the end of the string and reached her hand out to the man who would soon be her husband.
“Then how do you explain the nutcrackers?” she whispered.
He sobered. “Well, it was a lucky coincidence,” Frank sputtered.
“Coincidence? Coincidence, you say?” She dropped the popcorn and cranberry garland and scooted close enough to take both his hands in hers. “Uncle John brought only three nutcrackers. One for me, one for Corinne and one for Felicity. Only three. Not four, not two, but three.”
He started to interrupt but she placed a finger on his lips.
“Each with a red heart pinned to its chest. And holding out a golden ring in its right hand.” She tapped gently on his lips and let her hand fall away. “Explain that, my darling doubter.”
“Well they… I suppose… or maybe he…”
“Oh do be quiet,” she crooned.
And she proceeded to silence him in the best way she knew.
With a kiss.
Beyond the windows a new flurry of snow began to blanket the gardens. It sparkled and danced as it lazily fell, weaving a kind of mystical charm about the house. Bunnies scurried from their dens to snatch up a few more bits of popped corn and cranberries before the drifts overtook the yard. And inside the house that still wore its glorious Christmas holly, six beautiful young people moved closer and closer to the rest of their lives, lives made new and sparkling as each of them—with a little help from Uncle John—found the courage to open their hearts in the midst of a mystical moment.