Page 39 of Christmas Treasures

“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 turnedon 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 reallyseethis 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.

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