Page 21 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“Well, you would’ve. I don’t mind. Look, a young couple vanished right before Christmas over sixty years ago. It had the whole town buzzing until the mayor at the time hushed it up.”
Hannah Leigh’s coffee cup stilled halfway to her lips. “Disappeared?”
Birdie nodded, her grin as wide as the Chesapeake. “Poof. Everyone assumed they’d eloped, but there was never a wedding, no postcards, no sightings. Just gone.”
Nate caught the flicker of excitement in Hannah Leigh’s eyes about where this was heading.
“Sounds like we need to make a trip over to the Historical Society,” he said.
Birdie clapped her mittened hands in triumph.“Yes! You’d better. And when you find the scoop, remember who called it first. I expect front-page credit.”
Winnie chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for her phone again. “Mercy, Birdie, if curiosity were cash, you’d own the whole county by now.”
The office settled back into its steady buzz, but for Nate the morning had shifted. The locket, and the story sealed inside, wasn’t only a mystery waiting to be solved. It was a reason tospend more time with Hannah Leigh, and that filled him with a hopeful, restless breath that seemed a lot like possibility.
“Ready to see what we can dig up?” he asked.
“Lead the way,” Hannah Leigh said, her eyes bright.
He slipped his hand under her elbow, and together they ducked out the side door.
The narrow brick walkway led to the South Hill Historical Society housed in the red brick building trimmed in creamy limestone, arched windows with carved keystones. The deep slate roof punctuated by an old copper finial still shone like a penny in the winter sun. Cast-iron lanterns flanked the heavy double doors, their frosted glass panes etched with delicate scrollwork. Above them, shiny gold leaf lettering spelled outSouth Hill Historical Societyin elegant script.
“I never appreciated the beauty of the architecture of this building before.” Hannah Leigh looked up, her eyes following the steep roofline.
The decorations on the building matched the era of the architecture. Garlands of dried oranges and fragrant cinnamon sticks twined along the wrought-iron railings. From the central arch, a wreath of antique sleigh bells tied with a strip of fancy velvet ribbon hung.
Nate held the brass handle for Hannah Leigh. “Welcome to the archives,” he said with a grin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The door of the South Hill Historical Society creaked open, releasing a breath of cedar-scented warmth. Inside, time seemed to roll back a century. This building was historic in itself.
Hannah Leigh sucked in an audible breath when they stepped inside. “I’ve always liked old pressed-tin ceilings. I love how they reflect the Christmas lights.”
“Pretty, isn’t it? I built that walnut display case over there.” He didn’t mean to brag, but it was one of the best pieces he’d ever crafted. It had taken months to complete. Now, the shelves held leather-bound ledgers that stood like sentinels guarding the town’s architectural history.
“You did? Wow.” She walked over, running her hand across the smooth surface. “I didn’t know you made actual furniture. This is a big step from framing houses and putting up Christmas lights.”
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“True,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and avoiding his gaze.
He watched her for a beat, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We’ve all learned a few things in fifteen years.”
He enjoyed the way she absorbed the black-and-white photographs that wrapped the room in history. Steam engines puffing into the old station, Sunday parades down Main Street, and children waving from the schoolhouse steps. Each image, framed in dark wood, marched in perfect order along the walls like a silent gallery of South Hill’s story.
He wasn’t sure if it was his heartbeat or the old regulator clock ticking steadily on the mantel. More than once since Hannah Leigh had hit town, his heart had made itself known.
Near the front desk, a live Christmas tree stood like a tribute to Christmases past. Its short-needled boughs held tiny vintage train cars, silver sleigh bells, and sepia-toned photographs trimmed in gold cord. Cranberry-red velvet ribbons swept through the branches like soft trails of memory.
Hannah Leigh leaned closer, eyes tracing the photo of Main Street in the winter with the old theater marquee bright in the background. She wondered if Nate saw the similarities between that picture and last night.
“This place is incredible,” she whispered, her voice instinctively soft in the reverent hush.
Nate smiled, watching wonder bloom in her eyes. “When I was a kid, my dad used to drag me here for paperwork, and I thought it was the most boring place in the world.”
“Then you grew up,” she teased. “Or, wait. Have you really?”
