Page 4 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
The list of to-dos was long. The judging criteria for the gingerbread contest stretched a mile and twice as detailed.
Evan would’ve required the plan to be color-coded, printed on heavy cardstock, and emailed as a digital backup. Aunt Winnie preferred the clipboard-and-cookie approach. Hannah Leigh found she didn’t mind the trade.Good riddance, Evan.
“No more stalling,” Winnie declared, tucking a pen behind her ear. “The gingerbread nativity contest won’t judge itself, and you promised to be my right hand.”
So much for easing into Christmas. Apparently, rest wasn’t on the schedule until after New Year’s.
Winnie moved briskly through the house, her shoes tapping in quick, decisive steps as she led the way.
“Stalling? I haven’t even been here long enough to stall.” Hannah Leigh scanned her clipboard of tasks. “Is the gingerbread nativity contest tonight?”
“The judging is. We have to award the winner’s ribbons before the display is open to the public. Let’s go.”
Hannah Leigh opened her mouth to protest, but Winnie handed her a travel mug of cocoa and directed her firmly into the car, reminding her to smile as if she were on the Chamber payroll.
“Wait until you see Dogwood Hall in person,” Aunt Winnie said as she got into the car. “The pictures I sent don’t do it justice.”
The ride was quick, and shoppers filled Main Street. When they pulled into the venue parking lot, the parking lot was full, and the sky was full of stars.
The long, low brick school had sat empty since her teens, when a new campus opened across town. Once a squat brown school with tired blue panels, the building now looked fresh in glossy white, board-and-batten siding giving it a modern farmhouse charm. The windows shone with promise.
For generations, the old auditorium served as the place that fed them at noon and tested their jump shots by night. Part cafeteria, part gym, it was where the whole town had gathered for meetings and celebrations.
But now, the chandeliers replaced fluorescent lights, and a fresh, glossy white finish now covered the brick. It was far from a utilitarian building now. It wore the new role of venue well. Pine roping dotted with glossy red ornaments and shiny silver stars hung across its wide double doors, dressing the building for the upcoming holiday.
Winnie tipped her head toward the schoolhouse. “It’s hard to believe this old place is hosting the opening night of the South Hill Hometown Holiday Festival next week. Dogwood Hall. Ain’t she grand? If this doesn’t bring the past and present together, I don’t know what will.”
Hannah Leigh stared at it from the sidewalk, breath catching in her chest.
Aunt Winnie snapped her fingers. “Don’t dally. Gingerbread awaits.”
They slipped in through the back. Muffled carols and the peppery scent of freshly baked gingerbread washed over Hannah Leigh, making her hungry. Tables stretched wall to wall. Each displayed a gingerbread creation more ambitious—and some more lopsided, bless their hearts—than the last. Some actually even looked like a nativity scene.
Winnie handed Hannah Leigh a clipboard and pointed toward the first entry, where the stable roof saggedunder a snowdrift of powdered sugar. “Structural integrity: questionable. Spirit of Christmas: excellent.”
Hannah Leigh’s smile tilted, the mischief clear in her tone. “Well, bless them, at least these sheep don’t look like they wandered out of s’mores accident.” She gestured toward the gingerbread beside it. “That’s a win.”
They moved to the next table where the wise men leaned precariously, one gumdrop crown sliding down his frosted forehead.
Winnie adjusted her glasses, made a sharp note on her clipboard, and muttered, “Deduct for decapitation risk. Can’t have headless gingerbread in South Hill.”
At the third table, Hannah Leigh leaned closer. “Are those graham cracker crowns on the wise men?”
Aunt Winnie gave a measured nod. “Looks like those wise men stopped by the bake sale on their way.”
“And is that orange gumdrop on a toothpick supposed to be gold, frankincense, or myrrh?”
Aunt Winnie smiled. “Honey, around here it’s more likely barbecue sauce.” She snorted into her cocoa, trying to compose herself. “Points for originality,” she said as she scribbled her pen across the scorecard.
They covered the entire area, their scorecards full of notes, stars, smiley faces, and more exclamation points than numbers.
Aunt Winnie tapped her pen against the clipboard. “Numbers are fine for accountants,” she said, “but I’ve been judging these contests since folks used saltines for shingles. Sometimes a smiley face says it better.”
Her system wasn’t fancy, but everyone in South Hill trusted it. Over the years, her stars, hearts, and exclamation points had become their own kind of language—one only Aunt Winnie could truly translate.
Aunt Winnie tapped her pen against her chin. “All right, tally time. You add, I’ll sip.”
Hannah Leigh squinted at the score sheet. “You gave someone a ten and a frowny face.”
