Page 94 of The Christmas Keepsake
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acting is in everything but the words.
—Stella Adler
As first light spilled through her bedroom window, Mallory restlessly tossed around in her sheets, her mind racing with the revelations from Nan’s journal. Pop, the gentle soul who’d run Popadine’s Christmas Tree Farm all these years, who had become Hollis’s adoptive grandfather, was Ralph. The same Ralph who had stolen Nan’s heart all those years ago in a high school Christmas play. Who’d unknowingly fathered a child with Nan that had tragically passed away.
Ralph Popadine was Pop?
The pieces had fallen into place like a bittersweet puzzle. Every interaction Mallory had witnessed between Nan and Pop at Memory Oaks now carried new meaning, weighted with decades of unspoken history. History that Nan might not even remember at this point. In fact, Mallory felt certain she didn’t.
Rolling onto her side, Mallory hugged her pillow close as she imagined young Nan and Ralph, their love blooming in simpler times. The way Nan wrote about Ralph was different from how shedescribed Mallory’s grandfather Mickey. Both loves were real, but first love had a magic all its own, an innocence that could never quite be recaptured.
Another thing that had kept Mallory tossing last night was a final note from Nan, along with a collection of her mother’s letters, an envelope with a substantial amount of money, and Daisy’s contact information.
Dearest Granddaughters,
It’s not an ornament but I saved all the Christmas letters your mother sent after that last visit. Read them and you’ll see that she was following both of you every step of the way along your journey to this point. You’ll find her address on the letters. It hasn’t changed. If you should want to reach out, she’d be thrilled, but if you choose not to, Daisy will never hold that against you. Like love, it’s a choice that is yours to make.
P.S Daisy sent a savings bond for each of you every year since the last time you saw her. Consider the money like the rainy day fund that my mother used when I came home from New York, pregnant and scared. Everyone should have one, and you’ll know when it’s time to use it.
Mallory had been too stunned and tired to even consider what this final keepsake meant. She would need to talk to Maddie before doing anything. She didn’t know exactly how much, but the rainy day fund that Daisy had created for them was substantial. Maybe even enough to solve all the concerns of Nan’s care and the upkeep for the theater. Wow.
On a yawn, Mallory sat up in bed and glanced over at the nightstand clock. She’d already planned to see Nan this morning, like she did any morning when she didn’t have to work at the hospital.I wish I could tell Nan that I finished her journal.There were so many questions Mallory still had left to ask. Most, however, were now answered. All that was left for Mallory to do was decide what the revelations meant in relation to her own life.
Hurrying, she showered, dressed, and made her cup of coffee to go, and then stepped out into the chilly morning. As she drove, frost sparkled on bare tree branches, and Christmas lights twinkled from nearby houses, reminding her of the season’s magic—and of Hollis. Always of Hollis these days. Was he working the tree farm this morning? She envisioned him walking his dogs along the rows of trees, talking to them and himself, his boots making fresh footprints in the new fallen snow. Or walking one dog and pulling the other in a wagon. Even dogs could use a little fresh air for healing, right?
After parking, Mallory hugged her heavy coat tighter across her chest and walked briskly toward the front entrance of Memory Oaks, the cold air nipping her cheeks and nose.
“There’s our star director!” Francis cheered from the front desk. “The play was absolutely magical last night. You’ve done your grandmother proud, keeping her tradition.”
“Thanks.” Mallory managed a tired smile.
Francis’s expression softened. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve been carrying some heavy thoughts.”
“Just… I don’t know. I guess I’m processing some family history,” Mallory answered carefully.
“Mm. I’m processing some things this morning too.” Francis sighed. “Margaret put in her retirement notice earlier. She’ll be leaving us next month. We’re happy for her, of course. She’s earned her rest. But it’s a real loss for Memory Oaks. She’s one of our best.”
“She’s been so great with Nan. It must be hard finding qualified nurses in a town this size.”
“Like finding a needle in a haystack,” Francis agreed. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone looking for work, would you?”
Mallory shook her head, her mind already drifting toward Nan’s room. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Mallory continued down the hallway, watching her feet as she walked. Outside Nan’s door, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks—laughter. Rich, genuine laughter that transported her back to her childhood, when Nan’s joy had been a constant presence.
“Nan?” Mallory knocked softly and entered to find Pop seated beside Nan’s chair, both caught in the afterglow of shared amusement. The sight struck Mallory with such force that she had to grip the doorframe. Here they were, two people who might have spent a lifetime together, finding each other again in the winter of their lives. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
“Mallory!” Pop’s face creased with genuine pleasure. He turned to Nan, his voice gentle. “Look who’s come to visit.”
Nan’s eyes held that familiar mix of confusion and polite interest as she studied Mallory’s face. The lack of recognition still hurt, but Mallory had learned to find joy in each moment rather than mourning what was lost. “Who are you?”
“Just a friend of Pop’s. Hi, Pop,” Mallory said, glancing in his direction and sharing a look.
Settling into a nearby chair, she watched how naturally Pop and Nan interacted, how their shoulders angled toward each other without conscious thought. “The play was wonderful last night,” she told them. “We performed it in your barn, Pop.”
