Page 22 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“Funny,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been doing repairs here for a few years. Anytime I take on a historic renovation around town, I have to come here for sign-off. The blue-haired ladies who run this place? Don’t let their age fool you. They’re smart and tough as nails. They’ll debate paint colors like they’re guarding state secrets.”
Hannah Leigh grinned. “Looks like they understand what they’re protecting, by the looks of this place. This is beautiful.”
He nodded, pride settling warm in his chest. “South Hill loves to remember where it came from.” He glanced toward the archives room. “Maybe we’ll find a clue about that locket. And if we don’t…” He caught her gaze. “I can’t think of better company for a wild goose chase.”
Her breath hitched just slightly before she smiled. “Me too. I mean, it’d be nice to return this locket to the rightful owner.”
The faint scent of lemon polish mingled with the age of the place.
Behind the counter, Nate spotted a familiar figure and lifted a hand. “Hi, Edna Sue. Have you met Winnie’s niece?”
She stood. “Don’t know that I have, but Birdie mentioned you two might be coming over.”
“Hannah Leigh Parker, meet Edna Sue Tuggle,” he said warmly. “Edna Sue runs this place like a first-edition librarian. Every record cataloged, every story right where it belongs.”
“You’d better believe it.” Edna Sue bustled over, her silver-blue hair perfectly coiffed and glasses perched halfway down her nose. “Good to see you, sugar. Nice to meet you, Hannah Leigh.” She gave Nate a playful wink. “And this one here’s my favorite contractor. Nobody else in this county knows how to coax an old building back to life the way he does. He treats history as if it’s still living.”
Heat crept up Nate’s neck. “Just doing what I love.”
Hannah Leigh smiled at their easy rapport, then drew a small velvet pouch from her pocket. “I’m sure Birdie’s already spun this into a headline, but we’re hoping you can help us figure this out. This locket might be connected to a love story that started under the dogwood, and we’re trying to piece together what really happened.
“Oh, I know that story.” Edna Sue’s eyes brightened as Hannah Leigh withdrew the locket and handed it to her. “Isn’t that lovely?” She glanced up from the locket. “I couldn’t see too much from the pictures on Birdie’s phone, plus everyone was all huddled around trying to get a peek.”
“So much for Birdie not showing that picture around.” Hannah Leigh shook her head.
Nate stepped closer to Hannah Leigh, a consoling pat on her shoulder. “No one can slow Birdie down. Don’t take it personal.”
“I’ve seen that picture before. I’m almost certain of it,” Edna Sue looked determined. “I’ve been prepping our microfiche fordigitizing. So, I’ve been looking at a lot of pictures. It’s been hours of cleaning and labeling every piece before we ship it out.”
Nate gave a low whistle. “That’s not a job. That’s an endurance event.”
“I like to consider it job security.” She placed her hand on the counter. “Although at my age, the task might outlive me.”
Hannah Leigh opened her palm so the initials on the locket caught the light. “Can you point us to where we should start looking?”
Edna Sue leaned closer. “Well, now… the time frame of those pictures, based on hair and clothing style, would probably be in the sixties. But Birdie’s right. Thisisa mystery.” She tilted the locket toward the light, then raised her finger. “That woman looks familiar, though. Let me grab a box…”
After a thoughtful pause, she disappeared into the back room and returned with a carefully labeled box. “This batch should be from around the same time period. I wish I could narrow it down more for you.”
“This is helpful. Thank you so much. We don’t mind looking. We know you’re busy.” Nate carried the box to a long wooden table. He and Hannah Leigh sat shoulder-to-shoulder, flipping through brittle clippings and yellowed pages. Her brow furrowed as she read, lips parting softly when she found something interesting. He tried to stay focused on the records, but she made it hard.
A moment later, Hannah Leigh froze. “Nate?”
“What is it?” He leaned in.
The photo in her hand showed a couple mid-dance at a holiday party. The man wore a dark suit. She was wearing a plaid dress with a fancy color and a twinkling brooch. Beneath it, the caption read:Local sweethearts Henry Bell and Ruthie Danvers attend the Chamber Christmas Dance.
“That’s them,” Nate said, tracing the caption with his thumb. “Ruthie Danvers and Henry Bell. RD plus HB.”
“The same initials as the locket,” she whispered.
They both sat back, the discovery hanging between them like something sacred.
“South Hill never forgets a story,” Hannah Leigh whispered. “It just waits for the right people to finish telling it.”
Nate raised his hand and slapped hers in a high-five as they celebrated. His mouth went dry. “You think that’s us? The right people, I mean.”
“Yes.” Her eyes lifted, a soft smile curving her lips. “You’re staring.”
